#sure wish it could be a minor facet of my life and i had like a wide variety of other defining traits to talk about but

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Francis Drake Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

This is a rough translation.

Blank, ageless, and suspicious blogs will be blocked.

The next day, after the minor incident in town, I found Drake leisurely lying on the bench in the garden's gazebo.

Mitsuki: "Drake, is it okay for you to nap here? Isn't it almost time for work?"

Drake: "Hmm?"

He let out a tired voice as he removed the hat resting on his face.

(Hehe, he looks so sleepy.)

Draco: "Work! Work!"

Drake: "Is it that time already? *yawn*"

Hastily urged by Draco, who flew from somewhere, he stretched his hand towards me while yawning.

Drake: "Mitsuki, help me up."

Mitsuki: "Fine."

I held out my hands to help him, but instead, I ended up falling on top of him.

Mitsuki: "Kyaa!?"

Drake: "Haha, you're such a clumsy little fawn."

Mitsuki: "I can't possibly compete with your strength."

(This position is embarrassing!)

I hurriedly moved away, and Drake also sat up on his own.

(He always does things like this unexpectedly.)

I desperately calmed my pounding heart after our playful interaction and suddenly noticed that he was staring at me.

Mitsuki: "Drake, is something wrong?"

Drake: "No, it's just that living on land like this feels kinda weird."

Thinking that he might be complaining, I asked.

Mitsuki: "Are you still not used to the mansion?"

Drake: "No, it’s not that. It's just that I've spent most of my life on the sea, getting into brawls, fighting to survive, and all that."

Drake: "But here, I have a home, a proper job, and someone to see me off and welcome me back."

Drake: "It's so peaceful that it's almost dull."

(Drake?)

He let out a wry smile, perhaps feeling the gap between the past and the present.

Draco: "Time! Late!"

Drake: "Alright, alright. I'll be off then, little fawn."

Mitsuki: "Okay. Take care!"

I watched as he adjusted his hat and walked away, carrying Draco on his shoulder.

Later, while doing chores in the kitchen, I remembered his words.

(He was just like Napoleon and Jean in his first life.)

(This might probably be the first time he's experienced a life without battles.)

I hadn't asked him in detail about his past, but occasionally, I could sense a chilling indifference in his voice, gaze, and gestures.

It was likely a facet of his character shaped by his previous life, but...

(He was known as a demon by his enemies back then.)

Though he still seemed uncertain about his current life, I hoped his life would be calm and fulfilling, like a calm sea.

(But he didn't wish to be resurrected himself, so he might not know what would fulfill him.)

(Come to think of it, before...)

------------Flashback------------

Drake: "But if I had to forcibly say something I left unfinished, it would be to set sail and reach the ends of the sea, even if destruction awaits me."

Dazai: "A poetic and romantic dream for someone like you. Not fearing danger is what one would expect from a captain who has circumnavigated the world."

Drake: "Right?"

---------Flashback Ends---------

When Isaac asked him if there was anything unfinished from his previous life, Drake gave that answer.

(Reaching the ends of the sea?)

(Maybe it was something he was willing to risk everything for.)

This seemingly unfinished dream suggested that his heart was still drawn to the sea.

(Paris does have rivers, but there's no sea here.)

As I absentmindedly organized the empty wine bottles, I suddenly remembered something.

(That's right!)

Mitsuki: "Sebastian, may I have one small empty bottle, please?"

Sebastian: "Sure, but what are you going to use it for?"

Mitsuki: "Fufu, I'm thinking of making a sea."

I returned Sebastian's puzzled look with a smile, thinking of Drake.

(I wonder how Drake would react. I hope he would be even slightly happy.)

My heart leaped with excitement at the secret joy I had discovered.

After finishing my work at the mansion, I came alone to the Seine River for my meetup with Karen.

(I might have arrived a bit early. Karen doesn't seem to be here yet.)

While searching for her, I remembered our conversation from the other day.

------------Flashback------------

Drake: "Mitsuki, I might be meddling, but I don't think that kid will come."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(Drake said that, but...)

I couldn't tell if that girl was lying or not.

(A promise is a promise. All I can do is believe and wait.)

And so, I raised my head and waited for her to come.

However, even after the promised time had passed, she didn't show up.

The sun began to set, and the clear blue sky turned into twilight.

(Karen isn't coming.)

(I wonder if something happened on her way here. Maybe her mother's health worsened.)

I worried about various possibilities, but ultimately, I didn't know the reason.

(If nothing happened, that would be the best, but...)

I don't think that kid will come.

Drake's words kept replaying in my head.

If he was right and she had no intention of keeping the promise from the start, then...

(That's a little sad.)

I wasn't fixated on getting the money back. I was just a little down that she broke her promise.

I leaned against a street lamp and crouched down. Then, suddenly, my surroundings were covered in darkness.

Drake: "See, I told you. You believed and ended up losing."

I looked up, and there he was, shrugging his shoulders in exasperation.

Mitsuki: "Drake..."

Drake: "How about I sweep away that gloomy feeling of yours, little fawn?"

He extended his hand to me.

Drake: "Care to join me on a boat date, Mademoiselle?"

Mitsuki: "Wow!"

I couldn't help but squeal as I boarded the boat.

The stars twinkled like silver in the sky, and the reflected city lights shimmered on the river.

The boat moved through this scene as if it were a ship crossing the sea of the night sky.

Mitsuki: "The Seine River during the day was fun, but at night, it's magical and lovely."

Drake: "I'm glad you're enjoying it. Oh, but don't expect too much from my tourguiding skills, okay?"

Mitsuki: "In the first place, is it really okay for a boatman to be a tour guide?"

We exchanged smiles, and my mood had lightened without me even realizing it.

Mitsuki: "Drake, thank you for being considerate."

Mitsuki: "But you know, I don't really feel like I lost anything today. I chose to believe in Karen."

I said this, and he gazed at me intently.

Drake: "Looks like you always draw the short end of the stick, little fawn."

Mitsuki: "Huh? I don't think so."

Mitsuki: "The plan may have changed, but I'm having fun on this unexpected date."

Mitsuki: "And I only said date because you mentioned it first!"

Drake: "Haha, it doesn't matter. Just think of it as a date."

My heart skipped a beat as Drake gently narrowed his eyes. But suddenly, his smile disappeared from his face.

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki. That girl broke her promise to you, didn't she?"

Drake: "Then why aren't you even a little angry about being betrayed?"

Mitsuki: "Calling it a betrayal is an exaggeration."

I responded to Drake with a smile mixed into my words.

Mitsuki: "Karen mentioned that her mother was ill. Maybe something happened, and that's why she couldn't make it. Jumping to conclusions without knowing the reason is just unfair."

Drake: "What if everything was a lie, and she'd planned to betray you from the start?"

(..........)

His voice and gaze were serious, causing me to catch my breath.

As the silence enveloped us, the night breeze rustled our hair.

Mitsuki: "E-Even if it turns out everything was a lie, I still want to believe."

Drake: "You really feel that?"

I turned my gaze towards the water's surface, watching the flickering lights that swayed with the waves, and spoke again.

Mitsuki: “Even if she intended to betray me, even if she had bad intentions, that’s something she thought about and chose to do.”

Mitsuki: “I also chose to think and believe on my own, so I’ll stick to my decision.”

There might be times when I get hurt by being betrayed, but I don’t want to blame others based solely on my emotions without knowing what happened.

Mitsuki: “I believe because I want to believe. I made that decision myself, so even if I get betrayed, it’s fine.”

Drake: “...........”

Mitsuki: “That’s why I won’t get angry with Karen. It does make me a little sad, though.”

Speaking my feelings aloud made me feel a bit better. However, when I turned my gaze towards him, he had a cold look in his eyes.

Drake: “You really can smile and say you don’t mind being betrayed, huh?”

Previous Part╎Masterlist╎Next Part

[warmmilk-n-honey]

I just don't even know what that was. I feel like part of the reason the first anime failed (other then diverging from the manga) was because it fails to be a human story. The anime is so obsessed with having spooky Halloween monsters, demons, ghosts, reapers, angels, weird doll maker guy, that it forgets that the point of all that supernatural stuff is meant to highlight/reflect the human stories within all that. So many of the important human characters get sidelined, which makes them feel so flat and one dimensional. I swear if the anime had made the manga's plot points, I just know the circus troupe would have been like ghouls or something, the p.4 would have been vampires, and Siglend would have actually been a witch, and all of those arcs would have climaxed with some big stupid fight between Seb and the supernatural creatures, instead of the emotional moments of human folly that we get in the manga.

Season 2 is the worst example of this, one demon wasn't enough so instead we get four demons (I'm counting the triplets as one). The main conflict comes from the demons fighting for Ciel's soul, and it's so hard for me to care. I want to know more about Alois and his story, his life and trauma, (I do have issues with his character, mainly his back story but I still care about him). Instead all we get is this dumb demon lore, it just ends up feeling so hollow. When I was done watching I just kept wondering why I should care, why should I even care that Seb didn't get to eat Ciel's soul, both Ciel and Seb suck in this! I did like the demon milf tho, her attachment to Luka and Alois was actually interesting and I wish it was explored more instead of Claude being a gross weirdo.

There is so much else I could talk about, but I want to get into the butchering of Ciel's character, why is he so fucking lifeless in the anime? He acts so irrationally that I don't even understand his thought process. Also he's so incredibly unsympathetic, like that's not my son! Idk maybe it's that he doesn't act like a human person? He doesn't say "Wah!" or love sweets! Those may seem like silly minor things about him that are just memed in the fandom, but they are actually important facets to his character! Those things humanize him, make him feel more like a real kid. Yana also understands that when you have such a prideful character like Ciel, there's inherent comedy in knocking them down a peg, which she does all the time to him, he's constantly getting his ego bruised by the situations he's in and Seb's cheeky little comments, and it's funny to see him get knocked off of his high horse, the boy get's embarrassed rlly easily and that is important characterization! He is booboo the fool in the manga! He's also just so much more expressive and reactive in the manga in general, he's rlly just a little guy.

Booboo the Fool 👆

The anime by contrast, especially season 2 takes him sooo srrsly, everything he says is taken completely at face value, and there's not rlly much to him because all of his personality has been sucked out. He's not cunning, manipulative or strategic like in the manga, he's not rlly sadistic, reactive or petty either, he just acts like an ass hole, that's it, he's not a little guy at all! Like we all know this little shit would be trying his hardest to manipulate Alois in to getting what he wants and tricking him or some shit, but instead he just acts with boring contempt towards him. Also the weird soul purity stuff, it's all wrong. Like he's pure because he's from a noble lineage? Why would a demon care about that?! He's a fucked up little guy in the manga, who yes acts with dignity befitting of his status or whatever, but he's still fucked up! I don't get the purity thing at all, I'm pretty sure Claude says something like "he's seen darkness but remains unchanged" or some shit like that, uh, no, he's actually very traumatized.

Anyway, there is so much more I can say, but I'll leave it at this for now.

wtf did I just watch?

[vamptastic]

looking for advice on college essays and everything i see is like "don't talk about mental health or disability or racism or your mom dying or being lgbt it makes the essay readers too sad" like damn okay. it makes me sad too. let me into your school.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

A Misplaced Imbalance of Fear

Ao3,   MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Dukexiety, implied/minor Moceit (platonic or romantic)

From the power of my Art and my Shitposts comes This Fanfiction!!!

Warnings: Panic Attacks, Lots of Cursing, descriptions of gore (horror movies, it gets decently explicit so beware that), mild body horror (Remus is here and he Does Things Like That), Heavy Roman angst for a hot minute in the middle, making out (continuing my theme of remus-centric fics getting more ;3). They do some makeup and drink tea, baby. Mentions of picking one’s skin as an Anxious habit, and also ticking. Also stimming!!! nd sides 4 life bb. Also, a very brief alcohol mention (it’s soup).

Word Count: 6,553

God Fucking Fuck, Virgil was going to have a self-care day even if it killed him dead. Everybody else could do whatever overdramatic fuckery they wanted when they were topside, but he was all set down there in the Mindpalace, thank you very much.

Luckily, mercifully, thankfully, the rest of the sides all seemed keen to let Virgil have his space anyway. There wasn’t a thing stopping him from relaxing.

Well, except for himself, of course.

A thrum of condensed stress and fear tugged at Virgil’s abdomen, bubbling its way over his edges. It was equally his own and the others’, probably due to whatever conversation they were caught up in in the external world. He would not relent to the worry, nor was he summoned to help with the situation, but his body refused to stop shaking. Perched on the top of the couch, frantically clicking the buttons on a fidget cube, Virgil tried to watch the gore playing on the TV in a tired effort to calm his nerves.

Horror movies… helped. They were something for his brain to chew on for a while- their over-the-top and ridiculous plots, the obnoxious characters that almost always deserve what’s coming to them, the attention-attaining action- it was all a recipe for Distraction. But they weren’t working by that point, no matter how badly Virgil wanted them to.

And then- possibly because the universe loved to spite Virgil and Virgil specifically- a walking, talking headache flung himself into the common room about as elegantly as a wolfhound with rabies.

“Heyyyy,” Remus crowed as he sprawled himself out on the couch. Anxiety curled his legs closer under his body, unresponsive- he knew full well that any reaction would just be an invitation for trouble from the obnoxious trait. He’d remember what Logan taught them: don’t engage, just brush it all off.

Unfortunately, Remus seemed to be in a stubborn mood.

“Whatcha watching?” 

“Movie,” Virgil grumbled. 

“What movie?”

He eyed the side laying out on the couch below him, narrowing his gaze as threateningly as he could manage. He spat the words through gritted teeth and made it clear he was not having this today.

“It’s called Terrifier.”

Remus perked up at that, and oh God, if he was interested then he’d never go the fuck away.

“What’s it about?”

There wasn’t much Virgil could do but answer in as clipped a tone as he could; things hadn’t gotten too bad, too uncomfortable, yet. Maybe he could redirect Remus’ attention, if he was just boring and unresponsive enough?

“Just a cliche creepy clown flick. Not much to it.”

“Is it gory?” 

Virgil made a vaguely affirmative sound in his throat, gesturing to the screen. In truth, the movie’s impeccable special effects with gore was its main appeal, as the acting and plot was kinda atrocious. Violence was the exact reason he’d chosen to watch this. But he knew saying that wouldn’t help his chances of shaking off Intrusive Thoughts.

Remus looked ready to spout off something explicit, but he went dead quiet as his eyes fell on the scene on the television. Virgil was grateful for small mercies.

It was exactly the kind of thing that the creative trait would watch, after all; a woman getting sawed in half, lengthwise, starting from the- er, the wrong end. Under circumstances of a more typical anxious flare-up, the scene really could have been one of those ‘helpful distractions’. 

These were not normal circumstances.Yeah, this was one of those ‘too passive’ cases, but Virgil didn’t exactly have the energy for anything ‘active’. So, he stubbornly glared at the TV and pretended that his solution was working, because he had no idea what else to do. Perfect plan.

Preoccupied as he was with his internal issues, he very nearly managed to forget about Remus. Until-

“Holy fuck, this is gorgeous, you watch stuff like this?!” The Duke’s eyes were bright, but not with his usual hysteria. They were wide with genuine excitement, shiny and happy. It was- uncanny, that’s probably the word Virgil was looking for. He curled closer in on himself.

“Shouldn’t be that surprising, dude. ‘Scary’ is kind of my thing.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen this one,” the creative side was once again completely enamored by the television screen, “Don’t blood and guts and cool things like that freak you out? They always seem to do the trick when I try to mess with you!” 

“It’s different. The violence in movies, it- it calms me down, I guess. Cause it’s like, I don’t know, detached from reality?”

There was a pause that had Virgil hoping, naively, that Remus had grown bored at his spiel. But he wasn’t moving, he was just staring, gaze switching contemplatively from the screen to Virgil a few times over.

“It doesn’t look like that. If you were any more tense, all your tendons would be snapping like badly-tuned violin strings!” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Virgil pressed his back against the wall and shut his eyes tight. He could still hear- no, feel- Patton and Roman and Thomas arguing, snapping at each other back and forth as the situation escalated.

“Is this about whatever the others are doing? Why don’t you just stop listening to their shitty arguments?”

A harsh laugh escaped Virgil at that, dragging him back down to earth so he could blink his eyes open, glaring at the facet lying beneath him. 

“I can’t just stop, that’s not how I work. I need to keep an ear on them. Who knows what could happen if I didn’t?”

“Well, why don’t you just go talk to them?”

If he wasn’t already frustrated beyond belief, that would’ve fuckin’ done it for him.

“I don’t think I’d be much help. Not right now.”

“Why not?” Remus looked halfway between genuinely curious and mischievous, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of Anxiety.

“Seriously? Things aren’t exactly, like- normal between all of us.”

“What is normal?” 

Virgil opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came through. As much as it sounded like an offhanded, edgy 13-year-old atheist kind of remark, it was a decent point. Virgil had thought that there was something of a status quo forming between himself and the ‘light sides’, but how long had that even lasted for? Especially compared to the rest of his life? Everything was changing all the time. Was there anything to rely on, or was it just Virgil’s own wishful thinking for what their lives could be? After all, even in ‘peaceful times’, there had been plenty of in-fighting and disagreements and horrible uncomfortable conversations and harsh words and-

“Oh, shut that brain up,” Remus’ sharp voice pulled Virgil from his thoughts, “I know what you meant ‘normal’. You meant the six months when you got to forget about us Scary Monsters, and, DUH! It was probably way simpler for all you diet-soda-no-sugar sluts back then, but that doesn’t mean it was better.”

“Yeah, you would think that things are better now, wouldn’t you?”

Remus fixed Virgil with an unsettling sort of grimace, making the other squirm. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so by any means. 

“I dunno, but what I do know is that things are getting better. They’ll be the best they could be, soon.”

Despite himself, Virgil laughed. It was a faltering, anxious sound, revealing the true fear behind the taunting gesture.

“Really? With everybody at each other’s throats all the time?”

“While that does sound fun,” Remus sat up fully, twisting around to look directly up at Virgil, “I mean after that. After we’re all accepted. It’s inevitable- Inevitable, Anxious Lil’ Barista,” Remus accompanied the referential nickname with a wink. 

Virgil stared at him like he was crazy (well- like- crazier than usual, he guessed?). Remus just threw his head back and laughed before spinning his neck one-hundred and eighty degrees to face the TV while he explained.

“Point is, it’s painfully obvious that everything will sort itself out. It has to, or else the only other option is that Thomas is gonna drive himself insane by trying to suppress parts of himself and end up clawing his own brain out. One of those two things!”

While colorfully phrased, the certainty with which Remus delivered his point had Virgil taken aback. There was no way that Remus could possibly know that, but- in a backwards way it was comforting, how sure he sounded. He didn’t lie, not ever.

Virgil had never thought that Remus would settle for anything less than going out of his way to make others’ lives a hell. But maybe that antagonism wasn’t what exactly motivated the trait’s actions. Maybe it was just an unintentional side effect, akin to what Logan had said when Remus first revealed himself.

The moment of reprieve was over as soon as it began.

“Fuck! He just cut off her tits and wore ‘em, huh?” 

Virgil looked up and, to be fair, that was exactly what had happened on screen. Like he said, this movie wasn’t exactly poetic cinema, but it certainly was something. 

He scooted along the top of the couch, moving just a few feet before dropping down to sit properly beside Remus.

“3/10 drag look at best, really,” Virgil muttered, mostly to himself. He jumped when Remus shrieked with laughter at it, looking absolutely delighted. 

