#like we can criticize and joke about bad writing while also acknowledging it’s a low budget toy commercial to keep kids distracted for

[aquarterasian]

precure is for kids who don’t care about the plot and just want to watch pretty girls fight monsters and for people who do care about the plot and characters but are able to recognize that the target audience is children and aren’t allergic to fun

[variousqueerthings]

i went and read through all the scorecards and commentary you’ve written so far, and i just have to comment that i think you’ll have a much better time rewatching twelve’s era - it’s got its own problems, of course, but it’s such a breath of fresh air. i think m*ffat actually took some of people’s biggest criticisms of s5-7 to heart - the hamfisted sexiness is toned way down, and he did away with the whole “the doctor is the center of the universe and the most specialest guy ever” angle almost entirely. honestly, i almost have a hard time believing both eras were written by the same person.

hahaaa thank you, and idk why the below got so long, when your ask was relatively simple, blame it on the hyperfixation!

I acknowledge I tend to write m*ffat (mainly because im not trying to put stuff in tags to be a buzzkill but also as a joke about censoring him), but I do think he got... better

in the sense that he was overall less sexist and more character-driven later on and seems to have really run with a lot of what people wanted set up in terms of genderbending Timelords and queer lead characters, although I am finding s6 has some really good stuff... not.... his episodes so much lol...... but I'm liking it more than s5 which runs contrary with my assumptions/memory of his era, which is pleasantly surprising

I don't think he's egregious in the way writers like, say, Joss Whedon were, I've not heard stories of him being an asshole on set (except for that one story about him throwing a hissyfit about not getting the horse through the mirror in GitF back in s2), which may just be me missing stuff, so can let me know, BUT... nothing I know of. and while he's said some... Highly Dubious Shit About Women Especially and also asexuality, I genuinely think he's been working on some of those biases and fucking nonsense

we went from the Doctor kissing a lesbian without her consent to Bill Potts (who has some flaws -- the fat joke I've been seeing mentioned on Tumbls, the somewhat off-centre flirtation with the one-night stand she doesn't get to have that seems more like it comes from girl-on-girl porn than like a way lesbians might speak with one another)

from writing Rants about the dullness of asexuality that assumed a cis- and heteronormative perspective of the Doctor (he's a bloke of course he'd want to have sex was a lot of the Vibes of it) to in a "confused but got some of the spirit" writing about how the Doctor wouldn't understand human definitions of sexuality and monogamous relationship structures (there's a post about that somewhere in the depths of my blog @fabiansociety made some excellent points)

from describing the original first casting for Amy as "wee and dumpy" to... well, actually can we have some clarification there sir, also the shit you said about Karen Gillen basically just being cast because she was hot (I'm not saying I am super Yay Moffat after all), but at least toning down the sexy sexy talk on the show from what you say!

also maybe a smallish thing, and idk how much power he had and and and, buuut I appreciate how he went from the way he talked in GiTF about how Reinette was "worthy" of the Doctor because she was cultured and educated and whatnot... when Rose is literally the companion of the season and semi-textually Created Ten (regardless of youknow, reads of the relationship and all that, definitely important to the narrative and the Doctor), to having Rose appear as The Bad Wolf in the 50th anniversary special... haunting the naaarrative baybey

and I remember feeling like "Missy" when introduced was just a rehash of River Song rehash of Irene Adler (or whatever way around those characters existed) but then Gomez is actually amazing as The Master, to the point that she's the Number One thing I remember from that era of the show

and he's not an asshole about trans people, which, low bar perhaps, but not in this flipping country, especially not saying so out loud, which, like... Doctor Who is a big deal in this country and RTD is obviously a big ol' queer who's been yelling from the rooftops from Day One, but to not just have it be him, to have a cultural institution firmly in our corner, it's good feeling-wise, and Moffat is a part of that too

and what you're saying, which I cannot quite remember the details of but will eventually reach, the pivot from how the Doctor is portrayed in the Eleven arc vs the Twelve arc, and what the core of that story is, and the glory of Capaldi!

the limitations of this praise then come in the fact that he was learning this stuff while running two of the biggest British institutions, a version of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Who, and so the above Things that he was a dick about, alongside the mocking of fandom during Sherlock and the weird "queer but not queer" stuff with Sherlock/Watson (look, the fucking... BBC marketed it through the lens of a ship, and then there was a whole idk... campaign to make fandom seem weird and over-invested, and then of course Sherlock actually sucked as a show for so many reasons...) means that he's managed to be a prat in real time and it's meant that what should have been fun engagement in storytelling wasn't so much for many of us wincing through the shit he was saying and writing in his shows

... that time he was like "people are accusing me of being sexist, but I love strong, sexually confident women who can step on me, and having a dominatrix kink that I'm projecting onto my female characters onscreen is the opposite of sexism actually Check Mate" (that paraphrasing was mean, sorry not sorry, but also.... I could find the quote or just a handful of handy videos that have aaaaalll of the quotes... because they were happening.... in national newspapers and in interviews and panels and twitter and.... like.... not in private... there's more I'm vaguely remembering but not sure enough to just throw out there, so yeah... but he did not shut up!)

also I will never think he's a good writer so much as Very good at thinking up cool concepts that others might be able to run with or work with him on, and he should never ever be left to his own devices and encouraged to do whatever he wants (... Sherlock..... Jekyll.... from what I've heard, Inside Man....) AND I think generally and hope that RTD2 is going to be about heralding in the next gen of creators, including perhaps... a future showrunner who didn't grow up when Classic!Who was in its infancy (I don't mean that as a diss, I just mean that we've had three of those showrunners so far), and perchance isn't a cis man, because I think a lot of cool shit that could have been better might have been if moffat wasn't learning the ABC's of third wave feminism at the same time

Gosh and he's the least sexy writer I have ever come across... maybe not ever, but considering how confident he was being about allosexual alloromantic Doctor, that man is as sexy as getting slapped by a wet fish (unless you're into that, in which case insert something else here)

ALL OF THIS TO SAY... yeah, I'm excited for Twelve. and I'm enjoying Eleven more by watching the way I'm watching and being able to set criteria for worse and for better!

[leutik]

Literature between Political Correctness and Cancel Culture

(Analyzed through Walter Siti, Natalie Wynn and Rick DuFer.)

(buckle up, because if you're gonna read this, it's gonna be long)

«Today is much easier to mistake an author’s personal stances with the content of their works, and then make the author pay for the work’s sins.

Today I look around and I have the sensation that literature is no longer taken seriously: that the way to interpret literature the way I knew it, depth-focused, focused on the power of words to reveal truths otherwise concealed to their own author, is disappearing — substituted by a conception of literature that has to serve a list of good causes.

When some writers of the “neo-effort” (Siti’s neologism) insist on the fact that words are decisive, and that it’d be urgent to change the words in order to change reality, I’m suddenly reminded of those old Marxist authors: they explained that the structure, which is what lays under society, determines what lays upon it, that is words and ideology. Thus, changing the name of something doesn’t change the thing the word stands for at all.

Literature has been considered throughout time the most indicated form to make resurface the part of ourselves — often, the least pleasant — that we’ve exiled in the shadows of our subconscious: a process that often happens without the author’s acknowledgement of it.

The authors of the neo-effort believe they have the duty to spread their ideas to the largest possible number of people and that, in order to do so, they have to simplify as much as they can what they write, sacrificing on the altar of efficiency the style, considered useless. The aim is to do good, namely gain an effect, what does it matter if it’s good or bad literature? Literature used to “take root”, to influence; put at the service of pre-established ideas, and not to venture into the discovery of something we don’t know yet. This way, it gains an ancillary role. And it’s a humiliation of literature — which can truly be useful, instead, only then it hurts.

Sartre’s “Nausea” doesn’t align with his political stances. For Sartre, the effort was the individual reflection of a society in perennial revolution, substantially a school of liberty, whilst for neo-effort the role of literature is to reassure.

Their attitude, their rejection of style, their low consideration of literature, tends to isolate the good writers out there, marginalizing them in a niche that looks like a convention of obsessed aesthetes in the public’s eyes.

I see it in the writing courses I teach: more and more young people whose main interest isn’t to write to learn something about themselves or society, but it’s to write to gain the title of writer and place themselves on the market, detecting the most profitable sector at the moment, which might be fantasy, crime, or effort-centred writing: it doesn’t matter, what matters is for it to be trending and to be reassuring to the reader, in a more and more therapeutic conception of writing.

Literature isn’t immediately therapeutic, this is the difference. When “The Sorrows of Young Werther” was published, copies of this book were burnt, because of the suicides it inspired. Today we read it at school. How much time has passed? I don’t refuse knowledge’s benefit, I refuse that knowledge can benefit instantly, painlessly. When I went to a psychoanalyst to face my neurosis, the psychoanalyst made me suffer for months, and only after I took benefit from it. What would have happened if they had welcomed me with a pat on the back and said “Don’t worry, stop thinking and go help African children”. Probably I would have had an immediate benefit, but all my neurosis would have stayed there, intact.

The Literature I talked to you about is depth-centred, and literature hasn’t always existed: thus it can disappear, sink for many years. Who said that it’ll survive, despite everything?

In Pasolini’s trial he was acquitted because Ungaretti was called to testify. He wrote a letter where he wrote that the formal value of Pasolini’s work turned into literature even those scenes that the prosecution deemed obscene. Law couldn’t do anything but recognize the critical judgement and welcome it. Web’s tribunal, today, would have burned Pasolini at the stake, and Ungaretti with him.» (via Walter Siti’s interview with the Huffingtonpost)

In other words, we can summarize Siti’s view with the sentence «novels aren’t the cure to the world’s evils.» They aren’t, because they don’t have the power to be, and more so they aren’t even supposed to be: writing is a form of art, and art has primarily an end in itself. Literature isn’t a political marketplace, even if it can be used to be — it’s not a crime to turn it into one, but by doing so, one loses Literature’s nature. By doing so, the harm could be mistake literature’s primary aim (that is being a form of art, that is style, that is the pursuit of the truth) with what they turned literature into: a marketplace to defend the author’s ideology.

Siti’s powerful image of the Web’s tribunal, the Web’s court finds an echo in Natalie Wynn video Canceling: in a sense, what Siti calls “neo-effort writers” fall under the same line of thoughts of Cancel Culture perpetrators.

«Like the guillotine, [cancelling] can become a sadistic entertainment spectacle.

Now there's a version of this conversation that's already been had to death, and it goes like this: On the one side are a bunch of male comedians who constantly bitch about how Cancel Culture is out of control, you can't joke about anything anymore without these Millennial jackals trying to get you in trouble.

And the other side is mostly progressive think-piece authors who argue that there's no such thing as cancel culture, it's just that powerful people are finally being held accountable for their actions and they can't fucking handle it, so they go around bitching about cancel culture.

Now unfortunately, neither of those viewpoints is quite as correct as some people might hope.

What Cancel Culture does, [is to] take one story and transform it into a significantly different story.

Presumption of Guilt

There's a traditional understanding of justice according to which, before you condemn or punish a person, you hear the accuser's side of the story and the accused's side of the story. You allow both sides to present evidence and only after everyone involved has had a chance to make their case do you pass judgment and punish the convict.

But cancelling does not abide by the law. Cancelling is a form of vigilante mob justice. And a lot of times, an accusation is proof enough.

Abstraction

Abstraction replaces the specific, concrete details of a claim with a more generic statement.

Essentialism

Essentialism is when we go from criticizing a person's actions to criticizing the person themselves. We're not just saying they did bad things. We’re saying they’re a bad person.

Pseudo-Moralism or Pseudo-Intellectualism

Moralism or intellectualism provide a phony pretext for the call-out. You can pretend you just want an apology; you can pretend you're just a “concerned citizen” who wants the person to improve. You can pretend you're simply offering up criticism, when what you're really doing is attacking a person's career and reputation out of spite, envy, revenge.

No Forgiveness

Cancelers will often dismiss an apology as insincere, no matter how convincingly written or delivered. And of course, an insincere apology is further proof of what a Machiavellian psychopath you really are.

Now sometimes, a good apology will calm things down for a while. But the next time there's a scandal, the original accusation will be raised again as if you never apologized.

The Transitive Property of Cancellation

Cancellation is infectious. If you associate with a cancelled person, the cancellation rubs off. It's like gonorrhoea, except doxycycline won't save you this time sweetie.» (via Natalie Wynn's Canceling video transcript)

Natalie Wynn describes and formalizes the phenomenon of Cancel Culture in those steps:

I only listen to the presumed victim,

I abstract the context to a vague idea,

I equate the action to the actor’s very essence (as if such thing even existed),

I say I’m acting in favour of morals or truth,

I accuse every person the presumed abuser ever came in contact with to be an abuser as well,

and I either reject every form of apology at the moment, or bring up the issue as if no apology was ever made at their first misstep.

Now, in this post I’m not trying to perpetrate any concept of charity, not only because it’s an attitude that takes a lot of work to inherit, but also because the negative aspects that might bring one to be a neo-effort writer or a Cancel Culture perpetrator are part of the very human nature (or, very stupidly, they wouldn’t be humans.)

The self-evidence rises here: those negative parts of human nature can be channelled everywhere, and literature or any other form of art is the healthiest way to do so: you’re not going to get rid of your anger, or your sadness — the best thing you can do is learn to control it and suppress it, but how is it going to work in the long run? It’s going to act past your good judgement, or even cloud your good judgement, clouding it into thinking you’re defending some pseudo-moralism or pseudo-intellectualism, when what you’ll be doing is just venting on someone else.

This is one way to see it: when one forgets what proper thinking is and falls into those quick and gut-feeling “thoughts”. Or one could even take advantage of this Cancel Culture, of this ground of poor thinking to instrumentalize this lack of critical judgement to attack someone else.

On instrumentalization and its dangers, Rick DuFer says:

«Political correctness works when its aim is to protect the weak from abusers, but when it favours every little susceptible sensitivity it turns dangerous.» (via Rick DuFer’s podcast DailyCogito)

Rick DuFer talks about a shared responsibility that happens during offence: shared between the offender and the offended. The problem with offence, as opposed to harm, is that it isn’t quantifiable, so the offender is guilty in regard to their intentions, and the offended is guilty in regard to the instrumentalization they can enact with the situation.

And again we find “instrumentalization”: if one destroys my property, I can quantify the damage, but if one insults me, how can I quantify how offended I truly am? This is when I can twist one person’s words and turn them into an offender, this is when sensitivity becomes a mask and no longer a virtue (or, for the toxic masculinity’s thought, a vice.)

Now, to wrap things up:

These people take the (s)word of this school of thought (which some other dichotomists may, generalizing it, call it “Strong Thought” or “Unique Thought”), perhaps without even knowing there’s an alternative, while there are multiple, actually: as many as the human beings right now populating Earth.

They may do it out of a dualistic and very childish view of society — divided into good and bad people. And if that’s your view of life, you’re not gonna want to be associated with who others deem as bad, following a gut feeling and nothing more. (And I say “gut feeling” to avoid saying “very poor thinking”, because that’s what absolutization, essentialism, and the rest is.)

Your thoughts aren’t really yours, and you become a vessel for something that belongs to someone else, someone who crafted those thoughts in a very different context, or with instrumentalization in mind. You don’t want to risk criticizing those thoughts because you don’t want to be isolated, or because you’re a sane person who deems it important to act rightfully (even if you’re letting others tell you what “right” is.)

And for how problematic moral relativism is, it surely is better than any form of absolutization: better than rejecting your status as “sapiens” and stopping thinking altogether, passively accepting what others taught you to be right and wrong, maybe even out of fear, or a stupid rush for glory and sympathy.

So I wouldn’t call this moral relativism, strictly, but rather moral subjectivism, or context-centred morality. A morality in which people still have a brain to separate a piece of work from an author’s ideology (against essentialism) and to still take into account the context in which an action was performed (against abstraction). A morality in which “good” and “wrong” aren’t seen in black and whites, but rather into lighter and darker greys; a morality which systematic use can slowly dress into the habit of charity towards one another, into kind teaching rather than cruel instrumentalization.

And is it really utopistic, is it really unfeasible, if we’re not falsely annihilating the suffering and the negative parts of the Human Experience?

This whole discourse could be turned into a political marketplace of rights and lefts, of conservatives and progressivists — but my aim here is much smaller (or bigger, if one is a humanist): to make the reader question their critical thinking, and just that.

(We love some self-doubt.)

I believe moral acts aren’t supposed to be a badge to share on one’s vest — to renew your status as “approachable person” (as if saying “don’t worry, you can talk to me, you’re not going to be deemed as bad for it”) or to be praised for. Moral acts are the only acts that raise humans from other species, the acts where the “sapiens” shows its evolution, the acts where our negative aspects aren’t hidden but channelled into arts, without the fear that someone might call us bad for it. (Immoral, even, whilst acting in the most moral way possible, exorcising those negative parts of us in the least harmful way possible.)

So, at the end of this unnecessary rant, my question is: is it better to be a minion in a culture where you have to watch your mouth, as if it wasn’t yours, or to be a person who’s engaged in researching how right and wrong truly manifest?

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - You're Kidding Me

So we’ve finally come to the last of season two’s filler episodes. Let’s see if we can knock this one out real quick. 

Summary: The front door of the mysterious seashell estate vanishes, trapping the group. They try to find another way out but find a spinning top whose magic regresses Cassandra and Lance into toddlers and Shorty into a baby.  They’ve only have an hour to find the top and reverse the effects or the changes become permanent. Unfortunately neither of Rapunzel’s or Eugene’s parenting methods keep their now childish friends on task. 

So Why Did No One Stand Watch Last Night?

They were all sleeping right next to the entrance, and after the run in with the mirror monsters, you would think that they would have taken turns standing watch. 

But nope, the front door vanishes when no one was looking cause they don't have any foresight. 

A Low Budget Doesn’t Excuse Filler

Like most of season two, this is yet another episode that adds very little to the overall story. It’s slightly better than the Return of Quaid or Curses, but not by much. I put it on the same level as The Forest of No Return, as I do like the mains’ development, but there’s really no reason why such episodes exist to begin with. 

The meta reason for staying in certain places for three episodes, instead of only one or two, is because of budgetary reasons. The crew have to build new sets and models for every new location or person the cast comes across. This costs money to make, so the higher ups wanted to reuse assets. Which is understandable, but not an excuse for utilizing them poorly.  

If you need to stay in one area or have characters reappear, then you need to give story reasons for that. Ones that tie back to the overall narrative and/or the mains’ character arcs. 

The shell house and Matthews should be more important than what they are as they both have connections to the ultimate big bad of the series.Adria shouldn’t be wasted for a whole episode when she’s the only one driving the plot in season two and has limited appearances. Vardaros and its people shouldn’t be a one and done thing if you’re going to spend so much time setting them up. And there’s still one off episodes, locations, and characters who aren’t brought back and add nothing 

Not only does this make for a weaker story, it also undermines the cost saving measures that you tried to implement to begin with.  

This Isn’t Representation! 

Get it?! 

She’s a top! 

She’s totally gay, but like not really, cause this can also be interpreted as a dominatrix joke, and there’s no other real indication of her orientation outside her like smiling at her best friend/crush/sister sometimes and keeping that rose her creepy ex-boyfriend gave her. 

And don't give me any bullshit excuses about Disney not letting the crew make Cassandra canonly gay/bi. 

The Owl House aired just this year, the same year as Tangled’s final season. Also Globby and Carl from Big Hero Six were both confirmed to be a couple on screen a month after this episode came out. Both shows would have been in development at the same time as Tangled was. Both would have been subject to the same regulations and restrictions while writing their stories. 

It isn’t “Disney” that stopped the storyboard artists from having Cass be a confirmed lesbian, it’s Chris and Ben, the head writers themselves, who failed to write it into the story properly, if at all. 

Chris is the one who made Raps and Cass “sisters”. Chris is the one who wouldn’t tell the crew about his ‘twists’. Chris is the one who had Cass crush on Andrew, even after he tried to kill her. Chris is the one who made Cassandra ‘straight’ and has since used gay baiting to keep her fanbase in his pocket. 

Like I am really damn sick and tired of Casspunzel stans defending Chris on twitter, when he’s the very one who sunk thier ship to begin with. I’m also really fed up with certain fans trying to bully others for not accepting their “Cass is a lesbian” headcanons as fact because what the storyboarders say on twitter after the show is over with isn’t gospel and isn’t real rep. 

I don’t care if you ship Cass with Raps or headcanon her as being gay. Ships and headcanons are great and can be a lot of fun. But fuck you if you ever try to shame people for not sharing your ships/headcanons. Not only is it biophobic and acephobic to insist that there’s only ever a binary option when it comes to orientation and shipping, but it also reinforces harmful stereotypes and tropes about people in the queer community. 

Like, yes, I personally may be an introverted angry bitch who’s an LBGTQA member and activist, but that doesn’t mean that every introverted bitchy woman in media is a lesbian. What kind of message does that send people when that’s the only character archetype that’s given representation or is loudly proclaimed as ‘gay’ by the wider audience? Fuck that noise! 

I Know Humor is Subjective but...WHY?

Why did we give the baby a beard? How does that logically work? Did anyone outside of the crew actually find this funny? 

TTS has like this one out of touch dude throwing out jokes that don’t really land with the target audience. Fans have called it ‘boomer humor’ but it’s actually ‘Gen-X’ humor. Not only because Chris and Ben are Gen Xers but because this is the type of crap my older brother would find hilarious. 

Gen Xers are between Boomers and Millennials and so their humor is this weird blend of gross out shock humor, ironic nihilism, and out of date stereotypes that are only mildly better than those of the previous generation before them. They’re the generation who gave us Beavis and Butthead, South Park, and Clerks. 

That’s not a criticism of Gen X as a generation, but rather just an acknowledgment that they’re worlds away from the neo-dada absurdism, more socially conscious, and globalized humor of Gen Z.    

So Why Is the Bad Guy Telling the Heroes How to Foil His Plans? 

Like he not only tells them how to fix their problem and how long they got in order to do so, but he also informs them how it happened in the first place. This goes directly against his plans. Had he simply said nothing and stayed out sight, then Raps and Eugene would have been lost for the full hour and most likely not have saved everyone on time. 

I like to headcanon that Mathews is just “that asshole” that loves to taunt and tease but in a that manner that gives him plausible deniability. He also may just be bored, since he’s a ghost trapped in one place all the time. Yet that still doesn’t change the fact that he shot himself in the foot here. 

