#this is always my thought especially when it comes to the immigration debate

[iggymani]

^^^^^^^^^^

"*X country* should colonize the US! Please nuke the US!"

You all will do anything to not give us our land back huh

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

It is beyond parody - but entirely on-brand - that Nigel Farage has come out as appalled at the all the violence (but not so appalled he's said we should consider deploying the army FUCK ME!) and then promptly dived right back into banging the one drum he happens to own - the racist drum!

You and I may remember those protests differently, Nigel, but I can't quite bring to mind the moment in them where people TRIED TO SET FIRE TO A HOTEL. Maybe I missed that bit?

Also bollocks to this 'two-tier' policing idea. It's just not true. It's just bollocks. The police aren't given a chart showing them who is woke and so who should be left alone and who is 'just talking common sense' or 'trying to have an open debate' and so can get thrown in jail. It isn't a thing, you are a lying sack of shit and this is the sort of shit that people say that makes it worse.

Injustice my arse. Oh! When those people protest against the police getting away with murder that's fine but when I want to drag a brown person out of car and beat them up somehow I'm the bad guy?

Yes!

Um, no, Nigel. No. Majority of the population kinda just wants to get on with life and maybe have it suck a bit less. Most people are entirely aware it isn't those damn dirty foreigners causing all the issues - it's grasping, rich cunts like you.

I am borderline apoplectic with rage over statements like this as it is as if every single word has been carefully chosen to be as infuriating as possible, so give me a moment to gather my thoughts.

If communities are fracturing, it isn't the result of immigration. You are just wrong. The country is racked by many issues, the root cause of which is - in my humble opinion - Most Of The Money Needed To Solve The Problems Is In Some Cunt's Offshore Account. It's a simple opinion, I'll admit, but it's more compelling than yours.

Especially since it isn't anyone who fucking immigrated setting shit on fire. Argh! 'It was always going to end bad' yes, because of people like you!

And it's less that any attempt to debate it gets shouted down more that when you try to debate it you do it - well, you do it like this. In bad faith. Cuntishly. Like a prick. And that's why you get yelled at. Which is also what you want so, you know, great work?

Oh my God this man is an MP now... just...

Nigel Farage, everyone. A man who wouldn't know shame if it came all over his gurning fucking face.

[neptunianmars]

astro observations about my bff's placements

i never do these astro observations posts but i had sm fun doing my chart i wanted to do my bff's too :) for context i've known her for over five years and she is literally my soulmate

1H Chiron:

everyone and i mean everyone relies on her to fix their problems. she is constantly helping people and giving advice. she is super sweet and doesn't really mind but it definitely takes a toll on her.

10H Virgo Sun:

kind of going off the last one, everyone knows her as a reallyyy nice, helping person. both career choices she's debated (nursing and social work) have been about servicing others.

3H Uranus conjunct IC:

this placement to me usually indicates the person had a different childhood growing up than their peers. she is an immigrant and her parents did not raise her the "typical american way" which of course isn't bad, she just grew up differently than a lot of people we were surrounded with

11H Libra Mercury:

don't even say the word "indecisive" if her name isn't in the same sentence. cannot pick a choice even if it were to save her life.

she literally never posts on social media unless it's about social issues. very outspoken and determined in her beliefs.

2H Capricorn Vesta conjunct Capricorn Moon:

she is very money motivated! not even necessarily "money" but more as in success. she hates herself even if she takes one rest day and is hard on herself when it comes to being productive.

3H Moon:

she is extremely close to her siblings, especially her older sister :') this is pretty standard for 3H placements but had to throw it in there!

11H Venus:

everyone loooves her <3 i have never met someone or introduced her to someone who had a single negative thing to say about her. she is very diplomatic and pleasing to others.

Aries 6H/3H Neptune:

she doesn't know the meaning of the word routine. random shit is always popping up and throwing her day off schedule. makes me late to EVERYTHING

i think part of this is her 3H Neptune makes her mind a little disorganized and distracted. she loses track of time a lot, is very forgetful, and just can't keep all of her thoughts straight. i've learned i just have to remind her of stuff :)

12H Dionysus:

she really doesn't come off as an "indulger," even to me. i think she hides a lot of her desires or impulses

7H Saturn:

she has never been in a relationship, i think she takes relationships so seriously to the point where it almost becomes a joke to her. like she will never settle for anything less than her standards and anyone interested who doesn't meet them just becomes a joke for us to laugh about. it's pretty understood she won't become married until after most people our age

Leo Mars:

not a lot of things make her upset to the point of reacting. but i think when people disrespect her, her family, or just do anything really personal to her, that's when she gets really mad and can speak up or retaliate. she also never forgets something someone did to her.

[themagnuswriters]

Writing a Muslim Character

The Mods of the Magnus Writers discord server and community are putting together a variety of resources for Magnus Archives fan creators; these have been collated from articles on the topics, our own experiences, and the experiences of the members of the Magnus Writers discord. These are definitely not comprehensive or the only viewpoints out there, and are by no means meant as a way to police fanworks, but as a way to support and inspire fan creators in creating thoughtful and diverse works. Please note that external links will be added in a reblog to outsmart tumblr’s terrible tagging system, so make sure to check those out as well!

This resource in particular was put together by Mod Jasmine: hi, all! 

While there are no canonically Muslim characters in TMA, Muslim headcanons are common in fanworks—particularly for Basira, and sometimes Jon (which I love to see!). I have cobbled together this post from my own experiences to help support and inform fans in these areas, and as part of my diabolical plan to get more Muslim!Basira and Muslim!Jon fics to shove into my brain.

First, two gigantic caveats:

I was raised Sunni Muslim in Egypt, which is a majority Sunni Muslim country, and still live there. This means my experience will be very different from someone raised in a majority Christian country like the UK, and different again if they are not Sunni and not Arab.

I am currently ex-Muslim. This does not mean I bear any ill will towards Islam or Muslims, just that it wasn’t for me, and I felt it was important to be upfront about that. I’ll be linking to resources by practicing Muslims in the reblog to this post, whether to add to my opinions and experiences or provide you with a different opinion. I am not here to put my voice over that of Muslims, just to do some of the work so they don’t have to. Obviously, if any Muslims have any additions or suggestions for this post, I’m happy to accommodate them.

Alright. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get started with the basics of writing a Muslim character.

(Warning: this is absurdly, absurdly long)

Basics:

Muslims follow two main sources of religious instruction: Quran and Hadith. 

The Quran is the holy book, considered to be dictated by the angel Gabriel to the Prophet Mohammed, who then relayed what he was told to his followers. It is composed of surahs, or chapters, which have individual ayat, or verses. There are no varying versions of the Quran, later additions, or anything considered lost in translation. Any Arabic Quran is considered to be the same text that the Prophet Mohammed relayed, unchanged. As a result, while Muslims can debate interpretations of the Quran (although that’s often still left to the scholars), none debate the actual words of the text.

Hadith, meanwhile, are the sayings or teachings of the Prophet Mohammed. Their validity can be disputed, as they were written by his followers after his death, and mainly depend on having several witnesses for a specific saying or situation. The more witnesses there were, the more valid the hadith is considered to be.

When in doubt or should there be any contradiction between the Quran and Hadith, Muslims will always refer to the Quran first and foremost.

Denominations:

The bigggest (but not only!) divisions of Islam are Sunni and Shia, and both of those have separate madhabs, which are the separate thoughts and stances of specific Imams. When writing a Muslim character, a good first step would be to decide where your character’s family might have come from, as that could help inform which denomination your character might belong to. This will in turn inform things like the beliefs they grew up with, how they pray, their holy holidays, and so on. Obviously, all denominations fall under the bigger umbrella of Muslim, but can vary in practice.

Background:

The intersection of culture and religion affects a character beyond which denomination they likely belong to, such as whether they call prayer salah or namaz, the foods they might associate with Ramadan or Eid, and their community’s stance on things like hijab and alcohol.

One thing to keep in mind is that being Muslim is not synonymous with being Arab and vice versa. Not all Arabs are Muslim, not all Muslims are Arab or even Middle Eastern. In fact, the largest Muslim country in the world is Indonesia. That said, depending on your character’s race and backround, there is the potential they may have faced Arab elitism or other strands of racism within Muslim circles. Please see the reblog of this post for an article about  one Black British Muslim woman’s experience with racism.

And, of course, your character and their family do not need to have been immigrants at all. They or their family may have been converts instead. According to most Muslim schools of thought, all that’s required for a person to be Muslim is stating the shahada in Arabic, honestly and with intent. It goes, “Ashhadu an la ilah illa Allah, wa an Mohammadan rasul Allah,” which translates as “I bear witness that there is no god but God, and that Mohammed is His prophet.” Shia Muslims, I believe, have an additional section, but otherwise that’s it. Recite that in front of witnesses with sincere belief and that’s all you need to be Muslim.

Pillars of Islam:

These are the duties or cornerstones of a Muslim’s faith and considered to be acts every Muslim should strive for. What the pillars are can, I think, differ between denominations, with Shia Muslims having additional ancillaries as well (any Shia readers, please feel free to correct me!) but both denominations agree that the following are important:

Salah—prayer

Sawm—fasting during Ramadan

Zakat—giving a certain percentage of income to charity or the community

Hajj—pilgrimage to Mecca

In all cases, these are considered mandatory only for those who are able. A person who cannot perform hajj, whether due to not being physically able to or lacking the funds to travel, is under no obligation.

Prayer:

Prayer is performed five times a day while facing the Qibla, which is the direction of Mecca. Prayer is formed of units, called rak’at, which consists of a set of actions done in a specific order. The “How to Pray Salah, Step by Step” article linked in the reblog of this post provides fairly good prayer instructions for beginners, so check it out for details!  These include bowing, prostrating, and reciting some surahs. 

Each of the five daily prayers has a different number of rak’at, as well as its own name and allotted time of day, as follows:

Fajr, which means Dawn and can be performed at any point until the sun rises (two rak’at). 

Dhuhr, which means Noon (four rak’at)

Asr, performed in the afternoon (four rak’at)

Maghreb, which means sunset and can be performed at any point until it’s dark (three rak’at)

Isha, performed at night and can be done at any point until dawn (four rak’at)

The specific time of prayer will differ day to day and place to place, according to the sun, but those are the rough timeframes for each. It’s generally preferred that a Muslim does their prayer on time, but in practice some Muslims find it difficult to wake up for Fajr, for instance, and just try to make sure they get a morning prayer in before noon.

On Friday, there is a congregational Friday prayer at Dhuhr in a mosque called the Jumu’a prayer (which, fun fact, literally means gathering and is also the Arabic name for Friday!). Only men are required to take part in the congregation, however.  

In Muslim majority countries, the time for prayer is announced by the adhaan, the call to prayer, from mosques and in media. This won’t be the case in the UK, and the character will likely have to rely on an adhaan app or looking up what time prayer should be. 

There are various requirements for a prayer to be correct, chief of which is facing the Qibla and purity. Before performing prayer, a Muslim must purify themself by performing wudu, or ablutions, which basically involves washing the hands, arms, nostrils, face, head, and feet a specific number of times using clean water. The way I was taught these must be performed in a certain order, and the person shouldn’t speak during or after until their prayer is finished. This may be different for others.

Wudu is considered valid until nullified by bodily functions such as urinating, defecating, vomiting, flatulence, or any sexual activity. For Sunni Muslims, it’s also invalidated by going to sleep. If none of these have happened, a Muslim can perform more than one prayer using the same wudu.

Notably, a Muslim cannot pray if they’re on their period, as they’re considered in a state of impurity. 

Another important requirement is that a Muslim be dressed modestly for prayer. The general guideline is that Muslim men should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing, and that during prayer it’s preferred that they cover their chests as well  Muslim women should cover everything except their face, hands, and feet. This means that a woman who isn’t hijabi would still wrap a hijab for prayer. For nonbinary Muslims, I don’t think there are specific guidelines yet, although please feel free to correct me. 

If praying at home, a family may choose to pray together. In this case, the male head of the household usually stands at the front and acts as Imam, leading the prayer. Other men will tend to be in front of or beside women, as generally women should not pray in front of a man. This is the case even, especially, if he is not praying.

Children aren’t required to pray, as they’re considered innocent and have no obligations, but may want to take part early on or may be encouraged to practice.

Praying is one area you’ll find denominational differences. For example, while Sunnis fold their arms in prayer, Shia keep their arms to their side, and while Shia Muslims make sure their foreheads touch a piece of clay or earth when they prostrate, Sunnis do not. If you write your character praying, keep these details in mind.

Fasting:

During the holy month of Ramadan, Muslims fast from Fajr (dawn) until Maghreb (sunset) every day. This means they abstain from consuming anything—yes, even water, cigarettes, and medicine. They should also abstain from sexual activities and cursing. Most importantly, they must have the intention to be fasting. This means that not eating and drinking because they were asleep for that entire period of time or just lost track and forgot does not count as fasting.

Generally, the idea is more to try to be more pious and avoid sin throughout the month. It’s thought that the shaytan (or devil) is chained up during Ramadan, so any temptation or sinning is a person’s own doing. The way I was raised, I was taught that sawm/fasting is invalidated by sexual thoughts  and raising your voice as well. Many people also try to dress more modestly during Ramadan, with some women opting for looser clothing or a headscarf. Many Muslims will try to read the whole Quran during Ramadan. 

After Maghreb, Muslims break their fast with Iftar (which means breakfast, hah) and have a late night meal called Suhour. Since the Muslim calendar is a lunar calendar, Ramadan is 11 days earlier every year. Depending on when Ramadan falls in the year, there can be barely any time between iftar and suhour in certain parts of the world, as the sun is up for so much of the day. 

Given the length of time and difficulty involved, there are exceptions and allowances for fasting. A person is not required to fast if they are:

A child (up to puberty)

Ill or has a medical condition such as diabetes

Pregnant

Travelling

On their period

In fact, if they are on their period it will not be counted, even if they do fast. That said, sometimes people choose to fast while travelling anyway, as travel is less strenuous now than it used to be. If they’re crossing time zones they will have to consider which time zone they’re breaking their fast to. As far as I remember, it’s based on the time zone of the place they just left or started their fast in. 

If an obstacle to fasting is temporary, such as their period, they’re expected to make those days up with additional fasting before next Ramadan. Otherwise, they are allowed to make up for the lost fast in another way, such as by donating money or feeding fasting people. Whether due to societal pressure (which is formidable in Muslim-majority countries) or out of consideration for others who are fasting, those who are not fasting for whatever reason may often choose to hide this and only eat in secret.

If a person forgets they were fasting or accidentally consumes something, it does not invalidate the fast , and as soon as they remember or realise the mistake they can have the intention to fast again and continue with their day. 

While children are exempt, many families will start them off by fasting for half a day so they can build up to a full day when they hit puberty.