“I didn’t know you made jokes like that, VeeVee!”

Virgil shrugged noncommittally, focusing on the screen and not the facet beside him. Remus’ giggling was loud and distracting, but it wasn’t… unpleasant, unlike his typical villain-cackle was. 

Once Remus had settled down (as much as somebody like him could, anyway), he, too, focused on watching. The quiet was uncomfortable, but it didn’t stretch on for long. There was always something in the movie that The Duke felt the need to comment upon extensively, elaborating and giving details on the gore. Virgil found himself listening to the rants silently, almost enjoying the disruption. It certainly gave his overactive mind something to play around with.

“-skin doesn’t slice as easy as that, trust me-”

Aaaand there it was. Virgil winced, trying very hard not to show that the words had struck a nerve. He liked horror, gore, all that, sure, but there were just some specific things- squicks, you could call them. Remus would obviously use that to his advantage, so the only option was to try very hard to zone out and not look like he was disturbed.

“But even then- Hey, why are you making that face?”

Mission failed.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Remus shifted closer- invasively closer, his gaze studying. 

“You were calming down earlier, what's with the scrunch-nose?”

Virgil stared at his hands, chipping away his black nail polish. Remus was nearly as good at reading lies as Janus, and twice as hard to get rid of.

“It's just- skin, slicing, that stuff just-” he ticked, head spasming sideways briefly at even the thought of that kind of pain.

“Oh,” Remus said plainly, not even a hint of malice or mischief in his tone as he leaned back into his own spot, “Why didn't you just say so? Well, that last exploding head kill is way more interesting anyway, did you see that?”

That was… it? No taunting, no tormenting, he just changed the topic, like that? 

Remus, continuing to be weirdly perceptive, scoffed as though he was reading Virgil’s mind.

“What? Just because I like screwing with you prudes sometimes doesn't mean I want to give you a panic attack. Where's the fun in that?”

Anxiety nodded mutely, bewildered. Remus seemed appeased by that and quickly resumed his running commentary.

And if Virgil eventually decided to take part in the discussion, well, it wasn’t a big deal anyway. Just some polite conversation about bodily mutilation.

 The television darkened as the screen was washed by credits, filling the space where the disfigured face of the main character had been mere moments prior, the result of a pretty predictable twist ending. Virgil stood, arching his back up in a stretch. His arms raised higher, one joint or another crackling at the motion. Fuck, he was sore. How long had he been sitting still?

Remus hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He tapped his claws along the remote, exiting to the homescreen and looking expectantly at Virgil.

“You don't wanna watch anything else?” He asked abruptly, drawing a confused glance from his companion, “This is fun- and they're still arguing up there, so it kinda makes sense to stay, it’s really the best solution if you-”

Virgil huffed a laugh at the rambling. It sounded like some shit he’d say, for crying out loud.

“Dude, chill, I was just gonna make some tea before putting on another movie,” the clear relief that ran across Remus' face- quickly replaced by a wide grin- wasn't anything shy of… sweet. Virgil was sure this day couldn't get any fucking weirder, if he was finding anything endearing about the walking talking dirty joke before him. “Uh, you want anything? Since you're gonna stick around, and all.”

Remus jumped up, following Virgil into the MindPalace’s small kitchen happily. In one smooth motion, he swung up onto the counter and slid down it, seating himself almost on top of the stove.

“No hot leaf soup for me, thanks, but I will take one of those mugs!”

Virgil raised a brow, staring the creative trait down before shrugging. He passed him one of the mugs, a generic and patternless one- so that the other sides probably wouldn't notice its absence. He busied himself by setting up the kettle, trying not to wince at the loud wet crunch that resulted when Remus took a bite of his snack.

“Hey,” Remus said around a mouthful of ceramic chunks, “I know just the movie we should watch next.”

Virgil shifted around the various tea boxes littering the cabinets, searching for something with a kick. He hazarded a glance to Remus, immediately regretting the decision when he saw the blood dribbling down his chin from the cuts marring his lips. Anxiety cringed, turning his head back and grabbing for the first brightly-colored box he saw. It took him a moment to respond.

“Okay… what is it?” 

“It's awful- I mean, really, the acting is unbearable and it’s fucking insane- but it's funny. You like making fun of stuff, right? It's like that, but there's still a ton of agonizing death, which is always a fun bonus.”

“What's it about?” Virgil was hesitantly intrigued, his gaze flicking up from the steadily heating kettle. He wasn't exactly keen on staring down the gory scene of Remus’ mouth, so he settled his focus on the trait’s eyeball brooch. 

“Uhn-uhn! No spoilers, this is one you have to see for yourself. It's funnier that way.”

Virgil made a noncommittal sound, tapping his nails against the counters.

“Nothing too bad happens- not that you can't handle, anyway. No slicing and not many jumpscares.”

He resisted the urge to snap 'how do you know what I can’t handle?' because Remus actively trying to reassure him was. Something. Something that he appreciated, maybe, a little.

“Okay, fine. I didn't have anything else in mind. A ‘So-Bad-It’s-Good’ thing sounds alright.”

The obnoxious gnawing of Remus destroying what was left of his cup suddenly ceased, replaced by a stunned silence. Virgil finally met his eyes (finding that the lacerations around Remus’ mouth were already healing themselves, as if they'd never existed).

“You’re taking my suggestion?”

Virgil cleared his throat, finding himself unable to break the intense eye-contact now that it had been established.

“It's not a big deal or anything, man. Just a movie.” 

Remus nodded enthusiastically, a grin splitting his face ear-to-ear. Very literally. The expression was so unnatural and cartoonish on a human(ish) face, that Virgil couldn't help but be startled into laughter. Remus looked even more delighted at that reaction, leaning forward over the stove. At that point, Virgil very much couldn't suppress the noises, snorts bubbling up from his throat against his will.

“You look-” another bout of chuckling, “-you look ridiculous, Remus.”

“Aw, thank you! I was going for manic, but I'll settle for that, too.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, hunching in on himself to get his breathing back to normal. 

With no warning, Remus lifted himself up onto his knees and craned his body around the vigilant trait, snatching the kettle from the stove and flipping the dial to ‘off’. Instinctively, Anxiety recoiled from the proximity. The tension fell away when he saw that the other was simply pouring the hot water into Virgil’s mug for him.

“Dude, it wasn't whistling yet?”

“I know; it was hissing like it was about to start. You're boring and don't like loud noises, especially when you’re all on edge like this, so,” he set the kettle back down, passing the warm mug to Virgil. 

Virgil stared at him, then at the drink in his hand, then back up at the Duke. He was, for what felt like the millionth time that day, unsure of how to react.

He… really hadn't thought that Remus would pick up on stuff like that. He should probably start getting used to that, maybe.

“I'm-” Virgil dragged his finger up and down the handle of his mug, “I'm not that on edge anymore, actually.”

The look that Remus sent him was indecipherable. 

“C’mon, I’ll queue up that flick I told you about.”

“Yeah,” Virgil let out a deep breath, one he hadn't even known he'd been holding, “Yeah, okay.”

 The floor was bubbling, popping, blistering with red fury. It was lava, sending bright flaming sparks in all directions. Thankfully for Remus and Virgil, sitting close together on the couch and viciously mocking cabin fever, the vicious rage was exclusive to one small circle near the staircase.

Virgil, who had been happily tearing apart the leading guy’s acting, cut himself off abruptly.

“Shit- wait- shit.”

Remus shook himself out of his raucous laughter, looking up in confusion. His eyes finally settled on the crimson patch of carpet, a look of realization crossing them. His voice turned much quieter than what fit him.

“Oh, fuck.”

It was like a volcanic eruption localized entirely within the living room, fire blazing in a tall column. From the emotional display, Roman rose up, face nearly as red as his method of transportation. 

There was that brief moment, right when a stressful situation appeared, of antithetical serenity. Virgil felt his muscles slacken in shock, his long-empty mug falling from his hands and landing on the carpet with a dull thud. A rush of calmness hollowed out his chest, lingering for just a few seconds before being replaced by panic. Tension returned to his limbs mere moments after that, like it was pulling him taut.

Roman wasn't even looking at them- in fact, he hadn't seemed to notice his brother or best friend at all. The fire fell back down, leaving a charred patch of carpet that would likely take a long time to repair itself. The passionate trait growled, a sound that bordered on a scream as he clawed his hands down his face. He stamped his boot sharply against the ground, igniting another small fire with the impact.

“Fuck!” He cried, ever oblivious to his audience. With a hasty wave, the flames flickered and disappeared. Roman glared down at the blackened spot where it had been, winding his arms tightly around himself. He took a few shaky breaths, but if anything he only looked worse off for it.

“Fuck,” this time spoken quieter, but with no less vitriol. An immaculately-manicured hand raised itself to cover his mouth, tightening around his face desperately as tears slipped from his eyes down his fingers. He turned on his heel and took the stairs two at a time.

In his wake, as the television had been paused, the only thing that Virgil could hear was buzzing in his skull.

What had happened? What was happening, currently?! Things had gone so wrong and it was all because of Virgil’s negligence- what bad things could have been prevented if he had just been there? Or- or even just listening in! When had he even stopped listening? He was supposed to protect them but he just gave up, just because he ‘couldn't handle it’, and now something was Wrong with Roman and he couldn't even focus on listening to them all now, not like this. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear or see anything at all.

A rough, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist. Virgil's shallow breath staggered even more at the feeling, the warbly noise of speech failing to meet his ears. His eyes were closed tight, he realized, stinging with emotion behind his eyelids.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Four seconds, four strikingly gentle presses against the vein of Virgil’s wrist. If it weren't for the slight edge of a claw, he could've confused the motion for one of Patton’s.

The four taps were followed by a brief pause, then a steady round of seven taps. Another pause, and then eight. As Virgil focused, as much as he could anyway, on the presses, the screaming of his mind very gradually abated. First, he pried his eyes open, staring down at the hand around his arm. Watching the tapping, feeling it, was grounding enough for his hearing to return in time. Virgil could hear Remus beside him, breathing deeply as a guide, and copying the exercise became that much easier. In for four, hold  for seven, out for eight. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

Remus didn't stop when Virgil did it properly one time over, when he was still shaking and teary. He didn't speak up even when the well behind Anxiety's eyes ran dry, after what had to be a dozen rounds of even breaths. It was only when Virgil finally, hesitantly slipped his wrist out of the other's grasp on his own terms that Remus made any sounds.

“Do you remember when you taught me to do makeup? Late teens, early twenties, around then?”

Talk about a topic shift. Virgil glanced up in confusion.

“I guess so? Wasn't that, like, the only time that we hung out and actually got along?” They’d never exactly been close, Virgil had made sure of that. It was, in retrospect, a regrettable decision on his part.

“Yeah. I was so bad at it, remember?”

“Hell yes, I remember,” Virgil felt a tiny smirk tug his lips at the memory, “You literally never sat still. You were and are the most impatient person I've ever met.”

“I’ve gotten a lot better, Vee.”

Virgil glanced at the bruise-like eyeshadow circling the Duke's eyes, but refrained from saying anything. Knowing him (kind of knowing him? Starting to know him better now? Whatever.) it was most definitely intentionally off-putting, and probably not a good way to judge his actual ability.

“But I’ve seen how you do it, when you really, really try; I think you're still better than me with it, ju-u-ust barely.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Virgil wasn't entirely sure where this was going, but he couldn't find the soft excitement in Remus’ eyes anything other than enticing. The creative side laughed, flapping his hand.

“It would be fun if you did it for me again! Just like old times, ey?”

Virgil stared at him, considering him carefully.

“You want me to do your makeup?” 

“Yes!” Remus leaned forward with his confirmation, but for once that didn't involve violating Virgil’s post-panic attack bubble, “It'll give you something to do with your hands other than peeling back all your skin, at the very least.”

Oh, right. Virgil not-so-subtly lifted his nails from his palms, wincing at the irritated red spots coloring his hands.

Truth be told, the idea wasn't… unappealing. It was an activity well between mindless and active, repetitive and artistic. Plus, he didn't exactly love being alone after attacks, and if anything Remus would be lively company. Company that he sort of, maybe, possibly was looking forward to spending the rest of the day with anyway, unfortunate events notwithstanding.

“Yeah, alright, if you're sure you want-”

“Great! Wait right there, bee-arh-bee,” before the words were even fully out of his mouth, Remus went limp and fell sideways off of the couch, falling right through the floor. 

In his absence, there was a void where his noise had been. Virgil stared at the paused movie scene, picking apart the little details of the frame just to have something to do. His mind drifted off to the state that Roman had been in when he entered. The sight of his friend so furious burned itself on the backs of Virgil’s eyelids. He knew that the anxiety wasn't all his own, either; he could feel it like waves from the other side of the MindPalace, the origin point clearly belonging to Roman.

He should check on him, shouldn't he? Or would that make it worse? Virgil certainly didn't feel like he was in any state to help. But then there was Patton to consider- something must have happened up there. Should he look for him, too?

There was a whoosh.

“I leave you alone for five seconds and you get right back to thinking!” Remus strode across the room, flopping right back onto the couch. Held in his arms was an enormous multi-pocketed bag, items clattering around within at every jostle their owner made.

“Overthinking is literally my whole job, man, this shouldn't surprise you,” Virgil shrugged, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt.

Remus simply rolled his eyes and dropped the makeup case onto Virgil's lap, sitting criss-cross parallel to him, their knees brushing slightly.

Virgil hesitated for a moment, scanning Remus' face, but all the other did was smile and blink (one eye at a time). 

Virgil zipped open the bag, rifling through and finding an overwhelming array of gaudy colors and odd products.

“Was there, like, a 'look' that you want to go for?”

Remus shrugged.

“Just go for it! I’m a blank canvas. The worse, the better.”

Virgil chuckled, picking out a few items to fit a theme he was coming up with and getting right to work.

Though it had been years since they’d last spent time together, it wasn’t awkward. In fact, it felt more comfortable than it had back then.

Remus managed to sit almost perfectly still, chattering the entire time that Virgil worked. Yet again his voice served as something like white-noise, wherein Anxiety only had to contribute whenever he chose. Remus only quieted when Virgil had to hold his face, tipping his head back to properly apply inky-black lipstick. And then, he remained silent for a moment, as they surveyed each other. 

Virgil had cleared his throat, warmth prickling at his ears, and the ceaseless rambling resumed after that.

In what felt like hours and no time at all, Virgil was finally satisfied with his work.

“Alright, you're all done,” he capped the bottle of mascara in his hand, rifling through Remus' bag for a mirror, “Wanna see?” 

Just as he felt the unmistakable cool surface of glass on his fingertips, Remus grabbed his wrist in both hands. 

“What-?”

“Not so fast! Now it's my turn,” he announced, his zealous eyes even more prominent on his face thanks to the thick wings of eyeliner around them. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Virgil looked from the assortment of garish colors that he'd mostly stayed away from in the makeup case, and then back up at the Duke.

“Usually: yes. But I am dead serious right now, Vee.”

Remus looked pleading, legitimately pouting. 

Virgil huffed. The side had gone out of his way to help him, when he really didn't have to, so…

“You're not going to just use this as an excuse to draw all over my face, are you?”

“I mean, no promises that I'll be able to restrain myself, but! Gimme a chance anyway, I can make you even hotter than you already are! Plus, we'll match then.”

“... Fine. Just- nothing too crazy, alright?”

“Again, no promises.”

Virgil groaned, but he still passed the bag to Remus.

 “Holy shit...”

Remus leaned over the basin of the bathroom sink, drumming his hands on the counter excitedly. He was starry-eyed as he observed the dark, dramatic colors covering his face: metallic emerald-green eyeshadow, excessively long lashes, and winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut a bitch. His lips were black as void, but shimmered like glitter. Everything about the look was dangerous, confrontational, and grim. 

“This is more out there than I’d usually wear, but. Yeah, holy shit.”

Virgil's expression, despite his best efforts, was equally awed as he peered into the mirror. The color around his eyes was mismatched; a lime to moss green gradient over his purple eye, lavender to royal violet over his green one- both colors contrasted by smudged black eyeliner under his eye. His signature Racoon Look had been maintained in that aspect, but it was even more exaggerated. In addition to that, Remus had taken to drawing various little symbols along Virgil's cheekbones, including things like upside-down crosses. Finally, there was the fuchsia lip-gloss, stark against Virgil’s paler-than-normal foundation. 

“It’s okay, I guess,” Virgil breathed reverently. 

“I love it!” Remus crowed, clambering onto the counter just to get a better look at himself. Somehow, he'd already managed to smudge the hell out of his eyeshadow, but it kinda… worked for him, if Virgil was being honest.

“Vee, we have got to do this more often!”

Virgil looked from his reflection to Remus', startled in a way he didn't entirely understand. The intrusive facet met his gaze through the mirror, the smile sliding off his face when Virgil didn’t respond to him.

“Right, Raggedy-Anx? It doesn't have to be this, specifically, if you really don't want to. We could just watch movies together, that's fine. Or we could do anything at all! Right?”

Virgil was still silent, lost in his mind. Remus fell from a kneeling position to sitting with his legs hanging off the counter, turning his back to the mirror.

“Was this a one-time thing? That's alright, too, if you just needed help calming down. I'm not as good as the others, I know, but if they're ever too busy again, you'll think of me when you need help, at least. Right?”

Finally, Virgil snapped out of his daze when he heard the panicked edge to Remus’ voice, feeling his anxiety as Virgil noticed the wild look that had completely erased his giddiness. It was a look that Virgil had seen plenty of times before, when Remus had been ignored far too long and was right about to start ripping things to shreds for some scraps of attention. Only then did Virgil fully recognize what the expression actually meant; the deep, terrified need that swirled behind the look, unsure of how to ask for what it really wanted after so many denials of that very want. 

“Shit, sorry,” Virgil moved to stand in front of him, eye-level to Remus even though he was elevated by the counter, “Hey, it's alright, Re, everything's fine.”

Remus was still trying very determinedly to smile.

“I know! Hell, I’m not the anxious one, I'm the one that makes people anxious,” his laugh sounded like it came from a throat full of broken glass, “I just- I liked this, ya know?”

“I know,” Virgil leaned forward, coaxing Remus' arms away from where he'd wrapped them around himself, “I like this, too.”

Remus let Virgil hold onto him, surprised into something like obedience.

“You? What?”

“I like this,” it wasn't as though Virgil was expecting to hug Remus, but it seemed to have happened on its own as they moved. It was leagues nicer than he could have imagined, despite the smell. “I like you…-r company.”

“That's weird,” Remus' legs curled around Virgil’s waist. Virgil rested his hands on Remus’ hips. He listened as the creative trait's breathing evened out, vaguely aware that the situation was similar to the one just an hour or so before. Except, the roles had been reversed, of course.

“I missed you. I know I never told you, but I missed you.”

Virgil felt guilt, hot and molten, dripping down his throat. He couldn't lie; he hadn't missed Remus when he left. But now he did, in a roundabout sort of way. He missed what could have been, all of the possible understanding and friendship and likely more that he could have had for so long with Remus- all of which he'd let slip by for years. Due to just writing the artist off as disgusting, or unnecessary. 

And perhaps some of that misunderstanding was Remus' fault as well, but Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to hold it against him.

“You don't have to anymore. Miss me, I mean. I'm- fuck, I'm so sorry.”

“Me too,” Remus said, pulling back to settle Virgil with a happy-yet-tearfilled gaze.

“Aw, hey,” he tightened his grip at Remus' hips, smirking, “You're gonna fuck up all my hard work on that eyeliner, Re.”

