#where people just want to do their very best and encourage their fellow participants to do *their* best etc etc

[xcziel]

.

[jacquesthepigeon]

I have personally seen cases where kids grow up as complete strangers to their heritage especially as is the case with my own cousin in California but that involved multiple factors

1) My aunt was isolated and practically estranged from boricua communities. There is a large latino population in California, yes, but it’s mostly Mexican, not a problem, but it’s drastically different from boricua culture. I cannot describe to you how sad it was to see her express relief at being around her people during holidays for the first time in over a decade.

2) Assimilation and shame was heavily encouraged. My aunt’s MIL, from Mexico, went as far as having her name legally changed to its English equivalent. Over the years since my aunt’s move to the states, there have been multiple incidents where she drastically exaggerated the state of the country and our living conditions (all way before the infrastructure, particularly electricity services, got noticeably Bad) based on sensationalist news articles. It got to the point where she called all of us “idiots” for staying.

Bringing it back to ML

According to a 2019 census, there were 71,500 parisians who reported being born in China, a figure that doesn’t account for descendants of chinese immigrants. That is a far cry from leaving Sabine isolated from her culture. She has ample resources to find and participate in a community of fellow chinese immigrants within the city.

In regards to assimilation and shame, just look at her fucking design and hobbies holy shit. It clearly doesn’t apply to her. As for her english (french?) name, it is a fairly common practice for people from various asian countries to adopt an english name. I’ve seen multiple explanations for this ranging from confucian self naming practices being influenced by exposure to western cultures all the way to workplace culture and convenience. In Sabine’s case, because her chinese name is so similar to her western name, I imagine it’s simply a matter of avoiding the headache of constantly correcting people on the spelling and pronunciation of her chinese name. It sucks that it’s something so many immigrants and even tourists have to do to be addressed respectfully but that’s also worth exploring within the narrative.

Which brings me to why it’s important that we recognize the crew’s intentions and POV when discussing how these characters and dynamics are written. They’re not considering any of these and countless other factors that affect how immigrants and their children interact with their own heritage. They want to be praised and lauded for being “inclusive” and “diverse” simply for commodifying a cultural aesthetic. They have no real concern for the people they’re profiting from or their lives and complexities.

So let’s assume for a moment that despite not being affected by any of the factors that I mentioned influenced my own aunt’s lack of educating my cousin about her culture, that’s still an issue that should be addressed specifically in regards to Sabine’s decisions in raising Marinette rather than pushing the blame onto Marinette for “not expressing interest” and learning on her own. The last few times my cousin has come to visit, we do our best to accommodate her and make her as comfortable as possible but when she inevitably lets it show that she is uncomfortable and would prefer to step away from the situation, my aunt has the nerve to shame her for not liking or participating in her culture. I assure you, my aunt was the only one blaming my cousin as we were all silently judging my aunt as she’s obviously the one responsible for it getting to this point, as we have been doing ever since we knew she wasn’t teaching my cousin spanish. So assuming this is the case with Sabine and Marinette, where Sabine had the means to teach Marinette at the very least the basics, and now Sabine is somewhat resentful of Marinette not figuring it out on her own, that is something that definitely needs to be addressed with close attention and care.

But they won’t.

Sabine is not a chinese immigrant in the interest of other chinese immigrants

Marinette is not a white-passing diaspora child in the interest of other white-passing diaspora children

There is no diversity or representation in this show that isn’t meant to turn them into props to make white men look better, be they fictional or real

That is the issue, not the existence of borderline caricature-esque immigrants or white-passing POC in the real world possibly getting representation. It’s not about them, never has been.

[arijensineink]

Author Ask Tag Game

@axl-ul put up an open tag for this and I love these questions so I'm going to do it. Make sure to go read their answers because they were truly beautiful and inspiring <3333 Here's the linky.

And I will of course, use The Wolfena to answer these since it's my. most developed WIP.

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it? I'm not into preachy stories, but The Wolfena has a very blatant anti-slavery, pro-autonomy message woven into it. Autonomy is all. This story is about finding your autonomy even in situations where you feel trapped or have no control over the world around you. I didn't choose it at all, but I once spoke to a highly accomplished author (sadly it was so long ago and I actually disliked the conversation a lot at the time, so I don't have her name). But she basically asked me "Why doesn't your book address slavery?" And I was so annoyed, because I was working on a different book that had little to do with the subject. But that question festered in my mind, and a few years later The Wolfena were born.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)? I've said this before, but The Hundred tv show and Ammonite by Nicola Griffith were highly formative to writing The Wolfena. I drew a huge amount of inspiration from all of the New England winters I've survived, as all of the characters grew up in a total ice-age. I really tried to capture both the wonder of spring and the barren hopelessness of winter.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person? Naxia wants to free all of the enslaved people in her nation even if she dies trying; Lariette just wants to free herself; Jimian wants to learn to be human again. I wouldn't say I'm trying to achieve anything with them, as they were all strong muses who guided me through the story, at times with minimal effort on my part. But, I do hope they help others understand that we are full of far more strength than we could ever imagine.

How many chapters is your story going to have? This is my shame. The Wolfena has a whopping 70+ chapters.

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it? The Wolfena is a totally original story, at least I hope, hehe. My ultimate goal is to traditionally publish it, but we'll see where all the pieces fall.

When and why did you start writing? (Assuming this is in regards only to The Wolfena) I think I started writing this story somewhere around 2016? I had to write it to address that festering question about slavery, and also to work through my feelings about womanhood and gender as I became an adult.

Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow? Well, I used up a lot of typing energy on these questions, so you can find engagement and encouragement over on Fighting For Writing <3

I follow mostly writers, so I'll tag to the best of my ability and leave it open as well for anyone who wants to participate! Firstly my goblins: @angelsofprey @regret-breathing @coffeewritesfiction @incorrectgoddessgang @minutiaewriter @sindellaos and @soupy8lowfish . Other people I see in my feed a lot are as follows: @quinnharperwrites @nanashi23 @readrenard @words-after-midnight and @marmeegle !!!! Of course there are many more, but I think I'm at my typing quota XD It's time for me to stretch and go drink some water!

Much love, bbys <3333 Please take care of yourselves!

[calacuspr]

TIMBERSPORTS® star Dee Hardwick a worthy role model for LGBTQ+ community

The beauty of STIHL TIMBERSPORTS® is the inclusive and collaborative community it engenders, alongside the dynamic and exciting nature of the competition.

The British Pro, Rookie and Women’s Championships took place at the Royal Three Counties Show in June, providing intense contest and entertainment for the watching crowds.

This fast-growing competition, which sees participants chop and saw wood against the clock, had its first British women’s event just last summer, 2022.

One of the most charismatic competitors is Dee Hardwick, who recorded personal bests in this year’s event and has set her sights on podium glory in future.

She explained: “I've played lots of different sports and loved a lot of them. This will be my 23rd year playing rugby and I've also played hockey, American football and done judo. You name it, I've played it. I'm a great believer in trying everything once.

“I was a medical rep for 10 years and I got furloughed during COVID. I was buying and selling chainsaws and flipping them and tinkering with them, just to keep myself sane.

“I just went on to the STIHL website for some bits and I saw an advert to come and try Timbersports. I'm a big strong girl and I thought hey, why don't I have a go at this? I went along to a trial day back in March 2022, and got selected for the programme. So, I've been doing it for just over a year now.

“Being big and strong is an advantage, but there's a lot of technique. Watching old videos of the first training day to now, it's just amazing how much the technique has changed. I loved it: it's very addictive.”

Last year's British Women’s STIHL TIMBERSPORTS® Championship saw a field of eight women taking part in three disciplines – the Stock Saw, the Single Buck and the Underhand Chop. Points are accumulated for the fastest times with the person with the most points after all disciplines being crowned the ultimate winner.

Watching Dee compete, it’s obvious that she is a performer, engaging the crowd and yet determined to do herself justice.

Last year’s Women’s Championship proved to be a special moment for Dee, as she recalled: “It was really humbling, actually. It's amazing because it's a little bit of history. I'm really for women doing sport and it was great to be part of an inaugural event.

“It was an amazing feeling being on the stage. I used to do Burlesque and a bit of stand up so being in front of a load of people wasn't that much of a worry for me and actually, I used it to feed off their energy.”

Camaraderie is unusual in high-level sport, but Dee has noted the bonds that have grown with her fellow competitors.

She added: “What's really unusual about Timbersports is that everyone is so friendly and everyone wants everyone to succeed.

“This is the first sport where there's no cliques. I've made some amazing friends from it and in fact, one of them is going to be my best woman at my wedding!”

As a gay woman, Dee is well aware of the responsibilities and barriers that occur in sport and the opportunity she has taken to be a role model for future athletes.

“I love pushing down boundaries. I love being out there and proving that, you know, you don't have to be a man to do this. It takes all shapes and sizes. Tall, short, fat, thin, gay, straight, it doesn't matter.

“It's a really welcoming community and it's just the most amazing workout as well. You are absolutely blowing by the time you've finished it.”