Ramadan traditions vary wildly from country to country and culture to culture, but generally it’s a time for family gathering and celebration. Often there are special Ramadan-specific food, drink, and decorations, and it ends with Eid ul-Fitr which has its own specific foods and celebrations. Basically, imagine if Christmas lasted a month. That’s how big a deal Ramadan is. 

In my experience, the first few days are usually the hardest. Water is what I tended to miss the most, even if I managed to stay up long enough or set an alarm to wake up to drink just before fajr, followed closely by swearing. Anyone who drinks caffeine or smokes cigarettes will likely find abstaining from those more difficult than water. By the end of the month, though, it gets much easier and I often got to the point where I barely noticed. I will say, however, that the longest I’ve had to fast has been maybe 16 hours. A summer Ramadan in the UK would be more difficult due to the much later sunsets.

Halal and Haram:

Halal means “permissible,” while haram means “forbidden.”  You might have heard these words in passing before, such as halal food, but they are used for many areas of life.  

Things that are considered haram include:

Consuming, serving, or trading in intoxicants, such as alcohol

Consuming improperly slaughtered meat or meat from forbidden animals, such as pork

Extramarital sex

Tattoos

Gambling

Men wearing silk or gold

A Muslim woman marrying a non-Muslim man (although it’s fine for a Muslim man to marry a non-Muslim woman)

Being immodest

Modesty is expected of all genders, including men. If you’ll recall from the section on prayer, the general guideline for male modesty is that they should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing. Note that for women, modesty does not necessarily involve wearing a hijab.  There is actually a ton of controversy as to whether the hijab is a fard (requirement) or not, as described in the following section.

The Hijab:

To be hijabi takes more than just throwing on a headscarf. As a word, hijab means “barrier” or “veil,” and a hijabi person would be expected to cover everything except their face and the palms of their hands, and to ensure that their clothes are loose and non-revealing.  It all comes from an interpretation of two verses in the Quran that many scholars nowadays agree to mean the hijab is required, and that some say actually call for a face covering as well, which is called a niqab. 

This wasn’t always the case, however, and these days there is still the occasional controversial scholar (I remember a few kerfuffles coming out of Egypt’s Al-Azhar mosque recently) saying it isn’t and has never been required at all. At least in the Arab world, this is largely due to the wave of Wahhabism (which is a specifically fundamentalist interpretation of Islam) that’s taken over the region in the past half a century. Before that, the idea of a hijab being a religious requirement was less widespread.

I’m not here to argue who’s right or wrong, just to make you aware that the hijab as we know it today hasn’t always been considered a requirement for a Muslim woman. Most of the women of my family never wore any form of head covering, but more and more they are an exception rather than the norm.

The choice of whether to wear a hijab can mean very different things, depending on the surrounding culture. For instance, my grandmother, the strictest woman I have ever known, got married in a very cute sleeveless dress that went just under the knees, and when she grew older she wore a head-covering more as a cultural indication of age rather than any religious reason. In my generation, in a country with a Muslim majority, lack of visible signs of devoutness have become almost a class marker, with some upper-class women using their lack of head-covering as a sign that they are “more Westernized” or “modern.” And again, I want to emphasize that this is the case for my country only. 

This will be completely different for Muslim minorities, where the hijab can become a symbol of pride and unity.

I will say that it’s very rare for women to be forced into getting veiled, whether in Muslim minority or majority countries. I’m not saying it never happens, just that it’s not the “oppressive tool of the patriarchy” outsiders sometimes think it is. Women may face some societal pressure, but by and large it is considered a choice and often an empowering one. In fact, I have friends whose families discouraged them from wearing a hijab too young and emphasized only taking the decision when they were sure they wanted to. If writing a Muslim character when you’re non-Muslim, I strongly suggest not trying to tackle the story of someone forced into a hijab, as there’s a lot of nuance there and it’s very easy to fall into harmful stereotypes. The hijabi woman who gets “liberated” and takes off her hijab is also overdone and harmful. Please don’t.

Everyday Life:

Muslims are not a monolithic entity, and some will be more devout or religious than others. There are those who will pray their five a day and others who only pray during Ramadan or Eid, some who don’t drink and some who do, hijabis who dress only in loose clothing and those who wear tight trousers or show some of their hair, some who have tattoos, and some who may date or even have sex before marriage. However, this isn’t a carte-blanche not to do research when writing a Muslim character, because even if they break a rule of Islam, they will be conscious of it, may be concerned about their community’s response to it, and in any case will be affected by it.

For instance, I know many Muslims who drink alcohol. Some interpret the text differently, saying that since the sin is getting drunk then they won’t drink enough to get drunk, just buzzed. Some only do it on special occasions or on vacation, saying they know it’s a sin but it’s fine on occasion and they’ll repent later. All of them would probably dive under a table if they thought their family was nearby.

For more opinions on Muslims and dealing with alcohol, take a look at the “Islam and Alcohol” article linked in the reblog of this post.

Here are things that a character who is a practicing Muslim might do or be concerned about in their day to day life:

Checking ingredients to make sure they’re all halal. This goes for things like food, drink, medicine, anything consumable. Things like gelatine capsules are only halal if the source of the gelatine is itself halal, for instance.

Keeping up with their prayers. With five prayers a day, some will inevitably happen while they’re out of the house. Some Muslims prefer to just group their prayers when they get home, but since it’s preferable to do prayers on time, others may try to pray while out and about This means considering the following:

Finding a bathroom for wudu. Part of wudu involves washing feet and the head, which isn’t feasible in a public location or if the person is hijabi and doesn’t want to unwrap and rewrap their hijab. In that case, they can generally wipe a wet hand over their socks and top of their head covering. 

They may carry a prayer carpet or have one stashed in a convenient location, but it’s not a must.

Finding a clean and secluded place to pray. Generally, it’s not done to pray in a place where someone will pass in front of you, and a woman must also take care to pray away from men’s eyes. 

Figuring out where the Qibla is. Luckily, there are apps for that.

If a woman is not hijabi, she would have to carry a veil and, depending on her clothes, something to cover up so she can pray.

If they’re hijabi, they’ll probably have to adjust or re-wrap their hijab throughout the day, depending on the material and their activities. This would typically happen in bathrooms or any other space that doesn’t include men, as they can’t reveal themselves to any men who aren’t of their immediate family. For more on the hijab, and the day to day realities of wearing and wrapping one, take a look at the links provided in the reblog of this post.  

A Muslim woman may choose not to accept handshakes from men who aren’t family.  She has probably considered how to deal with that potential awkwardness.

If they’re fasting, they might carry some dates or biscuits or something in case they need to break their fast while on the go.

If making plans, they might say, “Insha’allah” which means “God willing.” I was always admonished to do so to acknowledge the future is entirely within God’s hands.

If asked how they are, they might reply with “Alhamdullilah” which means “Thanks be to God.”

When starting to eat, they may say, “Bismillah,” which means “In the name of God” and when done eating may say “Alhamdullilah.” These can also be invoked silently.

As you might have noticed, Allah’s name is invoked pretty often. While it’s not preferable to swear using God’s name just to make a point (“Wallahi”), there’s nothing against it, really.

Fundamentally, an important thing to remember is that Islam is a religion of ease and not hardship. This is an actual Quranic quote. What this means is, it may seem like there are a lot of rules to keep in mind, but there are also a ton of allowances for when those rules aren’t feasible, just like the case for fasting above. Other allowances include how an elderly or disabled person who may not be able to perform the motions of prayer can pray while sitting in a chair or even lying in bed. If there isn’t any clean water to purify before prayer or if using the water would mean lack of drinking water, a Muslim can use dust or sand to purify, and if no dust or sand is available then they don’t need to purify at all and can simply pray. 

This means that, say, if your Muslim Jon wants to pray while kidnapped by the circus, he can, even without being able to perform wudu, even without knowing where the Qibla is, even without being able to move or say anything at all.

For more day-to-day tidbits, check out the “More on writing Muslim characters” link in the reblog of this post. 

LGBTQ Muslims:

Needless to say, Queer Muslims absolutely do exist, and their being Muslim doesn’t cancel out their queerness or vice versa. While there are Quranic verses that have been interpreted as condemning homosexuality, there are also other interpretations, and queerness has existed in Muslim societies for ages. There was a ton of homoerotic imagery among Abbasid poets during the Golden Age of Islam, for example. 

However, modern-day attitudes can be difficult to get around, and queer Muslims may have difficulty finding their place in both Muslim spaces and queer spaces, the latter which often expect them to reject religiosity.

Although I am queer myself, I don’t feel it’s my place to speak for queer Muslims and their relationships with their communities beyond this, so I’ll let some queer practicing Muslims speak for themselves.  Please see the reblog of this post for valuable contributions from queer Muslims about their experiences.  

Miscellaneous:

This is mostly for all the random tidbits I thought up while writing this that didn’t fit anywhere else and also because I don’t know when to quit apparently, SO!

Allah is just Arabic for God. Muslims can and do use these terms interchangeably, such as saying “God willing,” instead of “Inshallah,” even in an Arabic-speaking country. 

Also, God has 99 names! Just a fun fact for you there. 

The Devil in Islam is pretty different from his Christian counterpart. Referred to as Iblis or Shaytan, among other names, he is not a fallen angel and there is no great revolt story, nor is he considered a root of all evil. Instead, he is a djinn made of smokeless flame who refused to bow down to Adam, as he felt he was made of superior stuff and not about to bow to a creature made of mud. His disdain for humanity is what has caused him and other shayateen/demons to try and tempt humans.

A person’s right hand is considered purer than their left, so it’s encouraged to always eat with your right hand. Unfortunately, this does mean left-handed people face something of a stigma—or at least that’s the case here in Egypt. My cousins, both lefties, both eat with their right hand, though they  do everything else with their left.

Similarly, it is considered better to enter spaces with your right foot, though only the most devout are likely to think of this all the time. This is especially considered for entering a mosque or new home.

A Muslim might say or write “Peace be Upon Him” whenever the Prophet Mohammed is mentioned, written as (PBUH), and “Subhanuh wa Taala” when mentioning Allah, written as (SWT).

The Evil Eye is mentioned in the Quran as “hasad,” and considered to be a very real thing. This jealous or envious energy is considered able to ruin good things in your life, even if the jealous person didn’t intend to. There are some surahs that are considered good to ward against it, as well as incense, the colour blue, the number five, and the symbols of the nazar (which is a round, blue-ringed eye) and the khamsa (an open five-fingered palm, also known as the Hand of Fatima). The nazar, khamsa, and belief in the evil eye aren’t unique to Islam at all. What is unique to Islam is that a Muslim might preface a compliment with “Masha’allah” which means “As God wills it,” to ward off their own evil eye. 

Much of the Quran in Arabic rhymes and is very poetic, which can make surahs easy to memorise by rhythm. It can also make recitations by a skilled reader very lovely.

[servicetopkaradanvers]

I'm not sure if this is exactly the right place to say this, but I don't know if there is. And you're a smart person and critical thinker who has talked about this before. If this is totally weird, you can just delete it ofc. I've never properly watched Supergirl but I started reading fanfic around the time my mental health got real bad so it was a comfort thing I didn't bring too much thought to. I really identify with Lena and in the past, part of me has understood her actions-

and I know that they're wrong. The anti-alien rhetoric is obviously an allegory for racism or homophobia. She's violated people's basic human rights. And I'm scared that I'm a bad person because sometimes, I kind of get it. Which is insane because i'm a lesbian enby of color, i mean i get targeted by most of the -ist/ism actions. And I'm also too tired to think about things critically all the time. Supercorp was my comfort fic, content thing-

I knew it was problematic (the whole James thing makes me sick to my stomach, scared and sad) but I didn't know that Lena as a character was written that way. The metaphors never really clicked in my head because I never thought about it, but now I feel absolutely horrible about myself because I like and identify with Lena. I'm not really sure how to move on from here- I'm just tired. I wish there could be just one thing, one piece of media that wasn't prejudiced (granted sg is not the place to go if you want decent rep and the like) and all of those things I said earlier. Its just me somehow trying to justify how I felt and empathized with something I shouldn't have. So yeah, sorry that was really long. I hope you have a lovely day- sorry for the spam

FIRST of all, you’re fine, babe! Both in sending me this and in enjoying The Bad Media. That’s my thesis here: You’re fine. With this in mind, let’s unpack this big ol suitcase:

We’re living in a fandom moment where more than ever before, we’re thinking about the ideas we consume in fiction and how they may or may not affect us. This is a net positive! Fiction is not reality, but it undeniably impacts it, so for this and many other reasons, we should always think critically about what resonates with us and why. Does this mean dissecting every facet of something to find all the ways it might fall in line with oppressive power structures? Absolutely not.

You, as an individual, do not owe anyone an explanation for why you enjoy anything. Period. How you relate to a given character or why you like them is nobody's business but your own.

Supergirl, as a piece of media, is singularly awful in its lackluster lipservice to progressivism while simultaneously refusing to deliver any progressive themes. Socially and politically, it is a useless liberal wet dream. Kara is an immigrant from a dead culture working as the muscle for a secret FBI offshoot with zero accountability for all of the other aliens in diaspora she has rounded up and dumped into a cell without trial. Alex is allegedly a lesbian, but the key points of her endgame relationship are constantly deemed not important enough to get screen time, which is made even more absurd when examined from the angle that this series is marketed directly toward LGBT people. An embarrassing percentage of villains on this show are women of color, which is particularly loud when there are only 2 women in the main cast who aren't white. And "main" is extremely generous, given that Kelly is just there to Give Advice Good and everything M'gann says and does is as dry as toast.

My point here is that the whole show is rotted to its roots, and whatever quietly libertarian or even fascism-enabling bullshit they push onto Lena in a given week is par for the crusty, shitty course. Kara deciding that she's ok with the alien detection device because "there are bad aliens" is a lovely (read: awful) microcosm of why this show sucks so fucking hard. "People are entitled to their opinions" is for debates on whether pineapple goes on pizza, not for whether we should casually out, endanger, and disenfranchise our [insert minority metaphor here] because some of them are mean.

But what I would love for this fandom to wrap its head around, and what I hope you understand, anon, is that just because it happens on the show, doesn't mean we have to give a rat's ass about it. What the hell is The Canon, anyway? Especially in the case for Supergirl, which can't even get its own continuity right. Especially for an IP that has been rebooted dozens of times before and will be rebooted again in the future. We can just decide that Lena realized the horrible injustices she enabled through her position of power. We can even decide that they just didn't happen at all! This is all fake. It's not set in stone. Who came up with it, anyway? A network with a list of buzzwords they want included and a couple of D-tier showrunners cranking down caffeine to meet an absurdly tight deadline. It's not special. I can guarantee that you care about it infinitely more than they do, and you haven't even watched the damn show.

On a more personal level, people who are hurt, depressed, or traumatized have always and will always look for themselves in fiction. Myself included! And despite what lofty platitudes there may be on the matter, suffering does not make us kind. It does not make us better. Sometimes it's just suffering. Often it pulls us further from who we are meant to be. Often it just makes us "worse."