Remus laughed, loud and shrieky and him, smiling unnaturally and brilliantly wide once again. Virgil's breath caught in his throat- not for the first time that day, he found himself trapped up in that wild, energetic face.

Before Virgil was entirely aware of what he was doing, he was leaning forward, pulling Remus in by the waist. When the cackling finally stopped short, so did he, both much too far and far too close to the Duke. 

He didn't have the chance to explain himself, or apologize, or anything, because soon enough understanding flashed in Remus' eyes.

“Oh, oh yes, oh hell fucking yes.” 

Remus didn’t wait a second longer before closing the distance and smashing his lips against Virgil’s. A startled sound bubbled up in his throat, dying quickly as he acclimated to what was happening. Just as he did, he was reciprocating the kiss. 

Their teeth clashed together uncomfortably, and Virgil was hyper-aware of the threat both his own and Remus’ fangs posed if they weren’t careful, making it far from the perfect first kiss. But he wouldn’t have wanted that anyway, nor would he have expected it. It was, somehow, better. 

Remus' hand dragged down Virgil's back, his fingers fitting onto the notches of the facet’s spine. Virgil shivered, pressing himself flush against the counter (and Remus) and digging his thumbs into the trait’s hips. The motion earned him a beautiful whine from the other as the kiss deepened, growing less awkward and more heated by the second.

Virgil was unaware of how much time was passing, but when they finally parted, both were short of breath and significantly disheveled. Remus had his back pressed up against the mirror, his hair even fuzzier than its usual state, expression dazed and face flushed. From what Virgil could make out in his own reflection, he wasn't much better off. 

Just as soon as they'd separated, Remus' hand was on his face, his thumb dragging just under Anxiety's lip.

“You fucked up your lipstick,” he teased.

“So did you,” Virgil answered with a smirk, leaning into the touch. 

“I guess we'll have to fix it later.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus wriggled himself out of his pinned position, twisting around Virgil. He managed to situate himself and drop down from the bathroom counter, his manner suggestive, “Because all I wanna do right now is finish watching Cabin Fever with my new goth boyfriend and makeout during the boring parts.”

“Boyfriend?” Virgil ignored the jolt of warmth he felt at that, determined to stay nonchalant as he (subtly (not subtly)) slipped his hand into Remus’.

“You disagree?” 

Virgil pretended to think it over, leading them to the door and taking his time to click it open. 

“Nah, I don’t disagree,” he said finally, “I think I like the sound of that, actuall- yyyy.”

Virgil stopped short in the open doorway, voice dragging out in his shock. Behind him, he could feel Remus trying to crane around him to see what was happening, but Virgil didn’t move to accommodate him. Well, more accurately, he felt like he couldn’t really move at all, too busy parsing out the scene in front of him.

In the corner of the sectional- sharing a cushion- Janus and Patton sat, the former holding aloft a glass of wine, the latter snacking on a muffin. They sat with their legs tangled together, and had seemed to be engrossed with each other before the interruption. Both had paused mid-conversation to gawk in Virgil's direction, twin deer-in-headlights expressions on their faces. 

“What-” Virgil began, bewildered.

“The fuck?” Remus finished, pushing his way out of the bathroom.

Janus struggled to sit up into a more dignified position and take the reigns of the conversation. It didn't take him long to overcome his surprise at the interruption, his surveying gaze sweeping over the other two Dark Sides contemplatively. The look made Virgil’s skin crawl. 

“You know, we- well, we could ask you two-” he gestured at their interlocked hands, “-just the same question, couldn't we?” 

For a moment, there was silence. Virgil looked from Patton to Janus. Janus looked from Virgil to Remus. Patton looked at the wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Remus looked at everyone and broke the silence.

“You didn't see us,” he announced, sidestepping his way to the staircase and dragging Virgil along with him, “And we didn't see you.” 

Janus squinted, tipped his head, and nodded conspiratorially. 

“Deal.”

With that little grant, Virgil and Remus darted up the stairs and into the sanctuary of the dimly lit hallway as quickly as they could. Luckily for them, Roman was probably either in a deep depression sleep or far into the imagination by now, and Logan Did Not Engage with Interpersonal Drama if he could help it. 

There was a second for appreciating the absurdity of the situation (and catching their breath), before either spoke to each other.

“I’ve got a huge flat screen,” Remus piped up at last, jerking his thumb in the direction of his room. 

“Any of us can conjure literally anything we want at any time, so I'm not sure what's impressive about that.”

Remus scowled, albeit playfully.

“Hush! Come watch someone slowly be consumed by a parasite with me!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and let Remus drag him off, his complaints accompanied by absolutely no efforts to avoid the situation. 

Things were weird, there was no denying that. Maybe they'd end up being that way for a while yet, and Virgil knew he had a lot of news to catch up on, but he found that thoughts like that were way back in his mind. Whatever happened, he reasoned, he would still have this comfort. The arms of someone he was finally coming to know wrapped tight around him, playing up his back, a mouth trailing kisses on his neck as he half-watched horror films. Yes, things would be difficult with the others, but it was secondary.

There was someone on his side now. Solidly, unarguably there for him. With him. And that made it all feel a little bit easier.

[ordelion]

[ 👨‍🏫 ] how much does your muse care about image? how would they react if something personal got leaked about them?

Lysithea, as I interpret her, cares for her image quite a bit, yet in a diverse set of ways. One prominent place she cares for her image is in how she tries to give herself a very mature look- although her conceptualization of what a "mature" individual is can sometimes backfire on both her overall enjoyment of life, and this façade of maturity’s limited effectiveness. A few key ways she acts to look more "mature" include using an expansive, obtuse vocabulary, reading books that are text-heavy with very few pictures, enjoying sweet food only in private while eating meals with more difficult flavors in public, and spending meticulous amounts of time on her handwriting & signature to make sure it looks far above average in its detail, (although this level of meticulousness is an intrinsic element of Lysithea's character even aside from her image). Romantic inclinations are very much a point of dissonance in this facet of her image- while she realizes that most mature people are in search of, or already have, a romantic partner, she reviles the concept innately and has made it an open secret that she doesn’t wish to be married for a long time, far after she expects to have passed away. Occasionally, she tries to spin it as a mature disdain for “childish” tendencies for impossible crushes and useless pining, but most people probably brush it off as her age acting upon her considerations, even her parents. While I have dipped between headcanoning her as asexual, verses writing her as being merely disinterested- right now I hold to the latter- it has just never been a part of her life, and is not something she wishes to have for as long as she’s alive. That could change, but it would take a lot of time. At the same time, she also tries to give herself the image of someone who isn't too noticeable, and she has so far shied away from the societal norms of gossip among the nobility. She avoids controversies as best she can, primarily by talking about plain, inoffensive, academic topics while around any sort of noble clique, only speaking her mind's true opinions in close, one-on-one conversations. Yet, this refusal to engage with the social traditions of the nobles, combined with her fierce innate temper and inherently striking appearance & list of accomplishments, has ironically garnered her far more noble attention than any tiny scandal may have otherwise. So far, this attention is limited to a novelty, which she does not like, but can tolerate. How this develops remains to be seen. In contrast to this, she cares only moderately for the image of other people. She understands, for the sake of her parents if not herself, that she cannot be publically around places, people, or groups which are "beneath" her minor-noble status, although this understanding is entirely out of pragmatism instead of an internalized feeling of elitism. When outside of polite company, she doesn't take other people's reputation much into account, in part due to her disdain for noble norms and her own brash nature. She instead relies on her own gut instincts around people combined with how she's seen them act in the past to formulate an opinion on others. People without crests are an exception- she envies them and is intrigued by them inherently. In IntSys’ lovely game, I've noticed that Lysi's reaction to her secrets being leaked is rather muted compared to how they were being hyped up. Thusly, I've instead chosen to interpret her defensiveness of her secrets to be more radical than in, say, Linhardt or Hanneman’s supports. Reactions to such a leaking of secrets would vary depending on their level of magnitude- on one end, her secret of liking sweets being ousted to one non-gossiping friend would perhaps earn a cold shoulder or a small attempt at bargaining at most, while on the other end, having all of high society know of her time with TWSITD and her twin crests might very well lead to constant nervous breakdowns, swinging from being utterly, inconsolably despondent, to violently lashing out in rage. It also depends on her attitude towards herself, for if she’s more self-confident, more stable, or more supported by friends, these reactions could be less life-shaking- and even, if she can progress enough, come out by her own volition. Conversely, if she’s unstable, alone, or stricken by various ills already, even the most minor of leaked secrets could set her off into lunacy and misery. No matter what secret, however, a typical initial reaction is one of disbelief and confusion- perhaps even with her imagining it’s merely a nightmare. In terms of strategy for dealing with leaked secrets, she's got a severe case of "if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail”; in this case, the hammer is magic. While she may limit herself to verbal sparring in more minor cases, with her back against the wall, she’d certainly threaten to fling a dangerous spell or two, and she’d be more than willing to go through with this magical assault if pushed far enough. This is where my Lysithea diverges most sharply from canon- that capacity for retaliation that I suspected was bubbling beneath her in most supports, in which the conditions were set so that such a reaction was not possible. This defensiveness was influenced by her parent’s desire to keep Lysithea’s secrets locked up, out of a hope that she could escape having this scandal hook on to her throughout her entire life. Her parents are the few people she trusts and loves wholeheartedly, so their wishes and actions were taken quite a lot into her consideration on how she’d deal with her past. It was also affected by her days in TWSITD that I had previously headcanoned; her escape was only possible through violence and poisonings, so why not the same here? As well, her quick temper and propensity for insults only fan this flame.

[oliverpdaniel]

Let’s talk about casual homophobia.

I wanted to share a transcript of a TikTok video by a minor celebrity (I won't do them the honour of identifying them, but suffice it to say that this individual thrives mostly on controversy and poor publicity), to demonstrate what day-to-day homophobic language looks like. Many of these questions have been asked to me, or tell of real things that I've experienced, due to a generally callous view of queer folks. The quoted parts are the actual video, the unquoted responses mine.

Note in advance that some of these questions are clearly oriented towards gay men, but I am responding from the perspective of a bisexual man. Anyway...

"Okay, these are my questions for the gays – sorry, I was on Straight TikTok for a minute; what?"

Or, as you might like to call it, TikTok. For those unfamiliar, "Gay TikTok" is a small subset of the TikTok community that makes videos primarily revolving around in-jokes and shared experiences of the queer community. Thus, "Straight TikTok" is only extant in contrast, a joking reference to certain, overwhelmingly heteronormative parts of the TikTok community. While I'm not a big fan of the idea of 'ownership' or deciding who's allowed to say what, this (obnoxiously straight, in every sense of the word 'obnoxious') celebrity is trying somewhat unceremoniously to insert themselves into a narrative not their own here. Not off to a great start.

(1) "Would you care if your partner was bisexual?"

Whelp, this is one I can't really answer, can I? But, this still does lean into the old "gold-star" ideology of homosexuality, which makes it off-putting from the jump. For those unfamiliar, a "gold star" gay/lesbian is one who has never had sex with the opposite gender. This is a completely silly distinction, that fails to take into account personal circumstances, as well as – y'know – the fluid nature of human sexuality. TL;DR, even if you're exclusively into one gender, you shouldn't care about your partner's sexual orientation (other than, y'know, making sure it includes your gender) because, leaving aside the absolutely rad underworld of polyamory, they're only going to be into you while they're with you.

(2) "Have you ever been with someone of the opposite gender?"

Ah, more gold-starring! A great way to start. "You're trans? What's your deadname?"

(3) "Do you take offence when a girl calls you her Gay Best Friend?"

The Gay Best Friend is an expendable, non-threatening fount of femininity in masculine form, someone to go clothes-shopping with and who will give you sassy advice on boys. God forbid, however, that the Gay Best Friend try to be vulnerable with you about the difficulties of LGBTQIA+ life; they're only there for sashaying and making out with at parties, right? The Gay Best Friend is an incredibly harmful notion to men on both sides of the sexuality spectrum. Gay (and ESPECIALLY bi/pan/poly) men already know to fear the label, because of the dismissive treatment and expectation of performative homosexuality that comes along with it. Straight men should fight against it, too, because it's a symptom of the present hegemony of heterosexual relationships, which revolves around sexual transactionalism and a healthy dose of gender-role-fuelled intimidation[1]. (If you've never heard any of those words, you're probably the target audience here.)

(4) "Be honest – how many times has a straight person tried to hook you up with a gay person based solely on the fact that they're gay and no other compatibility requirements?" (with a devilish smile, into full blown "oh guuuuuurl" laughter)

This is a real thing that happens to people, myself included, all too frequently. It tells us that when you look at me, you don't think "Oliver", you think "Gay", and next time you meet another gay guy, that's the word ringing through your head. It's not funny. It's hurtful. If you're going to recommend a partner to me, make sure you actually have faith in a connection forming. As someone who ended up in an abusive relationship as a result of overzealous matchmaking, it's not something to be taken lightly; relationships, especially gay relationships and all the societal friction they inevitably entail, are not here for your endearment.

(5) "Are you down to hook up with someone who's 'just curious'?"

MORE gold-starring! God, could you imagine the uproar if a lesbian approached a straight person and said that they "missed dick" and/or wanted to experiment!? Oh, wait, that's already common in straight porn to the point of cliché. Gag; and not the good kind of gag.

(6) "Do you proudly wear the rainbow flag, or are you kinda against it because it kinda segregates?"

...what? When I first found this video, it was being duetted (TikTok's side-by-side video response) by a queer person, and at this point they took the opportunity to say, "I don't like you." I echo the sentiment.

(7) "Are you a 'yaaaaaas kweeeeen' gay or are you, like, 'fuck that shit what the fuck?'"

WE ARE NOT HERE TO PERFORM QUEERNESS FOR YOU. Leaving aside the sociolinguistic aspects of queer language and its intersection with (read: theft from) African-American Vernacular English, if people want to act flamboyantly gay, THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. If people want to act "normal" (read: heteronormatively!!!), that's NONE OF YOUR GOD DAMN BUSINESS. Queer people are fucking people, they act differently in different scenarios, and it's not for you to fetishize or to find "too much sometimes". When you accept a queer person into your life, you're accepting every facet of them into your life, for them to live and love unapologetically – not just the parts you find entertaining.

(8) "This might be a dealbreaker for me: do you like musical theatre?"

Yes. But even if I didn't – if I liked drinking beer and watching Nascar (sorry dad), but wish I had a boyfriend to do that with, guess what? That's my own fucking business. And, again, if your idea of a "dealbreaker" when engaging with a gay person is whether or not they like musical theatre – probably one of the most tired stereotypes about gay folks – and not, I dunno, if they're fun to be around and respect your boundaries and opinions, then maybe you're not looking for a gay friend for the right reason.

(9) "Be honest – do you still go through the Chick-Fil-A drivethrough and get that spicy chicken sandwich or those nuggies?" (big, face-scrunching smile.)

This is the one that REALLY got me. This displays just how tone-deaf this person is and how deeply they've objectified the concept of homosexuality for themselves. Chick-Fil-A is a massively homophobic organization from the top down, and they donate millions to organizations that want to bring into question my very right to exist, morally and legally.

As a straight person not affected by these issues, it's easy to say "well, I know I /shouldn't/ go to Chick-Fil-A because of the 'gay stuff', but oh IT'S SOOOOOO GOOOOOOOOD!". It's easy to momentarily forget one's morality because hey, it's not like you're directly hurting anyone, right? But, as a queer person who has to walk by the brand-new Chick-Fil-A at Yonge and Bloor every day on my walk to class, seeing the lines wrapping around the block lets me take direct measure of who, and how many, are willing to forget about me for just long enough to enjoy a fucking chicken sandwich. Go literally anywhere else. Eating at Chick-Fil-A is a choice, and it's a choice that informs me that you care less about my right to live than your own personal enjoyment.

(10) "Do you get upset when they have straight actors portray gay characters?"

This is a whole other debate, so I'm not going to get into the actual subject matter of this question. But hey – maybe, in an industry literally overrun with queer people, maybe we can stop converting a significant and pernicious problem in entertainment into a cutesy debate topic? Something really tells me that this person isn't going to start whipping out the intersectional feminist literature to explain their argument here. In all likelihood, it'll sound more along the lines of "but Eddie Redmayne looked so GOOD in that dress!"

(11) "And what's the GAYEST thing about you?'

Nope. Shut up and choke. I hate you.

Never tell me for a second that homophobia is "over" in Canada/the West/wherever. Never tell me that it's a distant issue, remaining only in far-off religious backwaters. This is what it can look like. Fetishization; dismissal; turning struggles for human dignity into pseudo-intellectual debates.

I'm not here to be your Gay Best Friend.

I'm not here to date your new gay acquaintance.

I'm not here to repeatedly explain to you my need to have rights.

I'm here for the same reasons you are.

I want to live and love, not to be treated like a toy.

Footnotes

[1] Okay, I'm obviously not saying that all straight relationships are built around sexual transactionalism and intimidation, nor am I saying that non-comphet relationships are not. But, in my experience as a reformed Gay Best Friend who has had to provide counsel to cishet friends over some INFURIATINGLY stupid relationship/courting issues, I would argue that a full ninety percent of them could be resolved if the experiencer simply viewed their partner/interlocutor/'tyng' as another human being, rather than being from the mysterious species that is The Opposite Gender.

