#the bulk of this was written literally years ago when the ideas first came to my mind so. yeah.

[bubble-popping]

for all i've talked and answered questions about my Into the Fire au, I've yet to actually post my writing for it XD that changes today!

this isn't quite the beginning of the au but it's the beginning of if i ever write a full fic on it (do not hold me to that lmao) so yeah!

tw for mentions of torture, scars, and c!Techno being Weird about c!Dream

The admin pulled away from him, stumbling through the snow in bare feet. (It'd be a miracle if he hadn't gotten frostbite by now.) The cloak and thin prison uniform were the only things shielding him from the freezing temperatures. "No, you don't understand. I have to-I hafta go, I need to meet them-" "Meet who?" Techno questioned, a little harsher than he intended. Dream startled. A slip of the tongue then. Techno narrowed his eyes, shoulders squared as he approached. The shorter instantly shrunk.

"Um." He swallowed thickly. "F-for my armor, I-I need my armor back. I need to get it."

Chat wasn't buying it and neither was he, but he'd let it go for the moment. "I can make you new armor, Dream. You're in no condition to be going anywhere but inside that house." The piglin hybrid pointed to the cabin behind them.

"B-but, they'll find me, Techno! This is the first place they'll look! Sam and the guards and-and Quackity, oh god, Quackity-he can't find me! I can't let him find me-"

Techno abruptly grabbed him by his arms, gazing intensely into the single wide, terrified eye he could see of Dream's. "And he won't. They won't find you. I'll protect you, Dream. No one will lay a finger on you."

After a long moment of studying Techno's face, visibly struggling through an inner turmoil, Dream finally relented with a resigned sigh. "Okay... I'll, I'll stay for a little while..."

Techno softened his expression. "Good. Here, let me carry you inside. You'll get frostbite with your bare feet in the snow like this." Dream surprisingly gave no protest, he merely nodded. So, Techno lifted his malnourished body into his arms and entered the cabin, rushing to get the shivering bundle of an admin next to the fire place. It'd be utterly embarrassing if Dream died of hypothermia after he worked so hard to get him out of the prison.

Dream's skin was ice cold when Techno set him down in front of the fire. Even with Techno's warm red cloak wrapped tightly around his form, he wasn't exactly equipped for any extended time in the bitter arctic air. Techno got another blanket to wrap around him and a pillow for him to hug before closing the front door. With no chance of any coldness seeping into the home, Techno was a little slower in his movements. He slipped off his armor, hung his crown up, and pulled his boots off his feet. His gaze traveled to the shivering figure huddled by the crackling flames. Even after causing quite a bit of chaos earlier, the voices still spewed their nonsensical ideas, most of them being things he could do to Dream.

For now, he ignored them, and padded over to sit next to Dream. The blond flinched away at first, still not used to a touch that wasn't meant to harm him even after Techno had held him like he did. Perhaps the enclosed space and familiar hues of the orange fire were bringing back bad memories...

"It's okay, Dream. You're not in the prison anymore. You're safe. There's no one here but me and you," Techno cooed to him as softly as he could, putting some emotion into his usually unfeeling tone of voice.

Dream remained hesitant at first, leaning away from Techno and further curling in on himself. Techno had his hands up in surrender and kept still to let Dream decide for himself. The last thing he needed was Dream constantly cowering away from him.

Eventually, Dream's tensed shoulders dropped and he scooted closer to nuzzle against Techno's side. He still winced when Techno wrapped an arm around his shoulders, but luckily relaxed much quicker. Techno waited a few moments to let Dream settle before he began to rub his arm in slow, soothing motions. The rhythm made Dream's eyes droop and he felt an exhaustion permeate within him so deeply it made his body sag like his bones were turned to liquid.

Before unconsciousness could claim him, he murmured, voice further muffled by his barely intact mask and the layers surrounding him, "Th-thank you..." It also didn't help his voice was hoarse from screaming for hours, for days on end.

"There's no need to thank me, Dream. Not yet anyway. Not until I get my hands on those guys and-" Techno stopped himself. Probably not the best idea to scare Dream by saying all the horrid things he'd do to Quackity and Sam for harming his trophy.

Dream didn't respond, but Techno could still hear his quiet breaths so he wasn't concerned.

Only once his shivering had stopped did Techno speak again with a suggestion, "I think it'd be a good idea to look at some of those injuries and clean you up before we go to bed. Are you okay to walk?"

"'m not sure..." Dream screwed his eyes shut as Techno helped him to his feet. Moving was suddenly so much harder after having a moment of true rest.

His legs were shaking and grunts of effort left his lips during the process of just standing up. The second he tried to take a step, he immediately collapsed into against Techno. Dream whimpered at his own helplessness, a mix of shame and agony haunting his heart, but Techno shushed him placatingly.

"It's okay, I've got you. Do you want me to just carry you again?" Techno had both arms securely around the other, feeling Dream's bony hands grip at the front of his ruffle blouse.

"Please..." Techno gladly obliged. He once again lifted him into a bridal style carry, holding him close as he ascended the staircase to the second floor.

Passing his bedroom, Techno went to the bathroom to sit Dream on a small wooden stool.

"Is it alright if I help you undress? It'd make it a lot easier."

(Just the thought of Dream naked, weak and unable to fight back as Techno did what he pleased had the piglin hybrid biting back a groan.) Dream nodded, completely oblivious to the hole he was digging for himself.

Techno removed the thick blanket and red cloak from Dream's shoulders, then proceeded with much more caution to get the horrendous eyesore of a uniform off. Dream was hunched over as he sat so he didn't get much of a look at anything special, but he was quite entranced by the sprinkling of hardly noticeable freckles over his skin. He'd seen them before when Dream would roll up his sleeves or the very rare occasions Techno had seen his face without the mask and they were much darker and more numerous then. Months without sun hurt his trophy in more ways than one. He liked those freckles--not so much that he'd immediately let Dream go outside just so they'd be more obvious but still.

"Probably best we clean you up first, then tend to your wounds," Techno said. Dream just nodded again. So obedient and with such little persuasion. It was doing wonderful and dangerous things to Techno's mind.

The pinkette lit a fire under a cauldron of water and waited for it to heat up a bit before filling a bucket with the warm water. "Ready?" He asked, giving Dream a moment to mentally prepare himself, and poured the water over Dream's head. His thin body tensed and shuddered as the water cascaded over him, discolored into shades of red and brown. His mane of hair absorbed most of the water. Techno just knew that'd be a pain to deal with, already dreading the maintenance to come. Maybe Dream would let him simply lop it all off...

He repeated this process a few more times, making sure he rinsed every part of Dream's body that the other would allow. Anything more would have to wait for when he wasn't covered in cuts and bruises. Then, he got some supplies from the cabinet by the door and kneeled in front of the drenched blond.

"Where does it hurt the worst?" Techno asked as he began soaking a cloth in a potion of regeneration.

Dream unfurled his arms from around his own torso and held them out, revealing multiple slashes across his flesh. The scent of blood entered Techno's nose and it took everything in him not to spill more from the shivering man in front of him the way Chat begged him to. He took a hold of one of Dream's hands and was about to apply the potion when Dream suddenly pulled away. "P-please... Please, be g-gentle..." His voice shook like he was on the verge of tears.

"Of course, Dream. You know I would never hurt you." He left 'unless you give me a reason to' unsaid. Dream offered his arm again, letting Techno take it once more and dab the cloth to each cut, healing both old and new wounds. Dream stayed mostly still and quiet during it, only wincing occasionally.

Once his arms were done, Dream straightened his posture for the first time to expose his chest. The skin there was just as bad, if not worse, than his arms. Lacerations, bruises of varying colors, and even burn marks. Techno restrained from commenting as the only words on his tongue were promises and plans of revenge. He wet the cloth again with more of the potion and healed what he could.

An hour later saw Dream dressed in new clothing that hung off his skinny body and his hair pulled into a ponytail to be dealt with later. Techno never really thought about it before, but he certainly was now: the contrast between their respective sizes. Being part piglin had Techno nearly a foot taller than Dream, and don't even get him started on the body mass difference exacerbated by the prison. Techno could easily wrap his hands around Dream's waist and practically have his fingers touch. He could pick him up and carry him around with such ease. It gave him too many ideas to count.

Techno helped Dream to the bed and the blond was awkward as he lowered onto the mattress. As if the whole thing was foreign to him, and it probably was. Months of sleeping on hard obsidian would do that to a person, make them uncomfortable on a clearly superior place to rest.

Dream struggled to find a good position to lay in, so Techno spoke up, "Would it be better if I laid with you? I won't if you don't want me to, but it might help to-"

"Yes, please," Dream answered before Techno had even finished. Techno chuckled softly and climbed in bed beside him, feeling Dream immediately cling to him. There was still the occasional shiver that left Dream's body but other than that, he was okay. He was clean, healed, and dressed in some of Techno's old clothes which Techno absolutely loved. Oh, how he couldn't wait for his trophy to be ready for him...

[thedawningofthehour]

I just saw a summary of the pianist out of sheer curiosity and now I need all the silly joy I can get. Bring it on. I remember playing the Sims 3 all the time as a kid and a couple of years ago I decided to install it on my laptop along with the expansions, replicated some of my oc's and put them all to live together.

I had no idea you could be gay in the game and when I found out I immediately made two of them sapphic and made one of them a vampire, I think I even had them adopted. I am one of those who is always collecting seeds and materials to make gardens and ingots. And basically making the most self indulgent houses out there with the money code.

Ah, Sims 3 my beloved. It tried to do too much too fast, the technology to support what they were trying to do just wasn't there yet.

My first sims game was the original Sims, lol. The Sims 2 was out when I started playing, but my mom said no because it was more obvious that they were having sex or something. (I was like 10 when S2 came out, so like) Again, my parents were Weird but they were also not consistent whatsoever so eventually my mom forgot or decided it wasn't worth it and let me buy Sims 2 with my babysitting money.

The Sims 3 holds a special place in my heart, and in many ways I feel like the Sims 4 is more of a successor to the Sims 2. But as much as I love the Sims 3, it has not aged well. Just visually, the graphics were insane back in the day (so insane most people's computers couldn't keep up) but even with lighting overhauls and texture packs it just looks very dated. The Open World was way too ambitious for its time, modern computers may not struggle as much but the code written in 2009 was just not up to the task and it's so unoptimized. Having too many expansion packs caused errors for a lot of people, so you were literally disincentivized from buying and installing all the content.

And then just the quality of life stuff the Sims 4 added. Multitasking, the better build tools, it's just a smoother, more cohesive framework. I still prefer the Sims 3 less cartoonish approach, but once you're used to the quality of life improvements it's hard to roll back.

Anyway. If you've thought about installing the Sims 4 but are bulking at the price tag, send me a message. I'll, uh. Tell you where I got it.

[linkspooky]

To be fair, Deku saw his friend's brother trying to kill him, so it's only natural that he doesn't care about Dabi's situation /trauma. Something like "at least Endeavor isn't trying to kill my friend"

Okay, this is an OPINION. Please read it as an opinion. 

To be fair, anon.  I don’t think anybody is criticizing Deku for trying to save his friend. Obviously, at the moment Deku’s first response would be to stop Dabi from trying to kill Shoto because he knows Shoto personally and cares about him. 

This is just my reading and interaction with fandom, but the two 2 complaints with Deku’s remark seem to be this. 

1) It’s incredibly tone-deaf. In the same vein as Best Jeanist’s argument. Best Jeanist is arguing that Dabi shouldn’t go public with his accusations because faith in heroes is already wavering. Deku is arguing that Enji is doing better right now, so he Dabi shouldn’t bring up the past again. Both of them are essentially trying to silence Dabi without even addressing what his actual argument is. Yes, Dabi is a villain who murders people but let’s imagine this is a normal situation. Let’s say that Endeavor was a film producer who had used his money and position in society to beat up a woman. That woman came clean about how the film producer was beating her. You’d want to see them at least fired, right? Dabi isn’t saying that Endeavor’s abuse of him gives him liscense to kill whoever he wants, he’s saying that Endeavor shouldn’t be held up as a hero after what he did, and the society that tries to silence his abuse is also complicit in that same abuse. 

The reason to make that case of abuse a matter of public opinion, in that case, is to PREVENT that person from using their money and power to both commit and get away with abuse. Dabi’s argument isn’t that Endeavor abused him so he should get to murder people. That’s not even close to what Dabi’s arguing. Dabi is arguing that Endeavor should not have a position and status in society as a hero considering that he’s used his wealth and connections in the past to abuse his own family. It doesn’t really matter if Endeavor is acting better now. You don’t re-elect a politician who was arrested for taking bribes. Endeavor’s current position as the number one hero requires the silence of all of his victims. 

What Dabi is saying is that the current hero system protects it’s own. If Endeavor is number one, if he has all of that power, then he should be held to a standard above others. But he’s not. The primary interest of the hero system as it is currently is keeping heros in power and in the dominant force in society. Do you know why we know this? It’s literally what Best Jeanist says. We can’t afford to hear this expose on endeavor right now because society is doubting heroes already. Hero society will put protecting heroes high in priority than even protecting the families, or victims of said heroes. 

Dabi’s not actually just talking about his personal case, he’s making a systemic argument. The argument he brings up is, if heroes are given so much power in society then shouldn’t they have an equal amount of regulation? Shouldn’t there be someone holding them responsible for all the power they wield? If there was someone holding them responsible, then what happened to Dabi never would have even happened. Enji intentionally manipulated the system in his own favor, to get his way. He didn’t get away with it because he was a good hero, he got away with it because he used money and power to hush it up. It’s a systemic argument and Deku responds with a personal one. 

Deku responds with: Well, he was a good mentor to me. 

Yes, that’s your personal experience with him. However, that’s not really even on topic to what Dabi is saying. Dabi is saying people who use the system in an abusive way shouldn’t even be allowed to be heroes. 

To be fair again, I don’t think Deku is making this from an angle of “I think Dabi should just shut up about his abuse for the good of society.” I think when it comes to Deku’s characterization he doesn’t have the lived experience of that kind of abuse. If Deku is fifteen and therefore a kid, it makes sense he would only judge the world from his point of view. If his experiences of Endeavor are mostly positive ones it makes sense he wouldn’t really comprehend the bulk of what both Shoto and Dabi have been through. 

2) Deku is a fictional character. Deku only acts as a realistic teenager as far as the author wants him to. I mean if you want to extend the argument of realism farther, then you could say it’s not realistic that a fifteen-year-old would be willing to break the bones in his body, or that it’s not realistic he’s not losing his mind from the pain of having all his limbs broken.  I mean, what do fifteen-year-olds do these days sit around all day vaping? Skateboarding? Anyway, realism only extends so far. Basically, as much as Deku is his own character, he’s also a mouthpiece for the author. He’s written by someone, to say things. Therefore, the things he says have meaning. 

Deku’s point of view might be mistaken. We might see him called out in later chapters. However, it’s odd to see the main character say something like “Enji is trying to be better, and you’re not” because it sounds like the author is trying to use Deku to tell us to sympathize with Enji over Dabi. I’m not even going to call it bad writing, it’s just tone-deaf. It just muddies things. We’re constantly told Deku is a  character who will try to save anyone. A character with an extraordinary drive to save people against all logic. 

We’ve seen in the past Deku to be completely unforgiving to abusers. He’s been also shown to have an extreme reaction to abuse. This is how he reacts to the idea of what Chisaki was doing to Eri. Using a child to experiment on her quirk again and again. That’s... a pretty strong parallel to what Enji did to his entire family. Enji’s actions even directly resulted in the death, either by suicide or training accident of his child Toya.

So it’s not just like “of course Deku would want to save his friend from his murderous older brother”, beyond that it’s just written in a way that muddles Deku’s character motivation. Like just for example, does Deku consider Dabi worthy of the second chance he’s willing to offer Enji? What’s different in that case? What is forgivable and not forgivable? And before any of you say Enji shows a desire to improve himself while Dabi wallows in his own guilt, Dabi’s been like... legally dead and probably homeless for about ten years while Endeavor was rich and secure in his position in society. They’re not... they’re not at the same starting line. Either way, it’s weird, Deku would sympathize with Endeavor and cut off all sympathy for Dabi, considering he at least has taken a strong stance against abuse before. There’s either an in-character reason behind why he’s doing this, which means it’s written as an intentional character flaw or the framing is sloppy. 

(Framing being, using characters and their reactions to events in the story as a guide to show how we’re supposed to react to an event in the story. For example if a character does a bad, often their friends will call them out or say ‘you did a bad thing’ to make it clear we’re not supposed to sympathize with that character at the moment. A story is a painting, and the frame around it draws attention to certain aspects. The frame emphasizes.).

Dabi even says it’s weird not to pity him. Dabi is the direct action of Endeavor’s abuse. Isn’t it sad, that this little kid who just wanted to be a hero was burned alive at some point? 

Just to talk about how it’s written in this case, I think Jujutsu Kaisen does a better job of showing the main character thinking t’s not okay to just lash out at random people and trying to stop them from that behavior, while at the same time recognizing the person they’re dealing with is in pain and that pain deserves to be recognized. 

Junpei is a bullied kid. He starts using his powers to get back at his bullies, and also harm innocent people along the way. Yuji’s first reaction is to try to stop him. 

However, in trying to learn his reasoning behind attacking both the people at his school and also his bullies, Yuji recognizes an important fact: Yuta is in pain because his mother just died yesterday. Yuji and Junpei were both fighting each other before this moment, and yes Yuji doesn’t have to listen to or understand Junpei’s reason why, but Yuji like Deku is characterized as somebody who saves people against all logic. In that moment after it becomes clear that Yuji isn’t just doing this for no good reason, but lashing out in pain, Yuji’s priorities shift. His first priority was to stop the lashing out, now his second one is to offer him a way out. He shows him that there’s a way to deal with his problems besides lashing out. 