Trauma has made Lena emotionally brittle. A lifetime of manipulation and abuse has taught her to compartmentalize herself and lock her feelings behind a maze of doors. When she does let love in, she accepts it so wild and vulnerable that she can't see the red flags behind the rosy lenses. She latches so hard onto people she deems virtuous that she holds them to a standard none could fulfill. Her pain has to go somewhere, so it oozes out of her, into Non Nocere, into the post-reveal rift. She's a powder keg, and Kara spent 4 years shoveling more gunpowder onto the pile while holding the match between her teeth.

And despite these fatal flaws that make perfect sense through the eyes of Lena's trauma, she is so full of love. Like Kara, her suffering did not make her kind. She is kind in spite of her suffering. These are the characters we are drawn to when we're hurting. Lena’s trauma is an inextricable part of her, but it is not all of her, and neither are her mistakes.

There truly is not and never will be a piece of media that is absolutely innocent of the harmful structures thrust upon us by society, because we ourselves also participate in that society whether we are critical of it or not, whether we strive to change it or not. I'm flawed. You're flawed. Bettering ourselves is not a journey toward an ultimate destination of perfection. It is a garden we nurture in an endless labor of love because the joy that comes from seeing it flourish and change vastly outweighs the work we put into it and the weeds popping up around its unkempt edges. This is a lesson Lena herself could probably stand to internalize. Probably with lots and lots of therapy. Lots. And lots.

So, to circle back to the start of this? You're fine. You recognized the logic in a traumatized character's mistakes because our own gravest errors more often than not stem from the ways we have been harmed in the past. It's what makes Lena (or, at the very least, the many adaptations of Lena that exist in this fandom) a good character. She is, to her core, characterized proof that a crumbling foundation and poisonous soil do not define us. Which is why watching her heal and grow and learn a healthier kind of love is so, so wonderful.

In closing, I think it's worth mentioning that being critical of media does not mean that we stop enjoying the parts of it we like. There is a lot of gold to be pulled from the steaming pile of shit that is CW Supergirl, and that's why we're all here in the first place. So I really hope you can continue to enjoy it in whatever way makes you smile <3

[attllhak]

Adoption AU: Midna

AKA: The one where Twilight got shot.

@tortilla-of-courage @ghostdragonace @sekiumiarashi @anadorablekiwi

Also, mind the tags for this one, since it is the fic where Twi gets shot I did look up the warnings list I gave my best friend when I shared it with them. It shouldn’t be too bad, but better safe than sorry.

----------------

Twilight wasn’t terribly happy about this arrangement. He understood what Keapora was trying to do, he did, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

It was a group project for their history class, about the French revolution. Everyone was assigned a historical figure to research, and at the end of two weeks they would need to present an argument on why their figure shouldn’t be executed. The class would vote, and if you lost then a carrot that Keapora’s daughter, Zelda, or Sun as his family called her since they knew so many Zeldas, dressed up to look like the figures would be executed. Twilight’s brother often helped her, and people didn’t usually survive since everyone loved watching Keapora execute carrot nobles with the tiny, functioning guillotine he had.

Twilight was one of the people that was really valuable in group projects because he actually did the work. He was especially sought after because he never made a big deal of it, unless the others did absolutely nothing, and even then he cornered the teacher after class instead of calling anyone out. Dusk, another Zelda, was another of these very valuable group project members. She was a little more vocal about being used, but only because she approached the teacher while class was still in and did so regardless of how little effort was put in. Twilight didn’t know Dusk personally, they didn’t run in the same circles very often, but they got along well enough.

Midna, however, was another story.

Midna was a foreign student, whose parents had immigrated not long after she was born. Her mother’s brother and his family moved with them. Twilight was more familiar with her, but only because they had ended up in the office for fighting once.

Not each other, they had never hit each other. In fact, they had been on the same side. The person they were fighting was Midna’s cousin Zant.

Zant was a grade above them, and a real piece of work. He thought because his family were immigrants that he could claim discrimination any time anyone wasn’t willing to do what he wanted. Plus, if you asked Twilight, he was just a bit loony, and every time he saw the guy he got a worse and worse feeling about him.

They’d met the year before, when Midna and Zant had switched schools. Zant had tried picking on one of Twilight’s little brothers, and Twilight was not having that. Midna had the same thought, apparently, since she was pretty quick to get involved too. Then Zant punched Twilight. Midna punched Zant. One of Zant’s cronies jumped in to defend him. Twilight’s brother Legend saw this going down and decided to lend his fists to the cause when he noticed Twi and Midna were outnumbered. Things devolved from there.

In the end, Zant’s cronies, and Legend, booked it before the teachers got there to break it up. All three of them got dragged into the office and had parents called. Twilight had been miserable until Midna leaned over to compliment him on his form and show him funny videos on her phone. They didn’t talk much, but there was a mutual respect there.

Midna was not like Twilight or Dusk. She was very useful to a group project, but also had a tendency to publicly call out everyone who didn’t help. During the presentation. Twilight had howled the first time she got to the ‘credits’ slide and it was all just her name, and then the other group members listed as ‘standing around looking pretty’. He wasn’t alone.

So he understood what Keapora was doing. By putting all the kids who were invaluable to group projects together it ensured that they wouldn’t get taken advantage of and that they’d all be able to only do their part.

He didn’t have to like it.

It was because he was on the soccer team, he figured. He knew the other sports kids used that as an excuse to get out of projects. And Dusk was on student council and in debate.

That was the only reason he could find that Midna didn’t trust them to do their part. Or maybe she was just jaded. He understood that feeling.

Either way, after the first ‘huddle’ to begin dividing the work where Midna had complained about doing all the work, Dusk pulled Twilight aside and they worked out a plan to get Midna to trust them.

A large part of this plan leveraged the fact Midna already seemed mostly cool with Twilight, so he’d be mostly on the charisma front (which had confused him, since he was far better with animals than he was people), and Dusk would focus more heavily on gathering and sorting research. This, worked less well than Dusk had hoped.

Fortunately, Midna came around the day they got kicked out of the library for getting into a screaming match about a few contradictory facts they dredged up. They left the room still steaming, but Midna was laughing pretty loudly. After that, the three of them got along pretty well.

The project went pretty smoothly after that as well, and they agreed if any more screaming was to happen they’d relocate outside. This worked really well, and soon enough they fell into a system. Dusk even offered them her house to get together after school to work on it. This worked well for Twilight, who had four and a half brothers and counting, and thus didn’t exactly live in a house conducive to group projects. Or any projects.

The three ended up spending a lot of time together working on it, and even managed to get to the point where they were well ahead of the rest of the class. Twilight was even hopeful their carrot might survive (though not so hopeful he thought it would, he knew better than that).

Of course, the universe didn’t seem to think he should be able to take a break. Ignoring that Wild had just gotten another cast off and he’d had to rescue Legend from a few more fist fights, he didn’t think anything big would end up happening. It was just the usual shit where his biggest break was going over to Dusk’s house to work or disappearing on his Epona for a few hours.

But, he wasn’t oblivious. He noticed the warning signs, he just dismissed them.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have done this.

Zant had always made Twilight uncomfortable. It didn’t help that he seemed to really hate Twilight after the fight they’d gotten into, and made worse by the fact Twilight got along well with Midna. Midna mentioned he was always a little jealous of her for various reasons, and that they’d never been close. So he didn’t think much of it when Zant started acting weirder than usual. He asked when he noticed Midna was getting more fidgety and nervous, but accepted it when she brushed him off. He paid no mind to the fact Zant started skipping school.

He never brushed things off like this again. His therapist said it was paranoia based on trauma, but Dusk agreed with him that it was a reasonable caution. After all, he was the one who got hurt.

They had finished the project early, after spending the entire weekend at Dusk’s place to work on it at Midna’s request. In hindsight, it should have been worrying that Midna was avoiding her home, but no one said anything about it since she just brushed them off.

The three were sitting in the library, sorting through the last few bits of information and the presentation to make sure they had everything. Twilight was sitting closest to the door, which is probably why he was the one who did the stupid thing.

They had been there for maybe ten minutes when an announcement for a lockdown came over the intercom. Lockdown drills had been happening since Twilight’s dad had been in school, after he’d done something really stupid and brave in the face of danger, so no one thought much of it. Mostly, they just moved all the papers and the laptop they were using under the table so they could keep working.

That is, until Twilight noticed how worried the librarians looked.

Suspicious now, Twilight rapped twice on the top of the table and hissed to the girls his concerns. Midna agreed, but looked suddenly really, really pale, and a little scared.

“Midna, are you alright?” Dusk hovered a hand over Midna’s shoulder, and Twilight crouched down next to them to watch as well.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Midna waved them off, but both of them could tell she was lying.

“Midna, do you know what’s going on?” Twilight asked her, glancing back at the librarians every so often.

“No, well, maybe,” she was now wringing her hands in her cloak, chewing on her lip.

“Midna, what’s going on? Is this for real?” Dusk set her hand down and Midna jumped, Dusk retracting her hand as she did.

“Well,” she hesitated, but Twilight offered her a smile and Dusk nodded. “There have been a few, issues, with my cousin. You know, Zant? He uh, he’s not been doing well recently,”

“Not been doing well?” Twilight led, hoping for something more.

“He’s been getting more violent,” Midna admitted quietly. “And, and he’s starting to scare me a little bit,”

Twilight and Dusk shared a look, both coming to the same conclusion.

Before anything more could be said, however, the library door was thrown open, and the librarians screamed and ducked behind the counters. Twilight jerked up to standing, having not slid under the table with the girls.

Sure enough, Zant was standing across the library, panting hard and looking more than a little crazed.

“Call the cops,” Twilight muttered to the girls, frozen where he stood and just waiting for Zant to spot him. “One of you call the police,”

“Link,” Midna hissed at him, probably well aware of what he was planning. “Don’t you even think about it!”

“Just make sure the police are on the way,” Twilight hissed back, ignoring the use of his real name.

“Link!”

“Twilight,”

He ignored both girls when Zant finally spotted him. He knew what people looked like when they were going to shoot. Legend and Wild both learned to shoot for fun a while back and would practice on old milk jugs in the yard. He had more than enough warning before Zant even brought the pistol up to aim.

Twilight took off at him at a dead run, knowing full well he was dead if there was enough distance, ignoring the cursing from the girls.

He shoulder checked Zant hard in the stomach and managed to duck beneath the first shot. Unfortunately, he was very close to the gun and it didn’t have a silencer. He stumbled back and rubbed his ears, trying to dispel the ringing in them. This gave Zant enough time to get back to his feet and regain his breath. Twilight noticed and pushed the ringing to the side and lunged for the gun.

The two tug-of-warred over the weapon for a few beats, Twilight trying to get it away from Zant and Zant trying to get it at an angle so he could shoot Twilight. Twilight kept trying to push the gun pointed down and Zant was desperately pulling on it and trying to shove and hit Twilight.

This went on for several long moments, though Twilight didn’t remember exactly how long. He was way more focussed on the fight than how long it was.

He most certainly remembered his hand slipping and the gun coming up, and the second gunshot was burned in his memory, never to be erased.

The pain didn’t register for a few heartbeats, and shock set in almost immediately. He lost his grip on the gun and stumbled back, eyes wide in shock and horror, mouth open in a silent scream.

Zant stumbled back as well, and both boys seemed frozen. Zant grinned, however, and lifted up the gun again to finish the job.

Twilight had never felt so scared before or after.

And then a loud crack sounded, and standing behind and over Zant’s now crumpled form was Midna, chair held by the legs over her head.

Midna caught sight of Twilight, and dropped the chair, swearing really loudly.

It was at this point Twilight lowered his hands to his stomach, and the hole that now existed there. He didn’t dare look down, instead keeping his eyes on Midna and the look of horror on her face.

“Is, is it bad?” He tried for a joke, but it probably fell flat. It was then that Twilight, a little dizzy, tipped over onto the floor.

He didn’t remember much after that. He remembered Midna screaming his name, his real name, and Dusk dropping into view, phone held up to her ear. He remembered vaguely being moved somewhere else, and then being rolled onto his side and pressure on his back and stomach. He thinks he cried out at that, but his head was already starting to swim a little, and the shock wasn’t helping. His next really clear memory was in the ambulance.

He blinked and groaned, and Dusk popped into view over him.

“Easy, Link,” she reached up and moved some of his hair out of his face, smiling but not able to hide how shaken up she still was. “It’ll be okay, you’re gonna be fine,” she sounded like she was convincing herself.

“Midna?” He asked, then blinked at the muffled sound of his voice.

Dusk held his hand down, chuckling at him. “A mask,” she explained, “to help your breathing. You were gasping. Midna needed to talk to the police, since it was her cousin. She’s going to meet us,”

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Dusk smiled and rubbed his shoulder. “We’re both okay. You’re the one we’re both worried about,”

Twilight just nodded, and sort of drifted out of focus again. There was a bit of activity when they arrived, but then Twilight was put under and rushed into surgery so he didn’t remember anything that happened afterwards.

He came to a few hours later in a hospital room with stitches in his stomach and back. Dusk had collapsed over his right arm, and Midna leaned on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid the IV in his arm. He couldn’t see any family, so he figured they hadn’t gotten there yet.

Midna looked up after a few beats, and Twilight smiled at her. That had her bolting up.

“Twilight!”

Dusk lifted her head on his other side, her own face breaking into a grin when she saw him too.

“You’re up!”

“Yup, I lived,” he paused. “Actually is my phone here? Can someone take a picture of me to send to my brothers? Wild always does it when he breaks a bone, and I wanna see why he finds it so funny,”

“You’re high on pain meds, aren’t you?” Midna deadpanned at him.

He laughed, until he realized that made his stomach hurt. “Ow,”

“Okay, maybe not,” Midna admitted, then handed him his phone. “What’s your passcode?”

“Midna!” Dusk cried.

“What? He asked!”

Twilight happily opened up his phone, ignoring Dusk.

“Say cheese!” Midna grinned at him, holding up the phone.

Twilight lifted both hands in a peace sign and grinned. Midna took the photo and sent it off into the group chat without another word, even as Dusk made disapproving noises next to them.

Immediately a string of excited and relieved texts started pouring in, and Twilight had to remind himself laughing hurt.

The injury wasn’t bad, he found out. He wasn’t sure how getting shot could be ‘not bad’, but apparently since the bullet went through the damage wasn’t severe. He was expected to be back at full in less than a year, but had to be pulled off the soccer team for the rest of the year, and discouraged from rejoining the next year. That was disappointing, but livable.

About half an hour before his parents arrived, Midna offered to paint his face for him.

This had confused Twilight quite a bit. What did getting paint on his face have to do with what had happened?

Midna explained that for the Twili, her people, facial markings were important parts of identity, and you can earn them for doing certain things or surviving awful events. Twilight argued that he wasn’t Twili, and Midna pointed out she was, and that Zant was as well, and since both of them were involved she got to make the call. At this point Twilight was mostly confused as to how he would have even earned facial markings.

