#the opening line was a comment by a listener to the podcast

[fictionadventurer]

"Why would I show my daughters Snow White when Anna and Elsa exist?"

Because girls need to see more than one type of female character in their stories. We don't want girls to see "damsel-in-distress housekeeper" as their only option, but its equally dangerous to show them the currently-popular flavor of "take-charge Strong Female Character" as the only acceptable kind of woman to be.

Because Snow White is confident. While the Queen is obsessing over her own insecurities, Snow White is going through her day completely comfortable with who she is.

Because Snow White is skilled. While the Queen's treatment of her is unjust, Snow White's acceptance of her work as a scullery maid makes her, not just an idle princess, but a working woman. She has cleaning and cooking skills that are recognized as valuable contributions to society. She is then able to use those skills when she needs a place to stay--instead of just a helpless damsel-in-distress who has to beg for a place, she is someone they want to have living with them because she has valuable skills to offer.

Because Snow White is kind. She is so kind that animals immediately trust her, that a hardened assassin can't kill her, that dwarves love her. She is sensitive to the feelings of others rather than embittered by her own fears. She is friendly to everyone she meets, showing interest in their lives and concern for their problems.

Because Snow White is a caretaker. Though young and mistreated, she is always looking to care for others. She immediately comforts a lost little bird. When she finds a cottage belonging to what she believes to be lonely orphans, she takes it upon herself to make their home comfortable. She even takes this a bit too far in setting rules for the dwarves' household, which offers depth to her character. She does take charge, but instead of seizing power like the Queen, Snow is looking to serve others and seeks their good.

Because Snow White is brave. After her panicked flight through the forest, she is sharp enough to recognize that her fear made the situation worse than reality, and she consciously decides to adopt a cheerful, hopeful outlook.

Because Snow White is intelligent. She's a good-enough judge of character to recognize a worthy love interest when he appears (and unlike certain princesses, she's right about it). She recognizes when her fear makes things worse than they are and is able to make better plans for the future. She is able to coordinate a housecleaning effort among a huge variety of untrained forest animals.

Because Snow White is humble. She is willing to take on the humblest work in the castle and is not humiliated by it. She asks the animals and the dwarves for help when she needs it. She even recognizes the need for prayer.

Because Snow White is good.

Because she is innocent.

Because she is patient.

Because she is loving.

Because little girls should learn to be all those things, and Snow White is a character who shows them what that looks like.

[zexapher]

A Fond Farewell

With Rooster Teeth beginning its draw down, an era has truly passed. The company has lasted more than two decades. 18 (soon 19) seasons, five mini-series, and cameos and references in Halo itself for Red vs Blue. 9 volumes alongside two movies, a chibi series, Ice Queendom, and its own games for RWBY. And so much more beyond that, RT Shorts, podcasts, Achievement Hunter, The Slow Mo Guys, and on and on. That’s a lot, especially for a little startup launching off a web series. I was listening to “This Isn’t Goodbye, It’s See You Later” by Richie Branson while I was making this little memorial post. It’s a song made for another Rooster Teeth show, Camp Camp, and I have to say it’s some very appropriate music for this moment.

The day the news dropped, I wrote up a little comment in response to Rooster Teeth beginning its closing down, and I thought I’d share some of it here. I grew up with Rooster Teeth, a bit of a cheesy line I know, but it’s true for a lot of us. I was just a little kid way back in the early 2000’s, a kid that liked Halo (a game I didn’t even own for a long time, but played at a friend’s house), and was just getting curious about what I could find about it on YouTube. And that brought me into the world of music videos and skits and montages made for that little game I liked.

From there, I discovered a small web series called Red vs. Blue. I’d sneak onto my folk’s computer to watch it since they didn’t appreciate the language, and in doing so I dipped my toes into the wide world of the internet for the first time. As I got older, I eventually hopped onto Reddit for its discussion threads of Rooster Teeth’s latest show, RWBY. I began my first in-depth fandom interactions, speculating about the show, enjoying the flood of fanart, even got into fanfics about RWBY (those fics have had their own amazing evolution alongside the show) and to this day it’s the fandom I’ve followed and bookmarked the most fics from. All the while I was making friends and bonding with people through the community this company and its shows have created.

Watching the shows and people grow over time was, looking back on it, just like watching myself grow. I was never really a social media/internet kind of guy, until it came to Rooster Teeth. The shows, shorts, podcasts, it all opened up a whole new world for me. It’s sad to see it coming to a close, and I hope it gets picked up in the future. But I’m happy, too, that it’s left so much behind, and had such an impact on me. It’s left me with so many good memories. Rooster Teeth, its shows, those that created and worked on it, and above all the community around it will always have a special place in my heart.

So, I bid a fond farewell to Rooster Teeth and its crew, and anyone who may drift away from the fandom in time. I wish you all the best.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You lay under the covers, hiding. From the world, from the man on the other side of those walls, from yourself. You just want this to be over with. You want to go home and be alone.

You roll over and sink down beneath the flannel and heavy quilt. They smell like laundry detergent. Not a bad smell, just strong. You’re not crying, you won’t let yourself get that far again. You just can’t stop thinking.

Mr. Rogers face imprints in your mind. You just see his face every time you blink. You feel his grip on your, moving you, using you. You whimper as a flash of his office replaces the dim bedroom around you.

You sit up, ready to scream. GO AWAY!

As scalding as the memories you tried so hard to forget is the embarrassment of your outburst. You though you and Bucky were coming to an accord. That you were getting along but he just had to keep pushing and pushing, needling at the sore spot until you came unraveled. You can only blame him so much. You’re responsible for your own behaviour.

You hear the stairs creak and you hug the blankets as you listen. His footfalls come down the hallways and you see his shadow beneath the door. He stops there and you brace yourself for his knock. It doesn’t come. He continues down the hall and clears his throat loudly.

Hinges softly whine and his voice startles you, “hey, yeah it’s me. You get home okay?”

The door shuts out his next words as it clicks sharply. You can hear his muffled tones but you can’t make out the words. He must be on the phone with someone. You think you know who.

You sit up and drag yourself over to the window. You look out at the lazily drifts of snows. It’s slowed but what’s fallen is deep and treacherous. It’s like a scene out of a fantasy show.

You huff and back away from the window. You’re not getting anywhere. You cross your arms and plod around the room, restless as your stomach swims with your dinner and the craft beer. You’ve never been one for alcohol.

You won't sleep like this but you don't know how to go out and face him. Every time you think you've found peace, it crumbles into another petty argument. You don't think you've ever fought so vehemently with anyone. No one's ever pushed your buttons so easily.

His low tones continue to roll through the air as you walk in circles, lost in anxiety. You just have to wait out this storm. After the last blow up, you doubt he'll want to hold you to your promise. He has the script, he can figure it out.

His door opens again. He's silent as you hear his advance outside the room. He stops again, this time he knocks. You stop in place and hesitate.

"Hey, if you're awake..." he says.

You march to the door and open it an inch, peeking out at him, "a-awake."

"Right, uh," he seems almost surprised by your abrupt response, "I just wanted to apologize. Again. I know I keep doing this but I swear I'm trying not to."

"Mm," you purse your lips and nod, "y-yeah..."

"So we can just focus on the podcast. I still wanted to show you the studio... if you're not too tired."

You stare at him. It would be a good distraction, even with him. You can't just hide away. This is his house.

"S-sounds good," you let the door fall open.

His throat bobs and he exhales, "great."

He turns, beckoning you with jab of his finger ahead. You follow him. He's being nice at least. As nice as you can hope for.

He leads you down the stairs and stops in the kitcheb to grab a flashlight from a drawer. The house is getting darker by the minute. He points you to a door across from kitchen.

He opens it and holds it open, waiting for you to descend first. You take the steps on at a time, your hand firmly on the railing. You turn the corner and come to even ground, looking around at the spacious basement as he flashes the beam around, guiding your gaze.

The walls are cover in black-grey sound proofing and a desk is set up with a monitor and microphone, another table with various equipment atop it just on the other side. There's a clear booth build around the desk, likely to keep the sound concentrated in one area. He steps down behind you and you sidle out of his way.