There are people willing to listen to you, there are people who can help you. Yuji doesn’t fix Junpei’s problem for him, he just shows him that there’s another way. He acknowledges that Junpei is right to want justice for whoever killed his mom, but the way he’s going about it is wrong, and he can find a better way with them together. Junpei acted this way in the first place, because he believed he couldn’t trust anybody else. He lashed out because he was dealing with the feelings of having lost his only mother literally twelve hours ago all by himself, and trying to pursue justice for her alone too. 

Yuji’s response also tells Junpei he has to stop randomly lashing out at whoever he thought killed his mom, and whoever hurt him. However, he doesn’t tell Junpei that he’s wrong for feeling hurt. He doesn’t dismiss any of Junpei’s problems.

Junpei’s pain is recognized by Yuji, and he’s treated as a person and offered a way out. 

Dabi is instead shut down continually by basically every hero around him, Deku, and Best Jeanist as well. He’s not offered as a way out, everyone’s response is just to try to put him down. 

Yuji actually seriously thinks about how Junpei is feeling and makes a decision on how he should handle him based on those internal feelings. Yuji changes his mind a little bit midway through the fight. We don’t really see the internal reasons for why Deku thinks it’s okay to give Enji a second chance, but not extend the same chance to Dabi. To be clear I think the character of Deku is just fine, however, I would also like the story to dig deeper into his motivations. I would like to see WHY he thinks the things he does or acts the way he does. We see Yuji constantly thinking about the things Deku doesn’t think about, and my response isn’t to hate Deku. I just think Deku would be a better character if we got into his head more. 

[365days365movies]

January 16, 2021: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)

I am a massive comic book nerd. Not unusual these days, to be fair. But I’m definitely up there, as far as my obsession with Marvel and DC go. And, yeah, I stick mostly to those two houses, and their various imprints.

Why do I bring this up? Well...remember this movie?

Kick-Ass was a pretty big deal when it came out in 2010, as it was a Marvel Comics movie that was completely unrelated to the relatively new Marvel Cinematic Universe. Based of a 2008 comic book written by Mark Millar and drawn by John Romita Jr., the film was directed by Matthew Vaughn, and featured a more realistic take on how real-world superheroes would actually work.

Vaughn and Millar by this point at least, were friends. Around 2012, they’re getting drunk at a pub together, and talking movies. The topic of spy movies come up, and how there hasn’t really been a good, non-parody, fun spy movie, and that there should be. And that was the bulk of their conversation.

Enter Dave Gibbons, a legendary comic book artist, whom you may know from drawing the comic book that was turned into this:

Oh yeah, he’s a big deal. Gibbons and Millar end up getting together to write a fun spy comic book based on this idea. Vaughn, meanwhile, is getting ready to direct X-Men: Days of Future Past, the sequel to X-Men: First Class, which Vaughn directed. That’s a good movie, by the way, even if I have...issues...with the treatment of the X-Men in film. Maybe one day I’ll get into that, we’ll see what happens. Ask me about it if you’re curious.

Anyway, Millar goes to Vaughn with this script, and Vaughan looks at it and realizes that he needs to direct this movie before somebody else makes it. So he leaves Days of Future Past, and he signs on to...

I feel like it’s an obligation, as a comic book dude, to watch this film. I should also read the book, but I didn’t do that with Kick-Ass, so to hell with it! Let’s get this recap started! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

Starting off with some Money for Nothing, and somewhere in the Middle East, 1997! We go into a stone temple, where some kind of mission is taking place. A surprise grenade causes the loss of one of the agents. The surviving agents are Merlin (Mark Strong), Lancelot AKA James Spencer (Jack Davenport), and Galahad, AKA Harry Hart (Colin Firth).

Hart, feeling guilty over the death of this agent, tells his wife, Michelle (Samantha Womack) and child Eggsy (yes, Eggsy) of his sacrifice, and gives Eggsy a medal.

From there, we jump forward 17 years, to Argentina where...Mark Hamill?

Holy shit, it’s Mark Hamill! Apparently, he’s playing Professor James Arnold, and being held hostage by a group of mysterious men. Just then, he’s rescued by Lancelot, showing up with some classic James Bond-style swagger and asking for a cup of sugar, sardonically.

He kicks the asses of these guys, but is SLICED IN HALF BY A MAN WITH SWORD LEGS WHAT THE FUCK????

I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was watching the best thing I’ve ever goddamn seen. And as if that weren’t enough, she’s working for Samuel L. “Motherfucker” Jackson, playing Richmond Valentine. I am...I am so pleased.

We go to the Kingsmen headquarters, where Lancelot is being mourned by the Kingmen and their leader MICHAEL CAINE, REALLY, HOLY SHIT

Ahem. Sorry, uh...the star-studded cast has basically caused me to have a minor aneurysm. Caine plays Arthur, the leader of the Kingsmen. Get it? I can dig it, I’m a sucker for a good Arthurian reference. Anyway, now that Lancelot’s dead, it’s time to find a new candidate. Apparently, the man that died 17 years ago was part of an “experiment” by Hart, which Arthur says has failed. Galahad calls Arthur a snob, and says that they need to evolve with the times. \

Speaking of that former candidate, how’s his son doing?

Not stellar, it seems. His mom is dating a very unsavory gentleman, and not really taking good care of her youngest daughter. Eggsy (Taron Egerton), on the other hand, is a carefree delinquent. After engaging in an entertaining backwards car chase with the police (it’s cool), he gets arrested. He refuses to give up his friends, and he instead asks for a phone call.He looks at the medallion around his neck, and remembers that he can use the number of the back to contact someone for help. He uses a specific code phrase, but it appears not to have worked. But then, Eggsy is turned loose with little more than a phone call. That’s when Eggsy meets Hart.

We find out that Eggsy has a high IQ and Olympic-level athletics, but has dropped out of the Marines, and has been arrested for drugs and other illegal activities. After being read out by Hart, Eggsy goes on an anger-filled diatribe about the differences in privilege between the two of them. Although it’s short, it’s a powerful speech.

But that speech is interrupted by the owner of the car that Eggsy stole the previous night, as well as his gang. They’re yearning for a fight with Eggsy, and they threaten Hart. He doesn’t take that well, as he shuts the doors and windoes to the pub. Time to teach a lesson.

Yup, I’m giving this fight the posted video award. It might be short, but it’s also one of the best and coolest sequences I’ve ever seen in a spy movie. And OH, it’s giving me that gadget shit I was missing from the Bond movies.

After one of the most enjoyable fight sequences I’ve seen in a while, Eggsy’s understandably stunned. So is his stepfather Dean (Geoff Bell), the leader of the gang that Hart beat up in the pub. He’s not happy, and he beats Eggsy in their apartment, and that scene is...WHOOF. Much to their surprise, however, Hart’s left a device on Eggsy’s back. He threatens Dean through the device, and tells Eggsy to meet him at a tailor that he’d mentioned.

Once Eggsy escapes from Dean and the gang via nest parkour tricks, he makes his way to the tailor, where Hart officially brings him into the fold, giving him the opportunity to become a Kingsman. He exposits the history of the agency as a private group of spies, meant to protect the world while not bowing to the bureaucracy that plagues government-affiliated spy institutions.

We get to go to Kingsman Headquarters proper, and yeah...yeah, it’s cool. As compared to the other recruits, Eggsy’s pretty obviously out of place. This, of course, is part of the point, as Hart believes the Kingsmen could use someone with different life experiences and background. That would be the experiment mentioned earlier.

Eggsy’s competitors include Roxy (Sophie Cookson), who appears to actually be polite to him, unlike most of the potentials. They settle in for the night...but not for long. Their quarters fills with water, as the entirety of the Kingsmen head towards the showerheads and toilets for air. While they all succeed, Eggsy is the one who actually gets everyone out, by literally punching the window.

Unfortunately, for one of the candidates...it’s too late. These candidates could die in the hiring process. Rough.

Sadly, Mark Hamill also doesn’t quite make it, as Hart finds him, surprisingly freed from Valentine’s capture. As he’s questioned, Valentine is forced to kill him via Suicide Squad implant, and barely escaped from his men. Valentine and his henchwoman, Gazelle (Sofia Boutella) are trying to figure out who the Kingsmen are, to no avail at the moment.

Back with Merlin, who’s training the Kingsman candidates! They’re all told to get a puppy! Aw. Eggsy chooses J.B. a pug, under the mistaken impression that it’s a bulldog. And I’m not a pug person...but that puppy is cute as shit.

Time marches on, and the Kingsmen continue their training. Eggsy’s colleagues continue to discriminate against him, especially Charlie (Edward Holcroft). Hart, who was knocked out by the explosion, eventually wakes up. Valentine goes around to political leaders and proposes his plan to “save the world,” whatever that’s about to mean. Apparently, that includes giving the King of Sweden a surgical implant of some kind. Huh.

This, of course includes some, uh...conflict with Gazelle.

Awesome.

Eggsy’s in the final 6! As Hart congratulates him over this, we finally get some exposition on Richmond Valentine’s plan. See, that implant is the Suicide Squad bomb that killed Hamill, and Gazelle also has one. Additionally, he’s released a plan to the world that will provide free internet and phone data...forever. Not ominous at all, that.

After a cool skydiving training sequence, only three candidates are left. Hart, meanwhile, poses as a wealthy philanthropist, donating to Valentine’s cause. As a result, he’s treated to an extravagant dinner...of McDonald’s. Yes, it is the best product placement I’ve seen in a while, in case you were wondering. That reveal was hilarious.

Anyway, their conversation turns from talking about climate change studies and concerns, to their opinion of James Bond movies, in a lovely little piece of meta flavor. At this point, they would appear to understand each other’s role in the play, as it were. Forgot to mention, Valentine’s been kidnapping anyone who disagrees with his goals, while also distributing his free internet cards. So, there’s that. But he’s also trying to figure out what exactly the “Kingsmen” are. Speaking of...

Our three remaining Kingsman candidates are assigned a mission to seduce a young dignitary. However, all three of them make a mistake, and allow themselves to get drugged at a party, by someone wanting to know who Hart and Kingsmen are. When Eggsy wakes up, he’s been strapped to train tracks. Uh oh.

Despite an oncoming train, Eggsy doesn’t give the man any formation. Which, of course, was the point. It’s Hart, helping to give the Kingsman candidates a little loyalty test, which both Eggsy and Roxy pass with flying colors. But Charlie...Charlie’s a coward who immediately gives everything up, including Arthur himself.

Eggsy gets to spend 24 hours with Hart, before being thrown headfirst into a mission. Hart explains that being a Kingsman means being a gentleman, which Eggsy isn’t. Hart, of course, plans to fix that.

They head to the tailor, and check out some spy gadgets. And much to their surprise, Valentine is also there, under the guise of getting a suit. Hart takes the opportunity to recommend a hatter, who gives him a top hat with built in listening devices. I love it.

Eggsy, meanwhile, speaks with Arthur at Kingsman HQ. He’s commanded to perform one final test: kill his pug, J.B. Which...yeah, damn, that sucks. He doesn’t do it, understandably. Unfortunately...Roxy does kill her dog. She succeeds...and Eggsy’s kicked out of the Kingsman candidacy. Which feels like a bullshit play, if I’m honest.

Eggsy steals Arthur’s car, then goes back home. As he’s about to confront his stepfather, Hart brings back the car via remote access, then explains to Eggsy that the gun was filled with blanks, and that Eggsy ended up giving up his shot. He also reveals that the first candidate to die...didn’t actually die! It’s been a ruse all along, meant to test the candidates under the strictest of conditions. Which sucks, obviously, because Eggsy’s out of the program.

And at that point, Valentine says something of note, revealing that he plans to go to a hate church in Kentucky to begin his master plan. Hart heads there, and tells Eggsy to stay put.

We get treated to just...just the loveliest of sermons. Disgusting. But then...

...that’s the point, isn’t it?

Because Valentine uses the SIM cards to create a signal that drives the parishioners crazy. Hart’s also in the church, however, and he also starts going crazy. Which leaves the question: what happens when a highly trained spy goes up against untrained civilians, has a bunch of gadgets...and has absolutely no restraint whatsoever?

A MASSACRE, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS. And most surprisingly, it’s a massacre that we actually SEE. Hart basically kills almost EVERYBODY in the church. I’ll put the video up, but...y’know, be warned here. It ain’t pretty.

Hart comes to, and realizes exactly what he’s done. He leaves, only to be confronted by Valentine and his men. The Bond metaphor finally comes full-circle, explained directly by Valentine. But instead of explaining his whole plan and devising some complicated way to kill Hart that he’ll inevitably escape from...

He just shoots Hart in the head. Holy shit. And this is while Merlin, Arthur, and yes, Eggsy watch on through Hart’s home feed. Looks like a new Kingsman is needed.

Arthur tells Merlin to assemble the Kingsmen. But Eggsy...Eggsy has other plans. Thinking on Hart’s words about wanting to do something good with his life. He goes to Arthur to talk to him about Hart’s death. Arthur invites him in for brandy. And that’s...when my mind exploded.

HE’S FUCKING IN ON IT?!? Michael Caine, NOOOO! Turns out that Valentine’s convinced Arthur of his true plan: a culling. He believes that the Earth’s temperature because there’s simply too much humanity, like a body trying to kill a virus. And so...he’s going to make the virus exterminate itself. And that argument’s enough to win Caine over.

Turns out that the implant is meant to protect those individuals against a neurological signal emitted by the SIM cards, the same one that went off in the church. Arthur, realizing that Eggsy understands exactly what’s going on, poisons him, then asks if he would like to join them. Eggsy refuses...and Arthur sets off the remote poison to kill him.

But NOPE! EGGSY SWITCHED THE FUCKIN’ GLASSES! I love this movie. Arthur dies, and Eggsy uses the opportunity to dig the implant from his neck. He takes that and Arthur’s phone to Merlin and Lancelot, who realize that they can’t trust anyone at this point. And so, the three of them - yes, the three of them - go to stop Valentine.

And, yeah...I can dig it. OH HOW I CAN DIG it.

Roxy goes up in an experimental vehicle to bring down the satellite, Merlin is flying the plane, and Eggsy...Eggsy’s the one going in disguised as Arthur, in order to infiltrate the mountain lair of Valentine. Here, he and the other beneficiaries wait it out, while the world literally tears itself apart. Now wearing a bespoke suit and playing the role of a gentleman, Eggsy enters the lion’s den.

But as expected, it’s time to hit some snags. Roxy waits juuuuuust a little too long, and one of the balloons in her craft pops. As for Eggsy, he meets an old “friend” of his in the form of Charlie, who’s now working for Valentine.

The missile’s fired just in time, as Charlie’s taken out and Eggsy runs for the plane. AWESOME climax here as Eggsy escapes. I mean it; it is VERY cool. They succeed JUST in time, and the satellite is destroyed. However, Valentine’s still managed to partially start the process, and they can’t do anything about that.

Eggsy’s gotta go BACK in, before Valentine gets another satellite to trigger the signal worldwide. Now armed with Hart’s AWESOME umbrella, he makes his way there under heavy gunshot. They’re also teaming up against Merlin in the plane, so he’s not doing great. And that when Eggsy has the idea...to turn the implants on. ALL of them.

It’s amazing. Violence in fireworks. So, it’s too bad that it doesn’t stop the signal. It works, and people start to tear each other apart all across the world. But only for was long as Valentine has his hands on the desk. Eggsy manages to stop that by laying down some suppressive fire.

That provokes a response.

..This movie is, for lack of a better term, fucking rad.

Gazelle and Eggsy have an awesome fight, worthy of any James Bond movie, seriously. I really want to give it the video post honor, but I’ve done that too much already. For god’s sake, I literally JUST did that.

Gazelle dies (it’s kinda goofy how she dies, if I’m honest), and Eggsy kills Valentine with her prosthetic leg. It’s over, as the signal ends, and Eggsy even gets the girl. Not Roxy, the Princess of Sweden. Not going into it, but it’s funny.

And that’s Kingsman: The Secret Service! Honestly, I gotta say, that was a rad-as-shit movie, and...

Ooh, a mid-credits scene! Eggsy goes back home, to the pub, where his stepfather and mom are hanging out with the gang. And let’s just say...Dean’s gonna get a little comeuppance. Manners, after all, maketh man.

OK, THAT’S Kingsman: The Secret Service! And that, again, was pretty rad. See you in the Epilogue in a few!

[meow-bebe]

Pairing: Ten x reader Genre: fluff, friends to lovers Word count: 1.3k Warnings: food mention(?) Tonight’s soundtrack: What You Waiting For - Somi A/n: written in participation of @neoculturechristmas​‘s sectret santa event

this is for @jaeyoonurl​! hi mar! as im pretty sure you know, im cosmo, and i got to be your secret santa for this event. i had a lot of fun coming up with this, and im truly sorry i ended up being pretty late, but it gave me a chance to remake the header and finish things up. I hope you enjoy this, and that the holidays have been good for you! <3

“So are you planning on going to Johnny's New Years party next week?” Ten asks as he flops down on the couch next to you, offering you a plate and a styrofoam takeout box.

You groan in response. “Is New Year’s really next week? I am not ready to deal with going to that party alone for the third year in a row.”

“Want me to be your plus one?” Ten jokes through a mouthful of food.

