#my brain has never been so rotted for revision

[lynnbutlertron]

i got that test today.. fuck !

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/19/2024

boy hope i never run out of zelda games to play or my mental health is going to Tank. there are very vague endgame stuff spoilers (not where zelda is, but some of the time fuckery) but i am going to spoil a bit of the rito sage quest. nothing is rot-13'ed. i feel like that's a fair compromise since this game has been out for about a year? please let me know YOUR opinions on recent game spoilers

listening

Thanks A Lot But No Thanks from the 1955 musical It's Always Fair Weather, sung by Dolores Grey. this was Dolores Grey propaganda in the @hotvintagepoll. i love a sugar baby song and this is sort of an. anti-sugar-baby song? a satitrical sugar baby song? she thanks suitors for increasingly improbable gifts (the state of Maine, et al) before killing them??

the PIPES on this woman!!! the comedic timing!!! she pulls out a gun and shoots suitors dead while thanking them for an autographed picture of john wayne!!! she pulls a big lever and they all fall under the stage!!! ive been having kind of a Time in the depths of unemployment and this made me genuinely laugh (not one short sharp bark of laughter, full on cackling).

thanks for the darling uranium mine indeed

reading

the moonstone by wilkie collins (and philip). this has been my falling asleep reading book. this is decidedly not a cozy mystery but the stakes are not like. so high i have to keep reading through the night to find out what happens. i'm having a good time with it, currently about halfway and still very irritated with rachel, the main character right now. i have not revised my "spoiled brat" opinion and i look forward to seeing if i ever revise it.

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watching

The Three Musketeers (2011, dir. Paul W.S. Anderson). thank you mackintosh (this is a discard from my hometown library and no one needs to know where that is thanks). it's pretty widely available on free platforms rn which is how you know it's good. it's not Good is the thing but it is extremely fun. it is straight up the three musketeers but with an airship. milla jovovich jumps off an airship into the channel. milla jovovich does some assassins creed shit. luke evans does some assassins creed shit. there is an airship fight and an airship chase. it is So cheesy and unfortunately never got another sequel. it also inexplicably has some of the finest cinematic swordfighting since the golden age of hollywood.

this was a really successful impromptu movie night pick for a more widely varied gang than usual, including some teens. my bestie also enjoyed it, which i am So pleased by bc she has extremely exacting movie taste. this cast is so stacked for no good reason: orlando bloom, luke evans, christoph waltz, mads mikkelsen, matthew macfayden...

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playing

i have a post in my head about breath of the wild and tears of the kingdom and their dialogue with each other about loss and grief, but i think that's going to have to wait until i have a little bit more brainpower. perhaps i can talk a little bit about how they make me feel about loss and grief, and how i was upset for zelda and her hundred-year siege in the last one but i am so so so desperately sad for zelda in tears of the kingdom.

i played through breath of the wild with a constant background sense of loss and grief. this is only partially due to the real-life severe depression and joblessness. i think this is a personal brain thing and not a game thing, but i did feel guilty when fucking around in breath of the wild and not actively doing main quests to save zelda. like i would look at the castle off in the distance and feel kind of bad. the champions (and zelda!) telling link as soon as physically possible that it wasn't his fault made me cry in real life every time. i get it's like a month max of in-universe time between games, but it still feels like he has once again missed SO much. i think this is sort of a larger symptom of depression in that i look at [REDACTED] in tears of the kingdom and get a bit hopeless about [REDACTED] and it's like. well i might as well go pick golden apples and not do main quests. time is meaningless.

i am really glad they kept the shrine of resurrection on the plateau in tears of the kingdom. if that hadn't been there i the player would have felt very unmoored. i cannot begin to think how unreal and depersonalized it would have made link feel.

enough of that! the hero's path function is so funny. there are such huge swathes of the map i looked at and said No Thanks! Not Yet!

my depths map is even funnier. eight lightroots so far. no thank you! too scary still! i thought until VERY RECENTLY that all the caves and wells led to the depths and was avoiding them. mistake! cool shit in caves and wells! some horrible boys as well but they are vastly outnumbered by the cool shit.

the rito sage quest fucked SO severely. i had so much fucking fun with that boss fight even though it took me a real life two hours to get up to the arena with the puzzles to unlock the boss fight. i also surprised myself and did not have to look up how to beat any of the puzzles or the boss! just entered a state of flow and looked up and it was three hours later! i know a lot of people are very grumpy about how this was not a totally new game with a totally new map, but i have nothing but praise for the mechanics in this completely new section. knocked my socks off. made me think but wasn't too frustrating. made me use all my powers and all my weapon types. it was simply a great deal of almost frictionless fun! some over the top sick as shit stuff that is the whole point of video games as a medium imo

unlocked all the geoglyphs and i am Upset. i am UPSET.

and now for some horse talk (TM): i kept the very first horse i caught out of nostalgia even though these stats are not very good. i think the naming scheme for this game will be H (the last game was C). the breath of the wild giant ganon horse is so funny. you can't do shit with this horse. you can't change the mane. you can't change the tack. you can't increase his stats. he's just There. Large.

tangential horse talk: why is this lynel in the wetlands. his feathering and fetlocks are going to rot off. he is going to founder

some places ASCEND works where i didn't expect it to: tree. water you can stand in.

i stumbled across the last power completely accidentally while trying to deliver some eyes to a mysterious god and this was so fucking funny. i DID throw this guy down a big pit in the last game and he never came back. i forgot about that.

also people were fucking gaga for rauru but why didn't i see people talking about either of these two last summer on this, the -girl affix site and the scruffy shredded boy site

some other bits and bobs:

i was so annoyed patricia was part of the compendium in the last game i fucking got her this time ok

very hashtag relatable languages moment

unrelated to either of those things, i have done the gerudo sage quest except for the boss battle and i missed two huge swathes of hashtag tunnel gameplay (going to find riju through the tunnels. simply went overland) and getting to the central temple chamber (simply used ascend). whoops

there's a little tower concept art piece in purah's room in the ancient lab! that's a fun little touch i really love, it really helps differentiate the games and show changes in the overworld between games in a very cheap and east way for the devs

bc i play these games like dressup simulators, i also want to note that misko's tents are also really fun, they really feel like they're from a much earlier era and i'm stumbling across an untouched archaeological site

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making

garden update: growing along okay, it has been so so so wet lately and i should have bitten the bullet and bought the big expensive bag of perlite, the drainage is not terrific. i should elevate all the planters and that would help a bit too. tomatoes are bit leggy, i moved them out of the partial shade on the end of the balcony and in front of the window. i am a bit concerned about them getting scorched, but again it's been so wet lately they need all the help they can get. i feel like they're established enough to be pruned a bit to make them bushier but i am Afraid. there are worse things in life than leggy tomatoes

the pic on the left below: these bush beans are looking a bit strange as well. the four shorter ones came up, promptly withered their cotyledons, and i thought they died until they popped out their first true leaves. the larger ones i think may have some kind of mosaic virus but it's a little early to tell. these are bins that haven't been used outside (they stored clothes in for the move) and new dirt from home depot. either the dirt or the seed stock itself may have been infected? very strange. the cucumbers in the bin in the back (hidden by the beans) are also taking forever to get going. at least the sweet peas are doing fine. the spinach i planted in that back bin withered where the stems met the soil and died. i think it was simply to early and too damp for them.

anyway on the right pic above: these normie peas and normie climbing beans seem to be doing fine. that's dill in the gray pot and basil in the bucket, they also seem to be doing fine. just sort of a perplexing corner on the other side of the balcony.

[ya-bug-boy]

I have a big pokemon villain brain rot right now could you please write Maxie, Archie, Ghetsis, and Colress with a Malewife reader?

Villains x Malewife Reader

Maxie

He's not exactly the easiest man to date, due to his usual cold and calculated demeanor but the two of you are actually very sweet.

Maxie actually holds a lot of care for those who manage to get close to him, but he basically holds you on a pedestal.

It means a lot to him that anyone would find him that interesting enough to want to be considered as his romantic partner. But that doesn't mean he never pined for you back. Being the analytical person he is, he tried to confess to you via power point and a lecture presentation back when you two were in university. (He never showed you this. He's embarrassed by the number of revisions he did, never being satisfied enough.)

Archie is still rather reserved in showing you to other people. Like, yes, this is my boyfriend. Yes we've been dating for years. Stop screaming. Of course I can find love?!

But now, the two of you are much older. He finds comfort in knowing there's someone waiting for him at home. Someone that's willing to indulge in his fantasies of an ordinary, but loving domestic life.

Archie

Archie knows he's over the top. That's kind of his deal. So people are surprised when they find out he's YOUR partner.

It's obvious you have your own personality but people close to Archie swear they've never seen him calm down so quickly when you're near. You're the passive element he needed in his life, the calm in the storm.

Archie is the kind of guy who does things BIG and LOUD. He's a passionate dude! But a guy with a mighty strong personality as his becomes docile when he starts rambling about you, practically showing you off to other people. (this is my husband. He's better than yours)

He's very sweet around you, falling more in love with every sweet gesture you do, despite how ordinary they can be. He was texting you about a stressful encounter he had at work and comes home later that day with you cooking his favorite food. You help massage his back on days he gets too rough with his Pokemon.

There's nothing better than coming home after a day of work and coming home to you, in the one place where he can allow himself to be quiet and only yours.

Ghetsis

Life after Team Plasma has been odd to adjust to. He's under constant surveillance to ensure he doesn't plot to do his crimes again.

Meeting you has been the most fortunate and luckiest thing to ever happen to him.

Though you were somewhat ordinary, you had a positive charm and a knack for helping him relax and smile. He's never felt the need to impress someone before meeting you

You two don't start living together right away, you met him on the subway.

Since Ghetsis had never taken the subway before, in order to show up to his parole officer and not having a car, he had to use the subway.

He asked you for your help in knowing what station he gets off at. You were so kind to him by explaining where he needed to go that he felt compelled to keep conversing with you. He feels the need to impress you by boldly declaring the two of you would go to dinner sometime soon. He's confident but not smooth.

You laugh and decide to take him up on his offer. After some months of dating, you start to hang around his place some more and he realizes how much he needed someone like you in his life.

There was a lot of things to learn, having to learn how to live an ordinary life, but you teach him so compassionately and kindly, never degrading him for not having the knowledge.

His heart flutters every time he opens his lunch box, always looking forward to the handwritten note you leave him with. He collects every single love note you give him and puts in a box, going through it on days you're not here.

Colress

If it wasn't already obvious, Colress has lamented his past days working for Team Plasma.

After he realized the effect he had on the region, he became so disgusted with himself that he wasn't sure what to do. He knew he could stay in Unova, so he flees to Alola.

For a while, for as long as he could, he tries to live a quiet life, speaking to no one. He lives in fear of being recognized.

But over time, he began to note a repetitive pattern which was you.

The two of you always enjoyed your coffee at the same time, in the very early mornings. He would see you on your back porch, cooing at your Pokemon.

The occasional glance was met with a greeting. Then the greetings gradually became conversations. Colress expresses a curiosity in what you were eating, so you offer him some of your freshly baked banana bread. He returns the gesture back by gifting you malasada, apologizing meekly that he's not the type of person to bake, which explained the burning smell earlier last night.

You two start off with small exchanges of coffee and breakfast until one day, you confess (lie) that you made too much food and invite him over for dinner.

Once he steps inside your home, he's blown away by sheer polarizing contradiction it was to his home. Your home was warm and inviting, there was the smell of something delicious in the air.

when he bids farewell, he finds himself feeling empty when he's back inside his own home. His home is so...quiet and sterile, much like his former lab.

He finds himself needing more of not just your home but you yourself.

[cuoredimuschio]

🪲🪐🍄 for the ask game! 🩷🩷🩷

janai!!! thank you!!! 💜💜💜💜

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

well i only have one WIP that i can share snippets from right now, so here's a bit from wound up!! (a little longer than 50 words, but i got on a roll lol):

People like Eddie Munson are exactly why he needs to get out of this goddamn town. Cut the tethers of his past and stand up straight for the first time in twenty years, walk without worrying that any step could be on a landmine, bask under the sun of a city that has never heard his name, breathe in air that holds no knife of rot and regret, of mildew and mediocrity, of cornfields and complacency to his throat. He needs to get out, before Hawkins suffocates him.

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

thank you for this one especially because honestly, my brain hasn't been in the best place recently, so reflecting on the good is a nice change of pace 💜💜

when i take my dog for a walk, i see daffodils and crocus and hyacinths everywhere now 🪻🌷🌼

i have a pint of my favorite ice cream in my freezer and i can't wait to devour it

my friend is in the middle of plotting their second novel and revising their first, and they keep sending me sneak peeks and snippets and it's always a highlight of my day!!

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

another mildly silly one, but i believe in my heart of hearts that steve is absolutely Cracked at pac-man, much to robin's disappointment because she thought she was like. the ultimate champ. but he wipes out her score like it's nothing and so begins a years' long feud between them to reclaim/steal the pac-man crown

[dettiot]

Star Wars Fic Masterlist

I’ll be updating this as I write more Star Wars fic, since a galaxy far, far away has eaten my brain. :-)

Also feel free to visit me on AO3!

Anidala

Male Solidarity: Leia brings Han home. 

Sick Day: Padme takes care of a sick Anakin.

Communication: Anakin discovers how extraordinary his children are.

You’re My Only Hope: Obi-Wan has to save Anakin.

Bathtime: Padme and Anakin, on their honeymoon, in a tub.

The Sleeping Senator: A Sleeping Beauty AU.

“How much does it hurt?”

It’s late at night on Coruscant.

Padme Amidala knew there was no reason to be scared of flying.