"I've done some sound tests. I think it works pretty good but it's hard with just one person," he explains, "wouldn't mind having a second set of ears..."

He shoves a hand in his pocket as he paces, his other hand moving with his words.

"R-really? Even a-after... earl-earlier?" You ask meekly.

"It's been a stressful day. We can just let it go," he shrugs. "We were getting along, weren't we?"

"Y-yeah," you agree.

"So let's go back to that," he says, "forget everything else. In the morning, the plows will clear all the mess away and I'll take you home but tonight you're going to have to put up with me."

"G-guess I can t-try," you utter as you bring your hands up and rub them together.

"Cold?" He wonders.

You nod. Down here, you can see your breath. He backs up, "let's go. Powers gonna stay out for a while. You're welcome to sleep by the fire for the night. This place is frigid."

"Um, m-maybe," you step past him as he points you upstairs. He trails you, the light glaring around your figure and casting a shadow ahead of you.

"Well, you can at least finish your beer," he insists, "I'll crack a second and see if it doesn't mellow me out."

You nod as you get to the top and move out of his way, "th-thanks."

"Well, you know, I do listen. You were right... about my manners. I'm working on it... trying not to be stubborn old man.”

[spotsandsocks]

WIP Wednesday📚

@tizniz thanks for the tag 💜

The Write Way to Love

Chapter 1 3.8k

Chapter 2 3.8k a little snippet from chapt 2 (whole Chapt on ao3)

Tagging @hoodie-buck @hippolotamus @bi-buckrights @the-likesofus @loserdiaz @thekristen999 @bekkachaos @underwaterninja13 @wildlife4life @wikiangela @elvensorceress @exhuastedpigeon @steadfastsaturnsrings @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @rainbow-nerdss @daffi-990 @honestlydarkprincess @actualalligator @eddiebabygirldiaz @shipperqueen6 @diazsdimples @loveyouanyway @lover-of-mine @spaceprincessem @jesuisici33 and anyone else out there 💜

Buck is not a happy man, if he could he’d run. The unpleasant waves of nerves are relentless and the restless pacing back and forth is doing nothing to help calm him, despite that unfortunate fact he remains optimistic that it might start working soon so he keeps doing it anyway. Up and down, back and forth across the room. It’s not working but it’s better than doing nothing.

He glances at the door, hoping it might open soon. Maddie left him a while ago to go check on the preparations for the meet and greet and from the moment the door shut behind her his anxiety has been building. 

It’s not exactly the first time he’s felt like this, he’s fully aware of what he needs to do to help himself but he can’t exactly go exercise right now which is his usual go to when the anxiety and self doubt get this bad. He’d tried listening to a podcast and when that hadn’t distracted him he’d moved onto a word game on his phone. That was also unhelpful so now he’s pacing. 

Despite his efforts the feeling keeps getting worse, he tries adding his breathing techniques as well but his stomach continues to do its nauseating flips. 

Casting a slightly desperate look towards the door Buck hopes harder that Maddie will be back soon, she’s just so good at calming him down, has been ever since he was a kid. It doesn’t help that he knows it’s stupid getting worked up like this, you’d like to think he’d have grown out of it by now, that his recent successes would have made his anxiety better but if anything he just worries more.

He worries that people will suddenly see through him, realise he’s got no talent, that everyone will hate his next book or his new characters. That he’ll be blasted on-line for the way he ends the story or for a careless comment he made once upon a time, or for supporting this cause or not supporting that one. It’s exhausting but mostly he worries that everything he’s worked so hard for will suddenly vanish overnight if he makes just one mistake one day and then, well then he’ll really be the failure his parents always thought he was.

[piecesofreeses]

We've Got You

Nick ignores his mental health in favor of staying on top of work. When his involuntary age regression catches up with him, Matt and Chris are there. 

Told in 3rd person limited (like most of my stories) where the reader has access to Nick’s thoughts, but not Matt or Chris’s.

DISCLAIMER:

This is an age regression fanfic! Age regression is a completely nonsexual coping skill and it is represented appropriately and correctly as it relates to my life. Regression can be positive in many circumstances, but not all. If you are struggling with your mental health or involuntary age regression, talking to a professional is always the best choice.

Hate will not be tolerated, nor will it be entertained. I will not give you my attention; your comment will just be deleted! Please don’t waste your time, just take your bullshit somewhere else!

One more note:

This is NOT incestual, nor is it sexual in any manner. The comfort Nick receives during and after his panic attack is purely loving, familial support. Yes! They cuddle! Yes! They hold Nick and rub his back! Yes! They share a bed for the night! No! None of that makes this “weird!” 

TWs: Panic attack, descriptions of the physical sensation of a panic attack, avoiding regression, swearing, lighthearted arguing, guilt for enjoying a pacifier

Okay on to the story!

Nick always tries to be the quick witted, loud, strong oldest brother. With the triplets spending so much time in LA just the three of them, more now than ever they have to keep each other in line. And yes, that means Nick has to take care of his brothers even when he doesn’t want to. 

Matt may be their transportation as the only brother with a license, but Nick still feels like he’s mothering them half of the time. He’s constantly sticking a hand between his brother's faces both literally and metaphorically. While Nick probably couldn’t love Matt and Chris any more than he does, they’re brothers; it’s impossible for them not to get on his nerves sometimes. 

Currently, the triplets are sitting in a parking lot about ten minutes from their house filming a car video. Nick is tired and has been a bit quieter than usual, leaving his quips and comebacks to a minimum, just listening to Matt and Chris rant. 

Suddenly, of-fucking-course, the two are arguing again. It’s something stupid about the song that’s playing in the background— no wait— it’s about Matt’s phone? Nick isn’t really sure, he’s just exhausted. It’s not the other boys fault; they can disagree and get at each other throats all they want in the car videos. Nick knows the fans love it, but in that moment he’s just so goddamn overwhelmed.

Nick tries to open his mouth to tell his brothers to shut the fuck up, but no sound comes out. He feels a bit like he’s sinking into the backseat, totally isolated from the argument in the front. Nick knows he’s fine, so why does he want to cry? Why can’t he get his words to come out?

A tear escapes and slips down his cheek. He tries to wipe it away but his arm feels so heavy and his fingers feel so clunky and they’re not moving the way he needs them to. Why is everything so hard?

Without even meaning to, Nick lets a little whine slip past his lips. Even though he hates asking for help, he’s sure he needs Matt and Chris. If nothing else, they need to turn off the camera, but apparently the fighting in the front seat is too loud, because the boys give no indication of hearing him. 

Oh no, Nick realizes as his mind gets even fuzzier, I’m slipping.

Nick knows he regresses if stress gets to him too much– his brothers know too, but God, it hasn’t happened in months.

He’s usually pretty good about preventing it by being gentle with himself, but it’s just been so fucking stressful this month. The end of the podcast just ended up being a lot of work and he didn’t have time to cater to his mental health the way he has to to make sure he never slips. 

This is the result, I guess, Nick thinks. Because he refused to show himself some goddamn love when he was big, his brain was forcing him to regress. And he didn’t get to pick when. 

“Matt?” The oldest choked out.

Still no response. Nick felt like he was sinking into his brain as everything started to feel eerily quiet, like his brother’s voices were coming from underwater. 

Maybe I’m the one underwater, he thinks as the whole world begins to appear muted in color. My sensory processing just conked out, didn’t it.

“Chris? Help,” Nick tried again, but it came out even quieter than the previous attempt. Despite his every effort, Nick felt his eyes well up. 

Why won’t they stop arguing? I need help! I need help and I don’t know how to get it! Someone please help me. Matt? Chris? Please help me.

It’s all far too much, so he closes his eyes and fights against his heavy limbs, eventually able to pick up his hands to cover his ears. He feels himself shaking gently and the first of his tears begin to flow down his cheeks. Apparently, Nick hasn’t breathed in a while, because suddenly he feels himself gasp involuntary. Fighting the sudden rush of air, his throat catches on nothing and he coughs out, forcing more tears to spill. 

Nick’s forearms are covering his cheeks from the way he's trying to protect his ears, and he feels them wet from how hard he's begun to cry. He convulses in a sob and finally, a loud enough sound comes out.