You roll your eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

You sigh out a little laugh, shoving a bite of food into your mouth. "Really though, I'm tired of everyone's slightly pitying glances because poor me still can't find anyone to tolerate me long enough to date me. It's been—" you pause to mentally count back— "six months since I've even been on a date." You sigh to yourself, eating in silence for a moment.

"What if I take you out?"

You raise your eyebrows at this. "And what's your intention with that?" Secretly, you wished it would be something slightly nefarious. Part of your dating issue stemmed from the fact that you were infatuated with your roommate, though you could do absolutely nothing about it. He wasn’t interested in you, and it’s not like you could force him to reciprocate your feelings.  

“I’m just trying to be a good friend,” Ten says, and secretly your heart sinks a little. Perhaps allowing yourself even the slightest bit of hope could cause more pain than living with the fact that he’ll never love you back. “You’re sad that you haven’t been on a date in forever, so I’ll take you on a date!”

--

Several days had passed, and the date with Ten had consumed your mind. It was all you thought of. Was he really just trying to be a good friend? Was there another intention masked beneath his proposition that lay closer to your own?

Ten hadn’t mentioned anything about it since he first brought the idea up, and you were starting to lose hope that he was being serious in the first place. He’s always been quite the jokester, but at the same time in all the years you had known him he had never once broken a promise or gone back on his word.

For the most part you had been doing your best to keep the churning mess of thoughts and emotions that came with this sudden proposition under control, but constantly doing something to keep yourself distracted could get exhausting and you had given up. Thursday early afternoons were your lazy time anyway, as it was the only day when you had several hours between classes, so you ended up back in your apartment and couldn't do anything productive anyway. 

So what better to do than sit around thinking about how you’re absolutely in love with your roommate who has given you no reason to believe he felt the same. Except for the invitation for a date he extended and then promptly never brought up again. Sure, it had only been three days and Ten had a tendency to forget to tell people when things were going to be happening, but overthinking seemed to be a talent of yours and unfortunately this was a topic that couldn’t be easily shoved under the rug. 

Just as you were ready to get up and actually start pacing, your phone dings. Grateful for any distraction, you lunge across the couch to grab it. 

[Ten: are you busy tonight?]

[You: what a stupid question]

[You: you know i do almost nothing]

[Ten: awesome! i’ll be home around five thirty to pick you up]

[Ten: don’t bother asking where we’re going, its a surprise]

[Ten: oh, and dress warm but cute ;)]

You roll your eyes at this, holding in giddy laughter and sending back an equally flirty reply. Perhaps your worries were unnecessary after all.

--

The sound of a key in the door alerts you of Ten’s arrival, and you hurriedly finish shoving all of your necessities into the pockets of the coat you had just been eagerly modeling for yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you had put a little more effort into your outfit than you usually would for a date. You wore quite a few layers, but your favorite coat and boots disguised the slight bulk, and the cherry on top of the whole outfit was the scarf Ten had gifted you a few years ago. 

“Hi!” you say, ducking out of your room to greet Ten. 

“Hi,” he responds, “ready to go?”

“Yep!” you say, following him out into the hallway and failing to keep the bounce out of your gait. “Care to tell me where we’re going?”

“Well that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it,” Ten finally gets the door locked and pulls it shut behind him.

“I suppose it would,” you huff out a melodramatic sigh, but can’t keep the smile spreading across you face down. “Well, come on then.” You take his hand, and though he refuses to look in your direction, you think you see a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. 

---

“How did you know I’d want to go ice skating?” you ask incredulously, staring up at the sky and the snow slowly drifting down through the air. After open skate had ended you had wandered around the city hand in hand with Ten until the sun set and you finally decided on a restaurant. "That's literally my ideal date."

"You've mentioned it a few times," Ten says, unable to hide the smile fighting its way across his face. He always tries his best to stay cool and collected, but the truth is Ten is a romantic at heart. 

“That was like once,” you say, letting your gaze slip away from the streetlights illuminating the snow and to your best friend’s face. 

“You do realise I actually listen when you talk right? Maybe more than I should.”

You brows scrunch together, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ten’s fingers start to fidget a bit, and you squeeze his hand in encouragement. 

He takes a deep breath, refusing to meet your eyes as you stare up at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. 

“This is something that I probably should have brought up a long time ago, but things get away from you sometimes, you know. Especially when it comes to—”

You squeeze his hand again. “You’re rambling.” Ten had a tendency to just talk when he was avoiding something—about the topic of avoidance, something to steer the conversation elsewhere—but it was always the same, and you knew it annoyed him just as much as it did everyone around him. 

“Sorry,” Ten says, obviously steeling himself for the big reveal. You listen intently, ready for whatever he’s about to hit you with. “I….like you. A lot. Like in a romantic way.”

You were not, in fact, ready for this. “Oh. I, uh—”

“I know you probably don’t feel the same, and that's okay—”

“No! No, no, not at all.” Concern flashes through his eyes and you panic for a second, wondering if you’ve made it seem like you're attempting to communicate the opposite of your feelings. “Ten, I’ve liked you for more than a year.” 

A different type of surprise seizes his features now, and you choke down a laugh at the way his eyes seem ready to pop out of his head. 

“Seriously?” You nod, and Ten just about skips with joy. “You mean this whole time we could’ve—God, I could just kiss you.”

“So do it,” you smirk.

Ten’s eyes widen in surprise, but he tugs you closer to him anyway. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“Actually,” you say, “I think I know the feeling.”

[kentonwrites]

“Anamnesis” - Project Update

Look, I know I only have 40 followers and like 38 of them are bots, but writing these updates is my only source of joy. If someone happens upon this, please enjoy.

My projects/writing life since 2017 have been utter chaos. I’ve started and abandoned probably over a dozen projects, had nightmarish problems in my personal life, and pretty much put writing as my last priority. For some odd reason though, returning to it now has given me a better perspective on the craft. I feel like taking a couple of years to simply live and observe and consume other media and suffer has actually strengthened my writing. 

A summary of my current projects:

1. Mispacha (Untitled): I used the placeholder title Mispacha because it’s the Hebrew term for “family,” which is what this novel revolves around. It’s about a dysfunctional family in the early 2010′s who simply live in constant disorder and end up degrading themselves. I love the characters and the plot points I have planned, but I’m only 16k words in and am not happy with what I’ve written. The dialogue feels awkward, the writing extremely sparse, etc. I want to see it through, but it’s hard to persist at it when 16k words worth of dead weight is just...hovering there on the page.

2. Blight 117 (formerly titled Potent). This was my last start-to-finish project, and the piece that I first introduced to @breefrankelwriting when we were CPs like 4 years ago. I recently reopened that document and read through a few scenes and was absolutely APPALLED at how atrocious it was (Bree I’m so sorry please forgive me), but I also feel like I’m somehow meant to tell this story and I eventually, someday, want to make it work. It was my first ever idea for a “real” novel--I’ve had the idea and characters with me since 7th grade. I feel like it’s supposed to be my magnum opus, but if I ever go back and re-attempt it, it’ll need an overhaul the likes of which have never been seen since the dawn of time. 

3. Short Story Collection: Literally last night I was just standing around and then suddenly got the inspiration to start writing short stories. I know, it’s literally so spontaneous and quirky of me. I’d attempted a few during the absolute deadzone of 2018-2020, but none of them truly worked out. Since I evidently suck at writing longer pieces (see Mispacha) I figured, maybe my strengths could be suited to a shorter medium.

So I decided to randomly draft a short story last night that played directly to my weaknesses!!!

This story is what the bulk of this update is about.

It’s called “Anamnesis” and I literally came up with the idea, wrote the first draft, and made revision notes all in a span of 5 hours last night, from 9 PM - 2 AM. It was exhilarating honestly--I hadn’t written like that in years. The first draft ended up being 5200 words (!!!) but I want to eventually buff it to around 6k since I think I majorly underwrote the final scene due to fatigue.

“Anamnesis”

TITLE: The title, “Anamnesis,” literally fits the story in so many ways I could cry. It operates on every level. All I can do is bow down to the person who created this word and thank them for its relevance to my story.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Sexual abuse, violence toward elderly

SYNOPSIS: A home health worker is assigned to an elderly woman whose memory resets each morning. He begins to take advantage of her illness, using her inability to remember the previous day in order to mistreat and abuse her. But when she is prescribed a new, promising treatment, she begins to remember more than just the abuse.  

AESTHETIC: This story has the most unpleasant aesthetic known to man. I’m talking old people, pills, mold, dust, stray cats, oatmeal, etc. I’ve been in a few hospice patient homes before and I wanted to capture just how uncomfortable and depressing it can be.

CHARACTERS:

Luna Lemin - the protagonist, an elderly woman with dementia whose memory resets every morning. Always confused. Pitiful. Sad. Dark secrets in her past??? 

Alex - the patient care technician assigned to look after Luna. An absolute piece of trash. A spectacular liar. Malicious yet curious. 

PROCESS: Like I said, this story played directly to my weaknesses. How? Because I simply cannot create compelling characters or pace a story to save my LIFE, and this story DEPENDS on the characters and the pace at which their relationship progresses. Furthermore, the setting in this is somewhat bland (literally just an old woman’s middle/lower-class house) which is a sin in terms of my writing. I thrive off of having a strong sense of setting and being able to describe specific, interesting details of that setting. In this piece I largely deprived myself of that. But it also helped me balance my flowery, poetic, overly-quirky writing style with a cohesive story and effective characters. Lately I had been putting my work on the crutch of having good writing, but it didn’t work because 1) my writing is not at a good enough level for that, and 2) sacrificing effectiveness is never a good idea. Sometimes it’s better to choose the clear, effective verb over the never-before-seen exotic one found in the depths of the Thesaurus under “archaic.”

I’m going to begin editing the story and might soon post excerpts/more updates! Though I literally wrote it in one long sprint and haven’t looked back at it since so I am PRAYING it’s not garbage. Thanks for reading!

[kaiekasunwhisper]

Hello On the Other Side

(( Co-written with @grakkar-gorefang / @thefugitivemango / @argonas . @avehi-the-adamant​ , @brent-sunborn​ and @sinafay-the-defiant for character mention.))

~*~*~

The fighting was done. Grakkar slowly felt the fatigue set in as his adrenaline began to die off. It had been a long day; at least, in his perspective. Time seemed to work differently here in the Shadowlands, with people who had been dead for only a few years saying they’d been here much, much longer. It made him wonder how much time had actually passed on Azeroth… if it were shorter than it felt, hopefully it meant his beloved mate and daughter wouldn’t miss him as much as he missed them. Which, by now, was a tremendous amount.

He shook his head, securing his axe down in the desiccated dust that comprised most of Maldraxxus’ ground. Blood and bile that caked it had turned a sickening shade of greyish blue. Something he’d have to wash off once he got back to Bastion. That couldn’t come soon enough. He’d grown tired of this place.

His Soulbind, Argonas, had joined Avehi and the rest of the Necrolord leaders inside the Seat of the Primus, a large statue of what many Maldraxxi revered as the greatest military mind the Shadowlands had ever known. Argonas was eager to meet and speak with Avehi the Adamant, a mutual friend and recent ally of the Necrolords. They had much to discuss following the fall of the House of Constructs. But Grakkar wasn’t much of a talker, and opted to wait outside. He sat down on a bench-- or large femur?-- and sighed. Lips curling to a small smile in the aftermath of a good and glorious battle!

Kai’eka watched him from her position not too far away, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. After all the trouble Grakkar had gone through to be with his stupid mate, what was he doing in the Shadowlands? Had they split up again? She felt a familiar stir of emotions as the possibility of him being single again was entertained. Not for long, however. She shook her head, remembering how disgustingly vulnerable he’d made her last time. She wasn’t interested in that sort of pointless, fleeting thing…

She picked up a small rock and tossed it at the Orc’s head, minding her undead strength. 

“Hey, Dumbass! What’s got you hanging out with dead people?”

"--Hrm?"

The Orc turned as the rock whizzed past his head; a near miss, thanks to his post-battle jittery reflexes. Seeing Kai'eka became even less reason to try and relax in this battle-scarred place. He stood, offering the Death Knight a forced smile and casual wave. Avehi wasn't lying-- there she was, eyes aglow with that telltale lichfire. It was still so vexing to think she had been a Twilight Cultist all along… it really made the Orc carry on with more caution around people. He couldn't take anyone for face value anymore. Still, Avehi had said Kai'eka was reformed in her undeath. Now an Ebon Knight, like she was. He afforded Kai'eka a cursory trust on Avehi's word alone. The Draenei was honest, to a brutal degree. And had earned his respect and favor in caring for his beloved. 

Still, an uneasy feeling welled up within him as he looked upon Kai'eka. One he just… couldn't shake.

"They know how to do an exciting battle, I heard. Had to see for myself." Grakkar replied, smirking. "You're looking good, for being dead now."

The Death Knight shrugged, pushing herself off the rock wall and walked over to sit by the Orc… at least, as close as he’d allow. She rested her large sword up next to his axe against the femur. It actually felt nice being next to him without that drive kicking in. It made it all the more easy to keep her mind clear.

“Best I’ve ever been,” she answered. An exaggeration given her recently broken rune weapon. In truth, she felt exhausted and stretched thin. Nothing he needed to know. “Should have taken this route a long time ago.”

She glanced to him, her expression ever neutral.

“Thought you were done fighting. Settling down with your wife or whatever…”

A grunt came, as the Orc's response. Familiar enough to Kai'eka to be one of affirmation. Orcs had a grunt for every occasion. 

"We have a farmstead, in Arathi." He nodded, proudly. "My daughter, Neelah, grows stronger every day. A warrior to be, no doubt."

He shifted, turning to better face his old friend. He wasn't shy in looking her over; though he hardly looked at her the way he once did. Platonic, now. For more reasons than one. Her armor was familiar enough; he had seen enough Ebon Knights with plate of similar craft. Just one sword, though? That was new. Her eyes, however, drew the bulk of his attention. He wasn't used to seeing the azure flames of undeath flickering from them. Unsettling, yet entrancing. 

"The Ancestors, however, had something else in mind for me. Close brushes with death sometimes strengthen our connections in that way." He shrugged. "They called me here, to help save them from the Maw."

She raised an eyebrow at that. Grakkar had always seemed rather removed from the spiritual way of things. She didn’t think he was lying, but how odd that they wouldn’t call upon a shaman instead. Of course, it wasn’t as though they had ever talked about such things before… and she wasn’t exactly open to such talks now, either way. 

“Well, don’t be getting yourself killed in the process,” she smirked, “Not sure how things work if you die on this side of the veil. Plus, I wouldn’t mind visiting your farm for the occasional spar once this is over.”

She brought an arm up to punch him in the shoulder, before changing the subject.

“How’s my stupid lizard?”

“Dumb as ever. The sounds he and Kronk make keep wolves off the farmstead, at least.” Grakkar chuckled, recoiling slightly from the punch. “He’s being well taken care of. I promise.”

He looked at Kai’eka again, appraisingly. He wanted to ask what she was doing here. But then again, he figured she was doing the same thing Avehi was-- trying to fix whatever broke on this side of death. He looked away, glancing down at the bone dust beneath his boots. It made for a period of somewhat-awkward silence between them… a silence that in meetings long before this one would’ve been otherwise filled. 

The thought now made him shudder.

“--You, er… you’re missing a sword, looks like.” he commented; anything to break the silence.

Her ears twitched at the statement. The memory alone of losing her blade tore her up. The physical pain had been intense, but the emotional toll it took on her was indescribable. It was like losing part of herself. More than the bond between an Ebon Knight and their rune weapon, she’d earned her swords early on in her cultist life. She’d gathered the pieces of the shattered weapon. Perhaps, one day, she’d find a blacksmith that she trusted enough to reforge it.

Outwardly, she shrugged as though they were talking about the weather.

“Avehi decided to get pissy over a misunderstanding. Broke the blade fighting her.”

She didn’t mention she’d lost the fight, of course. 

“Apparently, I have poor judgment in picking sides,” she rolled her eyes, “Moody bitch.”

“Heh, she seems like. I only met her once, but she gave me a death stare. Like… a literal death stare, like she was trying to kill me in her head.” Grakkar added, shaking his head. “Then later, after our farm was attacked, she stood vigil so Sinafay, Neelah and I could sleep peacefully.”

He shrugged, chuckling a bit at the absurdity of the two drastically different encounters he’d had with their mutual friend. He seemed to speak about her with a sense of reverence… and fear. One more than the other, it seemed. 

“We owe her a lot. She’s been a dear friend to Sina.”

He looked Kai’eka over, lips pursing a bit around his tusks. Another shrug.

“... She was the one who told me you died. And… that you were a Twilight Cultist.” he admitted. “While we, erm… between our visits, you weren’t really on Alliance business, huh?”

Kai’eka’s expression remained neutral, though her ears flickered slightly, surprised that Avehi had disclosed that information. It wasn’t something she wanted spread around, and she’d hoped the Death Knight would respect that. Her facade gave way to a frown. Who else knew? 

A question for another time. For now, she debated how to answer Grakkar’s question. She could lie, but he’d been as honest as he could be with her in all their time together. She sighed, casting her gaze to the side.

“I joined the Twilights in my early adulthood. Devoted my life to it. When I got stranded with you, I wasn’t collecting Azerite for the Alliance. It was for the Twilights. When we bumped into each other in Naz’jatar, my partner and I were working with the naga, killing and sacrificing Alliance and Horde soldiers indiscriminately, for the Masters,” she shrugged, “I never had any doubts about the cause I was fighting for. I died for it, more than once, without regret. Even when it all went to shit. Once I died for good, though… saw the Maw,” she shook her head, “All one big motherfucking lie.”