Don’t Freak Out: a gender-swapped Chuck AU

We Are Gathered Together: Padme’s thoughts during Leia’s wedding.

“My torso isn’t exactly a pillow you know.”

“I had an important appointment later but… you only live once. I can cancel.”

Happy Fifth Anniversary

Out of the Mouths of Babes

It’s very early in the morning.

grown more beautiful

Ceasefire

the festival of light

in the wee small hours of the morning

peut-être vu

“They’re just so small,” Anakin whispered, holding Luke and Leia in his arms.

Anidala in High School AU

of flower crowns and family

we’re having a heat wave

election night

love and politics the credit drops settling the matter shopping trip talking to the future brother-in-law

late-night interruption another late-night interruption a new late-night interruption

late-night interruption: an expanded and revised version of the ficlet. (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

a mama meltdown

hope in each other

Ahsoka walks in on Anakin and Padme kissing

cuddling

R2′s holofootage of Anakin and Padme’s wedding lets the tooka out of the bag

beauty and the beast

Han asks the Skywalkers for permission to marry Leia

the king and his bodyguards

nightmares about shaaks

Padme is kidnapped

Anakin doesn’t like that Padme got kidnapped

can’t you see?

For Want of a Lightsaber (1)

sleeping in

grocery shopping

Padme is a criminal--kinda

Unexpected Knowledge

The Skywalker Twins Run Wild

Space Disneyland

the meaning of safety

love and coffee, served hot

Anakin’s strange punishments

Padme is a librarian and Anakin is a library menace

Cutting Edge AU

Obitine

On the Run: A duchess and a Padawan.  One: The first meeting. Two: A moment in the dark. Three: Almost close enough. Four: A breaking point. Five: A decision is made.

“I can’t love you.”

“Hi, I’ve been subtle at hinting that I want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and now I’m pissed.”

a bright sun

Opposing Counsel Case Law Statute of Limitations Amicus Curiae Cause of Action Precedent De Novo Discovery Moot Proof of Claim Habeas Corpus

Obi-Wan is not nearly as fluent in Mando’a as you’d think

watching the sunsrise

Of All the Spice Joints in the Galaxy . . .

Satine said the word

Changes The twins miss the parents they’ve never met

Space horses

Anidala & Obitine

better late than never

dinner with the family

double date

Now is the Month of Maying

Obi-Wan’s surprise Life Day party

Living Every Day

Luke/Mara

Snippet 1: From a fic that may or may not happen . . . a conversation between Han and Luke about Mara. Snippet 2: Luke talking to Mara and Karrde about his plan. From the same fic that may or may not happen.

“You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know.”

Luke and Mara watches security drone footage of Anakin and Padme

Luke tells Padme that he and Mara are dating

telling the master

“Dad! Ben took my X-Wing model!”

an unwanted invitation

the extended family

Luke and Mara celebrate Beru’s third birthday

Gen

Luke Skywalker is six years old.

Mara meets Talon Karrde

“Get away from here.”

family bonding

graduation

a grief shared

battle brothers

Luke and the Tooka

mirror images

under the trees

birthday holo call

brunch with the in-laws

morning at Varykino

heads-up display

the twins prepare a surprise

the disaster lineage vs. the coolaster lineage

An Ahsoka and Anakin hug

heart-to-heart

Padme and Luke are sick Anakin is worried

Anakin visits Leia late at night, post-The Last Jedi

Padme & Ahsoka bonding

do droids dream of electric nerfs?

News of the Galaxy How our faves deal with the holopress.

One: Duchess Satine appears on Rotation. Pre-Clone Wars. Two: Senator Amidala participates in a debate about the Military Creation Act. Three: General Anakin Skywalker cooks on the  Raché Ré Show.

Anidala Week 2020

the secrets of the heart: written for Day 2: Canon Divergence or Favorite Canon Work. After Padme helps present the Declaration of 2000′s petition to Palpatine, she is threatened with arrest and Anakin helps her flee Coruscant.

Tam Lin: written for Day 3: Fairy Tale or Mythology. Recently returned to Scotland, Padme meets a strange man in the wood.

Bench Trial: written for Day 4: Modern AU or Fusion/Alternate Fandom. Padme and Anakin meet within my Opposing Counsel Obitine lawyer AU.

love or a cough: written for Day 5: Favorite Quote or Song-Inspired. Padme thinks about her love for Anakin.

Anakin vs. the Feelings: written for Day 7: Free Day. More of my gender-swapped Chuck AU, this time from Anakin’s POV.

Days of Love: A collection of romance ficlets written and posted in February

jedis don’t do surprises (Luke/Mara, post-Thrawn duology)

it seemed like a good idea at the time (Anidala, The Mummy AU)

steeped with love (Obitine, year on the run)

there was only one bunk (Han/Leia, pre-Empire Strikes Back)

id’s nod a colb (Anidala)

the town on the prairie (Obitine, Anidala, historical AU)

double date (Luke/Mara, Han/Leia)

love washed clean (Anidala, mid-Revenge of the Sith)

the prince heir part 1 || part 2 (Luke/Mara, The Princess Bride AU)

early morning with leaders of the Rebellion (Anidala, Anakin doesn’t fall AU)

father sometimes knows best (Han/Leia)

a quarrel between friends (not lovers) (Obitine, set pre-Voyage of Temptation)

sons of old friends (Luke/Mara, Obitine)

a pet-friendly fencing salle (Anidala, Obitine)

ROTS Vader vs. ROTJ Vader (Anidala)

plans for the future (Anidala)

sometimes you don’t have to decide (Din/Luke, Luke/Mara)

love despite exhaustion (Han/Leia)

the fly on the wall (Obitine)

the red carpet (Anidala)

[simplyotometrash]

Blackberry Kisses

Victor x MC! Reader

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff and Victor’s abrasive personality (jkjk i love him and would marry him if i couldn’t marry Kiro)

This was literally inspired because I ws in my yard picking and eating blackberries off my bushes asdfghjkl;

It was a surprise vacation. To be honest, most vacations you were whisked away on were not ones you had planned. Victor had a habit of noticing the tiniest of things and deciding to take you away on impromptu vacations, claiming they were because you were interested in locations for shoots or research. You knew it was his way of saying you needed to breathe and relax. As much of a hardass as Victor could be, he loved you greatly and was much softer on the inside than he showed on the outside.

Where had he taken you exactly? A nice farm in the countryside. A farm that grew many fruits, but it was known this time of year for its blackberries. Delicious, juicy blackberries. You had to dig through your brain to try and think of what spurred this trip. You couldn’t remember. Had you said something? It was still nice all the same.

The air had a fresh, sweet smell to it as a gentle breeze blew through.You could hear the buzzing of bees. You’d have to make a note to ask Victor if you could take home a few jars of their fresh honey. Beekeeping was fascinating and you would have to take a ton of notes and photos. Maybe the owners would even let you do a piece on their farm! It would be interesting. Farming and beekeeping were such interesting topics. You wanted to taste everything the farmers would allow. You’d always wanted to make note of the taste differences between local, fresh products and store bought.

“Victor, it’s incredible here!” You adjusted your sunhat as the wind blew through your hair. “It’s so beautiful!”

Victor made a noise of triumph. That cocky ‘harrumph’ you were used to hearing when he wanted to say “I know it is” or “I told you so”. His hand settled on your hip, taking in the view instead of saying what he wanted to say.

“It is quite nice.” That was all he was going to say? Man, you knew your fiance could be stoic but sometimes he really outdid himself.

“Do you think we could take some of their fresh foods and homemade products home with us? I would love to try some things out! Oh and I bet the things that they grow here taste so yummy,” you gushed. Your mouth practically watered at the thought.

A soft smile played upon the CEO’s lips as he watched your glee. “Of course. I already planned to. It’s always best to buy things fresh and in season when you can. They also raise goats and make many products with goat milk. Along with that, they are a no waste farm. Everything gets used. They even make sure to use the wax cappings from the honey they’ve harvested.”

It never ceased to amaze you just how much your fiance knew about all sorts of things. You weren’t dumb, despite what Victor’s nickname for you may suggest. You knew many things of your own. Victor just had so much knowledge of so many different things. He’d be perfect for a game show!

“Ah, Mr. Li, it’s nice to see you again. And you’ve brought a guest with you.” A kindly looking older gentleman came to greet you. One of the oldest farmers you’d seen since you had arrived. “I’m the owner of the Brighton Farm, Alexander Brighton. This farm has been in my family for generations.” 

You shook his hand with a smile. “I’m MC, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brighton. You have such a beautiful farm. How large is this farm?”

“Ah, you’d like a small tour, then! Wonderful!” That hadn’t been what you’d asked but you wouldn’t refuse. A tour of such a wonderful farm would be hard to resist. “We have nearly 2,000 acres all together. A good percentage of that are multiple pastures for the cattle, sheep, goats, and horses. We have some land for growing vegetables as well. But most the rest that we don’t live on is all one large orchard.”

You and Victor followed Mr. Brighton to a Mule, a small vehicle that he said he used to just get around the farm. There were multiple for people to use to get to different places for working. Most of the people working on the farm were family members or long-term hires. Anyone he hired could live on the property for free as he “had so much land still unused”. 

“I won’t take you too close to the beehives. They’re a bit on the agitated side today, though our bees are typically very gentle. Honey bees are actually very docile you know. But they just had a hive inspection to check for mites and cross comb. Both are a real issue. We don’t inspect our hives too much, that just makes them cranky, but we have to do it every once in a while. Healthy bees are happy bees!” 

---

You were taking vigorous notes in your journal. It was like being in school again. Only this time you were enjoying the subject matter and not bored in a classroom. If you had glanced at Victor more often you would have seen the warm and proud smile that had not left his face even once. Seeing you so in your zone and enjoying things made him happy. All he wanted was for you to be the best you could be and do the best you could. Sometimes that meant being pushy and sounding harsh. Because of his approach, he’d gotten to watch your growth first hand. While he did the pushing, you were growing all on your own. He just kept you going in the right direction and assisted as needed, like with revising your proposals. 

“Mr. Brighton, do you spray your plants with anything,” you asked, tapping your pen against the side of your chin.

“Heavens no. Never! We do not use pesticides on my farm, it’s not healthy for anyone who eats it and certainly not for the pollinators that come to our plants, including our precious bees.”

“Sir, do you think I could do a segment on my show about your farm? Come back and get some footage and do some interviews? I want to show the magic behind what you do and how much care goes into everything here.” There it was. The moment Victor had waited for. You knew he was, judging by how he had asked questions for you when you couldn’t think of anything yourself. 

“Put this place on TV? I don’t see why not! You won’t be allowed to get your crew too close to my bees, mind you, but I don’t mind if you do something on us here. I think the world should see there’s more to farms than cruel factory farming”

He pulled up to rows upon rows of tame blackberry bushes. Many still had red or turning berries upon their vines. There were some with perfectly ripe berries ready to be picked.

“You can pick some berries yourselves. We always encourage people to come out and pick for themselves. We do the same for all of our fruits, though we are more picky with our vegetables.” He handed you and Victor a large bucket. “You’ll pay by weight before you leave. My son will be in the house when you’re ready! You can also buy all sorts of our products while you’re in there. Oh and feel free to eat a few while you’re picking.” He threw a wink your way and waved before driving off. 

He’d given such a long tour of the property. Not all of the pastures, thankfully, but you’d gotten to see pretty much everything. You had many notes and photos. All you’d have to do once you got home would be write up your proposal and share the plans with your staff. Victor clearly endorsed the idea, though he would likely demand you make a proper proposal for the sake of professionalism. 

“Thank you,” you murmured as you began checking blackberries to pick.

Victor picked berries with skill and precision beside you, clearly having done it before. “What for?”

“For bringing me here. You knew I was stumped for a new idea, didn’t you?”

He chuckled a little. “Dummy, I remember the things that you tell me. You said you wanted to do an episode about fresh food and that you weren’t sure how to go about it. I just made some calls.”

You stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Now I can make a perfect episode all about this. I have so many ideas.”

“I want a proposal by Friday.”

“You’re cruel!”

Victor huffed and held a blackberry up to your lips. “If you’re so excited about doing an episode about this place, writing up your proposal to give to me shouldn’t be a problem now should it?”

You eyed your fiance for a minute with a pout before pulling the blackberry from his fingers and into your mouth. It burst with a sweet, slightly tangy flavor. It was the tastiest blackberry you’d ever had! Though the sight of Victor’s slightly purple finger tips made it hard not to laugh.

“This is so tasty! You’ve got to try one-”

Victor cut you off with a kiss, his tongue dipping between your lips and into your mouth. You were blushing as he pulled away, a smirk on his face.

“You’re quite right.”

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[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter VI

Summary: Javier and Steve reunite and reflect on their past and their present and the hurtful memories they have to carry from their time in Colombia. Meanwhile Isa struggles with her everyday life and not having news from Javier for days is starting to worry her.

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: PTSD talks, mentions of violence. (This is me trying to solve one plothole from season 2 from a character I really liked and hated at the same time👀)

A/N: So this took longer than I thought, I completely lost the inspiration and words didn’t flow I had to restart this many times. I guess I will look at this in a few weeks and think I should have revised even more, but I promised to post this today, so there it is. This is plot and more plot with a little bit of angst and fluff at the end.

Series masterlist

Chapter VI: Old Friends

Time is a curious thing; here they are many years after: Their bodies are not the same; the jeans are tighter around the belly and the hair is already grey in some parts, wrinkles around the eyes bear witness of the years that had pass through them, but nonetheless the conversation flows as if not a day has passed.