“Nick?!” He hears Matt yell. “Something’s wrong, Chris! Turn that shit off!”

They’re coming. They’re gonna help. Please hurry, though.

“Okay, okay I am. Go get in the back with him!” Chris’s response comes, quieter.

He doesn't even hear the door open, but suddenly Matt’s arms are around him. He’s wracked by sobs as his body relaxes into Matt’s chest.

It’s all okay. I’m okay. They’ll make it okay. 

Matt’s arms are rubbing Nick’s back as he shakes and he can feel how his tears have wet the shoulder of his t-shirt. A moment later, he feels the seat underneath them move like another body has sat down, and then he hears Chris’s voice. 

“It’s okay, Nick. We’ve got you,” Chris says gently. As Matt keeps touching him comfortingly, Chris keeps talking. 

“The camera is off and we can delete all the footage later. I’m so sorry we didn’t notice what was happening earlier. Matt and I are gonna help, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

“Chris,” Matt whispers, “Take him? I want to get us home.”

“‘Course,” Chris says. Nick whines and holds onto Matt, clearly comfortable where he is, but the boys are still able to switch who he’s sitting onto fairly easily. He's stopped crying and looks up at Chris as he pulls him into his lap. Chris is sitting properly in the left seat with Nick on his lap, back leaned against the door and head on Chris’s shoulder. It's probably illegal, but with the boy no longer crying, they won’t be taking any risks. 

As Matt gets out of the back and back into the driver’s seat, Chris haphazardly wraps the seatbelt over the two of them. Nick pulls his knees up and burrows his head into his brother's shoulder. Quietly, he pulls a thumb into his mouth before looking up at Chris as if waiting to be told off. He waits, half expecting to be called gross, even though he knows his brothers don't find his regression gross.

“Oh, you’re small, Nicky. How old are you?” Chris asks with nothing but love in his voice. Nick doesn't respond, just closing his eyes and sinking into the comfort.

“He’s small?” Matt asks from the front. “How old did he say?”

“Didn’t respond. I’d guess one by the thumb and how he was crying earlier,” Chris responds, petting Nick's hair and trying to make sure he doesn't slip out of his lap on the drive home. 

Matt sighs, “Okay, we’re only a minute away from home. What do you think we do when we get there? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him regress.”

“Well first get his pacifier, I don’t want his fingers in his mouth and longer than they have to be, but I’m pretty sure he’ll cry if I try to take them out without a replacement. Next… uhh… I don’t think he’s going to be chill with me letting go of him unless I'm literally putting him into your arms, but he seems exhausted. I’d say we all get in your bed and try to get him to go to bed? It’s late for all of us, especially for the baby,” Chris says, looking down at Nick and laughing quietly as they pull into the driveway.

“Alright, I’m going to come and help you stand up with him so you can carry him in. He’s not going to walk himself, is he?” Matt replies, looking back at the little boy curled into Chris with his thumb in his mouth. 

“No way.” Chris says, reaching to unbuckle them. Matt steps out of the car and opens the door for Nick and Chris. 

Sounding confused, Matt asks, “How are we going to make this work?”

“You just take him? I don't think I can stand up with him in my lap even with your help,” Chris suggests. Matt slots his arms under Nick’s knees and picks him up bridal style. Luckily, there is minimal protest from the little, just a whine and some still watery eyes. With Nick out of his lap, Chris climbs out of the car, shuts the door, locks it and runs up ahead of his brothers to unlock and open their door. 

Now that they are standing, Matt carries Nick with ease. Up the steps of their porch and into the house, the lack of strain on Matt’s face makes it appear as if Nick really is a baby. Chris smiles with the thought as he follows the two inside and closes the door behind them. 

“I’ll find his paci. Get in bed?” Chris calls out as he tosses the car keys on the kitchen table. 

“Got it,” comes Matt’s reply. Chris has no idea where the little’s paci might be, but it’s pretty important that he finds it, so he starts by tearing out the couch cushions to see if it's tucked underneath one of them. With no luck, he heads up to Nick’s room and strips his bed, checking if it might be in there. Unfortunately, the stupid blue thing is still nowhere to be found. 

Nick can hear Chris tearing his room apart looking for his pacifier as Matt carries him upstairs. 

He’s never gonna find it.

Too small to tell Matt where it is, he just tugs on his sleeve and looks down the hall to his room.

Fortunately, Matt gets the message. “Want to go help Chrissy?” Matt says and turns toward the sound of the rummaging. As they walk into the room, Chris looks at the boys defeated. 

“I can’t find it,” he sighs. 

“Losat,” comes Nick’s small voice. 

Oh no, are they going to think that means I lost it? No no, that’s supposed to be “closet.”

“In the closet?” Matt and Chris respond in unison, walking into the closet and digging through the junk on his closet floor. 

Oh thank God. 

Matt sets Nick down, leaning his back against the closet wall so he can move his shoes. Underneath, he finds a small shoebox covered in stickers. How promising. Opening it up, Matt discovers the pacifier and a couple small toys. 

“Bingo, Chris! It's right here,” Matt exclaims.

“Why’d you hide it away like this, sweet pea?” Chris asks the little boy, scooping him up like a koala. Nick doesn't respond other than a whine and rests his chin on Chris’s shoulder, facing the opposite direction. 

The boys walk out of the closet, Matt with a pacifier in hand and Chris with a Nick in… arms.

“I need to wash this off,” Matt says and walks into the bathroom. 

“Okay, bring it to us when you're done,” Chris says and hikes Nick up so his legs can wrap around his waist. Nick has one arm wrapped around Chris’s shoulder and neck and the other bent so his thumb can slip back into his mouth. “You ready for bed, honey?” Chris whispers into his ear as he leans over the bed, working to gently disconnect Nick from him. Eventually, he separates them, laying Nick down on his back in Matt’s bed. Chris pulls Nick's shoes off, brushes the little’s hair out of his face, kicks off his own Crocs and crawls into bed with Nick. He drags the covers up over them and pulls Nick closer to make space for Matt to lay on the other side of the boy. 

“Okay bub, I’ve got your paci,” comes Matt’s voice. Carefully, he pulls Nick’s hand away from his mouth and replaces it with the blue pacifier, slotting it between his lips. 

That helps. That helps so much. Why am I like this? Why does that help?!

Matt slips under the covers and wraps his arms around the boy. “Nick, honey, I can see you freaking out. It’s okay that you like that. It's not gross, it’s not bad, and Chrissy and I don't mind. We love you bubba.”

“Luv yous too.” 

[writingquestionsanswered]

I have trouble with writing in general. Can you help me? English isn't my first language, but I really want to write a story in English someday. However, both I and my English teacher have noticed a problem. He says he can tell I haven't cheated on my assignments because I write like I speak. That comment broke my heart a bit and made me feel pressured because there's a recurring joke in fanfiction that all stories starting with "English is not my mother tongue / I'm not fluent in English" are masterpieces, haha. I'm very disappointed in myself because I don't feel as good as other non-native speakers. Do you have any tips for improving my writing?

Improving Writing as Non-Native Speaker

First, I'm so sorry that your English teacher or anyone else has ever made you (or anyone) feel bad about your speaking or writing. Anyone who tries to learn a language other than their native language should be commended, no matter the skill level they reach. Many people who have the ability and access to learn another language never even bother, so kudos to you for learning. If it helps, I wouldn't have known you were a non-native speaker if you hadn't told me.

Any time you want to learn to write stories in a non-native language, there are four things you can do to improve your skills:

1 - Watch movies, TV shows, videos, and listen to audiobooks and podcasts in that language. Not dubbed or with captions in that language... movies, TV shows, and videos where the people are actually speaking the language you want to learn. This type of immersion can really help you get a feel for how native speakers actually sound, which can help you with writing and with creating authentic dialogue.

2 - Read stories, books, magazines, blogs, poems, and posts in that language. Again, nothing that has been translated into that language, but things that were originally written in the language you want to learn. This helps to reinforce the visual of the language in your mind's eye as you write, and quite often, seeing things in text can stick out more to you than they do when only hearing them. Also, some people just learn better one way over the other, so both hearing and seeing the language makes sure you're covering both bases.