[bathunterofdevon]

Update

So I might as well give some commentary on my cryptic last post. Basically, I have had to fly back to the UK immediately due to the coronavirus - cutting my Canada trip short. I have had a wonderful time living and working in Collingwood, Ontario, and I made plenty of good friends. But after getting laid off, due to the place closing down, and being unable to pay the rent, I was actually pretty lucky to get back here when I did. I have heard stories of family friends being stranded in many far away places unable to get back, due to airport closures.  I am a little upset that I had to leave Canada - there was so much I wanted to do there. But in all honesty, working the minimum wage job I had, much though I enjoyed it, I never would have been in any position to do anything else beyond that point. It sure is expensive being an immigrant. When I came over to Canada, I have over £3,000 in life savings that I had stashed away. But in the very first month, I lost all of it; just by looking for a place to live. (This was when I was in Toronto). Toronto is a pretty expensive place to live. It's so expensive - I swear there is a tax on the oxygen you breathe over there. I worked a shitty job over there for the first three months, as a server... except, not quite. What I did was basically like serving food, except I only did menial tasks that that were beneath the main service staff, like cleaning tables, and the floor. I didn't even get to collect tip money. And three months later, I was suddenly fired for some minor indiscretion. I won't talk about it here, because I'm a little worried that if I tell you, you might not take my side.  But basically, if you have a job in Canada (and I found this out the hard way) for the first three months, you are on a kind of probationary period. You can be terminated immediately during that time with no notice whatsoever. That devastated me more than a little, because I had never been fired before. It ate into my psyche and made me wonder if I would ever really amount to anything, and whether I would have to give up and fly back early.  Fortunately, after that, it turned out that I had a contact, who was a friend of a friend of my mother, who worked further up north, in this little resort by the Blue Mountain Ski Range, in Collingwood, Ontario, who managed to get me a referral for working at the front desk over there. I did a FaceTime interview, and accepted the position.  Working at the resort was wonderful. Not only did I get given accommodation, but I had staff lunches, and basically all of my immediate needs were seen to. Best of all, my staff accommodation was ten times better than the last place, where I lived. I had a room all to myself, with a desk and everything. I had the resources and time schedule I needed to work on my Youtube videos all the while I was having off time from working at the front desk. After 11 whole months, I finally finished Dirty Danganronpa, while out there and breathed a sigh of relief. That sure took a lot of energy out of me.  I had some troublesome flatmates though. I say troublesome, because they were difficult and unreasonable at times. They could be really unreasonable when it came to cleaning the dishes... and I later discovered that they were not equally unreasonable when it was THEIR turn to clean up after themselves. While I was initially friendly towards them, in the months gone by, I was avoid them as much as possible, because it was tricky talking to them. It was for the best that we became isolated from each other. They were nice to me at times, and I was grateful for their company at times - but their moods were often unpredictable and transient, which made me feel unsafe and unsure as to whether I could trust them.  The whole time, I reflected on my status as a foreigner, and how much more useful it would be if I had a skill of some kind, and if only I had finished my driving test before I came there. Thinking about my real life situation was enough to drive me into a deep despair and self-pitying fest that would leave me feeling too exhausted and miserable to produce anything. But it wasn't all bad. I still have some positive memories of that place. I did leave a good lasting impression with my employer. And while I did eventually lose my job, unlike last time this one was not my own fault. Everybody was getting laid off, left, right and centre. And the resort itself, incidentally has closed down indefinitely. It is astonishing how far-reaching the effects of the virus have proved. I never would have predicted this level of hysteria before - I'm old enough to remember the Bird Flu, the Swine Flu, the Zika Virus, and Ebola... all I remember of those, was nothing more than there being a huge media craze; even some Youtube stars talking about them, besides a couple hundred thousands of deaths too far away for any of us to know or care.  But... this was different. To be honest, though it may sound heartless of me to say this, part of me is actually excited at all the chaos that's happening. The world is in full-blown panic mode. And now government and health ministers are advising everyone to self-isolate. I just want to let these government officials and everybody else know, that I had been self-isolating long before it was fashionable. Else I would not have found the time to make these.  Anyway, the day finally came when we all heard the announcement - the owner of the resort was laying off virtually everyone in the housekeeping/maintenance/front desk department, and we were being faced with a choice - either I would have to work in a different (less glamorous) department, like maintenance, or cleaning, or I would choose voluntary redundancy, and claim unemployment benefits. For me, it was a no brainer. I don't have the brain, nor the mentality to do menial, repetitive tasks like painting, and cleaning. In spite of the fact that I have worked for years in MacDonalds, and in restaurants doing tasks like that. But considering everything that was going on, I had a chat with my Mum and Dad, and they insisted that I fly back home as quickly as possible. I was reluctant to do so at first. I didn't want to throw away everything for which I'd worked so hard to achieve. It was meaningful that I was living entirely by my own means, and providing for myself. I basically wasn't a kid anymore. And I didn't want to put an abrupt end to that. But then, everything changed. Dominic Raab (The UK Government's Foreign Secretary) basically told all Brits abroad to return home as soon as possible. By then, I figured I ought to get back as soon as possible, so that I didn't end up stranded with nowhere to live.  Officially, the UK is under lockdown due to the virus. But honestly, based on what I've seen, it does not feel like we are under a lockdown at all. Most of the local shops down my road are still open. Even some of the restaurants are still open - except they only do takeouts instead. I have not seen any police roadblocks, nor checkpoints of any kind.  In fact, I've seen quite a few people out cycling, walking their dogs, basically just life as normal. I have to wonder how they are going to enforce this lockdown, seeing as so many people are ignoring it? Not like I care either way. If we are officially under lockdown, then I have a better reason to stay indoors, and work more on my computer. :D  Now, it is estimated that we will remain under lockdown for approximately 3 months - although I don't know the actual figure. Everybody fails at predicting the future. What am I going to do in that three months time? Well, the only thing I can do at this point. If there are things that my Canada trip have taught me, it's that I have a Creative disease. I have to find ways to satisfy my urges and channel my creative instincts effectively. One of those channels is through this - my Youtube Channel. But there are three others.  Another one for me is voice acting. I've mentioned earlier that I have another account where I take part in voice acting, except I'm not sure if I'm ready to introduce you to my real voice and real self yet. The third one is music. Not a lot of you may know this, but I actually have a background in music. My grandmother on my mother's side was a concert pianist (Just like another girl we all know, hmmm?) I am also an alumnus of the Academy of Contemporary Music, in Guildford, Surrey, UK. There are three videos dated about 5-7 years ago on this channel which I had to make private, because they all feature me, singing and playing guitar in them. One of them is me playing a guitar cover of the Hollyoaks Theme Tune (God - what a loser I was. So desperate for validation I would actually cover the Hollyoaks Theme tune) I don't even like Hollyoaks. I hate it with a burning passion - like every other Godawful soap opera on British Television. In fact, TV in general is just so depression and despair inducing that I refuse to watch it. Anime/Video games and Music is my escape from all that. I despise pretty much anything that depicts the real world in a realistic life setting.    But to give you an idea of what else I sometimes do in my time, there is an old video - 6 years old - of a remix I did of the Allegro Cross Examination theme tune for Ace Attorney, which I made on Garageband. I make quite a lot of music using Garageband. Music is actually an even bigger part of me, than Danganronpa is - well in any case, it goes back way further than my interest in Danganronpa, that's for certain. At some point, maybe when I reach a certain point in terms of how many subscribers I have, I would love to introduce you all to my real self. It would be a rewarding experience to have all of you get to know me, and all of my facets. ...Oh, and before we all forget: 

Happy Kayay-day, everybody! Let's all give a show of appreciation to Best Girl, and wish her love and happiness in Heaven. Happy Birthday, Kaede Akamatsu. - Bat Hunter

[realisationanddoubt]

The binary: realisations and rants

Can we talk about the gender binary a bit? Of course we can. It’s my blog, we can talk about Naruto or the impossibility of clown cars if I wish. So I’ve been thinking a lot about me after my break up as, I suppose, is normal. Thanks to this I’ve stumbled across an identity crisis I’ve been putting off for years. I’m non-binary and that’s a weird thing to just non-chalantly write down for me. See, I’ve spent years talking about how I don’t really care about gender. As a bisexual, I’ve had the conversation numerous times. As a stereotypically effiminate person I’ve spoken many times about how I’m comfortable in myself acting however I want because the gender stereotypes hold no interest to me. But I’ve never really bothered to delve into why.

It’s taken awhile to come to terms with being non-binary. It’s like coming to terms with my sexuality all over again. As usual, I’ve been presented a choice. The sexuality and identity fairy came to me twice now and happily asked “men or women” and I, in classic me style, didn’t really pay attention to the fact that there was a clear binary choice and only half listening just replied “Oh, no thank you!”

It’s difficult to live in a world defined by binaries and then realise you’re not really interested in participating. When I very first realised I might be non-binary a couple of months back, I got lost in a strange narrative. Do I need to start wearing make up? Should I make myself more androgynous, shave my beard? How do I present as non-binary? Of course the answer (For me) is you don’t. I should have really known that from the start because I had to do the same thing with my bisexuality. It took many years to get from “How do I let everyone know I’m bisexual?” to “I don’t really care who knows what my sexuality is and I have no desire to share that information.” I’ve approached being non-binary much the same. I get that people are proud of their sexuality and identity and seriously, good for them. That must be a nice thing to have. Thing is I’m not particularly proud. Let me see if I can put this into words.

So for me, sexuality and identity are both very matter of fact. I’m not proud of either of those aspects of me but don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed. The idea of being proud of either of those things is, for me at least, the same as being proud of having curly hair or brown eyes. Sure, there was some emotional turmoil coming to terms with my sexuality and identity but it’s not like these are things I had to strive and work for. They’re just facts. I don’t really care if people call me he or they. They feels a bit more natural I guess but it doesn’t particulalry bother me being called he. And note, I get called he because I have a beard and a masculine build. When I was a teenager with heavy eyeliner and long flowing hair I got called miss and she a lot and that never particularly bothered me either. I’ve never particualraly felt some kind of rage at being misgendered. I don’t really care that people assume I’m straight (I kind of care in that way of, Jesus dude open your mind and stop making assumptions but not enough that I’ve felt the need to correct anyone.)

Though I wonder how much this is a story I tell myself. Just like it’s difficult telling yourself actually, you’re not any of the traditional genders, telling yourself you don’t really care about presenting and pronouns in a community that’s so fired up about them feels weird. 

“Welcome to the queer community! Would you like to be angry about misrepresntation of your sexuality or your identity?” The queer fairy politely but firmly asks.

“Ah, no thank you, I’ve already eaten.” Josh replies, not really paying attention to the climate or the question.

I even considered whether I’m supposed to change my name. Am I supposed to change my name to something a bit more androgynous? Maybe start calling myself Alex or Frankie or any other name that could be either gender? But I don’t want to. I’m just Josh. I’m a bisexual, non binary mess and Josh is my descriptor. 

Should I care more? Should I be fighting some war against ignorance? Am I somehow doing a disservice by not participating?

Not participating is basically my default. “Here lies Josh, they didn’t participate.”

I kind of make life more difficult for myself by not divulging these things. People have asked me before “Are you gay?” and I just reply “nope!”. Then I get annoyed that people just assume I’m straight despite literally never giving any evidence to the contrary. I guess it’s just a problem with the system. My sexuality and identity are improtant to me but they’re personal. I’m not going to talk about them to work colleagues or friends anymore than I’m going to talk about my kinks. 

“Hey Josh are you gay?” My well meaning but misguided colleague asks.

“Oh no, I’m bisexual, non-binary and I like scratching and biting during sex.”

You really going to just out your kinks like that online huh my dude? It should say enough about me that I feel a swell of anxiety to putting a fairly vanilla kink on a personal blog no one I know will ever read. Do I really want Tumblruser420 to know I like biting in bed? Feels like an overshare. 

This really became a bit of a deep dive into gender identity huh? I guess I’m just going through some stuff. 

Quick tangent, whenever I hear a noise in my house, despite having two cats that are always the cause, I need to check every room just in case. I even check the bathroom which only has one very small window next to the door. Just in case some sneak thief broke in through the plughole I guess. Some S’wit. Some N’wah.

God I’m just going through some Stuff y’know? I worry how much of my outlook might be down to internalised shame and not just non-chalant IDGAF attitude. I haven’t put Non-Binary on my tinder profile. I mean I have but I’ve set it not to show. I don’t know if that’s out of fear of being judged for it or simply because I haven’t come to terms with it myself. To be clear, I definitely haven’t come to terms with it myself yet. I have bisexual on my profile but I guess I’m still kind of ashamed of that.

Is it shame? I guess it’s more fear. Not like a fear for myself or my safety or anything. More a fear of people’s perceptions. It’s not even that I’m scared people will be shitty to me because of it. If that’s the kind of person they are, fuck them. I just don’t want to be “That queer one”. Does that make sense? I kind of hate to term cishet because it only seems to be used as derogatory but I need to use it a sec. I think the main reason I’m happy to just pass as cishet is because then I’m allowed to be a person. The second you’re something different that’s it. That defines you. I get it needs to be a conversation so people stop being ignorant and hateful but at the same time even just the discussion about it feels like it’s pushing me into this definition. Like being bi or being non-binary means I’m a certain kind of person. 

I guess it’s the classic tale of any ism. Racism, sexism, homophobia...ism. I am bisexual. I am non-binary. But I don’t want to be the bisexual. Being defined by something like that, something so out of your control... It feels so... dismissive? I’m not a person anymore. I’m not Josh. I’m a bisexual. I’m non binary. I’m white. I present as a man. All that shit. This is starting to become a rant on the construction of society as a whole and the role of privelege and what that means huh?

I’m creative, emotional, witty. That’s what I’m defined by. That’s who I am. I’m not just some pigeon hole word. Define me by my facets, not my facts.

Realisations are a funny thing. I have a lot of realisations in my life and mostly I like them but this one leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It’s not that I don’t care, that much is apparent after this rant. I’m just so tired of it. I avoid all the discourse and conversations about any kind of identity issues because I’m tired of defending myself. It doesn’t matter where you fall on the spectrum. These kind of labels aren’t useful. They’re just a method of pinning something to someone that says “Can I just hate this person out of hand.” and it’s rife. It’s everywhere and it’s all the same. I don’t care if you’re having a rant about black people or a rant about cishets. It’s all just vicious hate. We live in a world where people are so desperate to have someone to hate because they’re different. Whether that difference is in the majority or the minority it doesn’t matter. Hating all men or all straights or all whites is no different from hating all trans people or all queer people or all black people. Hating all millenials because they’re special snowflakes is no different from hating all boomers because they’re not progressive. It’s just pure hatred because they’re different. Just blanket statements attached to something someone can’t control to give you a reason to say “Oh don’t worry, I’m allowed to hate them”.

Maybe keeping my identity or my sexuality to myself makes me a coward. Fine. I refuse to participate in these wars of hatred. I just want to spend time with my cats, fall in love, help people and laugh. 

As always, as will be written on my gravestone one day, I refuse to participate. To all those people who fight for my ideal world on my behalf, thank you. To all those people on either side, progressive or traditional, just to hate one subset of people, go fuck yourselves. I’ll just be over here, trying to make the dying smile and trying to give people a little longer in this world to spend with the people they love.

That’s it. Rant over. I’m going to try and get another hour or two of sleep before work. I know it’s customary to drop the mic after a big speech but know if it felt like I did, I just fumbled putting it back into the mic stand and I’m trying to own it. If you look closely you’ll see that the blood has drained from my face and perspiration is clear on my forehead.

[ilgalantuomo]

Sonosilva

Note: All asterisk-ed names have been changed so as to respect the person’s right to not be named.

    I’ve poured gong-fu tea many times; surely in the hundreds, potentially in the thousands. It’s something that almost comes naturally for me, at this point. Shit, I have had dreams about doing it.

By definition, my role as a tea server is to make tea. Usually, I make tea for guests who have never done it before; or perhaps, they have done it before, but they forget the steps. It’s usually one of those two. On occasion, there will be the guest who, in fact, knows all the steps, but wishes to have someone else demonstrate. In this situation, they either want to connect with you, or have someone, presumably more knowledgeable, explain to their companions.

    Not every time is significant. In fact, many times, it is relatively uneventful, really. Most of the time, people sort of accept whatever you’re doing, maybe ask a few questions. If you are lucky, people get into the process, and start a conversation with you. If you somehow get even more lucky, they fall in love with the process, and you get a new friends out of it. That’s usually as good as it gets.

    This isn’t to say that you can’t have extraordinary moments. You absolutely can. I’ve had many beautiful moments, some even glorious and ethereal. But many are not life-changing-ly profound. Some are just fun, and that’s worth it, by all means.

    Because of this usual flow of events, I have come to not expect much when pouring tea for big groups…or, I try to, anyway. What ensued from one night of pouring tea, however, was more than I ever could have imagined.

A dear friend, affectionately called Bodhi, tells me one evening that he intends to serve tea at some recurring event held by college students called Sonosilva. He invites me to join. At first, I cannot place the name. Sonosilva to me sounds like a romance-language surname.

It occurs to me then that I know this name. I know the event. I’ve even been invited once previously. I learned of it at the memorial of Cameron Poole (may he rest in tea), a guest I used to serve regularly. In mourning his death, I connected with friends of his that seemed to run in similar circles. They had invited me to a previous iteration of this event. Because I did not attend it, I had forgotten the entire notion of it until Bodhi spoke of it.

On the night of the event, I meet Bodhi and our other friend, Celia. After gathering our needed supplies, we make our way to a local spring on Empire Grade to collect local water to make tea, in the true fashion of crazy-tea-people. Whilst there, we meet a fellow spring-enthusiast gathering water on his last night in Santa Cruz. Pleasant conversation, I wish I could remember his name.

We gather our water, head somewhere on Empire Grade, and park. We debate what we need: how much water, what tea, what teaware, what materials to create a lovely altar and tea serving station-all of the essential tea-geek matters. After some down-sizing, combining, and minor adjustments, we begin our trek in the dark forest.

I’m not from here. I didn’t go to the university. I have no idea where we are going. As far as I’m concerned, I am just along for the ride. As such, I leave it to Bodhi and Celia to both take us to where we are going, and create our space for tea. All I’m here to do is aid.

We hike along the road, cars speeding past us, missing by only a few harrowing feet. Because we have so many supplies, we chug along, ducking into the brush when cars pass. Occasionally, we stop to discover the path markers, but only find broken fences and grass. If only we had parked closer.

I have no idea what to expect. Is this a casual, sit-around-a-camp-fire event? Is it a space where everyone coming shares personal experiences over tea? What could this possible be? I keep wondering so I can act with proper decorum.

We finally find ourselves up the road to the site. I am slowing down, but enjoying the walking. The air is thick, the fog is enveloping us in a ghastly mist; the sky is dark, forest quiet. All is peaceful here. It’s nights like these that I wish we had the capability to effectively capture the mystical “atmosphere” a time, day, or place exudes. Since no such technology exists, I won’t bother to grasp at the asymptote that is this brief, ethereal moment of existence.

We eventually come across a fellow Sonosilva-goer, who shone their flashlight at us from across a meadow until we intersected. We hike further, through gnarled roots and deceiving forks on the windy path. All the while, more fellow guests seem to join us as I see more and more flashlight rays flickering around us.

Eventually, we get to the site. I’ve never been to a festival like the fabled Burning Man, but I imagine it to be something like this, but perhaps much larger and palpable. There is an electricity in the atmosphere; a textbook case of visceral experience; a place of wonder, childlike imagination; and a place of great hedonism manifested in bong rips, cheap liquor, and psychedelics. Even in spite of not knowing this world, I feel a sense of quiet awe. Somehow, everyone ends up in the same place with similar intentions, and somehow, this space is beautiful. Here are all these young people-my peers-celebrating life in an odd, but extraordinary manner: one in the middle of the central-coast redwoods with a palisade-like structure of trees surrounding a DJ booth and small dance floor.

As it turns out, there are two potential areas for us to set up our tea corner. The intended space was a jerry-rigged pergola made from logs, brush, and large branches. But that doesn’t seem fitting. It somehow feels too open. Instead, we opt for the adjacent yurt-like tent, in which we find a perfect spot to position ourselves.

Bodhi and I tend to be similar in our thoughts, which means I can help him set up in a way that makes logistical and aesthetic sense. We carried what we thought worked well for a tea table: teaware suitable for serving multiple people, wooden serving tray, bamboo tea boat, assorted lights, stones, and other accoutrements, and, of course, a nice spread of teas and our spring water. We have a simple space made from some of what we brought, but also materials and objects acquired serendipitously from the organizers (read: a milk crate and an ornate scarf that seemed to be made for adorning a tea table).

After some configuration and light introductions and small talk, Bodhi begins tea service. We both agree on a shou that we mutually enjoy, as it seems to fit the vibe of the yurt: calm and down-to-earth. Immediately, a friend of Bodhi’s, Lauren*, desires hot water, and perhaps, a cup of tea, she says. Bodhi, ever the connecting thread to so many people of different communities, greets all of his friends on an individual basis as if they were the only two here, a characteristic I respect and admire.

A festival go-er sits, gazing in wonder at what this might be. Bodhi answers his question with simple explanations in a passionate, but soft manner. Already, our new friend is amazed such a larger world of tea exists, and can hardly believe any of what Bodhi explains. A few times, Bodhi will stop and ask my thoughts on a matter, or for me to explain something in a different way. I try my best to keep it simple. I know I can sometimes lose myself in an explanation, leaving the other person more confused than before.