The empty beers sit to the side of the table leaving a small pool of their condensation over the wooden table. The music is loud at the bar and Javi and Steve had been quite for a few minutes now. The question floating above them making the air thicker every second it passes without addressing the matter.

“I should have reach to you sooner” Javi says holding his half bottle, is it the fifth or sixth he has finished?

“Don’t worry about it” Steve shakes his head and leaves his bottle on the pile “I called a few times, but I thought you needed time to process it all”

“The thing is I didn’t” Javi shows half a smile “I really fucked up and when they gave me Cali I thought I could redeem myself. Tried to do it by the book, tried to outsmart them” he leans on the table “and what happened? It was a fucking charade” he snarls

“You did well getting all that shit on the news” the blond agent taps on his friend arm “Shit! I wanted to quit myself when I saw it”

“They didn’t give me another option. But...” Javi crosses his arms over his chest when he feels that familiar feeling, the words and feelings choking him

“You didn’t want to”

“Fuck, I’m a middle age man! This is what I’ve been doing for my whole life? What was I supposed to do?” he exhales deeply, a burden is lifted out of his chest

“Everybody said it was unfair if it helps” Steve consoles

“I guess not Stechner” Javi scoffs

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve comes close “He disappeared. For real, MIA. Nobody has heard from him in years”

“Well, I don’t wish death to anyone...” Javier shakes his head:” who am I kidding? Fuck him!”

The two of them laugh out loud for a few minutes; the waiter guessing that their laughs deserve another round; leaves two cold beers on their table with a wink

“For Stechner, I guess”

“May he rot in hell” and they drink together

“So...about that wife of yours” Steve has been dying to ask more about Isa and Connie has tasked him with getting all the information he can gather.

“Isa” Javier reaches for his wallet. In the small plastic pocket inside it, there’s a picture of the three of them on a photo booth, the same day they had to go to the mall to get Elvi’s photo for her school application.

Elvira is seated on their laps while Javi and Isa smile at her

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. You’ve been always lucky with the ladies, Javi”

“Well, I am. I don’t know how she bears with me. I give her too many headaches”

“Connie was happy when they stopped asking me to go on field operations. Not gonna lie, it felt good for a bit getting back to a desk and just do paperwork. But then...” Steve blue eyes look glossy in this light and after too many beers “I saw myself reflected on the glass doors of the office and shit, it hit me; I was old and dying on a desk. And then you called”

“I understand”

“When you said you were married with a kid, I really couldn’t believe that you and I were once those dudes in Colombia”

“It feels like a million years ago”

“And just a few days ago at the same time” completes Steve and Javier nods

“What does she know? your wife, how she handles all that?”

“She doesn’t. When I met her she was...first of all she had left Laredo before everybody knew me for the Escobar shit, so when we met, we were just two strangers. We could talk and I could kick everything under a rug and let her form an opinion about me by herself without interferences” his gaze wanders over the tables: families having a quite dinner; a couple that has an untouched plate in front of them while they kiss and talk in whispers.

“And after you married?” Steve asks interrupting his thoughts

“I just told her the necessary” he shakes his head the necessary is almost nothing.

“Well, it’s better that way, but I couldn’t hide it from Connie. Man! I was out control; everything and anything could trigger me. I was anxious, paranoid all the time. I woke up in the middle of the night, got my gun out of the safe if I heard a car tire exploding or any loud noise and I’d had my heart beating fast for hours. And let’s not talk about the nightmares”

“The helicopter?” Javi asks, his voice is thin almost a whisper remembering the extreme methods the police used when the hunt for Escobar was on its peak

“Yeah...and many others. I keep on seeing the two of us entering that house, but instead of finding Olivia crying, she’s dead, shot dead as her mum” Steve sniffs and coughs moving uncomfortably on his chair. “That’s when I looked for help”

Javier nods remembering so many nights where he thought his brain could kill him, reimaging that kid in the ally, rescuing Helena, all the things he saw when Los Pepes were unleashed. By your hand.

“We should call it a night, amigo”

“I see your Spanish has not improved. Just the two words you knew back in Colombia” Javi scoffs with a grin

“Cabrón”

“Yep, that’s the second one”

Isa

It’s been two days since he left and he hasn’t called. Isa tries to focus on everything she needs to do before Elvira starts the new school year. She has called Chucho every afternoon thinking that maybe he had some news, but nothing.

“Ese marido tuyo aguanto mientras Elvi era chiquita y ahora que pudo se largo” (Your husband stayed with you while Elvi was a baby and now that she’s grown, he has left you) her mother commented once she got the news that Javi was away and he hadn’t call in three days. News travel fast in a small town and she hears the comments about her, about Javi: he did it again, he left another woman and run away, he left her as he left Lorraine. Every day Isa had to struggle with her own thoughts and the constant reminder from her mother and the ladies in Laredo that something was wrong with Javier.

Her brain repeats the same litany:

He must be caught up in something

Maybe he’s somewhere where there’s not a good connection

Maybe he cannot call for security

Maybe he did run away

Maybe he’s in danger

She tries to stop her mind when it gets that fast spiraling down towards the darker scenarios she can imagine. On the third night after he left and hadn’t called she had a terrible nightmare and she had to keep her little night lamp on as she does every night he spends away and every day since then, the lamp is on while she rests, sleeping just for a few hours and then spending hours turning back and forth trying not to think about the worst possible things she can imagine. What would she do if he never comes back? What would she do if something bad happen to him? Even though they had made peace by making love in that old truck before parting she could not forget their arguments and the things left unsaid. He would never leave them like that, would he?

Isa tries to be calm, not to project her fears and worries onto her daughter but each day she’s challenged with the never ending things she has to do at home each day: laundry, cooking, cleaning, and every time she thinks she’s finished there’s something new that has come up. Elvira is stressed, as any kid her age, watching the summer slipping away with its long days of freedom on top of her dad being away. So she’s more agitated than usual, sassy and misbehaving just to get her mother’s attention.

The trip to the supermarket is a long chant of demands: I want Cereals, I want Ice cream. All Isa can hear is IwanIwantIwantIwant and the wheels of her shopping cart screeching on the ground. She thinks her wrist is about to snap open just trying to hold Elvira’s hand so she sticks to her side.

“It’s really crowded, cielo, stay with me” she sighs trying to be patient.

But the moment, Isa hesitates and looks down to read her shopping list, she’s out

“I’m gonna get my cereal”

“Elvi!”

Isabel gains a few complaints from some old lady that she almost railed over trying to run for her daughter.

“Oh, you want that one?”

“Yes, please. I can’t reach” Isa laughs softly watching her daughter acting polite and looking like an angel towards the stranger woman. The lady gives her the colorful box and Elvi jumps excitedly until she sees her mum at the end of the aisle.

“¿Qué te dije de que te separases de mi?” (What did I tell you about running away from me?” the little girl pouts and answers

“I thought you would say no if I ask for this”

“Ay, Elvi. I’m sorry if she bothered you” Isa smiles to the woman. She is on her 40s, Isa guesses, she has a beautiful elegant visage framed by a brown with blond highlights mane. She smiles widely with her scarlet lips: “No hay problema” (No problem) she answers in Spanish, her accent seems different to the Mexican-American accent Isa is used to listen to in this part of Texas.

“Gracias igualmente. Está obsesionada con esto que está lleno de azúcar” (Thank you anyway, she’s obsessed with this sugary thing” Isa ruffles her child’s hair

“La comprendo, mis hijos son igual” (I understand, my kids are the same)

“¿De dónde es? tiene un acento muy bonito” (Where are you from? you have a very beautiful accent) Isa asks, for a moment she thinks that she might be overstepping but the woman laughs softly patting Isa’s arm with her hand stylishly decorated in elegant gold and diamonds rings, her manicure is perfect.

“Colombia,pero ya llevo unos años acá en los Estados Unidos” (Colombia, but I’ve been here in the USA for a while now)

“¡Oh! me han dicho que es muy bonito” (I’ve been told it’s very beautiful) Elvi grabs her mum by the hem of her dress rushing her to finish the boring conversation, mainly because she wants to get back home and open the box of cereal “Bueno, un gusto” (Well, it’s been a pleasure) Isa waves

“¿Cómo se llama?” the woman asks when they’re leaving

“Isa, ¿y usted?” (Isa, and you?)

“Judy. Un placer” she grins

The TV has already passed to that late night teleshopping advertising stupid stuff with even more stupid people repeating again and again the same lame catchy phrases. But there’s silence at this hour, Elvi is sleeping soundly and now Isabel can rest on the sofa, eyes fixed on the stupid people on TV and her longing for Javier.

She took the laundry out of the dryer today. Mixed in all the clothes an old “University of Texas” t-shirt that Javi rarely wears around the house and that she has stolen as pajamas. Without even realizing it, she smelled the fabric only sensing the sweet scent of the softener she uses so she had rushed to the bathroom and sprinkled the t-shirt with Javi’s cologne. And now hugs herself silently praying that tonight will be the night he calls.

The TV volume is set to the minimum and when the strong ringing sound surrounds the house Isa thinks is coming from it until she realizes that is coming from the kitchen. She runs, stepping on Elvi’s toys and bumping her knee over the sofa. Limping she runs and picks up the phone

“Hello?” her voice is shaky

“Isa is me” Javi says on the other line

“Javi, thank God, where were you? You told me you will call when you’d arrive and it’s been three days and I...” she babbles

“I’m fine, I’m sorry...it’s been a little bit crazy” he sounds tired and he’s speaking softly as if he cannot raise his voice

“Are you okay? Are you in danger?” Isa sniffs, the tears rolling down and she leans on the cold tile wall of the kitchen

“No, it’s just we have to go to different places, meet a bunch of people. I didn’t have the time. I’m sorry Isa. Elvi’s sleeping I guess?”

“Yes, but she will be really happy to know that you called”

“I’ll try to call earlier tomorrow”

“Yes...please, she’s being a bit difficult lately”

“Why?” Isa can hear how the bed creaks on his end and his deep grunt

“I guess it’s the end of summer, you’re not here, my mum...”

He huffs

“Elvi told her we didn’t know where you where and you can imagine”

“She hates me even more”

“Don’t worry about her. Tell me about the job” Isa sits on the ground holding the phone on her shoulder

“Isa...I rather listen to you”

“I haven’t done much. Nothing interesting”

“It doesn’t matter” he answers

And thus she begins telling every tiny detail, Javi was silent on the other side and when she asks if he’s listening he just hums.

“Anyway...I guess that’s all. And I hope you’re not mad but your old university t-shirt has a new hole in it which somehow makes it even more comfortable”

“You’re wearing it now?”

“Yes...I miss you so it’s just like having your arms around me”

“I miss you too, Isa. I only have this old dude on the medallion and the picture I keep on my wallet to remind me of you...not that I need anything to remember you”

“That old dude...” she laughs “he’s a saint and I think he’s doing a good job for the moment”

“Really?” Isa smiles widely when she hears his deep chuckle on the other side

“You’ve said I miss you for the first time, I will say it’s even a miracle”

“What? I’ve told that plenty of times” he says a little bit offended “ but we’ve never been parted that much since we’re together”

“You don’t say you love me that much either...” Isa adds

“That’s not true” he says firmly

“Yes it is, I’m not mad, you express it in other ways. I’ve accepted that when I marry you”

“I’m sure I say it many times...”

“You can say it now...” she whispers

“I love you, Isa, and I miss you” he mutters

“See? Saint Jude is working its magic” Isa laughs. Her heart is full and she feels like an enormous weight has been lifted. He loves me, he’ll be back

“So I’m not a lost cause anymore?” Javi replies with an amused tone

“We’ll see when you get here”

“And you won’t say it back?”

“What?”

“That you love me and miss me”

“Ay, Javier” she sighs “I sleep every night waiting for you with the lights on, praying that you will get back to me soon, I sleep with your t-shirt and even if I don’t believe in it really, I keep praying and praying that you will be back to our bed, that I will turn and you’ll be there, so yeah, I miss you and I love you. Te amo”

“Yo también te amo”

“Good night, mi amor”

“Good night”

(taglist: @sara-alonso)

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Little Secrets

for @nightimedreamersworld from the prompt list and tags you posted. Thanks to @ninemagicks for leading the way. 

From a tumblr prompt list by @mraculous and sent to the Carry On fandom by @nightimedreamersworld : ‘a mutual friend tried to introduce us, but we already knew each other from LARPing but we’re both too embarrassed to admit that so I jokingly said we used to date and oh god now our friend won’t stop interrogating us about it’ AU

Little Secrets, a Snowbaz LARPing AU (2774 words)

Simon

“Do you want to come over Friday? I can order in curry and I’ll even watch that Netflix thing you’re obsessed with, if you like,” Penny says, before taking another bite of her sandwich. I’ve already finished mine but I take the chance to steal one of her crisps. She never finishes them. I hate seeing them go to waste.

No one should ever bin salt and vinegar crisps. It’s a crime against humanity.  

It’s been harder to coordinate our schedules this term. Even meeting for lunch is a treat. We’ve not had a night in for weeks. It’s not as easy, now that we don’t live together.  

And it’s not often that Penny offers to let me decide what we watch. Says she’s got standards and I watch too much “brain numbing rot.”

Castlevania is not rot. It’s fucking brilliant. My costume for this campaign is based on Trevor Belmont. It’s wicked good.  

I’m gutted to have to turn her down though. Friday’s going to have to be a no. We’ve been gearing up for this campaign for weeks and I can’t miss it.  

“I’m sorry. I can’t Friday.”

Penny looks at me over the top of her glasses. “Why not?”

She doesn’t know about this. About the LARP club I joined. It’s something I started doing over the summer, when she was away in India with her family.  

I was bored. And lonely.