Midna just sputtered. “You got shot! AND you defended me and Dusk from Zant. You fought my cousin for the gun so he wouldn’t shoot anyone else! That, as far as I’m concerned, makes you a hero! And heroes obviously get facial markings. Not to mention I’m pretty damn sure getting shot counts as a ‘pretty damn awful experience’. So yes, you qualify for markings.”

Twilight blinked at that. Well, he couldn’t really argue with that.

So he let Midna paint his face.

When his family, and Midna and Dusk’s parents, arrived Midna was sitting on the bed next to him, a paintbrush in hand and Dusk holding a small pot full of a specific kind of paint Midna had ducked out to get. Twilight had half a diamond shape on his head at this point. The three teenagers all froze to turn to look at the newcomers.

“Hi,” Twilight waved at them.

“What’s going on here?” Time asked, eye roving over the group.

“I’m painting his face,” Midna explained.

“Why?” Time asked, and Midna’s father, who also had an elaborate series of markings on his face, leaned around him.

“Yes, why are you doing that?”

“Because,” Midna explained, “he got shot. And he fought Zant to protect us from him, and as per tradition, that qualifies him for facial markings. So I’m doing them for him,”

“Zant?” Midna’s father asked.

“Yeah, he showed up and tried to shoot up the school,” Midna explained as she went back to applying paint to Twilight’s face. “He busted into the library where we were and Twilight tried to fight him to protect the rest of us. He got shot and I whacked Zant in the head with a chair. Then we huddled off somewhere else to hide until the cops showed up.”

“No, Zant was the shooter?” Her father repeated.

Midna froze and turned around. “Yes. Did you not know?”

Her father shook his head. “They didn’t catch the shooter,”

Midna’s shoulders dropped, and both hylians behind her looked equally horrified.

“What?” Midna asked.

Her father shook his head again. “They didn’t catch him,”

Midna took a deep breath, then shook her head and turned back to Twilight. Her hand was shaking now, so she didn’t go back to painting. Twilight lifted his hand to pat her knee.

“I’m sure they’ll catch him soon,” Malon offered, slipping into the room to take up on the couch against the wall. “He’s pretty easily identified, after all,”

“Right,” Midna nodded, then shook herself once. “Right, it’ll be fine.”

She dipped the brush back into the paint and went about continuing to paint on Twilight’s face.

“What are you doing?” Eyes turned back up to find Zant’s parents in the doorway now, after everyone else wandered into the room to settle down.

“Why is everyone asking me that?” Midna turned to face the ceiling. “I’m painting his face! I can do that! He’s earned the markings, and as the present Twili I can choose to provide them to him, even though he isn’t Twili. Believe me, I’ve considered whether or not this was something I could do, and I can. And besides, I’m already half done,”

“No,” Zant’s mother corrected. “I mean why are you painting his face for assaulting my son?”

“What?!” Midna whipped around, fury on her face.

Zant’s mother nodded. “He attacked Zant, and you rewarding him for it is a betrayal to this family,”

“Zant brought a gun to our school!” Midna burst, apparently pissed off and finally snapping after the stress of the day. “He tried to shoot me, he DID shoot Twilight! Twilight saved our lives by attacking him, and he got injured for it! He more than deserves these markings, and Zant should be in jail!”

Zant’s mother stuttered, then drew herself up. “That boy is a danger to everyone around him,”

“Yes,” Midna agreed and pointedly added a line under Twilight’s eyes. “Zant is unstable and dangerous,”

The woman huffed, and went to start yelling when Malon stood up again and blocked her from the door. “Let’s talk, hm?”

The door shut and Twilight had to put in a lot of effort not to laugh as his mother tore into the woman outside the door. After a few minutes, Midna’s mother joined her, and Dusk’s father followed with a camera in hand.

No one else questioned the paints again.

In the end, Zant’s mother filed for a restraining order against Twilight and Malon, which Malon said she would abide by exclusively because it was one less expense on them. Midna’s parents refused to separate Midna from one of her friends, especially one who put his life at risk to help her, and didn’t sign onto the order the way Zant’s mother wanted them too.

Twilight ended up with a very nice looking set of markings over his forehead that Midna told him symbolized courage and boldness and sacrifice. He was quite proud of them.

He got back to school the same day as the presentation, which he thought was pretty amusingly coincidental. His mother, ever worrying, did insist he use a wheelchair (one they had for Time from a few years before Twilight was born) so he didn’t put undue strain on his injury.

The presentation went well, and things worked out fine. They even managed to keep their carrot alive. Midna’s ‘credits’ of course popped up, but it was much more even than in the past. Of course, there was still the ‘sitting around looking pretty’ category.

Midna was listed. They had taken a vote. Everyone found this hilarious.

There was more laughter when Twilight was listed as having ‘bled for this’. Keapora didn’t find it as amusing as their classmates did.

Midna moved away not long after that, her parents worried about Zant. She explained she wouldn’t be able to talk to them anymore until things calmed down or Zant was caught since her parents were scared.

That was the last time either of them spoke to her.

(---)

The markings Midna painted on stuck around for a very long time. Dusk theorized that the paint was probably some kind of tattoo paint, meant to stain the skin for a long time. Even four and a half years later, the paint was still visible. It was beginning to fade now, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get it redone. The only Twili in the area was Zant’s family, and no one was asking them. It was quite the conversation starter though.

He hadn’t heard from Midna at all since she moved away, and he really missed her. Turns out when you fight someone’s loony cousin together you bond. Who knew?

The scar on his stomach didn’t bother him much, unless it rained really hard or really suddenly. Overall, despite his continuing visits to a therapist and the occasional nightmare, he had recovered from the entire event mostly unscathed.

Most of the time he didn’t get to think about it, helping out on the ranch and prepping to take over some day, alongside his now seven brothers, meant he didn’t have time too.

His therapist was worried his drag racing was a sign of self-destructive behavior, and a symptom of trauma. He ignored her, even though she may have been right.

And that was life. That was just the way it was.

Eventually Time got a call from the police captain, whom he knew quite well by now, letting him know they apprehended Zant, and charges were pending. Time promised they’d testify.

Twilight finally put in an application to a college, one of the really rural ones that offered classes in the sort of stuff that’d be useful when he took over the ranch from his parents one day. He got accepted.

About two weeks after Zant was convicted and carted off, and Twilight was looking at packing up for his first semester, he got a call from an unknown number.

Curious, but not stupid, he turned on the call recording app he’d gotten after the first few times he’d received a threatening call after the whole Zant thing, and hit answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey wolf boy,”

He nearly dropped his phone.

[marcias-meme-blog]

What are your thoughts on the Media bez wyboru ? People are having two different opinions, mostly "They wanna silence us!" or "Don't be an idiot it's just taxation not restriction!"

That’s one hardcore question to receive. 

From what I know, it’s a taxation imposed on ad income in all sorts of media, the internet, newspapers, radio and even cinemas. This means that a chunk of platforms’ income instead of going back towards fuelling those institutions will go to the government.

The main gripe imo is this: many platforms will simply not survive this.  The taxation will be a solid blow to the smaller, often independent/neutral platforms who rely on that money to continue operating. Ultimately they’ll either collapse because of the lack of income or have to start relying on other methods of staying afloat eg. paywalls (and I REALLY hope we’re all aware how paywalls and subscription models contribute to inaccessibility to goods, and specifically here news and articles, on a global scale).

While some might say “it is what it is, that’s how taxes work babey” we MUST consider all pieces on this board. Because you know who will not feel this blow? Who will not have to worry about putting their stuff behind paywalls? Who will not have to worry about staying afloat?

Government sponsored media.

I hope it’s clicking for everyone that that is literally the ABCs of propaganda,  a really short way to monopolise the market of information, and an indirect attempt (we can debate whether intended or unintended) to control the public opinion in the long run.

Government media is NOT objective or trying to stay neutral. It presents you with content & news filtered through a very specific, and in this case, very VERY conservative lense, that paints the ruling party in a holy light while smearing their opposition in shit. 

“Opposition“ may seem like an abstract political concept but here’s a quick rundown of topics that are in opposition to the agenda being pushed by the current political leaders and would effectively be dipped in shit:

- LGBT as a concept, - rights/suited medical help for trans people, - gay marriage, - abortion/planned parenthood, - sex education in schools, - immigrants, - climate change/global warming, - carbon footprint of the environmental destruction that is the mining industry and so on.

The current Polish leaders are IN LOVE with the status quo and the current division of the country. They are especially big fans of presenting everything as a us vs. them narrative. The gays are an attack on polish families and christian values. Abortion is an attack on polish children. Climate change is a made up propaganda to destroy the mining industry and put the good polish people out of their jobs. And immigrants? Oh boy.

And this narrative heavily speaks to the current generations of people of age 40+; the generations that still remember communism, generations intimately aware of our history as a country where the other, the oppressor came and destroyed everything that was us, taking Poland off of the maps for over a fucking century, and how long it took for us to stand on our two legs again as an independent nation.

And all the topics that I listed above? Are used to scare those people by the leading party. To reach deep within and push that emotional button, that knee-jerk reaction that something is waiting, again, to destroy us and who we are as people, as a nation. And this emotional manipulation with fear is very incredibly effective. And I in turn fear that the limited number of accessible journalistic platforms will only contribute to the exponential growth of this sad phenomenon. 

And you know what is the worst thing if all of this? The theatre of absurd that is the way the government is trying to pass these controversial laws. Because those laws are never a stand alone thing. They are always dressed up in a narrative, wrapped up in an entire cushy bill that is going towards something objectively good. They did that many times in the past: most recent thing that I can remember are bills that were supposed to help out single parents but they simultaneously had one or two anti-LGBT laws right next to them, in the same package.

So to put the issue simply, by opposing one aspect of the bill, you’re automatically seen as a shithead trying to prevent a major improvement to the country’s structure. And that goes back to the whole us vs. them narrative I talked about. It’s a circle.

The bill they’re trying to pass right now is not a “new taxation on Ads” bill - it’s marketed as a bill going towards the growth of NFZ (national healthcare), the preservation of Polish history & culture via NFOZ (mostly monuments, old historically important buildings and landmarks etc.) & the creation of a new institution: FWKDN  the goal of which would be the creation of projects and platforms focused on promoting polish heritage & culture in the digital age.

Those are objectively good things, especially rn money for national healthcare would be godsend.

So here comes the ultimate dilemma: Should we introduce the new tax, the money from which will in theory help the people of our country, even if it means sacrificing independent media platforms which effectively means the beginning of the government’s monopol on news and journalism?

And that is a very loaded problem with no easy solution.

Personally I am against that bill and I support the strike that’s going on. The money gathered via this tax will be but a droplet in the sea of needs when it comes to our public healthcare system. Whatever the money could accomplish (which assumes the government that I already don’t trust won’t put the money towards something completely different),  the long term social consequences of news platform reduction far outweigh the potential good, in my books anyway. I do believe there are other solutions to this problem, but we could talk about the changes to the national budget all day and not get anywhere. 

TL;DR: It’s a loaded issue, but having seen certain worrying patterns within the actions and motivations of the current political party I am unwilling to risk letting them take control of journalism nationwide. 

[filmmakerdreamst]

Xena: Warrior Princess Review

During Pride Month 2020, I finally got around to watch ‘Xena’. A show that had been in my to-watch list for years, but never got around to start. And when I finally did, I was pleasantly surprised. It was not what I expected and it was everything I think my 11 year old self would have loved.

The one thing that surprised me about the show, was the lack of packaging. Even though it was a fantasy, it also played with different kinds of genres too. I’ve talked about this before in my other review - ‘Xena’ was made at a time when TV had very few rules/rarely had a set audience, since there were parts of the show that were clearly for kids and there were other parts that were clearly for adults (therefore had much more flexibility). I admired how they weren’t afraid to break barriers and touch on deep themes such as religion, morality, redemption, spirituality, motherhood, forgiveness etc - even more than shows of today are able. I also loved how they played into the idea of ‘murder’ and how much it can damage a person - not just the person who commits the act, but the many people affected afterwards. I wasn’t expecting it to be that extreme. It made me think that this must of been the inspiration for ‘Game of Thrones’. 

I see a lot of comments here and there, saying how ‘cheesy and terrible’ it was but to just accept it because its part of the fun. And while like any show it does suffer from the occasional spell of bad writing (the whole of season 5) but it was also shown to be very aware of that fact and never took itself too seriously - unlike some shows I could mention. 

And regarding the ‘cheese’ factor (what 90s show wasn’t) It definitely can be, but I would call it ‘camp’ and ‘experimental’ more than anything else. (Don’t diss the poor use of CGI - I’m personally sympathetic to what was avaliable to them at the time) The style of humour reminded me of Taika Waititi’s filmmaking. If you’ve watched any of his films such as ‘Hunt for The Wilderpeople’ or ‘Jojo Rabbit’, then you know what I’m talking about. I liked how little they cared about being accurate or logical, which added to the ‘bonkers’ element in the show - which you can see in all of Taika Waititi’s films.

In all seriousness, a show centered around two women in their late twenties, who are realistic sizes (not trying to play teenagers). One of whom is a reformed mass murderer, who has lived a life experience, trying to do good in the world for the first time, picking the other one up who has no life experience prior (after they bugged them until they said ‘ok fine’) in their path to redemption. Just two women who become friends travelling the world together, fighting crime, having a laff, learning from one another without any toxicity - when suddenly when the stakes are raised - they realise ‘oh I'm actually falling in love with this person’ I have watched a lot of badly written shows in my childhood enough to know that, that’s not ‘cheesy’. I’ve never seen a story like that in my entire life. I’m not at all surprised that Russel T Davis was inspired by it while writing the Doctor and Rose’s relationship in ‘Doctor Who’ since he’s gay himself.

What’s more amazing about their love story is how they’re both develop as separate people as well. There was this video essay explaining ‘Why you should watch Angel’ the spin off series to Buffy; how ‘Buffy The Vampire Slayer ‘was all about growing up and ‘Angel’ was all about being an adult. With Xena: Warrior Princess, you have both of those stories at the same time. 

Xena’s character was such a multifaceted experience to watch. And I can’t imagine anyone else who could play her as well as Lucy Lawless. What planet did they get that actress from? She's flawless! The amount of skill she has to put herself into a very physical role is astonishing. I personally had a love/hate relationship with her character all series long. Not in the way that I hated her, just that I couldn’t trust if she was all good or bad, which I know was intentional on the writers part. I haven’t seen a character quite like her before. She felt very much like a fallen angel; almost like the villain of her own story. Some of my favourite episodes come from fleshing out her character and dark past (‘Locked up and Tied Down’ is one of them) which reminds the audience that's she's not the stereotypical hero everyone expects. I loved her transformation from being this incredibly stoic warrior to being content and happy with who she is in season six, all because of a woman she fell in love with along the way. 

