#these are the things i use my college degree in creative writing for.

[anantplayingdnd]

oh my god I opened word to work on the escher fic and the entire most recent draft of it was just totally gone and i almost started crying but i managed to find it in temp files and i'm like still about to start crying but out of relief this time.

anyways here's a snippet of it because i am just so relieved it isn't all gone.

for anyone wondering, it's an origin story of sorts for our favorite little twink. in my game, before he met strahd, the love of his life was Arden, a member of the Keepers of the Feather.

[allylikethecat]

omg??? the teacher thing thats so mean 😭 good to know you took it as a champ and the fact you kept it AND printed it is so funny

She was actually the worst person I ever met omfg it's been twelve years and I'm still bitter about it 😂 I am never getting rid of that email. Sometimes I pull it out and am like "maybe I was exaggerating" but nope, it really says all that in black and white text sent to my gmail in 2012. It's so crazy to me that a TEACHER would put something like that in writing. She also said I was beyond help, like gee thanks. Way to you know, teach. I am SO OPEN to CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM and feedback that I can use to better myself, but telling me you've given up on me isn't exactly helpful. She was also the sole reason I wasn't allowed to take AP English in high school, she refused to sign the form to let me enroll.

One time, she took points off of my The Great Gatsby reading quiz because one of the questions was "What color is Gatsby's car" and I said yellow and she marked me wrong and said it was BEIGE because it was supposed to represent A PENIS and MASCULINITY so my happy ass went and FOUND THE PASSAGE IN THE BOOK where it EXPLICITLY SAYS Gatsby's car is YELLOW and SHOWED HER and she then told me I was being disrespectful for questioning her... Nothing fuels a person like spite does and I dream of one day publishing something and then mailing her a copy 🤣

I hope you are having a wonderful Tuesday and that you have a great rest of your week!

❤️Ally

[pangur-and-grim]

I had the first class of my Creative Writing certificate program, and something that already jumped out was the emphasis on beauty.

when I was at college for illustration, our professors would tell us over and over that what matters most is readability, and that you can have the most lovely, unique style in the world, and it won’t matter if nobody can tell what they’re looking at. and that is because ‘illustration’ isn’t just fine art, it’s commissioned art, we have clients to answer to. so they loaded us up with all these tricks and lessons to make our pieces as legible as possible, with ‘beauty’ being an optional icing on top.

in contrast, during my writing class the prof gave us several examples of prose to learn from, and WAS explaining the meat and bones of why they worked, but the language she used skewed toward emphasizing the art of it all, rather than the utility. we are still learning practical things, but I just thought the framing was so interesting. probably if I’d gotten a fine arts degree instead of a bachelor of illustration, it would have gone a lot like this.

[bvidzsoo]

Grease and Oil

⨳Mechanic!Mingi⨳

TW: cursing, smut wrap it before you tap it

Word count: 5,6k

A/N: I don't think I'll ever let go of bleached spikey haired Mingi. It changed something in me, I'll never be the same. I have nothing to say except...why did I even write this? Song Mingi stop haunting me, thank you. It's not the best, but the best I can write lol. Feedback is very much appreciated!

            The smell of grease, oil, and gasoline weren’t something unfamiliar to me, nor were they nauseating. It was something I was used to. These were familiar scents; scents which I have started associating with home. Cars, too, were something I associated with a feeling of familiarity, of something dear to me. Walking inside my father’s car service was like a second home, a place I knew like the back of my hand. I wasn’t huge on fixing cars, but I knew a few things here and there. Despite my father’s attempts at making me a great mechanic one day, I struggled to understand the in-depth parts and mechanism of a car, therefore I settled on appreciating their beauty. Can’t say my father was too happy about it, but his concerns faded away when I found a path for myself. I applied to a college, choosing to study literature as I struggled finding anything else I liked. Perhaps creative writing was a subjected I happened to enjoy too, but I had no idea where my degree would take me one day. I had no intentions of teaching English literature, the children these days were awful and very disrespectful. My short temper would’ve surely gotten the worst of me if placed in a situation where I had to deal with rude kids. And so, I settled on reading my books and pouring my feelings out into short poems when I wasn’t at college. Or by wasting my time away at my father’s car service. It’s not like I had anything better to do—I actually did, but procrastination is my best friend. Besides, most of his employees are above the age of thirty-five, and two of them I have known since I was a little girl, they could be really fun to hang around…and it’s not like I would often stop by because my father has an employee who is barely a few years older than myself. And it’s definitely not because he is the hottest man alive I have ever seen. He’s a tall and lean guy, his posture immaculate with his shoulders always pulled back, his long legs worth envying and shoulders so broad you could hide behind them and nobody would see you. In the summer, he usually wears tight tank tops, showing off his humble muscles, biceps finer than most guy’s of his age. And his pants, which are fireproof, cling onto his body, showing off his narrow waist. This guy was a sight for sore eyes and I couldn’t blame the few ladies who would occasionally stop by, completely taken aback by this guy’s visuals. It wasn’t fair that he had a perfect body, especially when his face was good-looking too. God sometimes had favorites and Song Mingi definitely was one of them with his long nose, sharp eyes and cherry red lips, a singular mole underneath his left eye decorating his flawless skin. His personality also made him desirable and that just made him a dangerously charming and handsome human being. Perhaps my frequent visits to the service during the summer were sort of his merit too, not just the want to spend some quality time with my father as he spent little time at home. I knew he was busy; I couldn’t blame him. His service was one of the best in our little town and money didn’t just magically appear, you had to work hard for it and that’s what he did, he worked his ass off all the time. The fact that he has employed Song Mingi was just the cherry on top, the little motivation I needed to perhaps learn more about cars.

I was settled on top of my father’s working desk, tools pushed to the side, feet dangling as I watched him work on a car’s engine, getting more and more furious by the second as he couldn’t find one missing screw. I watched quietly as his phone rang again, making him sigh loudly before he straightened himself up and took the call, eyebrows furrowed. It was a hot summer day, the AC did little to nothing inside the hot service, and the use of different electrical tools only created more heat inside the spacious room. I had started fanning myself, overhearing my father make an appointment as an obnoxiously loud engine whirled past the entrance to the service, making my heart skip an excited beat. It was lunch break, and Mingi had just returned from eating his meal. He was gone by the time I had arrived; I was rather lazy this morning and thus didn’t bother getting out of bed before 12 pm. My father turned towards me as he finished his call, looking rather irritated. It wasn’t directed at me; however, I still knew a lecturing would follow because I sat on his tool desk…again.

“Get off, Y/N, I asked you so many times not to sit there,” He sighed tiredly as he headed for the exit, “I have to examine a car, are you coming to the front?”

Certainly not before I have seen Mingi, “I’ll wash my hands first, they feel slimy, meet you at the reception, dad.”

He nodded once and hurried outside, phone already ringing once again. Summer seasons were always busy, work pilling up quickly. I started fanning myself with my hands as another heatwave hit me, making me sigh. Not even a tank top and shorts were enough to stop me from sweating buckets. I pushed my hair behind my shoulders and gripped the table, about to jump off it, when the man I stayed behind for finally showed up. He walked through the open garage door, having to duck as it wasn’t raised enough for his towering height. He had his back to me as he walked inside, carrying two boxes, muscles of his arms bulging as a few guys greeted him, instructing him where to place the boxes. However, nothing could’ve prepared me for the wave of shook which rooted me to my spot. My mouth hung open as my eyes remained trained on Mingi, and I could only hope nobody noticed my shameless gaping. Three days ago, when I have stopped by last, the man’s hair reached his shoulders almost and was a faded light brown. Now, his hair was completely bleached blonde and stood up in all places, spikey. A hairstyle definitely shouldn’t have made my tummy do flips, yet I had nothing to swallow as I watched Mingi laugh with a fellow mechanic, explaining something to him animatedly. His black tank top was tucked inside his beige pants, a black belt holding it against his hips securely. A black bandana was tied to his left bicep and I licked my lips as my eyes ran over his frame, stopping for a second too long on his ass. Perhaps crawling onto the wall sounded like the most normal thing to do right now. Just as I was about to look away, the man he was talking to briefly glanced at me and Mingi suddenly turned his head, eyes falling on me. Looking away right now would mean admitting that I had been staring at him, so I forced myself to smile nonchalantly at him and blame the flush on my cheeks on the extremely hot weather—which combined with Mingi’s presence only made my body heat up even more. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I’d do anything to get railed by Mingi while he wore his working clothes with grease smeared on his cheek. My heart skipped a beat as a lazy smirk appeared on his lips as he took off towards me, making me gulp in panic as I straightened my posture.

“Hello, princess.” He called once he was close enough and I rolled my eyes at the nickname, acting as if I totally hated it. It did bother me at the beginning when he started calling me that, but I didn’t mind anymore. And it certainly shouldn’t have made me blush.

“Hi, Mingi.” I greeted him back, smiling as I crossed my legs and leaned forward, holding myself up by my hands. My knuckles hurt from the grip I had on the table, but I ignored that.

“What brings you here today?” He asked nonchalantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. I didn’t want to look, but his biceps were bulging and I’m just a simple woman, “Thought you washed your car when you stopped by last time.”

Ah, yes, the good old excuse of washing my car when it didn’t need washing yet. To be fair, I had a cleaning problem so that was the main reason why I washed my car so often, Mingi being here was just another thing to motivate me to stop by more frequently.

“I did, I’m not here for that.” I admitted, clearing my throat as Mingi’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly, mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. He hummed shortly, the sound deep in his throat, reminding me how hot I found his raspy and deep voice. He had once whispered in my ear as he snuck up on me, wanting to scare me, and I swear to God, I almost reached Heaven that day.

“Are you here for me then?” The cute pout of his lips and the finger he pushed against his cheek definitely didn’t match the sultriness of his words and the look in his eyes. It made me take a deep breath as I forced myself to roll my eyes, embarrassed that he had a feeling I was only here to see him. I mean…I did wear my favorite off-shoulder top just because I knew we would see each other.

“Why the sudden change of hairstyle?” I decided to change the subject, but it only made Mingi smirk as he looked at me almost victorious, almost as if he knew I didn’t answer him because he was right. Mingi ruffled his already spikey hair with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Just wanted something new,” He answered, “besides, it’s so hot these days, my long locks only made me sweat more. I feel like a new man right now. What do you think, do I look nice?”

Nice was little said, I would’ve described him more like: hot, sexy, attractive, gorgeous, mouth-watering, “Yeah, you look nice. It suits you.”

Mingi smiled happily and bowed lightly before his phone beeped. I didn’t understand how a man like him could be so cute while looking like a Greek God. My eyebrows slightly furrowed as I watched Mingi chuckle and smile down at his phone, quickly typing something on it. Perhaps he was seeing someone? Of course, why would a man like him be single? It shouldn’t come as a surprise; I should have thought about that sooner. But then again, he never mentioned a significant other. With a sigh, I jumped off the table and dusted off my shorts, running my hands through my hair. Mingi paused, looking up at me through his long lashes. I forced a smile on my face, suddenly discouraged by my own thoughts, as I grabbed my phone off the table.