I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it. I’m not. It’s a hell of a lot of fun swinging a sword around and taking part in campaigns. Even the costume workshops are entertaining.  

Everyone’s so friendly. Well, most of them are, at any rate.

Penny tends to frown upon things like this. Things that don’t serve a purpose. Making new friends doesn’t count as serving a purpose. She’s told me more than once that having too many friends is an unnecessary burden. “There’s only so many hours in a day, Simon. Two, three people, that’s all any of us have time for.”  

That’s all Penny has time for. I’m lucky to be one of her three people.  

Telling her I’m spending two nights a week LARPing with near strangers while dressed as a medieval monster hunter likely won’t go over too well.  

Especially as that amounts to two nights a week I’m not doing my coursework or revising. Sacrilege.  

“Uh. I’ve got . . . uh, there’s a study group.”  

“On a Friday night?” Her eyes widen.  

“Yes.” The shorter the answer the better with Penny. I can’t get caught in a lie if I’m barely saying anything.

“For which class?”

Fuck it all. I can feel my leg starting to jiggle. She’ll know the gig is up if I don’t answer soon.  

“Medieval Literature.” Thank fuck I’m actually taking that class this semester or she’d be onto me.  

It’s not that far off, anyway. Most of the costumes qualify as Medieval.

“Dedicated lot.”

“Quite.”

“It’s good to see you being so devoted to your studies, Simon, what with applications for graduate programs coming up.”

As if I needed the reminder.

“Maybe we can try to find some time next week, then.”

“That’d be great.” I reach out to steal another crisp. She smacks my hand away. “I do miss you, Pen.”

Penny pushes the bag of crisps over to me with a sigh, but she’s smiling. “I miss you too, Si.”

It’s not until the next week that we manage to make plans. And it’s not for curry and Netflix.

We’re at Foyles, having spent the last hour listening to one of Penny’s favorite poets do a reading and a Q & A. Penny’s dead gone for Nikita Gill. I thought it was mostly because she’s a femininst and Indian but I see the point, now that I’ve heard her read from her latest book. She’s brilliant.

Penny’s in line to get her book signed and I’m just sort of shuffling along with her, feeling like a bit of a tit, seeing as I’ve not got a book myself.

Should I? I feel I ought to at least have something, but it’s too late now, we’re almost to the signing table.

Predictably, Penny gets into an intense conversation with the author while I stand there, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and nodding every so often. The store clerk finally gets Penny to shove off. She drags it out for another minute and then we’re finally clear of that scene.

I’m ready to head to the pub for a bite, but Penny stops down the line to talk to someone from her seminar and I’m left at loose ends again. It’s mostly uni types in the crowd, nearly all of them intense and bright eyed as they talk over each other now and indulge in some excitable hand waving. There’re a few blokes here and there, moody looking types with man-buns, horn rimmed glasses, and oversized jumpers. I recognize one or two from my classes but no one I know well.

Penny stops to talk to another person and I’m in despair over dinner. I wander over to a book display and idly flip through some paperbacks as I wait for her. Thankfully it’s not more than a few minutes later when I hear her call out to me. “Simon!”

I trot over, more than ready to make a run for the pub but her first words aren’t “let’s get out of here.”

“Si, I want you to meet my friend.”

Oh, fuck. We’re never going to get to the pub at this rate. I plaster a smile on my face and turn to say ‘ hello’ to whoever it is Penny is bound and determined to have me meet.

And I freeze.

“This is Baz. He’s in my Modern British Poets seminar and he’s almost as keen about vampire lore as you are.”

I raise my eyes and meet Baz’s cool stare, that one eyebrow of his arched as he meets my gaze.

Fuck. I don’t need to be introduced to Baz. I know Baz. He’s the Mage in our campaign. He’s a fucking ruthless one too, dead brill with his spells, even though he’s a bit shit when he’s got to do any swordwork.

That was my main job on the summer campaign--give him cover so he could cast his spells and decipher his runes and whatever else it is that Mages do.

I’m front line offense now--cut down anyone in my path, long before they can get near the rest of our party. It’s up to Gareth and Niall to have Baz’s back this time around.

I can’t very well pretend I don’t know him, but I really don’t want to be explaining that I’m in a LARP club to Penny in the middle of this bookstore, not in front of Baz.

Fuck.

I give Baz a pleading look which I’m sure only confuses him, based on the way his eyebrow arches up even more. I don’t know how to convey “don’t tell Penny you know me from the Dragonknight campaign” with just my eyes.

“I’m well acquainted with Simon, Bunce.”

I am well and truly fucked.

“You two know each other?” Penny gives me a penetrating look.

Baz keeps talking. “Yes, we’ve been--” but I interrupt him before he can say anything more.

“He’s my ex.”

I have literally no idea why I said that. And there’s no taking it back, now that it’s out there.

Two sets of eyes goggle at me, both of Baz’s eyebrows reaching for his hairline now. Penny looks scandalized.

“Your what?” she asks.

“My ex-boyfriend,” I clarify, literally begging Baz to go along with this with my eyes. I probably look like a gormless twat. Just go along with it, I try to broadcast that thought across the two feet of space between us.

“Your ex-boyfriend,” Penny says flatly. “How do I not know about this, Simon?”

Baz looks just as curious, but thank Christ he doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, you now, summer romance, short-lived fling, gone but not forgotten.” I’m literally babbling.

“Very short lived,” Baz says drily. “So short lived I’d be surprised if he had mentioned it, Bunce.” He’s smirking, the smug bastard. Arms crossed over his chest, that one fucking eyebrow mocking me now.

“Yes, ah, you know, summer.”

“I’d say I don’t know at all, Simon.” Penny’s looking between us, a suspicious look on her face. “Why don’t you fill me in. I’d love to hear about my best friend and my study partner getting together and me being none the wiser.”

Baz is full on grinning now. “Yes, why don’t you tell her, Simon? Unless you’d rather I did?”

I think the fuck not.

“Ah. Well. You know we met  . . . ah . . . at the library.”

“What on earth were you doing at the library?”

What the fuck was I doing at the library? I never go to the library and Penny knows that.

Fuck.

“Wasn’t that when your laptop was being wonky?” Baz chimes in.

I scowl at him. Only one of us needs to be fabricating this tale and that someone is me.

“At least that’s what I remember you saying, when you came in that night.”

Bloody hell.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what it was. Had to come in and do a lit search on premises.”

“It’s a good thing I was working the desk that night,” Baz says, uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into his jeans pockets.

My eyes follow his hands down and keep going.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz in jeans before. Tunics? Yes. Majestic robes? Yes.

Elegant, fitted jeans that are snug all the right spots? Well, I’d remember seeing that before, is all I’m saying.

I drag my eyes back up to his face. “Uh, yes, um, good thing.”

I didn’t know he worked at the library.

“Simon came in, just before closing time, with the idea that he was going to do a search and print it all out in mere minutes.” He’s really warming to the subject and I’ve lost control of this whole situation.

“Typical,” Penny says and I’m outraged.

“What?” I sputter.

She nods her head at Baz. “He gave you those puppy dog eyes and that crooked little smile of his, didn't he?”

“Now, see here, I’m the one telling the story and–”

But Baz steamrolls right over me. “Oh, you know he did, Bunce.” He gives me a fond look that makes my face heat up.

What’s he playing at? I rub at the back of my neck, feel the clammy sweat starting to form there.

“Got you to do the whole thing for him, didn’t he?”

This is pure slander. I’m not going to stand for this.

“I couldn’t resist his roguish charm.”

“Listen, now--”

Baz just keeps talking. “I had no idea he was such a shameless flirt.” He shakes his head at me and actually manages to look almost mournful, the lying bastard. “Charmed me, wined me, dined me. But once his laptop was functional and the research project complete, just a few short weeks later, he dumped me without a second thought.”

“Simon!” Penny’s glaring at me now. She’s bought his whole fabrication and I’ve got no one but myself to blame for this farce.

“Just wait a bloody minute!” I yelp.

Baz hunches his shoulders and lowers his head. “By text, no less.”

“Really, Simon, how could you?” Penny’s all righteous indignation, her hand coming to rest on Baz’s arm, eyes blazing as she rakes her gaze over me. “I go away for a few weeks and you not only manage to seduce my friend but then unceremoniously dump him by text? You know better than that. You were a bloody wreck when Agatha did that to you!”

And now she’s airing my entire sordid dating history to Baz in the middle of a bloody Foyles on a Thursday night and I’ve not even had dinner. This takes the biscuit, I swear to god.

“Penny, listen, it was nothing like that, really, I swear.”

She’s got her arms crossed over her chest. “Then how was it, Simon?” Cold as ice. You’d think Baz was her best friend and confidant, not me.

This is a fucking disaster. I’d have been better off telling her about the LARPing.

I am going to tell her about the LARPing. It’s the only way out of this mess.

“Listen, Pen, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be upset I was wasting my time--”

“Wasting your time?” Baz interrupts. “Is that what you’re calling our two weeks, then?”

“That’s not what I meant!” I’m going to let a berserker just go by me and wreck Baz this week, I swear I am. Won’t even brandish my sword at him, I’ll just point him in Baz’s direction. It’d serve the bastard right. “Listen, Penny, I was going to tell you, but I was a bit embarrassed--”

“As well you should be, the way you behaved.” Penny interrupts me this time and I have reached my fucking limit.

“Would the two of you let me finish one bloody sentence?”

Two expectant faces meet mine but I swear there’s a glint in Baz’s eyes and his lips quirk like he’s trying to keep himself from laughing. Arsehole. I may go after him myself this week, if he’s not careful. Go rogue. It’d be worth it, just to wipe the smug look off his face.

He’s got his hair down tonight. I don’t know why I didn’t notice that earlier. He’s usually got it up when we’re–fucking hell, why am I thinking about his hair right now?

“Ok, so let me finish what I’ve got to say or I swear to Christ I am going to go off.” Baz inclines his head and waves a hand at me in a ‘have at it’ gesture. Penny frowns but holds her tongue. “So, while you were gone this summer I got a bit caught up in LARPing.”

“You did what?” Penny asks.

“LARPing. Live action role play.”

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t know. For something to do.”

“And why are you telling me this now?”

I pull at my hair and groan. “Because that’s how I met Baz. He’s not my ex. I’ve never gone out with him. I just made that all up, rather than tell you about the whole LARP business.”

“Why on earth would you concoct all that nonsense, Simon?” Penny’s looking completely perplexed but Baz has this cheeky grin, the absolute wanker.

He’s got a dimple in his left cheek.

Fuck.

“Because I thought you’d be irritated. It’s not something that serves a purpose.”

“Why would I care what you do with your free time?”

Oh my fucking god.

I give my hair another yank. “Aren’t you always telling me I should spend more time on my studies? Keep my social life a bit more contained?”

Penny has the audacity to shrug. “I’m not your keeper. If you need to swing a sword around to let off some steam, far be it from me to argue.”

She turns to Baz and smacks him on the arm. “What were you thinking, going along with all this nonsense of his tonight? I’d not expect that kind of foolishness from you, Baz.”

Baz leans against a bookshelf and flashes her a grin. “Let’s just say my curiosity was piqued, when he threw that ex comment out there. And you know how I love to spin a good story, Bunce. He certainly wasn’t going to pull one over on you by himself.” His eyes light on me and there’s something smouldering in the depths of them. Something I’d like to get a closer look at.

“Well, you’re ridiculous, the both of you,” Penny says. “You deserve each other, honestly.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m starved. It’s past time we went to dinner.”  

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Baz’s eyes never leave mine. “I’ll see you Friday then, Snow?”

He used my LARPing alias.

I liked it better when he was calling me Simon.

Penny hooks her arm around his. “Come join us, Baz. Since you and Simon already know each other so well.”

He adjusts his book bag on his shoulder. “I suppose I could do with some dinner.”

Penny keeps her hold on his arm and leans back to look at me behind Baz’s back.

And then she winks.

I think I’m the one that’s been played.

And when Baz’s knee knocks into mine as he squeezes into our booth at the pub I realise I don’t mind one bit.

also on ao3 Little Secrets

[akatokuro]

The Inevitable StS Rewatch, Episodes 23-25

And we’re back to canon, baby! ...sort of...

- ORANGE JUICE PARTY!

- When I first watched Saint Seiya, because we watched with badsubs, I was confused as to what happened that Ikki is suddenly on our side and playing nice? Well, with goodsubs, Ikki's turnaround is clearer, but the niceness is not. His characterization is SO WEIRD during this stretch of episodes...

- Well, hey, what do you know, Netflix agrees, Ikki! Fucking ugh.

- This pseudo-recap and our heroes pooling their knowledge and speculating on what could be happening is hilarious, because it's all completely weird and wrong. Like, I actually love the idea of around this point the Bronzies+Saori actually sitting down and talking about what they know based on incomplete information, but all this "SAGITTARIUS IS THE STRONGEST CLOTH IN THE WORLD", "THEY MUST BE SCARED ONE OF YOU BRONZIES CAN WEAR THE GOLD CLOTH!" is... uh, guys...?

- And this framing about ~Arles~ being so desperate to get Sagittarius because ooooh it's a Gold Cloth and they're so special and SAGA HAS A GOLD CLOTH HIMSELF, YOU NERDS.

- IS. IS THAT A FUCKING FACT. BOY HOWDY. WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN.

- Saori tries hard! Obligatory I love Saori comment! I still love the weird/disbelieving expressions from the Bronzies when Saori is really trying hard to be kinder. I love how she's so clearly the leader of the group, too, despite being a non-fighter. April O'Neil this is not.

- AH YES, THE LEGENDARY LIZARD MISTY! THE MOST POPULAR SAINT IN ALL OF SANCTUARY!