Dee is also proud to promote the LGBTQ+ cause and added: “I had my lucky socks on, which are a pair of rainbow striped rugby socks. It's nice to be unique, but it's not seen as an issue and it's not seen as a barrier. It's a great community and I would encourage anyone within their LBGTQ+ community to come and have a go.

“I still think it's really difficult for people to come out. Hopefully one day we won't have to have this conversation about who is LGBTQ+. But it's changed massively. Those perceptions are going and that's nice.”

Dee’s approach underlines the power of sport to teach valuable life lessons, building connections between communities and empowering those for whom sport can provide the confidence and the focus to allow them to thrive.

She added: “I'm just, Dee the ‘lumberjill.’ It's nice to be introducing a great sport to that part of the community.

“If someone says you can't do it, go out and do it twice, to prove it to them. If someone says no, you can't do that because you're a girl or because you're a boy, stick it to them. Go out, do it and show them that you can do it. If you enjoy it, go and do it. Do not let anyone tell you that you can't do something.”

After getting married, Dee will be back training and competing and has dreams of representing her country in international competition.

“I would love to be able to go abroad. It’s huge in America and Canada, and I'd love to be able to do that,” she said.

“Standing on top of the podium with an LGBTQ+ flag flying behind me would be absolutely amazing.”

STIHL TIMBERSPORTS® features six disciplines which you can find out about HERE and more information on tools used in TIMBERSPORTS® HERE.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Everybody Talks (Ethan x MC)

Summary: At a conference hosted by the American Medical Association, Ethan stumbles upon an unpleasant conversation about his girlfriend.

Warnings: None

~v~

Ethan watches as his girlfriend owns the room. At the American Medical Association conference in their own city of Boston, in the large ballroom of The Ritz Carlton, he quietly observes from the corner as she excitedly chats with a Dr. Catherine Stanley, a renowned surgeon from Columbia, while everyone within an arm's reach of her is drawn in by the sheer magnetism of her presence. He’ll never get tired of watching her like this. Naomi is completely in her element. Whenever she’s in a deep conversation about medicine, her posture loosens, her nose crinkles, and her voice takes on a pitchy breathiness the more and more excited she gets.

So caught up in thinking about her, Ethan doesn’t even notice that she’s walking up to him until she’s within a few feet. She smiles brightly as she leans against the bar. “You’re not mingling.”

“You’ve known me for over three years now. I’m not one to mingle.”

“Come on, there has to be someone here you want to talk to.”

“You.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Mhm-hmm, you’re so charming, Dr. Ramsey.”

“I’m being very serious. Why wouldn’t I want to talk to the keynote speaker?”

When Naomi found out they wanted her to speak at the conference, she was almost certain they meant to speak to Ethan and that she accidentally answered a phone call meant for him. But they in fact wanted her, the newest and youngest head of the diagnostics team. Her meteoric rise up the ranks of Edenbrook had made quite the splash in the medical community, where everyone knew everyone. Whether she realized it or not, Naomi had become a wunderkind and everyone wanted a piece of her.

And while she was nervous, Ethan couldn’t be more proud of her. Naomi is brilliant, and it’s about time more people were rewarded with being in her presence long enough to see it.

Naomi groans and runs a hand along her midsection. “Don’t remind me that I’m giving a speech soon, my stomach is already in knots.”

Ethan holds up his tumbler of whiskey, angling the glass towards her. “Want some liquid courage?”

“No, eating or drinking might make it worse. I won’t feel better until I’m on the other side of it.”

“In the three years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen a shy bone in your body. Where are the nerves coming from?”

“I’ve never done something like this,” Naomi responds. “I’ve never given a speech in front of hundreds of people–maybe even more, this place is packed. Public Speaking is the only class I ever got a B in in college.”

Ethan gasps teasingly. “The horror.” He chuckles softly as Naomi pokes him in the rib. Moving closer, Ethan clasps a warm hand around Naomi’s shoulder, massaging gently. “You’re going to do just fine. Better than fine, even, you’re going to be amazing. You’re smart, charming, funny, and eloquent, and the directors knew what they were doing when they chose you to speak. And besides, nearly all of Edenbrook is here to support you. Lahela might’ve even snuck in a camcorder.”

It's a slight exaggeration, but a lot of physicians practicing at Edenbrook belong to the prestigious association, and did not want to miss the chance to see one of their own speak.

“Ugh don’t remind me. It’s easier speaking to a crowd of nameless, faceless people. What if I forget my speech? What if my accent becomes super obnoxious and no one can understand me? What if I trip on stage?”

“You could always picture everyone naked, I’ve been told that it helps.”

Naomi blanches at the suggestion. “No, I don’t want to picture all of these people naked.”

“Good, because that was a trick suggestion,” Ethan murmurs. He rests his forehead against Naomi’s, his lips hovering mere centimeters from hers. “The only person you should ever be visualizing sans clothing is me.”

“Lucky for me, I get to do a lot more than just visualize.”

The happy couple share a kiss before Ethan nuzzles his face into the crook of his girlfriend’s neck, whispering quiet words of encouragement and affirmation.

On the other side of the bar, a group of women watch the jarring public display of affection play out. Ethan Ramsey was notorious for hating medical conferences, never engaging or interacting with people. He was also known for being perpetually single, so to see him so open with another person felt like foreign.

“I still can’t believe the two of them are together,” Dr. Nicole Harrington whispers to her group of friends as they gawk at the pair. While she works in New York, it’s hard to not be aware of the story behind Dr. Ethan Ramsey and his young protege Dr. Valentine, especially since she’s in touch with so many Boston-based doctors. “I can’t believe Ramsey is so open with her.”

“I think they’re cute,” Nicole’s friend, Monica coos. “I’m a hopeless romantic.”

The third member of the party, Greta stays silent. She’s one of the two people within their group with actual ties to Edenbrook, her husband having been attending there for almost 8 years now. Her husband Ashland keeps her up to date on all the ins-and-outs of hospital gossip, and she knows all about Ethan’s messy entanglement with his former resident.

“He wasn’t even like this when he dated Harper Emery,” their last friend Angelica whispers. As a neurologist herself, she’s worked alongside both Ethan and Harper for a long time, and while the hospital knew of their relationship, if you weren’t looking for the extremely subtle signs, you’d never know they used to be together. For years, at that. But for some reason, Ethan can’t seem to go 5 seconds without being near Dr. Valentine. Within the walls of Edenbrook, it's becoming harder and harder to see one without the other. “And she’s Harper freaking Emery for Christ’s sake.”

The conversation pauses as someone on stage taps the mic, gathering everyone’s attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Greta watches as Ethan plants another kiss on his lover’s forehead and she disappears in the crowd before she’s introduced as the evening’s guest speaker.

Ethan doesn’t know why his girlfriend was ever so nervous because as soon as she accepts the microphone and starts to speak, he’s transfixed.

His tunnel vision is split when he hears an aggressive whisper from a few feet away. Frowning, he turns around, fully prepared to demand that whoever has the gall to interrupt Naomi’s speech should shut the hell up, but he stops when he realizes that they’re talking about her.

“She’s been a member of the AMA for what, 3 seconds and she’s already giving speeches? Are we in the freaking Twilight Zone?”

“I guess it pays to keep Ethan Ramsey’s bed warm.”

Greta scoffs, finally acknowledging the conversation. “Ashland tells me everything about the two of them, and it’s all so messy. She’s been leading him around like she’s dangling an apple in front of a horse since she got to Edenbrook. He gave her preferential treatment her intern year, and miraculously she gets the coveted fellowship on the Dr. Banerji’s team. He gets promoted, and surprise, surprise, he gives her the team, wrapped up in a neat little bow. Never mind the fact that she should be nowhere near leading a team, she killed a patient her intern year. So for him to be...parading that young girl around is tawdry and disrespectful to the hospital.”

If this was a cartoon, Ethan is almost positive his face would be very red and steam would be wafting out of his ears because that’s how angry he is. The audacity of these women to stand a mere 8 feet away from him and trash talk the woman he loves is disrespectful on so many levels.

Obnoxiously, he clears his throat, garnering their attention. The only one with the decency to look slightly embarrassed is Monica, as Ethan catches her cheeks flushing under his harsh attention.

Angelica stands up straighter, “Chief Ramsey, we were just–”

“Participating in a misogynistic diatribe against a fellow doctor,” Ethan finishes. “Question, did any of you graduate at the top of your classes from a top 10 ranked medical school?” No one dares respond. “Out of the 4 of you, did you guys save Naveen Banerji’s life while he was dying of sepsis? Have you spent your after hours holed up in the NICU with your patient’s newborn baby? Any of you face a near death experience and come back to the scene of the crime in order to help more people?”

Ethan’s eyes narrow at Angelica and Greta in particular. “When Edenbrook nearly shut down, I don’t remember seeing your face as we worked tirelessly in the free clinic Dr. Banks, nor do I recall seeing your husband Mrs. Park. I don’t remember him lobbying to politicians or attempting to secure funds during fundraisers, but I do recall seeing him show up at parties without you to flirt with nurses.”