3 - Practice speaking in that language. Even if speaking isn't your issue, it's still helpful to practice speaking the language, because it helps to reinforce it in your mind. Try reading news articles, stories, chapters of books, and social media posts out loud. It can also be helpful to look up movie and play scripts and speak the lines out loud.

4 - Practice writing in that language. If you wanted to learn a concerto for a piano recital, you might practice by watching other people play it, listening to it, reading the sheet music over and over, and practicing the tune with your voice, but nothing would help you improve more than actually playing the song over and over again yourself. You would get better with each performance, and writing works the same way. The number one thing you can do to improve your writing in another language is to write a lot of stories in that language. It's okay if you're not perfect. Even native speakers don't write perfect stories without practice. ♥

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[queencaramilflinda]

I listened to the Thiala fight while watching Frozen 2: a research study

Idea curtesy of Alli @operationslipperypuppet

Spoilers for Frozen 2 and the Bahumia finale beneath the cut!

I am more than aware no one asked me to do this. But I have nothing better to do with my time, so, to quote the wise words of a gameshow host: without further ado let’s begin.

Research Question and Methods:

I’m not a science person by any means, but I feel it best to approach this in an academic manor. My research question was “How well do Frozen 2 and the Thiala fight line up?” and my methods for finding this answer was to play them both at the same time. I started the podcast at the time stamp 58:48, (thank you Alli for providing that) which is when Murph calls for the rolling of initiative, and I skipped past the opening credits of Frozen 2, pressing play on the movie on the 47 second mark.

My findings:

Here is a brief list describing the moments that lined up best between Frozen 2 and the Thiala fight.

Hardwon deals 297 points of damage while in Frozen 2 the land of the Northuldra is covered in a fog that traps everyone inside.

Galad shows up at the same time that the title for Frozen 2 appears on screen.

There is a comment made about how Galad needs to blow his nose, and simultaneously Anna touches Olafs nose on screen.

The Old Cobb flashback is very stressful but makes for a much better listening experience than what the movie wants you to be listening to at this time, which is Olafs “When I’m Older”song. Old Cobb is being hurt while Olaf is being… not hurt per se but put in situations for sure

The Galad attack that drops Hardwon in the same way Galad killed his father happens at the same time as Olaf talks about Elsa and Anna’s parents dying

Galad dies before Olaf, during the lost in the woods song in Frozen 2

Murph explains how Thiala lost humanity and gained control of full god powers as Elsa tames the water ice horse

I was hoping Thiala second form would happen with Elsa’s outfit change but unfortunately that’s not what happened

Spirit shroud happens as Olaf dies

There is a swing and a crit on Hardwon as the dam in Frozen 2 breaks

Erlin comes back at the same time as Elsa

Conclusion:

How well do Frozen 2 and the Thiala fight line up? Well… not great. This may be due in part to the way I synchronized the pieces, I wonder if I should have watched the opening credits of Frozen 2 instead of skipping them, or instead of starting from the call for initiative worked backwards from the time stamp the Thiala fight ends so I could make sure the two pieces of media were exactly the same length. As it stands Frozen 2 is about 10-15 minutes shorter than the Thiala fight, depending on whether or not you count the credits of Frozen 2.

I had a very fun time doing this experiment though! I genuinely love both Frozen 2 and NADDPod so this was great. If anyone wants to run this same study and see if they get the same results, or change the method a bit to see if it lines up better please do so and let me know how it goes!

[anotherkindofmindpod]

Hi AKOM, I read Ian Leslie's article about "Now and Then," which you re-blogged, with great interest. Like you I believe it to be a fairly "sane take." Like many readers, I was struck by one passage specifically: "As far as we know, it wasn’t a sexual relationship, but it was a passionate one: intense, tender and tempestuous." The negation isn't necessary for Mr. Leslie to make his central point, which is that the Lennon/McCartney relationship can best be understood as a love affair. So why mention it at all? Because the idea of a sexual relationship (or attraction, even) between the two men is so offensive it has to be excluded, even though no one brought it up? Or as a circumspect way to introduce the idea to the discussion, buffered by the careful addition of "not, as far as we know?" I think it's the latter; I'd wager many readers do. And my feelings on this are mixed. Because the tone of "by no means do we want to suggest the presence of base carnal desires" is one of disapproval. Had this sentence not been in there, the love affair analogy would have spoken for itself, to be filled in by the reader at will. On the other hand, it's hard to ignore the possibility that these five words, "as far as we know," are the entire point of the article, which otherwise doesn't make a big effort to specify the exact shape of the love affair analogy. Passionate, yes. Breakup, yes. Hurt feelings and coded messages, yes. The Beatles' music as carrier of suppressed emotions—yes, but which ones? "In a sense, the music of the Beatles, which brings so much joy and consolation, is the glorious fruit of male repression. We like to think we live in a more emotionally enlightened age. We have learned to talk it out. Yet sometimes I think that is itself a kind of avoidance, or a failure of nerve. We’ve awakened from the dream, and yet seem to be more confused than ever." Is he talking about the current state of talking about John and Paul? What do you think? (I hope he expands on his analogy in his book.) P.S. I love your podcast and the hard work you put into it so listeners like me can feed their heads. Thank you for that! [P.P.S. I took out a digital subscription of the NYT because of this article, and no, I did very much not read the comments, nor do I intend to do so.]

Hello @crepesuzette2023! Thanks for writing! :) To be honest, the line "as far as we know, it wasn't sexual" didn't strike me as anything other than responsibly agnostic. I think if you ask the reader to reframe an already extremely famous creative partnership as a love affair, the natural follow-up question would be: sexual or platonic? In that event, stating he has no knowledge of it being sexual while also allowing for the possibility it might have been is exactly the right tone to take, IMO. Because that's the truth; we don't know either way. Honestly, I've been a bit bewildered by some of the tumblr response to this article. As I said, I think Ian Leslie's is a thoroughly sane take. Then again, I've been publicly talking about John and Paul as a love affair (on not just my own podcast but other peoples' as well) for years now, so maybe I'm in the belly of the beast. Don't get me wrong, it's very gratifying to read this in the NY Times! I'm excited by this shift towards open discussion in the public realm, but it's hardly scandalous. Leslie has been working on his book since 2021, I think. I don't agree with him on everything, but I think his takes on Lennon-McCartney are very good and sound. I recommend his piece on Get Back if you haven't read it. TBH, I'm not sure what the highlighted passage means. If I had to guess, I'd say he's talking about the way Beatles scholarship so far has refused to publicly accept Paul and John being in love, or contemplate what that means to their art or their lives because we have historically been too scared or cowardly. And maybe the act of creating timeless art as a display of love is much more powerful than being able to say the words to someone. But I don't really know. :) Also, this is just my (Phoebe's) response. Daphne and/or Thalia may have different takes. Thank you for the kind words about AKOM!

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @i-am-still-bb​ based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, Gen.

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Whenever You Are

—

“Merry Christmas… wherever you are… whenever you are…”

That’s what the voicemail left in his inbox or the card tucked into Fili’s luggage always said. It had started as a joke that first year they were together. Kili kept getting time zones mixed up, but he was always amused when Fili was a day ahead of him or a day behind him. That first year Fili had been in New Zealand while Kili was in Chicago. Kili had called and left that voicemail on Christmas Eve, but it was already Christmas morning when Fili listened to it two hours later. 

Fili had teased Kili about it. And then it became their thing. And it always made Fili smile.

Neither of them were particularly attached to celebrating holidays or special occasions on the exact date that they occurred. If they celebrated Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, or anniversaries a few days late or even, once, a few weeks late, they were perfectly content. But when they did get to spend holidays and special days together they always took full advantage of them.

So Fili chose to work holidays for the extra pay. He had even come to enjoy airports on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. His flight crew often wore festive hats or pins on their clothing, passengers were often cheerful and sometimes there were even decorations or Christmas trees in the terminals. There were plenty of people who were disgruntled about their holiday flights or angry about delays due to poor weather patterns, but that was always the case and Fili chose to just ignore them because there was little to nothing he could do to improve their moods. He could only do his job. He could not change the weather, magically fix broken de-icers, or take 3 hours to fly what took 9 hours.