Her gaze returned to his, gauging his reaction. It felt strange, opening up to him again. It was like that first night they’d talked by the fire. This time, without the sexual tension. It was odd. She’d only ever spoken like this with Brent.

“Thankfully, for you, you’ve got a great cock. So, no. You were never in any danger.”

Grakkar’s expression was… neutral. Neutral for him. Brow furrowed, bottom lip pushed a bit forward. He was fighting a frown, it was plain to see. Slowly, he shook his head before looking at Kai’eka again.

“... I had no idea. To choose so poorly… to align yourself with a destructive power like that…”

He narrowed his eyes at Kai’eka for a tense moment. Judgingly-- no, not judging? Looking straight at him, his expression was no frown of anger, but one of sorrow. He reached his hand out, and planted it on Kai’eka’s shoulder. He sighed.

“I know what that’s like.” he admitted, nodding sympathetically. “I was blindly following my Warchief back on Draenor. When he told us that the Iron Horde would conquer worlds, I believed him. I fought for him, killing countless innocent people. Not just Draenei, but fellow Orcs too.”

Another heavy sigh, as his arm fell from Kai’eka’s shoulder, back down beside him. 

“It’s easy to get caught up in the wrong cause, sometimes. Neelah, my first mate, showed me how wrong I was in those days. Saved me from making any more terrible mistakes.” he went on. “We need people like that. Outside perspectives from those who care for us. If I had known back then, I--”

He tensed, eyes widening at the slip. Quickly he cleared his throat. 

“--That is… maybe I could have helped you see a better path. Without you having to die to see it, anyway.” he shrugged. “Though… you said it’s been working out well for you, too. So maybe not.”

He looked away, back out at the scenery-- if you could call it that-- of Maldraxxus. 

Kai’eka wasn’t entirely certain how to respond. She expected anger and criticism, and would have almost preferred it. That, at least, was familiar. She glanced to his hand as it rested on her shoulder, fighting the instinct to smack it away. Memories of how wonderful those hands had made her feel in the past… Strangely, they comforted her in a different way now.

Her features softened as he spoke of the Iron Horde. While he hadn’t spent six hundred years following the wrong cause, he at least understood the situation she’d gotten herself into. She was thankful he had someone able to pull him out before it was too late.

“It’s best you didn’t know,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I was part of a close knit group… we watched each other’s backs, and dealt with anyone who posed a threat to the cause, quickly and efficiently. One or both of us would have ended up dead. With no one to revive us for the better.”

Another shrug of the shoulders, “I know, because I did that for others. My brother… I killed his lover when I noticed the relationship started pulling him away from the Twilights. And then, eventually, I killed -him- too. Probably about a week before you broke things off with me. So… I think things worked out for the best.” She nodded, “You got the family you were fighting for, and I got a second chance to fight for a better cause. Hopefully, I’m killing for the right people this time.”

“--Wait, you killed him yourself?” Grakkar half-gasped, surprised. “I… Ancestors, I can’t begin to imagine what that must’ve been like.”

He commented… but opted not to dwell on that detail too long. He imagined it was a sensitive issue, especially considering that she died, as well. Was he around here somewhere, he wondered…?

“--Either way, you’re right. I think we both found better paths for ourselves. Somehow.” he chuckled lightly, to attempt to lighten the mood. “And I know it didn’t amount to anything, but… I enjoyed our, uh… associating, back then.”

Ugh. That felt like something Argonas would say. So tactful and proper, rather than just saying it straight up. This soulbinding had its drawbacks…

“You’re a good fuck. And an even better fighter.” he added bluntly, as he preferred. “I’m glad we met. And glad you’re still around.”

Despite her best efforts, a contented smile formed on her usually hard features. It felt good to finally open up to him. Other than Brent, she’d never felt this close to anyone before. It was both comforting and frightening at once. And she had to fight a knee jerk reaction to push him away.

“Mutual,” she replied, “I uh… I’m pretty shit at making friends, for obvious reasons. So… it’s nice, you know… when people stick around. Even when I do my best to push them away.”

She half expected Brent to step out of the shadows and poke fun at her after this, but somehow knew he wouldn’t. Something had certainly changed since she’d died. He never bothered to check up on her anymore. She tried not to dwell on it much, but it upset her much more than she wanted to admit.

She reached out to take his large hand, slipping a pointed rune etched object into it.

“That being said. If ever you’re looking for a good spar, or just someone to join you in battle, don’t hesitate to contact me. You can use this to reach out,” she nodded to the object she’d placed in his hand, a pit lord fang, “Just concentrate on the rune, speak into it, and I’ll get the message. Not entirely sure how it works. Magic’s not my specialty. Never was. Still new to the whole Ebon Blade shit. Also, you might want to warn your wife that I’ll be showing up at the farm from time to time to check up on Doofus.”

“Hah, alright. We’re used to Death Knight friends popping in from time to time, so I don’t think she’ll mind.” He nodded, pocketing the runed fang. “We’ll definitely have to spar sometime. I haven’t had a good one-on-one fight in a while, so that’ll be fun to have a friendly match. See how much stronger you are, now that you’re undead.”

With that, Grakkar’s attention was drawn upward-- the squadron of Kyrian took flight from the Seat Overlook. Which meant Argonas wouldn’t be far along behind them. It seemed their mission was finally over, here-- and not a moment too soon!

“Well, that’s my cue. My Soulbind will be along in a bit, and then we’re headed back.” he explained, as he stood up and picked up his axe. “But it was really good to see you again, Kai.”

“--Kai? Kai’eka?”

A less-familiar voice rang out from the stairs above them. The clopping and clanking of plated hooves echoed through the air as Argonas descended, eyeing the Death Knight.

“Well met! Quite a coincidence, finding you here.” he nodded, drawing close.

“--Ah, er, um… you know each other?” Grakkar asked, brow askew.

“We sparred once, I believe. In Stormwind. But do not worry, Grakkar-- not the kind of sparring you do with her, yes?”

The Orc snarled at Argonas, shoving his shoulder to turn him away-- another unfortunate side effect of the Soulbinding. He pushed and followed after Argonas quickly, waving quickly back at Kai’eka.

“--We, uh… we gotta go!” he said, hastily. “Good catching up! See you around, yeah?”

“Yes, always a pleasure, Warchief!” Argonas added, smirking.

Kai’eka’s expression went from content, to puzzled, to angry, all in the short span of Argonas showing up. She snarled at the pet name and stood up, gripping her sword. She had half a mind to throw it at the retreating pair, but thought better of it. Losing one rune blade had been enough for today.

“Motherfucker...” she grumbled to herself, before heading up the stairs to meet Avehi.

One thing was for certain, Grakkar would have questions to answer when next they met!

~*~*~

[thiskryptonite]

Date: Various. April 19th, 2015 - January 13th, 2019

Location: Ashbourne: Mortuary, Libary, and The Pit

Word Count: 1703

Triggers: Death, Murder, Blood, Violence, Mentions of Suicide

Summary: August reflects on the loss of his mother, and the loss of the Undertaker who took him in. Completed for Writing Prompt: Nostalgia

Nov. 13th, 2018

It was not his first funeral.  

Though this one was significant in that it stood out from the rest. He still managed in his same way, August kept his smile, kept his composure. There was a lot of work to be done. There had been a lot of loss. More than he’d ever seen at one time, and that was a lot considering that for the young man’s age, he’d been doing this for a long time. A lot longer than most people realized.

It shouldn’t have been just him today, the Old Man always liked to work a big crowd, took some sort of joy out of making masses feel better. His predecessor had taught August the tricks of the trade here in Ashbourne, truthfully the young witch had never intended to someday have to take over for the Mortician. He’d have been fine simply working in the other’s shadow, there were so many people looking to him now to say something. To say the right thing.

When the truth was, all he wanted to say was: I lost someone too.

This funeral is harder though, August knows the man in the casket. His face a reconstruction of the man he once was, work, that August spent hours painstakingly performing. He’d always thought the old man had such a hideous face, recreating that hooked nose was terrible, stitching back that yellowed leather-like skin was a chore, but in the end, you’d never have been able to tell that the undertaker had been nearly ripped apart by a berserker the night the ceremony went awry.

He had spent more time with this man than nearly anyone else, August had never told him what he had meant to him, and now he was never going to get the chance. He watched them lower the casket into the ground, a sermon followed before dirt began to fill the grave, like it had so many times before. August did what he could to keep a straight face, but when it was done he went back inside the funeral home and simply, sat, or stood, but he just kept moving from one room of the house to another.

Nothing felt right, nothing was the way that it should have been. This place was too empty now. August had always wanted his run of the place so that he’d be free to do whatever he wanted without fear of having to keep it hidden from the old man. Now that freedom also came with a burden of responsibility, and maybe that was the old man’s biggest joke before he kicked it, leaving August with more work than he had ever wanted to do.

The foyer had been the place where August spent the bulk of his time, his eyes always wandering the pages of his mother’s words, either her journal or her grimoire. He was obsessed. More so since coming to the town than he’d ever been before. It had been Willow who led August to the funeral home, and it had been the Old Man who gave her things over to him and brought her to where she was buried.

August looked out the window at the rows of graves and felt darkness bubbling within him, a wonton desire to hate, to burn, to avenge, to tear down everything that ever meant anything and start again. He hated it here. He hated everyone here. His eyes shifted to the loathsome tree at the top of the hill and his mouth contorted deeper in discontent.

April 19th, 2015

“How did she die?”

August had asked, once, years ago when he knelt contemplatively in front of his mother’s grave. In deep letters spelt her name Viktoria Knight.

His eyes looked to the old man, whose face looked quite grave, she’d died years ago, but he seemed to remember it still. His expression told August more than he wanted to know, but he needed to hear it. He needed him to say it.

But he didn’t. Instead he handed August the faded journal which detailed her years spent in this town, though there were parts of it that were worked into some sort of code, the ending was clear. Suicide.

That evening August found himself in the ring opposite a particularly vicious looking beast. His magic had been weaved to give his fists a greater impact, to make his skin a little tougher, to make his blood a little less appealing. His eyes wandered dangerously over the creature, this was his third match of the night and he was barely standing but an almost delirious smile kept the young witch standing.

“Is that all you got?” The crowd cheered as August outstretched his arms to either side, his one eye was swollen shut and he’d tasted blood during the second match. His energy was tapped out and whatever magic he had worked was fading, the adrenaline was still pumping however, and his opponent only snarled before they lunged. His fist connected with August’s face and the witch immediately saw stars as he stumbled back and hit the fence, though he smirked and spit blood out beside him.

A sort of scarlet static that was getting to be familiar in his fights danced across the skin of his exposed upper body and moved towards his fists as he swung out, his opponent easily dodged the sloppy movement and August went down. His field of vision danced around him as he laughed and felt the beast’s heavy feet connecting with his ribs, felt one crack.

Everything went dark and he awoke the next night in the hospital, apparently, August had been left outside. His cut from the first two fights in his pocket.

January 13, 2019

Again, August has found himself in the library, once again. He’d brought his mother’s grimoire there before in the hopes of unlocking hidden meaning or secrets, but the return of the dead from the forest had inspired him. Things were never as they seemed, and in parts of her journal, words became disordered or disorganized. Various sigils and symbols lined the margins and for years he’d simply assumed that they were just the rantings of a mad woman whose mind had been taken by this place.

The night before however he’d knocked it over and a page had spilled out, when he turned it over he found words jammed into the spaces between lines, upside down and swerved. It read, for my son: I love you.

Had she known he would end up here some day?

The question taunted him nearly as much as the secrets hidden within her grimoire, he’d come to the library with renewed purpose. August was looking for anything else that she might have written while she was here, or anything that might have been written about her. He knew now that she followed a dark path, one that she returned to when she came to Ashbourne, and one that August was content to follow as well until he unraveled the mystery surrounding her death.

August thought to one of the last conversations he’d had with the undertaker.

October 30, 2018

“What is the meaning of this!?”

August looked incredulous at the old man, how could a human possibly understand? That’s all the man was, just like his worthless father. An innocent man who’d been made to rot in prison. The lives of humans were so pliable, they could be shifted easily and forever altered from their intended course.

“I thought you’d left for the evening.” August asked, his childish sort of ambivalence to answering questions in a straightforward way had come to irritate the old man.

“I’ve told you before, I won’t stand for this. You’ve gone too far this time August.” The undertaker was a stern man, one who would not allow August to stray from the intended path of a Trillium Witch, at least not under his watch. He’d tried to assume to role of father figure, but

“You literally have no idea what you’re talking about, you’re just another ignorant old fool.” August shot, his eyes menacing as he gripped the knife he’d just been using to practice carving the symbols from his mother’s grimoire into a piece of skin he’d taken off a cadaver.

“It was a mistake taking you in. I’m going to turn you in for this.”

With a few short words the air was all but sucked from the man’s body as he was lifted off the ground. His skin sunk in as if he’d been petrified in a way, though August had merely woven a spell that would preserve him temporarily. August didn’t want to kill him, yet. “I’ve killed people for a lot less, if you think I’m going to allow you to turn me in, you’re mistaken.” Rarely did he perform magic in front of people, and even rarer still did they live long afterwards. Secrecy was very important to a witch.

He went through the motions of drawing a circle for banishment, it was a specialty of his, locking things away in a hidden place. One that he’d created a long time ago to hide the things that were worth hanging onto, or the things that could tie him to unfortunate deeds. From behind the old man’s bondage he was yelling, but it was little more than heated air against August’s resolve.

He shushed him.

“You should have just minded your own business, it didn’t need to end up like this. Really, I like you, we had a good thing going but, the truth is you never would’ve taken me in had you known I’d probably killed enough people to replace all those missing bodies in the grove.” August joked, he was always a bit unhinged in these moments. He couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“Anyways, this is it.”

He spoke the incantation and in a brilliant display of red light, the old man was sucked into himself and vanished. It was only good timing that the ceremony with the tree went wrong only days later, it made it that much easier to drop the still-living-breathing body in the path of a freshly turned berserker.

[clarenecessities]

Queerquiggle/Cybunnypoop

Subtitle: This Again

It’s been around two years since the shit hit the proverbial fan, but seeing as the individual in question has since deleted & remade, some of you may not be aware of whom you’re interacting with.

Queerquiggle & queerneopets are the latest installments in a series of urls belonging to one person, hereafter referred to as the original url, cybunnypoop. Other former urls for his neoblog include (but are not limited to): gaygelatin, shewhoneopetswiththee, neobloq, and candypaintbrush.

I should tell you all off the bat that he’s a Trump supporter, a “recovering” transphobe, and extremely Islamophobic, so this post may contain some upsetting information. There are some instances of misogyny, antisemitism, homophobia, and racism, as well. Oh, and ableism. Honestly, pick an -ism.

None of the information in this post should be a repeat of my first post regarding the matter. Warning: this post is even longer.

As before, I’d be remiss if I didn’t lay out my bias: I don’t like him. He’s been downgraded from “nemesis” to “nuisance,” as he’s no longer harassing minors (as far as I’m aware), but we’re never going to be best buddies.

We’ve spoken several times, though never to any resolution, and with each interaction it became increasingly obvious that it was futile. I ultimately blocked him following repeated propositioning and an unwillingness to engage beyond casting any disagreement as bullying and telling the kids to go back to their safe spaces.

Cybunnypoop is now 25 years old, and he hasn’t started anything major in a while. His posts remain fairly unpopular, though whether that’s the result of the quarantine or simple bad content, I couldn’t say. You’re under no obligation to take my word for any of this. Though I’ve provided links and screenshots where I can, what you make of that evidence is up to you.

TRANSPHOBIA

As it so happens, Cybunnypoop has recently tried listening to another human being, and has been educated about trans issues in a way that ~100 people on the internet offering resources apparently couldn’t accomplish.

What this means is that Cybunnypoop is now IDing with various names (itself nothing new, pseudonyms are an old hat here), gender identities, and pronouns, depending on the platform. I’m sticking with he/him for this post, as those were the last requested on his neopets blog. His description says shey/shem but unfortunately I have no idea how current that is, and his about says “whatever”–so if I’m misgendering here, I apologize; it is not intentional.

I, Clare, Author of This Post, am cis. So it’s not my place to gatekeep or say whether or not he’s ““really trans””. And, as he has expressly admitted to being transphobic in the past, none of this section is really up for debate. I’m just going to provide the information, including his apologies and the redaction thereof. I don’t know that he truly understands everything he did wrong, but he’s explicitly stated he thinks transphobia is bad, so hey, maybe we can all learn something.

I’m gonna try to keep this chronological, so here we go:

A fun little addition to a post via an anonymous terf, “You are still males, you have male privilege, you KNOW NOTHING & NEEVER [sic] WILL KNOW of our goddamn struggles.“ which Cybunnypoop began with “So much agree!”

When asked about the “trans bathroom debacle,” he stated he was, “just afraid it’ll result in sacrificing handicap-accesible bathrooms.” which is only tangentially transphobic but bears addressing: Why would it ever mean that?

Cybunnypoop has something of a preoccupation with the potential negative impact equity would have upon him, and ableism is a convenient vehicle for this–lord knows this country is appalling in terms of accessibility. However, no proposed version of “trans bathroom”s leads to the dissolution of ADA-compliant spaces. Whether it’s allowing trans people to use the bathroom they identify with, or installing/redesignating gender neutral spaces, it remains an issue of improved accessibility, not diminished. A disabled trans person has as much a right to use a bathroom as an able-bodied one.

When he graduated he was questioned on his political beliefs, specifically how he could support Trump and remaining uneducated about trans issues while claiming to be an LGBT ally–and congratulated on graduating. Rather than answering the questions, or thanking them for the congrats and ignoring the rest, Cybunnypoop declared it “harassment”. This is about the standard for what he deems harassment/bullying: Anything that disagrees with him.