Greta balks at Ethan’s words, clearly not expecting him to unleash such anger. “Dr. Ramsey, I’ll have you know that my husband–”

“Is spreading vicious gossip and lies about a doctor with higher ranking than him. Dr. Valentine got her spot on the diagnostics team fair and square. She was the number 1 intern so Naveen picked her. When I left the team, she was the last tenured member at the time, with the most experience in how a team of such magnitude ran. She was the best pick for the job.”

“Over the course of her time at Edenbrook, she has more than proved that she earned her seat at the table, and to suggest anything else is an insult to her strengths and talents as a doctor, as well as my judgement. To suggest that I do not know to remain professional while I’m at work and the only reason she’s in the position that she’s in is because of our private relationship isn’t just a lie, but a dangerous and slanderous one as well. And if someone so much as ever implies it again, I will slap them with a lawsuit so fast their head will spin, and the closest they’ll ever get to practicing medicine again is slapping Band-Aids on kindergarteners.”

The group of women receive a threat loud and clear And they remain silent not wanting to be at the receiving end of anymore of his wrath.

Ethan sighs heavily. “Well, now that this pesky conversation has come to an end, I’m going to continue to listen to Naomi’s speech. The one that she was hand selected to deliver, while the rest of you are in a position to do nothing more than watch from the crowds.”

With the catty group of women stunned into silence, Ethan smiles, his work complete. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies.”

They watch as he downs the rest of his drink before sauntering off. Once he’s gone, Monica huffs out a shaky breath. “Well...I’ve always said there’s nothing more attractive than a man defending the woman he loves.”

~v~

Tags:��@mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest

[wisteriashouse]

I saw percy jackson au! one the troupe's list and i never tap the ask button this fast/no. Maybe a drabble where kyo and his team lost against gn reader on capture the flag because reader keeps distracting him when they're facing each other so reader's team can take the flag? (Let's say that kyo is the strongest opponent since he can wields sword better than anyone else 😂)

Also who do u think kyo's immortal parent is? I can picture him being an apollo's son since kyo always reminded me of the sun itself hshshs -✨

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x gn!reader

genre: fluff; pjo!au

word count: 1899

a/n: rip word count and the word drabble but here it is!! might do a pjo! au headcanon one day... this event really is no good for my soul... i hope you enjoy it!!

“Do you think we can win?”

It’s Tanjirou’s first Capture The Flag game, bless the sweet kid’s innocent soul, you think. Both of you are crouched behind a line of bushes near Zephyrus’ Creek together with the rest of your team - Blue, for this round - your weapons in hand as you wait for the scouts you’d sent out to return. 

“Well, it’s hard to say.” You try to be positive, waving your hand vaguely. Tanjirou’s eyes are fixed on you, wide with curiosity. It’s only his first week here, so he hasn’t had a chance to meet most of the older campers that have been away on missions. Lucky for him that Sanemi is probably still somewhere out in the strait of Messina with Tomioka hunting Charybdis, you think. The poor kid would have been scared off in seconds. “There are some people who could probably change the tide, but most of those people are off doing solo missions away from Camp Half Blood, so our teams are pretty balanced at the moment-”

“He’s back!” You rise to your feet at the noise to see Zenitsu (a son of Zeus), one of the scouts your team had sent out earlier, splashing his way back across the river. “Rengoku is back in Camp Half Blood!”

All around you, a collective groan rises into the air, the Athena campers behind you grumbling about how their strategies are all messed up now and they need to regroup. 

“Shot at me, the second I breathed in the flag’s direction. Missed me on purpose too, just to show off.” Grumbling when he finally reaches your team’s side of the river, Zenitsu gratefully accepts Tanjirou’s outstretched hand, the younger boy pulling him into the shelter of the bushes. “Guess we’ll be doing clean up duty for the whole of next week.”

“Now, now, Zenitsu, don’t give up so fast.” You nudge the younger boy in the side encouragingly. He’s sopping wet from his little swim in the river. “There’s still a chance! We still have Muichirou and Shinobu on our team, don’t we?”

Zenitsu lets out a whine. “But they’re not Rengoku.” He complains. The entire time, Tanjirou glances between the two of you, confused. 

“Who’s Rengoku?” 

“He’s head counselor for the Apollo cabin.” Zenitsu explains, wiping the river water off his lightning spear. “He’s one of the best fighters in the entire camp, on par with even the head counselor of the War God’s cabin, Shinazugawa Sanemi! Not to mention that he’s handsome and cool and half of the Aphrodite kids can’t help falling over themselves every time he walks by, asking him to teach them how to write love sonnets.” He gags at the words. "As if they aren't just waiting to take a piece out of him, the damn piranhas."

You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a laugh. “Well, he does write very good love poems,” you supply helpfully, and Zenitsu rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course you would know, since-”

“[last], we have a new plan!” Shinobu calls airily from behind you, interrupting Zenitsu. Turning around, you see the daughter of Hecate striding up to you with a smile on her face. It’s one that you’ve seen all too many times when she’s plotting something, and now that you’re on the receiving end of that smile, you’re not quite sure that you like it.

You squint at her suspiciously. “What is it?”

“You,” Shinobu answers with her usual smile, pausing for dramatic effect, “will be in charge of distracting Kyoujurou!”

You stare at her for a moment before you shake your head furiously. “No, no, no, there’s no way I’m doing that. I’d be shot full of arrows like a porcupine before I so much as touch the flag - I’d rather clean the Pegasus stalls for a week.”

“Oh, come on, have a little confidence in yourself!” Shinobu hums, the expression on her face practically radiating nefarious intent behind her sweet smile. “There’s no way he would hurt you, he’s your boyfriend, after all.”

To your side, you see Tanjirou’s mouth form a silent ‘o’ of realization, piecing together everything you and Zenitsu had been conversing about earlier. Flustered, you shake your head again.

“This isn’t going to work!” You insist, even as Shinobu tugs you to your feet and steers you in the direction of the river. “Shinobu, you know what Kyoujurou is like! He isn’t going to be distracted by me at all!”

“Oh, I know Rengoku very well,” Shinobu’s eyes curve into little crescents. “I think you’ll find yourself surprised, [last]. All you need to do is distract Rengoku, we’ll do the rest. Our entire team is counting on you!”

Helplessly, you turn to the two boys crouched behind the bushes. Zenitsu looks like he’s trying his best not to burst into laughter, and Tanjirou, the pure hearted boy, only gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

With a sigh, you turn around and march into the Red Team’s territory all alone.

It doesn’t take you long to reach the flag.

Although not quite as talented in direct combat as some of your fellow campers are, you’re skilled in your own ways as well, moving silently through the underbrush and disabling any traps that you’ve found - products of the Hephaestus cabin, no doubt. After narrowly avoiding springing a Greek fire trap, you manage to make your way to the location of the flag completely undetected.

Sidling up behind a tree, you glance around the trunk to observe the battle ground. And just as you do-

Thunk!

You barely dodge out of the way in time, a blur of gold embedding itself in the wood of the tree you’re taking cover behind. So Zenitsu was right - he really is back from his mission, and although the two of you are on opposing sides for this Capture The Flag match, you’re happy to know that he’s back safe and sound, uninjured enough to participate in this game.

“Is that you, darling?” He calls out, and you have to hold back your smile at the pet name. You haven’t seen him in a week, and hearing his voice after so long makes you want to just rush out to give him a hug. “I know it’s you, love.”

“It’s been a week since you’ve seen me last, and an arrow to the face is how you greet me?” You call out from behind the tree, slightly teasing. “I’m hurt, Kyo.”

“I knew you’d be able to dodge it.” Kyoujurou laughs. When you peer behind the tree again, you see your boyfriend standing there in his orange Camp Half Blood tee and jeans, leisurely nocking another arrow into his bow. “I won’t go easy on you if you attempt to steal the flag.”

“I’m not here for the flag,” you answer, and it’s only a half lie when you continue. “I’m here because I missed you.”

If you were even a little less observant, you would have missed the way Kyoujurou’s hands falter ever so slightly in the midst of nocking his arrow, before he covers it up with one of his usual booming laugh. “You’re not going to distract me like that!” He declares, and you stifle a quiet laugh of your own, your heart beating a little faster in your chest. “But,” his voice softens, “I missed you too, when I was away. One week felt like forever to me.”

Warmth touches your cheeks, but before you can smile too much, you smack your cheek lightly. Get it together, you scold yourself, you’re supposed to be distracting him, not the other way around!

With that, you take a deep breath and rise to your feet. You could never hope to beat Kyoujurou face on in combat, but you don’t have to - all you need to do is to distract him so that Shinobu can do... whatever she has planned.

You step out from behind the tree, and immediately Kyoujurou’s golden eyes lock onto you. You take the time to take in his handsome features, the warmth in his eyes, the fresh band-aid on his left cheek, did he get injured while on his mission? 

“Changing strategy, love?” Kyoujurou calls out, looking amused. He tightens his grip on the bow when you take a single step forward. “Ah, ah, stay right there, or I’ll shoot.”