For a while, this is the general rhythm of the night. People come in, stop for a mere cup of tea, then leave to go back out to enjoy DJ sets, spliffs, or their friends. Some people stay for a while to get away from the festival-like energy and busyness. Regardless, we are here to serve them tea and create a safe for them to enjoy. As Bodhi serves and explains, I keep a watchful eye on guests who might need tea. If appropriate, I give new guests a cup, serve our current guests more, or offer some explanations on pu-erh, tea, or why we drink in the form we do.

In these settings, I often find it simple to give as little information as possible. Tonight is no exception. Perhaps it stems from laziness, perhaps from a desire to keep the subject of tea interesting and mysterious. Personally, I think it makes the most sense in situations such as these, seeing as some guests only want tea. Not information. Not backstory. Not some long-winded explanation of something that doesn’t even really give a concrete answer.

Now, if people really desire, I strive to give them explanations that satisfy their curiosity. Even still, I try to convey it in an appropriate manner that will make the most sense to the people in question. Tonight, there are some people desiring such answers.

As Bodhi presents our tea, and explains some of its facets, I find myself wanting to butt in and clarify a point he makes. I even find myself wanting to steer his answer in a direction that I see more fitting for our audience. The tea-geek in my head finds it appropriate to give the most correct answer to everyone, to give concrete explanations on tea and tea culture.

I know this isn’t the best place to do it. At the end of the day, we should only be here to serve people what they require. I shouldn’t insist with ferocity that my way of explaining and presenting tea in a very specific way. In fact, all my education and experience has been rooted in openness and resistance to dogmatic explanations. Why should tonight be any different?

While we serve guests, I stay quiet. I don’t want to give my dogmatic insistence a voice. Instead, I attempt just to serve, to be mindful of our guests’ needs. Occasionally, somebody will unknowingly indulge me by asking for some sort of information, thus letting me explain something in a manner I can appreciate.  

Occasionally, Bodhi and I will stop and confer on whether to add a tea to the pot to keep it interesting. We even check on the other, making sure the tea can flow, the other is awake enough, and that all is well. At some point, we decide to add another shou to the pot, one that complements the one we are serving. Of course, the vibe changes immediately, and a large group comes in wanting tea.

I notice something as the night continues. I notice something I don’t like. It is something in me. I yearn to be the one people focus on; to be the one explaining; to be the focus of attention in the room. But why? How? Bodhi is doing a wonderful job of explaining. He’s passionate, very clearly; he is engaging and friendly; he is serving everyone with a spirit of love, patience, and humility, the true spirit of tea; he is doing perfect. It isn’t fair to him that I feel as if I need the attention to be on me. That isn’t his problem. That is mine. For a while, this distracts me; it makes me reflect on why I feel like this; it makes me realize that this isn’t a one-time experience. This is an issue within myself. This is me wanting to be recognized, heard, seen, and appreciated for me. This is me feeling inadequate, as if I am not enough. I feel ashamed to think that I need the spotlight, that I need recognition. The serving of tea should not be about me, or my bullshit need to have attention.

I’m brought back to the serving when someone thanks us. They thank us for the beautiful experience, they tell us how rad the entire process and beverage itself made them feel. They get up and leave. And just like that, new people, inexperienced with tea, come in, sit down, and ask for a cup.

I check in with Bodhi once more. To my enjoyment, Bodhi wants to get up and explore the festivities, meaning that someone must take over: me. I had wanted the attention, and now here it was, being handed to me. To think that the very thing that I had yearned for- conflicted about my desires-was now being given to me in the form of a duty I knew very well.

I jump in, ready to serve our guests. Surprisingly, there have been a few people that have stayed here for a while. I add another shou, continuing with tonight’s tea theme, to accommodate for the growing number of people entering the tent and wanting tea.  In fact, a crew of people that had previously come in had now returned.

After some light small talk and simple explanations on tea, I found myself engaged with the people who returned. One of them, a young woman name Emily*, strikes up a conversation about mushrooms and psychedelics, neither of which is subject for which I have strongly feelings. I have been in these discussions, however, and usually it has been best to listen to what someone has to say about these substances. Usually, most people talk about their trips as well as why they feel everyone should experience substances. It all starts to sound similar after a while, I must admit. Nevertheless, I nod, not understanding much of the details, as I don’t have any experience in this realm.

Eventually, the conversation comes to a point where someone asks my name, which I say while trying to make my voice loud enough to be heard over the music. Emily, stopping what she was saying about psychedelics asks me where it comes from and what it means. As I do with most people, I explain that it is a family name, trying to keep it brief. She, however, wants know more, and insists on telling both me and our other guests that she will hear its origins.

My name comes from my maternal grandfather, Savin. To put it simply, he was a man from an impoverished immigrant family. He grew up in a tenement building, where he paid for lumps of coal to keep warm. He grew up watching polio, influenza, and a number of other diseases and maladies ravage the people of his neighborhood. In fact, he contracted a few of those diseases, and experienced just how awful these conditions were. In response, we wished to become a doctor, both to heal people and rise out of his conditions. Through a job mercifully given to him by a butcher, he worked his way to working in a pharmacy, then pharmacy school. With this experience, he pursued and acquired a medical school education at Columbia, a massive feat for a poor Italian kid who had contracted polio.

After his residency, he enlisted in the army to be a medic. This would send him through numerous trials in Europe, including: arriving at Normandy Beach on June 7, 1944 to treat maimed, suffering soldiers of the largest seaborne invasion in history; joining the forces raiding Dachau, where he treated inmates to his best ability; and raiding Hitler’s estate.

After returning home from his time in the European theater, my grandparents moved to a small town in California, where my grandfather started his private practice as a gynecologist and general practitioner. As he practiced, he treated a vast number of patients, assisted in the births of many children, and, in doing so, amassed a reputation as a man and doctor of kindness, strength, and phenomenal ability.

I never was able to meet him. He passed away some years before I was born. My father had a near-blood relationship with him, in spite of the fact that he was his son-in-law. Through a rather odd, nay, uncanny set of circumstances that demands another piece of writing, my father accurately predicted my birth in a dream. When I was born, in light of his predictions being true, and now having one boy, my father named me after my grandfather.

I proceed to explain this story in full detail, with the occasional interruption, while pouring tea for all those willing to listen. At first, it appeared to only be Emily, myself, and a few others sitting around our cozy tea table. I progressed further and further into the story, stopping to explain minor details and checking everyone’s cup. At some point, I lost my train of thought to a bewildering sight: everyone in the tent-even those not drinking tea who were sitting in the back-were watching me in silence.

As if his spidey-senses went off, Bodhi returns. As he walks in to check in with me, he notices the crowd listening to me. He smiles, waves, and motions for me to continue. So, continue, I do.

After I finish, Emily and the few people immediately around me are quiet. I figure I have probably bored them with a long-winded story about something meaningless. Emily then tells me, “Your grandfather is still changing lives through you. Do you think he imagined that his grandson would inspire joy and change the lives of some nineteen-year-olds by telling the story of his name? You have changed my life with this experience and your beautiful story. Sure, I could have chosen another thing to do tonight, and that would have been beautiful, too. But this is very beautiful, and has changed my life and inspired joy.”

By now, the majority of people inside the tent have gone back to their own experiences, naturally. Nevertheless, my immediate guests and I share more stories, especially those of great significance to us. While continuing to pour tea, I share meaningful experiences of my life and those associated with tea (many of which I feel merit their own piece of writing), and continue to pour for people wanting to join us. We even have a discussion on cultural differences, youth, and drugs.

As we approach the dawn hours, people begin to leave, or they crash on some comfortable blankets in the corner. Our water supply dwindles. The tea is lightening, losing its divine complexity. My guests must leave. As they get up, they all ask for hugs, and tell me departing thoughts. They claim I am beautiful, that my stories are beautiful, that my existence and their time with me has changed their lives, that I am patient and wise.

After the last guest leaves, I make one last pot. I sip the basically-flavorless tea, and reflect. I had spent my time craving attention. Then, I got it. I received my desire for attention in a way where I could explain who I was; where I could tell my origin story to an audience that was apparently ready to listen.

I stepped out to get some air, and to explore the other festivities. I leaned against a tree to watch the DJ that had been hypnotized the dwindled crowd, dazed by all that had just happened. When I was feeling inadequate and yearning for someone to notice me, something-God, the universe, the spirit of tea, whatever you want to call it-gave me an audience and opportunity to tell the world of my pride, my existence, and my origin. All of this just occurred over pouring tea-an entity I already consider indescribably beautiful- in the beautiful, ethereal realm of some festival-like event in the middle forest. And I began to weep.

After some lo-fi dj sets, I made my way back to the tent to look for Bodhi and pack up. Lauren*, his friend from earlier, had been drifting in and out of our tent throughout the night, and had stayed for some of my regaling of stories. I found them there comfortably catching up, and I joined.

Within the hour, the sun rose, most people had left, and we began packing up our tea corner, now ravaged by spilled tea, piles of cups, and disheveled blankets. Eventually, we wake those sleeping in the tent so that we could assist in dismantling both it and the rest of the site. The rest of clean up and disassembly takes some time, but Bodhi and I enjoy the company of Lauren and friends.

On our way back to our cars, Bodhi, Lauren, and I discuss our time pouring tea, and why it is meaningful to both Bodhi and me. We begin to depart ways. Before she leaves, Lauren claims that I have a, “Profound way of doing exactly what is needed when it is needed in the way needed for the time.” Somehow, this night became even more beautiful with that sentence.

Bodhi and I proceed back to the car, tired, but satisfied with our evening. As he handles some bodily needs, I look to the now bright morning sky and consider how beautiful life was these last several hours; how unimaginably beautiful and pleasurable it was to experience the moments in the manner we did; how all those moments came and went like a whisp of smoke.

Our journey back home consists of us debriefing our evening. Somehow, Bodhi and I took part in the amazing experience of serving others, of pouring tea. In my recap, I thank Bodhi for his spirit and passion in pouring tea, and for being a big part of the experience. Without him, I may not have had it. In his recap, he remarks how captivating it was to see an audience listen to me. To think all of this came from some gathering in the forest.

On my drive home, I sobbed as I took a voice memo to capture the experience as quickly as I could. For someone like me, someone who has felt insufficient; for someone who has struggled with mental illness; for someone who had felt not beautiful the days leading up to this experience; for someone who seeks to serve others, this night was a humbling experience of divine splendor and majesty. I could show someone-even if just a few people paying full attention-who I was, and where I came from; I could serve others tea, an act, beverage, and ritual that I enjoy for innumerable reasons; I could be myself and be found beautiful and needed when I needed it most.

These are the moments you don’t have often. This is why I pour tea.

[ladylilithprime]

Sastiel Creations Challenge | @ladylilithprime

↳ Theme: Monsters | Prompt: Djinn

=A Wish Your Heart Makes=

IT WAS THE perfect life.

Not many would agree, of course; everyone's definition of "perfect" was unique to the individual and, while there might frequently be some overlap, it was very rare that two or more people might have truly matching definitions. Add to that the sort of changes a "non-standard" upbringing might create in a person's priorities for happiness... Well, as Dean had once remarked, a lot of people took having a stable address and place of residence for granted, so having a home - a real home, not just a base of operations out of which the Winchesters worked and in which they occasionally slept - might seem to an outsider like a low bar, never realizing just how high a bar it really was. Sam in particular had not had much luck with having a stable and stationary home, despite repeated efforts to change that over the years. An old bunker originally belonging to a now-defunct secret society of supernatural researchers might not be the most traditional of homes, but it was theirs and that was the important thing.

Charlie, the hacker who had helped them against the Leviathans, had worked a minor miracle in the eyes of the humans and completely eradicated Sam and Dean's criminal records from any and all digital archives, and had set up a watch to ensure the records couldn't be retrieved without pulling up all sorts of warnings with labels like "classified" and "secured data" and "authorization required". Neither Dean nor Castiel knew exactly what that meant, but Sam was happy and so that was enough for them. Moreover, Charlie had unlocked accounting and payroll information from the Men of Letters computers and dusty files. For the first time ever, there were actual legitimate bank accounts for "Samuel Alexander Winchester", "Dean Michael Winchester", and even "James Castiel Winchester". Castiel had been shocked that they would include him so thoroughly in their family when he had been turned away before, and had very nearly protested until Sam had reached out and pulled him into a hug, the first real and voluntary hug Sam had given him when Castiel was in his right mind.

"You belong with us, Cas," he'd said. "Me and Dean, we're not all that great at emotions and healthy communication, but you gotta know... You're family. And I - we - love you."

"Do you?" Castiel had dared to ask, having caught the slip and very nearly held his breath as he had waited for the response.

"Yeah, I... I do," Sam had admitted, dropping his eyes and ducking his head to hide his sudden blush. He hadn't pulled away from Castiel's touch when he had reached up to brush aside the soft fall of hair, and he had been more than agreeable to Castiel's request for a kiss.

And so the unconventional Winchester family built their unconventional home together with Charlie and Kevin coming and going as they wished. Sam was happy to delve into the Men of Letters library, sorting and cataloging the books, working with Charlie to preserve older texts and with Castiel to translate others. Dean nested happily, eager to finally be providing the home he had always felt Sam had been robbed of by Azazel's plots to further the early Apocalypse, and while he would find hunts occasionally they were sparse and rarely required the Winchesters to leave home for more than a day or two. And Castiel divided his days between helping Sam with the library, or allowing Dean to instruct him in "the human condition" since he now lived among them as one of them. At night, Castiel shared Sam's room and Sam's bed - their bed, Sam insisted - and would fall asleep held securely in Sam's arms, feeling safe in a way he could not remember ever feeling even in Heaven. It really was a perfect life.

So it was perhaps a cause for concern when Sam entered the lit library after dinner to find Castiel sitting at the long table staring at the cover of a book of Middle Eastern legends with a pensive expression on his face. "Cas? Everything okay?"

"Sam." The former angel looked up, blue eyes dark with the heaviness of an inexplicable sadness. "Are you happy? Living here, being... being with me.... This makes you happy?"

"Well, yeah," Sam said, sounding puzzled but at least willing to take the question seriously. He came around to sit on the edge of the table next to where Castiel was sitting, facing him. "I mean, sure, it's been an adjustment, getting used to having a home and... I'm sorry, but there's probably always going to be a little voice in the back of my head worrying about the next big threat coming along and killing you like everyone else I've loved--"

"One might argue that I have already fulfilled that requirement and 'gotten better'," Castiel broke in gently, making air quotes because he knew it would make Sam smile.

"There's a thought," Sam conceded with the expected fond smile. He sighed. "I get that it's not ideal, but our lives have never been what the majority of Americans consider normal. That doesn't make it any less amazing and perfect, just different." He huffed a low laugh. "Honestly, if I didn't still wanna kick His ass, I'd probably thank God repeatedly every night that this is my life, because as weird as it is... I have you. I have Dean and I have you, and that makes all the weirdness more than worth it."

"I see," Castiel said, looking down at the book, then back up at Sam with a soft smile that belied the serious expression in his eyes. "I love you, Sam Winchester."

"I love you, too, Castiel Winchester," Sam answered solemnly. He bent forward, and Castiel tilted his head back to accept and return the offered kiss from his beloved, lingering on the feeling even as Sam slowly pulled away and straightened up. "It's getting late. Come to bed?"

"I will be along soon," Castiel assured him as he straightened up out of the embrace of the chair and reached for the book. "This is the last of it for today."

"Okay," Sam agreed, getting up and dropping one last kiss on the top of Castiel's head. "I'll be waiting for you."

"I shall not keep you waiting long," Castiel promised, watching as Sam left the library before turning back to the table. The book was regarded with that same pensive expression from earlier, then set aside with a sigh. Instead, Castiel reached for the silver letter opener resting against the base of the small lamp and, with a last glance towards the door, plunged the blade into his chest.

CASTIEL JOLTED UPRIGHT from the floor of the broken-down cabin, his hand seeking and mercifully finding the hilt of his borrowed angel blade which he had painstakingly coated in lamb's blood from the butcher before coming out to the abandoned property. The djinn's power was not supposed to be able to affect an Angel of the Lord, but it seemed without his Grace he was more susceptible to the Supernatural. It was as disconcerting as it was irritating, and Castiel supposed that he would have to find some way to cope with this new facet of his disgraced and diminished state... after he dealt with the djinn.

Grace or no Grace, the former Angel still had his combat training and exceptional reflexes, a fact he was grateful to learn when the djinn attacked and he managed to dodge out of the way and get the blade up between them before she could lunge again. It struck home, and Castiel slid to the floor, his malnourished body having less energy than needed to remain standing just at that moment. At least the djinn was dead, and all that was left was to burn the body.

With a stifled sigh and a grunt of effort, Castiel heaved himself up off the floor and began dragging the djinn's corpse out of the ruined cabin so as not to set the whole dilapidated structure ablaze with the body. It would make a decent shelter for the night, allowing him to make his way back to Lebanon proper tomorrow during daylight, one more threat to the people he loved eliminated.

He refused to allow himself to dwell on the impossible scenario the djinn's power had conjured.

ONLY THREE MILES away in an old bunker, Sam Winchester frowned and reached for his cell phone. Before his fingers even touched the casing, his body stilled as his eyes flared blue with the light of Grace. His hand dropped away from the phone, the number for the intended call to an absent angel who should have been there with him left undialed outside of his own mind.

If you need cheering up after reading this, please proceed to AO3 and read Better In Person, which can be taken as an unofficial sequel to this story.

[creideamhgradochas]

Thanks to the lovely @marvelmom for taking the time to answer these! Get to know more about her, go give her a follow and then show her some love!

These questions are from this list. You should check it out, there’s 50 questions all together and they’d be great to ask your favorite fic writer!

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fan-fiction?

A woman never tells her (fanfic) age ;)

2) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

I can't honestly say that I prefer one over the other since I've never written a fic for an OC.  I guess my style of writing is better suited to allowing readers to insert themselves into the narrative. I like the challenge of writing a character that allows the reader to flesh out in their own image but still have some substance on their own within the story.

3) What is your favorite genre to write for?

Is smut considered a genre? LOL.  Seriously though, I love humour so you'll find most of my stories have an underlying comedic thread.  I have a really dark sense of humour and I'm sarcastic af so I love when people respond favourably to it in my writing.

4) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

Wow, this is a really good question!  I think it would probably be the very first fic I wrote called "Marked."  I wrote it for a friend when I was deep in the Cumberbatch fandom.  She was complaining about the lack of Khan fics so I wrote one for her.  It's on Ao3 and every now and then I get a kudo and I cringe.  The writing seems so basic and stilted compared to my newer works.  If anything it shows how much I'm improving.

5) When is your preferred time to write? 

I find I do my best work late at night.  I'm a single mom with a full time job and busy teenagers so I don't usually get to sit down at my computer until after 11pm.  I love being able to leave the day behind and just focus on my writing without any interruptions.  I typically go until 2am.  It's a little crazy but writing relaxes me and helps me sleep better.  And it inspires some really great dreams ;)

6) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Most my inspiration comes from real life, my experiences and passions like music, film and literature.  I like to daydream and I find I'm constantly having conversations with characters or constructing scenes in my head.  I'm a little crazy I guess lol

7) What’s your favorite scene that you’ve written?

Another great question...let me think.  I have one in my head that I haven't written yet that I know will eventually be my favourite but at this very moment it's the scene in Chapter 10 of The Contest where Bucky and the reader are dancing in the antique store and they finally kiss. It was the very first scene that came to me when I started to think about this story and to finally get to write it was incredible.  But man did I stress over it...I wanted it to be perfect.  Exactly like I had pictured it in my head.

8) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

Hasn't happened yet.  I'm very stubborn and it would take a lot for me to deviate from the vision I have playing in my head. My muse won't let me rest until I've captured a scene note for note on paper.

9) Who is your favorite character to write for? Why?

Bucky!  I can't seem to get him out of my head.  For me, Bucky is the most fascinating character in the MCU.  His story arc has brought him from one end of the spectrum to the other and back again in so many facets and I love exploring these layers of his personality,

10) Who is your least favorite character to write for? Why?

Thor but only because I stress over his speech patterns when I'm writing his dialogue.  I want to make sure I'm doing his character justice and capturing him accurately on paper.

11) How do you come up with the titles for your stories?

For one shots, I usually wait until I'm done and then riff on a major theme in the story or what inspired my to write it in the first place. The title for "The Contest" series came from the Seinfeld episode of the same name that inspired the story.

12) What do you think is the best idea you’ve had for a story so far?

Considering that The Contest is my very first Bucky fic (and series) I would have to say this is my best story idea so far.  More to come I hope ;)

13) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

Thankfully none yet!  I find that when story pops into my head I can't move on until I get it down on paper and out in the wild.

14) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

I get a lot of requests for part 2 of "Three Creams, No Sugar".  Everyone wants that shower scene ;)

15) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

Yes, Infinity War. Oh wait....do you mean one of mine?

16) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

Oh wow, there are so many incredible writers in this fandom that it's hard to pick just a few.  I'm grateful to have fallen in with amazing writers such as @evansrogerskitten, @Thewife101 and @avenger-nerd-mom on Twitter.  Their support and guidance are the reasons I gathered up the courage to start posting my fics on Tumblr.

Writers like @unicorns-and-fairy-dust-blog own my emotional ass....Dre is the master of angst.  I love the wit and humour in  @tilltheendwillIwrite 's stories - I think it's a Canadian thing born out of bitter cold winters and ketchup chips.  @lovelynemesis has such a great style of writing, very flowing and descriptive.  The depth of talented creators in this fandom is insane.  There are just too many to mention!

17) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

Definitely "Marked"

18) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

Complete silence.  If I have music or Netflix playing I start to daydream and boom, a whole new story.

19) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

Not while writing but as I listened to a song and imagined a Bucky one shot to the words.  I was ugly crying by the end.  I may get around to writing it one day..

20) Which part of your fics have been the hardest to write?

I would say the first few starting paragraphs of a new story or chapter.  I take way too long with the beginning sections.

21) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

I pretty much have the whole story plotted out before I get started. "The Contest" has been in my head from beginning to end for over a year now.

22) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fan-fiction?

I wish I had known about Tumblr to be honest.  It's a great outlet for fanfic and the source of so much inspiration and support.

23) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

I'm always in awe of the fact that people want to read my stories period so I appreciate every single note, comment and message whether it's 4 or 400 :)

24) In contrast to 23 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?   

I'm always in awe of the fact that people want to read my stories period so I appreciate every single note, comment and message whether it's 4 or 400 :)

25) Are any of your characters based on real people?

Not so much characters but personality traits.  I find that I project my style of humour and sarcasm (plus my lack of filter) onto characters all the time.

26) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

I must be the slowest writer in this fandom.  I seriously don't know how you all put up with me.  I've had so many incredible compliments but it always amazes me to hear readers tell me that a new chapter was worth the wait.

27) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten? 

One that really stands out is someone telling me that I was going to lose all my followers if I didn't update my fics faster.  That one really hurt because like most writers here, I really beat myself up knowing that I can't turn around stories or chapters as quickly as I would like.

28) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

I have a few writers here that I talk to regularly and we feel comfortable enough to share our ideas.  Some of my favourite messages have been from other writers wanting to talk through an idea or ask for some help with a scene or ask for some help with a scene or some dialogue.

29) Do people know you write fan-fiction? 

Aside from a few twitter mutuals I have met, no one in my "real life" knows I write fanfic. Though I think my kids may have their suspicions...I have a writing degree and my friends and family are always telling me that I should write more.  If they only knew LOL

30) What’s you favorite minor character you’ve written?

I can't tell you because they are about to make an appearance in the next chapter of "The Contest" and I'm excited to write their scene.

31) What spurs you on during the writing process? 

The incredible feedback and messages I get from readers like you (I live for your chapter summaries....seriously), pictures of Sebastian Stan, reading all the amazing fanfic out there, Bucky's thighs, Marvel, eating chocolate....eating chocolate off of Bucky's thighs.... (Need to add that to my list of future fics)

32) What’s your favorite trope to write? 

Definitely slowburns.  I love the flirting, the teasing, the witty dialogue as the sexual tension builds....it's delicious.

33) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

This is going to date me....please no judgment.  It was a 'NSYNC fic. Wish I could remember the name but it was a JC x reader.  I was obsessed with JC back in the day...ok, stop laughing.

34) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? 

SMUT with my fucky Bucky and my side boo Sebby ;)

[misssophiachase]

So this is my third and final part to my Bold Type fusion (can you believe the show’s coming back in June?) In all honesty this could have been a full length fic but I have way too many other things to write. You can read part one HERE and part two HERE on my Crossroads Drabble collection.

Yankees and Red Sox can’t play in a World Series, I know, but this is fan fiction and creative license. 

She Sets the City on Fire

“I cannot believe Jenna is making me do this,” Katherine hissed. It was Friday morning, the day of the big meeting between her lawyer and Mikaelson publishing to discuss the defamation suit.  

“I think this is her way of teaching you a lesson, Kitty Kat.”

“For what? I did nothing wrong and if those stuffy, egotistical suits are going to try and say that I’m at fault then they have another thing coming and also…”

“Woah,” Bonnie interrupted, holding her hand up to Katherine’s fast moving mouth to halt her tirade. “What have I told you about riling her up again, Care? Especially before the caffeine has had the optimal amount of time to kick in?”

The girls were at Bluestone Lane on West 37th Street, their morning ritual before work. Jenna had called Katherine in the previous day to tell her she would be accompanying Arabella’s lawyer to the meeting at Mikaelson Publishing.

“If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut today,” Caroline warned. “Jenna just wants this to go away and stirring up more trouble could cost you more than your pride.”

“And by that she means, your job.”

“Thanks Bonnie, I got that,” she growled. “I just hate that I have to grovel to those chauvinistic…”

“Okay,” Caroline silenced her quickly. “Let’s get to work, maybe you can work off some of that anger in the meantime, Pierce.”

As they made their way up 37th, Caroline was struggling to keep her mind off a certain blonde haired Mikaelson that’d weaselled his way into her life, her thoughts, her sub conscious and her panties, something she was determined would never happen. Hell, she wasn’t much better than the woman who sent Klaus panties for a birthday gift. Caroline had become just another notch on his bedpost and that fact was killing her.

Not because the sex was bad, on the contrary it was phenomenal. On top of the extremely attractive facial features he’d been gifted, he obviously worked out given his impressive, toned physique and stamina. But it wasn’t just the physical attributes, it was as if something snapped inside her emotionally as she lay in his arms afterwards listening to his steady breathing and Caroline knew she was in trouble. She shook her head trying to clear her thoughts.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s having a hot and sexy flashback from her night with…”

“Excuse me? I’m still here,” she hissed.  “At least wait until we get to the office so you can talk about me behind my back.”

“You like him?” Bonnie said, more like a statement than a question.

“I do not,” she bit out. “Klaus Mikaelson is an egotistical, womanising, arrogant ass that thinks he can get anyone into bed.”

“Well, with all due respect, Care…”

“I’m well aware I fell prey to his womanising charms but it wasn’t my fault.”

“Okay, just so you know that whole excuse about protecting me and drinking too much isn’t going to fly anymore. Why can’t you just admit that you have a bit of a crush, Forbes?”

She felt her cheeks flush, her downward glance on the sidewalk not doing much to hide it. They both erupted into giggles, tickling her ribs from both sides. Once they’d somewhat calmed their assault, Caroline strode purposefully ahead before responding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How about that ticket to the World Series?” Bonnie offered slyly, catching up as they entered the lobby of their building. “Last time I checked you still have it stashed securely in your handbag.”

“I’m going to send it back,” she mumbled. “I was just waiting for the right time.”

“The game is tonight,” Katherine shot back. “Pretty sure your time is running out. Why can’t you just admit that you want to go with him?”

“Fine, I want to go,” she admitted, albeit reluctantly. “These are box seats and I’ve never been to a World Series match. If only they didn’t have to include an unwanted guest rooting for the Yankees.”

“You realise he was the one who invited you and it’s at Yankee Stadium, right? If anyone’s unwanted…”

“Thanks, Bon,” she growled. “All I’ve ever wanted since I was little and sitting on my dad’s lap watching baseball was to go to a Red Sox, World Series match. My dad always promised to take me one day but, well uh, that never happened…” She trailed off, both girls smothering her with hugs before she could continue and shed some unwelcome and public tears. They both knew just how much her father meant to her and that she still missed him everyday.

“Then it’s settled, you are going to go to that match,” Katherine insisted, wiping a pesky tear that had managed to escape.

��But…”

“Did you ever wonder why he put that ticket in your purse?” Bonnie asked curiously.

“Probably wanted round two and figured that was, apart from alcohol, the best way to get me into bed again.”

“Someone thinks extremely highly of their sexual prowess,” Katherine teased, earning a dirty glance from her best friend in the process. “I think what Bonnie is trying to say is that this guy knows you. I mean he remembered you follow the Red Sox.”

“Like that’s difficult,” she spluttered. “I was wearing a cap when we first met.”

“I know this is a foreign concept in that over worked and crowded mind of yours, Care, but did you ever stop to think maybe he wants to see you again because he likes you?”

“You’re crazy, Bonnie,” Caroline dismissed, pressing the elevator button and desperately trying to put him out of her mind. Of course she’d thought about it and that’s what was throwing her emotions off balance.

“You’re going to do what?” Klaus demanded, looking at his brother in surprise.

“I think it’s best if I’m in the meeting between Arabella and our legal team,” he insisted, adjusting his tie.

“What is going on with you?” He murmured. “What happened to my stuffy brother who abides by the rules and has no sex life?”

“No need to be so crass, Niklaus,” he growled. “This is about Mikaelson Publishing’s reputation.”

“Oh, you mean the reputation you threatened when you decided to start a twitter war with the defendant?”

“I will not allow their indiscretions to defame one of our publications.”

“Exactly why you initiated the suit and we’re in line for an attractive settlement. You are the CEO of this company and, last time I checked, didn’t attend minor settlement discussions. We’d be a laughing stock if the Board found out you’d been attending such low level meetings.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being involved in all facets of our company, in fact I think that shows a great understanding of…”

“Okay, I give up!” He conceded, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “What the hell is going on here and don’t give me any more ridiculous excuses, Elijah, I’m ageing another year just waiting for a bloody explanation.” Klaus sensed his brother was close to breaking and it was at that moment he knew his instincts were spot on.  

“I kind of know her,” he offered, albeit meekly.

“Who?”

“Katherine Pierce,” Klaus was struggling to respond. That was the last thing he was expecting coming from his brother’s mouth.

“How exactly?” He asked, taking a much needed seat at his desk.

“Well, only really by reputation,” he explained. “She’s this feisty and unapologetic presence online I stumbled upon by accident and then I was intrigued.”

Klaus stilled, realising that his usually responsible brother and CEO of their worldwide publishing company had brought a defamation case against Arabella Magazine all in the name of a pathetic, and slightly creepy, crush over someone he didn’t actually know. He closed his eyes trying to steel his nerves, their lawyers were due in the conference room in less than fifteen minutes.

“We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t slap a restraining order against you instead,” he muttered. “How long has this infatuation been going on exactly?”

“Not long,” he offered weakly. “And she was out of line, I still stand by my actions.”

“But you fancy her too, excuse me if I’m a little confused,” he growled. “There are other ways to get women, you know that right?” Klaus wished he could be so confident given the way Caroline Forbes had snuck out on him and not contacted him since, especially since he’d left that ticket in her bag. 

A million thoughts had taken over his already crowded mind. His initial assessment had been that she either hated him and their night together or his more hopeful wish that she was as nervous as him given the connection he’d felt. In fact he’d never felt so close to someone as Klaus had Caroline. He was a goner, not that he had any intention of admitting that fact for fear of rejection. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Finding out my usually boring, celibate, older brother is harbouring a weird crush, for sure,” he agreed heartily. “But not sure exactly how I’m going to handle this mess.”

“She was in the wrong.”

“But given your feelings, I’m fairly certain you also provoked her comments,” he offered. “The defamation suit is dropped and don’t think about arguing with me, stalker.”

******

Katherine Pierce was nervous, not her usual confident self as they made their way towards a very familiar board room. Last time she was here, Katherine was distracted by an extremely gorgeous man in a pristine suit while Bonnie shot insults at his brother and Caroline did the same over a rogue pair of birthday panties.

This time it was serious. She never wanted to implicate Jenna or the magazine in her impulsive twitter war. Katherine liked to think she was tempestuous and argumentative, speaking for those who sometimes didn’t have a voice. Turns out having an opinion came at a high price.

“Miss Pierce,” she looked into the familiar, blue eyes of a certain guy that was messing with her best friend’s emotions.

This she hadn’t expected, strangely enough he seemed just as surprised as her by the startled expression on his face and tell tale wobble in his voice. No doubt he was mentally joining the pieces of the puzzle together and realising that she and Caroline weren’t delivery people or NYU anthropology students as they previously claimed.  

“Mr Mikaelson.” They held each other’s gazes curiously before taking their seats at the expansive boardroom table. Yes, she knew he was their Chief Operating Officer but not expecting him to make an appearance at such low level talks beside their in-house lawyer.

“If you’ll allow me to make an opening statement,” Arabella’s lawyer began just as the blonde Mikaelson held up his hand, halting proceedings. What happened next Katherine wasn’t expecting.

“He did what?” Caroline exclaimed spinning in her chair, earning the attention of the whole office her reaction was so loud.  Katherine had only returned to Arabella five minutes earlier before her friends dragged her into the fashion closet to avoid prying eyes and ears and were now peppering her with questions.

“He dropped the suit? What? Just like that?” Bonnie asked incredulously, trying on the nearby jewellery and checking her reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah, it wasn’t expected that was for sure but he realised who I was and didn’t want to slap Caroline’s friend with a defamation suit, talk about awkward during future social situations.”

“He did not,” Caroline murmured. “I mean what was he doing there in the first place?”

“I’m guessing he’s your typical micro-manager,” Bonnie offered.

“Even so,” Caroline murmured sarcastically. “The one thing I know about Klaus Mikaelson is that he’s professional and business is his upmost priority. He would never drop a suit for…”

“You’re underestimating the power of the penis.”

“You did not just say penis?” Katherine asked, looking at Bonnie questioningly. “You write for a woman’s magazine the least you could do is be more creative like cock or…”

“Don’t judge,” she shot back, sending Katherine a dirty glance. “Anyway, last time I checked this isn’t about anatomy but Caroline’s boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she murmured self consciously. Ever since Caroline heard about his decision to drop the suit she was confused. “And this has nothing to do with me.”

“Well, then how do you explain it?” Caroline couldn’t explain it and it was killing her. The one thing she knew was that she had to keep her World Series date with Klaus, or whatever it was, to get the answers she needed.

“I need to go,” she offered weakly, by way of response.

“Wait! What are you going to wear tonight?” Katherine asked as she retreated. She turned back to face them both amongst the designer clothing and accessories. For once she wanted to be her low income self and not the designer alter ego she’d created.       

“I’ve got this.” She was gone before they could argue.  

********

Klaus was fairly certain he’d never felt so anxious, ever. He was sitting in the box, feet tapping on the ground nervously awaiting her arrival, if she came of course. When he left that ticket in her purse it was a gamble. Usually women threw themselves at him, more so for his fortune and name, but Caroline Forbes was different. 

It wasn’t just her natural beauty, wit or that feisty disposition, it was the fact she didn’t seem affected by him or his family. He’d been a womaniser in the past but Caroline was different. 

When Katherine Pierce turned out to be her friend, Klaus had put the pieces together, searching the internet for everything he could find. Caroline wasn’t a delivery person, she wasn’t an anthropology student either but a finance major with an impressive GPA. These were all remarkable attributes but for some reason extremely protective friend was what grabbed his attention most.

He’d fallen in love with her at that moment and needed to be close to her again, if only just to smell the vanilla scent from her golden waves or hear that melodic laugh. But his hopes for getting her to the baseball were diminishing with every minute.

“I heard the Red Sox were going to wipe the floor with your Yankees,” he could smell her sweet aroma before she sat beside him. 

Caroline always looked stunning but Klaus was fairly certain that dressed in dark denim jeans, flats and a Red Sox jersey she was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Not that he’d admit that given he was a Yankees fan.

“Care to make a wager?”

“Not if you decide this like your defamation suits,” Caroline mumbled. “I mean, a bit of consideration wouldn’t hurt.” Klaus was confused and not just by her presence. 

“I’m a lawyer, love, I take all my cases seriously.” She stilled, her blue eyes meeting his curiously. 

“But Katherine…”

“And?”

“You dropped the suit because of what happened between us,” she murmured uncertainly. Klaus was struggling to form words, mainly because he didn’t want to admit that he made a professional decision that may have also brought him closer to her after the fact by chance.  

“Well….”

“Well…” Her blue eyes were on him intensely and Klaus knew he had no option but to come clean, even if it incriminated his brother. 

“I have a big thing for you but as it happens my brother has a thing for your friend too.”

“Huh?”

“Any chance we can discuss this after my Yankees annihilate your Red Sox?” 

“Fat chance,” she smiled deviously. “Not sure if I’ll have time. You realise i’m going to rule the fashion world someday?” 

“I kind of figured you could do anything you put your mind to.” He took her hand in his, it was surprising to them both but for some reason the competition seemed to fade away and nothing else mattered but them.   

[usabsportdevelopment-blog]

The Bright Lights of the Big Leagues: Your Dream or Your Kid’s Goal?

FUNdamental Skills 

By Darren Fenster / June 1, 2018

Twenty-four years ago, I graduated from Thompson Middle School in Middletown, New Jersey, and as was tradition back then (and may very well still be today) my classmates and I would sign one another’s yearbooks with a short note reflecting back on memories of the past three years, and added well wishes for the next few in high school and beyond. Skimming through the pages of mine, still to this day, I am amazed to read the number of entries wishing me luck as a professional baseball player, in addition to the many ticket requests for when I got to the Major Leagues. I had just finished the eighth grade. Little did I know at the time that my professional career would begin some seven years later, because at that point, the bright lights of the Big Leagues were just a dream to me. 

A dream… like just about every single kid has when they don their first youth league uniform.

Looking back to that eighth grade yearbook, clearly as a 12- or 13-year-old kid, I was talking - and probably talking often enough for people to mention it as much as they did - about wanting to be a baseball player when I grew up. It’s very easy at an early age to pick any far-fetched, odds-against profession, and say, “I want to be this,” or “I want to be that when I get older,” but at one point or another, reality sets in for most and those dreams remain just that- dreams. For a very fortunate few, myself included, there comes a point and time when that dream becomes a realistic and attainable goal. Now while I am not sure of exactly when that was for me personally, what I do know is that it would have never happened without the support of my parents and coaches, as cautiously optimistic as they may have been.

To be honest, when sights are set so high to the point of turning a dream into a reality, there are going to be naysayers every step of the way. Being part naïve, part driven, and probably part stupid, negative talk from those who didn’t have my trust did nothing but motivate me even more. Truth be told, the only people who I actually would have listened to had they told me I couldn’t do it were the exact ones who never did. I cannot underestimate the importance of those close to you truly believing in you when setting your sights on something, whether it be in sports, or any other challenging facet of life.