“Got to go, dad’s waiting for me.” I mumbled as Mingi’s eyes slightly narrowed, eyes swiftly running over my body. He nodded wordlessly and I turned around, taking off towards the exit.

“That top looks really nice on you.” My steps halted for a second as I looked back at him and chuckled before exiting the garage, walking towards the reception, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach at the simple compliment. I should probably download a dating app and find someone available to obsess over.

            The blaring music and blinding disco lights in the living room were becoming too much as my tipsy head swirled around like a disco ball, throat parched up and dry from the lack of water. Certainly the amount of alcohol I have had was enough for the night as I pushed people out of my way, slightly wobbling as I headed for the kitchen, desperately needing water. A super rich guy from college threw a huge ass party and invited some guys over from our college, one of them being one of my close friends. I wasn’t one to turn down a good party, and when the alcohol was free, I would certainly attend it. Seonghwa and I had teamed up and played beer-pong together, kicking Wooyoung and San’s asses, but losing to Hongjoong and Yunho. We should have known better not to challenge those two competitive monsters. All in all, the night was fun and after having lost Sooyoung to some hot guy, I hit the dancefloor with Wooyoung and San, the three of us dancing our hearts out to every song. After a while, I grew concerned and started calling Sooyoung, making my two dancing companions almost take my phone away after six missed calls. But it didn’t take long for Sooyoung to finally text me, telling me she was upstairs with a Yeosang named guy smoking some weed, and that she’d be down in no time. I rolled my eyes at the text, huffing as I handed Wooyoung my phone to take care of. My skirt had no pockets and I forgot to bring a fanny-pack, I have grown tired of holding my phone, Wooyoung’s back pocket would do the trick until Sooyoung returned and I could give my phone for her to put in her little purse. The music wasn’t as loud in the kitchen as it was in the living room and it was also less packed, which made me grateful as I walked over to the window and pushed it open, smiling contently at the cool air which hit my face. I certainly needed to cool down. I grabbed a red cup which looked relatively unused and filled it with tap water, downing it in mere seconds only to fill it up again and again until I felt satiated. I threw the cup away and leaned against the counter, holding my thumping head in my hands as I closed my eyes for a second, thinking it would help. But it only made me more nauseous and I quickly opened my eyes as I massaged my forehead, still leaning slightly over. Somebody next to me asked if I was okay and I quickly nodded, telling them that I just needed a moment to regain composure again, and I’ll be off dancing once again. However, a weirdly familiar deep voice suddenly filled the kitchen, some high-pitched giggle following straight after the ridiculous joke the guy told. My nose scrunched up at the very cheesy pickup line which followed and I snorted, unintentionally catching their attention as they didn’t stand too far away.

“Y/N?” The deep voice asked surprised and my eyebrows furrowed as I finally raised my head, smoothing down my hair as it fell in my face.

“Oh, Mingi.” I muttered just a little surprised by his presence here. I wondered how he knew about the party, however, the black-haired girl by his side was a tell-tale. She was a student at my college and she was pretty as fuck. I sighed, and unintentionally glared at her, unimpressed by her presence next to Mingi. It’s not like I knew her well to form an opinion about her, but personally, I didn’t like her that much. Especially since Mingi seemed to be here with her. My eyes fall back onto him and my brain blanched for a second, never having seen him outside of the car service up until now. Him not wearing his tight-fitting clothes was something new and I couldn’t help but let my eyes run all over his body, taking in the sight in front of me. He wore a loose-fitting white t-shirt, the front slightly tucked inside his grey ripped jeans which were baggy. He wore a black pair of convers, and a black fanny-pack was pushed around to his backside to not bother him. However, what made me take a second to process what I was seeing were his accessories. His necklaces were layered as he wore a red braided like material which sat snugly against the base of his neck, then a silver chain followed, and a silver cross which reached just bellow his collarbones. His wrists were decorated with silver chain bracelets, matching the chain around his neck and he wore various rings, some bigger than the other, his right-hand sporting four meanwhile his left three. If all of that combined with his hair wasn’t enough, his fingernails were also painted black, albeit already coming off in some spots, but still painted black. He was a sight for sore eyes and it took everything in me to not grip his arm and walk us upstairs, completely disregarding the girl he was here with.

And she just had to speak up, “Oh, you two know each other?”

“Yeah, her dad’s my boss.” Mingi answered before I could and I raised an eyebrow as the girl took me in, unexpectedly smiling at me as she placed an arm around Mingi’s shoulders. My jaw tensed subconsciously and I licked my lips as I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“We go to the same college,” She told Mingi, offering her hand to me, “I don’t think we’ve ever really introduced each other, though. My name is Jennie, I’m Mingi’s cousin.”

“Cousin?” My eyebrows raised as I shook Jennie’s hand, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mingi playfully pushed Jennie off himself as he answered my question and Jennie just rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, giant, if I leave you alone with Y/N, will you behave?” She raised her eyebrows threateningly at Mingi and he just chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

“I always behave.” He defended himself quickly, but sounded like he didn’t mean it at all.

“No, you don’t.” Jennie rolled her eyes then looked back at me, “I have to find my boyfriend, he’s somewhere here around, probably drunk off his ass. If Mingi bothers you, just knee him in the stomach really hard and come and find me, I’ll kick his ass for you—”

“I’m right here, you know.” Mingi rolled his eyes and ruffled Jennie’s hair, “Get lost before I chase you away.”

Jennie scoffed but walked away after she waved at me, leaving me alone with Mingi. My hostile behavior slightly dropped, but I couldn’t help look at Mingi with narrowed eyes. I knew what I heard while I was fighting the urge of throwing up. Why would anyone flirt with their cousin? That was disgusting.

“If Jennie is your cousin…why would you say a pickup line to her?” I couldn’t help but ask him accusingly. It made Mingi laugh as he stepped closer, smiling cheekily.

“Eavesdropping, weren’t you?” I opened my mouth to deny his claim, but Mingi didn’t let me, “First of, ew, that’s literally my cousin do I look like I fuck with family? And second, that pickup line was actually sent by someone whom I have been talking to, and I was just reading it to Jennie.”

“How many girls are you talking to currently?” The question tumbled past my lips before I could even think about it. I only could blame the alcohol for making me so straightforward and embarrassing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” Mingi chuckled and stepped closer, invading my personal space. I gulped and pressed myself harder into the counter, hands coming to grip the edge of it. A smirk appeared on Mingi’s lips as he leaned down to be eye level with me, eyes searching my face before they settled on my lips briefly. My head was spinning and perhaps I was seeing things, but his tongue poked out for a second, “You look really hot.”

I gulped and let out a quiet breath, looking down at myself. The leather skirt clung onto me like a second skin and the flower decorated corset did little to nothing to cover what I would usually hide. It was Sooyoung’s idea to dress up like this, she wore a matching set except her corset was green meanwhile mine pink.

“Uh, thanks.” I whispered and didn’t dare move as Mingi lowered his head even more, looking through his lashes as he looked me in the eyes. He’s never stood this close to me before; it only now made me realize the height difference between us. And I couldn’t help but faintly smell gasoline despite his strong cologne.

“Dressed up for someone?” He muttered and I felt a warm finger lightly trace the skin of my right arm. I gulped nervously and ignored the goosebumps on my skin.

“I didn’t know you’d be here—” I tried changing the subject, it seemed to be a habit of mine lately.

“But if you did know, would you have dressed up for me?” Mingi’s raspy voice whispered in my ear as he leaned closer, my mouth opening without a sound coming out. My tipsy brain didn’t exactly know how to function in that moment and that meant I had nothing to say. But as he pulled back, we made eye contact, and his intimidating gaze pulled an answer out of me instantly.

“Yes.” I would totally hate myself in the morning for admitting that, but I couldn’t help myself. Not when he was standing so close and saying things like that. A smirk pulled onto Mingi’s lips and suddenly his hand raised as he gripped a strand of my hair lightly and twirled it around, brushing it behind my ear. I watched him mesmerized, body slightly trembling because of different things. The opened window brought in the chill breeze and we stood close to the it; Mingi’s closeness and touch made me want to crash my lips against his, and I was fighting every fiber in my body to stop myself from doing that, thankfully not tipsy enough to lose all rationality.

“I think I know about your little secret, princess.” Mingi’s tone was playful as he suddenly cupped my cheek and tilted my head back, hovering his face over mine, eyes tracing my features slowly. I hoped my red lipstick wasn’t smudged and that it would be smudged in no time.

“What secret?” I asked confused, biting my lower lip as Mingi’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, his fingers slipping towards my nape as his thumb pushed against my cheek.

“About your little crush—” He barely whispered, eyes on my lips as my mouth parted, heart beating like crazy, “on me.”

Before I could answer him, his teeth caught my lower lip between his and he sucked on the flesh, making my face flush as I mewled, hand holding onto his waist for more stability as the counter wasn’t enough anymore. He held eye contact as he released my lip and I felt like crumbling onto my knees and giving him anything he wanted as my grip tightened on him, head pulled closer to his by the grip he had on my nape. Mingi’s lips barely brushed against mine and I tried to close the impossibly little distance between us, but he just tsked and smirked.

“Good girls eventually get what they want, princess, be a bit more patient.” I couldn’t help but groan in frustration as Mingi released me and took a step back, smirking as he swiped his thumb over my lower lip, smudging my lipstick. I threw him a glare, but he just laughed and then turned around and walked off with a cup he grabbed off from the counter. I couldn’t help but lick my lower lip, pressing a palm against my racing heart as I tapped the sweat off my forehead, needing another cup of water to cool off.

            And I didn’t even have to wait for too long. Four days after the party, my father asked me to stop by the car service because he couldn’t decide what color to choose for the tuning he was doing for one of his friend’s car. I couldn’t have been happier to stop by as I made it my personal mission to stay away from that place for as long as possible, embarrassed by what happened between Mingi and I at the party, but also because I wanted to torture him a bit too. I could only hope he yearned to see me as much as I yearned for him. My father was out, having to pick up some pieces in the nearest city, which was half an hour away, so that meant he’d be gone for approximately an hour and a half. Everyone was gone by now from the car service as working hours were over, everyone except Mingi, of course. He had to catch up on his work as he had to skip a day for some undisclosed business. And yes, Mingi should’ve been working right now on that old car nobody actually wanted to fix, but here he was, balls deep in my pussy, thrusting into me like his life depended on it. I guess he was just a simple man too, and he fell exactly into my trap as I walked through the garage door wearing my little sundress, high heels elongating my legs. It didn’t take long for Mingi to stop whatever he was doing as he dragged me to the backroom, where there were no cameras, and pushed up on the table, wasting no time in undressing himself and working up the both of us. My head was thrown back from the constant pleasure his movements brought, his length reaching places no one else has before, my right hand gripping his bare waist as I rolled my hips to meet his thrusts. Mingi was biting his lips hard, holding onto my hips as I had to hold myself up with one arm, muscle straining with each strong thrust. Perhaps I should have expected him to be vocal, but the whines he would let out every now and then only turned me on even more, dragging my own moans out of me. Grease stuck to his left cheek, just underneath his mole and his already sweaty body from working was glistening once again, smelling strongly of the substance he has been working with to clean rims of the old car.