A frisson of excitement runs through you at the words, and you halt your steps, looking up at Kyoujurou with a smile. At this range, Kyoujurou has no chance of missing - you’ve seen him strike targets from yards away. “You won’t shoot me,” you hum, and with that, you take another step forward. True to Shinobu’s words, he lifts the bow, but makes no move to draw. 

“I missed you very much, Kyoujurou. I did read all the poems you left for me, but it doesn’t feel as nice when it’s not your voice reading them to me.” You lower your voice to a soft, longing tone. It’s not hard, considering just how badly you’ve yearned to see him over the past week. “It just made me miss you even more.”

You see a tinge of pink touch Kyoujurou’s cheeks. “I’ll read them for you tonight, if you want.” Taking another step forward, you gesture at his cheek. “Did you get hurt on your mission?”

“No, I got it while shaving today morning. I was distracted because I was too excited about coming back.” Kyoujurou lets out a sheepish laugh. Out of the corner of your eye, you see some bushes rustle behind Kyoujurou. 

“Well, you’re home now.” You’re almost within Kyoujurou’s reach now. If he decides to tackle you to the ground, you’d be out of the game even before you can so much as say ‘Zeus’. “With me.”

“Now!”

All of a sudden, a weighted net falls out of nowhere onto the both of you, and you’re sent falling by its weight. Before you can hit the ground, however, Kyoujurou wraps you securely in his arms, taking the brunt of the impact as you end up on his chest.

“Kyo!”

“Very well done, [last]!” Shinobu’s voice chirps from behind you, and you turn around to see Shinobu striding up to the both of you, the Mist melting off her. From beneath you, Kyoujurou laughs loudly, his chest shaking from amusement.

“This was your doing, wasn’t it, Kochou?” Kyoujurou shakes his head, a smile still on his lips. To the side, another figure slips out of the darkness, fingers wrapping around the flag Kyoujurou had been guarding before his entire body leaves the shadows.

“You just had to use [last] as a part of your plan.” Obanai says accusingly, jabbing his finger at Shinobu. The daughter of Hecate only shrugs innocently. “I had to watch all of that flirting, I don't think my eyes will ever recover. I'll need to wash them out with bleach,” he shudders in disgust. “I’m never going along with your plan again.”

“Now, now, there's no need to be such a drama queen." Shinobu tilts her head to the side, her smile still perfectly in place. "We won, so there’s no harm, is there? I’ll be sure to do the same for you when Kanroji returns from her exchange with Camp Jupiter.”

“You’ll do no such thing, you-”

With a shake of the head, you turn back to Kyoujurou, who’s still fighting to keep down his laughter. Gently, you let the pads of your fingers trace his face, his cheekbones, his defined jawline, before you tap at his lips, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile as he looks up at you.

“Welcome back, Kyo.” You whisper, and lean down to kiss him. 

[longlivefeedback]

I spent three months working on my fic. The art is also amazing. And just 7 kudos. Shortly after, a fic appeared, that was literally a copy of MY fic and badly written, and just 1000 words, and this fic have more kudos now. I really want to cry

I’m sorry Anon. This may sound like impossible advice and is really just random words from a stranger on the internet that doesn’t know anything about you, but the best thing I would encourage you to do is to stop comparing your worth to others.

We live in a world of numbers where “value” is measured by views, likes, clicks, and any other metric companies can think up and put on a UI. In a world of Instagram influencers, Big Name Fans, and the Twitter-famous, we’re being told that bigger is better, more likes means more love, and the more interactions you have, the more important you are.

Do not do this with your writing. I get it. The AO3 stats are Right There. Front and center. Unignorable. Writing is lonely. It feels like screaming into the void, and after all that work, surely someone will give you the validation you deserve, right? After all, that other writer and their work got it. So why not me?

It’s not wrong to want that, Anon. It’s not wrong to love and share and want that love reciprocated. I would argue that it is very very human, and a very beautiful thing that you are reaching out, labouring over something you love, putting a bit (a lot) of yourself out there, hoping for some of that love back.

But as long as you’re always looking over your shoulder, always wondering why them and not you, why do they have more more more, why why why...you’re never going to be happy. And if this is the situation you find yourself in with your writing, I’m afraid that it will destroy your love of writing.

I’ve seen it happen. Writers turning bitter. They get angry. They get disappointed. They start asking questions. “Why can’t readers comment?” “Why don’t readers say anything?” “How do I get more kudos/comments/hits?” And sometimes they stop writing. They stop doing the thing they love. They stop creating. Why write and post when no one is going to appreciate it?

There’s really only one person whose answer matters: You.

When it comes down to it, You, the author, are the only person that should matter. How do you feel about your writing? Did you tell the story you wanted to tell? What did you learn?

No one is going to love your story more than you. No one knows your story better than you. No one knows the bits that made it in, and the bits that didn’t. No one really knows which parts you struggled with, which one caused you the most tears, which ones you’re the most proud of because it was so hard for you to write.

Every time I see a fic I’m in awe. Because it’s a labor of love. It’s something someone tried, something someone wanted to do, regardless of the writer’s skill, experience, or English proficiency. It’s something someone created, for fun or as a way to heal. It’s part of them and their own personal journey in this funny thing we call life. It’s something they decided to spend what precious time we all have in this world on and it’s what they’ll leave behind. It’s beautiful because it exists and You made it. And if you are the only one who sees and appreciates that. So be it. It’s your writing. It’s a bit of you. Will you really be happy if everyone else loves it except you?

So find your reason to write. Try not to let it be something that is dependent on things you cannot control and the numbers attached to it. Aren’t you a little tired of being constantly measured, compared, and criticized because what you did isn’t big enough or loved enough or good enough? Why can’t the pure act of writing just be enough?

If you’re still reading this and are thinking to yourself, “easier said than done” or “it’s all very well for me to say these things, but what can you actually do about this” then maybe here are some things you can try to distance yourself from the addicting pull of the numbers popularity game:

1. Take a step back - Try to be self-aware and realize what your expectations and goals are when you post a fic. I would refrain from an outcome that you cannot control. Number of hits/kudos/comments are things you cannot control. Who reads your fic and what they say are largely things you cannot control. What other writers post and what their readers say are things you cannot control. Realize that there’s always going to be a “bigger” and “better” fic by the numbers. There’s always a bigger fish. Don’t fall into the trap of measuring the worth of a fic, and by extension yourself, by numbers that you cannot control.

2. Find a friend - Someone whose feedback you cherish and who can laugh and cry with you and give you that feel good feeling we get when we share things, the communal creatures that we are. Share your love with them and have fun!

3. Participate in an exchange - Much easier to feel happy about a response to a fic when it’s specifically made and targeted to one single person. As long as that person likes it, mission accomplished! Also, exchanges usually have a community (fellow participants, mods, betas) for the event who can give you feedback as well. It’s a pretty good way to make some new fandom friends too!

4. Get feedback from the right people - If you are looking for feedback to improve on your writing, try to find someone whose opinion you respect and who you can build a relationship with. Constructive criticism is often very personal and takes a lot of trust between the giver and the recipient. It will take some time to build enough trust with a beta/friend/reader, so be patient with them, yourself, and the process. If you are able to build enough trust with someone you want feedback from, I find it helpful to be specific when you ask for feedback: “The pacing feels off here. What do you think?” “Can you help me show XYZ? I want it to feel like ABC.” “Does A seem to be too childish here?” “Is B acting out of character?” “Is there too much description on this page and did you lose interest?” Take their feedback at face value and try to keep an open mind. Communication is key to any relationship and it is no different with something like this.

5. Write, but do not post - Write your fic. Create. Put it down in words. But if you can’t stop yourself from constantly comparing yourself to others, don’t put yourself in that position. Just don’t post your fic. Let it sit in google docs, Word, or whatever word processor you used to bring your thought to life. Don’t gamble your happiness on things you can’t control. Find another reason to write.

Be honest with yourself about why you write. Try to stop comparing yourself and your fic to others. Don’t let something that should bring you joy be a source of sorrow.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous said: I didn’t know too much about the late British philosopher Sir Roger Scruton until I followed your superbly cultured blog. As an ivy league educated American reading your posts, I feel he is a breath of fresh air as a sane and cultured conservative intellectual. We don’t really have his kind over here where things are heavily polarized between left and right, and sadly, we are often uncivil in our discourse. Sir Roger Scruton talks a lot about beauty especially in art (as indeed you do too), so for Scruton why does beauty as an aesthetic matter in art? Why should we care?

I thank you for your very kind words about my blog which I fear is not worthy of such fulsome praise.

However one who is worthy of praise (or at least gratitude and appreciation at least) is the late Sir Roger Scruton. I have had the pleasure to have met him on a few informal occasions.

Most memorably, I once got invited to High Table dinner at Peterhouse, Cambridge, by a friend who was a junior Don there. This was just after I had finished my studies at Cambridge and rather than pursue my PhD I opted instead to join the British army as a combat pilot officer. And so I found out that Scruton was dining too. We had very pleasant drinks in the SCR before and after dinner. He was exceptionally generous and kind in his consideration of others; we all basked in the gentle warmth of his wit and wisdom.