I mentioned the cautiously optimistic support of those around me, because that’s exactly what it was. By no means did those who I trusted above all others give me blinding support, without any idea of how difficult accomplishing such a lofty goal would be. While their support was unwavering, it was more along the lines of, “OK… if you want to do this, then you have to work harder than everyone else, and figure out exactly how you plan on getting there,” rather than, “you’re the best and it’s just going to happen for you.”  They made me well aware of the things I needed to do, and the challenges that were going to cross my path, and as long as I was willing to go about it the right way, then they were going to be behind me, because this was my dream… NOT theirs.

And therein lies one of the biggest differences I have seen between today and what I experienced some 15-20 years ago when going through the same process of working to advance in the game. So before moving on, I’d like to ask one simple question:

Are those bright lights of the Big Leagues your dreams, or your kid’s goal?

My name is Darren Fenster, and as a self-proclaimed baseball-lifer, I have lived a pretty cool life in the game, having worn a number of different hats over the course of my years on the diamond. From a playing career that garnered All-American honors as a shortstop for Rutgers University, in addition to twice being named a Minor League All-Star while coming up with the Kansas City Royals, to becoming Director of Baseball Operations, Assistant Coach, and Recruiting Coordinator at my alma mater before returning to professional baseball as a hitting coach in A-ball, to my current position as Minor League manager with the Boston Red Sox, I have enjoyed a wide array of experiences around baseball that have helped give me a very unique perspective of the many different sides of the game. In those roles over time, I have witnessed firsthand the change in the way both players approach the game and their futures, and the unrealistic, uneducated, and ill-informed support and expectations of those around the player, where many have come to believe that a college scholarship is a foregone conclusion, and that playing professional baseball is like signing up for a youth league.

The odds are staggeringly against you when it comes to moving up the ranks:

2,200,000 play in youth leagues. 455,000 play in high school. 48,000 play in college. 5,480 play at a Division I college on a baseball scholarship. 1200 get drafted. 750 play in the Major Leagues.

.03%  of youth leaguers will play in the Major Leagues. .2% of high schoolers will play in the Major Leagues.

Also consider this when looking into playing in college:

Every year, the maximum number of scholarships Division I baseball teams are allowed to offer is 11.7. That’s not 11.7 scholarships each year for each new recruiting class of players, that’s 11.7 divided among 27 players within a program. One of the biggest misconceptions out there is the full scholarship. They are about as common as a solar eclipse: for the most part, they barely exist. Baseball is not like football (85 full scholarships) or basketball (12 full scholarships), but rather a sport that is forced to divide up their scholarship allotment amongst an entire roster. So when you hear every Tom, Bob, and Harry brag about their kids getting full rides, well unless their last names are Trout, Harper, and Kershaw, well then I’d be willing to bet the only thing that is full is them… of hot air.

10.5% of all high schoolers will play in college. That includes Division I, II, and III, all junior colleges, and NAIA schools. 1.2% of high school players earn a Division I baseball scholarship.

These are stats that your kids must see. By no means are they meant to deter them from going after it, but rather for them to understand the true difficulty in doing so. For the ones who will move on, those numbers will serve as motivation to work harder, and for the ones who get depressed after seeing them, it was probably never meant to be.

To many parents and coaches, those numbers will mean nothing and have little impact, leaving them unfazed in their conviction that their kid will have no trouble making it. To many players, those daunting statistics will barely even register, since in their minds, the odds won’t apply to them, because they have been told how great they are by those same parents and coaches who have no idea what it actually takes to make it. And therein lies the problem…

There is a fine line behind blind optimism, cautious support, and downright naysaying that will kill any and all hopes, but there are a few things that can be done to create reasonable expectations and attainable goals for your kid’s future in the game.

CREATE A BLUEPRINT FOR SUCCESS

Knowing what you want to do is great, but knowing how you plan on getting there is better.  You have a starting point. You have a finishing point. What happens in between? Write down all the steps needed to climb toward the ultimate goal. Focusing on short-term goals is much easier and much more doable than just looking at the end-all, and not having a clue of how to get there.

KEEP THE GAME FUN

The game is supposed to be FUN. The younger the kid, the more fun we, as coaches, have to make it. Players and parents shouldn’t even think or talk of scholarships or the draft until the sophomore year in high school, at the earliest. One of the more frustrating things to witness during my time as an assistant coach at Rutgers was going out to games where the players were more concerned with who was in the stands watching than they were actually going out and competing between the lines. Their joy of playing was, for all intents and purposes, non-existent. On very rare occasions, I would get a chance to see teams who had been playing together for years, playing the game the right way, playing the game to win, and most importantly, playing the game for fun. It’s disappointing that those teams are the exception in this day and age, and not the rule.  Bottom-line: in order to advance in the game, you have to love to play, because the higher you go, the more time you will spend out on the field. If you don’t enjoy it, then why play at all?

BUYER BEWARE

Be careful. In an age where baseball has somewhat turned into a pay-to-play sport, be very cautious with ANYONE who makes promises of scholarships or getting drafted. The only people who have that power are members of a college coaching staff, or professional scouts. Too many times have I heard stories of empty promises by private instructors or travel teams who sell their connections that will get the exposure the player needs. Here’s the simple truth about exposure: if the player is good enough, he will be found. Period. Money can buy some of the most overblown evaluations ever written, and the majority of coaches will not invest limited scholarship funds on a player he’s never seen. Just because the guy you’ve been paying since little Johnny was six for private lessons says he’s the best player ever might not mean anything other than he enjoys cashing your checks. Consider the source before trusting it.

GO TO A GAME. GO TO A FEW.

As you get older, and college and professional baseball are legitimate goals, it is vital to get a feel for what collegiate level is best for you, and how talented those in the pro game truly are. There are various levels of the game just within Division I. Some conferences and programs could be viewed as comparable to low-level minor league baseball, whereas others are barely a step up from high school. I cannot tell you how many times we got calls from coaches, players, and parents saying how their kid is a perfect fit for us (when he wouldn’t even survive the first day of walk-on tryouts). We would respond with the question, “Well, have you ever seen us play?”  Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the answer was no. Well then how on earth do you know that little Johnny is perfect for us when you have no idea how good we are??

HONESTY IS STILL THE BEST POLICY.

As noted above, the guy who’s been on your payroll since little Johnny’s 3rd grade is not an unbiased party. Coaches of their own players will almost always give rave reviews, where the spotlight can be on him or his team. Search out an objective third party coach and ask for an honest evaluation. An opposing high school coach who may have seen some of the best players in the area over the years would be a great reference. Maybe there is a professional scout or player who can watch you play and note the things that must be improved upon in order to reach whatever level you are looking to get to.

GET AWAY FROM THE GAME

With the explosion of travel baseball and private training facilities, while the game itself has not changed, the approach to it, has. We have moved into a culture of specialization and sport-specific training year-round, and it is saddening to see that the three-sport athlete is all but extinct, while the kid who plays two is now an endangered species. Players now have access to work on their game twelve months of the year, and had I have the same resources available to me when growing up, I’m sure I would have become one of the Joneses as well. But that’s not necessarily a good thing. Major League Baseball players- the very best in the world, who play from the start of spring training in mid-February well into October if they are lucky enough- DON’T play 12 months of the year. From that very last day of their season in the fall, they will pack up their gloves and bats, and not pick up a ball for a couple months. So if the most well conditioned athletes in the entire sport don’t train year round, then how on earth is it appropriate for kids ages 8-18 to do so?? If you have your kid pick one sport too soon, and you’ll risk him playing none before all is said and done. It’s amazing how much more they will appreciate the game when they don’t have to play it every single day.

My story is unique, and by no means would I expect anyone to follow the same path as I have over the years to get to where I am today, as we live in a completely different world. But there are definitely experiences that SHOULD translate to today’s player, and first and foremost it all starts with having a love for the game and a passion to play it. For me, while growing up, playing baseball was 100% about having fun playing a game, and it remained that way even when it became my job. I couldn’t get enough of it because I loved to play, not because I wanted the exposure to college recruiters and professional scouts. One of the best compliments I ever received as a player is the one that I enjoy giving most now as a coach: you show your love for the game by the way you play it.

In my current position with the Red Sox, I am fortunate beyond belief to be working with some incredibly talented players, from completely different walks of life, with completely different paths into the game, but all with the same goal that I had just a short time ago: to get to the Big Leagues. Beyond their athletic ability, there are three things that stand out with those who do move up and eventually make it: they absolutely love to play the game, they want to work at getting better each and every day and they will compete at all things, at all times. The simplicity of those three things is really amazing. If you don’t love the game, you aren’t going to make it. If you don’t work hard, you aren’t going to make it. If you don’t compete, you aren’t going to make it.

Now, let’s think about this one again…

Are those bright lights of the Big Leagues your dreams, or your kid’s goal?

For more resources, check out the links below:

Online Education Center USA Baseball Mobile Coach Long Term Athlete Development Plan  Keeping Perspective  The Play Ball Parent Building a Baseball Experience

Darren Fenster is a contributor to the USA Baseball Sport Development Blog, and is currently the Manager of the Boston Red Sox Double-A affiliate Portland Sea Dogs. A former player in the Kansas City Royals minor league system, Fenster joined the Red Sox organization in 2012 after filling various roles on the Rutgers University Baseball staff, where he was a two-time All-American for the Scarlet Knights. Fenster is also Founder and CEO of Coaching Your Kids, LLC, and can be found on Twitter @CoachYourKids.

[akria23]

Boy Who Ran W/ Wolves -Derek

Note: Okay so if any of you have paid attention lately…my computer crashed right as I got near the end of this thing like on the 30th of last month so I wasn’t able to post this. It was mad frustrating cause that was the perfect day to post given the release of the interview and everyone chatting – but bad shit happens I guess. I hope you guys like this one cause I’ve spent money to get back and get it out to you guys. Without further ado…

Starting off let me say this, Teen Wolf is a show that had a lot of potential and when we say that we mean, we saw what they could’ve done and didn’t do or we saw what they wanted and failed to do. I have no interest in filling in the many craters that riddle this story. I have no interest in reimagining Scott McCall. There is no saving grace to that caricature. And by this I don’t mean that Scott is the devil but that he is so poorly written I don’t see anything worth salvaging. Personally as a person who has seen the show flop and squander as it lost its mass popularity, I think it would’ve been easier for writers like Jeff and his team to create the Boy Who Ran with Wolves narrative instead of the so called Teen Wolf narrative that they majorly dropped the ball on.  On a standpoint of where the writers failed their own show, I always answer from the very start. Do I think Teen Wolf could’ve been an amazing show? Yes. Do I think it was…

The writers were full in the ego and light in the skill department. They couldn’t handle criticism making them unable to admit faults within themselves, or the work they produced. The hardest knock they took was being unable to adapt. I’m not sure if the show runner just had such an ideal of what he wanted before starting this show, that when met with a chink in the metal frame he buckled and demanded they all take the tumble with him or if pride was so high in the drawing room that during that time they found they would rather self-destruct together. I can’t really speak on the possible malfunctions that took place behind the scene, only the chaos that it created on the screen.  

               The writer’s decided to center the story on young Scott McCall, and while this wouldn’t be a problem if things were different, if they’d actually built a character, it can’t be said to be a wise decision under the circumstances.  It’s been stated many times that Scott is a weak character that lacks the tools to carry a series - a movie possibly, but never a show. For some reason the drawing room was more inspired by its side characters instead of its lead, to be fair this is many-a-writer’s downfall. This is why I find it simpler to explore this story with the framing of different characters, not just the two I’m going to focus on.

I’m going to explain The Boy Who Runs with Wolves (BWRWW) narrative as a story set with either Stiles or Derek as the protagonist. This doesn’t necessarily mean the story is set with them as the narrator, because the story could seriously be done through a third person teller (think Michael in QAF). BWRWW does however shift the perspective of the story. It has a more formulistic structure that the writers should have found easy to work upon. Both characters come filtered with the needed elements to push a story forward.

Given Derek’s back-story he’s an obvious candidate for a protagonist. Starting off he has the compelling family history. The Hales have a legacy in Beacon Hill’s they were protectors of that land, supernatural creatures who stood between the human world and their own. This works as not only a goal and a motivation for Derek, but also creates a minor if not a major theme for the show. The original Teen Wolf of course played with the aspect of human/wolf (or supernatural) but never in a way that was set in stone, or with an overarching message. The Hale legacy could’ve given the audience a view into the supernatural world that Teen Wolf could never afford. The goals of the Hale family could only promise meetings of the outside creatures…given introductions into those creatures and their world in a way that made sense while still keeping the focus on the main - wolves. It’s not a history Derek is even really aware of, so as he’s introduced into who his family really was and the things they had to do, we the audience are therein introduced to those realities. I always think about charmed and how they were witches that knew nothing of their history. Their only access to knowledge of this new world they had to navigate was a book of spells with info on some of the many creatures. The reason this is so brilliant is because you never want to give your protagonist someone or something that can give them all the answers. It mucks the story and frustrates the audience when the protagonist doesn’t listen. This was often the issue with Teen Wolf. They gave Scott Derek, a Wolf mentor so to speak, a mentor he often refused to listen to or used and abused on occasion. Even with Buffy, which Jeff foolishly thinks he mirrors, they didn’t give her a slayer with the keys to the castle – her mentor could help her along the way (while also having his own duties and things that sometimes muddled her goals because he was her watcher [layering]) but not just roll out all the answers, or the how to(s). That’s not to say your protagonist shouldn't meet the failure of naivety, or the wilds of adolescence, but for it to be a main frame makes it a difficult line for your audience to walk and therefore continue to feel for said character. Walking room should be for error, not stupidity. So while Derek would have knowledge on his supernatural bearings, to a point, it’s these other facets that pick up the slack. Also you have the wolf to human aspect that can still be absorbed through stiles (the human) and even Scott who would have been demoted to a fitting position given his lack of layering (new wolf).

The external growth/struggle speak for themselves. Stepping into the shoes parents – more so his mother- having to deal with the way that still connects him with them. Finding out truths and things he’s never known, some of which he probably should never know. The realities of everyday battles and the constant chance of losing what he’s gaining. Because the show only highlighted his mother, and in such a way that gave the audience this very direct perspective on their relationship I think its unavoidable to create a reimaging without that concept and without that shadow being a part of his motivation.

Okay, let’s back up a bit for part two because I want people to understand where I’m coming from and where I’m going when I break this stuff down. If the top half (Family History) creates Derek’s eternal struggle then the second half creates his inner one, and therefore also that growth. Often times to create a character’s emotional line and characterization, a writer gives the character something to overcome, something that happened prior to the main story but very much influences the main story – using Michael Hauge’s concept I’ll refer to this as the Wound. The wound builds the characters Belief, sometimes of themselves or the outside world, sometimes both. Again for repetition, the belief is just that, a strong belief the character has because of his wound. The character’s belief creates their Identity – a Mask that covers their true Essence so they no longer feel weak/vulnerable. Essence is the person they really are, it’s their better side that they hide. Their new identity makes them think they’re protecting themselves but usually it’s just standing as a block to what they really want.

Above I’ve structured out Derek’s characterization, give or take with the fact that Teen Wolf cut out his middle structure and then wanted to only lean loosely on his mask nor did they really commit to his wound. Anyway starting from the left – Wound. I’m gonna do one line at a time so you can see how they connect. The first layer of Derek’s wound would have been Kate’s betrayal, not the fire itself but the actual set up and manipulation and forethought she had to have going into this and how she used him. Kate’s actions would have then created a belief in him, and fairly so, this would have been the toxicity humans are capable of. The creatures who call his kind unacceptable, but committed the worst of acts against them. This leads the character to his mask, in Dereks case a form of prejudice where humans stand. You want something that’s natural, but creates authentic tension. Make your character human by giving him contradictions and ripping the moral carpet from under him and see how he sticks his own landing. Derek having issues with humans because of his own experiences does just that, and also gives him a growing point and ties to the Human – Wolves concept. Teen Wolf did start off with Derek showing some signs of prejudice with humans, at least with Stiles who he didn’t seem to think much of at all. But the show ended that pretty quickly without ripping something great out of both sides and leaving something magnificent on the screen. Derek’s second and major wound would be the trauma he blamed himself for. The fault he finds in himself leads to the belief that he is undeserving of anything…good. This of course leads to his new identity his mask, which for Derek is Isolation. When I say isolation I don’t just mean cutting oneself off physically I mean the things he starts to do to keep others out. Adult Derek is different from pre-wound Derek. He’s stoic - closed off, violent, silent and so on. He doesn’t seem to revere his own life, quick to throw himself in front of danger…so much so that fans at one point felt he had a death wish. And this is where contradictions come in very hard, and you want them to. Because even under a mask something of our true essence is always accessible. So even though there was this new stoic Derek at times we could see ‘old Derek’. We could see the Derek that longed for family and connection despite thinking he didn’t deserve those things. Tension in this is that even as he fights he has a need and that need will go toe-to-toe every time. For example, Derek turning the teens. He deep down he’s lonely, he yearns for that connection, for unity. But when he creates this makeshift group he still caters to his own mask, not treating them like the family he knows he wants. No, because of his own beliefs, because of his past teachings he tries to teach them his own ways to protect themselves and that doesn't help because that’s not what either side needs. His Tragic Past plays as his internal struggle, where he’ll grow from the inner outward. The tragic past that created his present identity branches out to the things that help set free his Essence, the Romantic Subplot & his individual Development Arc.

His tragic past, instead of being fodder for torture, becomes Derek’s personal story that weaves back into the main story. His past acts as a two part concept branching out to create his personal development arc one way and a possible romantic subplot the other. Starting with the development arc, Derek was shown a darker side of humans with the actions of Kate and those who partnered with her to create the Hunters. Derek has reason to have issues with humans, this creates a friction with his family’s legacy. How can he be expected to protect the very thing that destroyed his life? So on that route you of course not only have to have him deal with the concept of humans but also the hunters themselves. I think Teen Wolf could have done wonderful things with the Argents and the wolves and have them not only come toe-to-toe but also be forced to face each other in the realization of what the war has caused them and question a possible reconciliation, for some, if any.