I’ve always thought of Gabrielle as the real hero and narrator of ‘Xena’. She’s the prime example of ‘a normal person becoming extrodinary’. Gabrielle’s coming of age story starting out as an innocent girl from a poor village dreaming of adventure, and ending as this vicious warrior who realises the ‘adventure’ wasn’t how she made it out to be is honestly the best character arc that I’ve ever seen. I loved how travelling with Xena made her realise her passion for writing (which was never going to happen in her home town, given the ‘sexist’ and ‘heteronormative’ ideas) and that she became a amazon princess like Xena. In regards to her sexuality, which is more up for debate than Xena’s (which I think we can all agree is bisexual) I personally interpret her as gay, just in terms of how she was written. Theres this moment in season 4 where she's being held up her hair, and Xena “symbolically” cuts it off ‘freeing her’. And she never really gets with a man afterwards, unless she’s being ‘possessed. It reminded me of a moment in one of Hayao Miyasaki’s films ‘Laputa, Castle in the Sky’ where the bad guy Moska shoots Sheeta’s ‘princess hair off’ which symbolises her transition from child to adult.

The cinematography was breathtaking. There was some great utilisation of New Zealand as the scenery. So was the soundtrack. You could tell it was made by experienced filmmakers. One of my favourite things about the show was the domestic elements - moments in the show where time seemed to stop - which made the world around the characters seem very real and magical. Even though it was a show that featured a lot of action/adventure, there was also this gentleness to it as well. For example, you could feel the wetness of the rain, the warmth of the sun and the clashing of the waves. This technique is used in Hayao Miayasaki’s work a lot .

The technique is referred to as ‘MA’ 空虚 meaning emptiness in Japanese. ‘Miyasaki describes this as the time between a clap’

“If you just have non stop action, with no breathing space at all, its just busyness. But if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension” - Hayao Miyasaki

The episode ‘A Day in the Life’ in season two is a really good example of this technique being used.

To my understanding, they used a lot of the local actors in New Zealand, which according to Lucy Lawless, consisted of ‘African immigrants and other different ethnicites’. It was so refreshing to see such a diverse show (despite some slip ups) especially in the 90s. I appreciated the idea that if the actors or extras couldn’t do an ‘american accent’ people could just talk in their natural speech which was also very refreshing. 

The LGBT representation was surprisingly amazing. I never expected so many queer characters in one show - especially under the censors. There was this one episode where they had a trans woman - played by an actual trans actress - win a beauty contest. It made me cry. Not to mention the actress was an aids activist. It was actually Lucy Lawless’ idea to kiss her which was incredibly controversial at that time considering how everyone thought you could catch aids just by kissing. I can definitey see how it validated people back in the 90s.

When people told me that Xena: Warrior Princess was one of the greatest love stories, I thought they were exaggerating a little. But no, watching the show in context, I found out that it really is. Despite its obvious restrictions, It made me realise (regarding token gay couples today) how often television writers rely on physicality and drama to convey a ‘love story’ and how much of it is actually pandering the audience. One of the reasons why Xena and Gabrielle’s relationship felt so genuine is because it was built on mutual respect/compassion and they were also best friends. I felt like I was witnessing something very real and private. It didn’t need kissing scenes or drama to make it interesting. 

It really helped that most of the writers were queer also. There’s this opening scene in season 4, panning over to Gabrielle giving Xena a massage (metaphor for sex - because they weren’t able to show that on screen) which I consider to be one of the most iconic scenes in media - considering how I wanted to sick up my supper when I watched the 10 minute ‘empty’ explicit sex scene in ‘Blue in the Warmest Colour’. The difference when something is written by a queer women vs a straight man.

Because the creators weren’t allowed to write their love story in the normal way, due to the studio forbidding them to, they found creative ways to showcase that love on screen - which made for a very magical/sensual experience. And I can safely say, if anyone has doubts about watching ‘Xena’, whenever I expected to be queer baited at a few points in the show, I was proved wrong time and time again. It’s the most romantical show I’ve ever seen in my life!

[dropintomanga]

Demon Slayer and My Hero Academia - 2 Sides of the Same Coin?

Whenever you hear about Koyoharu Gotoge’s Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, you tend to hear about the records the series has smashed in Japan since the anime adaptation aired. From taking over entire top 20 Oricon manga charts to being one of Japan’s most highly grossed movies ever to influencing political campaigns, Demon Slayer is a once-in-a-lifetime hit that captivated an entire nation. (Oh, and Gotoge is the 1st mangaka ever selected for the Time 100 Next list)

However, outside of Japan, Demon Slayer isn’t as popular as one of its other Shonen Jump brethren, Kohei Horikoshi’s My Hero Academia. Demon Slayer still sells well and fans love the series over here in The United States, but manga sales charts are filled with more My Hero Academia volumes than Demon Slayer volumes.

I’ve been thinking about both series’ popularity in the context of the East versus West dynamic.

As cultural experts will tell you, Western principles are built on a sense of individualism. You deserve the freedom to choose your own path. You can make it on your own. No one should get in the way of what you want. Eastern principles are all about collectivism. Make sacrifices for the prosperity of the group. Don’t do anything that hurts other people around you. The world doesn’t revolve around you.

When I think about My Hero Academia, it makes sense that Western fans love it a bit/lot more than Demon Slayer. We all want to be heroes of our story. We want to be more than who we are. It’s about youth who are focusing on their own growth and getting away from their comfort zones to find new opportunities to become stronger.

Demon Slayer isn’t about being a hero. It’s about a guy who wanted to make his demon sister human again. He’s not interested in being the absolute best to save the world. While saving Japan ends up being a consequence of his actions, family is what’s important to main lead Tanjiro Kamado. Also, superheroes aren’t nearly as popular in Japan compared to here (with the exception of Spider-Man). 

There was a book I read, Amaia Arrazola’s Tokyo Travel Sketchbook, that briefly discussed the Japanese conventional idea about family. Post-WWII, Japan promoted the idea that it was going to take women to stay home and take care of the home life while the men went out to be the breadwinners. Japan had to, since it had to take everyone together to rebuild the country. However, after the real estate bubble of the 1980s’ was burst, the idea of family being the center really fell apart as Japanese men lost their status as breadwinners due to jobs being finite and gone.

I also remember reading about the history of Western influence in Japan. There’s been a bunch of debate about whether Japan truly embraced Western ideals. To be fair, a lot of voices that claim Western influence being high in non-Western countries tend to be Westerners themselves. Japanese voices on Western ideals may have been been misunderstood in the first place. Demon Slayer takes place during a time of transition where modernity was growing in Japan, while My Hero Academia uses the Western love of comic book superheroes as its basis for its story.

When I think about Demon Slayer and My Hero Academia’s popularities in different parts of the world, it’s perhaps the Western vs. Eastern view of how striving for new opportunities often means loss of community. In My Hero Academia, we do see the psychological effects of bad family influence due to the relentless pursuit of status in a modern world. I saw this mostly early on with Shoto Todoroki (this is being explored even further with the rest of his family as of this writing) and much later in the series with Tomura Shigaraki’s past being revealed.

I noticed that a lot of things are blamed on bad parenting (especially in Western culture). A lot of psychological help does suggest that the family has a big role in influencing a child’s development. However, are they to blame for everything? Outside factors, like social inequality, do play a role. Endeavor, the father of Shoto and top 2 hero at the time, had to deal with so much perceived inequality (i.e. being compared to All Might) that it drove him to abuse his own family. When Deku told Shoto that that his power was his alone regardless of his upbringing, Shoto saw that he was in a place of equality since he was in a supporting environment among his peers compared to his dad. He’s started to understand how life experiences with other people and circumstances can change someone for better or worse as he reluctantly re-connects with Endeavor (who’s trying to redeem himself). 

With Demon Slayer, there’s the infamous Spider Family arc, where the villain, Rui, created a fake family in order to fill a void in their life as a demon. Rui ends up abusing their “family” to drive their superiority. They killed their parents at a young age while they were still human due to a fear of not being loved by them. The whole point of the arc was that everyone deserves some kind of loving family in their life. It’s hard to get through life by yourself even when you’re an independent spirit. I do feel though that certain relationships with family members/friends should be cut off if they are abusive like the case with Rui’s. There’s even more stories similar to this with the rest of the Twelve Moon demons (especially another family-related one with the arc that will be featured in Season 2 of the anime, which I might discuss later this year).

My Hero Academia is about moving forward with some reflection. Strive to be a hero of your life. Don’t think of the consequences as long as you’re saving innocent lives. Demon Slayer is also about moving forward, but remembering that there are points in your life where you need authentic connection and that bad people are still human beings who just feel disconnected from the world.

It also feels like both series address the issue of what connection-seeking traditions to pass on to newer generations that feel family/friendship seem lacking today. In My Hero Academia, there’s All for One’s desires to have successors to pass on his Quirk to even if they are dangerous. In Demon Slayer, there’s Kagaya Ubuyashiki, leader of the Demon Slayer Corps, who wanted to end his family’s curse and realizing over time that demons who wanted to fight back (like Tanjiro’s sister, Nezuko) against Muzan Kibutsuji should live. As someone who’s a Chinese-American, I've thought about what I could pass on as my culture has millennia of history and it does feel like age-old traditions/rituals are being passed over for materialistic convenience. 

I do think it comes down to whether we pass on values or beliefs. Beliefs are basically “What’s good? What’s bad? This is real to me even if it’s not to anyone else!” There’s way too much emphasis on them. Beliefs tend to be very binary because people are often more than just their beliefs. Values are just abstract rules to everyday life and don’t involve personal beliefs. I feel like not enough emphasis is focused on values. For example, things like compassion and respect are values, not beliefs. I had to embrace what values I had to finally grow as a person because some of the beliefs I held to in my mind were hurting me. 

Demon Slayer leans more toward appreciating values (usually ones that appeal to the Japanese mindset) due to Tanjiro’s personality, although My Hero Academia is a mix of appreciating both beliefs and values. While I do wish that “values > beliefs”, My Hero Academia does have some good insight on how beliefs can shape/warp values for both sides. 

Both series take a look at the tension between family and the self in their own ways. It’s much more so with Demon Slayer due to how much the concept of family was important in the growth of Japan in the past. I think we can agree that while there are cultural differences in handling it, the idea of family is lost on both sides of the world. American and Japanese cultures aren’t very tolerate of “gray zones” (i.e. illegal immigrants who have families, sex workers who have families, etc.) and want life to be more black or white. That’s why many fans who don’t feel accepted for who they are look to other outlets for some kind of family that will accept them.

Healthy families of all kinds lead to stronger communities that in turn lead to a better world for everyone. I sometimes feel that modernity does family no favors. It’s fine to grow, but constant growth without self-reflection becomes harmful. Plus, family always comes back to affect you one way or another. You can’t ever fully get away from family as they’re the starting point to everyone’s life. 

The only thing I can say is accept that your family/community, good and/or bad, is a part of your identity when you have conflicting thoughts and then take it from there. Denying that is just like trying to hide all your problems instead of dealing with them. It never ends well.

Blood is thicker than water and as both Demon Slayer and My Hero Academia show, when it’s shed, it can lead to disastrous consequences - both individually and collectively.

[justasoftplacetoland]

Chapter Three

Wow, it's been a year. We’re back in lockdown and I’m back writing again.

It's kinda crazy how much can change in a year. I like to think that it was changed for the better though.

Although 2020, I was really hoping COVID would vanish and life would go back to normal, that hasn’t been the case. It’s kinda like normal is fading farther away as the days go by.

But I’ve been wanting to write about this topic for ages, not exactly sure how, but here’s a shot I guess…

Do note that this is all my personal opinion and my little bit of thought into this topic.

It all started in a class when we were talking about Diversity and Representation on stage. It really sparked an interest for me. As a POC, I find it pretty interesting to read into these topics, especially with the amount of social justice showing up on social media and well.. reality really. With the increased awareness of racism around the world, people are starting to be more woke when it comes to people’s race and ethnicity.

Theatre to me, is a form of storytelling, no matter how unrealistic it may be, or how “fairytale-like” it may be, there’s always some truth to these stories. They all have to come from somewhere right? And with the diversity of people, comes many different stories to tell- Take In The Heights as an example, it's about the Latinx community in America, and how they survive as immigrants. A very real story, because to this day it’s still an active, growing story. Of course, written by Lin Manuel Miranda which is absolutely amazing I am honestly so obsessed with his musicals AND he is a Latino himself, having grown up in Washington Heights.

But then taking The Colour Purple as an example, this musical was written by Marsha Norman, who’s white. Writing about a story of an African American woman in the South.

Then comes the topic of representation.

White writers writing minority stories- Some of these stories HAVE to be told, the weight, the significance of the story, it's a chance for these minorities to be represented on stage. But it becomes a matter of how the casting directors, producers, directors and team behind the show is going to put it forward to the public.

But then the authenticity of the performance comes into play. Are these minorities represented accurately on stage or is it what the creative team *thinks* is who these minorities are? Then are we going to have someone of the specific minority group in the room while the creative team is having decisions for the show? Are we going to have someone in the cast playing someone who is essential to the story that they HAVE to be specifically that minority group? That all has to be present for an authentic, accurate representation of a show, to ensure that this story is told with that truth in it, no matter how much. The more real it is, the more important this authenticity is.

This ties into diversity too.

To me, diversity is the people we see on stage. Take Hamilton as an example, intentional colourblind casting- Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr, the Schuyler Sisters, They’re all white in reality. But on stage, they’re played by African-Americans, Latinx, Asians and so many more minority groups.

Diversity to me means breaking barriers, theatre is to be shared by everyone. It’s a gorgeous art form that is out there for everyone to enjoy. It shouldn’t be something for people who are privileged one way or another. It is for actors of any kind to not be labelled by their race, ethnicity or religion, to have an equal chance of landing roles like every other white performer in the world (this is debatable in terms of geographic location as well but that on another day). But this ties into the authenticity of a role that’s being played as well.

If a role that is written as an Asian is out for casting, why cast a white actor when an Asian actor can play it authentically while allowing that Asian actor to play their truth? (Side note on that, there are MANY kinds of Asians out there, not all Asians are the same. Please get that right.) If there are Asians out there who are good actors, who can play the roles. It’s no excuse that an Asian actor isn’t suitable to play an Asian role but a White actor is. It makes no sense.

My mentor once asked me, what would make me enraged, pissed off. The first answer that came to mind was- If Miss Saigon was made out of a fully white cast.

Sure, the back end creative side has been pretty decently accurate (at least to my knowledge). But on stage, I think it is SO important to at least get Asians (as in the umbrella term) to play the Vietnamese and Thai roles. Sometimes you may not be able to find someone who is authentic to that specific ethnicity, sometimes there are actors who are mixed, but then it should go to at the very least POCs. POCs have very unique and sometimes united life experiences that some people are just unable to understand. And to ensure the authenticity of a show, I think it is very vital to at least have actors who are “like” the roles to play them.

But then on the flip side, you think about all the dominantly white roles out there in the theatre world. And you could argue that by casting people who are “not white” would affect the authenticity of the show.