I remember talking to him about Xanthippe, Socrate’s wife, because I had read his wickedly funny fictional satire. In the book he credits the much maligned Xanthippe with being the brains behind all of Socrates’ famous philosophical ideas (as espoused by Plato).

On other occasions I had seen Roger Scruton give the odd lecture in London or at some cultural forum.

Other than that, I’ve always admire both the man and many of his ideas from afar. I do take issue with some of his intellectual ideas which seem to be taken a tad too far (he think pre-Raphaelites were kitsch) but it’s impossible to dislike the man in person.

Indeed the Marxist philosopher G.A. Cohen reportedly once refused to teach a seminar with Scruton, although they later became very good friends. This is the gap between the personal and the public persona. In public he was reviled as hate figure by some of the more intolerant of the leftists who were trying to shut him down from speaking. But in private his academic peers, writers, and philosophers, regardless of their political beliefs, hugely respected him and took his ideas seriously - because only in private will they ever admit that much of what Scruton talks about has come to pass.

In many ways he was like C.S. Lewis - a pariah to the Oxbridge establishment. At Oxford many dons poo-pooed his children stories, and especially his Christian ideas of faith, culture, and morality, and felt he should have laid off the lay theology and stuck to his academic speciality of English Literature. But an Oxford friend, now a don, tells me that many dons read his theological works in private because much of what he wrote has become hugely relevant today.

Scruton was a man of parts, some of which seemed irreconcilable: barrister, aesthetician, distinguished professor of aesthetics. Outside of brief pit stops at Cambridge, Oxford, and St Andrews, he was mostly based out of Birkbeck College, London University, which had a tradition of a working-class intake and to whom Scruton was something of a popular figure. He was also an editor of the ultra-Conservative Salisbury Review, organist, and an enthusiastic fox hunter. In addition he wrote over 50 books on philosophy, art, music, politics, literature, culture, sexuality, and religion, as well as finding time to write novels and two operas. He was widely recognised for his services to philosophy, teaching and public education, receiving a knighthood in 2016.

He was exactly the type of polymath England didn’t know what to do with because we British do discourage such continental affectations and we prefer people to know their lane and stick to it. Above all we’re suspicious of polymaths because no one likes a show off. Scruton could be accused of a few things but he never perceived as a show off. He was a gentle, reserved, and shy man of kindly manners.

He was never politically ‘Conservative’, or tried not to be. Indeed he encouraged many to think about defining “a philosophy of conservatism” and not “a philosophy for the Conservative Party.” In defining his own thoughts, he positioned conservatism to relation to its historical rivals, liberalism and socialism. He wrote that liberalism was the product of the enlightenment, which viewed society as a contract and the state as a system for guaranteeing individual rights. While he saw socialism as the product of the industrial revolution, and an ideology which views society as an economic system and the state as a means of distributing social wealth.

Like another great English thinkers, Michael Oakeshott, he felt that conservatives leaned more towards liberalism then socialism, but argued that for conservatives, freedom should also entail responsibility, which in turn depends on public spirit and virtue. Many classical liberals would agree.

In fact, he criticised Thatcherism for “its inadequate emphasis on the civic virtues, such as self-sacrifice, duty, solidarity and service of others.” Scruton agreed with classical liberals in believing that markets are not necessarily expressions of selfishness and greed, but heavily scolded his fellow Conservatives for allowing themselves to be caricatured as leaving social problems to the market. Classical liberals could be criticised for the same neglect.

Perhaps his conservative philosophy was best summed up when he wrote “Liberals seek freedom, socialists equality, and conservatives responsibility. And, without responsibility, neither freedom nor equality have any lasting value.”

Scruton’s politics were undoubtedly linked to his philosophy, which was broadly Hegelian. He took the view that all of the most important aspects of life – truth (the perception of the world as it is), beauty (the creation and appreciation of things valued for their own sake), and self-realisation (the establishment by a person of a coherent, autonomous identity) – can be achieved only as part of a cultural community within which meaning, standards and values are validated. But he had a wide and deep understanding of the history of western philosophy as a whole, and some of his best philosophical work consisted of explaining much more clearly than is often the case how different schools of western philosophy relate to one another.

People today still forget how he was a beacon for many East European intellectuals living under Communist rule in the 1980s.  Scruton was deeply attached in belonging to a network of renowned Western scholars who were helping the political opposition in Eastern Europe. Their activity began in Czechoslovakia with the Jan Hus Foundation in 1980, supported by a broad spectrum of scholars from Jacques Derrida and Juergen Habermas to Roger Scruton and David Regan. Then came Poland, Hungary and later Romania. In Poland, Scruton co-founded the Jagiellonian Trust, a small but significant organisation. The other founders and active participants were Baroness Caroline Cox, Jessica Douglas-Home, Kathy Wilkes, Agnieszka Kołakowska, Dennis O’Keeffe, Timothy Garton Ash, and others.

Scruton had a particular sympathy for Prague and the Czech society, which bore fruit in the novel, Notes from Underground, which he wrote many years later. But his involvement in East European affairs was more than an emotional attachment.  He believed that Eastern Europe - despite the communist terror and aggressive social engineering - managed to preserve a sense of historical continuity and strong ties to European and national traditions, more unconscious than openly articulated, which made it even more valuable. For this reason, decades later, he warned his East European friends against joining the European Union, arguing that whatever was left of those ties will be demolished by the political and ideological bulldozer of European bureaucracy.

Anyway, digressions aside, onto to the heart of your question.

Art matters.

Let’s start from there. Regardless of your personal tastes or aesthetics as you stand before a painting, slip inside a photograph, run your hand along the length of a sculpture, or move your body to the arrangements spiraling out of the concert speakers…something very primary - and primal - is happening. And much of it sub-conscious. There’s an element of trust.

Political philosopher, Hannah Arendt, defined artworks as “thought things,” ideas given material form to inspire reflection and rumination. Dialogue. Sometimes even discomfort. Art has the ability to move us, both positively and negatively. So we know that art matters. But the question posed by modern philosophers such as Roger Scruton has been: how do we want it to affect us?

Are we happy with the direction art is taking? Namely, says, Scruton, away from seeking “higher virtues” such as beauty and craftmanship, and instead, towards novelty for novelty’s sake, provoking emotional response under the guise of socio-political discourse.

Why does beauty in art matter?  

Scruton asks us to wake up and start demanding something more from art other than disposable entertainment. “Through the pursuit of beauty,” suggests Scruton, “we shape the world as our own and come to understand our nature as spiritual beings. But art has turned its back on beauty and now we are surrounded by ugliness.” The great artists of the past, says Scruton, “were painfully aware that human life was full of care and suffering, but their remedy was beauty. The beautiful work of art brings consolation in sorrow and affirmation…It shows human life to be worthwhile.” But many modern artists, argues the philosopher, have become weary of this “sacred task” and replaced it with the “randomness” of art produced merely to gain notoriety and the result has been anywhere between kitsch to ugliness that ultimately leads to inward alienation and nihilistic despair.

The best way to understand Scruton’s idea of beauty in art and why it matters is to let him speak for himself. Click below on the video and watch a BBC documentary broadcast way back in 2009 that he did precisely on this subject, why beauty matters. It will not be a wasted hour but perhaps enrich and even enlighten your perspective on the importance of beauty in art.

So I’ll do my best to summarise the point Scruton is making in this documentary above.

Here goes.....

In his 2009 documentary “Why Beauty Matters”, Scruton argues that beauty is a universal human need that elevates us and gives meaning to life. He sees beauty as a value, as important as truth or goodness, that can offer “consolation in sorrow and affirmation in joy”, therefore showing human life to be worthwhile.

According to Scruton, beauty is being lost in our modern world, particularly in the fields of art and architecture.

I was raised in many different cultures from India, Pakistan, to China, Japan, Southern Africa, and the Middle East as well schooling in rural Britain and Switzerland. So coming home to London on frequent visits was often a confusing experience because of the mismatch of modern art and new architecture. In life and in art I have chosen to see the beauty in things, locating myself in Paris, where I am surrounded by beauty, and understand the impact it can have on the everyday.

Scruton’s disdain for modern art begins with Marcel Duchamp’s urinal. Originally a satirical piece designed to mock the world of art and the snobberies that go with it, it has come to mean that anything can be art and anyone can be an artist. A “cult of ugliness” was created where originality is placed above beauty and the idea became more important than the artwork itself. He argues that art became a joke, endorsed by critics, doing away with a need for skill, taste or creativity.

Duchamp’s argument was that the value of any object lies solely in what each individual assigns it, and thus, anything can be declared “art,” and anyone an artist.

But is there something wrong with the idea that everything is art and everyone an artist? If we celebrate the democratic ideals of all citizens being equal and therefore their input having equal value, doesn’t Duchamp’s assertion make sense?

Who’s to say, after all, what constitutes beauty?

This resonated with me in particular and brought to mind when Scruton meets the artist Michael Craig-Martin and asks him about how Duchamp’s urinal first made him feel. Martin is best known for his work “An Oak Tree” which is a glass of water on a shelf, with text beside it explaining why it is an oak tree. Martin argues that Duchamp captures the imagination and that art is an art because we think of it as such.