“I bet you’ve been fantasizing about me fucking you covered in grease and all sweaty from the long day I’ve had.” My only answer was a loud moan as he hit the sweet spot which made me see stars, and for a second, all I could hear were his own pants and the table squeaking louder and louder with each thrust.

“You have no idea—” I moaned as I clenched around Mingi, mind blanching for a second as he hit that spot again, “How fucking hot you look—like this.”

My fingertips dug into his hips and Mingi suddenly leaned down, pressing my back flat against the wooden table, rotating his hips as he suddenly slowed down. My mouth opened in a gasp and my legs went around his hips, one hand tangling in his blonde spikey hair as the other went around his shoulders to anchor myself. Mingi groaned in my ear as I clenched around his length again, his thrusts painfully slow on purpose, making me try to move my hips, but he had me pinned down by his heavier body.

“Fuck, please—” My whine was muffled by his lips as he pressed them against mine, pushing his tongue past my lips as I kissed him hungrily, wanting to feel more and more of him. Our lips moved messily against each other as Mingi slightly quickened his pace, but it still wasn’t enough. My eyebrows were furrowed as it started becoming unbearable and I whined, pulling my head away and choking on my words for a second, “I’m going to fucking die if you don’t go faster.”

I couldn’t believe Mingi had the audacity to smirk as he bit my lower lip harshly, making me push his head away as he chuckled amused, fake pouting at me.

“Thought I said good girls get what they want—” He completely stilled, bringing tears into my eyes out of frustration as I gripped his nape, trying to move against him to no avail, “And you’re being rather impatient right now.”

But before I could say anything, the slightly stood up and pulled almost fully out before slamming in again, his pace relentless and thrusts sharp as he threw his head back, moaning, making me grip onto his lower arm as he hit my g-spot over and over again, making my back arch as broken moans left my lips, nails digging into his skin. I was going fucking insane as his thumb found my clit and he started rubbing circles on it, making me cry out as I felt my orgasm building up, ready to snap any second as Mingi’s moans got higher and higher, my walls clenching tightly around him, bringing him closer to the edge as well.

“Fuck.” He hissed at a particular sharp thrust, his hips almost stuttering but I managed to meet his movements, desperate for my own release as I clawed at the wooden table, back arching as the pleasure became unbearable and the knot in my stomach snapped, making me let out a high-pitched moan, only for Mingi’s lips to muffle it as his hips stuttered, his own release following mine, filling me up. My body trembled and my lungs heaved for air as I came down from the high, our lips touching with Mingi as we both panted into each other’s mouths. His scent was intoxicating and I couldn’t help but burry my head into his neck and lightly bite down on his perfect skin, making him shudder. He didn’t pull out yet and I felt him twitch slightly, making me chuckle.

“So, I’m hot when I’m all sweaty and covered in grease?” He spoke up, voice raspy, and his words made me laugh as I allowed my head to rest against the wooden table, throwing an arm over my eyes. I could feel Mingi’s smile as he pressed a kiss against the corner of my mouth, swiftly pulling out.

“I said it once, I won’t say it again.” I peeked at him as he quickly pulled up his boxers and tight pants, adjusting his tank top.

“If I knew all I had to do was change my hairstyle for you to finally let me fuck you—” Mingi shook his head as he helped me off the table, smirking when I had to lean against it for support, my legs having gone numb, “I would’ve done it a lot earlier.”

“Perhaps if you weren’t so oblivious,” I threw him a glare and pulled up my panties, adjusting my dress, “You would’ve noticed how badly I wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you, idiot.”

Mingi laughed and threw an arm around my shoulders as he pulled me into himself, “Now that that’s out of the way…do you want to date or do you want us to just fuck?”

His question made me pause as I looked up in his eyes, biting my lower lip in thought, “You want to go out with me?”

“I sure do.” Mingi said it like it was the most obvious thing, then he jutted his chin towards mine, “What about you?”

“What do you think?” I asked with a chuckle.

“That we should go for a second round—”

“Mingi!” I pressed my palm over his mouth and threw him a little glare, “My father could be back anytime, you know. And yes, I do want to date you. Unless you’re always this annoying.”

Mingi fake laughed as he pushed my hand off his mouth, “Aren’t you just so funny?”

I stuck my tongue out at him and he tried kissing it, making me yelp and push him away, which made Mingi giggle as he placed his hands in his pockets, “So, tomorrow at six?”

“But you better shower before you come pick me up.” I pointed a finger at him as we went to leave the room.

“I thought I smelled hot—”

“You can’t smell hot, so just—” I sighed and looked at him, “Just—dress up. You—I mean, you know, you looked really good at the party. I haven’t seen you out of your work clothes before.”

“Aw, aren’t you so shy right now and stuttering all of a sudden?” He cooed and poked my cheek, “As if I wasn’t inside you—”

“Y/N, you still here?!” I heard my father’s voice shout from afar and I threw Mingi a warning look as I pushed him away. He walked towards the car he had to fix defeated, throwing me those sad puppy eyes and a pout as my father walked inside the garage.

“Hi.” I waved at him and he smiled, glancing at Mingi.

“You can fix it tomorrow too, you know?” My father said as he went to put his own utensils away. Mingi hummed but said he didn’t have much until he was done, liar. My father glanced at me and I looked away from Mingi, smiling at my father innocently. He just shook his head and threw his keys at me, making me clumsily catch them.

“Go pick up your mother, I’ll stay behind and help Mingi fix the car.” He muttered tiredly as he walked up to my soon-to-be-boyfriend, oblivious to what Mingi would soon become to him as well. Not just an employee, but perhaps a part of our family too. I jokingly saluted my father as I stopped in the doorway, turning to look at Mingi, who was already watching me.

“Goodbye, Mingi.”

“Bye, Y/N.” Mingi tried to fight the smile off his lips as I turned around and ran off with a giggle, cheeks burning suddenly with embarrassment.

Good girls eventually get what they want, don’t they?

Masterlist

[emilybeemartin]

Hey! Hey, would you like to be a park ranger?

USA Jobs just posted a bunch of national park ranger positions for summer 2024--everything from small historic sites to the big flagship parks like Yellowstone and Yosemite. These are seasonal positions specifically for interpretive rangers, which means you begin around May-ish and end around September-October-ish. Interpretation is the branch of the NPS that does educational programming and frontline visitor services, like working in the visitor centers, leading guided walks and talks, and just generally interacting with the public in a friendly, helpful way.

If you have a four-year college degree in just about any subject (honestly, I've worked with people with degrees ranging from theater to business to geoscience), or 12 months' relevant work experience (customer service, retail, education, camp counseling, etc), or a combination of the two, you're eligible to apply. All you need is a resume and transcripts if you're using education to qualify.

Just go to USAJobs.gov and search for "park ranger interpretation" in the search bar. The key things you're looking for in the results are listings from the National Park Service, the code GS 5 (which is the entry level for this position), and the phrase Not to Exceed 1039 hours (which indicates it's a seasonal position).

Some tips!

>Each application requires you to answer a questionnaire about your experience with things like customer service, preparing educational programs, researching scientific topics, etc. Be generous with yourself on these, because other folks will be. Even if you don't think you're an "expert" in something, consider your past work creatively. Have you presented research projects in class? Have you worked retail? Can you keep up a professional demeanor when somebody's upset? You have the qualifications. Rate yourself as such.

>Be thorough and specific in your resume. The NPS isn't a one-pager resume organization. They need to see evidence that you have the qualifications you say you do. The best way to ensure this is to copy, word for word, the phrases in the above questionnaire and insert them in the relevant places in your resume. So if the questionnaire says "Can you research, prepare, and present scientific information to a lay public," go to the appropriate place in your resume and write "I researched, prepared, and presented scientific information to my peers" or something similar. I kid you not, my current resume is ten pages long.

>Cover letters are optional but helpful! There are lots of templates online to help you write one; be sure to be professional. Mine is around 250 words and has three short paragraphs:

1- Position I'm applying for

2- Quick summary of most relevant work/education experience

3- Additional skills/rizz that makes me stand out (for me it's writing/illustrating, which helps me create visitor programs)

>Two things the NPS loves that will boost you are foreign language skills and being a US military veteran. Highlight these elements if you have them.

>Are you a schoolteacher? Check out the Teacher-Ranger-Teacher program.

>The big flashy parks are posted as standalone listings, but most of the others are bundled into "Multiple Locations" that are based on region. Consider applying for many of these smaller monuments and historic sites---they get far fewer applicants and are easier to secure. And many are absolutely beautiful. Want to work at Arches? Also apply to Natural Bridges. Want to work in Yellowstone? Also try Lassen Volcanic. Prefer history over science? You have dozens of amazing options from every facet of American history.

>Apply today! Apply now! Many of these parks cap their applicants because they get so many, and the rest will close after a week or so. A glance at the ones that were posted today and yesterday show them either closing on October 15 or 22. Some regions haven't posted yet, so keep checking the website in the next few weeks.

I love my work as a park ranger---it's such a rewarding way to spend a summer (or two, or ten), and it can open doors to other things. You won't get rich, but you will make great friends and great memories, add a killer section to your resume, and spend four months immersed with smart, passionate people in some of the coolest places in the US.

Plus you get a SICK HAT

[nikachansstuff]

“I know I’m right, because I have a BA in English Literature.”

Yes, me too. And one in the way in Creative Writing. I can only imagine that a lot of people reading SJM work is in Eng Lit circle.

But you will not see me using my degree to reinforce my interpretation of a book. Because during college, you learn that your interpretation of a text is exactly that: only your interpretation, based mostly in your experiences and personal views. And everybody’s perception is equally as valid as yours, degree or no degree.

We learn to never assume what is the writer’s intention, cause guess what? That’s intentional fallacy. You will never know what are the intentions of the author, unless they tell you. You can only again, and I can’t express this enough, make assumptions based on your individual interpretation.

There’s a theses by Roland Barthes called “The death of the author.” Meaning, when you are evaluating/analyzing any piece of literature, you should forget the author and focus on the piece itself. The art itself is alive and tells a story on its own, and when the artist creates and gives it to the world, this beautiful thing is alive for us to take it and interpret as we all see it individually. The birth of a reader must be at the cost of the death of the author. We should not use the presumed intentions of an author to explain some ultimate meaning of a text (I’m looking at you, SJM’s Pinterest account from 2015 screenshot that circulates every couple of weeks)

So please, don’t use your degree as a certificate to weight your personal opinion of a text like is some universal truth. Specially in a book about fairies doing the nasty.