Reposted a quote from Dixon Diaz, the alt right guy you may remember him quoting in several citations from my last post, which read, “Liberal: a person who tells you that you’re a bigot if you’re afraid of having weird men in the ladies room, but becomes traumatized if they see “Trump 2016” written in chalk.“ [sic]

trans people bad, diversity bad, children bad & trauma fake

An ongoing problem with fetishizing trans people, dating back long before his identification as trans, and indeed, during the period in which he was a self-avowed transphobe. (Warning: link contains slur!)

This grew more pronounced as he came to understand what it means to be trans, and zeroed in on transwomen in particular. This is itself a complex issue: When is a kink flattering and when is it dehumanizing? Are immutable adjectives inappropriate to fetishize, or is it positive representation?

Again, as a cis person, it isn’t my place to say–I’m just letting y’all know what he’s said, and you can determine how you feel about it. This post isn’t a thinkpiece on my opinions.

Select quotes from The Apology:

“I was transphobic. I was resistant to that term because I felt it was a misnomer. I was more…trans-ignorant, I felt, than “transphobic.” […] I couldn’t see what I was doing because I was too busy, I felt, being attacked.”

“I had a warped view of trans people, and I was too ignorant and stubborn to acknowledge it–to see it, even.”

“[…] it’s hard not to let a jerk taint your view of a minority, especially when that jerk was your introduction to the minority.“

I’ll be honest, my problem with this apology is in how it’s structured, not in its content. It seems to convey genuine remorse, but focuses the bulk of the message on excuses, including that last point, which… isn’t relatable.

Even this I could forgive (after all, he’s new to apologies) if it had heralded a change in attitude–but nothing changed. He continued on as before, and continued to refuse discussions of other issues (which we’re getting to soon).

Which brings us to The Second Apology:

Posted some day and a half after the first, it opens with the artfully passive aggressive line, “I thought this could be over but it’s obviously going to stick around.” And it’s all downhill from there, folks!

“What do you want? What more can I say? There isn’t anything left to say. Nothing will satisfy some people.”

“I never bullied anyone like some do to me.“

“If you don’t want to believe I am different,[…] then the problem is not mine. In these cases, it is a good idea for you to stop talking about me and lying about me“

Here is a glimpse, perhaps, into what he expected. He was waiting for accolades. Commendation. He’d just apologized–and unlike earlier attempts, it was genuine! I don’t know that he anticipated forgiveness, but the outright rejection of that apology by several individuals drove him almost immediately into a bitter tirade, once again foisting the blame onto the people he had hurt or offended.

Aaaand a redaction of former apologies. Unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be a date on this one, so it may be referring to the older apologies, but its content bears addressing:

“Yeah, I apologised like a year ago […], and they refused it, so I’m done apologizing–not that I even have anything to apologise for.

“I’ll sooner die than acknowledge and apologise for their demented reconstructions of my words.“

Which, if this is about the older apologies–oops!

“I won’t deny I said some things that people found offensive, […] but they just took everything and ran apedoodie with it. It amazes me that, for all they claim to hate me, they have this obsession with everything I do and say.”

This is actually fairly emblematic of my own interactions with Cybunnypoop: Specifically, the characterization of all attention as both positive, and obsessive.

What is it about being held responsible for his actions that leads him to cry wolf? Historically, an unwillingness to debate his political beliefs. Oh, he’ll espouse Trump’s “virtues” for paragraphs and paragraphs, but anyone who criticizes him is obviously a liberal idiot who just loves to hate him, and I’ll bet they say “lame,” right? It’s these assumptions about other people that lead him so often to tilt at windmills, rather than addressing the subject at hand.

RACISM

“Obama spending $21 million to put refugees to work…why not spend that money in the inner cities to put young blacks to work… once again Obama and the Democrats have proved the black community is their who’re [sic] because we always come back to them after they screw us” a quote he posted from a Facebook page I won’t even name, because it’s literally got the N-word in it! But he’s definitely not a racist, right?

Obama being (literally) booted out of office, by a Confederate battle flag, symbol of white supremacy since the 1960s. (There’s been some suggestion it’s in the classic minstrel show style. Though he forwent the traditional depiction of red/pink lips in favor of purple, there remains the possibility that he just can’t draw caricatures).

I’m going to address this post more in the ableism section, but it’s worth noticing how often, and how readily, he uses the word c*lored unprompted. This is not the first occasion.

More lambasting of whitewashing as a concept, sarcastically proposing we paint a black person white and mutilate them to better portray Michael Jackson (whom he refers to as ‘Wacko Jacko’, an ableist and derogatory nickname) apparently under the impression that there are no other black men with vitiligo.

I think it’s important to cover this, as from Cybunnypoop’s posts suggesting we be outraged at the “yellow-washing” of Joan Watson (see my previous post) it’s clear that he has no idea what whitewashing means.

It is not literally painting POC white.

The term whitewashing is derived from cheap white paint of chalked lime, used for a long time to refer to a specific means of censorship, “to gloss over or cover up vices, crimes or scandals or to exonerate by means of a perfunctory investigation or through biased presentation of data”. Simply put, it’s revisionist history, and the methods used to maintain that illusory timeline.

It isn’t difficult to see how the term came to be applied to the representative censorship in Hollywood.

Shared a Facebook graphic, “Black people who were never slaves are fighting white people who were never Nazis over a confederate statue erected by democrats, and why, because democrats can’t stand their own history anymore and somehow it’s Trumps Fault? [sic]“

“Also, you see Blacks everywhere, but they’re still considered a minority.” (He appended some context but frankly it’s even more damning.)

The term “spirit animal” is annoying but not because it’s racist, I guess

ISLAMOPHOBIA

Cybunnypoop’s Islamophobia is tied in pretty heavily with his support of Trump, so I’ll be citing a few of those posts in this section as well.

“Ban seven countries’ worth of ideology which promotes violence against women, LGBT people, animals, and nonworshippers? Sounds good to me!”

The cognitive dissonance of a self-avowed Catholic posting this is… incredible.

“Sorry to inform you, but the terrorists who attacked New York, Boston, Orlando, our embassies, and others weren’t Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Jews, or atheists. They were Muslims.

“It’s not Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, or atheism which oppresses women, slaughters animals, kills gays, and calls for the conversion or beheading of nonbelievers. It’s Islam.

“Until the ideology evolves to be as peaceful and tolerant as it claims, it doesn’t belong in America.”

There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s begin by refuting Trump’s claims that “the vast majority of individuals convicted of terrorism and terrorism-related offenses since 9/11 came here from outside of our country.” Plain old xenophobia, not even in the ballpark of truth. Over the past 15 years, none of the self-described Muslim terrorists committing crime have come from the countries on Trump’s ban list. Zero. The country producing the most successful attacks against the USA is the USA itself.

A basic look at the data further reveals that white supremacist, self-described Christian terrorists actually lead the rate of attack and death toll by about 2:1. Yet, bizarrely, nothing from Cybunnypoop about the ‘violence and intolerance’ of Christianity, or even white supremacy… Who saw that coming?

It speaks to Cybunnypoop’s prejudice that he would believe such a blatantly false piece of information with no investigation or critical thought whatsoever. Although, it may speak more to his unwillingness/inability to use Google. We have had some problems with that in the past. 

“Dear Liberals: [sic] You claim to protect women. You claim to protect LGBT. [sic] You claim to protect animals. You claim to protect people who don’t ascribe to the dominant faith. But you’re protecting a violently misogynistic, homophobic, intolerant ideology which still slaughters animals in the name of their god and beheads people who worship otherwise. What the *** is wrong with you?”

Man, for derailing conversations so often to complain about perfectly valid modal grammar he sure loves breaking the English language.

When asked how he could still support Trump, he replied, “Because he hasn’t actually said or done anything wrong. The only thing with which I disagree was the transgender military ban, and that has been shot down, so it’s hardly relevant.”

Particularly in conjunction with his condemnation of liberals on the basis of not like, banning Islam, this is an explicit endorsement of everything from repealing the Alternative Tax Minimum to his sexual misconduct. Everything, except the one thing that directly affects one of Cybunnypoop’s demographics, was right.

HOMOPHOBIA

“I’m not like others in the LGBT spectrum. [bolding mine]

“I hadn’t cared for gay marriage nor had I especially cared to support the cause. […] I’ll fight for the welfare of the many before I’ll fight for the wishes of the few.”

(Well, historically, no, he won’t). Even without the implication that all the gay people who want to get married are selfish, this ignores the reason behind the push for the legalization of gay marriage: The AIDS crisis. Terminally ill gay men were forcibly evicted from their homes after watching their partners die, horribly, because they couldn’t inherit the lease/property. Their partners’ remains were the custody of parents who often wouldn’t allow the survivor to attend the funeral.

Up until gay marriage was legalized on a federal level, these incidents still occurred. One Indiana woman had to pay over $300,000 in taxes upon the death of her wife, and was told by the funeral home she could not arrange for her wife’s cremation as she was an “unrelated third party,” despite having the power of attorney. This is a significant concern.

“I don’t care for "pride.” I’ve actually started to loathe the undertones of the pride movement. […] is it truly worthy of a month and a gold star? […] I think it’s losing relevancy. Can we really celebrate something that’s no longer legally unique? Can we really have pride for… wait, what is it we’re proud of, anyway? We’re legally equal now; we’re socially equal, for the most part.” [bolding mine]

I don’t know if he forgot the homophobia he’s experienced, or if it just doesn’t matter unless it happened it to him.

“The next time someone asks you why LGBT Pride marches exist or why Gay Pride Month is June tell them ‘A bisexual woman named Brenda Howard thought it should be.’“ -Tom Limoncelli

“Another thing–and the most loathsome part–about the “pride movement” concerns the very word itself. “Pride” …be proud of who you are, and be proud of not caring what others think of you. Fine. Sure. It’s fun to wildly flaunt your differences. But what’s the opposite of “pride”? “Shame.” So, if gays are to have pride, does that mean straights are to have shame?”

So why are we to be entitled to pride–why are we allowed to feel good about ourselves and they are not? […] The majority are not oppressive, and even if they wanted to be, they legally couldn’t. 

Good news guys, homophobia is dead and definitely super illegal.

“(Never mind the fact that pride is a negative, narcissistic trait and one of the Seven Deadly Sins.)” [bolding mine]

(We interrupt this post to bring you his “Antipridist Pride”)

“While it seems most of the LGB world makes their sexuality their entire identity, I leave it as just one facet of many.“ Once again, he’s not like Those Other Gays.

“ I’ll bet I pissed off a lot of gays with this post, but I don’t care, and I’m proud of not caring.“ (proceeds to describe the LGBT community as loud, angry, straight-bashing, etc. for a good paragraph or so, obviously very much caring)

That’s enough of that post, huh? Let’s move on.

“I know that a lot of the LGBT community is hypocritical–and intolerantly, angrily so. They scream about others giving them tolerance and respect while they don’t give others such basic rights.

“If there’s Black Pride, why couldn’t there be Caucasian Pride? Gay Pride, Straight Pride.“

As I broke down in my last post, Caucasian≠white, and was first misapplied by white supremacists and popularized by actual, literal Nazis. He evidently doesn’t care, and claims I “created” it. (I can assure you, I haven’t been alive since 1785).

“Is it me, or are there actually very few good gay celebrities?”

Doesn’t like the term “lesbian” because its “image is too pornified”. As I understand it this is fairly common among those who were raised in more conservative or religious families, so it’s not an issue per se; it just becomes weird in conjunction with his wanting to be called a dyke at one point (though I can’t find the post where he said that explicitly, only ones where he describes himself as such).

Said he’d expected Ted Cruz to be a “gay prostitute” because he gave off untrustworthy vibes.

MISOGYNY

As I’m sure most of you are aware, Cybunnypoop is pro-life. From certain parties, that can be motivated by misinformation rather than misogyny (though certainly the misogyny drives that misinformation). In his case? Well, actually only about 75% misogyny. The other 25% is empathizing with fetuses just until they’re born. Idk if it’s because of his parental situation or his existential dread or what, but we’re not here to psychoanalyze him; we’re here to review.

“It’s a point which I make constantly. It’s not hard to not get pregnant. You have a variety of options. There’s birth control. There’s getting your man snipped […]. And there is one absolutely fool-proof, sperm-proof way: ABSTINENCE. It’s stupidly simple, but there are self-righteous women and men out there who say–if you’ll pardon my pun–screw that. Free sex, rah rah. But if you don’t want to “risk” a baby, don’t do the do. There are plenty more things to do in life.”

Yeah, it may be “stupidly simple” for an “asexual homosexual” but other people do, in fact, get horny. “There’s birth control.” Where? You gonna pay for it? You gonna talk their “man” into getting a vasectomy? Pay for that?

I want you all to keep in mind that this is the same person who waxed poetic about his addiction to porn. And hentai. Which he downloaded in a public library, because he was just that addicted. But if someone (god forbid) “does the do,” and their birth control fails? Well, too bad. You should have been able to control your libido.

When Trump was elected he had the following to say:

“This is a time for healing.” No, this is a time for you to suck it up. You may not have wanted this result, but I and half of the country did. So, instead of bitching and moaning and trying to undo what I and half of the country have been working hard for, you need to shut the fuck up, go to school, work, or volunteer, and stop being an intolerant, selfish, hypocritical asshole.

Frankly this could go in a lot of sections but it’s using bitch pejoratively so…

Honestly there are more instances but I feel like you get the picture and this thing is already absurdly long, so we’re going to move along.

ANTI-SEMITISM

On screenshots of a neoboard discussing the origins of the ichthys symbol (the Jesus fish), Cybunnypoop added, apropos of nothing, “Hey, how about the fact that Christianity was originally illegal while Judaism was lawful, and the early Christians had to hold some Jewish mores so they wouldn’t be arrested and executed? Interesting, isn’t it…” and tagged it “two can play at that game”.

Christians weren’t being persecuted for not being Jewish; they were being persecuted for refusing to participate in state events from which the Jews were exempt via religious tradition. Christians were too new to be considered traditional, and were therefore considered in contempt of the state when they refused to, say, make a sacrifice on behalf of the Emperor. Also, we called each other brother & sister but still got married, and spoke weekly about eating a man alive, so people were kind of concerned.

Also, like, it was an explicitly socialist religion in an empire. That was never going to end well. The “mores” they had to hold were “don’t be anti-fascist” and “stop meeting in secret, we don’t know who you are and it’s freaking us out,” neither of which is explicitly Jewish and neither of which you can blame the Jews for.

Pretty minor, but in a poorly executed attempt to be inclusive, he wished everyone a happy Easter & Passover at the same time, only to be informed that Passover wouldn’t be happening for a month. So more about the assumption that Jews are lesser Christians again than any direct hostility. Perhaps better evidence of his ignorance of Jewish customs/how to hit “search” on Google.

 ABLEISM

Here there be slurs!

Alright. We’re going to begin this with a breakdown of the “lame” issue. Here’s the thing: Cybunnypoop hates it. He compares it (ceaselessly) to the r slur, which he uses liberally in his own defense.

I’m certainly not saying it isn’t a slur, or that you should use it, but to be frank, he’s wrong.

In both severity and time in which it’s been part of the English vernacular, lame is far more akin to other ableist slurs like “dumb,” “stupid,” “moron,” “idiot,”–all words which Cybunnypoop uses on the regular. The closest comparison we have to the r slur would be “cr*ppled”–which Cybunnypoop quotes on the regular.

Dumb is the closest analogue, as those middle three weren’t really popular until the American Eugenics Movement kicked in, but hey. If it bothers him so much, why say any of them?

Simply because, it only bothers him when it affects him directly and is said by his enemy.

For example, no problem whatsoever quoting Trump’s book, Cr*ppled America.

Here he calls someone ableist scum for calling him the r slur, yet here he mocks another’s offense at the term by comparing it to modern medical jargon.

Atheists and Liberals [sic] are “dumb”

“entirely okay” with the R slur

This post, which was also in the racism section, littered with fun slurs and what’s either blatant hypocrisy (see: his regular use of words like dumb/stupid) or one of the most incredible point-dodges I’ve ever seen.

Now we get into a recurring theme, with a recurring character. The problem with most of Cybunnypoop’s legitimate criticisms (e.g. lame is a slur, accessibility is bullshit) is that they’re never even googled, let alone researched, and that they come, 9 times out of 10, at the expense of another minority. Or, through sheer ignorance, one of his own.

“Trans people get [famous trans people]. Gay people get [famous gay people]. Black people get [famous black people]. Who do I get? I get Joe Swanson.”

“While everyone’s battling over how to bend backwards and make others comfortable, I’m just sitting here, cursing out the ungrateful bastards because there are places I can’t even ACCESS. […] And never mind the fact that there is no good disabled representation out there. You know who I get to look up to? Joe frickin’ Swanson. It’s so nice to be a forgotten minority. [bolding his]

Joe Swanson, for those of you who (like me) have no idea who that is, is a character on Family Guy in a wheelchair. This begs the question: Why do you need to shit on other groups and their representation to acknowledge how bad you have it?

There are dozens of famous disabled people I can name off the top of my head. Stephen Hawking, Hellen Keller, Beethoven, Lord Byron, FDR, Frida Kahlo, Sudha Chandran, John Milton–a cursory Google search reveals even more. Saying there are no famous disabled people is a shitty fucking thing to do, both because you’re erasing their accomplishments and you’re depriving other disabled people of that representation by pretending it doesn’t exist. Spreading misinformation so you can complain that everyone else is better off than you specifically is just plain cruel.