And to this I ask you, think about the ratio between the pieces of theatre written for white people vs. pieces of theatre written for POCs. Clearly, there are SO many more written that have been dominantly cast, because it's the majority yes. And to this, I have to say, if the story is about a complete experience that only a white person would experience (btw I challenge you to name one!) and you want to go all out and cast only white actors sure by all means. But if this can be a shared experience, and a POC actor is suitable for the role, I don't see why those actors should be removed from the equation.

And I swear if one more person dares to tell me that Hamilton should’ve been cast fully white because America is majority white, I’m gonna lose it.

To me, POC actors shouldn't be defined by the colour of their skin, unless it’s necessary for the authenticity of the show (e.g. The King And I, Miss Saigon, Hamilton, The Colour Purple, In The Heights) If they are truly defined by the colour of their skin, you could literally count the number of shows on your hands. (That has to change btw- progress !!!) And if that is the case, SO many POC actors will be out of jobs. I don’t see why a Latina can’t be Elphaba in Wicked, or an Asian be Cosette in Les Miserables.

The problem is, so many casting directors have this image of who they want to cast in a show, most of the time, that image ends up being someone white.

BUT POCs shouldn't be defined by the colour of their skin and end up being the “token POC”.

Welcome readers, to Tokenism.

Tokenism is when, say an entire cast of 20 people, 19 are white, 1 is black.

Theatre companies take diversity into consideration and want to appear progressive, yes. But they use a single POC to show “HEY WE’RE DIVERSE”

Sorry, hun that's not how this works. It becomes a thing of casting actors, not for their talent or their suitability for the role, but because of the colour of their skin (again!). Now I'm not saying that the “token” actor isn't good at their craft because I have no doubt. But it becomes a front, and said actor would end up questioning if they got the role for their skills or because they fit the criteria for “one POC per cast”.

Nice try casting team, it’s a start, but not good enough.

We’re making progress, the first POC Christine has just been cast in Phantom Of The Opera on the West End and I couldn't be happier. Everybody’s Talking About Jamie is made up of a VERY diverse cast as well. We’re getting there, but there's so much room to be better.

Here’s to more authentic stories about minorities, more diversity on stage, and more love to all humans.

So that's the end of my rather large chunk of thoughts on the theatre industry.

I sincerely hope I didn’t offend anyone reading!

See you in my next post! (Which hopefully won’t be written a whole year later)

C xx

[margridarnauds]

❤️💜🤣📜 for the musical theater asks hehe

❤️- What’s a show that makes you feel pumped up

Oddly, given the subject matter, 1789 - Yes, it ends with the full knowledge that almost everyone is going to die, but the characters pass the revolution on to YOU, the audience, and basically say "We couldn't do it, but everyone should be allowed to change history. One day, we can still create that future." It's easy to view the story of the French Revolution as one of loss, especially when you look at the human cost of it, but it's also one of hope - Of a group of people who believed, genuinely, that they could change the world, and they did. A group of commoners - Whether they were lawyers, fishwives, or peasants, took down the divine, going straight to their door to do it. They did what was, at the time, considered to be the undoable. And now here we are, two centuries later, learning about them, possibly coming one step closer to creating that world. It's self-aware, especially in the Toho, of what's going to happen, but there's also that message of hope.

Also: Newsies. Love Newsies and Legally Blonde.

💜- What’s an unpopular opinion you have about a show?

When I was going through the Korean production of Chicago, it really, really struck me that Fosse's choreography is repetitive, slow, sleazy, and boring after the tenth time seeing the SAME MOVEMENT. And the sad thing is that Fosse's choreography kind of....IS Chicago to some extent, I like Chicago, but you can't remove the choreography without the show collapsing, so I don't know how to fix it. I just know that I hate Fosse's choreography so much.

Fiyero's a good character, you guys are just mean and pissed off he isn't Glinda and that Glinda isn't him.

I honestly don't care about the POTO changes - From my point of view, they look fine, and I'd honestly be fine with the zombie being put out of its misery after running for all of this time, anyway. Being used to the world of Japanese and Korean musicals, I'm just....used to shows having quick runs and quick revivals? It keeps things fresh instead of having to hear "Music of the Night" for the TEN THOUSANDTH TIME. (That being said, I would die for the new cast and wish them the best.) (Part of this might or might not have to do with the....controversial casting choice in 2016.)

I really don't think Broadway could do Elisabeth - I don't really want to see it exported to the States, especially not now when the tide's against it.

Dance of the Vampires Broadway wasn't as bad as people generally think and a lot of its original sins are there in the original show.

I have a TON of others, but I feel like I've said enough to get a hit put out on me so I'll call it.

🤣- Can you fake a laugh?

NOPE.

📜- What’s your opinion on Hamilton?

Honestly? ...in many ways, it's brilliant. In terms of lyrics, in terms of staging, in terms of music, it's as close to perfect as you can get. (Do you KNOW how much I wish I'd thought of "History Has Its Eyes On You" first?) "Wait For It" alone has gotten me through multiple bouts of depression and imposter's syndrome. I own the Hamiltome. It's a masterpiece, and, honestly...I DO think that it deserves the praise it got, since it essentially revitalized the musical industry. (Though some of its successors, like Great Comet and Six..................tried too hard. Too, too hard. Great Comet suffers from trying to be too Artistic, Six suffers from trying to be too relevant.)

That being said....since 2016, I DO understand the criticisms that have come out about it, especially with its portrayal of the Founding Fathers and slavery. I understand the debate over the color conscious casting and whether it's right to have black people playing slavers. (Especially when you have the British portrayed as white, which really....implies that the colonies actually CARED about real change as opposed to getting lower taxes. It shifts the narrative) I feel like LMM could have done more with Laurens and his relationship with Hamilton than a throwaway line (without tossing the women under the bus), and I do feel like all of the women are fundamentally there to revolve around Hamilton, including Maria Reynolds who deserved so, so much better. Also, the show in general embraces a bootstraps narrative.

I think, to some extent, it's the marked difference between when Hamilton came out, in the twilight of the Obama years, VS where we're looking at it now, with the Trump Era only barely behind us. I won't claim Obama was perfect, he wasn't, but there was....a certain general naivety back then. (And please, hardened leftists, don't come at me with "Not for all of us", I know, you're so much smarter and more aware than the rest of us, take your congratulatory cookie and go - I'm talking about the general mood between the two eras.) I don't know, but it's hard to hear Hamilton talk about how even orphaned immigrants can rise up when we've all seen the absolute darkest side to the American Dream™ the last four years, and we keep seeing it.

Also, they really, really should have released the proshot earlier - It was a fool move to release it over 4 years after its height. You don't make more money that way, you just lose relevance.

Overall - I honestly do still like the musical. I think it deserved the praise. That being said, I do think that we're at the stage where we can look at it with a more circumspect eye, while acknowledging that, on a technical level, it's very, very good. The question of how to put history on stage is always going to be there, and I feel like Hamilton's only really the tip of the iceberg, even though it definitely opened the dialogue.

[bestie-enthusiast]

Chapter 4: Awkward Conversation and Lawyers

Hello!! This is the fourth chapter of my PTA! Dad! Zemo fic. This is the sixth installment of 11, and the previous chapters can be found under the hashtag pta dad zemo.

Fic Summary: After the untimely death of both his wife and father due to a bombing, Baron Helmut Zemo takes his son and immigrates to America. He does not expect to find a family nor a romantic partner, and he especially does not expect to find the ability to heal. To grieve.

And yet, here we are.

This is a story about connections, growing, healing and mourning the past while still appreciating the future and all it has to offer.

Chapter WC: 2040

Fic under cut!! Hope you enjoy!!

One Month Later

Zemo walked next to Sarah, chatting about nothing in particular. He had nothing to do today and was accompanying Sarah to her restaurant. He had been a few times before, but each time made an excuse to leave when the compassion and empathy Sarah clearly had became too much. He was always worried that he might become too attached to Sarah, start viewing her like the sister she practically was to him, that he would lose sight of the only thing that mattered, that being Carl.

But today the grief was especially strong, and he was not about to talk about mindless things with Oeznik. His butler was an old friend, but he was required to listen to Zemo and do what he says, Sarah wasn’t. It was comforting to have someone to call him out. He knew Sarah wanted to ask, but she was kind in the way she never pressed. Not on this, at least.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but something clearly is, and I’m here if you need me okay?” Sarah suddenly said, and Zemo blinked at her.

“Thank you.” He replied thickly, and quickly cleared his throat. He briefly considered talking to Sarah about his wife, but he still was not yet prepared for that conversation. He blinked harshly when his eyes threatened to fill with tears and instead told Sarah about his most recent conversation with James.

“He’s so perfect,” Zemo waxed, biting back a grin at the way Sarah lit up. She loved teasing him over his cru- er liking of Carl’s teacher. “I mean honestly, have you seen him?”

Sarah laughed, and they both walked into the restaurant. Sarah was rushed off by an employee, and Zemo took his usual seat. He ordered a glass of water and handed a 100 dollar bill to the employee, telling her to keep it. She muttered something about rich people, and he felt his smile flicker, but kept it up regardless.

He reminded himself that some people didn’t like randomly being paid by rich assholes. He was an acquired taste. She returned with his glass of water, giving it to him and leaving without saying anything. As soon as she was out of sight, he let his smile drop. He briefly debated texting Dr. Raynor, but decided against it. They had only one session and a brief phone call to talk about session frequency and dates. He had an appointment tomorrow, he could manage until then.

Despite the fact that he thought he could manage, he texted Oeznik to pick up Carl from school, instead of him. As he was texting, someone came into the restaurant, and Zemo shrunk in on himself when he noticed it was Sam. The man had a clear distaste for him, and Zemo tried to avoid him whenever possible. Oeznik texted him an affirmative, and Zemo put his phone away. He purposefully made himself smaller in hopes that Sam would not spot him, but unfortunately he was rather unsuccessful. Sam had surveyed the room and spotted him in his semi-hidden corner table. Sam made his way towards him, and Zemo summoned all of his energy into looking like a baron, like he was supposed to. “Zemo. What are you doing here?” Sam asked, glaring daggers at him. Zemo wilted a little under the forceful glare. The harsh tone of voice made his already weak defences waver, and his smile tightened.

“I enjoy the atmosphere.” Zemo responded with a smirk, and Sam’s glare turned all the more powerful. It was the truth though, so he was at a bit of a loss as to what to say. Clearly Sam would dislike any answer he gave, so it didn’t particularly matter what he said.

“Really? A rich jerk like you?” Sam questioned incredulously, eyes sharp and words sharper. Zemo struggled to keep his composure. Normally he would be able to keep up with insults and banter of his own, but today he was consumed by thoughts of his wife. He had also been thinking about his father, which was a pain he had not even started to process. He was not having a good day, and was constantly a minute away from just breaking down. Sam’s harshness was making that go from a minute to seconds.

Zemo swallowed thickly, trying to come up with a response, but he did not trust himself not to start sobbing if he opened his mouth, so he settled for just nodding instead. Sam glared at him suspiciously, and took the seat across from him. Inside, Zemo was already breaking down, everything was on fire. But on the outside? He gave Sam a polite smile and held out his hand for a shake. Sam ignored him and pulled out his phone, so Zemo awkwardly retracted his hand and pulled out his phone too. They sat in silence, Sam playing some kind of mobile game and Zemo simply swiping back and forth on his phone screen to look busy.

After about ten minutes Zemo broke their stifling silence.

“So…” Zemo began, tucking his phone back into his pants pocket. “How are AJ and Cass doing?” Sam continued to silently glare at him, seemingly analyzing every movement that he made. Zemo swallowed and rubbed his hands together nervously.

“Fine.” Sam finally responded sharply. “How’s-” Sam paused, searching for the name.

“Carl.” Zemo supplied helpfully. “He is well.”

“Right. Yeah.” Sam said, looking as awkward as Zemo felt. Zemo gave him a tentative smile, which he didn’t return, in fact, he actively scowled at him, so Zemo schooled his face back into something more neutral.

And then Zemo’s phone rang. He pulled it out and immediately felt a severe amount of anxiety when he noticed it was from the school.

“Helmut Zemo, how can I help you?” He answered, shoving all his panic to the back of his mind. Ensuring Carl was safe was his first priority, he could panic later.

“Hello, Mr. Zemo. I am calling to inform you that Carl got into a fight during recess today. We believe that his arm may be broken. If you could come pick him up and take him to the emergency room that’d be great, thanks.” “Mein gott,” Zemo muttered to himself, “Yes of course. I’m on my way, I should arrive shortly.” He quickly hung up the phone and threw his coat on. He ignored Sam’s question of what's up and ran out the door. As he made the trek back towards the school, he called Oeznik. He told him to bring their most comfortable car that looked like it belonged to rich people. The stupid American supervisors let his child get hurt, he was not afraid to show off the power and wealth that he had. Oeznik pulled up to the school with the car just as he arrived, and he nodded to his butler to let him know to follow him in. They were both buzzed into the school with ease, and Zemo (gracefully, he was a baron not a barbarian) stormed into the office. The secretary directed him into the principal's office, and he thanked her with a quick nod.

Oeznik opened the door for him and closed it with both of them inside. Oeznik stood in the doorway, watching over everything carefully. He would not hesitate to act if any more harm befell either of his young masters.

“Ms. Carter, always a pleasure.” Zemo said to the principal agreeably, holding out his hand for a shake. Sharon shook it once and they both released. Zemo knew of her connections to the underworld and she knew of his, so they had a mutual agreement to not bother the other one while they were living out their normal, everyday lives.

“Baron Zemo.” Sharon greeted. After he turned away from her, he took in the other members of the room. Carol was seated in one of the two chairs in front of Sharon’s desk, and her son, along with Carl, were in two other chairs near the back of her office. Zemo made his way over to Carl, carefully assessing the arm he was cradling close to his chest.

It was most definitely broken.

“Oeznik,” Zemo commanded loudly, “Take Carl to the hospital. Get him seen as soon as possible, his arm is clearly broken. Inform him that I will make my way as soon as possible.” Oeznik rushed over, gently leading Carl outside of the office, although Zemo gave him a hug and a quick kiss on the forehead before they left.

As soon as Carl was gone, he changed from a loving father figure to a pissed off, rich, european who could end your life in one word. He took the seat next to Carol and ignored her attempts to talk to him, instead he spoke directly to Sharon. “Would you mind explaining to me what happened, Ms. Carter? I would hate for any inaccuracies in the story to result in a lawsuit.” He said nonchalantly, inspecting his nails. Sharon smirked at him, and began to explain. “From what I could gather from the children, supervisors-” Sharon began, only to be cut off by Carol. “They're all lying! My darling Hunter would never dare do such a thing!” Carol huffed.