Raps and Young Cass’s Relationship Is the Same as Raps and Adult Cass’s, and That Is a Problem. 

Condescending, manipulative, hypocritical, and bossy is the way Rapunzel treats everyone. She doesn’t understand the actual difference between a child and an adult. She only understands who she who she can and can’t boss  around. And those people that she can’t place under her thumb are labeled antagonists by the show. 

Nor does she actually care about what either kid Lance or kid Cass has to say. She’s just being proformative, and young Cass can see through that BS, which why her methods do not work. It’s not because she’s not ‘strict’ enough; it’s because she’s not being honest. 

Meanwhile Child Cassandra is just as combative, rude, bullying, and entitled as Adult Cassandra. In season three she regresses even further and becomes more violent than before.

Unlike Rapunzel, Cassandra wasn’t trapped in a tower for 18 years with zero human contact outside of her abuser. She escaped that fate and was raised in a loving home. That doesn’t mean that there won't be scars, but I still expect her to be more mature than her seven year old self. Just because she’s whining about not being special enough at 24 instead of screaming about the floor being lava doesn’t mean that she’s still not throwing a temper tantrum.  

Like I should not be seeing a replay/foreshadowing of their main conflict here. They aren’t children. They’re dynamic isn’t that of a mother and child. It’s not even a big sister looking out for a little sister type relationship. Its two immature women dragging innocent victims into their bitchy cat fight for dominance over the other.  

If you want me to take their issues seriously then give them real stakes to disagree over, mature behavior that I can root for, and a resolvement that doesn’t reverse any potential development that they could have had.    

Matthews Plan Makes Zero Sense

For starters, half the group being kids isn’t enough of a reason for Rapunzel to stay at the shell house. Even if the effects of the time top became permanent, then Raps and Eugene could just leave and take the kids with them. Either to finish the road trip, or go straight back to Corona. Not that there’s any real reason to get the Dark Kingdom anyways, nor is there a ticking clock stopping Raps from trying again later if she chose to. 

Rapunzel also is not obligated to become anyone’s mother. If she took them back to Corona than Cap would undoubtedly raise Cassandra all over again, and Lance and Shorty could be adopted by someone else. Any of the pub thugs might take them or even perhaps the King and Queen since they missed out on raising their actual daughter. Though for my money I’d get Monty or Xavier to take them in. They seem the most mature and both are shown to be good with kids. 

Then again Rapunzel has been shown twice now to not give a damn about abandoning orphans, so even the ‘dump them at an orphanage’ or ‘leave them alone in the woods to fend for themselves’ isn’t entirely off the table either. I wish I was joking, but I’m not. Sadly, only Eugene’s love for Lance might be the one thing to stop her from doing just so, and even that’s iffy. 

As for the missing door from earlier, if that was all that was stopping them from leaving then the time top shenanigans were fully unnecessary altogether. 

I Actually Like Eugene and Rapunzel’s Conflict Here; I Just Wish It Was In a Better Episode. 

Each of their viewpoints stem from their upbringing. 

Rapunzel is unique in that she was simultaneously emotionally abused and neglected while being physically spoiled. Especially once she found out that she was princess, where she was then handed nearly anything and everything she wanted. She doesn’t recognize that getting your every possible whim come true can be damaging. Nor does she have any comprehension of what living in poverty is like and how this many toys is wasteful to someone like Eugene who had so very little and stole to survive. 

She does however associate limits, boundaries, and orders with abusive behavior because she’s been denied autonomy and respect her whole life. She’s never seen what healthy parenting looks like and how rules can be applied correctly.     

To Rapunzel no orders is ‘freeing’ and ‘validation’ is all that is needed to get a child to listen to you. Which doesn’t work for her because she doesn’t understand that real communication is more than just giving a compliment now and then. 

Meanwhile Eugene lacked any sort of anchor at all. He was left to his own devices at a young age and had no one to rely on for emotional needs and, after leaving the orphanage, no one to provide physical needs either. 

It’s telling that he and Lance latched onto Quaid as the only authority figure in their life, despite Quaid never out right adopting them. He was the only sense of stability that they had who they could trust wouldn’t hurt them, despite being strict with them. 

And now that Eugene has gotten older and is reformed, he can probably understand why Quaid was so harsh on him and Lance. Quaid probably did more to try and help them turn from a life crime than even Rapunzel did. Like meeting Rapunzel was the inciting incident that inspired Eugene to make that leap, but the groundwork was already laid out for him to do so elsewhere. Things like his good communication skills, respect and empathy of others, and understanding of boundaries had to be learned from somewhere, and if not from the Sheriff of Vardaros than who? 

What I’m getting at is that, while Rapunzel rejects her parents methods but then fails to break her learned habits from them anyways, Eugene is the reverse. He’s come to embrace his mentor’s teachings, but he fails to implement them correctly because he’s not Quaid. Being authoritative isn’t his strong suit. It goes against his usual nature as the easy going person that he is and so any attempts to come across as forceful fail as they’re hollow. 

Kids know authenticity and genuineness when they see it. The children reject Rapunzel because she’s not being real with them, yet they also reject Eugene cause he’s not being honest with himself. 

It’s a complex and mature conflict. Neither person is fully right nor wrong, and only by learning from each other and adopting both methods can they achieve their goal. 

TTS can be deep when it wants to be. There’s a good foundation here for mature themes and complex characterization. It’s just the series doesn’t ever commit to it. 

Whatever personal drama going on here about two young adults trying to cope with their past traumas and how that affects their current life and future goals is completely lost in the magical goofy antics and low stakes situation. Even the stuff about Eugene and his relationship with Quaid is reduced to nothing but a one off joke rather than being genuinely explored as a point of development.  

Imagine how much more powerful things would have been if Angry and Red were brought along on the trip. If this argument was over them and whether or not they should adopt the two girls themselves or consider other options. That would be something with real weight. Something with a choice that had actual consequences attached to it. Something that would permanently affect all involved parties. Something that wouldn’t make the two leads look like outright dicks for abandoning two children for a second damn time in a row.    

You Have 70 Feet of Magical, Indestructible Hair! Why Are You Afraid of a Bunch of Dogs!?

You’ve fought off giant monsters, killer robots, and supernatural beings with magical powers. What do you mean you can’t hold off a pack of guard dogs while busting down a stuck door? Why is Eugene the shield for everyone and not the actual unbreakable hair that you use as a shield all the damn time? And Why did we have to rely on Shorty again to be the deus ex machina of the episode? 

At this point the writers should have just made him Demantius instead of the monkey.   

What Happened To This New Dream? Where Did It Go In Season Three?

Most fans who do enjoy season two happen to be big New Dream fans as this is by far and away the best season for them. I’ll admit that the series, up to this point, had me actively liking them together, despite being originally lukewarm to the pairing in the movie. 

Their conflicts were for the the most part mature and real. They learned from one another equally and had open communication when it didn't involve ‘marriage is a trap’ BS. Things, like compromising on differentiating future goals, honesty and communication, and making time for one another and extending effort into a relationship while being true to yourself are all relatable issues. 

Even today's episode featured the topic of having kids and parenting. Which is a discussion you absolutely need to have with your prospective spouse before entering into any long term commitments and signing any legal contracts. For real, I’ve seen marriages fall apart because they didn’t agree on whether or not they wanted children. 

I don’t know what went down between writing season two and season three, but things quickly took a sharp turn away from this dynamic and nosedived into a pit of uncomfortable bullying and gross sexist implications here after. 

Matthews Plan Goes Against Zhan Tiri’s Plan 

Yeah so Matthews is one of Zhan Tiri’s disciples, but he apparently doesn’t know of her goals/plans, cause she needs Rapunzel and company to reach the moonstone, not stay stuck here. 

The meta reason for this that the Zhan Tiri’s story was altered at the last minute and the writers failed to make sure there was any sort of consistency between what they already set up and where they actually wound to actually taking the plot.  

The in universe reason is that Zhan Tiri is an impotent moron, but that’s not what the writers were going for so it’s a fail. 

Conclusion  

I like the New Dream stuff, and Matthews is at least entertaining despite being incompetent. Everything else about the episode is ‘meh’ tho. 

[purplecatghostposts]

Roleswap AU ideas: if you want something big, you could maybe do when the gang first gets to Xen. Or if you want something more low key, could do right after the resonance cascade cuz I'm very curious about how you think Gordon would treat Benrey in that moment

You. *Grabs your face* You are a lifesaver.

Also halfway through brainstorming I went, “hey what if I COMBINED them” so get ready, I’m doing both. In chronological order of course

——

There’s a list of things Gordon expected to happen when he joined Black Mesa as the newest member of the Security Team.

(Ideally, he would’ve joined as a Scientist but Gordon needs more money to put him through college first so Security will have to do. Plus maybe if he does well, he can get a good reputation with Black Mesa and his chances of becoming a Scientist will get higher!)

A few of them come true. Gordon sees real, actual aliens, machines that can accomplish beyond what he’s dreamed, and only becomes entranced with the idea of becoming a Scientist and working with all of this.

A few of them don’t quite live up to his expectations. Namely, it’s hard to make friends. Too many of the Scientists are straight up dicks- especially Dr. Bubby, god, what Gordon would give to punch that man in the face- and the guards aren’t all that friendly either. They’re not quite prickly but most of them just want to get their jobs done, go home, and never talk with anyone they work with outside the workplace.

It’s frustrating but Gordon gets used to it. A few people make it bearable and he falls into a rhythm that’s comfortable enough.

(Years start to pass by. One- three- five now. Gordon has enough money but he hasn’t gone to college yet. His life isn’t perfect but... Can he really uproot it? Will becoming a theoretical physicist really make his life better? Is that really what he wants? Did he already miss his chance at the life he wanted by waiting?)

Everything changes in the blink on an eye. Because in all the things he thought would happen in his time in Black Mesa, a Resonance Cascade was not one of them.

His name is Benrey and he doesn’t have his passport. Gordon knows for a fact that Black Mesa sent an E-Mail and several follow ups a week in advance about this new policy. Everyone else had theirs but this guy- Benrey- claims he never heard of it.

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose. Company policy dictates that he has to follow this guy around for the rest of the day to make sure he actually belongs here. And Gordon was hoping for an early lunch break that he’s not gonna get. Typical.

Gordon follow Benrey- even into the test chamber which Benrey says isn’t dangerous though Gordon takes one look at the machine buzzing to life and he isn’t so sure. But Gordon continues to stick around, even after the machine goes critical.

Everything goes green. Gordon wakes up in the dust of a ruined test chamber. Alarms blare in the distance, reminding him of the disaster they have on their hands. Benrey’s already up, staring at the remains of a machine with an faraway look in his eyes.

Gordon gets his attention as he stands. “Hey!” Benrey snaps to attention, eyes wide but he relaxes somewhat upon seeing Gordon. “What- what the hell was that?” Gordon gestures in the general direction of the machine.

Benrey’s mouth opens and closes before he eventually mumbles, “S-shit happens.”

Gordon gives him a hard look. “Shit happens.” Gordon repeats slowly. Is he really not taking this seriously? “That’s all you have to say? ‘Shit Happens’- that’s it?”

Benrey shifts in place. The laugh that leaves him sounds almost off but Gordon doesn’t know enough about Benrey to know for sure. “What... What else can I say? I mean, shit like this happens all the time, s’not new, right?”

“I- what?” Gordon sputters, looking Benrey up and down. “No! It doesn’t! Are you hearing those alarms? I’ve worked here for five and a half years and I’ve never seen anything like this happen! This is a Resonance Cascade, Benrey! This is a fucking disaster and you-!”

Benrey’s breath hitches and Gordon doesn’t finish. And you caused it, the thought rings in his ears but he doesn’t say it out loud.

There’s a look in Benrey’s eyes- an emotion that swallows him whole- but Gordon hasn’t the slightest what it is. Because next thing he knows, Benrey is laughing again and stuttering out a, “I have no idea what this is, dude. What’s a... Resident Cascade?”

“Resonance Cascade.” Gordon corrects with a huff. There’s a lopsided grin on Benrey’s face and Gordon doesn’t know how to deal with it. “Fucking- come on. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. We don’t know what damage y- what damage has been caused. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.”

Benrey waves him off but quickly heads for the exit. “Psh, we can handle it.”

Gordon bites his lip and doesn’t comment on that. There’s a high chance he’s going to be stuck with Benrey for a while and he doesn’t like it.

—

Gordon has a good feeling what’s going to happen long before they enter the portal to Xen.

He knows now. That he’s not human- that he’s never been human. The portal to Xen calls to him like a twisted siren song that he doesn’t want to acknowledge even exists. It crackles with a power that physically feels good but leaves a sick feeling in his stomach.

Gordon knows how this is gonna go. He tries to talk Benrey out of going to Xen but, well...

Benrey hasn’t acted the same since Gordon got his hand cut off. He listens somewhat but Benrey subconsciously holds his gun-arm close to his chest whenever Gordon says a word to him. He no longer trusts him, that much is clear. Gordon doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t either.

Gordon is the last one through the portal. Benrey is the first, leaping in without much hesitation with Bubby following close behind. Gordon almost doesn’t want to go but he hears the ringing in his ears. Xen has been calling to him for a while now and seeing the portal makes it impossible to ignore.

Gordon enters into Xen. He’s hit with a wave of energy he’s never felt before, even before he makes it to the other side.

It changes him. Gordon doesn’t mean to do it but his body gulps down the energy like it’s starving for it and Gordon grows. His body shifts and morphs and threatens to become inhuman but even if Gordon knows, he holds onto his human appearence. He wants to be human for a little longer. Though he can’t stop how tall he gets.

And Gordon knows now. Black Mesa has been looking for Xen’s main powerhouse for a long time- they told Benrey to search for him. To find their strongest alien and to take it out. Gordon enters Xen and suddenly, he remembers everything. He might’ve escaped Xen a long time ago but his connection to Xen never left. It’s him. Gordon’s what Black Mesa wants gone.

It’s almost funny. Gordon’s been working at Black Mess for years now- they could’ve dealt with him ages ago and would’ve been done with it. It’s a set up to a bad joke that Gordon wants to laugh hysterically at anyways because it’s so goddamn funny, isn’t it? His life has been a giant joke and it’s not even a good one.

Typical. Gordon never had good luck anyways.

It’s impossible to hide when Gordon arrives at Xen. He stands, far taller than any human could ever be and looms over the rest of the team. He stares down at them with tired eyes, knowing nothing is going to go his way. Everyone else backs up upon seeing him, looks of shock and terror on each of them, except for Benrey. Benrey doesn’t move, frozen and staring up at Gordon with wide, unblinking eyes.

Gordon knows the look on his face now. He’s seen it enough times that it makes him sick. In the testing chamber, a few times when they got attacked by soldiers and aliens, anytime they faced an alien far bigger than the rest, when Gordon left him at the mercy of the soldiers, when Gordon saw him again afterwards- Gordon knows that look like the back of his hand, even if he didn’t understand it the first time he saw it.

It’s fear. And Gordon caused it.

“It’s you...” Benrey’s voice shakes, staring up at him. He doesn’t have to elaborate, Gordon knows what he means.

“It’s me.” Gordon nods, resigned.

He doesn’t blame him when Benrey runs.

——

This was a veryyyy fun write, I’m not gonna lie. Thank you so much for the suggestion! If you got another one, feel free to send it! I hope y’all enjoy!

[thrushpot]

look what you’ve done

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“maybe a billy one of the aftermath of the reader and his first big argument? maybe the reader gives him the silent treatment??? (locks her window so he can’t sneak in, goes to school early so he can’t drop her off) your choice if it ends fluffy with a make-up or angsty :”)) I always hate telling a writer EXACTLY what to do, but this was just an idea I had in my head ♡” requested by @delqcour

word count: 2,421

warning(s): swearing, arguing

a/n: made this incredibly dramatic and emo, wanted to give reader a valid reason for doin him the silent treatment, so he’s a giant slime ball in this one. definitely don’t fall for this irl, Billy’s emotionally abusing the SHIT outta the reader in this one. in other words, angst!!!! also girl don’t worry about telling me details for a fic, it’s helpful !

—

You knew he didn’t mean to say what he said, but that didn’t excuse his actions. He crossed a line, and by the look of self hatred smothered all over his sorry face after the words left his mouth, you know he recognized how hateful and mean he sounded and he regretted it too.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pull that shit with me, Y/N. You know exactly what you’re doing, and I know what’s going through that head of yours,” Billy hissed in your ear, taunting you by getting up in your face, even laughing like a maniac as a scare tactic. Right now Billy looked like the poster boy for toxic masculinity and the green eyed monster. He puffed his chest out, making sure you feel smaller than him, and continued his accusations that went on for miles and miles.

It was quite the reach trying to punish you for touching someone else when he didn’t even have proper proof or any trust in you at all. In fact, it just sounded like insecurity bubbling to the surface that had been begging to be unleashed throughout yours and his entire relationship. The blonde backed you further into the corner of your room, wanting to put you in your place, make you feel intimidated. And you were. It was hard emotional labor you did, protecting him from others, but most of all protecting him from himself.

He’d been around the block before, cheated and been cheated on, and he thought in this critical stage of your relationship that you would’ve fled by now. That in this particular point in time it was make or break, so he chose the easy route; break. None of the unconditional love and care you showed made any sense to him, so he was on edge just looking for evidence that it was all just bullshit, that you’d betray him and then ultimately leave him like everybody else had in his life. And when he thought he finally saw the proof, you and your brother’s best friend talking close to eachother at his locker during passing period, he gave you his bratty attitude the rest of the day then backed you into the corner under your own roof not only tell you off, but to utterly disrespect you; not to mention wrongfully accuse you.

“Was he better than me? Bigger too? Mmhm, I bet he was, wasn’t he? Sweetheart,” he practically spat in your face when he didn’t care to wipe his mouth free of saliva as he continued to lecture you. You helplessly took the emotional beating he was giving as you exerted all the energy you had into not letting the tears brimming your scared eyes fall. You shook your head over and over, not finding the words to reassure him that he’s imagining things, and that this is not about you but about him.

“Not even gonna try denying it? Yeah, I fucking knew it. Nothing but a slutbag that just used me for my co—“

“ENOUGH already, you whiny fucking pig! I cannot believe what I’m hearing right now. Can you hear yourself? The way you’re talking to me right now, what you’re really saying?” You pushed his chest forward, not hard enough to wound him but not light enough to allow him to continue freely invading your space. That finally got him to shut the fuck up. “I’m the sluttiest slut, aren’t I? I sure am, because I just can’t keep my legs closed while giving my brother’s best friend the homework he missed! Insane, right?” You raised your voice then pointed your finger at him before he shoved it away from his face.

“Don’t point your fucking finger at me, look at what you’ve done!” His screams were soon replaced with whimpers as his voice grew weak, and in time faded to soft sobs that spriralled into hysterical bawling and you watched the scene unveil until the dam officially broke. He finally let go of all the anger and it got replaced with pathetic weeping. You let him crawl in your arms as you stayed standing while he sunk to his knees, wanting you to save him from himself once again. Pick up the pieces for him. You lowered down to his level and hugged him tight, hoping his tantrum was over so you could get him to finally talk to you and then a specialist. After ten to fifteen minutes, he rubbed his eyes like a child waking up from a nap, utterly exhausted and wiped out from thinking so much and feeling so scared of being replaced by another boy in your life. The tears eventually dried down his face, the mucus also drying from his nostrils, making him sniffle a handful of times. When he looked at you, he saw your own tears trailing down your shiny cheeks and he reached up to wipe them away before whispering, sounding completely broken;

“I’m still so angry with you.”

—

After the weekend went by, you both quietly agreed that you were due for a short break. However, the both of you neglected to communicate an important part and mention just how long the break should go on for, and he clearly thought he could step all over you then come crawling back the next Monday. You had been writing your analysis on one of Shakespeare’s stories for English with your stereo playing softly to keep your thoughts quiet. That’s when a rock nicked your window, and made you withdraw yourself from your assignment before investigating what it could be. And then another one flew, hitting the closed and covered window and by now you knew this was no accident.

You scrambled to quickly turn off your stereo and lower your lights down then hesitated when locking your window. It’s not that you were scared of him, but maybe more terrified of the daunting talk you’ll have to have with Billy in the near future that you just weren’t ready for emotionally. Having your boyfriend you strongly committed to spit at you and call you a whore in your face was hard to even think of alone without feeling nauseous and wanting to cry all over again. Now he was outside trying to come up to your room.

“Y/N!”

You layed low and shut your eyes, putting a hand over your mouth to stay silent, hearing him struggle to climb up before knocking on your window several times, then just giving up and attempting to open it.

“Babe, please. I want to talk. I’m ready now, and I’m sorry. I can wait till you’re ready, too. No pressure. I said some horrible shit, but I’ll — I’ll see someone, then I’ll m-make it up to you, and we can kiss and make up like old times, yeah?”

A minute later and no response on your end, Billy knew it was a no go. It was a long shot to even think she would open her window anyway. Soon he just said his goodbyes, ending it with a soft “I love you” and you heard him jump back down and start his car below and drive off. Finally you felt like you were able to breathe, and threw yourself back into your bed while covering yourself head to toe in your comforter and turned up your music louder than it was before he came, blocking out everything as sobs wrecked through you.

—

Billy was getting shakey and worried without you, drinking way more than what he’s used to, and it’s always whenever he looked in the mirror at himself or saw something that remotely related to an inside joke he had with you, or if it reminded him of your scent, your hair, or even your body. He had done enough self deprecating sober, now he just pitied himself as he drank.

You never shut him out as long as this, and he knew it was bad this time, really fucking bad. The teenager was aware that he deserved all that’s coming to him, but he just couldn’t believe you were really gonna do it. You weren’t going to speak to him, or acknowledge anything. You were going to lock your window whenever he tried to come over, and head to school early every morning so he couldn’t drive you anymore, even take great lengths to hide from him at lunch, which was usually a time you two spent together making out in his car or just talking.

Billy didn’t bother hiding how much of a mess he was at school or anywhere else without you by his side, showing up late to class with bags under his bloodshot eyes. He knew there was an opportunity hidden in this breakup, he could better himself instead, try harder to be a better more understanding and forgiving person. He could grow, and eventually maybe even win you back. Even though he knew he’d be pushing his luck pretty far.

But he just wasn’t capable of handling any of it on his own.

Knowing that this was probably the end of Billy and Y/N, he thought of one last resort at taking to you before he said goodbye.