This Christmas he was in Bruges, France. They had landed yesterday evening and had used their last bit of energy after the long flight to explore the town that was festooned with Christmas lights, music, and festivities.

Now, the next morning, someone had pushed open the curtains of the bunk room that the airline supplied for its flight crews. Narrow single wide bunk beds lined the two walls and there were chests with available locks beneath the bottom bunks. This room, unlike many, had a coffee maker and Gina, the head stewardess, had waked them all with the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

“Highlander Grogg,” she informed him when she set the sterile white mug down in front of Fili. The mugs in the kitchen he shared with Kili never matched. Each was full of character, some had even been repaired with lines of gold after they had been dropped or knocked over. “Decent coffee in the morning is my Christmas gift to all of you.”

Fili nodded his thanks and reached for the mug. The blanket was still up around his ears and half covering his head. He only managed to sleep in these places with the help of noise canceling earbuds and having the blanket covering his face to block out all sight and any sound that was not taken care of by the earbuds. Somehow he had managed to sleep in a time before cell phones, earbuds, audiobooks, and podcasts, but he could not remember how. He sipped the hot coffee and groaned in appreciation. “Best. Christmas. Gift. Ever,” he informed Gina.

The rest of the crew readily agreed from their bunks or the couch near the door. 

This yearFili found the card tucked into his folded undershirt. The cover of the card was decorated with a glittery Christmas tree surrounded by gifts and woodland animals. Fili was going to have glitter trapped in his chest hairs for days. That knowledge came from experience. A previous year had involved an even glittery-er card that had been folded into his underwear.

Even though Fili knew what the card was going to say he smiled when he read it. The words were in Kili’s nearly illegible script.

Merry Christmas

Wherever you are and whenever you are!

Love,

Kili

Fili tucked the card inside the cover of his book so that it could join the rest of the cards in the memory box in the back of his closet. 

One last walk through the city left them all with the taste of Christmas carols and twinkling lights and a dusting of snow on their minds. As beautiful as the city was, it could not compare with the view Fili knew was waiting for him when he landed at his home airport. This year he and Kili would actually spend some of Christmas day together and that made the day just a little bit more special than usual because there would be leftover Christmas ham to eat, cookies to be munched, and blankets to be cuddled under all without the expectation of having to get up and do anything productive for the next few days. 

Kili was standing outside the Arrivals door when Fili finally deplaned nearly 12 hours later. He was wearing a pair of fuzzy black earmuffs to keep the cold at bay. 

Fili dropped his bag and hugged Kili. This was home. As nice as their apartment was and as much as he liked all of their things, this was the part he always missed the most and anticipated the most when he finally came home. 

“I missed you,” Fili said into Kili’s hair.

“You were only gone two days,” Kili teased, but he tightened his arms around Fili and did not pull away when Fili’s freezing nose brushed against his neck. “Are you sure you don’t just miss Franz?”

Fili snorted. “He’s still a kitten.”

“And that means you can’t miss him?”

Fili hummed in response. “Maybe just a little.”

“Ready?” Kili asked when Fili loosened his grip.

“Only if I am promised dinner, a shower, and cuddles—not necessarily in that order.”

“That I can promise.”

Fili stowed his bag in the trunk while Kili started getting the car warmed up. 

“I got you something,” Fili said when he climbed into the passenger seat, his coat on his lap.

“But there are already presents under the tree!” Kili protested.

“This is for the tree.” Fili held out the small, neatly wrapped box. “Open it.”

Kili pulled the ribbon and popped the tape that held the cardboard box shut to reveal the Christmas ornament that Fili had brought home. Kili lifted the twig reindeer from the box. “I know just where he’ll go.” Then the reindeer was stored away and they were on their way home.

[duncandriver]

'Now and Then', 'Here Today' and subjunctive creativity

From announcement to release and beyond, biographical speculation has attended ‘Now and Then’, the momentous ‘last Beatles song’. I understand the compulsion to speculate: Lennon’s lyrics are inchoate, but they identify an unnamed subject as the reason for the singer’s success and as the source of his fortitude:

I know it's true It's all because of you And if I make it through It's all because of you

These opening lines suggest that Lennon is not the hero of his own life; instead, they attribute that station to someone else. Who? Yoko Ono? May Pang? Paul McCartney? These are clear possibilities that fans, bloggers and podcasters have enjoyed considering. It was in the wake of such consideration that Sean Lennon (John’s second son) was moved to tweet his thoughts on the subject:

“If you listen to my dad speak about lyrics, it’s clear he never felt any song was necessarily about one thing. Songs are not essays. Poetry is not journalism. Art is like life - multilayered and elusive.”

With customary brevity, Twitter (or ‘X’ as it’s decided to call itself) proved the ideal platform from which to make an obvious but surprisingly overlooked point: however autobiographical a song may be (or appear to be), it always involves elements of artifice that distance the creation from its creator. A song is never wholly self-inspection or self-revelation. At one level, this is because autobiographical content must always be shaped by musical conventions that exist independent of it. In the case of ‘Now and Then’, these conventions include a questioning A Minor-E Minor verse structure and a more assured G Major-D Major chorus that answers the questions posed by the verses. It’s a classic Beatles trick, taking a sad song and making it better.

Another reason why ‘Now and Then’ can't exist solely as a spontaneous overflow of powerful emotion is recognised in Sean’s comment that his father ‘never felt any song was necessarily about one thing’. To put this another way, Lennon’s intention in composing ‘Now and Then’ was less to speak to or with the song’s subject than it was to achieve the composition itself. Ono, Pang, McCartney or all of them may have been on his mind as his fingers shifted, searchingly, from A Minor to E Minor, but it’s likely that Lennon put the stuff of life into the service of his creativity, rather than using creativity as a tool to resolve issues in his life. Musical therapy may be a felicitous by-product of composition, but I suspect that it wasn’t the prime motivator. In the same way that an Olympic sprinter is trying to win a race more than he’s trying to keep fit and healthy, Lennon’s chief desire in composing ‘Now and Then’ was probably (and simply) to write a good song.

None of this should diminish the song’s meaning or impact. Indeed, these aspects are enhanced when you appreciate them as dynamic (not static) and universal (not local). As Sean Lennon put it, art is ‘multilayered and elusive’ and all the better for it.

If you’re not convinced, then consider another example of creativity's searching, elusive qualities: Paul McCartney’s ‘Here Today’.  It’s a song that the composer freely (and frequently) admits to being for or about John Lennon. Even in this relatively direct epistle ‘from me to you’, however, there are still reasons to delineate the ‘I’ who sings from the ‘I’ who is sung about; to recognise that, however autobiographical the song’s contents is, there are fictionalised elements that characterise it as a work of art more than a vérité documentary.

As stirred with emotion as McCartney no doubt was in the wake of Lennon’s 1980 murder, it was when stumbling upon an unusual E Minor 6th chord that ‘Here Today’s composition began – from a musical pang as much as an emotional one. As with ‘Now and Then’, there’s an unresolved and questioning quality to the chord(s) that lays the foundation of the song's creative space. The E Minor 6th chord is an inkling that the rest of the song goes on to explore. The apt word to describe the mood it conjures is ‘subjunctive’, a term employed by grammarians to describe a verb form that represents an act or a state of being not as fact, but as a conditional or possible that is experienced emotionally.

The song’s lyrics are also drawn from this mood. They begin mid-sentence, as though trying to enter the delicate musical space unobtrusively, via a side door:

And if I said I really knew you well What would your answer be If you were here today?

They are subjunctive because they imagine how a conversation that never occurred might have played out. They draw on McCartney’s intimate knowledge of Lennon and they reveal much of their composer’s psychology, but these aren’t leveraged to document reality; they’re employed to stage a scene between two men as semi-fictional versions of themselves.

The novelist Martin Amis once explained the uneasy relationship between fiction and reality this way: “You don't write about what happened, you write about what didn't happen.” That is exactly what McCartney does in ‘Here Today’, imagining how Lennon might have responded to words that McCartney should have said, but didn't. ‘Now and Then’ does much the same thing, achieving an artistic reunion between Lennon and McCartney where – and perhaps because – no comparable reunion was ever quite achieved in life.

[takenbypeter]

The Perfect Boyfriend

Steven Grant x reader

Words: 839

Number 23: “What do you mean, ‘whoops’?”