“I’m so sick and tired of society catering to race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, but never giving a thought to people with disabilities. We don’t get a slice of the “diversity” pie.“

Catering to. … Catering to.

“Until our society can grow to acknowledge, accept, and represent the diverse world of disabilities, then we don’t have true equality and diversity.”

Like… he could have just made a post saying this. I mean, we have diversity regardless of equality, but that’s semantics. We don’t have to tear down other minorities to be heard. There’s enough “pie” for everyone.

Society: You should accept everyone regardless of sex, culture, gender, sexuality, race, class, ethnicity, economic status Person: What about disabled people? Society: Huh?

I’m not a big fan of his little infographics, primarily because he uses them exclusively as a platform to strawman himself, but this one in particular is uh, frustrating. If he’s speaking about popular society, very few people accept all the groups he listed, particularly class/economic status. If he’s speaking about our country….

Federal protected classes include: Race, color, religion/creed, national origin/ancestry, sex, age, physical or mental disability, veteran status, genetic information, citizenship. 

It’s the same story.

WHAT YOU CAN DO:

BLOCK HIM. Do not reblog his content. Stop him preemptively from reblogging yours. Do not engage with him. 

If you try to debate him, he will probably call you a bully, and you will probably get some not-so-mysterious anons. You will definitely be unable to reach a resolution. I know of at least one individual who’s attempting to “rehabilitate” him, so I guess we’ll see how that goes? I’d be genuinely delighted.

Reblog this post if you can, to spread the word.

Educate yourself about the issues addressed in this post. If you have questions, my inbox is always open.

I am not infallible, and I will also make mistakes. Please bring these to my attention immediately and they will be addressed.

This is a much less urgent situation than the previous post, as he’s (mostly) stopped harassing people, but you have a right to be aware of whom you’re interacting with. Whether you block him or befriend him or whatever is up to you, and I hope whatever choice you make is the right choice for you.

[today-only-happens-once]

What got you into writing in the first place and what are your favorite aspects of it?

Whoo this is a loaded question. I’ll probably ramble for days. Sorry, anon! But here goes:

My sister, @creativenostalgiastuff, is the one who got me into fanfiction writing specifically. Before that I’d always loved reading and making up stories, but fanfiction is what really set me on the writing path and made it a true passion for me. She introduced me to the idea of it since she wrote it herself. I dabbled in it a bit, but got more deeply involved in it like 8 years ago when I started writing it for The Outsiders fandom. I guess I just never really looked back, after that. Some years I wrote more than others, but I’ve been writing fanfic off and on for like 9 years total? I’ve dabbled a bit in original writing as well. Entered a writing competition in high school that I did reasonably well in, took some creative writing classes (one in high school, one in college), etc. The bulk of my writing remains fanfic, though.

What is my favorite aspect of writing? That’s almost impossible for me to say. Part of it is that it’s something I can always get better at, which feeds into my thirst for learning and leaves me literally endless opportunities for growth. I think that fact helps keep me humble and eager when it comes to writing.

Another part–perhaps bigger and more important for me–is just how much of myself I’ve learned through writing. I have used writing to get me through some of the roughest moments of my life, and I continue to use it in that way. It helps me process things and gives my emotions a healthy outlet when I need it. Writing has helped me become more empathetic. It has been tremendously, impossibly good for me. I do not know who I would be if I’d never taken up writing like I have. 

This response is already much longer than anyone probably cares to read but I feel I have to list one last favorite thing about writing: when it means something to someone else. I’ve seen it a few times with some Sides fics I’ve written, but it always is incredibly humbling and moving when someone tells me that something I wrote meant something real to them. The best example of that I have is the response I received when I wrote and posted Break. That fic came from a pretty emotional place (I cried while I was writing it at one point, which I’d only done once before ever in 9 years of writing) but the repsonses I got on it about how it meant something real and honest to so many of you… that was so deeply moving and humbling to me. I can’t quite explain the kind of gratitude or emotion that elicited from me as I read how you all reacted. I’m gonna get a bit emotional thinking about that again. And knowing that, just maybe, one day I could write a book that could mean something like that to someone else? There are no words for what that means to me. 

Come chat with me about writing?

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Daily Hum, and Tribal Drums

I had to adult the other day, and this is basically a piece I wrote to distract myself before my anxiety got the best of me. I’d like to make a shout out to @xerxezra whose Doofus Rick x OC fic is fantastic. If you haven’t read it, then please check it out. It’s a masterpiece!

Anyway, in this fic, the reader just wants a little peace after a stressful morning dealing with paperwork.

_______________

You hated paperwork almost as much as you hated hospitals, and baby gaps. It was either this form or that form, and the incorrect this or that. If only you lived in the mountains somewhere, beyond cities, past any sort of recognizable dwelling, where it would be just you, and perhaps a companion, and lived out the rest of your days listening to the music of the forest. Of course, these were the musings of your writer’s mind at work, trying to craft for itself a calming environment at from the monotony of white walls, and droll speeches of legalities.

With a huff, you waited as you were told in the waiting area. Oh, you were glad that dad wasn’t around to have to deal with this foolishness which he had unknowingly forsaken you with. These last several years, you had dealt with the various complications involving the deed for your house, dad’s life insurance, and taxes. You were a good, law abiding citizen, so what the hell was with all the paperwork? You figured there must have been a screw up somewhere, or perhaps your filed forms had become someone’s confetti.

Either way, it was going to be a long day.

Lobby after lobby, office spaces, terrible coffee, and endless rugs, it was a day of indoor nothingness which left you annoyed, and with a dull ache of anxiety. The only highlights of your day were your great jokes, the pat down by security, and the one spider who hung on for dear life in the corner of one of the bathrooms. When it was all over, you walked around downtown, and tried to calm yourself. You were slightly hungry, and thought about grabbing a cup of hot chocolate, but the line to that one place was too long. Ugh, where was a ray of sunshine when you needed one?

_________

You rode the trolley down a few blocks, mostly to kill time. It was set to be an uneventful ride, and you weren’t really paying attention to anything, or anyone in particular. You had your notebook out, jotting down the outline of a story idea you just got. The people around you were off no consequence, neither was the the driver or your surroundings, until the trolley got stuck behind a UPS truck. Perhaps the driver was bored, or wanted tips, but the moment he started to sing an Elvis tune, you looked through your wallet to find a few dollars for the tip box.

After his second song, you stopped nearby a little coffee shop.

It didn’t seem as pretentious as the other place, and seeing as it wasn’t crowded, you wondered if Zeta-7 would enjoy this place. The color scheme inside reminded you of a daycare center. A quick glance at the menu reminded you that these people must have been professionals, but it still wasn’t as intimidating as some other coffee places tended to be. Hmm, no matter where Zeta-7 currently was, it would soon be break time, and you were willing to give this place a try; perhaps he’d like to join you.

Rick wasn’t picky when it came to coffee, but you knew there were certain places he avoided. Claustrophobic, cramped, crowded places were a no go. Yet, even if he didn’t get out much, except for the places the citadel sent him to work, you thought this laid back little shop with its quirky furniture, and yummy looking cakes would suit him. Oh, but you might be bothering him again with something so trivial. You stared down at your cellphone, and went over the reasons why you should and shouldn’t call, but in the end you did.

When he answered, you heard what sounded like drumming, and you asked Rick if he could meet you at the coffee shop during his break. He hesitated at first, but after a random Rick yelled alcohol fueled obscenities in the background, he agreed.

_____________

Books lined the furthermost wall. Many were cheap copies of the classics, others were well loved almanacs, encyclopedias, magazines, and a few dictionaries. You picked a few you’d thought would be good, but replaced them when you couldn’t get past the first page. Usually, you picked your books like how you preferred your men; well read, a little worn, and full of heart.

Bulk sized bags of coffee beans sat in the corner nearest the register. And on top of the counter were muffins, cookies, and a tempting coconut cake. The cake had to be good, considering how moist the layers looked, and the cookies must have been yummy, or the muffins soft. It was hard to choose, considering Rick enjoyed most sweets, but in the end you went for the coconut cake.

For drinks, the barista was able to make you a soy hot chocolate, and a cup of coffee for Rick. Served in cups with cute little phrases, that sat on top of dishes, which had been hand painted by children from the nearby elementary school, you felt your spirits rising. The table you chose had a dizzy, spiral pattern, with matching chairs. In a few minutes, Zeta-7 would show up, and you’d made sure your hair looked fine, before going back to sit and wait. Of course, you wouldn’t have to wait long, but while waiting, you watched people walk by.

In this district, you tended to see higher class folk. Well dressed ladies with their Louis Vuittons, men in business suits carrying their overpriced coffees, fashionable young people, and the scattered regular folk. For the most part you didn’t belong in this city, but it didn’t matter if you didn’t drive a fancy sports car, or carry a designer purse; in this little odd ball café, you seemed to fit in. You chatted a little with the staff, sharing thoughts on literature, music, and food. You had come to find out that this place was famous for its laid-back approach, especially in the city where they were surrounded by skyscrapers.

It was understandable, everyone needed to run away every once and a while, and it made you laugh a little.

When the bell above the door rang, you raised your head to see someone had come in. A tall man, walking barefoot, with a full grass skirt, henna tattoos which decorated his arms in flowery, geometrical patterns, in what appeared to be a long mathematical equations was heading your way. About his shoulders was the skin of a three headed fox, and a cape made from what appeared to be chainmail in the shape of stars, flowed down his back. You knew there was a theatre nearby, and it’s actors liked to eat at the popular restaurants, but you had a feeling you knew this guy.

It wasn’t until he sat down, chuckled nervously, and lifted the smiling sun mask, that it hit you; this was Zeta-7. How amusing that the destinies were to send you the bright, and ever so delightful guy of your affections, with a literal sun mask. And to see his smiling face, covered in a shimmering, galaxy blue face makeup, was heartwarming. The earrings he wore looked like tiny galaxies, and to your astonishment they were, though he was only wearing them for safekeeping until the case he was currently working on was resolved.

Considering it was a Monday, business at the café was slow, which was to Ricks advantage, since the staff didn’t seem to mind his state of dress; neither did you. However, to protect him, you lied and told them Zeta-7 was trying to stay in character for his latest role. Rick apologized for his appearance, but he had just come from inside a microverse battery, where one of the residents had come into an altercation with a Rick who wasn’t supposed to be there. His bangles, carved from a fragrant wood, were but concealed devices, each with a different function you weren’t allowed to know about.

You worried someone would walk in, and rant about Ricks social, and cultural inappropriateness, but it never happened.

Rarely had you seen him in these costumes they made him wear in special missions, but it was a treat to listen to the clatter of his bracelets, smell a whiff of the incense he had burned, or to watch him try to sit without letting anything show throw the thickness of his skirt. Carefully, he sipped his coffee, leaving but tiny smudges in the rim. You didn’t want to stare, well at least not more then usual, but there was something compelling about this look, like you were watching a different version of him. You couldn’t hold his hand since you didn’t want to mess up the sprouting lotuses tattoos shaped from repeated phrases written in leet. Neither did you want to accidentally set of one of the devices disguised as rings.

Yet, you two linked pinkies and you asked how his day was.

From his sighs, you figured it must have been frustrating, more so than yours. Some time ago, you had learned, that unless asked, Rick would refrain from readily telling you how bad things had gone, or of the vile things the other Ricks tried to do to him when they were inebriated. This time, it wasn’t so much how the Ricks were treating him, but how they were handling the situation. In more or less words, once the other Ricks had seen the reason for the altercation, they weren’t in a rush to solve the case. To you, it meant you probably weren’t going to see him for a few days, unless it was during his break, or for a few seconds to hug you before leaving.

Neither of you were very happy about this, but he wasn’t going to let this ruin your day. There were good things, like the new species of flora and fauna he had discovered while searching for firewood. And there was the moment of mutual understanding among the Ricks when he stopped them from eating a poisonous fungus one of the other Ricks thought was edible. You were proud of him, and he was relieved to hear that your day while stressful, wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be.

When you finished your drink, you set about touching up your lipstick. You giggled when you noticed how entranced he was when you reapplied it, though this time in his favorite shade of red. Using your mirror, Rick, discovered to his disappointment, that he had smudged some important markings which protected him. Turns out, the creatures from the particular microverse he had come from were afraid of mathematical equations, but were respectful of numbers and various associated symbols.

If it wasn’t already obvious, Zeta-7 was playing the character of a medicine man of sorts, speaking with the creatures, working as mediator, healer, and translator. You weren’t an artist, but you had steady hands, so you offered your assistance in any way you could. The areas where the mask had come in contact with the skin were the trouble areas. You touched up where his makeup had faded a little. His brow which was covered in small crystals, you glued some more in the areas where they had fallen off.

Around his eyes, was silver eyeliner, which you were careful not to get in his eyes. With his lashes, you touched up the top lashes with white mascara, the bottom lashes with yellow. Then, you told him to pucker up, so you could apply his lipstick evenly. Those brilliant, laughing, electric blue eyes followed your movements, eating up all this attention, and you felt your breath caught. There was something so attractive, so pure about a guy who wasn’t ashamed to wear coral blue number 2 lipstick.

It was admirable that he had taken on a role which might have made him initially uncomfortable, but had given him the freedom to do great things, while doing his job. At times, you weren’t exactly sure what his job was, but it seemed he had to do an awful lot. Being away from civilized society, he had lost some weight, leaving his cheeks more gaunt. Poor man, if only he would just leave that job, but it wasn’t your decision to make. Still, you expressed your concerns.

Pained, he made promises to make it up to you any way he could. With all the frantic gestures of his apology, you caught sight of the repetitive phrases written in the insides of his arms. In a low voice, he whispered that it was a phrase which had come from your last book.

! 1!\/3 +0 10\/3, 4|\||) 134|2|\|3|) +0 1!\/3

1 l1v3 70 l0v3, 4nd l34rn3d 70 l1v3

Both variations of the phrase which translated to:

I live to love, and learned to live.

You were impressed, as well as surprised that being the genius he was, would actually read one of your lame romance novels. You tended to be critical of your works, more critical than the online commenters. Honestly, he liked it so much, he had written a dissertation on why he thought it had been one of your best. As hard as it was to believe, you accepted his encouragement, and would read the thesis when you got home.

_______

The equations, when solved gave numbers, these numbers formed words, these words were either scattered or linked together to form phrases, some of which were in Spanish, or Latin. It was fascinating trying to decode them, but you weren’t a math wiz, and you’d be there for hours if it weren’t for Rick explaining their significance. His enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself adding touches of emoticons, hearts, and little designs which contained the accepted symbols. When your had finished touching up the markings in his inner palms, you stood back and looked him over.

The barista agreed that Rick needed a little more something to balance it all out. You couldn’t put your finger on it either, but there was something missing that would complete the look. When you searched your makeup bag, you found your shimmer powder. Perhaps it could work.

With a kabuki brush, you applied it to his arms, collarbone, highlighted his cheeks, and forehead. Now that you thought about it, he had a sort of Avatar kind of glow. After you had finished, you took a few pics, even if he fidgeted in his seat. Zeta-7 wasn’t fond of his looks in comparison to other Ricks, but you took pics whenever you could. If he didn’t think he was attractive because a bunch of Rick’s told him he wasn’t, then they were the ones that needed their eyes checked.

Your darling boyfriend, the adorkable,plant loving, scientist, you regarded him with loyal, tender affection. And while the fairer sex did not look upon him with libidinous awareness, you were going to remind him of how attractive and alluring he was. You had an intense awareness of him, conscious of every breath he took, of his mobile features, recognized every nuance in his reflections. For your part, you wanted to remember these charming, precious, captivating moments, and remember him like this, as the sweet creature who lit up your life.

Seeing as his hair was a little messy, but nonetheless untouched, you ruffled it, giggling as he hummed like a happy feline. You moved your chair closer, just to be near him, despite the obvious disgust from the only other customer. Who cared about what other people thought, for these moments, and Zeta-7s companionship had become your delight. Being this close, he could show you some of the pictures he had taken.

You were enchanted by the size and coloration of the trees, of the zoomed picture of the soil, and sand grains. It was amusing to watch the short video of a Rick, who was wrestling with a sand worm, while Zeta-7 played a flute to try to calm it. How lovely, that he could add worm tamer to his skill set. When he put his phone away, you asked him why he hadn’t finished his cake.

The dessert itself, had been very fine, one of the nicest Rick had ever had, but he pushed the plate your way, telling you he wanted you to have it, since the last bite always tasted the best. Damn it, it should have been illegal to be this cute in public. You turned your face away, trying to hide your blush. Honestly, he had just made you so freaking happy, but you weren’t sure what to say, or do with yourself.

Zeta-7, mistaking your silence for displeasure, started to apologize, but you shook your head. You couldn’t find the right words, they all seemed to come out as a jumbled mess. With furrowed brow, he asked if you needed to take your medication. No, you said, all you just needed was a few minutes to collect yourself. Every time you thought you knew him, he’d do something which worked you up, and made you dumbfounded.

It wasn’t necessarily bad, you just felt emotional.

This man, who was impossibly sweet, was a treasure, one of a kind, and you didn’t deserve him. Yet, he appeared to love you, so you didn’t see why you had to lack confidence. You inched closer, and whispered in his ear, telling him that he was being too adorable for his own good. And with a toothy grin, he thanked you for the kind words.

Reassured by his soft words, the relief you felt made you tear up. The other customer scoffed on his way out, but you ignored him. It hurt when people just didn’t get what it was you had with Rick. It didn’t matter if his eyes didn’t always line up, or if he wore blue eyeshadow way better than you could, but this man was beautiful. You loved him inside and out, and it didn’t seem like there was ever enough time when you two were together.