This ties with the romantic subplot. Subplots are important in a long piece, you’re promised to have at least one. A subplot is a minor story that runs parallel alongside the main-plot and or weaves into it. It’s a way to add layers and therefore complexities to the story. A romance subplot of course is just a minor story of romance that takes place alongside the main story. I saw a graph of The Hunger Games that broke down its subplots so I’m gonna use that movies to make it simple. The main plot (question) in the Hunger Games was – Will Katnis survive the hunger games? The romantic subplot (minor question) in the Hunger Games was – Will Katnis choose Peeta or Gabe (think that’s his name)? There were other subplots in The Hunger Game series but it’s the romantic one I’m focusing on. So for BWRWW – Derek Version the romantic subplot would be something near the same – Will Derek overcoming open him to a relationship with Stiles. This romantic subplot closely weaves throughout the main plot because it’s dependent on Derek achieving his internal goal.  Back to the human – wolf subject and concept of the Derek’s story, which would play a huge part in their story. Because Derek had this view of humans, this prejudice so to speak, a mistrust not only of humans but his relations with them since both his priors went terribly wrong. As a writer the thing is then to question that connection, if their theme together is trust how is that gonna be exploited in story? Does trust in Stiles really make him stronger, or does the unbiased outlook on humans leave him open to danger? I talked about the cycle in part one, the themes that made up his levels of love – love/loss, fear, trust, fault, intimacy, fragility, betrayal – so how do those things intertwine and play-out. What are the other weak concepts that will make Derek balk – like fear of losing someone as he’s done so often before? How do you have him face betrayal again, overcome it and reassess fault? VoidStiles. The Sterek relationship has similar markers of the past but highlight very different things. Intimacy for example, whenever we see Derek and Kate it’s a sexualized thing where she’s reminding him what she used against him and what she views as weakness on his part. This seeks the question of what does Derek now see intimacy as; a tool? How do you highlight that within Stiles and Derek’s relationship the subject of intimacy is ‘reborn’. Their moments shine on positive emotions and connections. A comforting hand in the time of need. Something as simple as a different kind of touch to try to awaken (closed fist to open palm, and hesitancy). To just being comfortable with someone touching you, showing a trust and a comfort level with that person. Even in lack of touch the intimacy is still there, as it is in the dream sequence. This is why I say Stiles is the only option for Derek to love. He singularly being who he is and the two coming together literally forces Derek in a position where he has to make a choice and therefore give him a chance to grow and thereby show his True Essence. You see the old him start to come back as Stiles sarcastic nature rubs off on him and he takes more liberty with relaxing his stoicism. He’s forced to realize that he can sit on the sidelines telling himself what he doesn’t deserve or can fight for what he wants. Derek being so sacrificial becomes a problem for Stiles who has come to care for his wellbeing in all ways. He can never 100% go back to his so called old self because he’s experienced things but the natural parts of him, the parts he hid away to make himself unable to be hurt, those things have been retained. The thing he really wants, having a family is an assessable thing – through building it himself. The romantic subplot helps develop Derek to his full potential. It matches the subject of wolf- human and exploits that concept in the best way giving the story many plotlines and avenues. His internal arc matches with his eternal one but with enough friction to carry the story to fruition.  

It’s important to have your hero’s external goals battle their internal. This makes the hero human, makes the audience not only empathize with him but makes them root for him/her. It makes the climb to being a hero more conceivable. Going back to the wound to identity concept, Michael Hauge puts it like this,

“When characters are traumatized by experiences, they formulate beliefs about the world that will protect them from ever again experiencing pain of those wounds. For example, Judy Hopps, the rabbit, in Zootopia receives a beating from a predator when she was young, this leads her to believing predators are actually just inherently bad – despite what she preaches to the outside world.”

 A writer has to take its character’s experiences into consideration. The things we’re set upon believing have a reason, an experience tied in, a thought, a feeling behind it. Too pretend otherwise, is to error. You don’t wanna give your character a random belief out of nowhere just because it places the story where you, the writer, needs it. That’s cheating, a high handed way to make instant heroes. You never want to have an instant hero…it’s like instant romance, the audience feels cheated and the so called ‘hero’ falls flat and is deemed unworthy – Scott McCall.  You also never wanna give your protagonist a weak struggle. Simply saying “I don’t want change” is not enough, it’s just seems selfish if said change has expanded on your character’s life and skills instead of just brought negativity. If you now have skills that can protect you and others, crying danger is just side eye worthy because simple humans live a life of danger too. This is why layering is such a necessity. Conflicting the hero in his outside world is only half the battle and means next to nothing if his mind isn’t conflicted too. It’s like courage – courageous is not someone who is unafraid being willing to do the thing, it’s someone being afraid and yet willing to face/overcome said fear to do the thing. It’s more interesting to observe the latter than the former. It’s the same with being a Hero, the audience wants to observe that journey, they are living vicariously, that’s the only way they too get to the feel of being a hero.

As a writer, this is what you want. Things should never be easy for your protagonist. Things should never fall to a protagonist just because they’re the protagonist or the lead. Opposition and obstacles creates character. As the protagonist stands in front of a problem, it’s his reaction to the issue and what he decides that tells the audience who he is. This is something Teen Wolf never understood. You can have every character play mouthpiece to how great your character is, how much of a good guy he is…but if actions ain’t showing the same thing, then it’s not believable for the audience.  With Derek, the story stands a chance. You have a protagonist who has real obstacles on both sides – external and internal. Your protagonist job isn’t to be all knowing, or all powerful, or all saying, it’s to be growing, to be in the process of developing. It’s about someone who is able to take something from his experience, from his journey and cycle that and give it back. The reason a lot of people are so in love with Derek, is because we’ve seen him. No one told us who he was, he showed us, and we then saw what he could’ve become.

Things & characters Given Derek V:

             Nogitsune/VoidStiles: Can you imagine the damage and the wreckage the nogitsune aka voidstiles would have given this relationship, given both their internal struggles. The trickster who liked to play mind games, having all of this vulnerability at his feet. On one side you have the wolf rebuilding his faith in humans through his relationship with a human. One the other you have Stiles who has worked on this platform of gaining that trust and now he’s possessed by something that uses him to lie and manipulate. That’s tension! That’s conflict. Authentic character paths. That’s good TV. And if they wanted to bring him back like the show did – ugh – it would’ve have actually made since for him to be someone’s fear since he would’ve been the concept of Stiles being everything negative to a Derek that needs him to be the positive. When your characters stand as a frame that keeps each other standing you have to push them to the edge and make them look at the reality of having that all ripped away. The Nogitsune would have done that for this relationship.

               Ending: On one hand I think I would’ve loved seeing the torch passed on to Boyd. I think it would’ve been grand to see that kind of image and that placement for Boyd considering where he too started off. It’s an appropriate ending to have Derek finally graduate to a place where he can pass that job down (after having actually did the job) on someone else as he moves forward. On the other hand, I watched Teen Wolf have Stiles leave to join the FBI and I wonder if that’s really fitting. If Stiles himself doesn’t fit in the town of Beacon Hills stepping into the shoes of his father. Protecting the home he’s ever known and being a line between these two worlds. Stiles is an excitable person, someone who honestly finds joy in the workings of a case, I sometimes wonder if regular human cases would be enough for him. It makes sense for him to try to work his way to power in that town, continuing that work while having an ear to the community and how those around him response to incidents and or cover up the real happenings. I don’t know, it’s just an aspect that my brain goes back and forth with.

               Younger Derek: I think I would’ve enjoyed a longer plot for young Derek than just coming back for some more Kate torture. In fact I think many plots could have branched into this level and been used as a frame to take us back to Derek's childhood in way that was different from just the norm flashback. I always hated that the way the writers wrote the set up meant Young Derek and Peter didn’t really get to interact.Considering the fact that Tyler H was leaving, they could’ve slotted that actor for a minute.

               Liam & Theo: I’ve grown to like the thought of these characters but then with Derek being the focal character…I’m not sure they would have a place. I say this because Liam is just a better thought out Scott. He starts off naïve and comedic but falls into his line – this is probably cause he’s a side character and that all fits there. And with Theo, his come on would not at all fit with the sterek storyline. Because their theme is trust it would have to be something undeniable and grand in scheme to come in and put mistrust in there (which is why I said voidstiles) and you only want to do that once, to overdo it or to do so weakly would just undermine the relationship. I don’t know how they’d have to mend Theo’s entrance but even then, his interaction with Derek would be mega different from his one with Scott. It made sense for him to come in and tell Scott he was gonna come in and take over his shit he don’t know what he doing…but with Derek at that point it would just be laughable. The only way I see maintaining these characters would be to give Scott his own pack.

               Lydia: I honestly don’t think she should be a part of the Hale pack…or any wolf pack >.> Not in that way. I think she should be focused on her own powers and growth but still helping out when she’s needed. This is nopt about her having or not having a love interest because personally I never subscribe to the ‘this female don’t need love bs’ it’s just about her placement within pack. You can be family and not have to make that leap. I think the show could’ve done great things with Lydia and they failed. I personally would have liked to see her and Derek bond more, I don’t think even going with Stiles as his love interest would have tipped that possibility of that friendship because I don’t think Derek would have been jealous of that old feeling that was never returned. Its stiles past, just like he has a past. Lydia is a capable woman and I think he would’ve seen her for the asset she is.

               Malia: Who?

Things I thought would be interesting:

Stiles and Derek body switch

More Derek Papa Stilinski Interaction

Danny the hacker – Like they just threw the homie away even though he would’ve been a bomb asset!

Lydia and Peter interaction – People might not like that, but being around one another brought aspects I like about each character. I personally like Peter fucking with Lydia because it always brought out a fiery side of her and forced her to deal with a challenge.

If we had to have Malia – she sure as hell would not be a hale but I would put her on the lgbqt spectrum, given her a more believable story and put her with Kira.

True wolf bullshit obsolete

More Erica and Boyd backstory and for them not to have turned her into a sex kitten but a female whose body had been fighting her now having the chance to be more than healhy

Some actual dealing with Peter and Derek’s relationship and the things Peter has put him through

I would’ve def left Derek as young Derek for more than an episode.

Awkward Derek flirting with Stiles – I can’t picture it so I wanna see it lol

Note: So obviously I didn’t include Stiles part in this, I’m eight pages in sooooo decided there will be another part. I’ll probably also talk about how I personally would have liked to see their relationship transpire in that part. I did want to go over how different the human-wolf-new new wolf thing could have been different dependent on the focal character, but at this point I don’t even care nor do I wanna talk about Scott too much because he will be tagged and his fans get pissy and I don’t care about Scott enough to fight for him much less over him. Nor do I generally partake to those fans because the majority are people who like to waste time fighting over him and blaming fandom for the shortcomings the writers created instead of taking it to the board and fighting for him and I find that concept too illogical to entertain. So while making these Articles I try to remain as honest in my opinion as possible while cutting out a lot. Also before people een start let me just say yes, I know the trauma isn’t always used as a foundation (wound is) but for Derek and even for Stiles I think that remains a starter point. Truama isn’t often used in genres like adventure, it can be but it’s less common. In romance its more often even when its not the pov character – for example Pride & Prejudice movie. Elizabeth’s belief system doesn’t come from trauma but from rebelling the teachings of growing up as a woman in that time. The wound however that creates her personal issues with Darcy is in his slight towards her. For Darcy his outlook on the poorer kind comes from a trauma necessarily of his own, but in the trauma of someone he cared deeply for (his sister). Yeah, I got a video of them play on my second screen so they were the example and I love them so. The point being I’m not saying it HAS to be but that trauma is in part Derek’s starter pack. The wound however, is usually a must. I don’t know if I should say the next and final (hopefully) part is gonna be shorter…cause I said that bullshit last time and it was a lie…BUT it should be shorter cause I won’t have to explain everything that time around. Other than that, let me tell you…I was supposed to have posted the final article and the first chapter of my Sterek fic on the Finale day…that didn’t happen. I didn’t finish my fic and the article turned into part one. So I’m not sure if I should finish the chapter first since I’m starting to think I’m using these articles as procrastination or if I should just write the Stiles one and get it out the way. We’ll see but something should probably be done by the end of next week cause it take me so long to do this simple shit >.> I tried to put most of this text under a hide thing but I couldn’t figure that mess out so my apologizes to all the people who had to do the intense scroll!

Teen Wolf Articles

Scott McCall

Stiles Stilinski

Derek Hale

Sterek: Foundation

Sterek: BWRWW: Derek

Upcoming: Sterek BWRWW: Stiles

[kittencaboodleextraordinaire]

“Ok, but I had a Johnny first, and mine is better”: Adventures in Cyberpunk with a snarky headmate

Warning: this post contains considerable discussion of a major plot point in Cyberpunk 2077 which is discussed in the promotional materials (trailers etc) but which is not revealed in-game until after the first segment of the main story (the heist). Those who wish to remain unspoiled may instead view this lovely picture I edited of four raccoons in a trenchcoat (inspired by Critical Role’s playthrough of the absolutely delightful ttrpg Crash Pandas, which I highly encourage everybody in existence to go check out).

This phenomenal piece of art is surely the high point of this post. It can only go downhill from here.

Anyway.

So as we all know, Cyberpunk 2077 was finally released a few days ago to the expected amount of drama and fanfare, and my partner and I have been playing it together, by which I mean he’s been playing and I’ve been providing helpful advice like “We should totally buy the awesome purple car what do you mean you want a motorcycle THE MOTORCYCLE ISN’T PURPLE”. It’s not, y’know, an amazing game, but it’s pretty fun and I have already found multiple characters to ship V with, which I’m sure we can all agree is the truly important thing here. Plus of course there is abundant opportunity to make innuendo at my partner so I am a happy kitten. Mostly. There is one aspect of the story that is proving to be a continual source of awkwardness and general highly disconcerting aura. Namely, Johnny Silverhands.

At some point (I fell asleep for this part so I don’t know exactly what happened), you end up fused with a chip containing the personality of Johnny Silverhands, some kind of sort of famous dude who died a long time ago or something like that. awards self 10/10 stars for that eloquent and informative summary of important plot elements I was totally paying attention to and wasn’t asleep for at all anyway the important thing is there’s a dude hanging out in your brain with you. This is kind of weird and awkward for me, since I also have a dude hanging out in my brain with me. His name is Jonas. Jonas, say hi. J: I’m not a zoo animal and I don’t do tricks, also I reject the idea that this adds to the post in any real way. However you are very lucky because I am bored and complaining at you sounds more fun than going back to sleep. Now I’m tired and it’s 3:30 am go to bed or write the rest of this by your own damn self. That’s basically the same thing I guess.

Jonas is a bit weird. I don’t really have any idea what he is, and it’s not really within the scope of this blog post to discuss it in depth. He is some flavor of alternate personality, he is one of my closest friends, and he is a pain in the ass, much like most of my other friends. Having Jonas around is uncannily like V’s experience sharing their brain with Johnny Silverhands. Now I have a few other friends who have multiple personalities, one of whom is watching playthroughs of Cyberpunk and has appropriately described the experience as “pretty fucky”, which about sums it up. However it’s made even worse for me personally by the sheer number of similarities between Jonas and Johnny and their interactions with the people they share heads with, for (the most obvious) example, their names are really fucking similar. Jonas has matured a lot since he started appearing about 6-7 years ago but Johnny’s snark, unhelpfulness, complete disinterest in being nice, and even his body language all scream of Jonas’s original behavior, which, let’s be honest here, he still does all that anyway, he’s just nicer about it because he likes me. When Jonas and I talk, we tend to picture him as standing (or sitting or leaning against the wall or whatever) somewhere in the room with me, much as Johnny appears to V. He’s not active all the time and until very very recently was almost never “in charge”, so to speak, much like Johnny. So what we have here is somebody who acts a fuck of a lot like Jonas, has a similar name to Jonas, and interacts with their host in a manner that is almost a perfect match to how Jonas interacts with me. Somehow all of this went over my head. Then something even more uncanny happened.

Now, Jonas was originally an extremely minor character in a vast series of stories that I have made up in my head and never actually written down. He somehow evolved, without any conscious effort on my part, from a bit character who was never meant to do anything besides show up, get scolded by the authorities, and leave, to an increasingly major character, to living in my brain with me. Consequently, while he generally shares my tastes and preferences in terms of food and etc etc etc, there is an extremely major way in which we diverge: Jonas, like Johnny, and unlike me, smokes. All the time. It is Very Important to him. As such, the fact that I do not smoke and have exactly negative one billion interest in ever doing so is a source of intense frustration to him. We have had m a n y arguments about this. He knows not to push it too much and respects that it is my decision but that is not about to stop him from complaining about it loudly and with great passion. So when we encountered a scene of V and Johnny having the exact same fucking argument, ending with the incredibly blatantly Jonasesque lamentation from Johnny “Nonsmokers are the fucking worst”, it was like getting hit in the head with a brick. Actually forget the brick, it was like being hit with an entire building, and then having Jonas stick his head out the window and go “Missed me? ;)”, and then yelling back “WELL IDK BUT MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU’RE PILOTING AN ENTIRE FUCKING BUILDING IF YOU COULD TRY A LITTLE HARDER TO MISS ME THAT’D BE REALLY NICE THANKS” and then having him wink at me and assure me that head trauma builds character. It fucking doesn’t and he knows it.

After that, it was impossible to not see Jonas every time Johnny came onscreen. I still enjoy the game a lot. The setting and story are both really really cool and the loot is A+, and I really love being able to hang out in voice chat with my partner, who currently lives pretty far away, and do something fun together and experience something new. But having my relationship with Jonas, which I still have a lot of conflicting feelings about no matter how much I genuinely believe he’s a positive force in my life, reflected back at me at every turn, is bizarre, surreal, and a constant reminder of issues that have been nagging at me for a while, many of which are explicitly being brought up by the game itself. Last night we were doing a mission where V and Johnny at some point start talking and V mentions how they seem to be getting along better and Johnny suggests that maybe it’s because he’s rubbing off on V. V responds with something to the effect of “Am I becoming more like you, or are you becoming more like me?”. Jonas and I have been asking ourselves the same question for years. The only answer we were ever able to come up with is “probably both”, but the question of how much and to what extent, and if you start blending together with somebody else that much, are you really the same person anymore, and on down the rabbit hole we go, can really eat at you if you’re the kind of person who cares about that sort of thing. Which I guess we both are. And frankly we are probably not even half done with the main storyline and I doubt it’s going to stop posing these questions. 

J: so I said I wasn’t going to have any more of this and went off in a huff but actually I changed my mind I have some stuff to say. 

this is obviously weird for kitsie, and I guess it might be obviously weird for me too but it’s weird in an entirely different kinda way. it’s certainly surreal, and a lot of the questions it keeps bringing up are a lot to think about. Johnny is a program on a computer chip designed to be a copy of the original Johnny’s brain. this raises the question, and this may or may not be addressed later, how real is he? and is he the original Johnny, just on a computer chip now, or is he a different entity who happens to be identical to Johnny? and how is a person on a computer chip embedded on somebody’s brain really different from a person who’s a subroutine in somebody else’s brain? am I real? am I a part of Kitsie that just thinks differently for some reason? are we two facets of a whole being that’s kind of both of us and kind of neither of us? am I just a hitchhiker? I really don’t know. I have a lot of memories and backstory. things I did in the past, before I knew Kitsie. are those memories real? they feel real to me but on the other hand they didn’t actually happen. are Johnny’s memories real? they did happen but he’s a brain scan so did they actually happen to him? it’s a lot to think about, but hard to stop thinking.

and then there’s the other concern, which is that this is a game for kitsie to enjoy with her partner, and whenever this shit happens it wakes me up and I end up feeling really weird, like I’m intruding. which I am.  and as wonderful and understanding as he is, I’m still very much something he is getting used to and having problems adjusting to and I really understand because fuck I’m having a problem adjusting to me too. and maybe it’s stupid but I feel bad for being the disconcerting aura of uncomfortable thoughts wafting through something that’s supposed to be a pleasant and fun evening without me in it. which frankly sums up my entire existence. fuck this I’m tired I’m out of here again go tf to sleep kit.

I had more to say but “what he said” pretty much sums it up.

In conclusion, I don’t really have any objection to the story itself. It’s an interesting concept carried out fairly well that under normal circumstances I would think was really cool, and certainly it’s been a unique experience anyway. And I guess if anything the fact that it’s so unnervingly on the nose is a sign they did a good job? I’m still having a huge amount of fun with the game and the massive backlog of sidequests combined with our minimal ability to focus means that the main quest only takes up a small portion of our playtime in any case. I just needed to get all this shit off my chest.

This has been tonight’s episode of the Kitty Rambles Podcast, I am too tired to think of any good way to end this so goodnight and thank you for tuning in!