—

You opened your curtains to reveal yourself this time when he knocked on your room window, but kept it shut as he looked at you through the glass, seeing your face for the first time in days. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at you while you just couldn’t look at him. He waved sheepishly before blowing his hot breath on your window, then writing “hi” with his fingertip on the fog he had made. You shook your head, then wondered what he wanted this time.

“If I let you in, what happens? Are you gonna cry and yell at me again?” You ask, your voice not hiding that you were close to tears and twiddling your fingers to try keeping busy. Billy grimaced at your words, even though they were muffled through the window he still clearly made out what you asked and it wasn’t looking good, he knew that. Couldn’t swoop you off your feet this time, or make a mess and have you clean it up because he was incapable and selfish.

“Checking up on you,” Billy murmurs, scrubbing his eyes in hopes it will keep them from watering. “I need to know that you’re taking care of yourself. I know how you get when you’re upset,” he finishes lamely, and although it was true he also just missed your voice, hearing it comforted him in a way. Made him feel like it was a shield from all harm. He held his breath as he carefully observed your every move, then almost gasped aloud when you unlocked your window and shoved the sliding glass open, allowing him in. It didn’t take him longer than a beat to come in, nearly too big to fit through the damn thing and knocking over things that were in the way, cursing and rapidly picking up what had fallen from his clumsiness. Wiping his sweaty palms at his jeans, he cautiously looks to you before lowering to your level where you sit.

“Have you been eating, baby? Drinking enough water?” He gently asks, seeing you look significantly different. More tired and exasperated than he’d ever seen you, and it was because of him.

All because of what he’d done.

Billy chokes another apology before grabbing your head with both hands and embracing you in his chest, helpless in keeping his soft sobs in. You’re no better, clutching at his jacket for life. You had battled yourself for the past week, not knowing if it would be healthy for you to go back to him and let him get away with treating you the way he did, saying the things that he said. Billy hadn’t ever thought about the affect he had on people, that words hurt even if they’re said in anger and not necessarily true in the long run.

“Your folks home right now? I kinda didn’t look for any cars in the driveway. I just climbed up here when I saw your light,” he mumbled as his lips layed kisses at the top of your head before smoothing our your hair and brushing our little tangles with his fingers.

“Dinner. They’re at dinner,” you answer, not letting him go from your grasp even if he wanted to. You’ve missed loving him and despised hating him.

“Wanna go eat? You also need to get hydrated, babe. I’m really sorry. I — I know I did this to you,” he gets the hair away from your face before caressing you’re cheek.

“I’m real sensitive, Billy. I have feelings and you — you scared me. Scared the shit out of me and just — you’re such a bully, and now you want to feed me, make it all better again? Erase it?” You let out, watching him crumble and look down in shame.

“‘M not, I know I can’t take it back. I just wanna take it fucking back,” he scrubs his face and drags his nails down his cheeks, making his skin turn a light pink. You pulled his hands away from himself to stop him, then held both his hands in yours.

“How is Max doing?”

“Huh?” Billy looked up.

“Max. I asked how your sister is doing,” you repeat for him.

“Oh, um, she like won this skateboarding contest thing. Got a free board for a prize, so she’s pretty happy, the little twerp.”

“Yeah?” You smile. “Good for her.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, stroking your hand in his. “I won’t ask you to forgive and forget, but just— I want to stay in touch, please? Knowing that you’re doing okay and all that. Sweet Jesus, did you even drink any water like I asked?” You snorted at the last part of his speech before he gets up to snatch a paper cup from the restroom and fills it to the brim, handing it to you and demanding you gulp it down while he watches. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and you can’t hide that it tastes good given you hadn’t been taking good care of yourself lately. Billy stands and fills it for you three more times without being prompted, watching you drink it all.

“Happy?” You ask. He gives you a grin and fills up the same cup you used and drinks it himself while eyeing you playfully.

“Never happier, actually.”

—

if you wanna, you could listen to “look what you’ve done” by Jet, it’s soooo good and moody and that’s where I got the vibe for this.

[juliabohemian]

Nostalgia Bias

I recently came across a meme on Facebook, posted by a friend. The meme consisted of a reactionary joke about how Millennials don't know how to drive stick shifts or read in cursive, and that if we want to keep them quarantined, we should put them in cars with manual transmissions and give them the directions in cursive.

Ordinarily, I would keep scrolling past something as inane as this. Actually, that's not true. Ordinarily, there wouldn't be anyone on my friend's list, on any social media platform, who would post reactionary humor. I was truly surprised to see it at all, especially coming from this person, who has always seemed reasonably intelligent.

The first thing wrong with that joke is that it suggests that the generation struggling the most with staying quarantined are the Millennials. Which we know is not true. It is the Baby Boomers. Though Gen-X appears to be adapting best to the whole mess. Go team.

The second thing wrong with that joke is that we still teach children to write in cursive, in elementary school, as of 2020. The third thing wrong with that joke is that there are plenty of Millennials who know how to drive a stick shift.

One could just as easily say the best way to keep Boomers quarantined would be to lock them inside and hook up everything in their homes to smart devices. Ha ha. Isn’t that hilarious? Because old people can’t use technology, right. Yeah, except for all the ones who do. Betty White and Patrick Stewart, for instance.

I couldn't help myself, of course. I had to make a comment. Why? Because I genuinely thought that the person who posted the meme would realize that it was bullshit and be willing to acknowledge that. Needless to say, that's not how it went. I got the answer that I have gotten so many times in the past "yeah, I mean, that's TRUE I guess...but that doesn’t matter because it was rude of you to point it out.”

Was it, though? Ruder than the joke itself? Is politeness to a single individual more important than the feelings of an entire generation of people being maligned by a bad joke? I believe it was Dr. House who posed the question:

"What would you prefer, a doctor who holds your hand while you die or one who ignores you while you get better? I suppose it would particularly suck to have a doctor who ignores you while you die."

Now, I would like to point out that, as someone on the autism spectrum, I don’t socialize in the traditional sense. I relate to people by exchanging information. For me, that takes the place of socializing. That's probably why I am an educator. I like to teach people things. When I see something that I know is absolute bullshit, and I think there's a chance that it can turn into a valuable teaching moment, I cannot resist. Because it isn't just the person who posted it that is going to see my comment, but many other people as well.

Social media is wrought with misinformation. It’s pretty hard to avoid it. I cringe whenever I hear people using words like autistic or schizophrenic to describe the behavior of an ordinary, neurotypical person. Those are conditions for which there are specific diagnostic criteria. The same goes for diabetes, which you definitely cannot get from eating a bag of candy. 

So, what is it that makes people behave this way? Why would perfectly NICE, well meaning people willfully and knowingly spread misinformation? The simple answer is, they don't know it's misinformation. Which is the result of something called bias. 

Bias affects our critical thinking skills. It allows us to hold views that are completely incorrect and even harmful to others. And as we share misinformation that is based upon our bias, even via a format as harmless as a meme, it spreads. And it affects other people's views and behavior. 

The primary source of reactionary humor, such as that which I referenced above, is something called nostalgia bias.

Nostalgia is basically the belief that things from a previous era are superior to their modern counterparts, without the benefit of any objective analysis. Why are they better? Because they're old, obviously. No further analysis is required.

There are two types of nostalgia, historical and personal. The simplest way to differentiate between the two would be to consider historical nostalgia to be the product of anything that happens outside of yourself and to the larger group, such as your community, state or country. Personal nostalgia refers to that which affects you personally, your immediate family, your extended family unit, your school or workplace.

Psychologists have found that personal nostalgia (as opposed to historical nostalgia) can be a stabilizing force that anchors people emotionally and helps them to overcome trauma and loss. But on the flip side, historical nostalgia is likely to prevent people from being open to change by making them dependent on the memories of an idealized past.

I can't even count the number of times I have found myself on YouTube, watching a music video for a song that is (at least) 20 years old or more, and I made the mistake of scrolling down to read the comments. Because, inevitably, there will always be someone in there saying something to the effect of "they don't make music like THIS anymore" and/or "the music they make these days is crap!" And I roll my eyes because such a declaration is purely nostalgic and pretty much the antithesis of critical thinking. 

I am 42 years old. I remember hearing people say that “new music sucks” in 1984. Which is a relatively long time ago for me. But comparatively speaking, a mere hiccup for mankind. I suspect that people have been making such sweeping statements since long before I came into existence. They were bullshit then and they’re bullshit now.

There has always been bad music. Always. Just as there has always been good music. But what does it mean for music to be good or bad? Well, unless you’ve been academically trained in music theory or have acquired decades of performance experience, not a whole lot. For the average person it means that you either like it or you don’t. If you like it, it’s good. If you don’t, it’s bad. Really it’s only a valid measurement for the individual in question. Even if you manage to find 500 people who agree with your opinion, it's still not an objective measurement. Because art cannot be objectively measured.

It's important to consider the fact that genuinely bad music rarely survives to be appreciated by future generations. Meaning that the music that does survive represents the most popular, most commercially successful, most critically acclaimed work of that era. There's a reason why you aren't hearing Milli Vanilli on the oldie's station. Although, I suspect that is more likely related to the whole lip syncing scandal, but I digress.

It's also important to consider why people like or dislike things. Is it actually because they’re good or bad? Unfortunately, no. It's entirely a matter of personal taste. There are things that I like that I know are probably bad. Low budget, found footage horror films, for instance. No award winners among them. Some of them are comprised of video taken with a cell phone. But I love them all the same.

Like all art, music is very personal. We can hear a song and are immediately transported back to a specific time or place. For many of us, music is an escape from reality, or a window to another world. Thus, music is very much connected to our memory of events and the feelings that we attach to those memories. This is what contributes to our skewed perception that something is better because it is old. In actuality, it is better for us, personally, because it represents memories and feelings that we enjoyed or that we still enjoy. As more and more time passes, those memories become increasingly idealized in our minds. So much so that nothing new could possibly compare.

The arts are important to society. It is not logical to suggest that newer generations are producing inferior art, simply because their art does not appeal to older people. New art doesn’t need to appeal to older people, because it’s not really FOR them. They aren’t the intended audience. It’s not a reflection of their generation's interests, values or struggles. 

For some older people, new art is a reminder of mortality. It is a reminder that they are aging, or that they are no longer as relevant to society as they once were. And they deal with the discomfort of that by rejecting or invalidating new things. Which is a miserable way to live.

So, think critically, my friends. Even when you’re assessing something as harmless as a meme. Look for bias and when you see it, don’t be afraid to call it out. And as you get older, try to stay as open minded as possible. Or else, someday, someone might lock you inside a car with a manual transmission and give you an instruction manual written only in cursive.

[raysofcrosby]

HOMETOWN PT. 2

“𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘐'𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 ���𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥, 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸.” – 𝙎𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙝 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙣, 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣

𝘨𝘪𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 (𝘹)

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥: yes and no

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨(𝘴): some bad words and a whole lotta angst.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 5,664

𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺: give me back my hometown by eric church

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: if you haven’t read part one, read it now! otherwise this probs won’t make too much sense lol. anyway, here’s part 2!!! i hope this is good bc tbh i think it’s okay– but i’m also really critical of my writing so don’t mind me. don’t be afraid to shoot me a message with a request, bc it’s summer and i’m bored!! alright, bye i hope you enjoy :)

“An Idiot. I’m such a literal idiot.” Josh mumbled, running his fingers through his hair as he grabbed the scotch off of the bar and slid over a few bills of gratuity to the bartender.

The bartender raised his eyebrows and looked at Josh. “Um sir, you left some money on the–“

Josh just threw his hand in the air and waved the kid off. “Keep it. I’ll be back for more I’m sure.”

Instead of arguing, the bartender nodded and placed the pile of bills into his apron pocket before turning to help someone else. “You’re well aware that you just tipped that kid at least $50, right?” Colt said, coming up to Josh’s side.

Normally, Josh would make an attempt to get the money back. $50 was a shit ton of money to tip a bartender for one drink, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was you. How different your hair had looked– wearing it down as opposed to your normal updo. How you were dressed– no longer hiding beneath his sweatshirts. The way you carried yourself– confident and secure. And the way his name sounded rolling off your tongue– like his favorite dream he’d long forgotten.

You weren’t that same girl he knew growing up. The 8-year-old with braided hair and braces, racing him down the street on rollerblades in the summer heat. The insecure tween with the same braces, and the same braids who spent her summers off at a camp out of town. The shy teenager who was rid of her braces, still kept her hair out of her face but was growing into her own skin, all while cuddled up next to him, fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm. No, you weren’t that girl anymore…you were so much more.

“Let me guess,” Colt sighed as he took a sip of his rum. “You talked to Y/N?”

The mention of your name almost made Josh freeze in panic. He brought his cup up to his lips and took a long sip, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Yeah, if you can even call it that.”

“What do you–“

“Dude! Why the hell did you just run off like that?” Dillon asked, shoving Josh’s shoulder before turning his attention to Colt. “Did he tell you what he did?”

“No, but I think we were getting–“

“Y/N comes up as soon as doofus over here says he’s leaving and when she asks if he’s leaving, he freezes!” Dillon shook his head and let his arms drop dramatically. “But then she says hi! Actually acknowledges his existence after 10 years and what does numbnuts over here do?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dillon,” Josh mumbled, taking another sip of his scotch and making sure to admire the burn as it traveled down his throat.

“He fucking says hi…and then he LEAVES. Well, actually no, he mumbles some incoherent bullshit and then he leaves.” Dillon turned to Josh and shook his head. “What the fuck dude, she was standing right there. You should have seen the look she gave Amy and–“

Josh threw his drink back and swallowed the rest of the scotch, this time ignoring the blatant burn as he closed his eyes tightly. After a few moments, he opened them again and looked at Dillon. “You don’t know shit, so you need to shut the fuck up and drop it.”

Before Dillon or Colt could say anymore, Josh turned back towards the bar and nudged his way through the crowd. This reunion had proved to be just as miserable as he thought it would be. If it wasn’t the sneaky looks from old classmates whose names he couldn’t remember, it was the way people approached him as if he hadn’t walked the same halls or attended the same classes as they did all through their school days. They treated him like Columbus Blue Jackets Right Wing, Josh Anderson. Not Josh Anderson, a mediocre science student and all-around athlete who could charm his way out of a tardy slip. And part of him expected it since it had been a little like that once his talent on the ice started to show. Everyone always treated him like he was special than the rest, well…everyone except for you.

When he placed his glass onto the counter, he didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth before the bartender handed him another scotch. Only this one looked to be a double. Josh looked up and the bartender shrugged his shoulders. “No offense, but you look like you need it.”

“You have no idea.” He sighed, holding his glass up and cheering to the bartender before taking a long sip.

“Try me,” He said, picking up empty cups and tossing them into the trashcan. “It’s kind of the part of being a bartender. Make the drinks and then listen to people get the nasty shit off of their chest.”

Josh had no idea who this kid was, but there was something about him that he liked. Whether it be the way he made his simple drink taste like pure alcoholic gold or the way he was straightforward with his words– something inside him told him that if there was going to be one person he would talk to at this stupid place…it was him, not his best friends, not some random old classmate, but the bartender. “What’s your name?”

“Tucker Romero.”

“Romero…as in Grayson Romero?”

“Older brother, yeah.”

Josh felt like he should’ve made a connection somehow. Now that he knew his name, he could see how the two shared some genetic appearances. The same brown eyes, shaggy brown hair. The only thing Tucker seemed to lack of his older brother’s was the height and physique of a hockey player. If Josh was considered good at hockey, then Grayson was a God. Three years older than Josh, Grayson took him under his wing, showing him what workouts to do, how to gain muscle and overall improve his game. He was practically Josh’s idol. If there was anyone who would leave town and go to the NHL, it was Grayson. Until his second year at Michigan when he dropped on the ice during a game.

The fatal prognosis? An underlying heart condition.

Josh could still remember hearing the news at practice at school. How weird coach had been acting all practice and no one knew why. Being boys, they made crude jokes about how he needed to get laid and stupid shit like that. None of it seemed funny the moment he sat them down after practice and told them that Grayson had died. No one but his class and the class above him had known Grayson on a personal level, but they all knew of him on the ice. And his death had hit Josh hard– one of his first times ever dealing with grief and as a 16/17-year-old kid, he had no fucking idea what to do. It was was one of the moments that had defined his grade 11 year.

After that practice, he told the coach he’d lock up and stayed at the rink and shot puck after puck, harder and harder each time. He needed to take his anger out on something. He needed to hit something– it was all he wanted to do…all that he could do. He didn’t care if he made it in the goal, ricocheted the puck off the pipe or bust the glass. There was so much anger rushing through his body and he was scared that he would explode if he didn’t get it out. That’s when you showed up, still in your school uniform and wearing his team sweatshirt. You made a comment about how he was supposed to actually make it into the goal and before he could snap back with something smart; you said that you heard about Grayson. If he thought back hard enough, he could still see the look on your face and the way his body shook as you made your way towards him, practically gliding along the ice.  He could still feel the way your arms wrapped around his waist and how he just let himself sink down onto the ice letting the overflow of emotions take over. In that memory alone, he could still hear your voice whispering to him that somehow, it’d all be okay…and he never understood why or how, but he believed you.

Josh zoned back in on his drink and finished it, plopping the cup onto the counter as Tucker slid him another one. “I’m sorry…about Gray.”

Tucker gave him a nod and a thankful glance. “It’s alright. Kind of crazy how fast 12 years go by though, you know?” He turned back around with another cup of scotch– a single this time. “But I know my brother isn’t what has you downing scotch like a dehydrated dog. I lost you for a second, where’d you go?”

Josh swished the scotch around in his cup as he stared at the swirling liquid. “I ran into someone who I haven’t seen in 10 years and let’s just say our last meeting didn’t end so well.”

“Let me guess, ex-girlfriend?”

It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did, the word ex-girlfriend. Even if that’s what you’ve been…what you are to him after all these years. But it did, it stung like hell and a sip of scotch eased the ache a little. “Her name’s Y/N and yeah, she’s my…ex. But that’s not the reason why I’m all…like this.”

Liar, he was a fucking liar and he knew it. Seeing you again was exactly the reason why he was drowning his feelings in cheap scotch, but he couldn’t admit it to himself, let alone anyone else. “Do you ever just want to…leave this place and never come back?” He could feel the alcohol begin to invade his thoughts, which he knew could either be dangerous or not. But his give a fuck meter was starting to run really low.

“No?” Tucker raised an eyebrow and Josh didn’t understand why he was so confused. It was a straightforward question that could be answered with a straightforward answer. “Think about it man, this place…it’s pretty damn nice. The neighborhoods, the stores, the restaurants, and hell even the people are great. There’s a little bit of everything for everyone, no matter the age, you know?”

He walked off to hand Kiss-Ass McGhee a cup of red wine and Josh closed his eyes and turned his head slightly, hoping that he’d noticed the old class President soon enough to be avoided. “Josh, hey!”

“Well fuck,” he mumbled beneath his breath, sitting himself up straight and turning around with his ‘media’ smile on his face. “Hey, Kis-Kyle! How have you been, man?” He stuck out his hand and shook it, taking in his former classmates appearance. “Looks like you grew into your ears man.”

Shit, was that too mean? Too forward? Josh had already almost slipped up once by almost calling him Kiss-Ass McGhee. Maybe he should cut himself off of the drinks.

Kiss-Ass McGhee just laughed and let their hands fall. “Yeah, grew into them around the same time I finished going through puberty– Sophomore year of college.” He looked over Josh’s shoulder and nodded his head as he took a sip of wine. “We’re getting ready to start the slideshow, but I’ll come and find you after! I’m curious to see how you’ve been.”

The moment he left the bar, Josh let his fake smile fall and he took another sip of his scotch. “I was a dick in secondary. My friends and I used to make fun of him, call him Kiss-Ass McGhee and to be frank, I have no fucking clue why. We overheard someone call him a kiss-ass and just rolled with it.” He took another sip and looked back at Tucker. “But he seems like a good guy.”

“You’re avoiding the topic,” Tucker rolled his eyes and put the cork back in the wine bottle. “But you know, who you are in high school isn’t who you are for the rest of your life.”

It was like déjà vu in his mind as the words left Tucker’s lips. It was pretty much what Dillon had said at the diner– how it’s been 10 years since what went down between you and Josh and there’s no way that the two of you were those same kids. And yeah, he was right…but was he really? Could you have let what happened in the past go? Or were you like him and pushing it further back into your mind and letting it haunt you.

“So you really like this place? Like…there’s not even the slightest feeling of wanting to never see this place again? Leave it all behind?”

“Not really, there are a lot of special places here, you know?” Tucker shrugged at Josh’s confused face and sighed, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I mean, every time I pass that park on Cherry I think about how when I was a kid, Grayson and I would walk home from his hockey practice and he’d always let me stop and play. The theatre? First kiss there with my first girlfriend happened there. The way the streets get all quiet at night, I think about how my friends and I would sneak out with a couple of beers and go sit out in the school parking lot and just talk. Everywhere I look around this place, holds a good memory…and sometimes when I’m down in the shitter, those places help.”

Josh knew exactly what he meant because the moment he crossed into town, it was as if everywhere he looked had a highlight reel of happy moments stored in his brain. The empty field where everyone would gather at the end of the summer and have one last summer party. The streets where all the kids on his block would play street hockey in the summer heat and rotate houses for lemonade and popsicles. The frozen lake where he’d kissed a girl for the first time…where he’d kissed you for the first time. And the diner, God walking back into that place with the boys felt like he was a prisoner on death row and walking towards his own execution. 

That place…that place was your guys’ safe haven. Where you’d go after every hockey game and do homework together, though he’d spent more time watching you do your homework than doing his own. In the summers, after days on the lake, your parents would send you guys to grab food for the families and laugh about how tired your arms would be after carrying it all back into their backyard. How that booth off in the corner…that one red booth that had been your safe haven so many times, was also where everything went wrong.

“Good Evening everyone, thanks for coming out tonight!” Kis–Kyle said, speaking into the microphone. “I’d just like to give a quick thanks to Mallory Johnson and Vic Geiger for helping me get all of this together. And, of course, to Principal Sanders for allowing us to use the gym for the reunion tonight.”

The crowd followed Kyle McGhee and applauded at the courteous shout outs before settling down again. “I don’t know about you guys, but when the time came for this reunion, I honestly didn’t want to go. I mean, it’s been 10 years since we last walked those halls, sat in those seats and since most of us have all been in the same space together. For me, it wasn’t about how much time has passed that worried me. I wasn’t worried about being asked a million questions about what I do now, do I have a family, and am I happy? No, I think what worried me the most, was standing in this room and remembering everything as if it happened yesterday.”