(If you read all this, thank you! Here’s a cookie and a hug)

[a-d-nox]

what's a solar return?

any time the sun transits and becomes exactly conjunct your natal sun (it is in the exact sign and degree it was in when you were born), you undergo a solar return. solar returns happen every year on your birthday. my solar return is coming up this october, so i thought "why not?let's continue my thoughts about the return charts."

but what can a solar return chart show you?

literally everything about your year ahead. you just have to look at it and know what you are looking at/for. so let's break it down some of the basics...

sun

energy/aura, attention you receive this year, leadership opportunities, creativity, pride/ego/dignity, how generous you are, individuality, personal development, self-awareness, what makes you happy, celebrations, and self-expression.

moon

emotions / emotional responses, self-care, comfort zone / safe space, femininity, mothers / matriarchal / maternal instincts, family, nostalgia, pregnancy/fertility, baking/cooking, adaptability, menstruation, and habits/routines.

mercury

communication/gossiping, mindset / reasoning skills, perception, writing, social media / cellphone use, short trips, ground transportation, and mannerisms.

venus

romance, beauty/aestheticism, pleasure(s), art/entertainment, self-love, harmony, femininity, sentimentality, how you compromise, parties/celebrations, and possessions.

mars

passions/desires, self-confidence, ambition, anger/aggression, competitiveness, athletics / physical energy, impulsivity, courage/bravery, tasks, masculinity, assertiveness, sexuality, and violence.

jupiter

luck, abundance, wealth, success, opportunity, popularity, wisdom, air travel, ease, higher education (college/university), optimism, justice/retribution, law, and fulfillment.

saturn

work, achievement/mastery, challenges, karma, fathers / patriarchy / paternal instincts, fears, guilt, delays/limitations, discipline, responsibility, past issues that are prevalent this year, practicality, stability, endurance, maturity, and grudges.

uranus

friends/fans/followers, technology, fluctuation/change, rebellion, independence, originality, unexpected things / surprises, and chaos.

neptune

creativity, selflessness, escapism, intuition, hidden things, deception/lies/delusion, confusion, inspiration, and addiction/fascination.

pluto

change/transformation, power, sex/seduction, death, intensity/magnetism, obsessions, manipulation, and purging.

1h/asc

identity, approach/mindset this year, physical appearance, mannerisms, and your presence.

2h

money/finances this year, material possessions, self worth, what you are giving/receiving, and resources.

3h

communication/gossip, mind / method of thinking, sibling relationship(s), interests, ideas/information, ground transportation, social media / cellphone use, publishing, and short trips.

4h/ic

homes/houses, family matters, parents (mainly maternal figures), inner child work you do this year, inheritance, traditions you practice this year, self-care you do this year, and femininity.

5h

children, talents / hobbies / entertainment / creative pursuits, drama, short-term romances, pleasures/gifts, fertility, and joy/delight/jubilation

6h

daily routine, health/fitness/diet, work/duties, self-improvement / shadow work, hygiene, and pet(s).

7h/dsc

long-term relationships / marriage / partnerships, how you care for others (if you care for others), minor legal pursuits, contracts/negotiations, known enemies, close associates / business partners, and equality/harmony/sharing (how you promote it and how (if) you receive it).

8h

changes (external and internal), death (internal and external), shared finances, what you invest in, stocks/taxes/inheritance/loans/assets, intimacy (intellectual and physical), secrets/mystery, mental health / trauma you experience, and possible surgery/operations.

9h

wisdom you gain, major legal pursuits, new beliefs/ethics/philosophy milestones, college/university, and air travel / travel abroad.

10h/mc

career, public image / status / reputation in society, responsibilities towards society/others, authority, paternal figures, and your professional aspirations (the progress you make towards them this year).

11h

friends/companions/allies/groups, ideals/desires, how your different this year as opposed to years past, technology, networking/socializing, and parties (formal and informal).

12h

how you heal this year from you past / mental health journey, karma, sleeping habits, your experience with solitude/isolation this year, unknown enemies, illusions/delusions you have about your situation, fears / self-limitation, losses, and what you secretly/subconsciously want most this year.

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see a specific post or mythical asteroid next!

click here for the masterlist

click here for more return chart posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices!

© a-d-nox 2023 all rights reserved

[andhumanslovedstories]

Hi Sarah (or Sara? I remember you discussing the h but don't remember which way it's spelled). I hope you're doing well on your break and enjoying September. I have a question - how much schooling did you have to do to become a nurse? I'm considering becoming an elementary school teacher in Norway, which would require me to go back to school for 5 (additional) years. Seems like a long fucking time and i didnt do great the first run tbh. It would be free though. Investment in the future seems like it could pay off, so i guess im looking for inspiration from other ppl who have perhaps made a similar plunge

Hi, anon! I wish I could give you some straight up inspo. Instead, I navel-gazed for a while. Schooling-wise, I already had a (completely unrelated) bachelor's degree so I was able to do an accelerated nursing program after two semesters of community college doing the prereqs. I did struggle in nursing school. College has always been brutal on my mental health and nursing is a hard pivot from my original degree (double major history and english w a concentration in creative writing) (you cannot imagine how many books I read and essays I wrote). It took a little over two years in total.

You don't have to don't have to worry about student debt which is so so wonderful. I didn't have to either, and that's let me be way more adventurous with my life choices. The cost of your education would just ("just") be your time, energy, and the potential money that you could earn by focusing on work instead. I had to stick around in my hometown instead of going traveling with Cyrus. I worked a lot fewer hours than I would if I'd not been in school. I had to miss the live airing of the Jesus Christ Superstar on NBC in order to study for an anatomy test which was genuinely so distressing to me. 2018 was a hell of a year for me. (I aced that test btw. It was such an improvement over my previous test my teacher emailed me a congratulations note with twelve exclamation points.)

All of this while people were constantly talking about how shitty it is to be a nurse and how so many of them leave the field within six months. (Similar to teaching in that way, at least in America.) I was doing work I didn't enjoy for a job I might not stick with. There were a lot of times I resented nursing school for interfering with my life.

I'm still very glad I did it. My degree gave me a lot. On the very practical side, my degree has given me more financial freedom and a much higher earning potential. On the idealistic level, my degree has enabled me to do work that I find meaningful. The work touches a lot of things that I find interesting. My nursing degree has benefited my life, regardless of if I stay in nursing for the rest of my career or move on to something new. I didn't like getting my degree, but I don't regret that I got it.

Maybe it'll go way easier for you, maybe it won't be worth it. When I thought about becoming a nurse, it felt like my life plan clicked into place because it ticked every single need I had for a job. I didn't know if it would work out, but the rewards outweighed the risks. More than that, it was the first plan I had for my future that made me excited. I liked the life I pictured if I was a nurse. I've found that excitement to be rare and precious. If teaching gives you that, I'd strongly consider pursuing it.

Besides, you can always use my last-line defense against school despair: being like "fuck it I'm gonna drop out after this semester" and then keep not doing that. You can bail on stuff! It's rad.

[subukunojess]

Help Me and My Family With Billing and Returning to School

Hello. My name is Jessica. I am a 30 autistic asexual Hispanic woman who is currently working on a Master's degree in Professional and Creative Writing. I usually do not do this, but I really need help.

A few months ago, my family and I moved upstate and bought our first home after living in apartments every since I was born. We lived in public housing for twenty years until a miracle happened and we were able to get a home which I am striving for it to be our forever home where we will be safe and happy.

A lot of things happened recently:

The new bills we have to pay plus paying for mortgage has taken a toll on us.

Due to mental and emotional health issues, I messed up my last semester and I have a debt of $6,300.00 US dollars as of this day (4/12) will go to collections since I didn't have the $523 to do a payment plan.

My grandmother passed away weeks ago and with sudden financial decisions, we had to cut down on a lot of expenses.

Currently, I am working in a part-time job that I use my checks to pay for my bills and to help pay my family's bills. With my deteriorating self-esteem and increased stress, it is difficult for me to support my family.

Please help me so that my family and I won't be homeless. I need money to pay off my debt so I can continue my education, finish my degree, and maintain a more stable life.

My goal is $10,000. $6,300 will pay off my college debt while the rest will be used to pay our bills and mortgage. Please share and support however you can. I am also going to look into doing commissions.

p4yp4l

g34unDm3

GOAL: 20/10,000

[circulars-reasoning]

Hi, I hope this ask isn’t too invasive…

You’ve mentioned before that you’re an English teacher, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to speak a bit on how you became one (education? certifications?) and what it’s like for you teaching while living with DID.

The reason I ask is, I’m a senior in high school and I’ll be going to college in the fall. I’m really worried because I have so many alters who all want different things for my life. But in general, I’m drawn to teaching and many of my alters are okay with the idea of pursuing this as a career - especially if I can teach English, which has always been my best subject (I’m in the US).

I’m really scared about entering the adult world, and want to be as prepared as possible for this shift. Hearing from a system who followed the career path I’m considering would be really amazing!

If this ask bothers you or if you’re not comfortable answering it, I totally understand. Thank you for your time and consideration!

- Freya

Hey!!! Sorry I missed this ask -- I hardly use this blog and actually plan on deleting it soon. Just need to get around to reblogging the important posts.

But this is an important one, and I really want to respond here, in the hopes that you'll see it.

I'm an English teacher for 6th grade in the US, and I can say that, without a doubt, college was harder than being a teacher is currently. Do not let your experiences in college stop you from your goal. The professors will not be kind to you, especially if you don't know what's happening to you.

I'm going to pop this under a cut because boy howdy I am rambling.

In terms of college and working to become a teacher with DID:

Firstly, and most importantly: Scheduling. You will need to be completely on top of scheduling out your few years of college. You don't need to be perfect, mind you, but please be aware of what classes are required and when you will take them. My college fucked me over on this. The reason it's so vital is because most education programs in the US are 5 year programs -- 4 years of college, and a 5th year of one semester of a "practicum" (an unpaid internship at a school). During your practicum, you're not supposed to take any extra classes. I was taking 3 classes on top of my practicum to stay under 5 years. Don't do this. Either bite the bullet and do that extra 5th year of schooling, or plan accordingly so you don't get stuck the same way I did.

Now that that's out of the way:

DID definitely impacted my ability to study for things. It really helped having someone else holding me accountable; my partner, my roommate for 3 of my 4 years of college, really helped me out and basically did the education degree alongside me in spirit. If you can, find someone else to help you study.

That someone else should not be a fellow education major. This is because almost all of them will drop out by the time you graduate. That's a sorry truth, unfortunately. In my Junior Literature class of 6 students in my junior year, only 3 moved on with their degree; in my senior year, I was the only one who moved on. This is because college is fucking grueling, and everyone dropped out, thinking teaching would be harder (I'll get to that).