Author’s note: got this as inspiration form a comment someone left on one of my other Steven fics so thank you to @queerponcho

Steven was the perfect boyfriend. He was respectful. He was thoughtful. You adored his tangents and found it quite cute how he could so easily switch topics just as quickly as he started them.

He wasn’t one for quiet. Typically the room was filled with his own voice or that of a recent podcast that he’d be listening to. But today the room was quiet.

You two were spending the time reading, with you curled up with your legs beside you in one corner of the couch while Steven sat on the opposite side, facing you with his knees tucked into his chest.

You were nose deep in your book, fully invested in the drama you were currently reading. You were so focused that you didn’t even notice Steven had set his book down lines ago.

He hadn’t meant to get distracted, I mean who truly does. He was reading his book when his eyes grew slightly tired from the words. So tearing his eyes away from his own book his eyes just so happen to have naturally drifted before he caught sight of you. You were trying to suppress a wide toothed grin which clearly wasn’t working because you quickly gave into the smile.

And when you smiled, so did he. He watched, surely entertained at how your expressions clearly portrayed an event that was happening in your book.

When something funny happened you grinned, when something sad happened the corners of your lips tugged slightly into a frown. When something surprising happened your jaw dropped wide open. When you found something hard to believe your eyebrows pressed together creating a crease in the middle. He was admiring it all. He found it all so endearing. This wasn’t the first time Steven’s gotten distracted by you and it certainly won’t be the last, but most of the time he didn’t even know he was doing it.

You were just about smiling again at a line you’d read when your eyes suddenly left the page and met his catching him slightly off guard as he didn’t expect the sudden eye contact. It wouldn’t have been so bad if this was the first time you’ve caught him like this today, but…it wasn’t.

Your wide smile softened slightly as you locked eyes with Steven, who looked back down at his book before his eyes went up again meeting yours. In the next moment you tried to suppress your smile from reaching your cheeks as you held your book up to hide your face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you breathed out from behind the pages.

You couldn’t see him but he put a hand to his chest genuinely apologetic, “whoops, I’m sorry. Was I staring?”

You put your book back to your side as you let out a laugh at his reaction, “whoops? What do you mean whoops?” You teased finding his response slightly funny.

He laughed a little with you before he started again, “no, I mean I’m sorry I hadn’t meant to be staring, you just…” he paused which was very unlike him. Typically Steven would continue carrying on with the conversation quickly but this time he paused. “Truth be told I was admiring you. Sorry that sounds so weird doesn’t it? No but seriously, the way the light is bouncing off you right now, and your hair…”

With each and every compliment he gave, you honestly didn’t know how to react, you couldn’t even look him in the eye with how embarrassed you had suddenly become. You weren’t sure if you should hide again or make a dumb joke about it all to make the moment pass by quickly. But despite how awkward you felt about the compliments Steven would constantly give you, you couldn’t help but feel good about them as well. His words always held a sincerity to them that had you truly believing what he said and you loved him for that.

“You look just absolutely perfect. Well I mean you always look perfect of course—“

Steven’s small tangent got interrupted by a couch pillow flying across the way. He managed to close his eyes right as the cushion hit him flat in the face before falling straight down.

His eyes reopened and found yours. Your cheeks had become engulfed in warmth by now and your smile had reached your eyes, creating crinkles around the corners.

“Don’t sell yourself short, you are just as perfect Steven, maybe even more so,” now it was his turn to become flustered.

“Well I don’t know about that.”

You interrupted before he could get on further with that thought, “You don't have to know about that, because I know it for a fact. You are a much more than perfect boyfriend than I could’ve ever imagined.”

His eyes darted away from your then back before he leaned in, “well if you say it so then it must be true.”

You giggled a little as you smacked his leg at his silly demeanor.

Yeah Steven was the perfect boyfriend.

-

Dialogue Prompts

[welivetodream]

Crippling loneliness in the age of the internet:

"Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?"

~Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart (1999)

Let me set the scene:

In a dark room, the only light is coming from the phone of a girl laying on the bed, as she mindlessly scrolls for hours on end. She is typing fast, she is running multiple apps in the background, she is listening to the latest hits while doing all of this, her earphones never leave her ears; even when she closes her eyes, she is still listening to a podcast. Despite all these activities happening around her. The girl looks bored and apathetic, her eyes are blank, no emotions, no thoughts. And for hours to come she stays in that state, waiting for something to happen, even if it doesn't, she doesn't care.

This could be the opening lines of a sci-fi novel but this is actually how I act when I am alone. This is how my life has become. And while people like to blame this on the internet that has made Gen Z mindless zombies; I think the only reason I haven't died is because of the internet. To normal people it's a curse that makes humanity fall to its lowest. To me it gave a purpose, a want and a direction to live for.

The Internet isn't the evil mastermind to me, it's a necessity that has kept me alive and not succumbing to the fact I have no one to talk with.

Internet to me isn't Instagram, Snapchat, Discord,Twi--X (someone stop Elon Musk from cooking), it's the "quirky" apps like Pinterest, Tumblr and Reddit as well as the depths of content that is YouTube. It's the places where I found "my" people who understood me, who accepted me, who appreciated me. Growing up I had no one to talk with, even my own family wasn't understanding, let alone my friends.

During my school life I had always been surrounded by friends or as I like to put it, people I can talk to and have lunch with during school hours. That's what it was, nothing more than that. My idea of friends was just different from others, I didn't want emotional connection or people to hang out with. I wanted friends who would listen to my ramblings and be able to debate and discuss things with.

I don't want to seem pretentious or snobbish and definitely not above others in any way. But....when I am surrounded by so many frustratingly stupid people, I don't have any other words to describe them than "not good enough for me". They may be wonderful people, who are warm and lively. I do not care about being around such people. I am someone that watches video essays on morality, ethics, philosophy and analysis of movies and TV, in comparison to the people I know I am just more perceptive and thoughtful and that alone makes me seem like a stranger to them (INTPs are weird in short form). My dad told me smart people have it hard to make friends because of this exact nature, I wouldn't call myself incredibly intelligent but I know I am far more capable in thinking than my classmates who watch reality TV shows and Tiktok dances. Sometimes I cannot even comprehend how people can even get satisfaction and happiness from something as simple as that and that's when I understand: it's okay to be different than that and it's okay that they are "normal".

I feel like I am Lain from "Serial Experiments Lain", as if my existence is given meaning by the internet and I was born from it. My lack of social interactions in person can be explained by that, but it's the thought of talking with other people that often scares me. I am used to being silent, so much so that even on the internet, I remain quiet, not interacting with people who might understand me. Being afraid of not being understood has stopped me from even trying to make connections when there's people ready to do that.

I don't even reply to comments on my posts, unless I have to and I don't talk with anyone on the internet itself. I just watch and be happy at other people's interactions and feel a sense of belonging.

For some days I decided to stop doing that, to stop the vow of silence. To let people approach me and approach others myself. I want to be friends and it's the only thing that I have ever considered as something I couldn't achieve.

Loneliness isn't as pretty as the movies and books tell you. It's more of a psychological thriller than a show like Euphoria and Skins where these stylised depictions make my depression and loneliness appear cool. It's cool to be alone, to have my own space and not cross boundaries but it's not cool to let the loneliness that shields me, devour me.

[jamieroxxartist]

✔ Mark Your Calendars: Tues Jan 2, 2024 on 🎨#JamieRoxx’s Pop Roxx Radio 🎙️#TalkShow and 🎧#Podcast w/ Featured Guest:

Angela Mockbee, #Music #Podcast #Host (Not the Girl Next Door Radio Show)

☎ Lines will be open (347) 850.8598 Call in with your Questions and Comments Live on the Air.

● Click here to Set a Reminder: http://tobtr.com/12296272

Pop Art Painter Jamie #Roxx (www.JamieRoxx.us) welcomes #AngelaMockbee, Music Podcast Host ( #NottheGirlNextDoorRadioShow ) to the Show!

● WEB: rockrageradio.com ● FB: @notthegirlnextdoorradioshow

Starting with a radio/cassette player in Kindergarten, Angela Mockbee has been a music aficionado from day one. With roots in 80's rock and pop, the 90's rock took over and molded her into the music she falls in love with today.