- I do like how, though, in Sanctuary men presenting in feminine ways is completely unremarkable and has no impact on the sense of respect you get for people. I'm sure Aphrodite is a very well respected figure in Sanctuary. Misty's popularity amongst the other Silvers is fucking hilarious, but also actually sort of nice in that way, too. I pretty much universally prefer the anime's color schemes for the characters, but let Camus have his painted nails, goddammit!

- Marin is really cool as hell. Would have loved more focus on her. The scene where she has to walk away from Seiya's grave knowing that Misty knows was really effective...

- hyouga do you seriously spend your spare time taunting polar bears at the zoo................ shun, i don't really know about your boyfriend............

- The concept of Sanctuary as a society and an institution is really fascinating. I wouldn't call Episode G fucking brilliant or groundbreaking, per se, but it was fun in part because we got a closer look at the actual mechanics and how things work. The inter-Saint tensions, Saint factions, and politics could be really fun - especially in the context of Saga fucking things up because he has no idea what the hell he's doing, Pope-wise. So you have a crop of Silvers who are mostly nasty pieces of work and a crop of Golds who are either evil or have crippling emotional problems, on the cusp of the Holy War. Whoops!

- By writing that out I have already put more thought into all of this than Masami Kurumada has ever done in his life, btw

- SAINT SEIYA IS THE BEST I DON'T GIVE A FUCK

- "Oh jesus, of all the people who could have shown up to help, it really had to be the Failswan...? Oh god okay make it work make it work..."

- The imagery of Saori playing piano in her ruined mansion is really effective, though. Saori’s facial expressions and reactions to everything are so interesting. I’ve said it before, but I really do appreciate the organic sense of her struggling to keep this ship running and hold it together. 

- RIP Misty you will be remembered by every Silver Saint to come after you

- Every fucking time they bring up this ridiculous "IS MARIN SEIYA'S SISTER?" question yumetabibito and I were both screaming NO! NO SHE FUCKING ISN'T JUST STOP because oh my god how ridiculous how would that even work Seiya if you thought for two fucking seconds about the timeline you would know... you wouldn't... fffffffffffff

- Really thrilled that Marin got to take out Asterion, and her attitude when he was questioning her about what she was doing. Saint Seiya ladies have this sort of ruthless and badass streak about them that makes them really, really engaging in this setting. Marin acknowledging "yeah, by starting this civil war, we're probably all going to fucking die, but shit's gotta be done" is hardcore as hell. I don't doubt that Marin loves Seiya and genuinely wanted to protect him in this situation, but her bigger focus has always been that larger scope of Sanctuary as a whole and how it's rotting from the inside.

- This set of episodes officially converted Hyouga from “smugswan” to “failswan” for me, by the way. Just the sheer hilarity of setting things up so that Saori asks him to help, we get a full episode of him running around aimlessly in the city for the whole fucking day, and then finally shows up on the scene too late to actually contribute anything or help in any way. Cygnus Hyouga, ladies and gentlemen!

- Ah yes, Aiolos finally shows his face in flashback. Aiolos is inevitably one of those characters my brain can't help but go "you know, he would be a lot more interesting if you read him as kind of an asshole". IT'S JUST HOW MY BRAIN WORKS, OKAY?

- The line between "Saori" and "Athena" is another one of those things StS has that's potentially incredibly fascinating, but doesn't actually delve super into. I do like the vibe of the Saori reveal here, though, even though I also like in a different way the manga version of the Bronzies instantly telling her to fuck off. As dumb as the filler arcs were, I do think they were effective in establishing a warmer bond between Saori and her Saints.

- The vibe I get is that Saori is generally "Saori", but when "Athena" stuff comes up it's like she just intuitively clicks with it or knows it, like when she confronts Artemis later as her "sister". If I was revising Saint Seiya (dohohoho, look how humble I am), I would put more emphasis on Saori noticing signs and being troubled by them as buildup - but the actual reveal is probably fine.

- SAORI'S FACE HERE SAYS PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING I WOULD EVER WANT TO ABOUT THE STEEL SAINTS. LET US NEVER SPEAK OF THEM AGAIN.

[luwha]

Early Waltz

(This is the free drabbles i’ve been writting for my current RPG session, Vampire The Masquerade)

Warnings: Violence, innacurate mental illnesses, sexual themes, vampires so ofc blood af, i guess?

None of the texts were revised by me or fixed the grammars and sentences, so have mercy on me:

Early evening, Waltz.

Even though Waltz was known by it’s sheer smell of smoke and sweat, the long lines of cocaine and terrible, oh, terrible music, the earlier it got the more the music sounded slower and calmer. And the bass was being tuned, on the coffin, handmade, with a lot of old covers and painted in a dull tasteless black, the ink has experied and the wood not polished, rested Alle, a vampire.

Or tried to rest, as the music reverberated on his confined space, and he knew it was his own bass getting ready. Still, to early to leave the coffin safely, he picked from under his pilow an cigar butt, from a few that laid there as his bed did, and an almost empty lighter, shaped like a canteen. Lighted, he let the smoke form a tiny layer over him, getting his head a bit dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

He wouldn’t die because of it, not again. ‘You will’ the introspective voices of his constant madness kept teasing, weak and meaningless like they always were, at least on the status quo. It was almost impossibe to count time and hours as he dove into the constant distractions and feelings he had to fight so much to keep at bay, and what brough him back was his one night stand leaving his room without a hi or anything.

Not that he cared anyway.

He followed, not caring to dress up more than putting his old ass jeans, very alike with the pants he had when he died. Also shirtless, just as he died, chest exposed and daring the death to take him by the hands. Walked out, without shoes too, stepping on broken glass, dried fluids he wanted to believe it was just vodka or beer, so much dirt. The place was nasty, he had to agree, but if it was just a bit cleaner the low lifes wouldn’t feel like the place was meant for them, meant to be their grave as some killded themselves, some drinking for their very lifes. The Dealers, the depressed and crazy, all welcome to Waltz.

Being him one.

Down there, gina was almost done with the instrument, the bass so old the arm had some splinters, and the woman wasn’t surprised when he picked it without the armband, holding it like it was nothign with his left arm, checkign the tuning. Soemtimes Alle couldn’t believe she wasn’t a vampire, her tuning being greater than the glock she carried around: Waltz was a nightmare of a place.

His servant approached, after having a talk with the said night stand; a much older vampire, and without being given a chance to talk, Alle stole the cigar from his mouth, a thin line under the leather mask. Wasn’t Waltz a place for all sorts of heavy metal and death threats, he’d be mistaken by a BDSM enthusiast, but there he was nothing more than a Rammstain fan. The leather covered the ruins of his face and skin, a thin thing that felt like the remains ofver a corpse, a sign of his fall as a vampire.

And he spoke of the news. The schedule of his show, the drummer kept harassing a girl that soon pulled a knife, and Alle liked it. Those woman were the soul of that place, all of them being powerful on their sorts, and he was a silent shadow with them, making sure the man around wouldn’t dare to threat. And about woman, he offered his cigar to Gina with a small tilt of his head, she took it and left, the long nails short on the middle and ring fingers of both hands. The dark red nails. Blood.

The bar was getting fuller and fuller as the time passed, and wasn’t even 8pm and there were already people with weed and heroin, and Alle’s skin itched for some needles, but he let go.

His one night stand borrowed his phone, and he watched with a smile on his face as Kizar tried to sort how the tiny thing worked, and he didn’t miss a heartbeat to mock the man, moving the phone away as Kizar tried to sort out how exactly the voice got there, and where he had to speak. Older vampires were hot as hell but equally dumb on their perceptions.

Baleen was there, around them, fingers with claw-like nails twicthing. Yeah, thrusdays were those days that named the place, and thnaks to Cain his head was on it’s peak performance when he started to play, songs from his own composition, him being the only one that didn’t had a gutteral voice for vocals. A call, call for death hidden under poor metaphos of dugs, a dare to be put under the earth with an ancient call, followed by a reverberation of his bass.

Clichê, wasn’t he? A vampire who had a band, ironic. He couldn’t focus on the crowd, his vision blurred and mixing with the sounds, his perceptions so high he got confused and dizzy, almost missing a step and falling from the makeshift stage. The crowd didn’t bother to cheer or enjoy as it would be expected, them being a sort of people who would like the music to follow their deepest dreams, brought to the surface with the uneasy help of alcohol and sex.

And it was okay, he though. He wouldn’t cheer either, but yelling at the top of his lungs was relieving,  a loud cry for war, a loud cry for death. The ending song, he picked one everyone used to make a small shitty mosh pit, Ratamahatta, but on the bits of it, he felt his hair on his nape shiver. A prey, he found a man on his middle 50’s almost passing out right there in the middle of the stablishment, themosh pit made of drunkyard humans being a great distraction.

Then he let the feelings come, tears on his face from nowhere clear, sensations he didn’t understand, he almost felt like he crossed a plane of ethereal existance, his fingers missing the accords heavly like if he had never learned how to play, and his gaze on the old man.

And then madness, he let his own madness be part of him, and he could feel him drop as his eyes forgot they could see, the man letting the bootle fall as quickly as Gina and Baleen rushed to get him, the excuses the same as always: “We don’t want y'all to step on him” or “we’re getting help” or anything fitting, most of them went missing unoticed and nothing stopped on Waltz to pay attention to that soul. He wasn’t even the first on of the night, three people passed out on the corners, a woman vomiting her guts out as her girlfrind held her. But that man was dragged, eyes seeing but blinded, ears listening the surreal sounds of fears, the brain unable to tell apart reality from fantasy, and he couldn’t scream.

Or he was screaming, inside his poor sad and human brain, that had now to eat the madness of almost a hundred years. An Vampire madness.

By the time the man left the song was over, and just two booed the missing lines and chords with the bass, unnoticed by the rest of the public, just as unnoticed as his tears and his small hard on of seeing a man fall victim of himself, Alle somewhat proud of how he could bear that on his head, being victim of this severe illness of mind. He felt more than that.. He was extremely excited, not fighing to hide his fangs or his inhuman movements, cold and clean.

without thanking the crowd, without talking, he dropped the bass on the stage like it was cheap like a pen and left, an interference lingering as the drummer ran to pick it up, cursing under his breath the owner of Waltz.

He knew where the man would be, and he signed for Kizar to follow, willing to show his friend a bit of his habits, feeling the anxiety now build inside as now his hands felt damn and his confidence vanished. A Cigar, he picked another now, smoking it fast and sorta furiously like the anger would help it to take effect.

Gina was already leaving the room, never asking anything about how shady it looked, but little she cared as she was the one who bribed the cops anytime it was needed. She probably killed more than three or four people and no one minded her business either. And she left with a “enjoy” on her lips. Could she be figuring out?

Would it matter? She cared so little.

On the corner, almost invisible, the nosferatu Baleen watched, the man laying on a old and rustied hospital strecher, covered in fluids and mostly blood, unable to move and yet without a single restrain. The man was free to go, but his mind chained him. What could he be listening to?

Alle walked, passionated and completly forgetting Kizar there, paying no attention as he dropped on the floor and held the man’s hand, with so much respect it would be holy if wasn’t just miserable, the callous hands, the tip of the fingers darkned either by hard work or illness, the smell of vodka, the pants pissed because his body couldn’t hold in any longer as the dementia devoured his head. And the man was nasty overral, clothes unfit and full of holes, discolored and strained with marks of sweat and oil, sweat damping under his unkept beard, back row of teet rot and his drool stinky with a little of vomit. Unmatching shoes.

Like Alle. Alle held the hand and drew it closer to his won face, cheeks smooch and hairless, he pressed the palms then against his lips, kissing the disgusting hands of the man, fat with hydratation problems form years of alcohol abuse, skin and coundtless horrors under the nails, only trimmed by tooth and swiss knife. And oh, he loved that, the misery of those low humans, the dull and hard skin that told stories of their ruin, like fallen rocks and vines in old temples, and he drunk the smell, he drunk the sweat, letting it smear on his lips and tongue now, an disgusting sigh.

It was terrible, worse when Alle stood up, watching the man now, not letting go of the hands that he kept on his face like a mother’s care of a child. then watched the eyes, not reacint to the dim light, the breath so random it was surprising he didn’t pass out yet, the drool now forming a mop on the shirt, and oh he wondered how that man was bearing it all, a cruel smile hiden with the fat fingers as he wondered what he was seeing, listening to, things Alle saw everyday, every single day for a hundred years.

—————

He couldn’t stop seeing that, as it ate the man, as it ate himself, his eyes numb as the man shown, now also his color’s, the lips other times thicker and cracked now felt so soft, both sharing more than a cruel bound of life and death and thousand taboos written by the mankind, but nos hsaring one mind, one long drawn whisper that asked them so may times; why, how, when.

So like him, the old man, so like him the hair that would’ve been so pretty and long but the lack of care made it oily and uneasy to caressing touches, so like him the tiny moans escaping the cries of the victim, strangled by, so like him, the madness, the detachment form the reality.

That sweet corpse was now him, and for a moment his brain couldn’t tell them apart, whow as who, as Alle felt his hands touching his cheeks and felt the same hands on his own, beyond the weirded eyes of Kizar and indifferent of Ballen.

And that would take so damn long, wouldn’t it? Kizar didn’t have a heart for suck bullshit, this living poetry that didn’t touch anyone’s heart or mind, the charm of the words lost in deafen ears as he picked his own dagger and calmly pushed on the old man’s left eye, playing with the body like he played with his targets on his list.