Before you knew it, his cellphone rang, and he frowned knowing it was time to go. With a soft smile, Zeta-7 hooked your pinky, and made promise to call later. And you helped him replace his mask, and he set the coordinates on his portal gun. Before he left, you thanked him for adding a little sunshine to your day, and sealed your promise with a kiss upon the masks lips, to be ready to answer your phone whenever he did happen to call.

[ivegotsomethingtosay]

A Series of Unfortunate Events (opinion piece)

From Page to Screen to Screen... Again...

Normally, this would be the point in the week where I’d post a movie review, but seeing as nothing very interesting came out this weekend, I decided to try something new. Today, I’ll be looking at both the 2004 movie and recent Netflix TV adaptations of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, and seeing how they each hold up against the books on which they’re based. Sure, there’s about a dozen other articles/video essays that I can think of off the top of my head that deal with the same question of “which is better,” but being that I’m such a big fan of the books, I figured I’d throw my hat into the ring, an expression which here means: “write a big long think piece for my blog that nobody reads because I’m bored at work.”

So anyway, there seemed to be a general sigh of relief when Netflix dropped their long-awaited adaptation of the classic 21st century children’s series, which was seen by many as a sort of apology for the crimes committed by the 2004 Jim Carey version. “UGH,” said the collective millennial public, “FINALLY we get a proper adaptation of these books I haven’t picked up in over a decade!” The whole thing felt eerily similar to the reaction against the Star Wars prequels when The Force Awakens came out almost two years ago (holy shit, it’s been almost two years hasn’t it?) The fact is, no matter which side of either debate you stand on, it’s impossible to deny that we’ve backed ourselves into something of a corner when it comes to judging movies/television on its own merits. Save for the occasional original gem, the vast majority of modern entertainment is comprised of re-workings and re-hashes of material that’s previously existed in some form or another, meaning it’s impossible to analyze said material without at least discussing its fidelity to the original source, and close to impossible to not let that influence how you think about it on its own. No, you CAN’T like Episode I because Jar-Jar isn’t nearly as funny a Chewbacca. No, you CAN’T say Game of Thrones is better than the books because Daario’s hair isn’t blue in the TV series (seriously, this is the shit people argue about now-a-days).

And now, it appears not even A Series of Unfortunate Events is safe, which is really *ahem* unfortunate, considering Dan Handler’s 13-part YA saga might be one of the best things to happen to children’s literature since… ever. No, seriously, go back an pick up one of those books. Dust it off and shower yourself with some of with wittiest, most (literally) devastatingly brilliant writing this side of Oscar Wilde. For those who grew up with the Baudelaire orphans, these books were a watershed. Not only did they accomplish the insurmountable task of actually getting us to read on our own when we were 9-years old, but they taught us all the hard lessons about life, death, and morality that the adults were too scared to mention even amongst themselves.

So yeah, of course we were going to get a movie with a $150 million budget once they were selling in the same leagues as Harry Potter. And yeah, of course we were going to get a Netflix series once streaming gave us the opportunity to do long-form storytelling on a large canvas without spending $150 million. Which one of them is better? Neither, if you ask me, but I’d argue that bashing them in relation to each-other and/or in relation to the books isn’t going to get us anywhere. A “Cinema Sins” video is going to take us nowhere on the journey to analyzing great art, or even appreciating it. And if there’s anything to come out of the zeitgeist in the last couple of decades that could clarify as great art, it’s A Series of Unfortunate Events.

To start, I want to talk about what each of these adaptations do right. I’ll come right off the bat and say that I love both the show and the movie for many different reasons, and that even though the books will always hold the top spot in my mind, they hold that spot for reasons that go beyond some bullshit like whether Klaus wears glasses or not.

The show, for one, covers a lot of ground. I really despise judging an adaptation on how much they cut out of the source material (more on that later), but there’s something to admire about how closely Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events sticks to the books. Four novels in and it seems like everything on the page has ended up on screen and then some. Adapting for long form television has given the showrunners (one of whom is Handler himself) to actually expand on the story, something rarely seen even in our Game of Thrones age. The argument of whether or not the show “gets the books right” is rendered almost completely irrelevant because it IS the books, just with Neil Patrick Harris. We get to witness all the stuff we’ve been picturing in our mind for years, we get to see the Lucky Smells Lumber Mill come to life, we get to experience going to the movies with Uncle Monty. I think a lot of the reason fans responded so well to the show was because it reflected the books so slavishly, giving us exactly what we asked for by giving us everything we asked for, all at once. It reminded me a lot of the PBS Pride and Prejudice in that it was difficult not to be a fan of the book and not be a fan of the show for no other reason than the show treated the book as a Bible.

The film, on the other hand, is two hours long. Not only that, but it spends those two hours going through the first three novels in the series, something that takes close to six hours in Netflix land. Our automatic instinct is to see this as a fault, but when was the last time you actually watched the movie? Rather, when was the last time you read the first three books? They’re fantastic, sure, but they’re also fantastic books. What enjoys and pleases us sitting with a bulk of paper by a crackling fireplace might not bring us the same joy when sitting in a dark, stuffy room with dozens of other people. One of the big faux pas in all these “which one is better” conversations is a misunderstanding of what different mediums can do and what can be achieved in each. The 2004 film might compress the books, but it illustrates them beautifully. The detail isn’t in how well we get to know each member of Olaf’s troupe, it’s in the little, subtle ways in which they express themselves onscreen. Sure we don’t get to spend hours and hours with Uncle Monty like we would watching the show or reading the books, but with Billy Connolly’s exceptional performance, we feel like we’ve spent hours with him.

The fact is, taken on its own merits, the 2004 Series of Unfortunate Events is a great movie. The aesthetic, the visual storytelling, the writing, and the performances are all so universally fantastic that comparing it to the books feels oddly irrelevant. The word “adaptation” implies some level of interpretation. It implies a level of taking what’s on the page and filtering it through our own personal beliefs and opinions. For all the talk about which one of these versions is “better,” little has been said about the different contexts in which they were made. The general attitude towards the concept of “evil,” which is a big theme in the Series books, was vastly different in 2004 than it is (was?) in 2016. In 2004, the United States had just invaded Iraq. We were still reeling from the single most devastating terrorist attack in human history, and our enemies seemed, at least at the time, very concrete. In the film, there’s a lot more of an emphasis on the idea of “fire” as a weapon. The wreckage of the Baudelaire mansion is shot and treated with the sobriety of a lot of post-911 photography. Jim Carey’s Olaf is significantly more insidious than Neil Patrick Harris’. He gets what we wants through fear mongering and cunning, often fooling nice, reasonably intelligent adults through a series of carefully planned and lethal actions. Much like… you know… a terrorist.  

In the Netflix series, however, the enemy isn’t so much “evil” as it is stupidity. Olaf in the show is treated like a complete idiot who just so happens to get his way because literally everyone else is too stupid to know what’s going on. One could argue that while Olaf is the source of the conflict, the real antagonist of the show is Mr. Poe, who, despite “seeming” to care about the kids, constantly places them in harmful, potentially life threatening situations because he thinks he knows better. There isn’t a set enemy here. The enemy, if you can call it that, is ourselves, our own blindness to the reality of our present situation. If that sounds familiar, it’s because it’s one of the many excuses we gave for electing a fucking James Bond villain into one of the most powerful positions in the world. Donald Trump is an idiot, sure, but he’s an idiot with access to nukes, and *apparently* that’s somehow our fault.

You see what I’m getting at here? Whether intentionally or not, art is always in some way reflecting the world in which its produced, and that’s especially true of Series. One could argue that, simply by consequence of the time it was born into, the Netflix show is closer in tone and aim to what Handler originally intended, but I’m not sure I’d agree with that. Sure, the show is significantly more ironic than the movie, much like the books. It contains much more references to pop culture, classic literature, and the world in which it was written, much like the books. But unlike the books, everything I just said comes off as funny, surreal, and at times even distancing. Watching the Netflix show is like watching an eight-hour long Wes Anderson film. It’s fun, colorful, and WAY more educated than you are, but for those very reasons, its harder to identify with what’s going on up on screen. The books, on the other hand, are deeply involving, deeply dark, and deeply funny. It’s a swirl of contradictions that can really only work properly when you’re reading it off a page. Postmodernism works differently on film than it does in literature. Translating directly from one to the other causes a kind of whiplash that the show suffered from on multiple occasions.

See, this is why I’ll always treasure the books. Specifically the Snicket books, because while I’ve gotten emotionally attached to characters in other stories and novels, Series was able to ignite the imagination in such a specific way, that literally taking it and putting it up on screen automatically lessens the effect. When I was ten, I had no idea what the Squalors’ endlessly large penthouse in Eratz Elevator actually looked like. I had no clue what it would be like to see Hector’s hot-air home in Vile Village. I have only the vivid, mysterious pictures that were painted in my mind, and nothing Netflix or Nickelodeon can conjure up will ever compare to that.

I envy all the kids who are going to grow up watching the Netflix series. I envy all of them who are going to go back and experience the movie as a result. What I do not envy is missing out on one of the better reading experiences of a lifetime in favor of either of those things, or vice versa. There’s an important lesson to be learned from all this: when we pit up art against itself, we rob ourselves of the opportunity to appreciate it on a deeper level. When we breathe a sigh of relief when we get the adaptation we always wanted, we miss out on the chance to challenge, and possibly refine our own points of view. Sometimes, we loose sight of what makes these things so lovable in the first place, and that’s unfortunate.

[rueur]

Morning Pages No. 62

Tuesday 25th August - 10:26pm

Yeah, I know these are just becoming later and later, and I know I’m going to have to do this whole thing again in around ten to twelve hours, but I honestly just needed to take a whole day today. I feel like that’s genuinely something I needed to do. And a lot has happened today! I don’t know if I want to talk about all of it, but I suppose I do feel full and happy enough to talk about...some. I spoke to Malith? I called him when I was on my walk with Lonzo after realising that I was feeling a bit lonely. And Malith was #1 on my list of 50 people who’ve helped shape me into the person that I am today. Out of all the people I could’ve thought of first, I thought of him. And that was in my head all day today, so around 4pm I decided to finally call him. And I expressed that the reason I hadn’t been able to call him before that was because I was getting too in my own head about allocating time to call Malith. I mean we usually speak on the phone for hours at a time, with three or so hour phone calls being a totally normal and regular occurrence when we were younger, and by younger I mean like two or so years ago? It’s perfectly natural for us to waste away hours on the phone, and for our phone calls to include multiple toilet trips. Phone in hand. I felt like if I was always multitasking, then I’d have no time for a phone call. But on my walk today, I realised that I’d rather speak to him for twenty minutes a day rather than not speak to him at all for months just because I never had four spare hours at a time. Which reminds me, I also told the boy that I’d actually read ‘Fleabag’, so I have to do that right after finishing these pages. Yowza. I kind of fucked myself over here, didn’t I? The amount of crap I need to do is seemingly large almost always usually because I allow myself to have days like this, where I get absolutely nothing done. Well, actually it’s not entirely my fault. I had uni this morning, and so that meant a 9am start AT THE LATEST. I actually woke up at around 7am, closer to 7:30am but not close enough that it was an alarm that had woken me up. The sun woke me up, because it comes out earlier now. And I love that. Summer’s on its way in, but I still have a gross winter body and it’s still weirdly raining a lot, so I want to rectify the gross winter body, but it’s a little difficult in this abhorrent torrential August rain. 

I’ve just realised I haven’t had a single paragraph break for this whole page, so I’ve decided to put one right here. We learnt about ‘chunking’ in Writing & Editing for Digital Media this week, and the inverted pyramid model that’s used for writing content meant for digital platforms. I felt pretty confident in my ability to ‘chunk’ effectively, that is to construct my content in defined and digestible chunks so that it’s not just one wall of text, and our audience is more likely to both find the information they came for, and also better engage with our content in general. I’m really enjoying this class, and I’m also really enjoying ONLY TAKING ONE CLASS! After this class, I’ll only have one more left, and then the internship. Which is exciting. If I’ll ever be able to actually do an internship. COVID-19 has screwed up my hopes of finding full-time employment by February 2021, and calling my 24th year on this earth the first official year of my professional career. It seems as though there’ll still be some time before I properly enter my industry. But I am enjoying doing whatever I can with whatever is available to me right now. I mean maybe I could go on to get my PhD at unimelb. Maybe not at unimelb? But honestly where else would I go? I have no other connections to any other institutes, but one could also say that I have no connections at unimelb either. I just owe them a lot of money. And also $282, or I believe that is the amount. I don’t want to think about that bullshit right now though.

Evan just coughed in the other room. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I love him. I don’t know why, I just wanted to write that. 

Sarah posted in the 21 Days group that today’s challenge was to call up one person from our list of 50 people and just touch base with them. Funnily enough, when I read the challenge I was already on the phone to Malith. I called him after realising that if he was the first person on my list, that would mean that I’ve been thinking about him quite a bit, and took that as a sign that I should definitely call him. It felt pretty nice to have preemptively completed the challenge, without even knowing that I was PREEMPTIVELY completing the challenge?! ‘Preemptive’ is such a weird word. I misspelt it when I was typing it out in caps. The ‘p’ being between the ‘m’ and the ‘t’ threw me off completely. It just felt wrong to type those letters in that order. 

Anyway, Sarah also spoke about her friend Joshua in the post, and I didn’t know how to express my condolences. I just sent her a message. I feel my mind straying from these pages. I don’t think I want to deal with anything too complicated right now, which is why I’m skirting the issue. Sometimes, I worry that if I don’t speak about my friends and what’s going on in their lives, I’ll just repeat the same basic stuff that I seem to concern myself with for the majority of my time, or over the bulk of my day. I don’t know. I need to read ‘Fleabag’, and I’m worrying that I’m not making sense. I doubt that these pages will provide me with any insight today. I honestly just feel like I’m ticking boxes at this point, and I’m a little bit annoyed about that feeling, but I’m also accepting it as part of the pages. Oh what zen. I am a revolutionary mindful practitioner, a beautiful and empty-headed queen of calm. I don’t fucking know. It’s 10:56pm, it seems ludicrous to still refer to this as a morning pages entry. LOOK. I consider it to be a colossal win that I’m writing anything at all today.

I texted Julie and organised to visit her again next Wednesday so we can spend a bit more time looking at all the stuff I’ve done on Squarespace so far. It’s not bad, what I’ve done so far. Like it’s really not bad. I’m proud of where the site’s at, with perhaps a small exception to the colour scheme and the fonts. I have to sort that out. I’m not entirely sure how to add our own font packs to Squarespace’s site builder. I hope they allow for that? Because the font pack that they do have is INCREDIBLY limited. I’ve stopped using italics in these pages because I’ve realised that when I copy/paste the text from this morning pages doc into tumblr, tumblr gets rid of all my italicised text and just turns them into normal letters again. Lonzo just had a dream where he was running and his legs were moving, but he’s lying behind me under the blanket and so his little scratchy paws were moving up and down on my butt and it felt like the largest, weirdest, most inefficient spider bite I was ever receiving.

There are now TWO spiders on the window sill above the kitchen sink now, and the newer one is smaller but still BIG for a house spider, and it’s suspended in the centre of a web that’s been prominently constructed right above the kitchen sink and in the centre of the bottom section of the window. So basically this spider is like eye-level with me when I go to do the dishes. But the problem is, is that this smaller spider looks eerily like a crab, its legs are at weird angles, and I legitimately think it’s dead? AH. I hate this so much. I’m trying not to think about it, but goddamn it’s on my mind and now I’ve described it in great detail. That horrid spider will be in these morning pages for the rest of eternity, and someday future Rue is going to read this description and hate past Rue for it...present Rue? Rue that is Rue right now, sitting here typing against her will but also for her own good.

I’m weirdly enjoying it that whenever I answer the phone at work and an older man is the one who’s calling, they say ‘like a French street’ when I tell them my name. Haha! Sometimes I’ve responded with ‘or like searing regret’ or something along those lines. And if they appreciate wit, they tend to laugh. This one time, I told a middle-aged couple about my idea for a useless superhero (‘Superfluous’), and the dad (because he was a dad and she was a mum and they were in the shop buying a phone for their daughter, if I remember correctly) CACKLED. I have a love-hate relationship with brackets. I think they’re lazy and I would never use them in anything I write and put my name to, but I’ve always used them avidly in journal entries and personal stuff like these pages. I figure nobody’s going to judge me for having horrid grammar and some shoddy structure in something that they shouldn’t be reading anyway. 

I do enjoy writing though. Always have. No surprises there. But sometimes it is hard. It feels like a part of me that I feel I need to disconnect from myself in order to survive, and yet at the same time, it is my life. I don’t want to do anything else but this, I say that a lot. But then sometimes I am SO fearful that I’ve forgotten or I’m on the way to forgetting how to do this. It’s been literal years since I last wrote long-form fiction, and I feel like all the stuff I’ve written recently isn’t even that good. But was my stuff as a teenager any good too? Mr. D.B. Kuruppu said that it was. And I owe it to him to try harder. But I owe it to myself too. I have good ideas, or at least teenage Rue had good ideas, and those ideas deserve to be fleshed out and done justice. 