Starting a radio show, Not Girl Next Door Show on www.rockrageradio.com., Angela shares her love for music and more, as her primary focus is #thebandsyouwillfallinlovewith, by playing the bands you may not know, mixed with the #thebandsyoulove as all-time favorites .

Listen in 9AM-Noon Eastern and follow to get the latest new music, news and interviews.

​● Media Inquiries: Not the Girl Next Door Radio Show www.facebook.com/notthegirlnextdoorradioshow

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

The latest episode Honestly features something a little different. It’s a replay of an episode of my friend Sam Harris’s podcast, Making Sense. I wanted to put this episode down the Honestly feed—despite the amount of Israel-related content we have already published—because of the moral confusion plaguing this moment. It’s everywhere: from college campuses to Congress. 

Sam, better than almost anyone I know, is able to speak to that confusion, with facts, nuance, and clarity. Read an edited excerpt below, or click to listen to the episode in full. Sam’s words are illuminating and well worth your time. —BW 

Link: Podcast audio (1 hour)

By: Sam Harris

Published: Nov 13, 2023

In the wake of Hamas’s October 7 attack, it’s important to keep in view the bright line that exists between good and a very specific form of evil. It is the evil of bad ideas—ideas so bad that they can make even ordinary human beings impossible to live with. 

There’s a piece of audio from October 7 that many people have commented on. It’s a recording of a cell phone call that a member of Hamas made to his family, while he was in the process of massacring innocent men, women, and children. The man is ecstatic, telling his father and mother, and I think brother, that he has just killed ten Jews with his own hands. He had just murdered a husband and wife and was now calling his family from the dead woman’s phone.

Here’s a partial transcript of what he said:

“Hi, Dad—open my ‎WhatsApp now, and you’ll see all those killed. Look how many I killed with my own hands! Your son killed Jews!”

And his dad says, “May God protect you.”

“Dad, I’m talking to you from a Jewish woman’s phone. I killed her, and I killed her husband. I killed ten with my own hands! Dad, ten with my own hands! Dad, open WhatsApp and see how many I killed, Dad. Open the phone, Dad. I’m calling you on WhatsApp. Open the phone, go. Dad, I killed ten. Ten with my own hands. Their blood is on their hands. [I believe that is a reference to the Quran.] Put Mom on.”

And the father says, “Oh, my son. God bless you!”

“I swear, ten with my own hands. Mother, I killed ten with my own hands!”

And his father says, “May God bring you home safely.”

“Dad, go back to WhatsApp now. Dad, I want to do a live broadcast.”

And the mother now says, “I wish I was with you.”

“Mom, your son is a hero!”

And then, apparently talking to his comrades, he yells, “Kill, kill, kill, kill them.”

And then his brother gets on the line, asking where he is. And he tells his brother the name of the town, and then he says “I killed ten! Ten with my own hands! I’m talking to you from a Jew’s phone!”

And the brother says, “You killed ten?”

“Yes, I killed ten. I swear!”

Then he says, “I am the first to enter on the protection and help of Allah! [Surely that’s another scriptural reference.] Hold your head up, father. Hold your head up! See on WhatsApp those that I killed. Open my WhatsApp.”

And his brother says, “Come back. Come back.”

And he says, “What do you mean, come back? There’s no going back. It is either death or victory! My mother gave birth to me for the religion. What’s with you? How would I return? Open WhatsApp. See the dead. Open it.”

And the mother sounds like she is trying to figure out how to open WhatsApp. . . 

“Open WhatsApp on your phone and see the dead, how I killed them with my own hands.”

And she says, “Well, promise to come back.”

I don’t speak any Arabic, and it seems to me that not every word in the audio that’s being circulated was translated, but I think we get the gist. When I spoke to Graeme Wood about this, he said that to him, the mother and father sounded more shocked and worried than anything else, which would be understandable. But I would submit to you that this piece of audio is more than just the worst WhatsApp commercial ever conceived. It is a window onto a culture. As I told Graeme, this is not the type of call that would have been placed from Vietnam, by an American who just participated in the My Lai massacre. Nor is it the parental reaction one would expect from an American family, had their beloved son just called them from a killing field. I mean, as terrible as Vietnam was, can you imagine a call back to Nebraska, “Mom, I killed ten with my own hands! I killed a woman and her husband, and I’m calling from the dead woman’s phone. Mom, your son is a hero!” Do you see what a total aberration that would have been, even in extremis? 

This call wasn’t a total aberration. This wasn’t Ted Bundy calling his mom. This was an ordinary member of Hamas, a group that might still win an election today, especially in the West Bank, calling an ordinary Palestinian family, and the mere existence of that call, to say nothing of its contents, reveals something about the wider culture among the Palestinians.

It’s important to point out that not only members of Hamas but ordinary Gazans appear to have taken part in the torture and murder of innocent Israelis and the taking of hostages. How many did this? And how many ordinary Gazans were dancing in the streets and spitting on the captured women and girls who were paraded before them after having been raped and tortured? What percentage of Palestinians in Gaza, or the West Bank, many of whom are said to hate Hamas for their corruption and incompetence and brutality, nevertheless support what they did on October 7 with a clear conscience, based on what they believe about Jews and the ethics of jihad? I don’t know, but I’m sure that the answers to these questions would be quite alarming. We’re talking about a culture that teaches Jew hatred and the love of martyrdom in its elementary schools, many of which are funded by the UN. 

Of course, all of this horror is compounded by the irony that the Jews who were killed on October 7 were, for the most part, committed liberals and peace activists. Hamas killed the sorts of people who volunteer to drive sick Palestinians into Israel for medical treatments. They murdered the most idealistic people in Israel. They raped, tortured, and killed young people at a trance dance music festival devoted to peace, half of whom were probably on MDMA feeling nothing but love for all humanity when the jihadists arrived. In terms of a cultural and moral distance, it’s like the fucking Vikings showed up at Burning Man and butchered everyone in sight. 

Just think about what happened at the Supernova music festival: at least 260 people were murdered in the most sadistically gruesome ways possible. Decapitated, burned alive, blown up with grenades. . . and from the jihadist side, this wasn’t an error. It’s not that if they could have known what was in the hearts of those beautiful young people, they would have thought, “Oh my God, we’re killing the wrong people. These people aren’t our enemies. These people are filled with love and compassion and want nothing more than to live in peace with us.” No, the true horror is that, given what jihadists believe, those were precisely the sorts of people any good Muslim should kill and send to hell where they can be tortured in fire for eternity. From the jihadist point of view, there is no mistake here. And there is no basis for remorse. Please absorb this fact: for the jihadist, all of this sadism—the torture and murder of helpless, terrified people—is an act of worship. This is the sacrament. This isn’t some nauseating departure from the path to God. This isn’t stalled spiritual progress, much less sin. This is what you do for the glory of God. This is what Muhammed himself did. 

There is no substitute for understanding what our enemies actually want and believe. I’m pretty sure that many of you reading this aren’t even comfortable with my use of the term enemy, because you don’t want to believe that you have any. I understand that. But you have to understand that the people who butchered over 1,400 innocent men, women, and children in Israel on October 7 were practicing their religion, sincerely. They were being every bit as spiritual, from their point of view, as the trance dancers at the Supernova festival were being from theirs. They were equally devoted to their highest values. Equally uplifted. Ecstatic. Amazed at their good fortune. They wouldn’t want to trade places with anyone. Let this image land in your brain: they were shouting “Allahu Akbar” (God is great) all day long, as they murdered women and children. And these people are now being celebrated the world over by those who understand exactly what they did. Yes, many of those college kids at Harvard and Stanford and Cornell are just idiots who have a lot to learn about the world. But in the Muslim community, and that includes the crowds in London and Sydney and Brooklyn, Hamas is being celebrated by people who understand exactly what motivates them. 

Again, watch Hotel Mumbai or read a book about the Islamic State so that you can see jihadism in another context—where literally not one of the variables that people imagine to be important here is present. There are no settlers or blockades or daily humiliations at checkpoints or differing interpretations of history—and yet we have same grotesque distortion of the spiritual impulse, the same otherworldliness framed by murder, the same absolute evil that doesn’t require the presence of evil people, just confused ones—just true believers. 