For the first time in his life, Josh found himself focused in on what Kiss-Ass McGhee had to say. It wasn’t the alcohol making him focus in, it was what the speech entailed. It was as if Kiss-Ass McGhee was pulling the fear right out of his gut and spilling it all on that stage.

“I was worried that the memories that I had made here, the friends I hung out with at lunch, the clubs I joined, the parties I never went to– that all of it would somehow leak itself into my present and I would lose myself in the person that walked these halls.” He took a sip of his wine and shook his head. “Not like that’s a bad thing either, you know? Cause I graduated with no regrets, great friends and amazing memories. I’m proud of the person I am back then. But coming back here now, 10 years later, 10 years wiser and better looking, I was scared that I would reminisce on this time of my life– and regret everything that I did.”

“Should I have gone to those parties? Did I really need to join another extracurricular? Why didn’t I ask Y/N L/N to that winter dance in grade 9,” Josh could feel his eye twitch as a few laughs filled the gym and his eyes wandered on the crowd…looking for you. Were you laughing at his joke? Were you blushing? Was it even a joke? …Would you have gone with Kiss-Ass McGhee if he asked?

“Anyway, the point I’m making is, I was terrified of coming here today because, for some strange reason, 10 years just didn’t seem enough. But standing here in front of all of you, seeing everything that you guys have accomplished since we graduated, whether that be starting your own business, achieving a Ph.D., starting beautiful families…winning a Stanley Cup– seeing my old classmates do these amazing things with their lives, trumped any fear that I had.”

“There’s something special about the class of 2012 and there has been the moment we graced the halls as tiny Niners. And it’s evident that this class is still special, because of everything we’ve become since then. There’s a quote I found that I thought would be great to share before I played this video,” He cleared his throat and read it off of his phone. “Always remember to slow down in life; live, breathe and learn; take a look around you whenever you have time and never forget everything and every person that has the least place within your heart.”

Josh doesn’t know why he did it. Whether something inside of him told him to look that way or what– but when he shifted his vision slightly off of Kiss-Ass McGhee and to the right…he saw you, and you were looking right at him. He opened his mouth as if you’d be able to understand anything he could say from so far away, but instead, he chickened out again and brought the scotch to his lips and looking at the video playing on a portable screen.

It was weird, seeing the younger versions of them as the old videos and pictures played across the screen. At some of them, Josh couldn’t help but laugh– a real, hearty laugh. Like the one after the Championship hockey game where you could see him and Dillon flying in the air to add onto the dog pile on the ice, or the tacky themed spirit weeks. For the first time that night, he found himself looking back on his time here with a positive outlook.

Until you popped up on the screen, or better yet– a picture of the two of you in your final year of secondary– right after the school celebrated the fact that he had gotten drafted into the NHL by Columbus. The two of you were smiling so hard that it looked like your eyes were closed. You were facing each other, both sporting Columbus Blue Jackets gear– matching long sleeve shirts. He felt his throat tighten as the picture stayed up and his eyes took in the smiles, the laugh you two were sharing when the picture was taken and the way you were tucked into his side.

It was too much. He had to leave.

He couldn’t even finish off his scotch before he gave Tucker a few more bills and slapped them onto the counter. “Thanks for everything Tucker, I’ll see you later.”

Giving a knowing nod, Tucker put the bills into his pocket and picked up Josh’s cup as he turned away. Josh kept his head down as he made is way towards the exit of the gym, making sure he stuck to the back of the crowd as to not draw any attention to himself. When he made it out of the double gym doors, he raised his head a little more and walked through the next set, putting himself outside. It wasn’t enough; he needed more space away from this place, away from you. He knew he couldn’t drive, the four scotches would soon hit his system and he’s not irresponsible. He pulled out his phone to order an uber when he saw a taxicab waiting a few feet to his right. Sending a silent prayer up to whoever was listening, he jogged over to it, knocking on the passenger window. “Are you working?”

“Where do you need to go?”

Shit. He didn’t even think that far, he just followed his gut and left the damn gym. There were a ton of places he could go, but how would he even pick. He got into the back and closed the door. “Just drive away from here, I’ll pick a place to stop.” He could tell the driver thought he was batshit crazy, but didn’t question him anyway.

“Alright, wherever it is.”

As the taxi pulled out of the high school parking lot, Josh could only feel the pressure in his chest get tighter. This wasn’t supposed to happen, getting away from that place was supposed to make him feel better– not worse. He ran his fingers through his hand and then down his face as he closed his eyes and groaned. His head was throbbing as his conversation with Tucker and Kiss-Ass McGhee’s speech rang through his head.

“Everywhere I look around this place, holds a good memory…and sometimes when I’m down in the shitter, those places help.”

“…and never forget everything and every person that has the least place within your heart.”

Josh took a deep breath and let his hand fall from his face as he opened his eyes and saw what was ahead. “Take a right at the turn light and pull into the parking lot, please.” Not bothering to look at how much he grabbed, he handed over the bills as the driver came to a stop. “Thanks, have a good night.”

He got out of the cab and closed the door behind him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he walked across the parking lot and to the door. Opening them, the bell above his head rang and he stepped into the building. When he was a teenager, the diner was always busy around this time– filled to the brim with students, which it was now…but none of them were his classmates.

He looked around and saw that the booth was empty. It was rough, getting his feet to move in that direction, but he did it anyway and soon enough he was standing right beside it. He stared at the glossed table, running his fingers over the cold surface before sitting down with his back to the door. He didn’t know why he was here and the anxiety was brewing within him as his legs bounced beneath the table and his fingers tapped in an untimely rhythm on the table as a memory flashed through his mind.

God, why was he here?

The bell above the door rang again and when he looked back, it was you. Before now, you’d always arrived at the diner at the same time– like you guys were synced somehow. But lately, one is always a little early or a little late– never on time. That was the first thing he’d noticed, but you’d noticed a lot more. Maybe it was the fact that you had always been more attentive when it came to noticing the small things– like how when he’d hold your hand he’d always rub his thumb against yours. How he no longer would come up from behind you and hug you and rest his head on top of yours before making a joke about how he was taller than you. The way he seemed tuned in to whatever you were saying, but the interest wasn’t there anymore.

And it’s not like he was the only guilty one. You hated to admit it, but there were times when you’d stare at your ceiling late at night in bed and make a pros and cons list of your relationship. Most of the time, the pros heavily outweighed the cons– but after that first year of juniors…it seemed as if the opposite side was starting to grow. You didn’t want to blame it on hockey, because that wasn’t the issue. Hell, you couldn’t pinpoint the issue even if it was blown up and glowing like a Vegas sign. But you wanted a reason; you needed for there to be a reason why things just didn’t feel the same.

Almost 3 years and now things started to feel different and you couldn’t help but wonder…have they always been different and you guys were too wrapped up in each other to notice?

When you sat down across from him, the shake you normally shared was already sitting in the middle– two straws probably put there by Mrs. O’Donnell no doubt. The summer was coming to an end, so the diner was busy with teens fresh off the water and chowing down on burgers and fries around you guys– but when Josh looked at you, it was as if you were the only two in the room. You tried to read his face, was it sad? Angry? What the hell was going on in that thick skull of his? Why did he call you here when you normally come to the diner together on Friday’s…which was tomorrow. You’d always been able to read him, you have since you were kids. But right now…there was nothing. When had that changed?

“Y/N…” Josh said, his voice a little low as he tapped his fingers on the table. He’d been going over in his head just how he was going to break the news to you. That he was going to stay with the Knights for the next two seasons. There was the subtle approach, the hinting around approach, but he couldn’t make up his mind.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, seeing the conflict hiding behind his eyes. It only made your heart race and your mind wonder if the one thing you’d wanted to avoid, was getting ready to happen. “Are you–“

“I’m staying in London with the Knights!” He just blurted it out and the moment the final word left his lips, he just stared at you in shock. The direct way…was not the way he wanted to go about it.

You let out a breath that you weren’t even aware you’d been holding. “Okay?”

Josh sat back, visibly in shock as his eyebrows furrows. “Okay? That’s it?”

“Well yeah…what else am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, maybe more than just Okay. I mean, you were suggesting I move over and play for Mississauga Steelheads….”

Now it was your time to be shocked, not only at how the tone in his voice had gone from shock to accusatory but the way he was forming the situation. “I suggested that because you said you were unsure about whether or not you were going to stay with London.”

“I never doubted that.”

“Oh my God, yes you did! You called me every night and complained about playing time or how you got moved down a line and the coach was switching you up constantly!” You caught yourself before your voice could get a little higher. “You were the one who talked about leaving the team first, not me.”

Josh could feel himself begin to get frustrated because he knew it was true. He knew that he’d called multiple times throughout the seasons to vent his frustrations with how it was going. But that was it– it was just pillow talk from far away, thinking that his girlfriend could be the person he could vent to with no judgments. But now here it was, biting him in the ass as you sat across from him. “Was it really just a suggestion?”

“What?”

“Why Mississauga? Why not Niagara? Ottawa? Hell, even fucking Plymouth? Why Mississauga when they’re at the bottom of the standings?”

You let yourself fall back into your booth in disbelief because you knew what he was insinuating. “I can’t believe you’d even…”

“Tell me, Y/N because I’m dying to know,” Now he was letting his anger take control and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop it. The only people, who were able to control it, were you and his mom– and right now, you were the target. ”I know why you didn’t apply to UBC.”

He leaned his arms on the table. “It’s all connecting, Y/N– it’s all starting to make sense. You didn’t apply because you’re scared. You’re scared to go off to Vancouver without a safety blanket and that’s not me– I’m not your safety blanket. I’m not something you can keep wrapped around your arm.” The more he spoke, the sharper his tone became and he couldn’t do anything to stop it even as he could see the emotion all over your face. “That’s why you told me Mississauga! Because…because you want me here, with you isn’t it? You want me playing on the shittiest team in the Central division so you won’t be scared. So you can have me on your arm and say you’re dating a hockey player.”

You could feel the tears build in your eyes as his words kept digging beneath your skin. “That’s not true and you don’t mean these things, you’re just angry and–“

“STOP!” His voice silenced the couple behind you and you wanted to sink into the booth at the unwanted attention. “Stop putting things in my head and don’t lie, because it’s true. You’re so scared that you’re willing to drag my career down by telling me that Mississauga would make me happier but it won’t! It won’t make me better, it won’t get me to the NHL and it won’t make me happy!”

You couldn’t even begin to process what he had just said because your mind was only focused on one thing– ‘you’re willing to drag my career down.’ At this point, there was no stopping the tears from falling down your flushed cheeks as you looked at him. “How fucking dare you say that I’m dragging your career down.”

He pushed himself away from the table, his eyes wide as if he had just understood what he said himself. “I–“

“No, don’t talk,” You closed your eyes and took a shaky breath to try and compose yourself. “You don’t get to accuse me of trying to sabotage your career when all I wanted for you, was to see you follow your dream and make it to the NHL. For the last year, I’ve put you and your dreams ahead of my own. Because I l-love you and I want you to succeed.”

You don’t know how you were able to do it, but you stood yourself up from the booth and managed to stand up, refusing to let him see how shaky your legs were. “I don’t care about dating a hockey player because newsflash Josh, we live in fucking Canada and they’re everywhere!” You went to walk away, but you reached up and held onto the necklace he had given you for Christmas. It was a gold locket with pictures of the both of you and sharing the chain with it, was a gold charm of his jersey number.

You brushed your hair to the side and undid the necklace, not bothering to clasp it back again as you dropped it on the table in front of him. He looked up at you for the first time since you moved out of the booth– not even the slightest look of regret on his face. “I didn’t apply to UBC, because I got accepted into Fanshawe.”

A look of recognition flashed across his face and it only made your heart hurt more. You put aside your dream school to be near him in London– news that you were planning on surprising him with today since the acceptance letter was resting in your purse. But instead, he accused you of holding him back. “Y/N I–“

You let your face go stone cold, ignoring the aching feeling in your chest as you stared into his blue eyes. “Have a nice life, Josh.”

You walked away from the booth, having trouble holding back any further tears from falling and focusing on walking straight without wanting to collapse from ache on the floor. As soon as the bell rang above the door and the summer breeze hit your face, the façade you’d maintained, crumbled down as the breeze carried your sobs away.

The clink of a glass plopping down in front of him tore Josh away from the depths of his memory. He kept his head down but looked up through his eyelashes to see a milkshake as a body slid in the other side of the booth. When he looked up, his jaw dropped.

“Let’s try this again, yeah?” You plopped the two straws into the milkshake and crumbled the wrappers, tossing them onto the counter. “Hi, Josh.”

[zenithzephyrs]

storytime

I hope writing this will be therapeutic. Rambling may help against this occassional stifling feeling. It may be a satisfying outlet. Sometimes I wish people connected knew or cared to know my side, but over the years I have been too afraid of the embarassment from attracting attention to the matter. It is a taboo topic after all. Well, for years I have tried not to acknowledge that I am a victim of abuse. Not the physical kind but certainly mental and emotional. Everyone goes through bad relationships and breakups, that's how I rationalized what I went through. The fact it still has an impact even three plus years after it ended signifies that it is important. I shouldn’t undermine myself. This is the first time I’m writing about this relationship. I am aware as the teller that bias is inevitable. However I believe in the importance of presenting the situation as honestly as I can. Perceived bias would only serve to invalidate. I implore you evaluate any biases you may carry as well entering this story.

It all began in sophomore year of undergraduate. At the time almost everyone in my friend group was taking dreadful organic chemistry. As was necessary, we all spent a lot of time with each other in class, study groups, and office hours, so expectedly we grew closer. I didn’t know her well initially but I became attracted to a girl in the friend group. Certainly her looks played a part but I also liked the polished manner she conducted herself with. She always kept herself somewhat distanced in the group which made her mysterious and made me want to know her better. During the months of this crush, I worked to get closer and we did. I decided to tell her I liked her after having dinner with her. To which she rejected. With dissapointment I accepted her decision. Later that night we were all in the student center, studying. I was at a separate table and she asked to speak with me outside. I went and we talked more about “us” and I used this opportunity to make another case for myself. Finally she said “okay I’ll give it a try”. The visceral reaction I had still haunts me to this day. It was intense. It was my gut firing to me “this is wrong”. I wonder where it came from but I really wished I followed my gut that night. 

This relationship was over two years long so I’ll have to generalize. The relationship started off extremely rocky as she didn’t take me seriously in the beginning, need I remind you she was giving me a try. For another reason she was also a year older and expressed that because of her culture, having a man who is older was preferable. I felt more like a plaything and I was shamefully insecure. I didn’t believe she actually cared about me. Hearing about guys she actually had crushes on made me envious of what they received so easily. In particular I leaned there was a guy she liked who bore the same name as me and was also one year younger despite her insistence age was a factor with me. Moreover there were guys who liked her despite knowing she was in a relationship with me and one guy that was actually infatuated with her. Soon I learned he was even telling her “I love you” but she still texted, called, and met up with him while dating me those early months. I had entered the relationship wanting to respect her space. That was the first time I felt compelled to put my foot down and made her cut out that guy. Once the precedence was set, my insecurity lead to cut ties with any other guy who was perceivably a threat. There were others who were legitimately flirting with her. And others that in retrospect were not necessary to cut out. I am at fault for making her do that. Its unhealthy and it’s not something I would do now. It continued because it was mutual. From the beginning she made me cut out female friends unless she trusted them personally. Early on, neither of us believed in each other. About two months in I learned the only reason she agreed to date me that night was to get closer to the friends who were closest to me. She didn’t really care about me at first as I suspected, however now she was “about the relationship”. Learning I was being used obviously led my trust to suffer but I kept with it.

After years of reflecting, I know without a doubt what she wanted the most was control. I had to play servant or exactly whatever she wanted me to be regardless of how that made me feel. If I ever made changes to myself of my own volition, she would get angry. Her anger was expressed by treating me coldly and indifferently. This was highly effective as I really wanted the relationship to work and it hurt me. The changes I am talking about include things like if I get a new cologne without confiding with her. If I tried to lose weight. Once we were with a group of friends at a dance so I started dancing but she expressed disgust and shot me down; I never did that again. Whenever I deviated too much from her expectations, she’d take issue. Thus she was highly unsupportive and made sure my confidence was low enough so she could have her way. Low confidence has always been a problem of mine.

Medical school began in the first year of the relationship and rapidly I matured. I realized if I wanted to make this work in the long-term, I had to trust her. I was successful in actually no longer caring if her friends were male. I believed she had the sense that if she was leading a guy on she would do the right thing. Jealousy was always a problem in previous relationships so this was a huge accomplishment for me and I was proud of it. I thought, I’ll give her trust and the time for her to come around. Of course it was never applied to me. Despite acknowledging she had a jealousy issue that she “wanted to fix”, the difference is I actually worked and did it. It got to the point where I was scared to make any female friends that first year of medical school and guilt was trained into me. There was even a close long-time mutual friend who lost her mother that year, and did not have many friends besides me. I wanted to support her but my ex took issue with that. I even had to do a few meetings secretly because I believed I should be there. Ultimately my ex proposed it was either her or cut ties with that friend. This was the essence of why I wanted to become a doctor, to help people. I am ashamed I chose the latter. 

Here comes my stubborn hopefulness. If anything bias would work against me because throughout the relationship I always blamed myself. I believed her and valued her thoughts more than anyone elses. I believed she was too good for me as she made sure I was aware. Therefore every criticism I took to heart. For instance, early on she criticized my wardrobe so I began binge shopping, spending maybe even a thousand dollars to feel like I was good enough for her. Those early days of cutting out the guys that wanted to be with her, made me feel like cutting out my long-time female friends was justified. Of course it was certainly not. But I foolishly believed it would help her like me. I wanted her to focus on me. I did not want to feel insignificant next to her any longer. I wonder why she had to treat me with such disregard.

I’ve said alot but it was the fights that brought hell on earth. She admitted later, to the benefit of my closure, that she purposely picked frequent fights with me. It went like this. I would do something hardly worth anything more than a quick reprimand. For example, crack a slightly insensitive joke. Respond to a text not “loving” enough. Anything she could find as ammunition she would instantly target and drag it out. She’d get angry and criticize me until I began reacting negatively. I would be incredulous because for me the reasons were never nearly as important as not damaging the relationship with the fights. The moment I responded negatively, she would clam up and give me the cold treatment for hours or even days. Again I was so vulnerable to that old feeling of indifference. This move would infuriate me to no end. Repeated cycles of this would push me to my wits end, leading to explosive, never physical, but verbal fights to get a reaction out of her. Once she pushes me to that point, she’s set. She can use it against me to get off easy while I blame myself afterwards for exploding. Her truth is that she was never ever at fault, exemplifed by the single digit times she has ever apologized to me in a 2+ year relationship. Whether she actually believed she was faultless, I do not know. I’m not sure which one would be worse. Many of the comments made by me in those high anger states were derogatory and really mean. I am responsible for that and I hate what I was at that point in life. 

Despite this I worked in vain to keep the peace. These fights were happening multiple times every week, for over a year. Almost always provoked by her, with no exaggeration. The toll this takes on a person mentally is really hard to describe, and made me a colder person I had to recover from. I begged her every fight, “please stop getting angry over the little things”, “It is messing me up, let’s work to keep the peace in the relationship”. She’d verbally acknowledge my side, quickly follow always with the incessant word “but”, and state her case and demands. I need to emphasize that the very next week she’d again target some other small issue, expertly apply cold treatment until I exploded, apologize to her for both things, and begged her to stop picking fights. Repeat. For this reason I never started fights with her because my priority was keeping as much peace as there could be. Clearly it can be seen how this behavior enacts control. She knew exactly what would make me tick and she exercised this ability loosely and irrespective of how I was feeling as a medical student. Never would she adjust to me or care if I was happy. I was like a servant. I worked hard in medical school just to make time for her.

If she ever needed something more potent for control than picking fights with me, it would be breaking up with me. They’d always come unannounced if her stress peaked. Immediately she’d give up. I guess the relationship never meant anything to her in those moments. I, the dumb sucker, would fight to get her back. If she agreed it came with new terms and conditions. This happened 8 or 9 times in the relationship, always in this fashion. In retrospect I was far weaker than I am now and in addition to no control in this relationship, I barely had any over myself. My life was dominated worshipping this girl. My only request was to “please stop attacking me”. No one knew what was going on because a requirement of hers was to never talk about our problems with others, especially not those we mutually knew. I was alone in this. Of course I know why the abuse remaining hidden was so important to her. 

 I went on a medical trip end of first year of medical school with study abroad. I had lost a lot of friends by that point. There I found people who were so incredibly supportive and made me feel valued. It built my confidence back up. Listening to the opinions of these new friends gave me the realization that this situation would never get better. I reflected on how there were many times that she would get mad if I was cheerful and in a better mood than her. This is a glaring red flag as it means my happiness had no place in the relationship. On that trip, I was enjoying myself while she wasn’t so she threatened to break up with me. I asked her to forgive me. Two days later during a call, she picked another fight. I had it this time. With the support of my trip buddies, a rediscovery of who I was as a person, and a flight away from her, I, for the first time, truly stood up for myself and ended it. After that we didn’t talk for about 4-5 months. 

One of my biggest regrets is reconnecting with her. This moment is actually silly and depressingly absurd. I have a headphone that can make calls with a button. One day I accidentally pressed the wrong edge of a button and it activated FB messenger voice call, and for some unknown damn reason it was calling her. I hung up in quite literally a second hoping she didn’t get any notification. Soon after she texted me asking “you called’? That really unsettled me.  I thought she had moved on, why was she still so attentive to me? Isn’t a break-up what she wanted for so long? I waited a few weeks but gave in and reached out to her. I could have not done that. It was a mix of returning back to medical school, losing that social support, and being stressed and lonely. She was very much for meeting up again. During that meeting hopeful me was in full force. Hoping she learned her lesson we could give it another try. It was because in retrospect I did love her. The good times were nice, but the bad times were just so frequent it overshadowed anything positive. During that meeting she said she would do things differently. A quick damper came after we expressed a desire to restart that I found out she was hooking up with one of the male friends I trusted her to hang out with during first year of medical school. I never dug for any information. We had been broken up so it was fine. But it brought up negative thoughts about how she may have been taking advantage of my trust during the relationship since I never asked for details. Who knows. It’s fine to expect sexual activity when single, but it doesn’t have to mean trust can’t be damaged. She also didn’t want to cut ties with him if we started dating again. So at this point I sobered up and I said this wouldn’t work and decided we should not try to salvage this. Then for the first time, she chased me. 