Don't try to overcome your disorder in college. Don't try to heal or recover while going through classes. Try to survive. You do not need to focus on recovery immediately, and it is a BAD idea to pile that much on your shoulders while in college and while teaching. Try to maintain and survive as best as you can. Recovery is a process and it will work on its own as you go through.

You can absolutely bullshit your way through an English degree, easy. It's not hard. Especially if you start writing about fanfiction in Lit 101 -- or at least, in my experience, that got me far. If you know you'd good at English, I would highly recommend it, esp if you're good at School English.

For your other classes, you'll likely have to do gen ed credits. Be creative and have fun. To fulfill my math credits, I took programming and "mathematical excursions" (you do fun shit with math and learn to pay for a house -- it was incredible). To fulfill science credits, I took Astronomy as a night class and got to look through a telescope during a night class for an A. It was awesome. (Well, ok, that class sucked, but you get the point).

DON'T OVERSTACK YOUR CREDITS. I wouldn't go above 18 credits per semester. I usually did around 16, and the minimum we could do was 12. Don't go minimum, but do not overstack. Again, scheduling, don't overschedule yourself.

You'll take a form of practicum each year more than likely. This will be where you go to a school and teach for a bit, and then you'll go do homework about what you taught. In your first year or two, you won't be doing almost any of the teaching; you'll shadow a mentor teacher who will show you how to do the thing. This is honestly so beneficial, but...

TAKE NOTES. For fucks sake, the memory part of DID fucking destroyed me in college, and notes would improve everything. Take double notes, honestly -- physical notes while in the school, and digital notes once you get home.

GET ENOUGH SLEEP. DID leads to insomnia so frequently. Start trying to keep good sleeping habits now, because it WILL get worse as college goes on. Do NOT do what I did and try to survive on 3 hours of sleep a night. It is not sustainable and you will catch every single disease these kids transfer onto people, I swear to god.

The Dean of Students will actually help. A lot. Please go to them if you're struggling. If you can't go, then send someone you trust to advocate for you. In my senior year when everything was going to shit with my mentor teacher (she was a horrible woman) and the admin at school were shitty to me (again, a horrible woman in charge), my partner went to the Dean and advocated for me. That mentor teacher was forced to retire from the school the next year, and my admin had to extend my semester by 3 days to give me a better practicum with someone who could actually do their fucking job. Do not feel scared to advocate.

Please. Please, if you remember nothing, remember this: do not listen to your coworkers in your final practicum. Don't listen to what they say about you becoming a teacher. These people are jaded assholes who, in my experience, want nothing more than to bomb the school. I wish I was kidding, but genuinely, so many of them are horrifically jaded and don't want to be there, ESPECIALLY when your practicum starts (which almost always coincides with state testing schedules). Teaching is awesome, genuinely, so long as you enjoy it.

And lastly for the college aspect: It gets easier. It really does. College was absolute hell for me up through senior year. This was because not only was I doing full coursework (ouch), but I was also starting to really understand and process bits of my trauma (yikes) and I was still with my abusers (yikes). This makes it so, so much harder, in so many ways. And I still did it. And now, here I am to live and tell the tale, and now that I am a teacher?

This shit is so much more forgiving. I have slipped up so fucking much, but as long as you do your best and mean well, your bosses will fucking adore you. They desperately need warm bodies in the room to help make sure the kids don't set fire to each other, and you are certainly going to fit the job description if you give a single shit.

Be open about some of your issues, but not all. I'm very open at work that I suffer from a disorder that leads to amnesia, but I'm careful about how I do this. "I actually have an issue that leads to a lot of forgetfulness, so if it's possible that you could send me a reminder of that meeting, I'd appreciate it." That's all I needed, and now we have a group calendar and my coworker has forgiven me numerous times for missing something.

Your mistakes as a system are completely seen as just. Normal Ass Human Mistakes. Forgot a meeting? Happens to everyone. Broke down crying in front of the kids? Shit fam, the teacher across the hallway walked out last week, you're doing remarkably just because you stayed.

The kids can fuck you up. Genuinely. They WILL trigger you. You WILL get memories of your childhood and it WILL hurt. And you will get through them with patience, time, and understanding. It'll be okay. Please, work hard on reminding yourself that these kids are not actively malicious. They do not understand your perspective.

To that note, almost every single teacher I know has a therapist. It is not a shocker to be in therapy. Most teachers need it. If you don't have one, I highly recommend getting one, if just to bitch about your coworkers with someone who will nod and say, "You deserved better than that, you're right."

Most of teaching is paperwork and meetings. Like genuinely, it's kind of ridiculous. We have meetings every Monday and Thursday, with occasional meetings on Tuesday and Wednesday. It's a LOT of meetings, and everything needs documented.

Work life balance. Please have one. This is when you start working on not bringing work home.

MULTIPLE CHOICE QUIZZES ARE OKAY. GENUINELY. I was so firmly against them as a student in college -- "that doesn't test genuine knowledge!" Neither does school. Please save yourself the hours of grading and do a few multiple choice quizzes. In some counties the system you use will autograde them.

God I could talk about this for hours on end. I'm really genuinely happy to answer so many questions about this. If you want to know anything specific, feel free to ask. I'm also over on @circular-bircular and plan to use that as my main system blog, so you can ask me more questions there if you want.

You've got this. I am absolutely rooting for you.

[more-than-tender-curiosity]

What Gatsby musical do you think is best?

The Great Gatsby : A New Musical

Gatsby : An American Myth

And depending on which you pick, why did you choose that one?

I have been outspoken in my criticism of The Great Gatsby: A New Musical to the point where it's kind of marked me as an asshole to fans of said musical, but I'm not backing down. Read my opinions boy

No, but seriously. Let me begin by saying that I came to this point already worn down by so many heartless, obnoxious, cash-grabby adaptations of prior works (Mean Girls, Beetlejuice, Heathers, etc) that bank almost entirely on nostalgia and spectacle and, in some cases, the unknowing of their YOUNG target audience, in order to blind said audience into just calling the music a bop and moving on.

And I'm tired of it. Yes, I'm aware musical theater has always run on adaptations—Chicago and Little Shop of Horrors are among some of my favorites! But I approach every single adaptation of ANYTHING with the same baseline question: is this adaptation justified?

You could take the very moderate opinion of "having more musicals to listen to is a good thing!" but I think that's naive, and falling right into the trap set by creators who are only here for Lin Manuel-level Tony's and that's it. There's no dedication to actually making something new with something already established. Nothing transformative. It's lazy.

That's what I mean by 'is this adaptation justified'. Does the adaptation in question engage with the source material in a way that refreshes it, dives deeper into it, and takes advantage of the new method of storytelling (in this case, from book to stage musical) to showcase how the new method of storytelling benefits the source material? Like in the case of Little Shop of Horrors, it uses satire to highlight deeper issues that are barely skated across in the source material while also pulling forth factors of the source material that were more relevant at the time when it was released.

I for one am exhausted by adaptations at this point. It's always been a backbone of musical theater but now, even outside of theater, we are awash in them. it's been said before that pretty much everything you see now is a remake or an adaptation or a sequel or a prequel or a cinematic universe or something derivative, and that tends to punch down on the smaller, more creative, original ideas that might've flourished if the market wasn't oversaturated with mass-produced corporatized shiny flashy garbage.

This is where the two Gatsby musicals come in.

If you're here, you know that I...dedicate a lot of time to this novel. I could have gone to college and got a degree with the time I have spent on this novel and its study. Unraveling every single sentence, every character motivation, every real life factor that plays in to Fitz's writing of the novel—every draft, every movie adaptation. The entire history of this novel and its creation is carved into the inside of my skull.

Now, one thing you should know about gatsby is that Fitz wrote it when he was just coming off the massive failure of his play The Vegetable. That's not the full title, but I'm not going to bother typing out the rest of it. Because it was bad. It was not good. No one liked it. So, naturally, Fitz wanted to improve on his playwriting skills. Up until then, he was good at short stories and he was good at long, descriptive novels, but he couldn't quite understand how to condense and reformat his novel-writing style into something more like a stageplay.

Gatsby was sort of his attempt. You'll note that Gatsby is only 47,043 or so words, which is less than half of most of his other novels. The action and dialogue are snappy. There is, shockingly enough, less purple prose than prior releases (in spite of Nick spending 23984798347928374 words, approximately, to describe his new neighbor's smile). Scott was trying desperately to pare down his writing and see if he could slowly shift his formatting toward something that could translate to the stage.

Many of you know that The Great Gatsby was a total major uber flop.

There went his dreams of making this a play. And there have been many attempts since, all with very limited success, because for the most part, there is a total lack of understanding concerning what makes this novel a novel instead of play material. All too many times, there has been a disconnect as to what would translate effectively onto the stage as it is written in the book, like the themes of being dazzled by a spectacle but not, as displayed in the novel, the downside of such a thing.

As I said. All too often, there is too little thought given to the advantages of adapting a written work to musical theater. This leads to much of the deeper shades of the story being left to the wayside in favor of shallow spectacle just to keep the masses entertained without actually translating the stunning symbolism and figurative work Fitz put on the page.

This is what happened to The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. They took the most barebones understanding that most viewers would have of the story (that it's a love story, just like Romeo and Juliet!—side-eye), and made everything as loud and as fast and as bright as they could to make up for any lack of exploration beyond what is very plainly written on the page.

This does not work with The Great Gatsby.

I've mourned the gooberfication of Nick Carraway before. I love the 2013 film, as I'm sure many do because it was many of our first experiences with any Gatsby adaptation, but you can see it with Tobey Maguire and you can see it here in The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. So many times I see people call him an unreliable narrator but it's very clear they don't understand exactly why he's unreliable.

This 'gooberfication' I speak of is Nick's attempt to convince us that he's the innocent one here, in every single situation, and everyone around him is a liar and he's always telling the truth so you can trust him. He's the only honest person he's ever known.

Red flag central.

So from that line alone, you have to understand that everything Nick says or does, leaves in or leaves out, is suspect. He's out of his element in New York but he is absolutely not some baby-cheeked little goober who is SO TOTALLY BLINDED by his infatuation with Gatsby that he's just willing to go along with everything and doesn't pass judgment. We joke "Nick says he doesn't judge anyone then proceeds to judge everyone in the novel!" Yeah, no shit. That's the thing. He is a hypocrite made only lesser by the way he plays up the evils of everyone around him, and that's how he gets by. That's how he sleeps at night.

You can cast that into whatever light you like, whether it's the hypocrisy of saying he's so poor when he's living in at LEAST a two bedroom cottage with a maid and modern appliances and his dad is paying for a full YEAR of his life after paying his way through an Ivy League school. Or you could say he does this to throw suspicion off himself and possibly his sexuality, which is a whole can of worms involving Fitzgerald's constant projection onto his characters that I cannot bear to crack open.