When I first saw “An Oak Tree” I was confused and felt perhaps I didn’t have the intellect to understand it. When I would later question it with friends who worked in the art auction and gallery world, the response was always “You just don’t get it,” which became a common defence. To me, it was reminiscent of Hans Christian Andersen’s short tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes”, about two weavers who promise an emperor a new suit of clothes that they say is invisible to those who are unfit for their positions, stupid or incompetent. In reality, they make no clothes at all.

Scruton argues that the consumerist culture has been the catalyst for this change in modern art. We are always being sold something, through advertisements that feed our appetite for stuff, adverts try to be brash and outrageous to catch our attention. Art mimics advertising as artists attempt to create brands, the product that they sell is themselves. The more shocking and outrageous the artwork, the more attention it receives. Scruton is particularly disturbed by Piero Manzoni’s artwork “Artist’s Shit” which consists of 90 tin cans filled with the artist’s excrement.

Moreover the true aesthetic value, the beauty, has vanished in modern works that are selling for millions of dollars. In such works, by artists like Rothko, Franz Kline, Damien Hirst, and Tracey Emin, the beauty has been replaced by discourse. The lofty ideals of beauty are replaced by a social essay, however well intentioned.

A common argument for modern art is that it is reflecting modern life in all of its disorder and ugliness. Scruton suggests that great art has always shown the real in the light of the ideal and that in doing so it is transfigured.

A great painting does not necessarily have a beautiful subject matter, but it is made beautiful through the artist’s interpretation of it. Rembrandt shows this with his portraits of crinkly old women and men or the compassion and kindness of which Velazquez paints the dwarfs in the Spanish court. Modern art often takes the literal subject matter and misses the creative act. Scruton expresses this point using the comparison of Tracey Emin’s artwork ‘My Bed’ and a painting by Delacroix of the artist’s bed.

The subject matters are the same. The unmade beds in all of their sordid disdain. Delacroix brings beauty to a thing that lacks it through the considered artistry of his interpretation and by doing so, places a blessing on his own emotional chaos. Emin shares the ugliness that the bed shows by using the literal bed. According to Emin, it is art because she says that it is so.

Philosophers argued that through the pursuit of beauty, we shape the world as our home. Traditional architecture places beauty before utility, with ornate decorative details and proportions that satisfy our need for harmony. It reminds us that we have more than just practical needs but moral and spiritual needs too. Oscar Wilde said “All art is absolutely useless,” intended as praise by placing art above utility and on a level with love, friendship, and worship. These are not necessarily useful but are needed.

We have all experienced the feeling when we see something beautiful. To be transported by beauty, from the ordinary world to, as Scruton calls it, “the illuminated sphere of contemplation.” It is as if we feel the presence of a higher world. Since the beginning of western civilisation, poets and philosophers have seen the experience of beauty as a calling to the divine.

According to Scruton, Plato described beauty as a cosmic force flowing through us in the form of sexual desire. He separated the divine from sexuality through the distinction between love and lust. To lust is to take for oneself, whereas to love is to give. Platonic love removes lust and invites us to engage with it spiritually and not physically. As Plato says, “Beauty is a visitor from another world. We can do nothing with it save contemplate its pure radiance.”

Scruton makes the prescient point that art and beauty were traditionally aligned in religious works of art. Science impacted religion and created a spiritual vacuum. People began to look to nature for beauty, and there was a shift from religious works of art to paintings of landscapes and human life.

In today’s world of art and architecture, beauty is looked upon as a thing of the past with disdain. Scruton believes his vision of beauty gives meaning to the world and saves us from meaningless routines to take us to a place of higher contemplation. In this I think Scruton encourages us not to take revenge on reality by expressing its ugliness, but to return to where the real and the ideal may still exist in harmony “consoling our sorrows and amplifying our joys.”

Scruton believes when you train any of your senses you are privy to a heightened world. The artist sees beauty everywhere and they are able to draw that beauty out to show to others. One finds the most beauty in nature, and nature the best catalyst for creativity. The Tonalist painter George Inness advised artists to paint their emotional response to their subject, so that the viewer may hope to feel it too.

It must be said that Scruton’s views regarding art and beauty are not popular with the modern art crowd and their postmodern advocates. Having written several books on aesthetics, Scruton has developed a largely metaphysical aspect to understanding standards of art and beauty.

Throughout this documentary (and indeed his many books and articles), Scruton display a bias towards ‘high’ art, evidenced by a majority of his examples as well as his dismissal of much modern art. However on everyday beauty, there is much space for Scruton to challenge his own categories and extend his discussion to include examples from popular culture, such as in music, graphic design, and film. Omitting ‘low art’ in the discussion of beauty could lead one to conclude that beauty is not there.

It is here I would part ways with Scruton. I think there is beauty to be found in so called low art of car design, popular music or cinema for example - here I’m thinking of a Ferrari 250 GTO,  jazz, or the films of Bergman, Bresson, or Kurosawa (among others) come to mind. Scruton gives short thrift to such 20th century art forms which should not be discounted when we talk of beauty. It’s hard to argue with Jean-Luc Godard for instance when he once said of French film pioneering director, Robert Bresson, “He is the French cinema, as Dostoevsky is the Russian novel and Mozart is German music.”

Overall though I believe Scruton does enough to leave us to ponder ourselves on the importance of beauty in the arts and our lives, including fine arts, music, and architecture. I think he succeeds in illuminating the poverty, dehumanisation and fraud of modernist and post-modernist cynicism, reductionism and nihilism. Scruton is rightly prescient in pointing the centrality of human aspiration and the longing for truth in both life and art.

In this he is correct in showing that goodness and beauty are universal and fundamentally important; and that the value of anything is not utilitarian and without meaning (e.g., Oscar Wilde’s claim that “All art is absolutely useless.”). Human beings are not purposeless material objects for mechanistic manipulation by others, and civil society itself depends upon a cultural consensus that beauty is real and every person should be respected with compassion as having dignity and nobility with very real spiritual needs to encounter and be transformed and uplifted by beauty.

Thanks for your question.

[neurodihuegent]

[PART ONE] Huey's character development: season 1 to season 3.

with ducktales 2017 coming to a close in less than two weeks, i thought that now was best of all times to create a post of how i think huey has developed as a character throughout all three seasons. please remember, this post is just based on how I see his character development, and you're free to have your own ideas and/or not agree with all of my points!

1.) learning to adjust to new environments/accepting failures: When we were first introduced to huey's character, one of the biggest take aways was that he's a very "by the book" kind of a person, and has a hard time adjusting to foreign environments or situations that he will need to go with the flow and what he already knows, rather than doing everything by the book.

This was mainly introduced in "The Terror of the Terrafirmians!" in season one, where we could literally see Huey scrambling to make sense of the situation, and at some points, spouting out B.S. to make sense of the situation in his head. While he did end up coming to terms that the Terrafirmians are in fact, very real, he still only decided to believe it once it was documented in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook.

Progressively throughout the show, we see Huey being put in situations where he has to be able to think quick on his feet rather than anxiously try to sort out all that he knows from the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. Because of his personality, Huey not only had a hard time adjusting to foreign environments, but it's also been shown that he has a hard time accepting set backs as well. From what we've seen, it's easy to infer that when Huey has his mind set on something, he will do nothing short of achieving that goal: And when said goal is not achieved, or is starting to look like it won't be achieved, he takes it very personally.

This is especially seen in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks!" and "The Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!": Where in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks", even though Huey was definitely more qualified for the position by a significant amount, when Dewey got the position, his first instinct was to get angry instead of congratulate his brother: Granted, Dewey wasn't completely deserving of the position over Huey, and at this point, Huey was just a kid still learning how to manage his emotions, but his instictive reaction tells a lot about his character at the time. Thankfully, we see this progress with "The Challenfe of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!", where Huey is once again put in a situation where the odds were against him, considering that this time around, Violet was more qualified and prepared for the position than he was. At first, Huey does take this badly, getting super anxious that he'll have to do a challenging, dangerous course that no 11-12 year old probably should be doing, on his lonesome without even the help of the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, which has been shown to be a source of comfort for Huey. At one point, he is only surviving through the course by creating a talking Junior Woodchuck Guidebook in his head, but even that goes south as he gets so overwhelmed and anxious to the point where he sets it on fire in his head. Eventually, noticing how far he's fallen behind Violet, and realizing how deserving she is of the title over him despite his love for everything Junior Woodchucks, he is able to come to terms with the fact that he lost, and instead of getting upset or beating himself up for it, he gracefully allows her to be announced as the winner, and shows her his full support. This is meaningful, because if this was season 1 Huey, we honestly can not say that his reaction to his loss would've been the same: He probably would've gotten a lot more upset about it than he actually did in season 3.