She kept apologizing and trying to get me back. It may have been my well trained low ego, but that really touched me. I kept persistent but eventually her promises were so great, that finally I agreed, hopeful for a new start to a better relationship. Once that happened it was all over. The day it happened, she switched to “well I’m going to do all this for you, what are you going to do for me?” She went back to criticizing, and cold treatment in only a few days. She then broke up with me out of the blue and completely cut ties with me in under a week.

It was all over so fast, I was so angry and so confused. I soon realized this was revenge for breaking up with her, an act she had utilized on me so many times without a thought. Once she had control back, she made the move of ending things on her terms. I had learned during those months after I broke up with her, she felt depressed and couldn’t sleep. I do not believe it's because she cared about me but that I got the better of her. In the end, I don’t think she ever loved me as compared to the control and what she invested in the relationship. She had the completely random opportunity to end things with her the victor and she was successful. I hope you can sleep well with yourself now.

That is one aspect. What affects me more frequently nowadays is my sadness towards the lost friend group, the trust of other friends I’ve sacrificed, and the thought of friends I was prevented to ever make. After the breakup the friend group sided with her. One of the members is my ex's best friend so of course would support her no matter what the truth was. Even a year after the breakup, I knew this friend was still saying malicious comments about me to people I knew. My ex is lucky. I was a goner. The guy side deferred to the ladies running the group and essentially all let me go. This is despite the great irony that I knew she hated many of the current group members, at least while we were dating. Yet she is celebrated and I am excluded. It feels incredibly unfair to go through all this and have no one from the group even nod in the direction of my side. If they knew, would anything change? Or am I just a nuisance? They’re probably all fine without me so I should stay away. The point has been made as to why I would want to maintain friends like that anyways. Fair point. I do really care about connections with people, sometimes too much. Anyways, these thoughts are probably why for years I barely told my story. Well for my own sake, this is my story. 

PS. I am now in an amazing, healthy relationship with a girl who treats me the right way. She is so good to me that at first I was like, isn't this relationship going too smoothly? Being in a healthy relationship has really helped me reflect on the wrong delusions with the aforementioned. I now know I am capable and deserve to be in a loving relationship. She makes me happy and I am in a much better place. Hope would not exist without her. 

[nerdsideofthemedia]

Should the term “Mary Sue” be retired?

The original. 

I didn’t have any intention of posting my non-RWBY, non-MHA blog posts here, but here’s this one seems to be becoming important with the rise of the claims that Arya Stark is a Mary Sue. So here it goes:

In my walks through Dan Olson’s twitter, I came across this:

Which got me thinking: is the term “Mary Sue” completely pointless?

Before I wonder about this question, let’s take a quick journey through time. In the 70s, Paula Smith noticed a character pattern among the Star Trek fanfic and created a parody to point this out, “A Trekkies’s Tale”, whose protagonist was called Mary Sue. During the following years, the “Mary Sue” wasn’t necessarily considered as something bad, instead it was considered as a phase every writer will go through as it was intimately associated with self-inserts and was only applied to fan-fictions1;2.

In recent years, the term has left the fanfic and began being applied to original fiction too, losing its meaning along the way and gaining a pretty negative connotation. In fact, nowadays, “Mary Sue” is such an extremely subjective term that even TV Tropes admits:

“TV Tropes doesn’t get to set what the term means, the best we can do is capture the way it is used.” 1

Hell, I’ve even come across with this subjectivity, as once I called Orihime from Bleach a Mary Sue, on youtube, and one person defended my use of it by explaining she was liked by everyone, which wasn’t the reason I considered a Mary Sue to begin with and consider that justification to be pretty dumb.

Why is being liked by everyone not a good parameter?

Have you ever read/watched a shonen? Most of the good guys are on good terms. Even when there is some animosity between a main character and another one, it’s usually because of the other, like Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z, who dislikes Goku because he’s better than him, not because of anything egregious the latter did. In “My Hero Academia”, Bakugo hated Midoriya mostly because of pride and arrogance (they are now on good terms).  Yes, the Avengers may have not loved each other from the get-go, but, by the end of the film, they were ready to live happily ever after. And when the sequels even stop (they never will), they will end up being on good terms.

Another definition of what is a “Mary Sue” is it’s a character that is overpowered/great set of skills + tragic backstory, (sometimes even without the latter). So let’s take a look at:

Superman: an alien whose planet was destroyed, adopted by 2 humans, and has a set of skills that would make Goku turn… Well, he would probably just find it cool, but Vegeta’s head would explode for sure as he threw a temper tantrum. His powers include flying, super speed and strength (to the point of almost completely invulnerability), X-ray and heat vision.

Bruce Wayne: a poor (not literally) orphan who was raised by his butler and whose riches go beyond Taylor Swift’s wildest dreams, let alone poor (far more literal) little us. Thanks to it, he has access to technology that has little to no limitations, yet his money never ends.

Goku: an alien whose planet was destroyed, adopted by an old man who was killed by him in giant monkey-form. Not only he can fly, he is particularly powerful even for his people even though he’s a low-level specimen according to the planet’s hierarchic structure.

Ichigo: a guy who turns out to be part-Hollow, part-Shinigami, part-Vizard, part-who-the-hell-even-cares-anymore, even though some of them are pretty rare.

Harry Potter: an orphan raised by his aunt and her family, who all treat him badly, finds out he’s a wizard and finds out his parents have left him a mountain of gold (literally). Everyone either admires him or feels jealous as he is famous for “defeating” a particularly powerful wizard as a baby, without any damages besides a scar. He’s also part of a prophecy.

What about those self-inserts?

I guess we could still use the term as just a self-insert, but considering that most of the time we don’t know the writers, then we can only know their self-insertion if they tell us.

It also doesn’t justify its negative connotation. Writers are people, I presume, which means they have flaws. So why is a character based on oneself bad? Provided the writers are realistic and self-aware, those should be some of the most realistic characters. Now, I know there’s a trap in here, which is the tendency of favoring ourselves and make us just a bit (or a lot) more special than we actually are, but 1) this doesn’t necessarily happen to every self-insert; 2) that can happen whenever writers begin to favor a character for whatever reason, even if it wasn’t a self-insert, leading it to become more and more special or less flawed.

They’re the personification of perfection.

OK, except perfection seems to be kind of subjective, since what I like isn’t the same as everyone else’s. I mean I may like active characters and some may like passive characters. You may think perfection is pizza without pineapple, while I say “you are objectively wrong”.

Jokes asides, being different human beings, usually we end up writing “perfect” characters with our definition of it, which may not correspond to someone else’s.

For example, Bella Swan is called “Mary Sue” a lot for being perfect, but she’s deeply flawed. She’s co-dependent and suicidal. Edward Cullen is the one “Gary Stu” that actually stuck, yet he’s manipulative and a stalker. Yet, there is truth to the claim they are perfect, not to me, but to Stephanie Meyers as they are both idealizations to her, regardless of our opinions of them.

I suppose a character can be drop dead gorgeous, have all sorts of skills and being loved by everyone, but, eventually, he/she will make something that many will consider to be wrong. If that doesn’t happen, then there’s probability not a good conflict, which reveals that, maybe, the problem is in the story itself, not necessarily in the character.

Speaking of subjectivity in flaws and virtues…

“So why did you used to call Orihime a Mary Sue?”

Well, because I thought her flaws were inconsequential with Bleach begging me to sympathize with her for awful reasons and smart characters being really stupid, meaning causing unnecessary plot-hole or plot-contrivance for her. The few most glaring examples I recall (and I’ve read/watched Bleach at least half a century ago, so it’s possible there are a few lapses in my memory) being:

Her almost kissing Ichigo while he was unconscious. That scene is framed as if I am supposed to sympathize with her, instead of what it actually is: creepy as hell and also falls under almost sexual assault in many countries.

Her having an obsession for Ichigo to the point of only thanking him for coming for her in her mind, even though Rukia, Chad, Uryu and Renji were also there to save her. This again is framed as I’m supposed to empathize with her, instead of thinking she’s being narrow-minded and has an unhealthy obsession with Ichigo.

About others acting stupid: Uryu takes her to where Ichigo and Ulquiorra are fighting even though where they were before, Ichigo was losing cause he was holding back to avoid hurting her. Yes, the other place was bigger, but their powers were huge and Uryu taking Orihime should have been a stupid idea (and he’s supposed to be smart).

Not to mention, of course, she resurrects Ichigo by crying and yelling his name which was also major bullshit.

And yes, it’s time to talk about the gender-thing and to admit to my own prejudices despite being a woman, because Orihime isn’t the only character I know who has her flaws not being acknowledged or being perceived as good. Many male characters have all of those yet, I still don’t call them “Gary Stu” or any other male equivalent.

Sun Wukong from RWBY has pretty much all the same problems as Orihime: he stalks Blake for months yet faces no actual consequences. And his actions were framed in the show as “needed”, even though they weren’t since the entire Menagerie arc could be written without him with only minor changes. Creepy actions being framed as right and sympathetic – check.

He also abandons his team several times, which, again, was inconsequential (even if he confesses to being an awful leader in V6) and no way in hell a combat school would interrupt classes for an entire year. He’s completely oblivious of the Faunus struggle, though he’s a Faunus and goes to school in one of the most racist territories. And Blake goes from super paranoid to so relaxed she doesn’t even believe him when he says he saw a WF member wearing a mask for no apparent reason. If I had to guess it’s because if she kept being super paranoid, it would stand to reason she would be the one noticing Ilia spying all by herself, rendering him almost useless and without interrupting her talk to Ghira, which would have made Sun completely pointless. At some point, Orihime became all about Ichigo, Sun was always all about Blake (until V6).

Like I said, I have criticized Sun for being badly written, unnecessary and the contrivances his presence demanded, but I have never ever called a “Gary Stu”. Looking back, I think it’s a combination of a few reason:

I know “Mary Sue” is a term too subjective to be used without an explanation afterwards;

We just don’t tend to hold the same standards for male characters;

Even when we use them for male characters, it almost never sticks.

And I know I’m not the only one doing this.

Once, I came across an article that accused several characters of being a “Mary Sue”, including Orihime, but because she’s too perfect (are you sure about that?) and Sailor Moon, yet claimed Goku wasn’t one.  It’s particularly funny, because Sailor Moon is written to be more flawed than Goku (even if I much higher tolerance for Dragon Ball and DBZ to Sailor Moon).

Goku is an absent father and husband, yet his family never really holds that against him. His wife may complain about it a few times during the anime, but there’s no real strife between them and Gohan never holds it against him either. He gives Cell a senzu bean so that he and Gohan can have a fair fight, even though the entire world is at stake. It still is mostly inconsequential, until Gohan’s arrogance gets in the way.

Meanwhile, Sailor Moon is stupid, coward and petty many times, and it’s clear the writers knew it because they acknowledge those flaws within the show. She is mocked because of them, and her lack of resilience even leads to the death of one of the Sailors in a season finale, if I remember correctly (admittedly, I watched it 5 centuries ago, so I might be wrong). Yes, I know they come back from the death.

This is not an argument that Goku should be called a “Mary Sue/Gary Stu”, rather that the term is heavily gendered. It’s much more applied to female characters and even when used for a male one, it almost never sticks. Even in the example I gave, Edward Cullen, which was successfully labeled as “Gary Stu”, still feels like it was gendered-motivated. Not because of his own, obviously, but for the target audience’s: the majority girls and women. So there we notice another double-standard: the sex of the target audience also affects the claims to “Sueness”.

Ultimately, I have to agree with Dan, with the term “Mary Sue” being too subjective to actually have any validity and is deeply rooted in sexism. Explaining why a character doesn’t work for us  and why we think they’re badly written is far more productive. Let’s keep in mind, we aren’t supposed to like every character writers make, even the ones who are meant to be likable and relatable.

Note: Yes, I watched Overly Sarcastic Productions’ video on the subject. While I like Red’s take, I’d say almost no character in original fiction fits the mold. That in itself wouldn’t be the problem, but the fact that it will remain extremely subjective, I still find the term to be counter-productive, heavily gendered and it needs to die.

1 – https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MarySue

2 – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Sue

[unimpressedperson]

Sunflowers

(Found this picture on Twitter and it’s so gorgeous)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of drugs

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x @ohmydearmoonchild , Kim Taehyung x Reader

Word Counting: 3.4k

Synopsis: After celebrating their second anniversary, Taehyung decided to prove how grateful he felt for Diyaa’s help on his recover from drug addiction and profound hopelessness towards life.

A/N: Hey I’m here and the oneshot is finally finished! Thank you for inspiring me to write it down, ‘cuz it felt amazing to put into words a few feelings and I really hope you enjoy it, baby :) Wish I could play any instruments, so the “song” Taehyung wrote for Diyaa during the story would come true, but for now it’s just a short poem. Sorry :/ 

P: S The Mark mentioned during the story isn’t Mark Tuan from GOT7, it’s a made up character and you can imagine him like you want, and think would possibly attract Yoongi.

- x - x - x - x -

Diyaa felt the rays of sunlight warming her face, every detail bathing under the waves of heat, bearable and delicious, caressing her skin like kisses. Still with closed eyes, she grope the bedsheets, looking for some human contact, specifically with Taehyung. Fingers trailing the silk fabric, blindly and allowing only touch guide her senses, finding its path and reaching for his long digits.

Laying on her back, covered with a navy-blue blanket and still listening to every single words said emotionally the afternoon before. Diyaa was stuck to them, all she could think about. Passionately contemplating how long it would last. The feelings, the touches, the promises. Hopefully forever.

Slowly and lazily opening her eyes, Diyaa took her time to get used to the bright morning lights. Still sleepy and intertwining pinkies with Taehyung, she stared at him, sleeping on his stomach peacefully by her side, while Diyaa couldn't help but watch passionately his exposed back going slightly up and down, calmly inhaling and exhaling.

Everything about Kim Taehyung seemed ethereal, way too perfect to be considered human. From his soft dark brown hair, to his breathing movements while sleeping. Diyaa always pointed out how lucky she felt for having him, looking up to encounter a flustered Tae with rosy cheeks and a timid smirk.

— I'm the lucky one in this relationship, sweetcheeks. - Tae always said, caressing her face dutifully with one hand, while the other one found its way to Diyaa's, intertwining pinkies.

The connection between them was strong, deep, soulmates. Her peaceful personality mixed with how chaotic he was. Yin and Yang. Balancing each other. Diyaa never felt something so profound or good, same for Taehyung, who was used to fake relationships, friendships, partnerships, a plastic world which he was tired of, willing to give up in exchange of some truthfull love and caring. Luckily, the man found honesty without leaving behind everything he battled for.

Taehyung was desperate and lonely, surrounded by bodies, but lacking souls. Filling the void with alcohol and overwork, sometimes mixing both of them and dragging Namjoon back to his old habits: late night studio sessions, hosed by cold vodka and lime slices. Some masterpieces were resulted, but no one involved felt happy.

At some point, getting drunk got trite and Tae bought stronger drugs, such as cocaine. With a thin package of powder disguised as salt on his wallet, Taehyung was feeling the pity results of a night spent on studio with Namjoon and Yoongi (who almost caught him taking a sniff). Under the hangover effects, he questioned his life choices, thinking about what would Hyung possibly do after getting him red handed. Everyone close to Suga knew he had problems with coke, only sobering up after his boyfriend, Mark, found him in a puddle of vomit, almost overdosing. Even drinking a few shots from time to time, Yoongi hated the idea of seeing someone he cared about going down the same alley.

The brown-haired man decided to get some coffee and buy new books, tired of reading the ones he had at home. At the bookstore, Taehyung grabbed a random work from Dan Brown and got in line for paying. Still hiding behind his sunglasses, he looked up and saw possibly the prettiest girl alive, dressed in a black mid-lenght sleeved shirt and a yellow apron. He felt his heart skip a beat noticing that on Diyaa's (as written on her tag) wrist was painted a sunflower, Van Gogh style.

— Fuck. I'm going to buy books here more often. - Taehyung spoke out loud, meaning to only say it to himself. The girl in front of him blushed and smirked.

He obsessed over Diyaa for over three weeks, before actually finding courage enough to ask her out. The day he finally did it, Namjoon was there to pick up his copy of "It" and a few magazines to leave on the dorm's bathrooms, also guaranteeing Taehyung wouldn't chicken out on the last minute.

Diyaa acknowledged who he was and would recognize his godlike face from kilometers afar, but never considered the idea of meeting him in person, nevermind attracting him and being asked out. At first, the girl thought everything was just a dream and even pinched her own thigh to make sure, feeling a sting and realizing that it was actually happening and Kim Namjoon was also there, holding a bunch of random magazines (literally, one of them was about motorcycle gears and raising cows).

Their first date was on a coffee shop, Diyaa didn't mention she only drank iced-coffee and Tae paid for two expressos, and a few almond cookies he claimed to taste like heaven on a plate. In fact, the biscuits were amazing. While leaving the place, after spending three hours laughing and chatting, the girl confessed that she hated coffee and a very guilty Taehyung bought her frozen yogurt with a no number of toppings. Staring at her cheeks full of brownies and strawberries, the man felt his heart melt a little.

Two years later, plenty of fights over Taehyung's addictions and bad habits, now Diyaa was helping him remain clean and sober, sometimes loosening up so he could drink wine on Christmas special to VLive, nothing stronger than champagne was their deal.

Mark and Yoongi also helped with Tae, since they went through something similar at the beginning of their relationship. Suga felt overwhelmed when Diyaa and Taehyung told what was happening, and getting his handsome and talented friend back on track became a teamwork. After coming out with his addiction, Tae became the fulltime maknae, being watched closely by even Jungkook, who was with him after relapsing for the first time and helped out when detoxing started all over again.

Now fully awake, Diyaa rolled on the bed to place her chin against Tae’s shoulder blade, hearing a growl coming down from his throat, still asleep, the man moved slightly and speaking in a low, raspy voice asking her to lift up the face so he could turn around and lay on his back.

He was still asleep, swollen eyes and mouth, not quite ready to stand up and face another toil afternoon and late night practice, wishing to stay right where they were, enjoying Diyaa’s second day off and just making out, or watching a movie, without giving more than 500 steps during the next 24 hours. Where there's a will, there's no way, so before the couple could possibly think of pretending to be sick, Hoseok knocked on the door, crooning on a rather pitch voice.

— Wake up lovey doves. I mean, Taehyung, Didi can keep on sleeping, she is off while he has a whole day of workiiiing. - After finishing the lyrics and high-note, the song continued with a whistling that wouldn’t quit before Tae opened the door and saw a fully dressed Jung Hoseok, with his uglyass Balenciaga shoes, skinny jeans and white t-shirt.

— You’re annoying and I’m going to toss your shoes right in the middle of the nearest river. - Tae said and closed the door, going back to bed, holding Diyaa on a tight hug, leaving smooches all over her face. - I know you hate my morning bad-breathe, but I love you. Good morning sweetcheeks.

— Go brush your teeth, you pig! - Diyaa joked, while caressing his chest and allowed herself to feel his soft, swollen and moisturized lips cover her face in light kisses. Yeah, she hated his morning bad-breathe, but also adored Tae. - I love you too, honeybuns.

— Come on baby, honeybuns? Why horse names? I swear that if at some point you end up calling me Buttercup or Chestnut, I’m going call a quit to this relationship. - Tae said staring her deadly serious, but leaving a perverse grin take over his gorgeous features.

They stayed there, kissing and discussing better nicknames, when Jungkook opened the door without any warning, staring at Taehyung and saying, before looking back to his cellphone, where he got into a very critic situation on the Battle Royale match.

— Morning hyung. Morning Diyaa. Jin said that if you don’t stand up and get ready, we are leaving without you. - He looked up from his cellphone screen and continued. - He also said that if you don’t get ready in 20 minutes, he’ll be taking the breakfast with him as well.

Taehyung growled again and stood on his feet, shooshing away Jungkook and breathing heavily. Diyaa was still laying comfortably on the bed, holding his pillow and glancing at him lazily.

— Ok sugartits, duty calls. You can stay at the dorms and sleep, or go to your own place and sleep. You decide where you want to crash. You know the rules, Yoongi’s room is a forbidden area. Don’t light any black light around, unless you want to see a Pollock painting.

— I'm going home. It's been days since I saw Gale for the last time, I don't even know if she fed Nemo right. - Diyaa commented while sitting up and sliding off the bed.

Walking in the bathroom direction, Tae glanced over to his girlfriend again, feeling immensely lucky, not regretting a single word said the afternoon before when they celebrated their 2 years anniversary. He loved and worshipped her, beside all the gratitude felt for helping with every addiction, also representing to perfection her task as muse for composing and work in general. Painting, singing, writing, thinking, there was nothing unrelated to Diyaa's appearance and personality.

- x -

Late night composing. Taehyung couldn't even remember the last time it happened. Everyone always felt like reliving old situations related to "dark times" would end up in relapsing again, so Namjoon and Suga changed passwords from every studio inside the BigHit building, only allowing Tae to get access whenever another member was around.

Honestly, thanks to Jimin and his fingers full of Doritos powder, Taehyung found out the new codes two weeks after changed, but writing alone was boring so he never felt the urge to use them.

Differently from any other day, Taehyung had everything related to a new song stuck to his brain, from melody to lyrics. After convincing Suga to stay til late on the Genius Lab, he began working hard and passionately. Whenever he lacked words, only staring at Diyaa's smile on his lockscreen helped.

Yoongi was tired of practicing, but didn't had the balls to say no to a deeply inspired Kim Taehyung and called Mark, calling off their plans of having dinner, but politely inviting him over, not really meaning it, he also wanted to finish one song to his new upcoming mixtape. And let's face it, focusing on something other than his shiny eyes and plump lips was very difficult. Per se impossible.

Better than anyone else, Yoongi knew how personal a composition could get, so he just left Taehyung working without interruption, a constant flow of words and melodies emitting from his mouth and guitar.

Considering how long it would take for him to finish the primary details, Suga decided to order dinner, turkey sandwiches and orange juice. Vitamin C was important, bro. Presumably, based on how focused Tae was, he also texted Diyaa guaranteeing everything was alright and if her boyfriend didn't answer any messages it wasn't on purpose.