A long and loud scream form Alle threatened to overcome the song playing on the bar over them, an horrifying scream of agony, scaring both Baleen and kizar, a scream of sheer pain as alle held his own face. Kizar has stabbed his own eye,, his brain told him, his brain believed on that so damn much he felt the phantom pain of it, not yet understanding why he could see, see with the missing eye now beying toyed with on kizar’s hand.

And he saw the body laying there, himself, the socket where it should be, his blood spilling as his head felt weak and his stomach felt pain, trying to hold in the disgust, the fear of the image of himself laying there, laying like the old man havent felt pain, his body not reacting to the nerves impulse, the warm blood… … warm blood that didn’t even reached Alle’s nose, yet hoolering in pain from the stabbing.

- What’s going on? Is he gonna stare in silence like this? - you bet, sir, 'an’t tell what’s goin’ on there. Never bothered him before. - You two never shared? - Kizar asked, surprised that Alle didn’t offer them the man. - We do, sir, but he always do som’ weird shit before lettin’ me have it.

Alle felt deafened by the scream, the sound reverberating on his ears. He turned his head away from his own body on the rusty bed, but the turn was enough to spin his vision and make him puke, a clear vomit that had only alcohol and nothing much else. He tried to walk away, his knees feeling weak as his brain still forced him to see over and over the image, over and over his own eye, the black eye, on kizar’s hand.

He’d lost his appetite, he’d lost his will and strenght, striggling to leave the place that now felt so bright and clear, like it was being scorched by the sun itself. He couldn’t find the way ou, his blinded eye there but not being able to communicate, his mind somehwre else.

He’d fight if he could, who was the man that dared to blind him, the knife familiar.. The doorframe offered him support as he found out that the eye he no longer had could tear up like the reality surrounding him.

Or a surreality, per say, dragging him as he no longer could listen anything, or clearly see.

- Eh, he’s losing it. - Ballen commented, sighing. Long night ahead, it seems. - Tight! - Kizar laughed, interested more on the blood from the man than anything.

He didn’t want to look, and didn’t have to, his body laying there, his body calling, his body asking for it, for the end, for the request and defiance to the death he made a hundred years ago, a long lingering beg.

“And this is what’s last, what’s left of you, a corpse, a corpse a corpse that can no longer stand on a place, stand still on this reality. Do you know your name? And then what else do you know?” his body cried from behind him, the hair becoming longer and longer and the edges becoming liquid and gross like oil and tartar.

- Shut the fuc’ up..! - He whined low, lips not moving.

- See, he’s hummin’ now. - Baleen added. - Ain’t that dope or what. - Is it like this every time? - Nah, sir, he usually dances with the corpses. - Disgusting. Ballen laughed. - It sure is, sir.

[kkatot]

Syllabus, Digital Cultures

Sharing is caring, vol 2. This is the syllabus for Digital Cultures (teaching it at Tallinn Uni for MA students starting November 1). I am grateful to everyone, who shared their syllabi with me, and to my guest lecturers for their recommendations. The component-logic of the digital culture experiment is based on an inspired auto-ethnographic exercise and its “building block system” that prof. Annette Markham has developed, and which I’ve had the privilege of implementing in the past couple of years at Aarhus University.

If you’re into PDF’s, this is for you

Digital Culture, BFR7004.FK, Tallinn University 

Katrin Tiidenberg, PhD

Course objectives: While an exhaustive overview of what counts as digital culture or how digital culture is researched is impossible to give, this course aims to introduce students to both a cultural studies (digital humanities) and social studies (media and communication research, media ethnography) approach to making sense of digital culture. Active participation in the course should leave the students with an adequate overview of current definitions and relevant concepts of, some excellent recent studies about, relevant scholarly debates regarding and approaches to studying digital culture. 

The course consists of lectures, seminars (reading discussion) and workshops (discussion and exercises / experiments). The course is taught by Katrin Tiidenberg and the following guest instructors: Indrek Ibrus, Mikhail Fiadotau, Maarja Ojamaa, Marek Tamm 

Learning outcomes: The student, who has passed this course will be able to discuss the following topics in an educated manner, well-situated in extant literature: • What is digital culture, how is it defined, how is it historically situated in the developments of communication technologies, how is it often studied, and what are the central concepts utilized to discuss it in academic debates? • How to make sense of on utilize key concepts in studying digital culture (i.e. intertextuality, remix, bricolage, virality, participation, collaboration, audiences etc)? • What are the implications and relevance of data and datafication on cultural life? • How are meanings made within culture(s) and how can it be studied?

Students will explore how digital culture phenomena (i.e. fandoms, gaming, selfies, influencers) are studied and what is being highlighted about them in relevant academic discussions, and be able to distinguish sensationalist, moral-panic driven interpretations of these phenomena from nuanced, educated ones.  The student will analyze how networked communication technologies impact cultural practices, and their own everyday life, interactions and identities, and develop a voice for addressing issues and controversies of digital culture. 

Assessment method: 

Grades. 30% participation and in-class engagement. 35% digital culture experiment – timely submission of 3 component tasks. 35% final write up of the digital culture experiment

The digital culture experiment is an auto-ethnographic independent experiment with digital culture engaged with for the duration of the class. Timely submission of 3-COMPONNENT TASKS is a pre-requisite to be able to submit the final write-up. The final write up functions as an exam.

COMPONENT TASKS: 1. Create an observation plan. You need to observe your own participation in a particular digital culture phenomenon (i.e. pick a practice, a group, a community, a game, a space that you have pre-existing experience with, or that you are super interested in). Focus on YOUR OWN participation - your own engagement, interactions, reactions, and practices are your research focus. You are your own subject. You will explore and explain this culture from the first-person perspective of a member. a. Create an observation plan – write out a plan of what, where and how you will observe. How often and for how long will you “do observation”? How will you take notes?  What is the best field-note taking system for you – do you need to combine notes, screenshots and brief spoken memos you dictate into your phone? Do you need to sometimes film yourself (and your screen) while you are participating? What are the important observations to include? (i.e. location, how you felt, what you were doing, how other people acted, what interactions were had, what you noticed about other people, patterns of use, intentions of participation, unintended consequences of participation etc). If you have never done observation-based, ethnographic research you need to read these pieces. These are in a folder called “Methods texts” on Moodle, within the “Mandatory readings” folder • James Spradley Step 2, Step 3, Step 4 • Nicholas Wolfinger, On writing fieldnotes • Annette Markham, Ethnography in the Digital Internet Era – From fields to flows, descriptions to interventionsb. Observe your chosen digital culture phenomenon for a week. Be honest, be thorough. Try different strategies for gathering data, logging data, taking notes.   c. Revise your observation plan based on your weeklong experience – adjust the plan so it serves you better. It is possible you will decide to significantly narrow your focus here. SUBMIT REVISED PLAN via MOODLE ON November 19 (this is component 1). Add brief (~ 200 words) commentary on how you adjusted your plan compared to its first version.

2. Observe your own participation in your chosen digital culture phenomenon for a month (Nov 19 –  Dec 19) a. Based on the revised plan observe and track your participation in the digital culture phenomenon during the period of 1 month. If you feel the need to, you can “interview” someone who shares the experience with you, or have them interview you, but your analytical focus should remain on your own experiences.  Keep taking detailed field-notes and logging your experience in various ways. b. Write at least three brain dumps during this period.  A brain dump is when you set a timer for 15 minutes, turn your ink white in your word processing software and just write whatever comes to mind about your particular experience and observations.  When you get stuck hit “enter” twice and keep writing.  If you have a hard time starting at the beginning of the 15 minutes, start with “I have to write this braindump, I am not sure what to write, etc until more interesting stuff starts pouring out of your brain. You will use these braindumps as data, you will later code the brain dumps to come up with your arguments. SUBMIT via MOODLE THE THREE BRAIN DUMPS ON DECEMBER 19. This is component # 2.

3. Start analyzing your digital culture experience a. Gather up everything you have so far that can serve as ‘data’. Is it in a format that allows coding (sorting the data to lift out relevant bits)? If it is video or audio, do you need to transcribe it? Organize it so you can code it. If you have never qualitatively coded material/data you need to read Sarah Tracy, Chapter 9 (Data Analysis Basics). It is in the “ Methods texts” subfolder on Moodle. If you need further help with coding, consult Johnny Saldana’s book The Coding Manual for Qualitative Researchers b. Start coding. Identify any gaps in the early patterns. Do you need to go back to the “fieldsite” to gather stuff to fill those gaps? Do you see any emerging patterns? Does it seem like if you look at these patterns through the lens of the class readings and theoretical or conceptual frameworks you can make an interesting argument? c. Write a short reflection piece (~ 1000 words) – reflect on your process of data collection, coding, thinking, your attempts at making arguments. It is fine if this is messy, you can include snippets of your “thinking” including images if you’ve been mapping, diagramming or coding by hand.   SUBMIT via MOODLE ON January 7 2019. This is component # 3 (this is also a dirty draft of the ‘c’ section of your final write up).   Final write-up of the experiment (submit via Moodle, due January 17).  This should be 8 – 10 pages font 12, 1.5 spaced without Appendixes and Bibliography. Feel free to add illustrator screengrabs, examples of coding,  quotes or other snippets of text etc. a. Title, author’s name, b. description of the central topic c. description of the auto-ethnographic process, description of your process of analyzing it d. explanation of your digital culture participation utilizing some concepts and theoretical frameworks covered in class (use at least three assigned or suggested texts here). Describe not only what happened, but also your feelings, shifts in your own perceptions. Include snippets from your braindumps or your field-notes, screengrabs, etc as illustrations e. discussion of your experience, make an argument f. Possible implications of your analysis (what does it contribute to ongoing discussions about digital culture) g. Bibliography h. Appendixes (the more Appendixes the better, add your braindumps, examples of coding, reflections etc).

Course schedule and description, week by week:

WEEK 1, A

Introduction to course and topic  (lecture + seminar)

What is culture? What is digital? What is digital culture? How is meaning made in the context of digital culture?

Culture of connectivity, mediatization of culture, visual culture, search culture, algorithmic culture, internet cultures etc

Introduction of the digital culture experiment and the building block system, division into A, B, C, D groups

WEEK 1, B

Digital archival and preservation (lecture + workshop), taught by Mikhail Fiadotau

The class will be structured as a short lecture followed by a workshop. The lecture will outline the key challenges in digital preservation, as exemplified by videogames: technological obsolescence, “bit rot” of storage media, and the logic of instant obscurity in the oversaturated media environment. The lecture will also introduce, and reflect on the work of some archival initiatives, from physical archives such as the National Videogame Arcade in the UK to online resources such as Archive.org’s Wayback Machine. The workshop following the lecture will be a group exercise inviting students to discuss and devise solutions for the archival and preservation of web games for discontinued platforms, with a particular focus on Macromedia/Adobe Flash.

WEEK 2, A

Making sense of digital culture from the perspective of Digital Humanities  (seminar + lecture), taught by Indrek Ibrus and Maarja Ojamaa

Introducing concepts: Remix, Bricolage, Intertextuality, Virality, Multimodality, Interactivity, Memory

Introducing cultural studies approaches: media archeology, (new/digital) materialism, software studies

Read: Irvine, M. (2014). REMIX AND THE DIALOGIC ENGINE OF CULTURE, A Model for Generative Combinatoriality.

WEEK 2 B

Historicizing the internet (lecture), taught by Indrek Ibrus

History of the internet and mobile communication. Temporality and materiality of communication technologies and networks. Milestones of computerizing the culture.

WEEK 3 A

Making sense of digital culture from the perspective of communication studies and audience research (lecture)

Introducing concepts: Participation, Collaboration, Audiences, Rules, Community, Belonging, Intimacy

Introducing communication and audience research approaches: ethnography, audience studies, platform and app studies

Introduce situational, relational and concept mapping

WEEK 3 B

Paratextuality and videogames [seminar], taught by Mikhail Fiadotau

The discussion will revolve around paratexts’ propensity for extending digital media, but also subverting their normative significations, both shaping the audience’s experience and offering creative and interpretive agency to fans. Suggested articles also touch upon the issues of materiality, interpretive communities, as well as fan practices and their ethics.

Read: Peters, I.M. (2014) Peril-sensitive sunglasses, superheroes in miniature, and pink polka-dot boxers: Artifact and collectible video game feelies, play, and the paratextual gaming experience. Transformative Works and Cultures, 16. https://doi.org/10.3983/twc.2014.0509

WEEK 4 A

Form, aesthetics, genre, materiality (lecture), taught by Indrek Ibrus

How can the digital be material?  Is the digital culture a material culture? What are the aesthetics, forms and genres of digital cultures? What is remediation? How can archeology help us make sense of the materialities and aesthetics of digital culture.

WEEK 4 B

Collaborative work on your digital culture experiment  (discuss what you have, what you are stuck with and what you are confused about with your colleagues in the small A, B, C, D groups. Help each other.

WEEK 5 A

Meaning making, groups, norms and digital objects (lecture + workshop)

How do digital objects gain meaning? What are the socio-cultural functions of digital objects? Online communities, groups, practices and emergent norms. Case: Selfies

WEEK 5 B

What is subculture, what are paralanguages? Identities, identifications and self-presentation (seminar)

Discussion: Antagonistic behavior and ambivalent internet (i.e. the subcultures of trolls and flamers).

Read (in pre-assigned groups, so every person reads one article)

Group A: Coleman, G. (2015). On Trolls, Tricksters, and the Lulz, in Hacker, Hoaxer, Whistleblower, Spy: The Many Faces of Anonymous. London: Verso books.

Group B: Massanari, A. (2015). "# Gamergate and The Fappening: How Reddit’s algorithm, governance, and culture support toxic technocultures."New Media & Society.