Point being, Nick isn't just the passive bystander in all of these situations. He makes it sound like he is, like he's just doing favors for people who are worse than him, and how he disapproves of even everything Gatsby does despite his evident fascination with the man, but at the end of the day, he's just passing the buck. Washing his hands clean. There are so many clues in the book to this sort of thing that should tip you off to the fact that Nick Carraway is not just some silly sweet guy who gets swept up into a life of chaos and crime just to come out cynical. He was already a judgemental, cynical individual who was forced to come all too close to the realization that he, too, is more 'one of them' than he can bear to admit—even in spite of how he attempts to obscure his own hypocrisy.

Nick is not innocent. No one in this book is (besides Pammy, though she's a ticking time bomb if we're meant to understand the wealth she will inherit). That's the whole point of the fucking book. There are a thousand hands each pushing a tiny bit to keep these impossible shades of class division moving, and condemning one person (like Nick does with Daisy or Tom) doesn't solve the problem. Jay still dies. The American dream is still a nightmare. Nick still has a father to fall back on.

Which is why it's so impossibly perplexing to me to display Nick as some sort of lapdog who just seems honored to spend time with these people. Why Jay is just some quirked up white boy who is, quite literally, just too quirky and obnoxious to bear. He and Daisy are so in love and they're so close to each other and isn't it just tooooo saddd to bearrrr?? So romantic????

There's nothing deeper to it. No asking why Fitz wrote any of these characters the way he did. No understanding of the deeper implications of what he was trying so desperately to convey, on both a social and personal level. Yes, it's a love story, but it's also a commentary on just how fucked everyone is by the cages of tradition.

And there is just no trace of that in the Broadway musical. Everything is simple and easily digestible. There is no deeper interaction with the source material, no drive to have produced it at all except, perhaps, to cash in on the new public domain. They got the biggest names they could with the biggest cult followings, knowing so many would just eat it right up and call each song a bop and it would trend on tiktok and they might get a tony and then they'd move on. No integrity. No passion. No justification.

Gatsby: An American Myth is much the opposite.

After hearing a Totally Legal version of the Broadway musical, I was terrified of what ART would do to this book. Now that I had seen just how fearfully easy it was to just slap some 'art deco' and glitter on the stage, write a painfully obvious love song, and move on, I was really concerned that this trend of bloodless, toothless adaptations would continue and I'd have to sigh and move on with my life.

Fortunately, everything I mentioned that bothered me about the Broadway musical is set right in Gatsby: An American Myth. I really should have expected nothing less from Florence Welch in terms of the music (which is, of course, one of the most show-stopping elements of the musical, as it should be) considering her prior works and how they relate to the Great Gatsby. This is someone who has been obsessed with the book longer than I have been and has woven it into so much of her body of work that I'm surprised this musical didn't drop the day it became public domain. I cannot think of a better contemporary musician to handle that facet of a Gatsby musical.

This adaptation itself does exactly what I would have hoped. I am, of course, someone who holds the book and all its drafts to a very high regard—if this is a religion, that's my bible. What's in there, goes, though it's open to interpretation. Typically I would be against adding things at all.

What they added, however, was brilliant. Nothing massive—just, again, ways to take advantage of the musical theater method of production, and ways to modernize and acknowledge more contemporary understandings of the source material. Where the Broadway musical carefully tiptoed around any indication that nick was anything other than straight and in love with Jordan Baker, Gatsby: An American Myth leaned right into the idea that he was made an outsider by his sexuality, and that was part of why he related to Jay so hard. Because otherwise, why would he? He's a middle-to-upper-middle class Midwesterner whose father is paying for a year of his life while he works a little for-fun job in the big city. What does he know about being an outsider?

Gatsby: An American Myth shows you that. Shows how everyone is an outsider to each other in this story, and how individualism destroys a community that would otherwise support you. You can take that on a society-wide level or personal: Jay being totally disconnected from even himself, or the wealthy pretending they don't live on the same planet as the poor.

Another miraculous addition was a sort of bridge between Myrtle and Wilson that just makes sense. I don't want to spoil it too much, but everything they added or rearranged or re-highlighted just goes to display the depth and breadth this story really reaches. They read between every line, proudly displayed the complexity of every single situation and character—how all of them are the victim and all of them are the perpetrator—while STILL making it sound fantastic in my opinion.

It's by no means a flawless work and I saw it early on its production. It's changed since then and obviously I haven't been able to hear it since I saw it live, but I have total faith in the creative team to have not completely thrown away their good intentions in favor of trending on tiktok.

To conclude I would just ask anyone reading to please inspect the media you consume. Inspect the motives of the person feeding it to you. There's not really any sort of Nobility to art, but at this point, with so many shallow attempts to cash in on our desperate search for community and contentment, quality and passion have been thrown out the window. Shoveling this hot shit at us day and night (remakes, sequels, prequels, adaptations) has become another tool of capitalism to keep us just satisfied to not ask for more.

Ask for more. Ask for better. You deserve it.

[musings-of-a-rose]

For the "Leave the first sentence of a fic in my askbox" game:

I thought I knew what love was, but then I met him.

The Meaning of Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word Count: 1026

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Life comes with expectations. Everyone told me to go to college, get a degree, find a nice man, get married, start a family, grow old together. I intended to do just that, sort of floating through life, not unhappy but not entirely happy either. Like I hadn’t found the exact fit. 

Then I met Jeremy and my life became brighter. We met my senior year of college, literally bumping into each other in the bookstore on campus. He’d spilled coffee all down my front and I laughed, as I’d had to change my shirt earlier that day for doing the exact same thing to myself. He was studying business, his days spent mostly in the library with his nose buried in books or online, trying to keep up with the latest business trends. I was majoring in elementary education with a minor in creative writing, so I definitely spent my fair share in the library too. 

Wherever we went, we had a good time. Jeremy was respectful and kind to me, always making sure I ate, knowing that often I’d forget to. We were together about 6 months before confessing our love for one another, and at a year, he asked me to move in with him. We were well on our way to finishing the typical expectations. Everyone kept asking me if he’d popped the question or when he was going to put a ring on it. We talked about marriage and it was something we were both interested in. It was the normal flow of life.

What no one expected was for me to suddenly gain powers, become what people call an inhuman. 

It happened randomly one day. I was out for a run when suddenly, I tripped. But instead of slamming my palms into the ground, it cracked beneath me, ripples of concrete fanning out from where my palms hovered above the ground. I scrambled back and landed on my ass, scooting backwards from the partially sunken sidewalk. My breath shaking, I look at my hands - not a mark on them. It was probably nothing. A coincidence. But what else could do this?

I called Jeremy as I walked home quickly, asking him what could have caused the sidewalk to crack like that. Of course he was quick to tell me to sue the county, that the sidewalk was dangerous and could’ve seriously injured me. That was just the way he was.

I got home and took a shower, letting the hot water cascade over my shoulders, willing them to relax as I looked down at my palms again. I was so focused on what I was doing, I didn’t hear Jeremy come in. When he touched my shoulder I jumped, my hands coming up to shield myself. But then Jeremy flew back against the door, his back nearly leaving an imprint in the shape of him. 

“I’m so sorry!” I started to cry, looking down at my palms and back at Jeremy. “I don’t know what’s happening to me!”

“Y-you did this?” He choked out, staring at me.

I nod. “I thought the sidewalk was random but this? I don’t…I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

He started to stand up and I took a step towards him, but he threw his hands up, fear flooding his eyes.

“Stay back!”

I stopped. “Jeremy? What..what do you mean?”

His hand scrambles for the door handle, hand scraping against the wood. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Jer..it’s me. I just..I don’t know what’s happening. I need help.” I take another step but he finds the handle and turns it, running out the door but not before he looks at me, fear and anger in his gaze.

“Get away from me, you freak!”

—----

That was 10 years ago. I never saw Jeremy again after that night and I rarely dated, never trusting anyone fully. If Jeremy could be so in love with me and leave me in an instant, how could I ever trust again?

I never went into teaching. No one wanted an inhuman teaching their kids. I did discover more about myself, what it meant to be an inhuman. Someone with powers. But I never trusted anyone. 

Then Clint Barton found me, alone and living in my car. He offered me his hand and told me to come with him, that I would be more than welcome at the Avenger compound. Unfortunately, people there still walked on eggshells around me, never sure if I’d “go off”. Then one day, a firm knock raps on my door and I answer it, breath catching in my throat at the most beautiful, troubled man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Bucky Barnes, aka The Winter Soldier.

He looked like he was bracing for the worst, for my eyes to go wide and to retreat back into my room. But it was very much the opposite, my curious eyes tracing down his metal arm and landing on the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Clint told me you needed training?”

“Oh. Uh I guess so?”

“Come on.”

Bucky trained me how to control my powers, using the skills he learned since getting rid of the brainwashing Hydra had put there. He taught me how to use my powers for my own self, using them to protect others. But he also taught me that in my solace, in others fear of me, fear of myself, of my own power, that I was not alone. He had been through the same thing and was still battling it himself. We eventually found ourselves pressed together, my legs and heart opening to accept him, all of him, as he whispered praises and love in my ear, our bodies melting together.

I thought I knew what love was, but then I met him. Bucky was the missing piece of my life that I had been waiting for. He sees me, loves me for me, isn’t afraid of me. And all of that love and adoration is reflected back at him through my eyes. I can’t imagine my life without him and I know I’ll follow him past the end of the line. 

—----

General Taglist:

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[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Fooliverse headcanons!!

All of these are likely to be disproven is Erik ever does more Fooliverse (please god please I need it) but idc. Lmk if y’all want my hc’s for any of your Fooliverse faves. ❤️❤️

Angel and Guy were adopted by Damien’s mom, Sophia when Angel was around thirteen. Being raised by Sophia tempered some of Angel’s attitude and goofiness. Damien, in turn, is a more timid and less outspoken. Having Sophia’s attention and pressure spread between the three of them let Damien develop with a less of a short fuse. Guy is also toned down, but he’s the rebel of them three. He insisted that the only thing he would study would be creative writing. Sophia demanded that, if she was going to pay for him to earn a degree in that, he would be the best of the best. He’s finishing his last year in college now, but has two novels published already. Angel went into politics and works with Sophia. Their focus is on human borns and informed unempowered people. Damien is in his final year at DAMN. He was a TA for a few elemental classes and is being considered for a position as a professor. Sophia made a powerhouse of a family who are each making waves in their field. Their personal happiness… well, that was never her concern.

Sophia actually introduced Angel to Asher hoping to arrange a relationship between them. Asher has a lot of respect and clout, and Angel, being an unempowered person in an empowered world, does not. Deeply embarrassed by Sophia’s meddling, Angel made it clear that they weren’t looking for a relationship with Ash. The two of them did become fast friends because of this incident. Angel did a few municipal favors for Ash and the Talbot pack, and he in turn kept their name on his lips when talking to higher ups. Eventually, Angel was invited to a solstice party and met Davey. They fell in love instantly. Sophia doesn’t approve, but Angel made it clear she could fuck off in regards to Davey. She got to control everything else on their life, after all.