“-and security footage.” Sharon finished dryly, and Zemo delighted in the way Carol’s face turned white and dropped. His smirk grew as he watched Carol mentally panic. “Hunter started to insult Carl, who was making his way into the school in order to use the washroom. When Carl ignored him, Hunter used physical force to get his attention, and pushed Carl onto the ground, resulting in his broken arm.” “Well,” Zemo said with a smirk, “I believe we can all agree that the young Mr. West is at fault here. I will not press charges, but I think that Carol should temporarily have her position on the PTA revoked, considering that this was an act of poor parenting on her part.” Sharon’s responding grin was very much similar to a sharks, and Zemo made a mental note to go to her next party and purchase some art work. She was being remarkably helpful in dealing with Carol’s actions.

“Of course. You are free to go, Baron Zemo, and I’ll talk with Mrs. West on the matter of punishments.” Sharon responded, standing up to shake his hand. When she did, he quietly whispered for her to contact him with the details of her next gathering. She gave him a nod and they parted. He left her office with a wink, gave another nod to the secretary on the way out of the conference room, and promptly ran directly into James while exiting it.

"Говно!” He cursed in surprise as he tripped over James’ feet and started to fall. He was prepared for a harsh impact, only to have a hand wrap around his waist instead. James had caught him, and was also laughing. Zemo soaked in the noise, pushing away the normal guilt and shame he felt over enjoying James’ presence.

“I didn’t know you knew Russian.” James said, still laughing slightly as he helped Zemo right himself. Zemo flushed, knowing that his curse had been understood.

“The sentiment is shared,” He said, embarrassment coursing through him. “My apologies, I really do hate to cut our conversation short, but, as I am sure you are aware, Carl has been injured.” James nodded and they parted ways, him back to his classroom and Zemo calling an Uber to come drive him to the hospital as he exited the school.

He paid the driver extra to keep his mouth shut, and enjoyed the silent ride. He collected all his thoughts and pushed everything not important to the side. His only focus will be Carl, and that was it.

Once he arrived at the hospital he headed into the ER and texted Oeznik, who told him where he was with Carl. Zemo rushed over, not running, but walking as fast as he could that was still socially acceptable. Carl appeared to be relatively happy, and Zemo felt his heart and head finally start to slow.

Carl was safe. And that was all that mattered.

Tagging: @morganbritton132 (Who came up with this AU) and @i-ll-be-the-moon (Who is a super suporitive friend!!)

[artificialqueens]

The mistakes we're going to make (Jan/Jackie) - Meggie

A/N: Hey all! I had the pleasure of writing this little gem for Molly for our gc’s gift exchange. I really enjoy writing this dynamic, and I hope you all enjoy it too! Thank you to Mac, Mia, and Alex for prereading for me. Y'all are the real MVPs.

Summary: when i look at you, all i can see are the mistakes we’re going to make (the future’s so bright)

They’re graduating high school tomorrow night, but all Jan can think about is her calculus final and whether or not she can scrape by with an A.

She’s done the calculations approximately 47 times (and had Jackie check them over nine more because Jan’s shit at math now apparently), and she knows she has to make an 82 on the final to pull an A in the class. And that will get her an 89.5 which rounds to an A. She’d rather not cut it that close, thank you very much.

To anyone else, a B would not be the end of the world, but it would be Jan’s only B. Ever. To get out of high school with a perfect GPA, an unblemished transcript, a perfect record… That’s been her goal ever since she graced the hallways of R.P. Charles High School three years ago.

So after finishing Ms. West’s history final, she pulls out her calc book and dutifully studies her notes. They’re meticulous, her rounded penmanship in stark black ink. She purses her lips and wonders if she has enough time to redo them in colored ink according to her color-coding system.

Behind her, Brita mutters to herself and furiously erases a sentence in her essay. Written responses have always been her downfall. To Jan’s right, Gigi takes a mirror out of her purse and retouches her lipstick.

“Why are you studying?” Gigi whispers. “You literally just finished a test, and it’s a half day. We’re done after this.”

“Yeah, but my calc test is tomorrow, and Ms. Hytes is not as lenient a grader as Ms. West.” Jan sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

Gigi pulls a face. “God, why’d you even take calc? You didn’t need the credit.” Gigi had taken personal health instead of a math class. She said their final was about sexually transmitted infections, which apparently is the new name for sexually transmitted diseases.

Jan shrugs. “I wanted to be—”

“—valedictorian, yeah, I know,” Gigi finishes. “Well, anyway. That didn’t work out the way you planned, did it?”

At the front of the room, Ms. West clears her throat and widens her eyes at the girls. Gigi sits back in her desk and primly folds her hands. Jan is free to once again study her notes, but Gigi’s last words still sting.

She had only taken calculus because it was an AP class, guaranteed to get her extra GPA points she would need to wrap up the valedictory. What she hadn’t counted on was being terrible at calculus.

Sure, geometry hadn’t been a walk in the park, but trig had been a piece of cake. So she figured that with a little bit of extra studying, she could carve out an A and stake her claim on the title of valedictorian, something she’d wanted ever since she had learned what the valedictorian was. (Kindergarten. When her parents had taken her to see her cousin graduate. And the pretty girl at the front had gotten up to make a speech in front of all her classmates, and everyone had to pay attention to her for a whole ten minutes while she talked about things that were important to her. Jan wanted that.)

But in March after third quarter grades were calculated and the honors had been announced, she’d ended up salutatorian, literally two hundredths of a point behind Jackie Cox. It had been a two-man race between her and Jackie all throughout high school, but the difference had been that damn calculus class. Jackie had an A; Jan had a B.

Jan’s parents had doted on her just the same as they would have if she’d been valedictorian, taking her to dinner at her favorite restaurant, celebrating with cake and sparkling grape juice out of the champagne flutes usually reserved for New Year’s Eve, but Jan couldn’t help but sense a little tinge of disappointment behind their smiles. Close, but no cigar. She’d still give a speech, but it would be shorter, and no one really cared what the salutatorian had to say. She’d worked so hard for four years to achieve the top honor and now she had to stand back and watch someone else deliver her valedictory.

Even if that someone was her very close friend.

There’s a certain closeness that develops between students when you take all the same classes for four years, and Jackie Cox had been in all of Jan’s classes since freshman year. By design, their schedules had ended up being very similar. It helped that they were into the same extracurricular activities as well. They were both athletic, both involved in student government and the debate team. They even both participated in the spring musicals: Jan onstage in a lead role, Jackie backstage as part of the tech crew.

But as their friendship grew so did their rivalry, at least on Jan’s part. She’d always seen Jackie as a reminder that she had to work harder to be her best. With Jackie, everything always seemed so effortless. Her poise, her perfection, even the way she spoke and carried herself. Jan felt like she herself was constantly obsessing over everything she thought and said. When she looked at Jackie, she felt like the other girl just had a natural ease about her.

She’d tried for years to be more like Jackie. But the feeling grew especially deep after they’d received their first calculus quizzes in October and Jan’s was emblazoned with a fat, red D. Jackie’s, on the other hand, sported an A.

Ms. Hytes had asked Jan to stay behind after class so she could encourage her to either drop the class or consider hiring a tutor.

Failure was absolutely out of the question. So Jan asked for help. She asked Jackie for help.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Jackie, she wouldn’t be pulling a B in calculus. Not at all. In fact, she probably would have failed out at semester.

So now that there’s this final that she has to prepare for, there’s only one person she trusts to help her study for it.

Jan catches Jackie in the hallway (their lockers are nowhere close because that’s the way life—and the alphabet—works, but Jan is good at getting what she wants), and asks her if she feels ready for the final tomorrow.

Jackie sighs, the exhalation blowing the dark curtain of hair off her forehead. “I mean, I think. I might look over my notes again tonight. You feel good about it?”

Jan laughs, high-pitched, a tell-tale sign of her anxiety. She hates that she wears her emotions like an oversized sweater. “No, actually. That’s kind of why I’m here.”

So anyway, that’s how they end up on Jan’s bedroom floor, calculus books open in their laps, a plate of chocolate chip cookies and glasses of Dr Pepper set aside because Jackie is a Professional when it comes to this whole studying thing.

(That’s probably why she’s the valedictorian and you’re not, a hateful, nasty voice whispers in the back of Jan’s head. Because she’s dedicated to studying and you’re worried about whether or not she likes your cookies.)

She won’t think about the fact that for the past six months, she’s also been concerned about whether or not Jackie likes her.

It’s not exactly something she’s prepared to deal with.

Jan’s dated before, of course, but they’ve always been boys. And now, all of a sudden and by some act of whatever god exists, she finds herself having a massive crush on Jackie.

So she’s bisexual. It’s fine. She’s had years to deal with this, and she’s always kind of wondered.

Honestly, she’s chalking it up to academic jealousy.

Jan just wants to be like her, that’s all. It has nothing to do with the way her long, dark hair cascades in waves down her back, or the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs, or the way Jackie had caught her backstage right before opening night of Carousel and grasped her hands and told her to break a leg and knock them dead and basically be the best Carrie anyone had ever seen before kissing her cheek.

Except it totally does.

“So to compute the three-by-three you have to multiply A by the two-by-two determinant of the matrix,” Jackie says, marking something in her notebook. “Now, how do I get that?”

“Huh?” Jan asks stupidly, brought back from her reverie by the question. “God, I’m sorry. I’m just…” She scrubs her hands down her face then immediately regrets it because her eyeliner is now definitely smeared. “I’m out of it.”

Jackie nods and presses her lips together. She breathes in quickly like she’s going to say something, but changes her mind at the last minute. She taps her pencil on her notebook.

“Sorry I’m wasting your time,” Jan says sheepishly. “You can go if you want…”

“No!” Jackie says quickly. “No, it’s not that. I just… I’m just wondering…” She sighs. “Things have been kind of weird between us ever since spring break… Since the honors were announced, and I just…” She shrugs. “I guess I just want to know if you like, hate me for being valedictorian over you.”

Jan gasps. “I could never hate you.” She hadn’t known that her disappointment was quite so palpable. Then she decides that Jackie deserves to know the absolute truth. “I was disappointed. My parents expect a lot out of me, and they… They’ve been pushing for this since, like, forever. I just didn’t want to let them down.”

Jackie’s eyes widen. “Salutatorian is letting them down?”

Jan shakes her head. “You don’t know my parents.”

“No. But I think I kind of understand. ” Jackie closes her book and pulls her knees into her chest. “You know my parents immigrated from Iran, right? So like, the American dream? That’s all they want for me. And that includes college. A good one.” She laughs. “My mom wants me to be a doctor.”

“What do you want to be?” Jan asks quietly.

Jackie’s quiet for a moment before she shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s actually asked me that before. Isn’t that wild? I’m 18, and I have no idea what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

Jan shrugs. “We’re 18. I don’t think we’re supposed to know what we want to do with the rest of our lives.”

“I know one thing I want to do, though,” Jackie says, smiling. “When I get to college, I’m going to kiss a girl. I’ve always wanted to. I mean, I know I’m gay so like. That’ll be nice.”

“You can’t do that here?”

“Are you kidding?” She scoffs. “My mother would kill me. And that’s before my dad finds out.”

Jan shrugs. “You could kiss me. If you wanted.” Her cheeks fill with color. She’s never this brash, this forward. But the opportunity had presented itself and she’d taken it. “I mean, or not. Whatever. It’s fine—”

“Jan.” Jackie’s looking at her, dark eyes narrowed as her hand creeps up to cup her chin gently, and Jan has just enough time to gasp in a shock of air before their lips meet softly, tenderly, slowly meshing together. Kissing Jackie is so much better than kissing any of the boys she’s ever dated before.

Jackie pulls away far before Jan wants her to, and she’s left wanting more. She shudders a sigh and opens her eyes slowly.

“Wow,” she says.

“Yeah,” Jackie replies, brushing the hair off her shoulders. “That was… Umm. We should probably study, though.”

“Right. Of course.” Jan blushes again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Distract you.”

“Jan…” Jackie’s hand falls softly over her knee. “We can kiss more when we get through matrix determinants, okay?”

Jan isn’t sure what it is, but something about this new teaching method suddenly makes perfect sense.

She makes a 93 on her final and finishes the semester with an A.

[likesomekindofcheese]

hii ! :) i was wondering if you could write borhap cast x gemini!reader..? i know you wrote something for ben, but not for the rest, did you? 🤔 (also, if you can include lucy it will be awesomee) ~ and there is all my loving for ya&your fics: 💖💐💘🧡💜💙🌷💚💗💛🌼🖤🧡❤️🌸💚💖💝💛💙💓💘💮🌼🌻 ~

You bet!!! Thanks so much dear!!

Rami

Rami at first seems your opposite, so learning about each other seems challenging at first but gets exciting! You see such different viewpoint ith him!

Both of you Enjoy a nice debate about fun, lighter topics. Like which is better- cakes or pies.

Rami and you enjoy cracking jokes to lighten the mood. He always gets you to at least giggle at some silly ideas he has.

Though both of you Have lots to talk about- every dinner you eat together, Rami shows you his hidden depths and his “human” side.

Have much to learn from each other- you learn all about his parents and their story of being immigrants in America and you teach him about the hobbies and passion you have

There is always plenty to talk about- sometimes you both need your own room!

He is a homebody, giving you time to reflect as you have to stay home in comfy clothes and with free time or certain “at home” tasks (which he doesn’t mind helping you with if you need). 

And you encourage him to get out when he can and open up to people more! You give him confidence!

Joe:

First dates are low key since you are flirty and he is more shy.

But he opens up more and soon you both are being goofballs together.

You both are big thinkers and talkers. He will come up with a video idea and you get to help film it

Like with Rami, often you both are to shut up and act like an adult! Like when you play with the food on your plate making faces with the sauce and vegetables and potatoes.

You are more spontaneous and you get Joe to have one day to not write in his planner. So you get used to having an in-between

You love both playing with the little toys he got from fans. You even surprise him with a “punch” from his stuffed broccolis!

He always helps you out with whatever you need- like homework or your job or getting interviews!

You send him witty texts when you both are gone and it’s really cute.

 Ben:

 You are chatty and he is quiet! So you learned to open up about him!

He would take you to London and show you all the places he would go to college and his favorite pubs.

With your phones, you range from sending him cute selfies to silly memes.

But he becomes soft and sweet for you. He likes holding your hand and rubbing part of the skin, bending down to kiss the knuckles.

One time you were at your house at a family event and someone called you a hyperactive chatterbox.

He said, “yes, they’re a chatterbox, but they are my chatterbox!” And kissed the side of your head with an arm around you.

He is protective and a pretty intelligent guy- you have some awesome conversations!

 Though you tease him very lovingly too! Especially with cutesy nicknames!

 Gwil:

You guys are friends first! It’s relaxed and casual- Gwil gets a beer and you both hang out and sometimes in a group.

But he is kind enough to help through nonromantic times and then distract you after. 

Then one time he hugged you when you were very sad and it led it a kiss and he confessed what he really thought about you! And you said you felt the same!

You got nervous at first before the first date-but when he showed up at the door, handsome and smiling, the nerves became excitement- he always makes you relax and have fun!