Of course, we can do our best to turn the temperature down now. And we can trust that the news cycle will get captured by another story. We can direct our attention again to Russia, or China, or climate change, or AI alignment, and I will do that on this podcast, but the problem of jihadism and the much wider problem of sympathy for it isn’t going away. And civilized people—non-Muslim and Muslim alike—have to deal with it. As I said in a previous podcast on this topic: we all live in Israel now. It’s just that most of us haven’t realized it yet.

==

many of those college kids at Harvard and Stanford and Cornell are just idiots who have a lot to learn about the world. But in the Muslim community, and that includes the crowds in London and Sydney and Brooklyn, Hamas is being celebrated by people who understand exactly what motivates them. 

This is the nub of the current insanity. This is an extreme Islamification, supremacist movement, and you have stupid idiot kids who have no idea what's going on - many of whom would be murdered in a heartbeat and their bodies dragged behind a motorcycle to the cheers of the faithful - endorsing and enabling it against their own interests because they've succumbed to shallow "social justice" rhetoric, and you have the true believers who do know, and are more than willing to be supported by the useful idiots who will eventually be thrown on the fire.

"Israel is only the first target. The entire planet will be under our law." -- Mahmoud al-Zahar, Hamas Commander

[pompadourpink]

Hi mom im 19 in college and i feel super depressed but i have no idea why, my life is great, i love my family, nothing is wrong, but i'm just super bored and miserable, feel like i'm wasting my time on social media but can't stop, do you have any advice?

Hello dear,

Two things: overstimulation and loneliness.

We are drowning in content (social media, YT, podcasts, shows, ads, music) as well as sensory experiences (traffic, chatter, crowds, colours, lights) and our cerebral activity is constantly through the roof. Spend twenty minutes on TikTok and you can easily have your heart broken by someone saying goodbye to their cat, be reminded of your singleness (and comment something that "the highway is looking real nice rn"), amazed by someone's beauty and laugh at a dog video.

This is an exhausting way to live. You should be the main character of your life but you choose, day after day, to be a spectator of everyone else's. You happily gamble away hours and hours of your existence that you will never get back in order to find out what this influencer ate today or what's happened to Ned Fulmer. That's the reason why I post very little on my own social media: I don't want to rob you of your time, the most precious thing you'll ever have.

You don't communicate much because you've never learned how to make friends (since you ignore people IRL - watching stories and liking tweets don't count). You don't call grandma, don't hang out with friends, don't have Halloween plans. You stroke your pet with one hand and your eyes pinned to your screen (could be a blanket and you wouldn't know), neglect your needs, and procrastinate until you are so disgusted with yourself that you have a breakdown.

And obviously, politics aren't helping. My gen isn't doing too good, gen Z is scarily passive when something bad happens because they're unsensitized to violence (as they binge true crime, fear school shootings and make suicide jokes constantly), and I don't even want to know how iPad babies are going to turn out.

The people who make content purposefully put you in a position where you will want to keep scrolling, watching, liking, they'll make you believe that you need their product until you buy it (and nothing happens because you never needed it but now you lost money and you're sad because the happy chemicals are already back home) and they know it's hurting you, but it makes them money, so they won't stop. This means you need to make the decision to walk away yourself.

You don't need to consume stuff all the time. You shouldn't feel a need to get your phone out when waiting in line. You shouldn't feel ugly without a filter (if you even like yourself at all). You shouldn't feel ghost vibrations when your phone is in your pocket. You shouldn't have something playing at all times. You shouldn't be afraid of eating out alone or of being empty-handed because then your demons would start talking and you're unwilling to see what they want and how they got there.

Put your phone on flying mode after 9pm. Dim the lights. Turn off the music. Open the window and see what the world is up to. Count red cars, find shapes in the clouds, guess people's jobs, look for dogs, whatever you want, but nothing else. No music, no screens, no distractions. Lie on the bed and try to feel every part of your body. Have a full conversation without taking your eyes away from the other person. Eat without something to watch. Leave your phone in the room when you're going potty. Go for walks and listen to birds. Make small talk with anyone who looks nice, on the subway, at the laundromat, in class.

Choose to live before it's too late. It's already your second chance.

Love,

Mum

[mrm-pachypoda]

Idk who the fuck I can talk to about this, so I’m writing it here just so it’s Somewhere™️

So, to lay a bit of background, I may or may not have psychosis. I’m going to get officially tested in early May, so we’ll see soon.

Another thing to note is that I’m a fan of the Magnus Archives. So, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that I’ve been having hallucinations regarding the Distortion. Specifically Michael, I think. It’s probably because it was my comfort character when listening through the podcast?

Anyway.

I started seeing it a month ago, outside my window at night, or on the opposite side of the street, to eventually being right behind me. However, usually if I looked at it directly, it was gone.

I was feeling its Presence months before that, since November at the earliest. I was oddly never perturbed by Knowing that it was there, even when I somehow Knew what it was.

I’m a city guy, who insists on taking public transport everywhere instead of figuring out how to drive. Today was no different, sitting down at the second closest seat to the front door of the bus, on a weird elevated platform directly over one of the front wheels. Before the bus takes off, I see him. Or it.

Based on a generous guesstimate, it was broadly six and a half feet tall. Clad in thick black snow boots, snow pants (?) and a long winter coat with synthetic fur lining the hood. It was a lot more muted than I thought, actually. It had skin. Don’t know what color, but it was human. It did have unruly, curly shoulder-length blond hair, but it could’ve been anywhere between dirty blond to golden to platinum: I truly couldn’t tell. I think it had eyes, but I could only ever see its irises. I never could see a sclera, and I couldn’t tell where its eyelids began. Every time I looked at it, the color of its hair and eyes(?) shifted. However, its eyes were usually green, I think. I think it had a nose, and it must have had a mouth, but I never really saw them. It was like looking at an outline of a person, where inside it was fuzzy, and the edges weren’t exact sharp. Its image was clearer when I didn’t fully look at it.

After the bus started moving, It pulled itself up by the bars overhead, moving towards me, but gripping on those bars like inertia had an effect on it. While it was walking, its hands seemed larger, its legs distended, before looking broadly normal again when it sat down on the seat next to me.

We didn’t have conversations. It could communicate negatives and affirmatives, along with general emotions which in combination could tell me basic things when combined with the gestures it made. However, when it tried to Talk, its mouth didn’t move, and it made no sound, but I knew that it was talking. It almost felt like it was speaking at a frequency that only dogs could hear, and its non-mouth that was maybe smiling simply wasn’t animated.

I Knew that it didn’t like my taste in music. I Knew that it was encouraging me to open the monster can that was in the bottle pocket of my bag. I Knew that it found the flannel that I was wearing to be distasteful, especially considering the patches that I’d recently sewed on its elbows were very obviously eye-shaped. I knew that it wanted to laugh, but couldn’t.

It followed me off the bus, moved along with the foot traffic, and didn’t’n’t comment on how the weather was ‘too cold’ for my outfit, even though it was in the mid-forties. It seemed.. certain? Smug? That it.. dressed, I think, ready for the weather. It was 44*F. It’s in hardcore winter camping but also maybe instagram-able clothing (that is, if you applied enough filters). Im definitely tangenting now, but dude’s deranged (no shit).

Yet another case of the pot calling the kettle black, I guess.

It both was and wasn’t tangible. I put a hand on its shoulder, at one point, and nothing was stopping gravity from having an effect on my hand to let it drop, but it didn’t. I quickly snapped my hand away, obviously. That wasn’t a not-sensation that I would ever want to experience again.

Eventually, it didn’t leave. But it did. I saw it get off the second bus and leave, but it also didn’t move at all, just disappearing.

I still don’t know how to feel about it. I wasn’t scared at all, but I know I should be disturbed by this. I know that I should bring this up with someone.

As a side note before I forget:

I’ve drawn Michael before. What I saw today really doesn’t reflect how I have drawn it in the past. This looked almost human, where in my illustrations I tended to lean into it being something Other Than. Don’t know how to feel about that, either.

So, that’s all I have for now. Any thoughts?