Nothing else existed around, only the notebook where he was sketching lyrics and the guitar. Distractions showed up now and then, but Taehyung wouldn't even notice, every word and feeling flew from his mind to the paper easily and smoothly.

"Skin smooth like whipped cream

Breathe appealing and reminding me of cold blue breeze

Oh, I feel your silk voice at afternoon

At night, get comfy on your touch soft as wool

I melt in your pastel pink lips

And sand yellowish sweater covering down your hips."

Said the first verse. When Taehyung decided to write a song completely about Diyaa, nothing sounded appealing or good enough. He wanted it to pat ears with a sweet melody, sounding as beautifully as her voice. Randomly, during a conversation with Namjoon, the hyung mentioned a condition called 'synesthesia' where some of the senses just mingled, making the person listen to colours or taste smells. After searching a little better, Tae found a way of describing his love and worship for Diyaa.

While putting together some ideas, Tae remembered how he couldn't tell apart her fruity smell perfume from the mint fresh breath, whenever they were kissing it felt like a froot salad on his taste buds. Or how soft her skin was, so whenever Diyaa used clothes made of light fabrics, everything seemed so unearthly, as if she could fly and astound humanity to a point everyone would worship her as a goddess. In contrast, wool made Diyaa looks so soft and cuddly.

He wished to highlight how everything improved after meeting her. No longer than 3 months together and Diyaa became his sun, warming and keeping him healthy. Now she represented life, heat and a meaning to keep on living. Diyaa was his daily dose of strength,

"You're my reason to live, breathe and never surrender to any adversity

You are my sun and I'm a sunflower

Your warm hugs created a bond based on tender

Even at night, eyes can't see but heart always feel

I'll chase you, round and round I'll follow you for real

You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed

I would cross the world to see you dusk and dawn. "

At some point, writing became so personal and emotional that Taehyung unconsciously felt tears roll down his face. Luckily, Yoongi was entertained producing a track with headphones on and didn't pay attention to whatever happened around.

The previous afternoon, celebrating their second anniversary with a picnic on the rooftop, Tae began talking nonstop flooding Diyaa's ears and mind with sweet and sincere words, possibly the deepest ones she ever heard from him in so long.

Everything started while looking for shape on clouds, laying peacefully at the rooftop.

— It's just vapor and air, but still manages to keep up in there, looking fluff. Physics is a badass bitch. - Taehyung said laying on his back, while staring at the skies, legs crossed and one hand pointing to the impressively big and dense cloud which amazed him, while the other one was being used as a pillow for his head.

— Yeah. It's so crazy to think that atmosphere is holding a bunch of condensed water right above our heads, and us down here. If something happened and the air got slightly different, we would probably float like clouds or get killed by the gravity, making us suffocate or get smashed by how heavy we would get. - Diyaa said also staring at the skies, but with a grin on her face.

Taehyung turned his head to face the girl, with eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He loved how Diyaa saw things, always finding a wire to connect subjects and turn the assumption into a whole another topic. The brown-haired man would never get tired of their long conversations, pillow talks or just random talks, there was never space to be bored.

— How did you just came up with that, though? We were looking for shapes on clouds and suddenly you are suffocating us in your mind. Girl, your brain is so fascinating. - Tae said smiling, still looking at Diyaa's soft expression and round cheeks, sparkling a light on her dorky grin.

— And that's a compliment I've never heard before. Not even coming from you. - She said turning to stare at his dark eyes, finding a Taehyung smirking passionately, glaring at her. - You always point out how soft my hair feels, or how my taste for movies is possibly the most random, just because we went from watching Saw and began a rom-com marathon with The Kissing Booth.

Tae's hand slid from his lap and found its way to intertwine with Diyaa, caressing the back of her hand with the thumb.

— I love finding new details to compliment about you. Luckily, you are so interesting, it would be impossible to run out of traits and sweet words. - He said and got back into staring at the skies.

They could stay silent for long periods of time without feeling uncomfortable. After so many ups and downs, fights and make ups, the lack of words would never bother them. Only sensing and acknowledging each other’s presence, with light touches or cuddles, was always enough. 

Taehyung glanced over to Diyaa again, watching her skin being caressed by the daylight, he felt a knot tight on his throat and an incompatible need to speak, expressing how much he loved her.

— Sweetcheeks, I love you. - Diyaa looked at him about to say something, but his pointer finger laid on her lips and a waterfall of words flew from his mouth, untying the knot on his throat and making salty tears roll down. - I love you way more than I love anything else in this goddamn world. You met me in a complicate moment, back in then I was a dirtybag full of shit and instead of leaving me and prayed for the best, you stuck around and helped to rise up again. I was so afraid of you getting tired of my hectic life and watch you leaving me for someone more similar. This idea still frights me up. I’m so grateful and I don’t think it’s possible to reward you. You deserve the world and now I remember listening to Yoongi praising Mark for all the assistance on his addictions, and how he claimed that love saved him. Back in then, constantly high and drunk, I mocked him, but look at me now. Full cheeks, sober for over a year, attending to the reunions, in a healthy relationship, living my best life so far. You even made me ditch fake friends and value the ones I have here.

“I don’t think there are words pretty enough to describe you, that’s why nothing I compose is totally about you and I want to change it. Put in a song why I love you and spread around like seeds. You are my sun and I’m a sunflower full of pollen and it’s possibly the worst metaphor ever. Sorry sweetcheeks.” - Tae continued, finger still on Diyaa’s lips, but now she didn’t knew what to say, only feeling the urge to kiss him, while sobbing on his chest, never truly understanding how deep was their love. - “I want to describe you in melodical words. Tell the world how your voice makes fireworks pop inside my brain, leaving a trail of colours around. Everything. You deserve the greatest masterpiece and I’m afraid I won’t be able to accomplish it.”

A whole new cascade of words were said and attached to them a promise: as long as they were alive, they would always keep their fire burning and love growing. Cultivating a life together like flowers, specifically sunflowers, just like the ones Diyaa had tattooed on her wrist and Taehyung intended to paint on his own skin at some point.

 - x -

Yoongi finished editing his track and left the headphones slide down to his neck while saving the archive on a file named “Mixtape 2″. He turned around on his chair and saw a sobbing Taehyung, trying his best to not smudge the lyrics written down. At first the hyung didn’t react, trying to remember what to do in such situations and a few seconds later getting in ‘parent mode’, walking carefully to check on the crying kid.

— What happened Tae? Is everything alright? - Yoongi didn’t touch Taehyung, but made sure he noticed the body getting closer.

— Of course, I’m just so happy hyung! I think I did it! I wrote something worth of being related to Diyaa! - Heavy, but happy, tears went down his face, trembling hands raising the notebook and handing it to Yoongi.

Holding the notebook and sitting down again, Yoongi read the lyrics carefully, paying attention to how personal every verse was. If love could possibly be materialized and described, the words completing that song would make its part. A feeling of tenderness took over Min Yoongi’s heart and the urge to cry got unbearable. He was proud and sentimental.

“I used to be blue and dancing between shades of grey

Your yellow love took over me turning me green

I was growing again, adulting up again

You gave me hope, when all I wanted was to quit

You held me up, now I’m alive and everyday a little more keen

After so many days together, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been

I’m so thankful, sweetcheeks.”

- x -

Inspired by: @ohmydearmoonchild thank you for being a ray of light and honesty among so many toxic people. I purple you.

[tracklist-fic]

Tracklist Fic | 001 / The Beginning

Title: Tracklist | An original, mature, Ed Sheeran fanfic CO-AUTHORED BY: @tea-and-toblerones and @sippin-on-red-wine Rating: Mature (lil bit of smuts only in this one)

Note: Hey everyone!!! Sorry for the delay. We’re so excited to publish our first official Track. Please let us know what you think! We love seeing those likes/reblogs/comments/inboxes -- writing is wonderful but it’s even more special when we know it’s well-loved!

Have you read the Prelude? Click here to catch up!

Ed........................

I sat in The MixRoom’s lounge, waiting for Mark's staff meeting to let out so we could begin talks about my next album. My leg was bouncing almost uncontrollably as I chewed on the tips of my fingers, a nervous habit I'd developed as a child and never been able to shake off.

I liked Mark, he was a good chap. Laid back, good sense of humor, nothing ever seemed to phase him. He's someone who had earned my respect and someone who's advice I always took into consideration. He also pulled no punches. If something was shit, he'd be quick to tell you. He wouldn't try and sugar coat it. He'd just look me in the eye and go 'Ed, your vocals on that take sounded like shit. Take a break and give them a rest, they're sounding a little stressed.'  If he criticized, he always had some advice to make it better the next go around. I quickly learned to listen to him, rather than arguing.

The door had cracked open, ushering in the sound of idle chatter, papers rustling and people moving about. I could hear his voice floating in.

"Go get the booth ready for a session later on today. Oh and put some of those butterscotch candies in there too. They requested it, saying it helped with their throat." The door swung the rest of the way open and Mark came out, a huge smile on his face, "Ed! It's been a while. I was wondering when you was going to stop in."

The first time I met Mark I damn near shit my pants. The guy was a giant, tall, built like a tank. His blonde hair was always kept buzzed short. He could be intimidating if he didn't have such a good natured face that was almost always smiling. He did have the air of someone who's bad side you didn't want to be on. He reached his hand out, which I graciously took, returning the grin.

"I meant to have been back in the studio a couple months ago but shit man, I just really enjoyed my time off."

"All that time off spent vacationing and you're still a pale bastard." He joked

"I'm a ginger. We don't tan, we burn, mate and I'm English on top of it. Our bodies aren't equipped to handle the sun. That's why all the vampires flock to London, innit?"

"Thought that was werewolves."

I pause, giving it some thought, faintly hearing ah ooooo werewolves of London in the back of my head. "Shit, you're right."

Mark motioned for me to follow him to his office so we could discuss business. I settle down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. His walls were covered in albums that had went gold and platinum. I smiled when I saw my own album, mostly cos I signed it ‘This wouldn't be worth a shit if you weren't such a cheeky bastard.’ He settled down in his desk chair, shuffling papers and some cd's around. Once he had cleared an area, his elbows came up on the desk, his fingers carding together. Down to business.

"I'd like to run something by you, if you don't mind."

I lean back in the chair, my hand coming up to my chin. "Alright."

"Since you've been gone I've been training an apprentice." He must be wanting to ask if I would care if they sat in on our sessions. "Now, they've handled some pretty big clients with little to no intervening on my part. I think they're ready to make the plunge and deal with a client all by themselves. While they've never been with someone quite your level, you're the ideal client for them to start with. You're not demanding or overwhelming. Plus you're involved with every step of the process and are vocal about your vision and how you imagine the final product sounding, without being a prick about it."

I run my hand over my chin as I mull over what he's proposing. I trust Mark's judgement but having an apprentice who's never done something of this magnitude overseeing this album is a bit terrifying. Especially since what I have in mind is so unconventional.

"I dunno man, I don't know how I feel about being a guinea pig. I've got some ideas that are what you'd consider outside the box that I'd feel more comfortable with someone with experience handling."

His expression didn't change much. His hands were moving across his desk, searching for something. "If I didn't think they could hack it, I wouldn't have them around. I definitely wouldn't be suggesting to try them out." He slid a cd over to me that was labeled 'J's demo's'  "Give it a listen and tell me what you think. If you're still not comfortable, I'll take charge. But I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by what you hear."

I take the cd, setting it on my lap as we continued talking, mostly just catching up and me telling him all the places I visited on my holiday and how I was going to incorporate all these experiences in my songs. I could tell by Mark's face that some of them were going to end up on the recording room floor but kept his opinions to himself. Probably because he's banking on me choosing his apprentice.

I stand up, shaking his hand one last time, setting an appointment for tomorrow at 11 to start going over ideas. I look down at the cd, planning on putting it on in the car as I drive around town.

"Hey, can you recommend any good bars? I'd like to grab a pint or two later on tonight and keep under the radar."

"Yeah, go to the Copperstill. It's a nice, low key bar. I doubt you'll find any problems there."

"Thanks mate, I'll see you tomorrow morning then."

I put the cd into the car stereo as I drive around doing some errands. I hit play and the car is filled with a quick upbeat song with a underlying percussive beat that I instantly started bobbing my head to. This was one that urged you to get up and dance. It wasn't in your face trance music, it was subtler, one who's beat you'd be humming or tapping later on. The next one had a bright sounding piano paired with an acoustic guitar. When I heard the trumpet during the chorus it caught me by surprise. This had more of an acoustic feel that I found refreshing.

By the time I had finished the cd, I had made my mind up. There had been a mix of everything on this list. Quick dance tunes, Slow and smooth ones that made you sway to the beat. An angry sounding one that made me want to jump and scream. Mark was right, I was pleasantly surprised.

I had pulled up to the bar that he had recommended. I caught myself humming to the beat of one of the more upbeat songs. Figured as much, It'll be stuck in my head the rest of the night.

The first thing I notice when I walk in is the large group of guys gathered at a table being obnoxiously loud. I automatically spot out the leader of the group. Tall, athletic looking, sporting a backwards snapback. As he was shotgunning a beer, his mates chanting Newman! Newman! Newman, I noticed some sort of tattoo running up his arm.

I try and make my way past them, one stumbling out in front of me, almost falling into me. He hits my chest with an open hand in what I guess he thought was an apologetic sort of way.

"Sorry bro."

I just nod, not wanting to get pulled into a drunken spectacle. The bartender sauntered over to me, throwing an irritated look toward the rowdy group. Her eyes rolling before she turned her attention to me.

"Sorry about the douche convention being held tonight. What can I get for you?"

"Whatever's good on tap. I'm not too picky."

She nods, snagging a glass on her way to the tap, her blonde ponytail swaying. The light catching it, causing it to look like spun gold. As she filled my glass I could see her staring at the group of guys, who had somehow managed to get even louder, with a look of disgust. She slid a coaster in front of me before putting down the glass. I thanked her which she acknowledged with a nod before checking on the other patrons at the end of the bar.

As I sat there drinking my beer, I stared at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I had to admit I looked a bit pathetic sitting here all by myself. I could see the alpha of the group attempting to rap along to the song that was play. He had flipped his hat around and put aviators on as he waved his fingers around to the beat. A blonde girl had joined the group laughing and brushing her fingers across his chest. Even from here I could see the lust pouring off her.

I decided that if I was going to sit at a bar and drink I should probably eat something. Lunch had wore off long ago and I knew drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea. I waved down the bartender, who looked even more surly than she did the first time. I knew it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the group that was now banging on the table. Her tone was polite but she had the air of 'I'm so over all of this.' I did get a slight smile when I ordered loaded fries without the things that actually made it loaded.

When I had asked for the match to be put on I had all intentions of actually watching it but I found myself more invested in the girl than the game. I was appalled when one of the guys swaggered up to the bar demanding drinkings, throwing a crumpled wad of money at her when she asked for payment. It was at that moment, looking at that beautiful face staring down at the balled up money, that I had decided to do whatever it took to make her night just a bit better. The mixing of a cocktail for herself just solidified the decision.

I spent the next couple hours chatting with her but I could tell her attention was elsewhere. Even with the fraction of focus I was receiving I could tell she was a force to be reckoned with. I decided to try my luck and ask if we could meet up sometime. She quickly threw out there she wasn't looking for a relationship. When I had suggested it didn't have to be a date I could see all of her attention being pulled to me. Her posture straightened and I realised she may have been offended. I quickly tried to backpedal but she latched on to the idea saying her shift was done in twenty minutes. The alcohol that I had been consuming throughout the night was urging me to go for it. What's the worst that could happen?

Jac........................

"Fancy meeting you here, Jac."

My heart was absolutely beating out of my chest and I felt like I might puke. How could I have been so stupid? Years and years of busting ass to FINALLY get your big shot at success, and you fuck it all up to have a crazy-hot one night stand with Ed fucking SHEERAN!? Goddamn it, Jac!

I was totally speechless. Panicking. Desperately wishing I could rewind the last twelve hours of my life and try to not colossally fuck things up. This opportunity? To work on his next album? It was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I'd never get another shot like this. And I KNEW I could smash this thing. I couldn't walk away.

He was perched on the coffee table right in front of where I was melting into the sofa.

I should probably say something.

“Look, Ed.”

I finally met his eyes with my own, seeing them in proper light for the first time. Oh, damn, never seen that color blue...

“I’m really sorry about last night. I had… NO IDEA. Mark really kept this one under wraps. I wouldn't have……. If I had known that I'd be working with you. Please, I hope that we can put that aside and move forward. You're a hard worker, I know your whole story. I am, too. I've got no Plan B. This -” I paused, gesturing to the studio, “- is my entire life. I understand if you don't want to work with me, but I really hope that you at least give me a shot. I know a lot about your sound and I have a lot of ideas on how to take it to the next level, but in an authentic way.”

“Well, firstly, I think a proper introduction is in order,” he grinned, extending a hand out to me. “I'm Ed.” No shit -- Oy, can the attitude, Jac.

I shook his hand, gripping it firmly. It was important to have a strong handshake, especially when you were a young female working in a field that was typically dominated by men.

“I'm Jaclyn Thorn. Most people call me Jac.”

“It's really lovely to properly meet you, Jac.” He toys with my name is his mouth, again, looking very pleased with himself. “Listen, I absolutely want to work with you. Mark gave me your demo, and the mix of sounds you've cultivated -- it got me really, really excited. I couldn't get your stuff out of my head yesterday.”

Holyfuckareyoukiddingme.

“-- and Jac?” He questioned. “I'm not sorry about last night.”

My head was still spinning, trying to wrap itself around the fact that he not only listened to my demo, he liked it and had it stuck in his head. Then I was wrapped around his head -- No Jac, don't go there. Though the way he said wasn't sorry about last night had me slightly worried. Did he think this was going to be a continuing thing? Is he still trying to pursue a romantic relationship? Surely he knows better than mixing business and pleasure. Ultimately I decided to look past his comment and focus on what we were here for: the album.   I motion for him to sit on the couch next to me so we could be comfortable as we discussed the plans for his new project. I can't say that I was entirely shocked when he sat right next to me. Plenty of couch there bud, but my all means, sit right on top of me. Personal space is overrated. His body was angled towards me, with his elbows resting on his knees with hands clasped together. His face was wearing a mask of interest. Not mild interest, not fake interest, geniune, 'I deep care about what you have to say.' interest. I have to admit it was an intense stare that felt almost intrusive.

C'mon Jac, you got this. He could not even be giving you the time of the day. Besides, he's know for fully giving people his attention but I guess it's different when you’re at the receiving end of it. "Okay, so walk me through how you'd like the album to sound." I found, surprisingly, it wasn't hard to bring my work voice out. Hopefully this will help establish more of a professional relationship than the hot dirty one we currently had. "Mmm, I thought Mark said we we're working on the album until tomorrow?" I could he was teasing, he didn't need to add the 'I'm obviously joking' knee bump with it. I could feel the anger unexpectedly rise in me. I wasn't sure if it was directed toward him for not taking this seriously or at myself for being so fucking stupid and letting what happened last night happen. "Look, you may not think this is that big of a deal. Your last two albums went platinum. Most people that have two successful records can tour using just those two and still live comfortably. So, I'm going to ask you again. Can you put aside what happened and focus on the music?" He dropped his head and for a brief moment I thought he was going to start yelling. When he lifted his head I was shocked to see him looking quite upset. I instantly regretted my sharp tone with him. Of course he thinks this is a big deal. It's Ed Sheeran Mr. 'I work my ass off no matter what'.

"Of course I think it's a big deal." His voice barely breaking above a whisper. "I've been gone for so long, what if...what if it's been too long and they've forgotten me? That all the work I've put in for five years has been for shit because people are quick to forget and jump behind some new singer. What happens if I release this album and nobody cares?" His head had fell to his chest, his leg bouncing ferviously. Oh fuck, I went and broke Ed Sheeran. Way to go Jac... "Well, I'm going to make it my personal mission to make this album, not only a hit, but your best one yet. You're still on the rise Ed, I promise you nobody's forgotten about you." I place my hand on his leg, hoping to comfort him and undo the damage I had caused. He took a deep breath "You're right. I'm all up in my head."  His hand wrapped around mine. "Thanks for the pep talk, Jac." Yeah, okay thanks for making this awkward now. I clear my throat and motion down to our hands with my head. He looks down and quickly lets go offering up an apology. I removed my hand from his leg, which in hindsight probably wasn't the smartest move. "So, your album, does it have a title yet?" I was hoping bring it back around to work would lighten the pretty heavy mood in the room. "Divide." He replied, his voice gaining some of that passionate spark I had saw earlier. "Ah, so, sticking to the math theme I see." That earned a smile.

"Yeah but it fits the feel of the album as well. It's not just named that to go with the other two." 

That had made me perk up. "The feel? What type of feel are you going for?" "So, everyone knows I've been on holiday pretty much going where ever I feel like." Yeah, you lucky bastard. I'm lucky to take a daytrip to the beach. "While I was bouncing from place to place I picked up a lot of new and different sounds. I want to record my holiday." "Record your holiday? What do you mean?" This sounded different than what he's done before. He definitely had my interest now. "I want to combine a bunch of different songs from different regions. I spent some time in Ghana and that experience drastically changed the way I view things, so I'd like to have a song that has an African vibe. I'd love to have some Irish folk on there, y'know go back to my roots and I wrote a song with my brother who writes classical music. Of course I'll still have some love songs and a couple grime sounding songs with R&B. Essentially, I want every track to sound totally different than the others. So it's divided, see?" I stare at him blankly. Now I see why he said I'd be perfect for this album. It also had me wondering if Mark knew this going in and that's why he tossed my name out there. He was taking a huge risk if he went through with this. We really couldn't predict how people would handle all these different styles being thrown at them wrapped up in one album. "Wow...there's nothing like that anywhere on the charts..." "I know, I could be shooting myself in the foot here. I should probably just stick to what i've already done--" I cut him off, shaking my head. "No, you misunderstood. There's nothing like that on the charts. Meaning this would definitely stand out. Just because it's not big now doesn't mean it can't be. You could open up a whole new style and experience for them. If anyone could make Irish folk or African popular, It's Ed Sheeran."

There was a little spark in his eyes as they bore into my face, his features stoic as he must have been trying to form a complete thought. A moment passed and he finally shook out of it.

“I like you.” Just three little words, but they made my stomach flip. And not in a good way. Does he mean, like… *LIKE* me? Or did he mean my aesthetic?

I quickly changed the subject. “So, how many songs do you have on deck so far?”