As a couple you are both Hyper adaptable- your first date was going to be in this park but it rained. So you went to some mom and pop restaurant and got an appetizer together.

Always craving change together, never a dull moment with Gwil!

You give each other space- though he loves to include you in things. Like he tells you about his project and lets you talk to the BohRap cast on Zoom.

He is always heartfelt and warm with you, being with him is like being home.

And bonus!!!

Lucy:

She is a Capricorn too, so pretty darn similar to Ben- she is more shy and quiet the first date.

But you throw some cheesy pickup lines that make her laugh and relax on the first dinner.

In general, you make her laugh. Sometimes you look at each other and make silly faces and then have to stifle giggles.

She loves how light and playful you are- she has fun with you!

And you are always willing to be an Insta spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend and take some pictures of you. In turn, she takes nice photos of you!

And meanwhile, she grounds you- if you get wound up, she’ll remind you to breathe.

You tell her all about your dreams

And she supports you so much- she assures you that you are worthy and gives you lots of sweet kisses!

Taglist: @queenlover05 @stardust-killer-queen

[nosleepstillweak]

cruller

My favorite type of donut is a cruller. Pity the man that begins his own love story with a monologue about his favorite pastry, but I feel like there’s something to be said here. It’s not like your traditional cake or long john or eclair. A cruller is in an avenue all its own. For one, it just looks cooler. Who doesn’t like a twisty donut? The dough is shaped into this endless spiral that flakes beautifully in the oven. Furthermore, the consequent increase in surface area also leads to the creation of these little pockets that are the perfect space for the outer glaze to nestle into. Top the whole affair off with a flawlessly reduced jelly filling and it’s like eating ambrosia. This opinion definitely isn’t mitigated by the fact that a literal goddess is the one to serve me these treats every morning, yet I still face opposition.

“You’re just a fucking weirdo, Jason.”

These are the words of my donut-apathetic comrade, Malachi. He’s a bit of an old-head, if you were to ask me, but sometimes the bluntness of his responses are in my best interest. As of late, he has been the staunchest--and sole--opponent of my onset infatuation with the owner of our newly discovered cafe destination.

“These twists taste like garbage. Admit it, you just have a thing for Donut Girl.” A key indicator of his disdain is the fact he continues to call her “Donut Girl,” even though her name-tag would lead me to believe that she actually goes by Sadie. Then again, given my previous history with “Pizza Chick” and “Gas Station Lady,” it’s fair to say that I haven’t necessarily made the best name for myself when choosing my romantic interests in the wholesale industry.

“Unsubstantiated opinions on Sadie aside, you can’t tell me that this isn’t a damn good donut.” I mean, he could, but he’d just be a liar. I take another bite in between sentences. “Plus, I don’t think you saw the way she looked at me this time. That was definitely some sort of signal.”

I can’t say that I’m not offended by Malachi’s responding scoff. “Yeah, a signal to round up all the idiots. I can’t believe you’re twenty-three years old and you still crush after women like you’re in a teen drama.” He scowls at me as I finish off the last of the half-dozen with a smile on my face. “Those donuts literally taste like sugar-coated metal.”

“Oh, heaven forbid they contain the slightest hint of high fructose corn syrup.” In traditional old-head fashion, Malachi is the type to complain about foods nowadays being too sugary; he gets a headache from eating a rope of black licorice. “Gather ‘round, folks, Old Man Malachi is mounting the soapbox again to preach about the dangers of processed foods--”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m leaving.” He, rather dramatically, snatches the coat off the back of his chair and storms out of the bakery. I can’t wipe the grin off my face when I remember that we literally work at the same office and will see each other again within the next ten minutes. What I find to be less amusing is the fact that he left me the entire bill, including his cinnamon-free cinnamon twists and extra-large black coffee. In lieu of my irritation, I take the situation as just a form of preparation: true love isn’t cheap.

“Here’s your bill.” A slip of paper slides across the table and then I’m blindsided by the sight of an immaculate Sadie smile. Now that’s priceless. I can’t describe it in words, but it’s just so… damn. By the time I’ve regained my senses, she’s gone off to help the next customer. I glance over the receipt, fishing through my wallet to produce the proper total and a hefty tip. My eyes widen when I catch something hastily scrawled at the bottom of the slip: a phone number. Next to a poorly-drawn smiley face, but that’s beside the point; the Sadie of Sadie’s Bakery just gave me her phone number. As I get up to leave, I even catch a glimpse of her smiling softly in my direction. I more than happily return the gesture. Malachi will come around eventually, but this train is definitely already in motion.

***

I have to hand it to Malachi because the first few weeks of my relationship with Sadie did actually feel like a teen drama. Our initial correspondence was nothing to write home about. I’d pick up a cruller every morning at the bakery and we’d chat for as long as it took for Malachi to spitefully gulp down his coffee and claim that we were running late for work. In between breaks at the office, I curated a myriad of internet bakery memes. Then, at night, I would bombard our text conversations with dancing donuts and cake icing videos and pretend to not absolutely lose my mind whenever she responded with a laughing face emoji. This continued for a while until I had to stage a self-intervention from giving myself diabetes. Sadie was surprisingly understanding and even offered to make me a sugar-free batch; had Malachi not physically taken my phone and responded with “no and goodbye,” I would have accepted.

In spite of his continued opposition, the train kept on moving. Sadie was actually the one who asked me out; I know, the misogynists are quaking in their boots. After she made the first move at the bakery, I wasn’t super surprised that she proposed the idea of dating one morning when I stopped by to pick up an office order. That being said, her delivery did not keep me from turning completely red and whooping at the top of my lungs in the otherwise moderately quiet cafe. I honestly still don’t know why Sadie got so embarrassed; she literally owns the place. All that being said, Sadie and I were officially a couple. Now, I just have to let Malachi in on it so he can be a supportive best friend and help guide me through my new--

“Jason, I love you, man, but this seems like a terrible idea.” Okay, ouch. This hadn’t been the first time he’d ever said these exact words to me, but for some reason, they hurt more this time around. “This is so sudden! I seriously worry that you’re getting ahead of yourself. What do you even know about this Sadie girl anyways?”

“Uh, well, for one, she runs the best bakery in town.”

“Debatable. Dinah’s Breakfast Cafe has killer pastries.”

“Unlike Dinah, Sadie’s smart and funny.”

“And you learned this from your 2 A.M. meme conversations?”

“Okay, either way, look me in the eyes and tell me she’s not beautiful.”

“Do you really want me to call your girlfriend hot?”

I throw a straw wrapper in his face and pout, genuinely upset. “That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Look, dude, I can understand that your initial feelings may be strong, but I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again. Physically or emotionally.” Malachi fixes me with a serious look and I suddenly feel like sinking back into my chair. “Especially after Gas Station Lady, I was hoping you’d make a little bit of a better assessment of things. I mean, like, do you even know how old she is? Friends? Family? Does she have any past relationships? Who’s to say that she isn’t hanging out with one of her ex-boyfriends right now?”

That last comment was a low blow and more than a little melodramatic, but I suddenly feel like I don’t know enough about Sadie to defend her. Now that I think about it, maybe everything is moving too fast.

“Just… be careful, man. Maybe reconsider. Again, the last thing I’d want is for you to get hurt.” Malachi shoots me one last sympathetic smile before walking out of the breakroom. Maybe there’s some truth to Old Man Malachi’s words. I stare at the cruller in my hand for a moment. When I finally move to take a bite, something inside leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The jelly filling doesn’t taste quite the same as before.

***

After that awful conversation, I decide it's best to have a heart-to-heart with Sadie. Our text conversations dry up for a couple of nights and I try to avoid the bakery as much as possible to give myself more time to think. However, as it turns out, the inevitable conversation didn’t end up being as painful as I thought it would be. Sadie actually laughs when I tell her that I don’t know anything about her; she says the same could be said about me. We spend the rest of the evening making donuts together and giving each other a basic autobiographical rundown.

Sadie Marissa Jenkins II is a first-generation British--it was at this point in our month-long relationship that I finally noticed the accent--immigrant who’d moved here in order to pursue her studies in culinary arts at the local university. She lives with her older sister, and her dog named Muffin, and she prefers riding her bike to taking the metro. She spoke of no past relationships and is in fact not currently cheating on me with another man. I was quite happy, and a little smug, when reporting my findings to Malachi.

“If you think she’s the one, then knock yourself out.” He’s speaking very nonchalantly for a man who’s wrestling with a stapler. “She actually gave me a free coffee this morning, so maybe she’s worth keeping around.”

“So free coffee is all it takes to get Old Man Malachi’s blessing?”

“Hardy-har-har.” He flicks a loose staple at my forehead. “This better work out, because I’m not picking your ass up again when you get dumped out of a pizza delivery car in the middle of town.”

“At least she didn’t run out of gas.” I jokingly shoot finger guns in his direction, snorting when he feigns a shot to the chest as he exits the breakroom. There are still a couple of crullers left over in the Sadie’s Bakery box on the counter so I help myself to one--and immediately gag. Okay, they actually do kinda taste like metal. They’re probably just stale from sitting out all afternoon. Yeah, that’s probably it.

***

I decide to lay off the crullers for a while and instead take the time to learn more about Sadie. What I learn instead is that both of us have pretty uninteresting lives, but I think it’s the thought that counts. Plus, her accent is precious and I can barely pay attention when we have midnight baking lessons at the bakery. These lessons are always followed by her getting into my car, me offering to drive her home, and us making out in the backseat instead. This goes on for several nights and I have never once complained about it. That is, until tonight, when she decides to take a chomp out of the side of my neck.

“What the--!” I instinctively push away from her and inspect the injury with my hand. My fingers come away smeared red.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Her hands hover over me as I frantically press the sleeve of my jacket to my neck to stop the bleeding. “I got carried away. Did I hurt you?” I mean, judging by the fact that I’m literally bleeding, I think it would be fair to assume that she did, in fact, hurt me. Nonetheless, I manage a smile.

“It’s fine, Sades.” Probably. The bleeding has stopped, anyways. “Honestly. I mean, it’s not like you said some other guy’s name, or something weird like that.”

“What? What other guy? When was there ever another guy?” Sadie jolts away from me like I’m made of fire. “What do you know about another guy?”

“Uh, nothing! It was just a joke.” A bad joke. “An American joke.”

“Oh. I see.” She nervously picks at the leather of the car seat, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip.

“Really, the biting thing was fine.” Probably. I lean forward and place a small kiss on her ear. “In fact, dare I say that it was kinda hot.” I don’t know what response I was expecting, but I was not physically prepared for the look that she gave me when I pulled away. Then, we were back at it again. From that point in the night on, it was just so… damn. Maybe I was just hallucinating before; I think the crullers taste just fine.

***

“You look tired.” Malachi inquires with a wink as he takes another sip of his morning coffee. To be quite honest, I probably feel worse than I look; after the whole biting incident and my subsequent flirtatious response, Sadie kinda took things into her own hands. I think it’s fair to say that what happened in that car stays in that car. Probably.

“I was just busy last night.”

“Busy?” Malachi snorts into his cup. “With Sadie?”

“Oh, shut up,” I tiredly flip him the bird, “don’t say it like that. We’re literally adults. It’s not like teenagers kissing behind the bleachers, or something.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot when you got so mature. Just eat your damn cruller.” He shoves the half-dozen towards me and I nibble at one for a bit before taking a bite… which still tastes awful. Did she change the recipe for the filling? I need to talk to her about that. “Then again, maybe you’re right. I don’t remember them wearing scarves in August in teen dramas.”

I literally choke on the bite of cruller in my mouth. Okay, so maybe the biting incident wasn’t fine. You live and you learn.

***

“Uh, hey there, Sades.” I make my way into the sparsely lit kitchen of the bakery. “Whatcha’ up to?” My real question is, why does the kitchen look like a literal crime scene? There’s donut filling smeared all over the counters; there’s even some on the wall.

“Oh! Uh, nothing, just washing my hands. Cleaning up.”

“Did you cook something?” I look around the kitchen a bit. No pots or pans. Not even a baked good. “I don’t see anything.”

“N-No, not really. I was just preparing something for a batch I was going to bake tomorrow.” For a baker, that’s a totally normal thing to do. Probably.

“Alrighty, then. Should we head out now?”

Sadie smiles, but her face still seems tight. “Lovely.”

***

“Something’s off about Sadie, man. I’ve been getting these weird vibes lately.”

“Oh, so now you see it.” Malachi rolls his eyes, taking a bite into a fresh-baked, sugar-free twist. “Did you two have a fight? Does she not like it when you burp halfway through your sentences?”

“What? No, to both.” Well, actually, that’s a hard maybe on the latter. “Nothing specifically happened, per se, but, like, the vibes were off. She was acting really strange last night.”

“What’d she do, exactly?”

“Well, she…” Washed her hands? What exactly am I supposed to say in this situation? “...actually, never mind.”

“Good. Because, if you were about to say some kinky shit, I literally would’ve punched you in the face.” He chortles as I push hard against his arm. “Look, man, relationships are weird. Whatever’s on your mind, just work it out with her. Better now than later. Regret hurts like a bitch, dude.”

I stare down at the cruller in front of me and swallow thickly. “I think you’re right, man. I should just talk things out with her.”

***

Oh, god, I was wrong. I was so wrong. Screw talking things out. Malachi was right. Regret does hurt like a bitch. I should’ve listened to him, the first time. I wish I could go back and listen to him. I should’ve known something was wrong from the random nighttime hand washing. Or from the biting incident. Or from when any human woman found me to be conventionally attractive. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s just not human. She probably isn’t, given that she’s pulling this shit. She’s literally crazy, and I fell for it.

You wanna know what was in those crullers? The jelly filling: it wasn’t cherry or strawberry or whatever other random red fruit we thought it was. It’s straight-up human remains. ...Plus a shit ton of sugar and preservatives, but that’s beside the point. That’s why Malachi thought they tasted like metal. There’s iron and calcium in blood and bones; she was just feeding us metal. People. And I ate them! Almost every day! For two months! Oh my god, what’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me?

Malachi, or Mom, or Gas Station Lady, if you’re reading this, just know that I love you all. Actually, this is an inner monologue; you’ll never see this. Poetic cruller bullshit aside, this is absolutely crazy. Oh god, she’s back. Oh god, she has a meat grinder. Why would she have a meat grinder? This is the worst day of my life. Oh god, this is the last day of my life. I’m about to die. She’s about to grind me into bits and make me into donut filling. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. I should’ve known better, I should’ve--

Fuck, Malachi, please, don’t eat the crullers. Don’t eat the--

***

“I knew there was something up with you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh god, he even told me that you were acting strange recently--”

“Malachi, please, calm down. What’s the matter?”

“Cut the bullshit, Donut Girl. What did you do to Jason?”

A pause. Then, she smiles. “Welcome to Sadie’s Bakery, the best baked goods in town. Could I interest you in a cruller?”