Group C: Seta, G. de. (2018). Trolling, and Other Problematic Social Media Practices. In J. Burgess, A. Marwick, & T. Poell (Eds.), The SAGE Handbook of Social Media (pp. 390–411).

Group D: Phillips, W. (2015). Dicks everywhere, in This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things: Mapping the Relationship Between Online Trolling and Mainstream Culture. Cambridge: MIT Press.

WEEK 6 A

Attention, reputation, commodification (lecture + seminar)

How does attention work online?  Reputation as capital. Commodification of attention and reputation. Celebrity practices.

Discussion: Internet celebrity, influencers and microcelebrity

Read (in pre-assigned groups, so every person reads one article)

Group A: Abidin, C. 2016. “Visibility labour: Engaging with Influencers’ fashion brands and #OOTD advertorial campaigns on Instagram.” Media International Australia 161, 86-100.

Group B: Senft, T. (2014) Microcelebrity and the Branded Self. Companion to New Media Dynamics. Ed John Hartley, Jean Burgess, Axel Bruns. Blackwell.

Group C: Abidin, C. Communicative Intimacies: Influencers and Perceived Interconnectedness https://adanewmedia.org/2015/11/issue8-abidin/

Group D: Susie Khamis, Lawrence Ang & Raymond Welling (2016): Self- branding, ‘micro-celebrity’ and the rise of Social Media Influencers, Celebrity Studies.

WEEK 6 B

Participation, collaboration, production & consumption (lecture + workshop)

Participation and collaboration within digital cultures. “Spreadable media”. Sharing / collaborative economies.  Consumption, production, produsage. Case: fandom

WEEK 7 A

Data and culture, datafied culture, cultural analytics (lecture), taught by Marek Tamm

What are cultural data? What does the datafication of culture and society mean? What is cultural analytics? What is culturomics?

WEEK 7 B

Post-digital, post-internet, post-human culture? The non-human turn. (lecture + workshop)

Imagining a better internet.

**

RECOMMENDED READINGS 

What is digital culture?

Peters, B.  2016. “Introduction” in Digital Keywords, a Vocabulary of Information, Society and Culture.

Peters, B.  2016. “Digital” in Digital Keywords, a Vocabulary of Information, Society and Culture.

Striphas, T.  2016. “Culture” in Digital Keywords, a Vocabulary of Information, Society and Culture.

Dourish, P. (2016). Algorithms and their others: Algorithmic culture in context. Big Data & Society, 3(2), 205395171666512. 

Payne, Robert (2016) The Promiscuity of Network Culture. 

Van Dijck, J. (2013). Culture of Connectivity 

Geismar, H. (2013) Defining the Digital, Museum Anthropology Review 7(1-2) 

Bucher, T. (2012) Want to be on the top? Algorithmic power and the threat of invisibility on Facebook. New Media & Society, 14: 1164–1180.

Niederer, S. and van Dijck, J. (2010) Wisdom of the crowd or technicity of content? Wikipedia as a sociotechnical system. New Media & Society 12: 1368–1387

Seaver, N. (2012) Algorithmic Recommendations and Synaptic Function. Limn, issue 2.

Making sense of digital culture 

Langlois, G. 2014. Meaning in the Age of Social Media.

Deuze, M. (2006). Participation, Remediation, Bircolage: Considering Principle Components of Digital Culture. The Information Society, 22(2), 63–75.

Livingstone, S. (2013). The Participation Paradigm in Audience Research. Communication Review, 16(1–2), 21–30.

Silver, D. (2004). Internet/cyberculture/digital culture/new media/fill-in-the-blank studies. New Media and Society, 6(1), 55–64. 

Beer, D., & Burrows, R. (2013). Popular Culture, Digital Archives and the New Social Life of Data. Theory, Culture & Society, 30(4), 47–71. 

Glen, C., & Royston, M.  (2009). Digital Cultures understanding new media. 

If you read Estonian: “Kuidas uurida kultuuri, kultuuriteaduste metodoloogia” - https://www.tlu.ee/pood/home/227-kuidas-uurida-kultuuri-kultuuriteaduste-metodoloogia.html

Digital Archival and preservation:

Newman, J. (2009). Save the Videogame! The National Videogame Archive: Preservation, Supersession and Obsolescence. M/C Journal, 12(3). http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/167%EF%BF%BD%C3%9C/0

Lowood, H., Monnens, D., Vowell, Z., Ruggill, J.E., McAllister, K.S., & Armstrong, A. (2009). Before it's too late: a digital game preservation white paper. American Journal of Play, 2(2), 139-166. https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/EJ1069232.pdf

Thomas, D., & Johnson, V. (2012). “New universes or black holes? Does digital change anything?” In Weller, T. (ed.) History in the Digital Age, pp.173-94. Abingdon: Routledge.

Historicizing the Internet: 

Abbate, J. (1999). Inventing the Internet. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.

Brügger, N. (Ed.). (2010). Web History. New York: Peter Lang.

Gere, C. (2002). Digital Culture. London: Reaktion Books.

Ibrus, Indrek. (2015). Histories of Ubiquitous Web Standardization. In A. Bechmann & S. Lomborg (Eds.), The Ubiquitous Internet: User and Industry Perspectives. London: Routledge.

Ibrus, Indrek. (2016). Web and mobile convergence: Continuities created by re-enactment of selected histories. Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies, 22(2). 

Baym, N. (2015) Personal connections in the digital age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Chapter 1.

Chapman, C. (2009) The History and Evolution of social media

O’Reilly, T. (2005) ‘What Is Web 2.0’, O’Reilly Network, 30. September

Turner, F. (2005) Where the counterculture met the new economy: The WELL and the origins of virtual community. Technology and Culture 46 (28.s)

Form, aesthetics, genre, materiality 

Bolter, Jay David, & Grusin, Richard. (1999). Remediation: Understanding New Media. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.

Gottlieb, Baruch. (2018). Digital Materialism: Origins, Philosophies, Prospects. Bingley: Emerald.

Manovich, Lev. (2001). The Language of New Media. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.

Parikka, Jussi. (2012). What is Media Archaeology. Cambridge: Polity.

Groups, practices, subcultures, paralanguages, identities

Tiidenberg, K. (2018). Selfies, why we love (and hate) them, Emerald. 

Steinberg, Neil. 2016. “The new science of 
cute.” theguardian.com. OA: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/jul/19/kumam on-the-new-science-of-cute 

Dunbar-Hester, C. 2016. Geek , in Digital Keywords, a Vocabulary of Information, Society and Culture - http://culturedigitally.org/2014/05/geek-draftdigitalkeywords/  plus all my downloads

Allison, Anne. 2013. “Portable monsters and commodity cuteness: Pokemon as Japan’s new global power.” Postcolonial Studies 6(3): 381-395.

Kerr, H. (2016). Kawaii and the Cultural Rise of Cute. The Conversation.

Kelty, C.  (2005). Geeks, Social Imaginaries and Recursive Publics, Cultural Anthropology 

Timburg, S. (2016). “The Revenge of Monoculture: The Internet gave us more choices, but the mainstream won anyway.” Salon  https://www.salon.com/2016/07/30/the_revenge_of_monoculture_the_internet_gave_us_more_choices_but_the_mainstream_won_anyway/

Trolling, flaming, ambivalent internet 

Phillips, W., & Milner, R.M. (2017). The Ambivalent Internet: Mischief, Oddity, and Antagonism Online, Cambridge, UK: Polity Press

Phillips, W. (2016). This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things: Mapping the Relationship Between Online Trolling and Mainstream Culture, MIT Press.

Bishop, J. (2014). Representations of “ trolls ” in mass media communication : a review of media-texts and moral panics relating to “ internet trolling ,” 10(1), 7–24.

Stein, J. (2016).“How Trolls are Ruining the Internet.”  http://time.com/4457110/internet-trolls/

Trolls haven’t ruined the internet https://www.nationalreview.com/2016/08/internet-trolls-avoidable/

Paralanguages, visuality and multimodality

Miltner, K. M., & Highfield, T. (2017). Never gonna GIF you up: Analyzing the cultural significance of the animated GIF. Social Media and Society, 3(3). 

Tiidenberg, K., & Whelan, A. (2017). Sick bunnies and pocket dumps: “Not-selfies” and the genre of self-representation. Popular Communication, 15(2), 141–153. 

Nissenbaum, A., & Shifman, L. (2017). Internet memes as contested cultural capital: The case of 4chan’s /b/ board. New Media and Society, 19(4), 483–501. 

Gal, N., & Shifman, L. (2016). “ It Gets Better ”: Internet memes and the construction of collective identity. New Media & Society, 18(8). 

Limor Shifman (2014) Memes in Digital Culture. The MIT Press. 

Highfield, T. (2016). “Waiving (hash)flags: Some thoughts on Twitter hashtag emoji.”Medium.com.  https://medium.com/dmrc-at-large/waiving-hash-flags-some-thoughts-on-twitter-hashtag-emoji-bfdcdc4ab9ad#.vczn6qfgl

Miltner, K M. 2014. “There’s no place for lulz on LOLCats: The role of genre, gender, and group identity in the interpretation and enjoyment of an Internet meme.” First Monday 19(8). 

Stark, L, and Crawford, K. (2015). The Conservatism of Emoji: Work, Affect, and Communication. Social Media + Society Journal 1(2). 

Willard, Lesley. 2016. “Tumblr’s Gif Economy: The Promotional Function of Industrially Gifted Gifsets.” Flowjournal.org.  http://www.flowjournal.org/2016/07/tumblrs-gif-economy/

Paratextuality and Metacommunication in videogames:

Consalvo, M. (2017). When paratexts become texts: de-centering the game-as-text. Critical Studies in Media Communication, 34(2), 177–183. https://doi.org/10.1080/15295036.2017.1304648

Mäyrä, F. (2010). Gaming Culture at the Boundaries of Play. Game Studies, 10(1). http://gamestudies.org/1001/articles/mayra

Fan cultures

Bury, R. (2017). Television Viewing and Fan Practice in an Era of Multiple Screens. Sage Handbook of Social Media, Sage Publications. 


Gn, Joel. 2011. “Queer simulation: The practice, performance and pleasure of cosplay.”Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 25, 583-593. 

Gray, J. (2003). New Audiences, New Textualities: Anti-Fans and Non-Fans. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 6, 64–81. 

Black, R. W. (2009). Online Fan Fiction , Global Identities , and Imagination, 43(4), 397–425.

Wood, M. M., & Baughman, L. (2012). Fandom and Twitter: Something New, or More of the Same Old Thing? Communication Studies, 63, 328–344. 

Jenner, M. (2017). Binge-watching: Video-on-demand, quality TV and mainstreaming fandom. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 20, 304–320. 

Stanfill, M. (2013). “They’re Losers, but I Know Better”: Intra-Fandom Stereotyping and the Normalization of the Fan Subject. Critical Studies in Media Communication, 30, 117–134.

Harman, S., & Jones, B. (2013). Fifty shades of ghey: Snark fandom and the figure of the anti-fan. Sexualities, 16(8), 951–968. 

Hu, Kelly. 2016. “Chinese Subtitle Groups and the Neoliberal Work Ethic.” Pp. 207- 232 in Popular Culture Co-production and Collaborations in East and Southeast Asia, edited by Nissim Otmazgin and Eyal Ben Ari. Singapore: NUS Press Ltd. 

Internet celebrity

Abidin, Crystal 2018. Internet Celebrity

Marwick, A. (2015). “You May Know Me From YouTube: (Micro)-Celebrity in Social Media.” Pp. 333-350 in A Companion to Celebrity, edited by P. David Marshall and Sean Redmond. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons Inc

Senft, Theresa M. 2008. Camgirls: Celebrity & community in the age of social networks. New York: Peter Lang.

Production and distribution

Lotz, A. (2018). Portals: A Treatise on Internet-Distributed Television. Michigan Publishing Services. 

Sokolowsky, J. (2017). Art in the Instagram age: How social media is shaping art and how you experience it. The Seattle Times. 

Evans, Z. (2015). How social media and mobile technology has changed music forever. Social Media Week. 

Jenkins, H., Green, J., Ford, S. (2013). Spreadable Media: Creating value and Meaning in a Networked Culture, NYU Press

Datafied culture and cultural analytics

Manovich, L. (2016). The Science of Culture? Social Computing, Digital Humanities and Cultural Analytics. The Datafied Society. Social Research in the Age of Big Data, 1–14. 

Manovich, L. Cultural Data, Possibilities and limitations of the digital data universe, Oliver Grau, ed., with Wendy Coones and Viola Rühse, Museum and Archive on the Move. Changing Cultural Institutions in the Digital Era (Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter, 2017), 259-276.

Manovich, L. Can we think without categories? Digital Culture & Society (DCS), Vol. 4, no. 1 (2018): 17-28. Special issue "Rethinking AI: Neural Networks, Biometrics and the New Artificial Intelligence." Edited by Ramón Reichert, Mathias Fuchs, Pablo Abend, Annika Richterich, and Karin Wenz. , 2018

Philips, S. (2016). Can Big Data Find the Next 'Harry Potter'? The Atlantic. 

Post-digital, post-internet, post-human culture? 

Braidotti, R. (2006). Posthuman, All Too Human: Towards a New Process Ontology. Theory, Culture & Society, 23(7–8), 197–208. 

Bishop, R., Gansing, K. Parikka, J. (2016). Across and Beyond: Post-digiral practices concepts and institutions, Transmediale. https://transmediale.de/content/across-and-beyond-post-digital-practices-concepts-and-institutions

Berry, David M (2014) Post-digital humanities: computation and cultural critique in the arts and humanities. Educause, 49 (3). pp. 22-26.