I could practically see his brain switching gears, he couldn’t resist diving right into any conversation that was centered around the music. Well, then, I intend to keep it that way.

“Maybe, around 40 or so? They’re all pretty raw, though, and I’m open to doing a little more writing. Do you write, or just produce?”

“Well, my strengths are really in production, but I dabble in a bit of everything, naturally.”

We chatted for a good half hour or so, my nerves finally calming down a bit as we both lost ourselves in the conversation, talking songwriting and musical influences.

He glanced down at the thick-banded black watch on his wrist. “Shit, I’m late for my next meeting. Sorry,” he apologized. “What time should I be in tomorrow?”

“No worries. ‘Round 9AM work for you?”

We agreed, and he came toward me as if to give me a hug goodbye. I did NOT want to be pressed up against those broad shoulders of his, so I quickly deflected by putting my hand up for a high-five.

A high-fucking-five. What the fuck, J.

He snorted, meeting my hand with his own and flouncing a soft “Bye, Jac,” out of his lips before walking out of the studio.

I clocked in at Copperstill, my brain on auto-pilot. I had barely even noticed Dylan entering until he positioned himself at my bar, calling to me in a surprisingly polite tone. I noticed he had left his snapback behind. It was the first time I had saw him without it in I couldn't tell you how long. I noticed he had let the top grow out, while keeping the sides short. Now that it was longer, just brushing his brow, I saw that his hair was slightly curly and carefully disheveled. I almost didn't recognise him without his douchebag attire. "Hey Jac, could I get a beer please?" Okay, what do you want? You're never this polite unless you want something.You can change your clothes but it doesn't make you any less of a douche. "Sure, anything else?" I couldn't keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice, not that I really tried. I had no interest in whatever it was he wanted. "Your undivided attention when you get a minute." "The beer it is. I can't promise you anything else. Some of us have to work for a living, trust fund kid." Let's see how long he stays polite for now. He hated it when I brought up the fact that he didn't have to stress over money. Everything he owned was paid for him, leaving the money he earned working to be spent however he saw fit. Which usually meant extravagant trips and loads of music festivals. I may have been jealous. "Well, when you get a bit, I'd like to talk." Still maintaining the same polite tone he used earlier. Would the real Dylan please stand up, because you're not him. I set his drink in front of him, not lingering around or giving him a chance to say anything other than a thanks before heading down to the other end of the bar. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit interested in what he had to say. I'm guessing fake Barbie didn't work out so well last night. Or maybe it did and he realised what he was missing. The cynic and optimist battled with one another the entire night. Dylan hadn't budged at all, remaining in his seat. He had stopped drinking after two beers opting for water instead, which was very unDylan like. My curiosity got the best of me so once my shift ended I sat down at a table with him, sipping my third or fourth drink who's counting? "So what's so important that you'd wait around all night for me?" After a deep breath "I wanted to tell you I finally took your advice." "My advice? I haven't given you any other than 'fuck off' and you clearly haven't taken that 'cause here you are." "Actually it was fuck off and grow up, if you want to be that way."  A smirk crawling across his face as he looked up at me with those faded blue eyes. They don't hold the same magnetic pull that a certain someone's elses have. "Well go on then, I don't have all night. I've got an early morning tomorrow."  I cross my arms and lean back in my chair waiting for whatever it was he wanted to discuss. "I stopped taking money from my dad. I'm paying for everything on my own now. I took your advice and grew up." "Well congratulations, you're a big boy now. Is that what you wanted to tell me?" I couldn't believe this is what he hung around to tell me. That he wasn't being supported by his parents anymore. What do you want, a standing O? "Come on Jac, this was huge for me. I know it bothered you when we were together." a whine had slipped out of his mouth that struck a nerve. "We're not together, remember? You wanted to go be a bro more than a boyfriend." I spit back at him, my eyebrow coming up. “You don't have to tell me I was a shit boyfriend. I know I was. I was an even worse ex. Coming in here, being a total ass to you. I'm gonna change Jac." I'm gonna change. Yeah, how many times have I heard that line of bullshit from men. Hell, how many times have I heard him say exactly that. Then he turns right around and goes partying with his friends, coming home reeking of bitter beer and pungent weed. This isn't going to be any different. If he's broke he can't afford to buy beer and weed, though.. "You're gonna change?" I snort. "Okay, sure, let's pretend for a second that I do believe that load of crap. How do you plan on proving it?" He looked a bit rattled by my response, "Wait, you're gonna let me prove it to you?" "I asked you how not to show me how." I clarified. "By not being a piece of shit?" He offered with a sheepish look. So you have no clue. "Do you even know how to be a decent human being?" I was past the point of caring whether or not I was being rude. "By doing the opposite of what I did when we were together?" He chuckled weakly, "Look, all I'm asking for is one chance. One final chance to make it up to you. If it doesn't work, I'll leave you alone." One chance. One chance and you'll leave me alone. It's almost worth it to be rid of him... After I took a minute to think over everything I gave my answer. "Fine. You get your one chance. You better bring your A game because I'm not playing around here." His face broke into a smile and I was reminded of the younger Dylan I had met. It was easy to forget that he hadn't always been a colossal tool. Sure he had always been rich and slightly entitled. Everything he owned was top of the line. Swanky house, fancy car, always dressed to the nines. The Dylan I fell in love with was a sweet, naive one that was getting a taste of the real world for the first time. That's what made his transformation into a frat guy even more upsetting. When I looked across the table at him, that's who I saw. The bright eyed curious boy with a fierce passion for movies and a love to travel. He had reached for my hand but I moved it, grabbing my half empty glass of booze instead. He didn't even try to play it off and act like he was reaching for something else. It remained there as I finished off my drink. When I stood up he looked up at me from under his lashes. I could see his jaw working as he chewed on the inside of cheek, a nervous habit of his. Once, during a particularly stressful finals week he almost chewed a hole through his lip. "Can I show you how much I appreciate this?" I look down at him and let out a sigh, "Look, I'm not really in the mood to be...giving any favors. I've got an early start tomorrow." Truth was it wasn't him that I wanted to taste. I wanted my mouth wrapped around someone else's thick­, hard cock, surrounded by that fiery-- Whoa, okay, you need to put a stop to those thoughts right now. You agreed it was going to be strictly professional now that you're working together. These thoughts are the exact opposite of what you need to be thinking. Get it together girl, damn. I was so wrapped up in my intense and highly inappropriate daydreams that I hadn't heard him stand up nor did I notice he was right in front of me until his hand brushed my hair off my shoulder. "I asked if I could show you my appreciation. I didn't say you had to return the favor." BLAH BLAH BLAH IMMA ROCK YOUR WORLD BABY YOU'RE GON SEE I'M A CHANGED MAN. LOOK HOW NICE I'M BEING YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO SUCK ME BACK. THAT'S HOW GENEROUS I AM. MAKE ME A CROWN, GIVE ME A SCEPTER COS I'M THE KING OF NICE GUYS. Jac, are you seriously falling for this? His mouth worked against mine as walked backwards to my car. His hands traveling down my waist, pulling me tight against him. I reached back feeling around for the door handle. Once my fingers found the latch I yanked it open and crawled in. He wasted absolutely no time, already pulling down my pants and thong and throwing them on the floorboards. His fingers worked their way inside me, clumsily feeling around like he was just taking a stab in the dark. Pun intended. His tongue was swirling around my mouth taking up way more space than it had any right to. It almost felt like I was in a tongue war with an octopus's tentacle. Cold, wet and unappealing as he continued to fumble his way around down there. Jesus was he always this bad? Or have I been elevated to a better level? His mouth tore away from mine, leaving a fair bit of spit trailing with it. Seriously he couldn't have been this bad before. Do the fake barbie bimbos he goes after enjoy this? He shifted down, crouching down so he was face level with my, very dry, core. He didn't seem to notice as he dove in. I wrinkled my nose as his tongue worked around. What in the actual fuck is he doing? It feels like a fish flopping around down there. IS HE TRYING TO BITE ME? DOES HE THINK HE'S BEING PLAYFUL? As he did, whatever it was he was doing because it was not pleasuring me that's for damn sure, I found myself wishing I had turned him down. No, I wished I was with Ed again. His skilled fingers targeting that exact spot that just made me quiver. The way he hummed against my clit as his mouth and fingers worked in tandem. I could feel myself getting aroused by the thought of it. Dylan must have thought it was his doing because I heard him whisper: "You miss this baby girl? The way my mouth feels on you?" No, not in the slightest. I actually want you to get off me now. This isn't doing it for me. Sorry, not sorry. I finally had enough and sat up. "Look, no offense Dylan, but I really do have an early start tomorrow and it's just not going to happen tonight." His head pops up, a confused look on his face. "Oh...I thought you were enjoying this...but you're right. This just isn't the right place...it's hard to make a parking lot of a bar hot when you're sober." His hand wiping off the excess spit that was coating his chin. My mind flashed back to Ed pressing me into the side of my car. His cock pressing into me through his jeans. My hips grinding against it as I straddled him in this very seat. His mouth on my neck, hands traveling over my body. No, the problem isn't the place. It's you.

You're the problem.

I quickly re-dressed, pulling my thong and jeans back on.

“I think you should go, Dylan.”

“Well… when can I see you again?”

“I don't know, I'll call you, ok?”

He left a timid peck on my cheek before pushing the car door open and hopping out. I sat in my own backseat for a while, my thoughts racing.

The fuck was that, Jac? He's a Grade A toolbag, you know that. And really? Comparing him to… Stop. Just stop.

I took a deep breath and crawled up into the driver's seat. The ride home went by in a blink, my head clearly overwhelmed and, thankfully, on auto-pilot.

I climbed the stairs up to my little apartment and sighed with relief when I reached the landing. Something caught my eye, a little glass vase of flowers were set on the doormat in front of my apartment. What the…

It was a bouquet of technicolor daisies, all pinks and purples and blues and reds. The kind they dye bright colors at the supermarket. Wedged inside the bouquet was a small handwritten card:

Look forward to working with you x

So they were from Ed. Okay.

Was it a professional gesture, or a romantic one? Shouldn't someone of Ed Sheeran’s caliber have an assistant who could send flowers for him? I had the sneaking suspicion that he had bought these, scribbled out the card, and left them here on my doorstep all himself.

I slipped the key into the lock and spilled into my apartment, utterly exhausted from the last thirty hours. I set the flowers on the kitchen counter, trying not to read into them too much.

In a desperate need to feel clean, I ran a hot shower and stood under the spray for a prolonged period of time. Fuck the draught. I just wanted to wash away all the bad decisions I had made, my skin crawling at the memory of Dylan's hands on me in the car. The way my heart had jumped up into my throat when Mark introduced me to Ed this morning. Was that just this morning? God, this has been a long day.

The hot water didn't soothe or cleanse my soul as I'd hoped it would.

What if Mark found out? About Ed? I'd be off the project, maybe even let go. Damnit, Jac, you've worked too damn hard to lose this.

The water was starting to turn cold, so I turned the faucet off and got out, towel drying my body and hair. I grabbed a ratty old band tee and pulled on a pair of boyshort panties before climbing into my bed.

It smelled of him, all subtle cinnamon and clean smell. And suddenly the night before was flashing before my eyes again, as if my brain were saying HEY !! REMEMBER !! THIS !! LET'S !! THINK !! ABOUT !! IT !! SOME !! MORE !!

It was going to be another sleepless night.

THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING!!!!!!!

[tedfashionski]

Finking, Finking.

Hi, welcome to my ted talk. (That is the only time I will ever make that joke. This is Fashionski Finks. Expect radically low standards of self-involved rantiness with zero research or accountability from here on out). For a while there I seriously thought that the covid-19 quarantine was going to result in people being increasingly placid and accepting of creeping extensions of the police state. But here I am, getting depressed again, not about the protests, which I love, but more about my relationship to in-group pressure dynamics. One of the problems with being a relentless contrarian is the discomfort of my impulse to rebel against groups even when they’re championing the right thing. I have to find my own way to fight against the system as an outsider. No gods, no masters, no fucking peer pressure.  I’ll never be happy joining a chorus line. I don’t sign fucking petitions (they’re just lists for the NSA). I do donate, but like fuck will I do it performatively. I can’t go to protests cus I get panic attacky in crowds. I empathise pretty strongly with outsiders of all stripes but believe ridiculously excessively in the public good of criticism, and have a nostalgic love of trolling (I like to think I’m gentle with it though). Bring back the troll! We need that fucker, he’s a sign of a healthy internet. I’m writing this blog thing as an extension of my need to vent my extreme negativity. TBH I never expected to get any followers with ted twitter and the bizarre welcomingness of the hf twitter community totally wrongfooted me. I’m not nice. Ted isn’t meant to likable. He’s my dark side. I was meant to be using this alt as a way to terrorise the nice nice (secretly cruel) fashion people. I’m gunna try and up that aspect more. Just bear in mind, my complaints are largely about the system, but if I see you perpetuating fashion’s entrenched anti-intellectualism or its insidery bullshit, I’ll come for you with a little meta-bomb with your name on it. Maintaining my misanthropic tone does take work tho, like, deep down in some twisted part of my psyche, I guess I do actually want to be liked. It’s fucked up.

I suppose it’s only fair to explain this Ted fursona. Like, new concept, who dis? Why all the furry porn? …..because I just think it’s hilarious. Every time I think about the furries I cackle (not at them, mind). I just love the mad corruption of pure Disney aesthetics into hardcore pornography. That’s anti-authoritarian as fuck. I love the sincerity of their culture. The way the crazy fetish aspect means they’ll never be fully blandified by mainstream acceptance. The way it’s so cringe but so delightful. And more seriously, I’m interested in how a culture of mostly gay male nerds developed to the point where they’ll invest 10k in custom fursuits and support eachother’s independent businesses in ways that the fashion community completely fails to do. The fashion world sucks. There’s so many correlations there that I want to investigate: the newness (furries date from around the 70s, fashion culture in its self-aware state dates from the late 19th C – both very young fields); the centralisation/decentralisation; the hierarchy (furries can be pretty catty, I have discovered in my research, and we all know what fashion people are like); the adoption of new identities; the cis-boy gayness aspect (I’m increasingly tired of the extreme nasty hierarchy of certain CSM queens. It’s all very UGH. Just, fuck those particular bitches.) There’s more to the furry love, but I’ll explore it in future posts.

More importantly, why Ted fucking Kaczynski? I’m not like, actually a terrorist. (….yet. tehehe. NO, seriously I like non-maiming violence. Fuck yeah to property damage. Fuck yeah to disabling the system in extreme way. But no to wooden IEDs. Think of my shitty jokes that fail to land as my hand-crafted bombs). I think I like the shitness of Ted. He was just an epic fail of a terrorist. I’m a little white girl living in London. I’m not actually a primitivist, as much as I crave a hut in the woods. I did go to an elite school though. I had some really shitty experiences in the fashion industry in my early 20s, and I watch my friends who are relatively successful in that system and I get so angry on their behalf at their poor treatment. They think I’m too angry. Fuck that. They should be more angry, and the fact that they can’t be angry at their extreme precarity and the fact they’re still insecure and terrified of being ejected by the system after all their investment and skills they’ve built up is BULLSHIT. I’ll be double angry for them, I’m not invested in that system. I don’t need it to pay my rent. I’m free, motherfuckers, and I’m coming for the abusers and exploiters. If you’re a complacent industry figure not fighting hard from within, uggghhhhh fuck you. Yes, YOU. Soooo, I relate pretty hard to the MK ultra stuff. (go look him up, he was basically tortured and experimented upon by the elite). But there’s a pretty big chasm between my views and his, and I’ll try to be clear about the extent of my interest in his extreme beliefs. I haven’t even finished reading the manifesto. Basically, I watched that shitty show on Netflix with sam worthington around the same time I watched Joker (that movie fucked me up) and thought it’d be a good outlet to larp online as a terrorist. There’s the angry white alt-right school shooter aspect, which I’m still figuring out, cus I’m non-binary and I was raised by nutso trumpy right-wingers, who I barely speak to anymore, and I struggle to get along with people generally. There’s sad, self-pitying rage here. I empathise with the angry white dudes too much. I feel guilty about it. That’s good ground for artmaking (yes, shamefully, this…is…art. Sorry). I modelled this fursona a little after my brother, who I spent years living with and arguing with and trying to lift out of his scary racist youtube rabbit holes. This is actually quite an emotional thing for me, cus I did the ‘talk to your fascist family’ thing. And I completely failed. I realised his right-winginess wasn’t lessening, I wasn’t gaining ground, and in fact my excessive empathy and desire to reach out to the relative most similar to me in character meant his extremism was rubbing off on me. Making me more resentful and depressed. Feeling powerless. I was being too kind-hearted and forgiving of his masculine impotence. So I’m exploring some personal shit here. But Ted is also a cute lil fuzzball teddy bear. He means well, but me being super autistic and faily at social skills means he’s kind of a dick, cus I am. I’m going to try and further develop this character, this POV, and this post is the only time I’ll explain the divide between him and his creator (moi). The ‘I’ on the twitter and here is Ted Fashionski, I need that space between me and him. Masks give us this freedom to be more ourselves. Internet culture has lost a lot of its wild brutal anonymity in the last decade or so, now everyone’s afraid of making mistakes. How the hell do you grow if you’re not allowed to fuck up? This is a vital outlet. He’s become an important part of my life and I have to say, I love being Ted Fashionski. He’s like Paddington Bear who just escaped form Guantanamo or something.

I get pretty fatigued as a matter of course. I’m a long-term depressive since childhood. I have a difficult time keeping my hard-on for living. I don’t get suicidal really but I do struggle with extreme fatigue. I sleep a lot. I often fall into spirals of self-hate. And as someone who utterly believes in revolutionary leftist politics, I beat myself up about not doing enough. I’m so middle class and english and white. I was raised in such a chauvinistic and complacent culture; I don’t even know where to start. I’m wading my way through post-colonial literature and beating myself up for finding it boring and uncomfortable. It’s hard to force yourself to acknowledge your culture is The Bad Guys. It’s easier to fall into fanstasies of supremacy and butthurt misunderstoodness. And it’s not like my depressive brain needs any encouragement to hate me. My trajectory is ever leftwards, but I remember the righteous fury of being right-wing. I get it, that was me. We need more paths back from fascism, more comprehension of why people are that kind of shitty. I talk less, and less well, the more depressed I am. If I’m talking, it means im feeling a lot better. Just, fyi.

Give me a minute to be critical here. With the George Floyd protests, a lot of the cool guys on fashion twitter has gone blazingly hardcore on the political side. But there’s this troubling rhetoric about ‘no return to normal content’ or ‘this isn’t the time for fashion’. Like fuck it isn’t. This is a key problem with fashion culture right here, we have this received perception of fashion as empty escapism. Escapism matters in fashion, yes. But seriously, talking about the surfaces of things does not equal not caring about deeper meaning. What the fuck. Clothes are a connective tissue, a membrane between us. They’re emotional and powerful. We can talk about things that matter THROUGH clothes. I speak fashion, pretty fucking well. Most people who work at fashion magazines are morons with no understanding or respect for their subject. They’re incapable of doing it justice, and that’s deliberate. On this tumblr you’ll see rants and reviews of fashion and other artforms, always interpreting through a fashion lens. cus it matters, cus it’s a vital part of the culture, cus just because something has a glittery, seductive surface doesn’t mean it doesn’t communicate or contain depth. There’s no going back to ‘normal fashion content’, yes. Normal fashion content is a fucking psyop to divert legitimate interest in aesthetics amongst largely non-academic dyslexic visual types away from careful thought/feeling and towards empty consumerist commericiality. The traditional fashion media wants you to express yourself and your interest in the zeitgeist through buying more shit. Another fashion world is possible. Let’s destroy the old and build a new one, one where surface and spirit are connected and true and fashion can’t be abused in service of evil industrial monopolists.

/end rant. TLDR: angry fictional teddy bear with tin-foil hat and an eco-anarchist fetish says no to stupid fashion and yes to the renewal of conceptual fashion. Also, Fuck White People.

[tommmmmmyboy]

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

Words: 1460

Rating: K - T (for now)

Warnings: Does ass count as a swear word?

Chapter One - Self Defence

                You kept your breathing paced as you went through the motions. Dodge, swivel, kick, pin. You say it in your head as you miss his punch, get behind him, take out his knees, and pin him. Your instructor taps the mat and you let him up with a smile and he nods his approval of your technique, only pointing out that you pinned him too lightly and in reality you would have to be more aggressive. You nod as you take his criticism, agreeing wholeheartedly.

               You were weeks deep into your self defence class, a class absolutely necessary. You were proud of how far you’d come and how quickly you were able to disengage your instructor. He wasn’t taking it easy on you either; you had asked him not to.

               You weren’t the only one that noticed how well you were doing you noted as you took a drink from your water bottle. This small gym had become your favourite haunt after work and you noticed every new member throughout the weeks, and developed a friendly accord with the regulars.

               There was one particular new member, only been there for a few days but clearly not his first gym as he went through his circuit with practised ease. On his water breaks, you noticed him watching you, trying to keep the glances casual but would always observe until you got your trainer onto his back. He would smile and get back to his workout quickly before you noticed.

               “He’s here to film a movie. Some sort of celebrity. That’s why he’s out our gym. Low profile. He works hard though, and a nice guy.” Your instructor mumbled next to you, always willing to give you the gossip at the gym. He took out his fake knife – a wooden stick – for your next section of training: disarming an armed attacker. You especially liked these drills and jumped right back into it.

               You trained for another half an hour, disarming and pinning your trainer, working on different techniques, and trying out more forceful fight styles. You had him down a final time before he tapped and you helped him up with a smile. You gave him a salute as he went to get ready for his next client when you heard the clapping.

               The actor had been watching the last round, you knew, but instead of playing shy, he kept his smile up as you turned to him and gave a nod of appreciation.

               “Nicely done. I’m impressed every time you get the drop on your trainer.” He says, as you take in his ball cap and his sweaty curls underneath that were plastered to his forehead. He had stopped clapping and crossed his arms across his chest, a stance that should have been defensive but looked natural on him.

               You nodded a smiled again before giving a wave, letting him go on the conversation that you were sure wasn’t going to get too far. You turned instead to grab your own water bottle and towel. He was still watching you walk away, as you checked before you turned a corner. His expression was perplexed but did not lose its smile. The smile stayed with you for a long time after that.