Nicky’s just crawled into my lap. He almost crawled all over my keyboard but I stopped him. He almost did it again. Now he’s licking his back leg but actually I can hear and feel his scratchy tongue trying to lick up my yellow ‘KINDNESS ONLY’ hoodie. I love this hoodie. I never thought I’d ever spend so much money on a HOODIE, but I am glad that I did. Wearing this makes me feel happy, and I know that it makes other people feel happy too, which is everything that matters. Positivity. The colour ‘yellow’ is one of the most beautiful colours in the world, but the best thing about it by far is the fact that it reminds me of my mum. That’s a beautiful sentence. I miss my family. I want to see Sandy at LEAST. Maybe I should call her tomorrow and see if she’d be keen to take the dogs out. I also have to do a bit more work on the website tomorrow, but for now I suppose I should just read ‘Fleabag’ and maybe a bit of ‘Dominicana’ if I can stomach it. And by ‘stomach it’, I mean if I can physically deal with lying on my stomach after my very modest dinner of hummus and crackers.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Julia Michaels And The Stories Behind Her Biggest Hits

https://fashion-trendin.com/julia-michaels-and-the-stories-behind-her-biggest-hits/

Julia Michaels And The Stories Behind Her Biggest Hits

You may know Julia Michaels’ single “Issues.” But what you may not know is that before Michaels scored that hit, she served as the songwriter behind some of today’s biggest songs by some of today’s major artists, including Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato, Keith Urban and Selena Gomez. 

The 24-year-old singer-songwriter is still writing for other singers, but she also recently turned the attention on herself. On the heels of the success of “Issues,” Michaels is focused on writing music that she will record herself. 

She’s also been spending the summer performing (recently doing a concert on the “Today” show) and playing a Spotlight Concert in Dallas as part of her partnership with M&M’s Caramel. 

Ahead of the Dallas show, we caught up about all things music, songwriting and more.

One of the themes of the M&M’s campaign is to connect fans with spontaneous moments of fun. What’s been the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?

I’ve actually climbed a bridge in Australia and sang karaoke at the top of it.

No way. What song did you sing?

We sang “Wannabe” by The Spice Girls. This was last year. I highly suggest if you go to Sydney, to climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge and do the karaoke bridge. You can literally sing karaoke at the top of a 444-foot bridge.

You’re the songwriter behind so many singles and now you’ve come out as a voice of your own. I know songwriting kind of came to you by accident. But can you recall the first song you ever wrote?

I think the first song I ever wrote I was like 6 or 7, so probably not. It was probably something really sad and really dark. Even at 6 or 7 years old, you were writing sad and dark songs? 



Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised. 

Rex Curry/Invision for M&M’S/AP Images

Julia Michaels performs at South Side Music Hall as part of the M&M’s Spotlight concert series on July 25, 2018 in Dallas.

You were behind the scenes before becoming a name on your own. What was one of your biggest fears about being a forward-facing performer?

I think that scared me the most was being that vulnerable and people being able to see you versus hiding behind other people. It’s also the thing that excites me the most. I wouldn’t be doing this if wasn’t willing to lay it out on the table for everybody.

What would you say the biggest surprise has been since coming out on your own with “Issues” and having that become a hit?


I think the biggest surprise is how much I love it. I have really bad anxiety with performing but it lessens with time. Every time I see someone singing the song and are really into it I feel so much less scared and I have so much fun. I had no idea that I would love performing and being with my fans. My fans are just the best.

What would you say is the magic sauce to a good song? How do you know when you just have it? 



I don’t really know. There’s no formula. Any song can be a hit. It doesn’t have a certain beat, a certain lyric, a certain something. I don’t know. Sometimes you can just tell when it’s special.

You’re working on new music for your own album due out this fall. What can you tell me about?



It’s definitely in the works. I’m in this phase of just wanting to put out the songs instead of waiting for it all to be done … I don’t know, I have all these amazing songs that I want to start releasing.

You’ve open about your challenges with anxiety and depression. Why has it been so important for you to be so forthcoming about it?

I feel like it’s something not a lot of people talk about and I know that when I had anxiety I always felt like I was burdening other people with my problems. I would talk to someone and I would see someone’s eyes glaze over and it would always make me feel a little insecure to tell people how I was feeling. I just want people to know that they don’t have to be scared. There’s someone out there that’s willing to listen. Even if it’s someone’s close friend, or an aunt. There’s always one person out there that’s willing to listen to you. Don’t be scared to talk about it. If you don’t talk about it, it only makes it worse.

It’s so true. And there’s always someone you can call to listen. In our last few minutes, I thought it would be fun to go through some of your own hits and hits you’ve written for other artists — and for you to give me some of the cool backstory behind them. Let’s start with your own song, “Issues.”

I wrote “Issues” about my shitty-ass boyfriend, and that song was the best thing that ever came out of that relationship (laughs).

What about Justin Bieber’s “Sorry”?

We wrote that, gosh, three years ago. It was just one of those things when all of the perspectives came together to make it.

How about “Hands to Myself” by Selena Gomez?


“Hands to Myself” was a beautiful accident. I sang the chorus of that song in a voice note and then when we were figuring out what we wanted to do with Selena I played it and we hashed it out. And it became what it is.

“Fire Starter” by Demi Lovato?

Oh gosh, I wrote that song so long ago. I wrote that song with Lindy Robbins. That was actually one of the first songs I ever got placed as a songwriter. That’s a special one for me.

Nick Jonas’ “Close”?

That one was two years ago. I love Nick. I think he’s super talented and really special. I actually think one of the original demos of that song was me and him. And then we got Tove Lo on it. It was almost him and I.

Jason Kempin/ACMA2018 via Getty Images

Keith Urban and Julia Michaels perform at the 53rd Academy of Country Music Awards on April 15, 2018, in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Last one ― that’s more recent: Keith Urban’s “Coming Home.”

Keith already had a bulk of the idea done. And he was like, “I really love the way that you do your melodies. They’re really interesting. I just want to see what you can do on this song with me.” And we wrote “Coming Home” together and we performed it on the ACMs and we’ve basically been friends ever since.

[latestnews2018-blog]

Julia Michaels And The Stories Behind Her Biggest Hits

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/julia-michaels-and-the-stories-behind-her-biggest-hits/

Julia Michaels And The Stories Behind Her Biggest Hits

You may know Julia Michaels’ single “Issues.” But what you may not know is that before Michaels scored that hit, she served as the songwriter behind some of today’s biggest songs by some of today’s major artists, including Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato, Keith Urban and Selena Gomez. 

The 24-year-old singer-songwriter is still writing for other singers, but she also recently turned the attention on herself. On the heels of the success of “Issues,” Michaels is focused on writing music that she will record herself. 

She’s also been spending the summer performing (recently doing a concert on the “Today” show) and playing a Spotlight Concert in Dallas as part of her partnership with M&M’s Caramel. 

Ahead of the Dallas show, we caught up about all things music, songwriting and more.

One of the themes of the M&M’s campaign is to connect fans with spontaneous moments of fun. What’s been the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?

I’ve actually climbed a bridge in Australia and sang karaoke at the top of it.

No way. What song did you sing?

We sang “Wannabe” by The Spice Girls. This was last year. I highly suggest if you go to Sydney, to climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge and do the karaoke bridge. You can literally sing karaoke at the top of a 444-foot bridge.

You’re the songwriter behind so many singles and now you’ve come out as a voice of your own. I know songwriting kind of came to you by accident. But can you recall the first song you ever wrote?

I think the first song I ever wrote I was like 6 or 7, so probably not. It was probably something really sad and really dark. Even at 6 or 7 years old, you were writing sad and dark songs? 



Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised. 

Rex Curry/Invision for M&M’S/AP Images

Julia Michaels performs at South Side Music Hall as part of the M&M’s Spotlight concert series on July 25, 2018 in Dallas.

You were behind the scenes before becoming a name on your own. What was one of your biggest fears about being a forward-facing performer?

I think that scared me the most was being that vulnerable and people being able to see you versus hiding behind other people. It’s also the thing that excites me the most. I wouldn’t be doing this if wasn’t willing to lay it out on the table for everybody.

What would you say the biggest surprise has been since coming out on your own with “Issues” and having that become a hit?


I think the biggest surprise is how much I love it. I have really bad anxiety with performing but it lessens with time. Every time I see someone singing the song and are really into it I feel so much less scared and I have so much fun. I had no idea that I would love performing and being with my fans. My fans are just the best.

What would you say is the magic sauce to a good song? How do you know when you just have it? 



I don’t really know. There’s no formula. Any song can be a hit. It doesn’t have a certain beat, a certain lyric, a certain something. I don’t know. Sometimes you can just tell when it’s special.

You’re working on new music for your own album due out this fall. What can you tell me about?



It’s definitely in the works. I’m in this phase of just wanting to put out the songs instead of waiting for it all to be done … I don’t know, I have all these amazing songs that I want to start releasing.

You’ve open about your challenges with anxiety and depression. Why has it been so important for you to be so forthcoming about it?

I feel like it’s something not a lot of people talk about and I know that when I had anxiety I always felt like I was burdening other people with my problems. I would talk to someone and I would see someone’s eyes glaze over and it would always make me feel a little insecure to tell people how I was feeling. I just want people to know that they don’t have to be scared. There’s someone out there that’s willing to listen. Even if it’s someone’s close friend, or an aunt. There’s always one person out there that’s willing to listen to you. Don’t be scared to talk about it. If you don’t talk about it, it only makes it worse.

It’s so true. And there’s always someone you can call to listen. In our last few minutes, I thought it would be fun to go through some of your own hits and hits you’ve written for other artists — and for you to give me some of the cool backstory behind them. Let’s start with your own song, “Issues.”

I wrote “Issues” about my shitty-ass boyfriend, and that song was the best thing that ever came out of that relationship (laughs).

What about Justin Bieber’s “Sorry”?

We wrote that, gosh, three years ago. It was just one of those things when all of the perspectives came together to make it.

How about “Hands to Myself” by Selena Gomez?


“Hands to Myself” was a beautiful accident. I sang the chorus of that song in a voice note and then when we were figuring out what we wanted to do with Selena I played it and we hashed it out. And it became what it is.

“Fire Starter” by Demi Lovato?

Oh gosh, I wrote that song so long ago. I wrote that song with Lindy Robbins. That was actually one of the first songs I ever got placed as a songwriter. That’s a special one for me.

Nick Jonas’ “Close”?

That one was two years ago. I love Nick. I think he’s super talented and really special. I actually think one of the original demos of that song was me and him. And then we got Tove Lo on it. It was almost him and I.

Jason Kempin/ACMA2018 via Getty Images

Keith Urban and Julia Michaels perform at the 53rd Academy of Country Music Awards on April 15, 2018, in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Last one ― that’s more recent: Keith Urban’s “Coming Home.”

Keith already had a bulk of the idea done. And he was like, “I really love the way that you do your melodies. They’re really interesting. I just want to see what you can do on this song with me.” And we wrote “Coming Home” together and we performed it on the ACMs and we’ve basically been friends ever since.

!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version=’2.0′;n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window,document,’script’,’https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js’); fbq(‘init’, ‘1621685564716533’); // Edition specific fbq(‘init’, ‘1043018625788392’); // Partner Studio fbq(‘track’, “PageView”); fbq(‘track’, ‘ViewContent’, “content_name”:”Julia Michaels And The Stories Behind Her Biggest Hits”,”content_category”:”us.hpmgent” ); fbq(‘trackCustom’, ‘EntryPage’, “section_name”:”Entertainment”,”tags”:[“@health_gad”,”@health_depression”,”@health_adhd”,”@health_models”,”@health_erectile”,”@health_ibs”,”music”,”justin-bieber”,”selena-gomez”,”demi-lovato”,”keith-urban”,”songwriter”,”julia-michaels”],”team”:”us_enterprise_culture”,”ncid”:null,”environment”:”desktop”,”render_type”:”web” ); waitForGlobal(function() return HP.modules.Tracky; , function() /* TODO do we still want this? $(‘body’).on(‘click’, function(event) HP.modules.Tracky.reportClick(event, function(data) fbq(‘trackCustom’, “Click”, data); ); ); */ );

[alamante]

Axelle/Bauer-Griffin via Getty Images

You may know Julia Michaels’ single “Issues.” But what you may not know is that before Michaels scored that hit, she served as the songwriter behind some of today’s biggest songs by some of today’s major artists, including Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato, Keith Urban and Selena Gomez. 

The 24-year-old singer-songwriter is still writing for other singers, but she also recently turned the attention on herself. On the heels of the success of “Issues,” Michaels is focused on writing music that she will record herself. 

She’s also been spending the summer performing (recently doing a concert on the “Today” show) and playing a Spotlight Concert in Dallas as part of her partnership with M&M’s Caramel. 

Ahead of the Dallas show, we caught up about all things music, songwriting and more.

One of the themes of the M&M’s campaign is to connect fans with spontaneous moments of fun. What’s been the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?

I’ve actually climbed a bridge in Australia and sang karaoke at the top of it.

No way. What song did you sing?

We sang “Wannabe” by The Spice Girls. This was last year. I highly suggest if you go to Sydney, to climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge and do the karaoke bridge. You can literally sing karaoke at the top of a 444-foot bridge.

You’re the songwriter behind so many singles and now you’ve come out as a voice of your own. I know songwriting kind of came to you by accident. But can you recall the first song you ever wrote?

I think the first song I ever wrote I was like 6 or 7, so probably not. It was probably something really sad and really dark. Even at 6 or 7 years old, you were writing sad and dark songs? 



Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised. 

Rex Curry/Invision for M&M’S/AP Images

Julia Michaels performs at South Side Music Hall as part of the M&M’s Spotlight concert series on July 25, 2018 in Dallas.

You were behind the scenes before becoming a name on your own. What was one of your biggest fears about being a forward-facing performer?

I think that scared me the most was being that vulnerable and people being able to see you versus hiding behind other people. It’s also the thing that excites me the most. I wouldn’t be doing this if wasn’t willing to lay it out on the table for everybody.

What would you say the biggest surprise has been since coming out on your own with “Issues” and having that become a hit?


I think the biggest surprise is how much I love it. I have really bad anxiety with performing but it lessens with time. Every time I see someone singing the song and are really into it I feel so much less scared and I have so much fun. I had no idea that I would love performing and being with my fans. My fans are just the best.

What would you say is the magic sauce to a good song? How do you know when you just have it? 



I don’t really know. There’s no formula. Any song can be a hit. It doesn’t have a certain beat, a certain lyric, a certain something. I don’t know. Sometimes you can just tell when it’s special.

You’re working on new music for your own album due out this fall. What can you tell me about?



It’s definitely in the works. I’m in this phase of just wanting to put out the songs instead of waiting for it all to be done … I don’t know, I have all these amazing songs that I want to start releasing.

You’ve open about your challenges with anxiety and depression. Why has it been so important for you to be so forthcoming about it?

I feel like it’s something not a lot of people talk about and I know that when I had anxiety I always felt like I was burdening other people with my problems. I would talk to someone and I would see someone’s eyes glaze over and it would always make me feel a little insecure to tell people how I was feeling. I just want people to know that they don’t have to be scared. There’s someone out there that’s willing to listen. Even if it’s someone’s close friend, or an aunt. There’s always one person out there that’s willing to listen to you. Don’t be scared to talk about it. If you don’t talk about it, it only makes it worse.

It’s so true. And there’s always someone you can call to listen. In our last few minutes, I thought it would be fun to go through some of your own hits and hits you’ve written for other artists — and for you to give me some of the cool backstory behind them. Let’s start with your own song, “Issues.”

I wrote “Issues” about my shitty-ass boyfriend, and that song was the best thing that ever came out of that relationship (laughs).

What about Justin Bieber’s “Sorry”?

We wrote that, gosh, three years ago. It was just one of those things when all of the perspectives came together to make it.

How about “Hands to Myself” by Selena Gomez?


“Hands to Myself” was a beautiful accident. I sang the chorus of that song in a voice note and then when we were figuring out what we wanted to do with Selena I played it and we hashed it out. And it became what it is.

“Fire Starter” by Demi Lovato?

Oh gosh, I wrote that song so long ago. I wrote that song with Lindy Robbins. That was actually one of the first songs I ever got placed as a songwriter. That’s a special one for me.

Nick Jonas’ “Close”?

That one was two years ago. I love Nick. I think he’s super talented and really special. I actually think one of the original demos of that song was me and him. And then we got Tove Lo on it. It was almost him and I.

Jason Kempin/ACMA2018 via Getty Images

Keith Urban and Julia Michaels perform at the 53rd Academy of Country Music Awards on April 15, 2018, in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Last one ― that’s more recent: Keith Urban’s “Coming Home.”

Keith already had a bulk of the idea done. And he was like, “I really love the way that you do your melodies. They’re really interesting. I just want to see what you can do on this song with me.” And we wrote “Coming Home” together and we performed it on the ACMs and we’ve basically been friends ever since.

(function (d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.async = true; js.src = “http://connect.facebook.net/en_GB/sdk.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.10&appId=238320442863988”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s){if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function(){n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments)};if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version=’2.0′;n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)}(window,document,’script’,’https://ift.tt/2EUDMIP);

fbq(‘init’, ‘1112906175403201’); // Edition specific fbq(‘track’, “PageView”);// custom event(s) for bpages fbq(‘trackCustom’, ‘EntryPage’, { “section_name”: “Entertainment”, “tags”: [ “music”, “justin-bieber”, “selena-gomez”, “demi-lovato”, “keith-urban”, “songwriter”, “julia-michaels” ], “ncid”: “” });fbq(‘init’, ‘10153394098876130’); // Partner Studio fbq(‘track’, “PageView”);

(function () { ‘use strict’;

document.addEventListener(‘DOMContentLoaded’, function () { $(‘body’).on(‘click’, function(event) { fbq(‘track’, “Click”, data); }); }); }) (); Source link

   The post Julia Michaels And The Stories Behind Her Biggest Hits appeared first on MySourceSpot.