Damien’s siblings know he’s queer, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to tell Sophia. He’s been dating Huxley for a year, but every time he tries to talk to her about him, he clams up. Angel is running the “Sophia can kick rocks” club, which Huxley is the vice president of, but the anxiety that Sophia gives Damien is so intense he just shuts down. Huxley is trying to be patient.

Guy, on the other hand, proudly announced his first boyfriend in fifth grade and refused to hear anything about it. Sophia tried a lot to “course correct” with Guy, but he’s nothing if not stubborn. He’s always been the problem child, but Angel’s intense protectiveness of him stopped all of Sophia’s more extreme ideas.

Huxley is intensely competitive. His moms encouraged him to do everything with passion and purpose and he took that to its furthest extent. He takes his classes seriously, he takes his practices and games seriously, he even takes his friendships and relationships seriously. He knows what he wants and he works to earn it. This means he’s also pretty hard on himself when things don’t go his way. This isn’t because of anything his moms taught him, it’s just this intense, internal drive to be the best, and if he’s not, he is under the impression that it’s his fault. Damien’s working on unraveling that particular line of thinking.

Davey is a healer. Gabe was still in that car accident, and he was seriously injured, just not killed. His right leg was absolutely fucked and he lost a good portion of his stomach due to being impaled by a portion of the driving column. He faced a lot of issues with chronic pain while healing, and he uses a cane. Davey was intensely focused on his recovery, which is why he didn’t take the pack’s offer of being alpha when Gabe stepped down. Ash was the obvious next choice. Davey spent a lot of time with the healers, nurses, and doctors who worked with his dad, and they taught him a good deal of healing magic. Although he’s a shifter and doesn’t have access to a lot of what freelancers are capable of, he is incredibly talented at what he can do. He isn’t powerful enough to be a full time healer, but he is a certified paramedic and works part time with an empowered unit.

Pretty certain it was hinted at in vamp!Milo’s BA (“no loose ends” or something like that), but Marie is dead. She died when Milo was senior in high school. His dad was already gone and her loss devastated him. He was turned 18 a few weeks before and refused Gabe’s offer to stay with he and Davey. He sold her house, got rid of everything that reminded him of her, and gave every picture of her to Gabe before breaking from the pack. Those he couldn’t bear to destroy.

Smartass was actually Aaron’s boss. They came in after their predecessor, Ivan, was fired for inappropriate conduct against a new hire. Ivan had been spiraling and ineffective for months and had run their department to the ground. Aaron had been promised the position, but the higher ups decided their department needed a new start. He was pissed. Incredibly so. He hates them for months and months. And they seriously valued his experience and work. Through months and months of intense arguments and near bloody fights, the two of them beat their department back into shape. After they’d reached a state of stability, Smartass reached out to their old company and negotiated a much higher, much better position for Aaron. He was built for more than being a desk jockey. He took the job and took them out to dinner that night as a thank you. The rest is history.

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

i stand with you in the face of a defensive misunderstanding of what critique is.

i think understanding what a critique actually is is a skill that increasingly is not taught. i remember going through freshman art courses feeling the frustration that all negative, nasty, unhelpful, and missed-the-point-entirely feedback is so commonly conflated with critique, and then critique gets a bad name because everyone remembers the time someone said their painting looked like an asshole (true story, altho now i think i would take it as a compliment) instead of the time a teacher or friend or classmate helped them uncover a hurtful bias or think of new ways to explore the same idea or how to connect it to related ideas or how to look up and understand other people's ideas on the same topic.

anyway i think you're great.

ahhh you're so kind to me!! i appreciate your support, and i think you are great also.

i have experience with giving and receiving critique as a student myself, and i think it was the best part of my degree! i majored in creative writing in college, and critique was just a generally accepted part of learning to become a writer. i don't even remember people being especially worried about receiving critique on their work. we had guidance on what kind of feedback was useful, but we were still at liberty to give it as we saw fit as like messy 19 year olds. the standard was that we gave it both written on printed copies of the work AND aloud in front of the whole class, and the writer receiving it was not permitted to speak during the critique. understanding how people are perceiving your work is important!

i don't have any particularly negative recollections of the critique process, although once in a high school writing class, the boys in the class told me that my male characters touched each other too gently and real boys are more rough with each other. in particular, they took issue with me writing that one boy nudged another. nudging is too soft. nudging is for girls. that was more than 20 years ago, and i still think about it sometimes because it was such an interesting perspective! i did not take their advice, though.

i should dig up that piece and see if it reads queer in any other ways. i think that's what they were getting at. (actually i once had a non-fiction class tell me i was in love with my roommate after reading an essay i wrote about her)(i did not listen to that advice either, but having 12 acquaintances tell you that you're gay in 2006 before you realize it yourself is Truly Something!)

i think people have conflated criticism and critique and think that being more openly analytical is the same thing as being negative. but analysis is so fun to me! analysis is why i joined fandom in the first place, and it's why i write fic! can we trust each other to be respectful and to speak in good faith even when we're not singing each other's praises? for me fandom would be better if we could.

oh i also want to clarify that i don't think it's impossible to demonstrate that you've thought deeply about a piece of fanwork while remaining completely positive. people do it all the time and do it very well!

i know i sometimes have tunnel vision wrt my own perspective. in a lot of situations, i wish it were more acceptable to be more direct, and i know people sometimes find the way i express myself to be kind of shocking. i know a lot of people like to be spoken to more indirectly than comes natural to me, and i don't mean to imply that my perspective is the only correct one or that there's no good reason to err on the side of gentleness/politeness in our responses to amateur art and writing. i just think that at a certain level of circumspection, it feels like we're all holding each other at arm's length.

i think for people who can't bear to feel exposed, making and sharing art is always going to be painful and difficult, and maybe too painful and difficult to enjoy the process unless they're sure of a soft landing. but like. the rewards of being loved only come after the mortifying ordeal of being known, right?

[topazadine]

Good Motivations for Continuing to Write

I think it's so important that we be realistic about what we are aiming to achieve when we write. This motivation is what makes it possible to continue when things get hard and we're feeling stuck, and it needs to be something that deeply, instinctively drives you or it won't stick.

But I need to put a huge, important red flag warning here.

Fame and fortune cannot be your primary motivator.

Yes, it's possible to make six figures a year with writing, even if you self-publish.

You really shouldn't listen to someone who says this never happens and that all writers are broke pathetic losers. Rather than being "brutally honest," it's more likely that said advice-giver has not been able to achieve any success and is bitter about their lack of sales, so they project and insist no one can succeed. Crab in bucket mentality.

However, making a steady income from creative writing takes a certain kind of person.

Rich authors have skills that are completely outside of writing. This includes marketing and promotion, networking, and consumer research; ie, a lot of business skills.

Yes, even tradpub authors need to do a lot of their own marketing; getting with a publishing house isn't an excuse to coast. From speaking to tradpub authors, I have learned that marketing teams don't do anywhere near as much as you think they do to help you.

It is of course possible to learn all of these skills. There are tons of excellent free resources out there, as well as books and manuals by successful writers. You can also take courses at your local community college in marketing or business. This is both way more affordable than a four-year university, and they are often more accommodating. Plus, you're supporting your community with your tuition!

But you have to have the desire to learn that, which takes a lot of work. You have to be the special kind of author who enjoys both the business side and the writing side.

In some cases, you have to be willing to shell out a ton of money to contract ghostwriters. (Which I think is lazy tbh.) Quantity is the name of the game in writing, so you have to keep pushing yourself to produce more. Most of us do not have ghostwriting money. And you'd still need all the other skills or you're just throwing money away.

So, if you are not willing to do some or all of these ...

Develop and pay a marketing team

Teach yourself those skills

Take business classes

Network with everyone

Get a degree in publishing

... then yes, you are likely not going to make a lot of money from your writing. You need to decide if you are okay with that.

Personally, I look at it this way: it's wonderful if I do make a ton of money from my writing or get famous or whatever. Of course I'd never turn down cash.

BUT if those things did not happen, and I was a nobody forever, I'd still be happy with my work, because I am proud of it and enjoyed the process. I am motivated by a few different things, which I will explain after I share a list of motivators.

Now that we understand that, here are some of the most positive reasons to motivate you to keep going when you feel trapped by the narrative.

Hold them close and don't let them go!

Improving your skills

Building community

Meeting like-minded people

Expressing your innermost thoughts

Satisfying the human urge to create

Learning and growing as a person

Trying out new things (for the research!)

Working through your own problems

Escaping from the real world for a while

Examining real-world issues through art

Looking at yourself and others in a new way

Understanding complex problems

Teaching others what you've learned

Creating imaginary friends

Making others happy

Many writers are motivated by multiple of these, or even all of them to different degrees. Sometimes, it's not clear what your primary motivator, and that's okay; as long as something is pushing you to keep going, it's not always necessary to psychoanalyze it.

For me, I'm motivated primarily by these factors:

Improving my skills

Satisfying my urge to create

Examining real-world issues through art

Working through my own problems

Applying my education by teaching others

Making others happy

Honestly, even one person enjoying my work makes it worthwhile. I was especially proud that my mom liked my book because she's my favorite person, and getting her approval is very important to me.

Knowing that I gave someone a few hours of relief from their problems is incredibly gratifying. I have spent a large portion of my life escaping into other worlds through books; they've gotten me through difficult times and given me comfort. Being able to pay it forward by doing that for someone else makes me feel like I've made the world a better place, if only in the most miniscule way.

It's nice to get royalties, and one day, I hope to break even on the money I've spent on self-publishing (yes, you do have to invest funds in self-pub if you want to do it right). But ultimately, selling just one or two books is great, as long as the consumer enjoyed it and felt they got their money's worth.

Also, as I've mentioned in previous posts, writing has helped to break me out of my shell because I'm one of those writers who craves verisimilitude. Wrong details can really break immersion, and I don't want that.

In a fantasy world, I get to bullshit a lot, but any time there is anything analogous to reality, I need it to pass the sniff test. That has led me to take up new hobbies and research things I'd never cared about otherwise. Like, did you know that there are 128 grasshopper species in Mongolia?! Holy shit! There are over 10,000 different grasshopper species worldwide! That's insane!

Anyway, maybe you don't really know why you write, just that you do.

These questions might help you find your motivator.

What kinds of reactions give you the most pleasure? Someone liking the plot, or the characters, or the worldbuilding? What are the best compliments you've received about your work? If you died and people were talking about your writing, what would you want them to say? When you're really struggling with writer's block, what gets you out of it? What is your favorite part of writing? Is it the research, the wordplay, the character building? Would you be okay if no one ever read your writing? Why or why not? What's your worst-case scenario for writing (other than never selling anything)? Is it someone saying that your writing is unrealistic, or that it's melodramatic, or that the characters feel undeveloped and flat? Why did you begin writing in the first place? Was it to express yourself, share stories for other people, work through personal issues, get attention? What would be the greatest award you could achieve for your writing? Don't just think about literary awards but anything. What if your book won the Nobel Peace Prize? Or got you an honorary degree from a university you like? Or recognition from an organization you admire, like NASA? If you think about it carefully, that can give you an understanding of what you really care about deep down. If you were interviewed about your work, what would you want the interviewer to ask?