               You gym schedules did not cross again for a while, until well into the next week. Your trainer had texted you that he was running behind but would be there soon, so you kept to yourself on the mats, stretching and people watching. You saw a familiar ball cap and watched the body work on the pull up bars, easily lifting up and down. He did this funny air walking move that was a bit showy for your liking but still made you smile as he jumped down with a proud grin. He was clearly just finishing up his workout, if his damp clothes had anything to say about it.

               He felt your stare and saw you on the mats, and when you gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, he took it as an invitation over. You sighed mentally as you pulled your phone closer, knowing you would need it soon.

               “Are you here to kick his ass again?” he asked as he got within ear shot. You nodded and cracked your knuckles as menacingly as possible which caused him to laugh.

               “I should probably introduce myself since I keep bothering ya. Tom,” he says holding out his hand, “Tom Holland.” You took his hand, and mouthed your own name.

               His head cocked to the side as he tried to figure it out. He guessed correctly after two guesses which was better than most, before asking the Big Q.

               “Can you not speak?” he asked, almost hesitantly. You prepared yourself for the slight let down every time a stranger became overwhelmed by this, and nodded, shrugging as if entirely unbothered by the situation. This is where it would normally end, a “Nice meeting you” before some excuse to head off, or, better yet, just walking away, as if you could also no longer hear.

               You wouldn’t say your jaw dropped when he decided to sit on the floor next to you, legs outstretched in front of him and clearly not in a hurry to go anywhere, but you definitely almost gave yourself whiplash as you whirled your head around to watch him drop. As he placed his towel on the ground, you took this opportunity to find your phone again, preparing for the questions you would eventually have to type out.

               “So what brings you to the gym – other than to show off your bad ass skills?” You smile as you type onto a blank message screen.

               I only ever come here to be a bad ass.

               He laughs when he leans closer to read your message, and you erase it to write Self defence. You?

               “I’m Spider Man,” he says with a blasé shrug, but his contained smile shows his pride in the roll. You take a second to look at him closer and see that holy shit yeah, he’s the newest Spider Man. You cover your shock with typing out Nbd with a smile, hopefully conveying the joke. He nods as well.

               “A small role really. Why self defence, it seems like a great choice but not very common?”

               I can’t exactly call for help if I need it.

               He blushes as he watches you type and coughs awkwardly.

               “Right, yep, smart.” He says, muttering “idiot” to himself as he scratches the back of his neck. You nudge him from his spiral of self deprecation having Don’t worry about it as a saved saying in your phone and show it to him. He nods with a sigh, rallying back up. I only just recently thought about this myself, when a situation happened and I realised that hey, I can’t call for help like they teach you.

               “Do you mind if I ask what happened?” He seemed genuinely curious so you typed out a synopsis of the situation.

               A guy took my phone. I had to find a pen and paper to report it like it was the medieval times.

               He laughs again when you see your trainer jogging up.

               “Sorry about that delay. Let’s get started if you’re all warmed up.”

               “I’ll catch you later?” Tom asked with a hopeful look on his face. It was interesting to see. You nod as you stand and he follows your lead, but tugs at the hand holding your phone once you’re up.

               “I’m not going to steal it,” he teases and you let him take it, watching him punch something into the blank text. He hands it back to you and you realise it’s his number.

               “Text me when you’re back here and we can see if you can kick Spider Man’s ass.”

               Your look of surprise from him so easily giving you his digits turns into a smile at the challenge, and you imitate a throat slice with your finger across your throat. Your message was implied; he was going down.

               “Oh, we’ll see about that,” he says in a self assured voice, slowly stepping away backwards with a cheeky grin. He finally turns to head off and your see your trainer shaking his head out of the corner of your eye.

               “Stop charming everyone at this gym, it’s distracting.”

               You give a false look of “who, me?” and he chuckles. You swear if your hair wasn’t in a pony tail he would have ruffled it with pride. He leads you to a different section of the mats. You tried to put the exchange with Tom at the back of your mind, because honestly, you were still reeling.

               He was different. Time would only tell how different.

Hey there friends. This is one very small part to that fic i was mentioning before. I have all the time in the world now (ish) so I can get back to writing a bit more. 

I work with a lot of people that don’t have the ability to speak, and I never want to take lightly what the struggles they have on a regular basis. If I in any way disrespect that, please let me know. This character will definitely go more in depth as this story goes on. 

Just realised that I didn’t have the ask on for this blog, but now it’s up and running and y’all can send me any concerns or requests now :) 

None of the images are mine, nor is Tom Holland. Though we can call dream.  Keep it real. 

[fullsunswagger]

Final Goodbyes Are Roller-coaster Rides

This is my first ever EXO fanfic, whooo! Constructive criticism is welcome along with suggestions for future pairings and stories. I am willing to write about every member and genre, member x member pairs are also accepted ^.^

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader  

Genre: I’m really sorry for this but, moderate angst

Number of words: 2,810

Summary: Your bf (Baekhyun) and you have been going out for around a year. On one of your dates together, he drops the bomb on you, he will be leaving Korea to study abroad….. tomorrow. What will become of you two and how will you spend your last night together?

Friday night 5pm: You’re at your house with ear buds in, sitting on your bed, blasting the latest album from your favorite group EXO, not being able to stop tapping your foot along with the beat. When your favorite part comes on, you sing along loudly. Now normally this would be a typical night for you but tonight you can’t calm yourself down. The reason? Byun Baekhyun. Your boyfriend of 1 year has just sent you a message detailing the plans he has for your date tonight, and well, let’s just say you can’t hold in that you’re a little more than excited.

Friday night 6pm: Despite the deafening volume of your music, you hear your phone vibrate on your nightstand. Anxiously you rip out your ear buds and put in your password, 2986 for ‘Byun’. You spot a new message from Baekhyun and quickly click on it. The message reads “Hey babe, just letting you know I’ll be at your house in about 20 minutes, dress cool, it’s gonna be hot where we’re going ;)”. You chuckle at his last remark and type “Don’t get your hopes up ;)” and press send with a cheesy grin on your face. Shutting your phone off you stand up from your bed and walk towards your closet. Eyeing the racks of clothing up and down you pick a top and bottom diligently then go into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Friday night 6:20pm: Right on the dot, you hear your doorbell ring. Taking a calming deep breath and walking quickly (but carefully) down the stairs, you approach the door and turn the nob. Practically ripping the door open, you see Baekhyun standing there, in a look you haven’t seen before. Tilting your head slightly to get a better view, you grow to like the crisp blue button up and tight jeans that adorn your boyfriend’s figure. “Hey good looking” you say to him as he shifts under your gaze. You can’t blame him though because you know you must’ve looked like you were undressing him with you eyes, *cough* because you were *cough*. “Hey” he says back, gaining back confidence and turning the tables. “You clean up nicely, and follow directions well” he remarks. You blush now, becoming fully aware of the ripped tan leggings and flowing backless lilac top you were wearing. You thank him and clear your throat “Shall we go?”. He nods and takes your hand, leading you to the passenger side of his dark blue Toyota Corolla (getting fancy up in here). He opens the door and you slide into the seat, deeply inhaling the scent of vanilla that circulated throughout the car. Once both of you are situated, you put your seat belt on and mentally prepare yourself for what will come at the end of the drive.

Friday night 6:50pm: Baekhyun pulls into the parking lot in front of a golden beach. You quietly gasp, taking in the calmly flowing crystal clear water lapping at the sand, and the trees standing tall, slightly blowing in the wind. He walks over to your side and opens the door. You smile softly and step out of the car. Baekhyun then pops the trunk and pulls out a woven basket with, what looks like, an assortment of fruit. You don’t notice this though as you have already walked onto the beach, closed your eyes and swayed with the breeze while running your toes in and out of the sand. Baekhyun chuckles at the sight and stares at you lovingly. Suddenly, a pang of guilt resonates in his chest, he knows full well that doing what he is about to do is wrong but, there is no turning back now. He takes a deep breath and closes the trunk, fruit basket in hand. Strolling over beside you, he pushes aside his guilt momentarily, not allowing you to acknowledge it’s presence.

Friday night 6:56pm: You guys have already dug into the fruit basket and truth be told, 99% of it was gone already. Picking up a perfectly square cut piece of watermelon (the last one mind you), you internally smile, thinking of how much time Baekhyun must have put into cutting up all this fruit for you guys. Sighing and popping the watermelon into your mouth you flop down onto the sand, not caring about the bits getting into your hair and clothing. Beakhyun does the same, just not as dramatically. While quietness rests in your mind, the gears are turning in his. He doesn’t want to bring it up quite yet because you seem like you are starting to relax, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. This was not the “OMG I CAN’T WAIT TO TELL HER THIS SHE WILL BE SO HAPPY!” kind of uncertainty it was more like “How bad will I get hit when I drop this on her and how much will it hurt her?”.

Friday night 7:10pm: To become less uneasy, Baekhyun has been striking up conversations with you for the past 14 minutes. You happily engage, enjoying the closeness you feel with him while you joke and tell stories together. You stare him in the eyes while telling him a very cheesy joke, and behind the obvious fake laugh, see something almost sad looking in his eyes. “Was it really that bad of a joke?” You question. He looks alarmed and quickly says “No no, I’ve just heard it before that’s all”. You swallow hard, not believing his answer. This wasn’t the Baekhyun you knew. The real Baekhyun wouldn’t be so shy when voicing his opinion. This was someone else. A new nervous energy surrounded the two of you, and you start to feel a pit grow in your stomach. “This can’t be good” you think.

Friday night 7:12pm: Silence. You guys haven’t talked in what seemed like ages. His body language is closed off, going from an open laying down position to a cross legged sit with arms folded over his stomach. You were baffled, you have never seen this side of him. You grow frustrated after another minute of silence and say “What is your problem?” In a louder tone of voice that normal. He jerks his head towards you. You look at him expectantly for his answer. Baekhyun sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Listen y/n…”. The sentence sends shivers through your body, this is something heavy, you can feel it. The pause in his sentence entends longer than you were willing to wait, “Go on” you prompt. “I…” he starts again but pauses for a second time. Both of your hearts are racing and your thoughts were going a mile a minute. You have already jumped to conclusions. You thought he was definitely breaking up with you. Putting on a brave face you nod towards him, a silent signal to continue despite not wanting to hear what he has to say next.

Friday night 7:14pm: “I just…” Baekhyun sighs roughly and tugs at his hair “I’m moving alright! I’m going away!” He practically shouts. You blink, once, twice, three times. Moving? The words sounded foreign as you mouthed them. “I’m so sorry y/n, I know I should’ve told you sooner but I just couldn’t find the right time” he apologizes, crawling closer to you. “You couldn’t find the right time?” You ask. He nods. “Well this sure as hell isn’t it” you fume. You would be surprised if there wasn’t smoke coming out of your nose. How dare he! Plan such a nice date just to get you buttered up then drop this on you! You stand up abruptly and pace a fair distance away from him. “When do you leave?” You ask, head looking down at the sand. He swallows hard “T… tomorrow”.

Friday night 7:17pm: You pinch the bridge of your nose. This was too much, too fast. You thought you guys had the perfect relationship, but I guess the communication was really lacking this time. “Ok, ok calm down, this doesn’t have to be a big deal he may not even be moving that far” you try to convince yourself. “Where?” You grit. Head down low Baekhyun replies “Canada”. Your mouth falls open and your pacing stops. Ok, now you were really going to lose it. At this point you didn’t even question why he wanted to go, you just wanted to find a way to talk him out of it. “W… what about us?” You question in a shaky voice. “I really don’t know y/n” he says softly, “maybe it would be better if we… you know”. You knew what he was hinting at, a breakup. Baekhyun stands up and wipes sand off if his jeans “I’ll be very busy in Canada and I don’t think I’d be able to see or talk to you very often, it would be and lot easier just to let what we have go”. “How cold” you thought to yourself.

Friday night 7:20pm: You were so dizzy. Your mind was clouded and you couldn’t think straight. You rub your temples and groan. To make things worse… the song “Let It Go” was looping in your head. Finally calming down a tad you look at Baekhyun, and what you see breaks your heart. He is still standing but has his hands on his face. You see small drops of water plop onto the sand in front of his feet. He was crying. Here you were, thinking about your problems when he was going through the same thing as you. Sure you were angry, but you weren’t heartless, and he was still your boyfriend. You walk over to him and remove his hands from his head and hug him, feeling tears start to well up in your eyes as well. “I’m… so… sorry” he says through hiccups. You can’t find any words to respond to him but the words he says strike a chord in your heart and you cry harder, causing him to cry harder as well.

Friday night 7:27pm: You both have no idea how much times passes, you were just utilizing what little time you had left together. Crying in each other’s arms wasn’t exactly how you had expected the night to go. You had your hopes high but now they came crashing down. You would’ve sworn he had taken you to an amusement park if you hadn’t been surrounded by the sounds of crashing waves, swaying trees and screeching birds. Eventually, both of you stopped crying and just looked into each other’s eyes. “I love you y/n” he whispers, afraid his full voice would fail him. “I love you too” you say, meaning it fully. “I hate this” he mumbles to himself, obviously refering to the unfortunate situation you were both in. You step away from him and harden your features, not wanting to look up and see the frown on his face. “Take me home” you demand, “please” you add. The moods changes from sad to angry but he still nods, evidently hurt by your bluntness. You both walk to the car in silence. Baekhyun was debating whether or not to hold your hand but ultimately decides against it. Despite this he still opens the car door for you and you mumble a thank you. You lean back in the seat and look through the windshield, trying to bring back the happy memories before they turned sour. You sigh deeply and buckled your seatbelt. Just then you realized, the smell of vanilla makes you sick.

Friday night 7:57pm: As expected of the awkward situation, you guys didn’t talk on the way back to your house. The only sound that would be heard in the car was the heavy breathing of Baekhyun and the thump of the bass against the car speakers. Once Baekhyun pulls up to your driveway, you take the liberty of letting yourself out. You wanted to get away as quickly as possible so as not to make it hurt so much. Your tears have stopped thankfully as you swiftly walk up the stone path leading to your door. The only remnants of sadness being the red puffiness under your eyes and slight drip to your nose. You stop and tense a few feet away from your door as you hear the slam of the car door. Baekhyun rushes up to you and hugs you tightly from behind. “I don’t want it to end like this y/n” he starts. “I don’t want this to poison your memories of me”. You think about his words for a moment. You of course would never forget him, or turn your happy memories into bad ones out of spite. “I need to be by myself Baekhyun” you say in a wavering voice, not sure why you were pushing him away when this was possibly the last time you would see him. A coping mechanism maybe? Baekhyun doesn’t let go from the hug, he actually squeezes tighter. You feel the tears start to come back “Please Baekhyun” you choke out. Baekhyun hears the strain in your voice and lets go, opting to turn you to face him. His hands are now on your arms, holding you in place. You feel him shaking, or maybe it was you? You look at the ground as you feel his eyes boring into your head. He takes his hand and places it under your chin, lifting your head up. Smiling softly and sadly, he sniffs and leans in, kissing you lightly on the lips. You close your eyes and relish in the feeling for less than a second before he pulls away. Neither of you says anything to the other. Abruptly, Baekhyun bows to you. You crease your brows, confused by the action. He then moves to pull something out of the back pocket of his jeans. You crane your head to see the object. A tape? You tilt your head, thoroughly confused now. He holds it outstretched in his hands, trapping the delicate white rectangle in his long slender fingers. “Take it” he encourages, still bowed, head down. You mumble “ok” and take it gently. His hands are now behind his back. “Something to remember me by, I know how much you like my singing voice so I decided this would be a good parting gift”. You nod “That’s very thoughtful, thanks” you say in a very unenthusiastic tone. You clutch the tape tightly as Baekhyun stands straight and solemnly walks to his car. Turning it on, the engine revs and you can’t do anything but stand silently on your stone pathway, watching it go. He slowly drives away, expecting some kind of outreach from you. A “Wait!” a “Stop!” anything that would keep him from leaving this way. Nothing comes though. 

Friday night 8:03pm: You’re still standing in the same spot, but Baekhyun is long gone now. “Damn it” you stomp your foot and yell. Why didn’t you say anything! You were too upset to even give proper closure and you were now kicking yourself for it. He was gone. You think of the one thing you can do to hear his voice again. You call him. At least you try. The call won’t even go through, he has blocked you. “He works fast” you think. Frustrated, you throw your phone into the bushes. You drop to your knees, still outside and still clutching the tape in your hand. “I won’t cry again, I won’t cry again, I won’t cry again” you chant to yourself. Memories come flooding back. All the late night cuddles, all the movies you watched and laughed about together, the dates he took you on that never ceased to amaze you, the seemingly unbreakable connection you seemed to have. You shake your head roughly and stand back up, wiping your nose on your arm. Ripping the door open and storming back into the house, you stomp up the stairs and try to find something that will play the tape. After about 15 minutes of digging through boxes, you find something that might work. Flipping the tape back and forth between your fingers, you take a moment to admire the beautiful cursive handwriting and words. “For my one and only, I’m sorry” it reads. You swallow heavily as you pop the tape into the player. Pressing the play button you sit back on the floor, surrounded only by the items you angrily ripped out of their boxes. Piano is the first thing you hear, soft and slow, just the way you liked Baekhyun to play it. The piano is accompanied by a sultry and sombre voice you would recognize anywhere. A quote you remember enters your mind “If you love something, set it free”. You close your eyes and focus on the alternating of the keys, momentarily forgetting what the tape symbolized. 

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story, please leave feedback ^-^

[evilelitest2]

Letters to my Grandmother: How did we get here Zeitgeist

This is part of an ongoing series on my Patron (follow me here, its good for your soul) where I try to explain WTF happened in 2016.  And so lets talk about the ground work . Now if I was writing a book (Which I could do if more people donated to Patron) I could start this story back with the election of Nixon and work our way to President Trump year by year, but we are going to have to skim here (and if this was a musical, I could do a “We didn’t start the fire style musical performance”).  So what is happening in America?   Lets do a brief run down

1) Wages have declined and haven’t risen in decades, despite the fact that the nation is richer than it once was.  This means that workers are getting the same amount of money as their parents but can buy less with it.  This is blamed on Women

2) At the same time, more and more jobs are being shipped over seas or are being automated.  While many jobs are being taken by low wage migrant labor (a minority of which is illegal), that is more of a symptom of the larger problem rather than the cause.  Also companies are starting to remove other benefits from their jobs (gee its almost like getting ride of Unions was a really bad idea wasn’t it?).   This is blamed on Latinos (like...collectively)

3) The US goverment is constantly running a deficit due to the massive amount of money that they spend on the military while the amount of income is dramatically reduced thanks to tax cuts (notice a pattern here).  This is blamed on poor people 

4) Thanks to Reagan/Bush/Clinton/Bush weakening anti lobbying/anti corruption laws, money in politics have exploded, lobbying is a billion dollar industry and the vast majority of politicians decisions are determined by who donated to them, to the point where they literally grafted it out.  

5) The press is so reliant on ratings that they judge an news story by its potential to get attention rather than by its educational quality and since much of it is owned by major corporations anyways, their news is extremely slanted.  

6) NAFTA’s idea of giving corporations massive legal rights while shipping jobs overseas might have worked if the ground work had been set up first but...they didn’t so it just really hurt a lot of Americans

7) People who are rich basically can get away with anything, especially if they are tied to positions of power.  Also said Politicians constantly lie to their voters whose interests they don’t have in their heart and our electoral process is a massive joke of campaign contributions and buzz words/platitudes by ambitious power hungry insecure pricks rather than genuine governance.  

8) We are involved in a long pointless war in the middle east that we can’t seem to possibly win that was fought on false pretenses and just seems to be a massive wast of time and money

9) our education system is crumbling and is utteryl useless at its job (thanks tax cuts)

10) Something is going wrong with the weather (its climate change but don’t tell the red states)

11) The US film industry is a total mess and has loss any semblance of class, putting it alongside most of our TV

12) The vast majority of our public services aren’t performing correctly, are disorganized, needlessly complicated, ineffective, outdated and just plane incompetent, like the DVA Now the actual reason for this is mostly tax cuts and we haven’t reformed these systems in almost 40 years (thanks Reagan) but people mostly blame “The left” as like a concept.  Or maybe George Soros, I don’t know

13) More and more Americans are in poverty and once there, can’t really get out of it, because that is how poverty works, and social mobility is fading

14) And most importantly of all, the wealth gap in the US is growing every year, which is a pretty good indication of how badly you are failing as a country

    Now it is critical to note that there are many many other problems in the US, the Wage Gap, Police Brutality, the Military Industrial Complex, the prison system, the unfair way our court system is set up, systemic racism, the fact that gay people being allowed to exist is evidently a debate, US war crimes, the growing strain of anti intellectualism, the fact that Climate Change is fucking real, the horrible level of abuse and fraud that makes up the Religious Right, the steady erosion of environmental rights, the anti feminist backlash, the fact that access to abortion and contraceptives is a debate, I could go on forever, but the reason why I listed these 14 specifically is they are all things that 

A) the Vast majority of AMericans agree that those 14 are problems and want them fixed.  They don’t necessarily understand these problems or know who to blame, or even be fully aware of them, but they understand that they are problems and they are upset about them.  Because they effect almost all of us.

B) These are problems that aren’t being talked about in mainstream politics, except as sort of token acknowledgements.  You might see political leaders talk about the problems with the US deficit but they don’t really talk about the fact that the only real way to fix that problem is by cutting the military budget and raising taxes.   

Or to put it another way

These are issues that both White Straight Men and everybody else care about, and yet the political leadership isn’t relentlessly talking about them.

Their use to be a 15th item on the list, Healthcare, but Obama brought that issue out into the open.  

    And the thing is, most Americans know these problems are real, and aren’t happy about them...its just that most of them doing understanding why they are happening, and who to blame because...again education system.  Also because psychologically, who would you want to blame for a seemingly unfair economy?  The leadership of both parties, the most powerful corporations and rich industries in the world, the most well trained lawyers in the world, a good chunk of the news media, and of course the foundation set up of the US itself?  Or blame...Immigrants?  Aka, poor people without resources who can’t really fight back?  i mean really now.  

  So just bear in mind through all of the other stuff, these issues are on the minds of a lot of Americans, and for the white straight ones, they aren’t use to having issues they care about not be address (I know that sounds crazy but mentally my default state towards politically issues isn’t “yeah the country hates me”). Now Americans might not talk about these issues, they might not even be fully aware that they have them, but they are effected by them and they aren’t happy about how the country seems to be failing because of them.