Kember, S. & Zylinska, J. (2012) Life After New Media: Mediation as a Vital Process. Chapter 1 “Mediation and the Vitality of Media.” 

Gold, A. (2016). From Digital to Post-Digital: Digital IDEAS in Practice. 2016 Digital Initiatives Symposium, 1–13.

Pinto, A. T., & Franke, A. (2016). THE POST-INTERNET CONDITION. Berlin Biennale for Contemporary At, 26–31.

[theraroth]

Death Awaits Us All (from 2016)

I wrote this around August 3-4 2016, for a lit blog that rejected it outright for its brutal honesty and horrific accuracy concerning what we were soon to see as the presidency of Donald (BAAAAARRRRRFFFF) Trump. Presented with minimal edits, I give you:

DEATH AWAITS US ALL...enjoy (or not, it’s your choice):

The rust monsters have sacked my brain. Writing anything creative is a near-impossible hateful sojourn through corridors of frustration. I was recently accosted by the corrosive evil of reorganizing a college level class in order to conform, at least in spirit, with the format of a dreadful textbook thrust upon me, like skin rot contracted from an outhouse in a leper colony. There’s no task as phony and unfulfilling and soulless as revising lecture notes. You can feel your creative juices drying up like a sun-blasted desert oasis. There goes another part of me I can never recapture. Pandora’s Box fits into the analogy somehow, but I am unable to weave it into the narrative adequately so I instead rely on brutal confessions of academically induced impotence, if there is such a condition, and if not let me self-diagnose as Patient Zero for a heretofore undiscovered malady.

Where was I?

Somewhere, out in the desert watching heatwaves rise up from boiling sands…painting a picture with a broken brush is no mean feat, but I think I have risen to the challenge. Rise…risen. Nope, still hopelessly ossified and amberized. I coined that word, I believe. Or I’d like to believe I coined it.

Pointless!

So I’ll conjure a point from nowhere: I was rereading Kurt Vonnegut’s A Man Without a Country, his last published work before succumbing to a head injury at the gruffly tender age of 84 (it was his opinion that old farts like himself had “just gotten here,” so he was therefore little more than a pup, and who am I to contradict a master?). The book, a glib examination of George W. Bush’s America, has aged more rapidly than Vonnegut’s cantankerous literary turns, hobbled in part by the limited scope of the subject, but in spite of that limitation, it ventures into less dated territory or at a minimum more open territory free of political intrigues anchored to that desolate era, and one of these vistas for free range thoughts was in the author’s note at the end in which Kurt mentions that he had recently bonded in a friendly manner, not a love interest mind you, with Ralph Steadman, the artist indelibly linked to Hunter S. Thompson, the late gonzo journalist who, in the context of this aside, had recently taken his life in 2005. And where in the fuck, you ask and rightfully so, is all this digressive bullshit headed? It’s headed toward one of those strange coincidences which plant the idea that perhaps coincidence is a term of art humans created to dismiss the only tangible proof of a higher power manipulating the strings of the world, for I had just received in the mail a copy of Ralph Steadman’s The Joke’s Over, with a forward by, of all people, Kurt Vonnegut. So when I read the passage about Steadman and Vonnegut acquainting, a series of events whose connective tissues were dark to me suddenly coalesced into a definitive line of causality. Kurt met Ralph, Ralph wrote a book, Kurt wrote the forward for the book.

Isn’t it amazing that two people I have admired from afar somehow interacted out of the blue and “cross-pollinated,” so to speak? How does that shit happen? It’s a small world doesn’t do it justice. Nor does that hideously saccharine shit of a song do justice to my ears, real or the virtual stereo in my head that blares it as punishment for writing this, or possibly for writing, period, why-oh-why did I ever travel down that path? it yells at me in a chorus of squeaky castrati frantic to know the whereabouts of their balls…sorry boys, but, snip, snip, all gone but for the empty skin pouch.

If any of this makes sense, I apologize. It was never my intention to impart wisdom. There are more than enough shit-bird seers and visionary with all the answers in the world for a million lifetimes. So I guess one more can’t hurt or at the worst can’t inflict more harm than has already been inflicted. Death by a million papercuts…which cut was the killing stroke, the first or the last or one of the ones somewhere in the middle? Don’t answer that. Only a real asshole thinks he can answer the unanswerable.

Trump.

Balls, I’ve been tap dancing around the proverbial elephant in the room, tap dancing around heaping mounds of elephant shit so pervasive and voluminous I am drowning it in. We all are. Fuck. I need respite from the ugliness or I’ll goddamn well explode. And we can’t have that, can we?

But beware! If you speak of the devil, he shall come forth to heed your call. And in line with that warning, just as I was resigned to submerging and drowning in the muddy trenches of the Trump travesty, some blasted interloper knocked on the rustic steel door I rely on as a barrier between myself and the cruel world beyond. A wave of dread crept up my spine. Dusk time visitations never go well. Could be the authorities paying a call to impart bad news or some Jesus hustler at the end of his shift off-loading surplus pamphlets on the house closest to the tax dodge. God, I hate those fuckers. They have a habit of ignoring the NO SOLICITORS sign taped to the glass. Perhaps a large billboard broadcasting I EXTERMINATE FUCKING JESUS FREAKS might get their attention. When I opened, I came face to face with a fresh brand of trouble: the new neighbors were stopping by, not to say hi, how’s it hangin’? boy it sure is hot and whatnot, but to raise unholy hell (vs holy hell) about ground ivy, a common broadleaf, encroaching on their newly sodded lawn.

My inner cynic lives for these moments, affirmations that people are the real hell on Earth, as they clearly intended to start a territorial dispute over a goddamn plant native to every square mile of land in the world’s innumerable temperate zones, which, as far as they were concerned, excluded their yard. My only recourse? Consult the local ordinances online. Damn them straight to hell, I thought, for I’d sworn to on everything that is holy in the ecumenical sense that I would NEVER EVER consult the local ordinances, out of respect for the fact that I don’t give a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut about local ordinances or other petty nonsense crafted by bureaucrats with measuring sticks, prepared to issue citations for overgrown lawns or minute infringements of sacred lot lines. This is the kind of meaningless tripe that sucks your life down the fucking drain, pisses away the hours and scours your nerves to raw fucking bloody pulpy scum. So it was with utter disdain that I broke this promise to the Powers That Don’t Give a Fuck and combed the local ordinance site, state of the art for 2008, and tracked down the arcane passage detailing what manner of flora presented a nuisance to the neighborhood and would bring the wrath of the gods down upon my head, and lo and behold ground ivy was not among the offending species of plants.

But the neighbors more or less told me as much when it was mentioned in passing that they had consulted the ordinances and were at a loss to find a passage with the clout to enforce their milquetoast suburban pursuit of a simplified, unstable, monochromatic, aesthetically drab and understated ecosystem aching to wither and die if a fucking drop of acrid dog piss falls on its tender shoots. I’m not eager to engage in a death struggle over botanical differences. However, people have died for lesser causes.

Trump.

Darkness descends. Evil abounds. Feet itch. Is there no one who can save us? Okay, there’s Hillary. I have confidence in her ability to topple the tyrannical Trumpenstein “turd tornado” (tip of the cap to Ben Shapiro for helping fulfill my alliteration quota for the month). But I cannot shake the creeping doom. It skulks the hallways of my mind. I hear the thundering hoof beats of the Apocalypse fast approaching.  I see other horrifying apparitions that defy description. Lots of wriggling tentacles, gnarly horns shiny with the blood of the innocent, severed nipples—a bowl of them, sitting out like Halloween candy as demonic children (well, children) paw through them seeking the tastiest morsel of nipple flesh. Michael Phelps’s perfect swimmer-nipples figure into the picture, adding a certain glistering, chilling symmetry to an otherwise asymmetric tableau involving hell spawn hungry for nipples, and even more macabre, Halloween was EIGHT DAYS ago.

November 8th promises to be the premiere of a new mediocre, bound-to-disappoint horror flop from M. Night Shyamalan, THE TRUMPENING. Okay, that scared the shit of me. You see, a word I’m 99.9% sure I just made up was ALREADY IN MY GODDAMN SPELLCHECKER. Relax, damn it. There is a logical explanation. Right. Spellcheck for all capital letters, by default, is turned off, and I tend to eschew tinkering with default settings unless they really piss me off, which is harder than it seems. But ’tis the season for rampant, unchecked, unabated, relentless paranoia, and what concerns me most is that the second my new novella arrives on the scene in the fall, there won’t be anybody to buy it. Apocalyptic settings dampen book sales almost as much as the very concept of a book does. Past authors and critics have predicted the end of the novel as an art form, and they were wrong, but their inaccuracy was a matter of poor timing not poor judgment. It is dead, and we killed it, and I cannot envision a novella, even a competently written one with an occasional dash of brilliance, resurrecting the dust and bones of the theater of the imagination. We are adrift in the briny wastes of instant entertainment gratification, and never again shall we touch the shores of useless art made beautiful by intense admiration.

I only wax poetically against my own interests because I am congenitally unable to believe in karmic justice. Karmic injustices proliferate with the ease of ground ivy, and unlike a relatively innocuous plant they swallow everything in their path. Take the savagely unjust conviction of five boys (four African Americans and one Hispanic) railroaded in 1990 for raping, beating, and sodomizing a female jogger in Central Park. After languishing in prison for 6-13 years as sex offenders, exculpatory evidence exonerated The Five of any wrongdoing (a serial rapist serving life in prison confessed to the crime, which led to a round of DNA tests, and none of The Five’s DNA was extant at the crime scene). And who shelled out an estimated $85,000 for full page ads in all four major New York newspapers urging the reinstatement of the death penalty, citing the Central Park assault as just cause and inflaming prejudice against the defendants before the case had been tried?

Trump.

Karma is officially deader than Vaudeville, deader than Caesar, deader than analogies in the “deader than” form. For a “law and order” candidate, Trump has a penchant for viewing mob rule as a functional arm of the Constitution. Deferring to the wisdom of “2nd Amendment people” to prevent Hillary from appointing judges belongs to the white-lighting-fueled ruminations of Tennessee moonshiners vigilant and on the eye for “revenuers” and “guvment men” and cannot be tolerated as just a bit of harmless bluster on the campaign trail, even if the candidate in question is a bloviating armchair politician with the discipline of a baboon wildly masturbating between salvos of shit-flinging.

I could go on and on about the other five billion instances in which Trump comported himself with the aplomb of a one-legged, one-armed, one-eyed lemur performing open heart surgery with a broken whiskey bottle. But when for the love of Zod does it fucking come to a satisfactory conclusion?

November 8th.

I hope?

No, hope doesn’t factor into it. Or faith. Or other invisible forces of the universe. It all teeters on the electorate getting off its asses and voting for Hillary. Every stay at home vote is a vote for Trump. Every vote for Lexus-liberal, vaccine-doubter Jill Stein is a vote for Trump. Every disgruntled Millennial write-in vote for Bernie Sanders is a vote for Trump. But it’s possible every vote for Gary Johnson is a vote for Hillary. Libertarians exist in a kind of pseudo-Republican limbo populated with potheads who bawl for small guvment between bong hits. Trump’s xenophobic, bigoted rhetoric loses its shine once the pot haze clears a skosh and it dawns on them that their dealer, Raul, is a Cuban/Mexican cross-dresser with a lapsed green card, and their backup plan, Timmy the Titwillow, is a gay bartender at a nightclub six blocks from the Pulse massacre.

Never underestimate the influence of self-interest in the electorate. Or for that matter self-deceit.

For as long as Trump is in the race he has a chance of winning, however remote, and we could be living the last fruitful days before a literal madman takes control of the world’s largest nuclear arsenal. If things should take a turn for the worst on Election Day, our only chance for a temporary reprieve from utter annihilation is to pray that that twisted septuagenarian imbecile can come to some kind of arrangement with Ivanka to stick his thrombosis-savaged pecker insider her every Sunday on an onyx altar carved in the image of the Great Old Ones. But given the obviously degenerated state of his body, it’s doubtful even an overdose of boner pills could conjure anything remotely resembling an erection, perhaps a tiny bubble filled with pus and blood and shattered pieces of dick vein floating around in the mucosal soup.

But I kid our future overlord. All in good fun and jest. Lucky for me, the dark, dank confines of a North Dakota gulag are a rich source of inspiration. Besides, I could use a change of setting. A place where I can write the last and greatest Great American novel before the steepening decline of the written word smashes into history’s wall. And upon that wall there is inscribed but a single word:

TRUMP

For the record: damn, was I spot on to worry! And I nailed the culprits of this fucking nightmare, less the Russian collusion, Who could have seen that coming, besides

HILLARY?

Right?

[ladyofsnark]

I,L,M and N?

I just realized I left this one to sort of rot here and I believe it was from the fanfic ask, so here we go:

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Not really? I’d say crack, but my love of crack pairings is pretty well known and guilty pleasure implies something you keep secret.

L: How many times do you revise a fic/chapter before posting?

I’ll sneak in revisions even after posting whatchu talking about? Editing for me isn’t a process that stops. It’s a never ending journey of tallying up my regrets. Like, if I had ever gone back and fully edited any one part of House Calls that shit wouldn’t have ever been done.

M: Got any premises on the back burner you care to share?

I had a college prof that I got super tight with and what blew his mind about my writing was that I could write perpetually (this was before I was medicated for my depression, so I had limitless creativity and bottomless wells of sadness). My ideas are still a lot like that.

But that Dragon Age 2 epic is still burning away in the back of my brain.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write or finish for you?

@actuallydeglace is working as fast as she can on her fics and she has all of my crack pairings covered (hugs and kisses btw, sweetie).