"Quack Pack!", despite somewhat being more of a comedic episode, also sheds light on how Huey's learned to adjust with a change in environment: He was the first character (other than Donald, who was fully aware) to pick up on the fact that they are in an alternate universe, set inside of a 1990s sitcom, and becomes increasingly anxious about it as a result, especially since everyone was pretty much oblivious of it at first. However despite this, when the family confronts Donald about the wish, while Donald does make a compelling point of how this scenario gives them a sense of normalcy and security, Huey also brings up the fact that despite the hardships they may face, adventuring is an integral part of their new found family. Even though Huey has always been pretty enthusiastic about adventuring, especially in comparison to Louie and pre-season 3 Donald, there has been times where adventuring has caused him anxiety due to being confronted with new settings or situations that he doesn't immediately know how to handle, so considering this, I think that line alone has shown the great improvement Huey has made with adjusting.

2.) embracing "The Duke": in the first two seasons, while we always had somewhat of an idea that huey was the triplet that inherited the infamous McDuck anger, "The Duke" wasn't something that was necessarily explored much in the first two seasons, leading people to believe that it was just for comedic plot. However, in season 3, we finally got an image of what "The Duke" actually is and represents, alongside with how Huey truly feels about this side of him.

Based on my perception of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine", Huey sees The Duke as an entire separate entity from himself rather than just how far his anger can really go, decides to completely reject this side and keep it locked away in his brain. Of course, we've had our early season moments where The Duke "slipped out", but for the most part, leading up to The Split Sword of Swanstantine, we never really got a full glimpse of what exactly the Duke is: and given his personality, it makes sense as to why Huey was rejecting this side of him instead. Not only does The Duke represent one of Huey's most vulnerable states, but knowing how far his anger can go, goes completely against the side of his personality that he does allow to shine: Being orderly, being well put together, and being the brain of his sibling trio, which being blinded by anger would all deter. Despite the strength that embracing his anger gives him, Huey obviously still sees it as a weakness, because it's the side of him he doesn't want people to see, especially those closest to him, because before the events of The Split Sword, Huey didn't exactly have the greatest control of his anger, so while nobody would want to think of it, no one knows how far he could really go if he's pissed enough.

However, thanks to the encouragement of Lena, Huey was finally able to embrace that side of him, and fully gain control over his anger which is something we don't typically see with the infamous McDuck Anger, given that the only way he could defeat Steelbeak who had an obvious advantage, was to tap into his true strength. The biggest takeaway Huey got from this situation, is that his anger shouldn't be treated as if it's a separate entity, or as if it's something to be embarassed of, but to truly embrace that side of himself, and learn how to control it, all things that he was able to accomplish by the end of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine".

3.) building new relationships:

Since season one, it's been hinted that Huey does struggle a bit on the friendship aspect of things. He does have very close relationships with his brothers and Webby, but even these can be hindered by clashing personalities and differing interests. Even though it's fairly obvious that HDLW all love and support each other like family, Huey has never really exactly been shown to have a bond with someone where he shares completely similar interests: Now, this isn't really important in friendship, often times opposites attract even down to the friendship aspect, but it is nice to have someone where you can just sit and chat about similar interests, and do stuff together that you'll both enjoy.

The first time we've gotten a hint at Huey struggling with making friends was in "The Day of the Only Child!", where, if the Beagle Brothers didn't show up, Huey would've been out of luck with finding two other participants for the three-man cookout, considering that everyone else was already paired up and Louie and Dewey were already off doing their own things for the day. Also hinted in that same episode, is the fact that Huey make struggle with loneliness as well (Huey "Be horribly alone." Dewey: "For once!"), given that he's spent most if not all of his life constantly with his brothers and Donald, so even if him and his brothers did have fall outs every here and there, he could always rely on them to be there given that outside of them, he didn't rely have any other friends.

Now, this somewhat turns around in season 2, when we're introduced to Fenton, who Huey not only idolizes as Gizmoduck, but looks at like a genuine best friend and most likely, as an older brother figure. Besides Huey's admiration of Gizmoduck, it's been shown that they bond over their similar interest in science, and in general, Huey is constantly looking out for Fenton and always wanting to protect his best friend from any danger or hurt that he himself can prevent. Despite Fenton undoubtedly being Huey's closest friend, I think that it's also important to shed light on the friendships that he's made that are more in his age group.

Following the events of Astro BOYD!, we are introduced to Boyd and Huey's friendship, two characters that existed in the show prior but never had any interactions. Huey and Boyd bond over their interest in the Junior Woodchucks, something that we once again see Huey get backlash for from his fellow Woodchucks, for being too "by the book" and not just "relaxing and being a kid" (even going as far to label him as a "robot"). Even in Boyd's malfunctioning, Huey is determined to stay by his side until the end, not only because of their shared interests and the bonding they began to do at the very beginning of the episode, but also because Huey understood what it was like to be cast away and treated as less just for being different (or in Huey's words, "wired a little differently"). Even though Fenton is Huey's closest friend by a margin, I would consider Boyd's friendship with him really meaningful, at least given the circumstances of how they became friends in the first place: Two people who were cast aside, for not being what society considered the "perfect/normal kid", and instead of people working with them, they were just cast aside easily. Considering how fast Huey probably had to grow up given the circumstances of living with Donald who, despite being an amazing father figure, dealt with poverty pretty often, it's no wonder why he's very mature for his age and very "by the book", but it's also no wonder why kids who probably didn't have to grow up with those circumstances, would easily be turned off. Louie and Dewey are a lot more understanding considering they grew up in the same setting, but even they dealt with it differently, often leading to their personalities clashing, which is even lampshaded in this episode as another insecurity of Huey's when building relationships ("Are you sure you want me to continue? My brothers are usually *begging* me to stop.).

We're also introduced to another friendship at the very beginning of season three, with Violet. Even though at the beginning, things were a bit rocky considering how anxious Huey was getting from the Senior Woodchuck competition, and his determination to beat Violet, even to the point of leaving him behind when she probably needed him the most, by the end of the episode, we see both Violet and Huey not only reconcile, but start to actually bond. During this high stress situation, Violet was a great source of relief for Huey, using her own experiences of failure to inspire Huey to not give up, and that even if he does lose (which he did) in this specific situation, there'll be more opportunities because he is great when it comes to the Junior Woodchucks. Even when Violet wins, instead of being bitter which would definitely be expected considering that Huey is a child and how much he was anticipating winning, he is able to put his grievances aside and congratulate her because she helped him greatly during a point of weakness. Even if Violet and Huey's friendship didn't end up as closeknit as his and Boyd's, or as prominent as his and Fenton's, I think this was still a meaningful connection for him as Violet was great balance for the anxiety that he was feeling at the time, and despite him leaving her behind, she beared no ill will towards him.

This is only the first part, where I examined what I felt were the key component to his character development over the last three seasons, and the next post will focus on other aspects that weren't as focused on during the series!

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Part 10

I’m participating in @wackydrabbles​ prompt 71 “Dont be stubborn. Try it.”

Word Count: 1890

Pairing: Liam and Riley

Thanks @burnsoslow​ for beta reading and pretty much having to drag me across the finish line, as well as all the weeks and weeks of listening to me whine and pity myself.  And @emkay512​ for pre-reading and your encouraging words late Monday that made my whole night.

a/n: this is crack, plain and simple. I haven’t written since mid-october; just been paralyzed with fear over my own writing and this is my practice run and basically the best I could come up with. I’m going to try so so hard to finish this series

The new royal couple, fresh off their Vegas flight, stepped up to a makeshift podium the press had created on the tarmac. It was packed tightly with news station microphones crammed in every nook and cranny, one on top of the other. Voice recorders were spread across its surface, and the crown's private jet served as the backdrop. A bevy of frenzied reporters -- domestic and international -- pushed and elbowed their way into one another in hopes of getting the closest shot of the newlyweds and a chance to have their questions answered first.

“King Liam! Is the marriage binding?”

“How long have you known, Miss Brooks?”

“Were you trying to make a political statement by having a hooker at the ceremony?”

“Your Majesty! Will the monkey be joining your court soon?”

So many questions, most followed by laughter and snickers directed at the King and his bride.

Liam frowned as his eyes dashed side to side in a diligent effort to understand the literally thousands of questions that were lobbed at him all at once. He blinked rapidly as one flash of a camera after the next blinded and bleached his vision. Just as it would return to normal, another successive set of flashes would set him back again.

He had been a part of news conferences since he was a child, when he would watch his late father speak from different parts of the world, near and far, about this policy or that deal. Yet this was different. This was not only the biggest breaking story in Cordonia -- or even Europe -- but one that had swept the world. 

His drunken actions two nights ago, no doubt, would have created a stir; however, it was Maxwell's post on Instagram of the ceremony that now made him tabloid fodder. Everyone knew about the king who was married by his own brother and an Elvis impersonator, the leg-humping monkey that served as a ring bearer, and the chain-smoking, tube-top-wearing prostitute who was the maid of honor. As confident as Liam had been that he could handle this, as he'd dealt with so many other stories of intrigue regarding the monarchy, he couldn't dispel the twisting feeling that burrowed deep into the pit of his stomach.

Maybe Madeleine was right: he had become a laughingstock. A failure. Just one big fuck up.

As much as he hated to hear the things said about him, he could deal with it. In the morning, he would call Prince Harry to swap stories, survival tips, and perhaps share a good laugh about it.

It was just ...