It's so important to have something to drive you, and I hope you find it.

If you enjoyed this, consider picking up a copy of my debut book, 9 Years Yearning.

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age story set in a realistic fantasy world with poetry magic, featuring fistfights, horses, and a battle scene at the end!

It'd be the greatest honor to me if you were able to pass a few happy hours reading about dumb oblivious gay men.

[dancingtotuyo]

The Life We Built (Joel Miller)

Part 5 of Build You The World Joel X Reader Rating: PG-13 (Language) Warnings: fluff, that's it. Tags: no outbreak, fluff, craftsman!Joel, Time jump, it's 2023 folks, no mentions of COVID, you decide if it happened Notes: So we've reached the end of this little adventure that was only supposed to be a one shot, but never fear! I have another Joel Miller idea in the works. Check out my Masterlist for some Javier Peña works as well! Thank you everyone for your support! Words: 1998

Series Master List | Author Master list

Joel eased into the chair next to you under the pergola he built 25 years ago. It was still sturdy and spoke to Joel’s craftsmanship. The sun was beginning to set, granting some relief to the spring heat as you watched your three grown children clean up the backyard. They’d insisted the two of you relax. 

Emma graduated from Duke last weekend with honors in Pre-med. Which meant traveling to North Carolina for the ceremony. Joel has insisted on driving up. He hated flying. With a 20-hour car ride one way, you caught up on a lot of reading and almost booked yourself a plane ticket home. The two of you had been gone for almost a week. So her graduation party took place this weekend at home. She’d been accepted into UNC-Chapel Hill’s School of Medicine and would be going back to Durham in a couple of weeks. She was officially moving out, boxes already stacked high in her room. You and Joel both chose not to think about your baby leaving the nest for good.  

Emma laughed at something Asher said. You couldn’t see Sarah roll her eyes, but you knew by her body language. Joel chuckled next to you. He sensed it too, both in tune with your children. 

Asher graduated with a Bachelor's in Engineering from UT-Austin a few years ago, choosing to stay close to home. He had a small apartment in town working at Miller Construction since graduation. Joel joked that if he didn’t put his degree to use soon, he was gonna have to rebrand as Miller and Son. You had a sneaking suspicion that’s what Asher wanted. He and Joel shared the same love of building things with their hands. 

“Grandpa!” Sarah’s 3-year-old daughter, Jessie bounded across the yard, dark curls bouncing like springs behind her. You could see the brightly colored book in her grasp.

She panted heavily as she reached the two of you. Her small hands rested on Joel’s knees. She looked up through dark lashes. “Will you read this to me?”

Joel smiled. She reminded you so much of Sarah at her age. “Don’t you want grandma to do it? She’s a much better reader than me.”

“No, you!”

“Okay, Okay.” Joel chuckled, pulling the child onto his lap. You closed your eyes as you listened to Joel read. His drawl had only deepened with age but it still flowed like honey. It soothed your weary bones and often brought you through time, making you feel 25 again. 

Sarah had started college at the University of Georgia but transferred to UT-Austin after her freshman year. She loved Georgia, but she missed being close to her family more. She’d earned her Bachelor's in Journalism and Creative Writing (also with Honors). Working across all aspects of journalism, she went back to get her MFA several years later. She worked freelance for several publications and taught a creative writing class at the community college in town. She’d married Mike 6 years ago. They’d been together since senior year of college aside from a one-year gap. They’d bought a house just down the street from you and Joel soon after their wedding. Jessie’s 4th birthday was next week, and aside from her husband, you were the only other person to know that Sarah was 8 weeks pregnant. They were planning to reveal it next on Father’s Day.

You and Sarah were convinced Joel didn’t have a clue. The two of you were desperate to surprise him. Other than his 45th birthday party, you and Sarah hadn’t been able to surprise Joel in the 31 years you’d loved him. He’d even figured out Sarah’s first pregnancy before they’d told anyone. 

Joel continued to read. The world drifted further away only anchored by the sound of his voice. Sometimes a bird’s song drifted in and out. The warm breeze floated across your skin. Joel’s voice stayed constant. 

“Grandpa… Shhhhh, grandma is sleepin.”

Joel looked up from the book. He smiled. The wrinkles around his eyes were well-defined now. “I think she’s just restin her eyes, kiddo.”

“That’s what you say when you’re sleeping!” Jessie giggled. 

“Keep reading,” you said, keeping your eyes closed. “The story was just getting good.” 

He looked at Jessie who nodded her head, and he continued. 

The construction business had been good to Joel. Miller Construction kept its outstanding reputation throughout the years, something Joel worried about as the number of crews grew and his ability to check up on every job decreased. Joel spent most of his days on job sites in a supervisory capacity. He trained the new hires to meet his rigid standards, and his body took less wear and tear. He was able to spend more quiet morning moments with you. At 56 years old, he was still the best pitcher in the men’s rec softball league. He took every Thursday morning off to hang out with Jessie while Sarah taught her class at the Community College. He piddled in the garage on weekends, working on the next project. He’d just redone the kitchen cabinets. Tommy joked that Joel lived in partial retirement, but there was some truth to it. You liked seeing him take time 

Joel finished the book as Sarah and Mike walked over. You slowly opened your eyes, letting the world envelope you once again. 

“It’s time for us to go home, Bear,” Mike said. 

Before Jessie could issue a complaint, Joel pulled her into a back-breaking squeeze. She laughed. He tickled her sides. “Grandpa!” 

“I gotta make sure you meet your tickle quota.” 

“I have! I have!” Jessie laughed, her cheeks turning red. 

“Okay,” Joel let out a deep breath. “I think that’s enough for today.” 

Jessie wrapped her arms around Joel’s neck, kissing his cheek. “Love you, Grandpa!”

“I love you too.” He kissed her cheek, patting her back. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Jessie slid off his lap, rushing to you. A chorus of goodbyes between parties rose in the corner of your backyard in hugs and handshakes. Jessie nestled into her father’s arms, eyes already beginning to droop. 

Joel wrapped his arms around you. You leaned into him. His hands traveled down your back, lips finding yours. You grinned feeling warm and giddy. Even after all these years, he still had the same effect on you. 

Gagging noises interrupted your moment. Asher and Emma stood on the porch directing said sounds at you. 

“Get a room!”

“We don’t want to see that!”

Joel flipped them off before firmly grabbing your ass making a show of the steamy kiss he planted on you. You laughed. He kissed your neck softly. 

“You’re gonna traumatize the kids.”

“They’re grown adults. They can leave.” He nuzzled into your neck. “I want to kiss my wife in our backyard.”  

“Y’all are gross.” Asher chided. 

“If it weren’t for us, you two wouldn’t be here,” Joel shouted back. 

“You say that like it’s a good thing!” Emma responded. “Have you seen the world?”

“Hey,” You laughed. “You’re the saving grace of this family, Miss I’m going to be a doctor.” 

Asher scowled. “Don’t say that. Her head will get bigger than it already is.” He ruffled Emma’s hair. 

Emma rolled her eyes. “We’re done cleaning up. We’ll leave you two to do… that.” She motioned toward you and Joel. “Asher’s gonna take me out on the town.”

“Make smart decisions,” Joel called.

“Always!” Emma smiled. 

The duo filed out of the backyard leaving you and Joel alone. Joel kissed your forehead as you swayed to a nonexistent tune. 

When you finally stopped, you and Joel sought the respite of AC inside. Joel prepared a plate of leftovers for the two of you to share on the couch. You read as Joel watched the Baseball game on low volume. You propped your feet on his lap. His thumbs found the soles of your feet applying pressure. You hummed. 

You had stepped down from your position at Miller Construction after Emma started high school. As much as you loved working with Joel and helping him build and expand the business, desires drew you elsewhere. You started working part-time at the public library. When their head librarian announced plans to retire, the city had offered to pay for you to get your Masters in Library Science providing you could give them a 10-year commitment. Daunting at first, you’d managed to complete the courses in 2 years via an online program. You work at the library full-time now. Joel often brought Jessie in on Thursday mornings along with a coffee for you. You tended to the garden on weekends. Joel replaced your raised beds a few years ago. You had the kids over for dinner once a week. You and Sarah walked the block on pleasant evenings. You spent lazy evenings on the couch with Joel, something that had rarely been a part of your marriage until the past few years. 

“I’ve been thinking…”

You looked up from your book. “Uh oh, that’s never good.”

He tickled the bottom of your foot earning a squeal. Everyone talked about growing out of being ticklish. That had never happened to you. “I think it’s probably time to refinish the book nook.”

You glanced behind you, eyes trailing over the bookshelves Joel had built you more than 25 years ago. They’d been through it. The finish was peeling in a few places. The cabinet doors that lined the bottom were dented and scratched from a number of things bumping and running into it while raising 3 kids. You glanced at the farthest one, still stained with faint marks from Emma taking Sharpies to it when she was 3. Residue from stickers marked other areas. 

“Sounds like a big project.”

“I’ve got the time.” Joel smiled. 

He reached down beside him, revealing a gift bag. A simple brown paper bag with a gold ribbon neatly tied and curled. Sarah’s trademark. He handed it to you with a smile.

“This from you or Sarah?”

“Me.” Joel crinkled his nose. “Just asked Sarah to wrap it for you.”

You lifted the bag up and down. It felt like it was probably a book. It rarely wasn’t. “And what is this for?” You smiled at him.

“Just fulfilling my husbandly duties.”

You laughed as you untied the ribbon. Joel had taken your first line to him like an oath over the course of your relationship. He’d surprised you with a new book at random times. Sometimes you came home to one on the kitchen counter or your nightstand. Other times, wrapped or handed to you, each with an inscription detailing something he loved about you and how “Pretty” didn’t cut it. 

You smiled at him, pulling a hardcover book out of the bag. You opened the front cover. A piece of paper slipped out. Before you could investigate, Joel’s handwriting caught your attention. 

I don’t know if you’ve been counting, darling, but this is the 100th book I’ve given you. When I met you in that bar, I knew if I had the chance to give you just one, I’d be the luckiest man alive. 

We always talked about going on a big trip for our 25th wedding anniversary. I know it’s a little bit late, but I booked us on that trip to Italy you were eying last year. 

I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, but I still think the best view is you. 

I love you, Darling. 

You picked up the slip of paper: the booking confirmation set for mid-September. You looked up at Joel, tears blurring your vision. 

He chuckled. “Surprise.”

You set the book carefully on the end table, moving onto Joel’s lap. “You hate flying.”

“But I love new places.” He kissed your nose. He still looked at you like you hung the galaxy. You imagined you looked at him the same. “And you.”  

You kissed him, the words whispered for just the two of you. “I love you too.”