Liam felt Riley's tiny hand grip his a little tighter. He wouldn't blame her one bit if his little pussycat turned around and headed back up the steps to the jet and returned to Las Vegas. The only thing Liam wanted to do was keep her shielded from the hurtful comments and insensitive questions. But to his astonishment, she stood there with all the feigned confidence in the world, flashing a big, beaming smile that lit his heart on fire, while staring back at him affectionately. She was handling the situation better than she was before they stepped off the plane. He knew she was doing it for him. God, she just makes everything better. 

Feeling a little more grounded and in control, Liam returned her smile. A touch of radiance sparkled between his eyes and hers, as if it were some sort of unspoken conversation only they understood. Riley knew exactly what he needed at that moment to rise above this scandal they were both being raked over the coals for: He needed her to be okay.

Raising his free hand to calm the crowd so that he might address their concerns, he noticed the press' attention and cameras suddenly shift away from him and into the distance. Murmurs and chatter soon erupted. Naturally, Liam's gaze followed suit -- towards a group of heavily-armed soldiers heading their way. They wore white hazmat uniforms and had self-contained breathing apparatus and personal protective equipment. Leading the charge was a well-dressed gentleman in a three-piece suit with a shiny bald head that glistened with heavy perspiration. 

He walked like he hadn't shit in weeks.

Liam squinted and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. “The hell is that?”

Riley inched closer to Liam and clasped his suit jacket. "What's happening right now? Who are all those people, Liam?"

Liam's forehead creased in puzzlement; he didn't know. Wrapping his arms protectively around Riley, he pulled her even closer but never answered the question. It wasn't until the uniformed men stopped briefly and pointed to Drake, who was standing with his arms crossed at the bottom of the stairs, that it suddenly became clear who they were looking for.

Reporters and onlookers had been so focused on Liam’s return with the American woman, they hadn’t noticed that the brooding Walker had exited the jet last among their posse. Just as everyone had watched replays and snippets of Maxwell’s Instagram video, they were also fully aware the King’s best friend wasn’t exactly returning to Cordonia … healthy … thanks to Maxwell’s Tik Tok sing-along. 

A video Drake Walker had no clue existed. 

 The crowd began to disperse in fear and panic. If men in hazmat suits were needed, they could only assume this went well beyond your casual, run-of-the-mill STD.

Still in no mood to play around, Drake started yelling obscenities and gradually backing away from the hazmat brigade that was closing in on him like a cheetah at a water buffalo hole. 

"Mr. Walker," a heavily echoed voice called out, sounding oddly reminiscent of Darth Vader through their breathing contraption, "we need you to come with us."

"The fuck I do." Drake shook his head emphatically while continuing to slide away from them. "I'll beat the shit out of all of ya if you so much as touch me."

"Now, Mr. Walker, don't be stubborn. Try it, and you'll find yourself with a nice little tranquilizer to the ass. Are you going to come with us willingly, or do we have to make this more difficult than it needs to be?"

Drake stood motionless in disbelief. "I don't even know what you guys want or what you think I did," he squawked with a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Tough titties. SEIZE HIM!"

With that order, Drake twisted on the heels of his boots and took off, dodging and weaving away from a bunch of men he had no clue why were even after him. 

He had a pretty good hunch, though, who set this chain of events in motion.

The bald guy in a three-piece suit walked up to Liam and flipped his badge open. "Your Majesty?"

Liam nodded, not bothering to acknowledge the man's credentials. "I am. What is the meaning of all this? What the hell are you doing with Drake?"

"Sir, if you will, it has come to our attention that Mr. Walker is a public health risk and highly contagious. We will have to secure him into our custody at once."

Liam scrunched up his face in utter confusion and stared back at the official before responding, “He just has case of crabs, syphilis, herpes, genital warts, gonorrhea, and chlamydia. You’re treating him like he’s about to start some damn worldwide pandemic. Without sexual contact and with heavy doses of medications and creams, Drake should be able to live a normal life like anyone else. So, as the ruler of this country, I am ordering your men to stand down at once.”

“My apologies, King Liam, but my orders come from the World Health Organization and the United Nations. You'll need to take this up with them. Dr. Wolfschitz was clear on the protocol."

"Dr. Wolfschitz?" Liam questioned as realization quickly set in. He twisted around to face Leo, who had this enormous shit-eating grin, the likes he'd never seen on him before. "You? You did this?"

“Walker messed with the wrong bull, little bro.” Leo stuck up his pointer fingers on both sides of his head with a menacing scowl and smugness in his tone. “Now he gets the horns.”

Liam swatted away one of Leo's finger horns. “This is serious, Leo. Not everything is a joke! You're going to fix this, NOW!"

Leo placed a comforting hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, patting it a few times before speaking softly to him. “Look, I know you’re upset right now. You two were very close. But the Drakester is going to a far better place. There’s a big open field and everything where he can run and play all day with others just like him. And all the meaty bones he can eat too … lucky bastard.”

Riley had to bury her face in Liam’s chest to prevent the laugh that threatened to escape, but the bobbing of her shoulders was something she couldn’t hide. 

“NOW, Leo!” 

Leo tried to hold his ground but was too weak to resist the impatient glare Liam was burning into his soul. After a brief moment, he rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "Why ya gotta be such a dillhole, Liam? Do you realize you get rattled faster than a two-tit turtle on a tightrope? It's really not your best quality, little brother, but we can work on that." Annoyed, Liam rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned as his brother continued, "Either way, Father always said, ‘if you can't help your fellow man out, you might as well become one of the Walkers.’ Truer words were never spoken so eloquently.”  Leo raised his eyes to the heavens thoughtfully before thinking better of it and lowered them toward the ground. "May you rest in peace, Father," he shouted.

As Leo trotted off to speak with Bald Dude to confess his false claim, Bastien helped guide Liam and Riley through the rambunctious swarm of reporters and spectators. Once they reached the limo, Liam helped Riley inside as Maxwell rounded the vehicle and climbed in on the other side. Pausing for a moment before sliding in, the King placed his hands on top of the open door of the limo and turned one last time to check on his friend. He swallowed hard over the guilt of leaving him behind. As His Majesty watched in horror, Drake took a tranquilizer dart to the back of the thigh and Bastien insisted the area was a security threat, shoving him inside. They would send another car to transport Drake and Leo back to the palace. 

Bastien stomped on the gas pedal and sped off, kicking up dirt and smoke as the tires peeled and squealed against the fiery Cordonian asphalt.

When they passed through the airport's security gate, a small motorcade following closely behind, Liam finally lifted his head, his eyes growing wide when he realized what just happened: Bastien's shove had sent Liam flying across the seat to land face-first into a lap — her lap. 

He stayed frozen in place, unable to look anywhere but the two slender, bronzed legs peeking out below the hem of his new wife's dress. 

Riley lifted an eyebrow, a slight grin dangling from her plush pink lips. "Something you wanna say, Your Majesty?"

Everything that had just happened in the 15 minutes since they landed was long forgotten. Drake who? Liam glanced up with a devilish smirk. "Welcome to Cordonia, Pussycat."

@burnsoslow @dcbbw @ao719 @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @loveellamae @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @caroldxnvxrs @jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthings @bebepac @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @cordoniaqueensworld @amandablink

@liamxs-world @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography

@txemrn @ofpixelsandscribbles @alyssalauren @cordonianroyalty @monsoonblooms12 @mom2000aggie @theroyalheirshadowhunter @princessleac1 @kimmiedoo5 @graceful-leah @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin @gkittylove99 @cinnamonspongecake @lifeaskim @neotericthemis @pink-diamond13 @walker7519 @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09

Liam x MC only: Cordonia-gothqueen

Anything with Drake: @tinkie1973

FRI Series Tags:  @sanchita012 ​  @narrytheworld ​  @queenwalton   @gabesmommie1130 @cordonianprincess   @liamandneca @emkay512 @waywardromancefantasygirl @nomadics-stuff @queendianaofcordonia @zaffrenotes @zilch3 @kat-tia801 @drrookie @sfb123

[nanowrimo]

Getting Prepared for NaNoWriMo! (With BookTuber FictionalFates and Scrivener)

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Scrivener, a 2020 NaNo sponsor, is an award-winning writing app that has been enthusiastically adopted by best-selling novelists and novices alike. Today, they’ve partnered with BookTuber Joel Rochester, a.k.a. FictionalFates, to help you get prepared for the month ahead: 

At thirteen years old, I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time. At that point in my life, being challenged to write 50,000 words in thirty days was daunting and very scary. However, I persevered and I somehow managed to do it, albeit the novel I wrote that year will never see the light of day.

However, now at twenty years old, I’ve learned that NaNoWriMo is a great time to break the spine on a new tale, or one that I’ve been working on for years. (Rebels, I see you.) I guess you could refer to me as a “NaNo-Veteran”; someone who’s participated in NaNoWriMo for many years now. Scrivener has very kindly asked me to impart some wisdom on my experiences, whether you’re participating for the first time or looking to refresh that writer’s memory.

But first, have you announced your project yet? This November, I’ll be writing The Dream Prince, which is an enemies-to-lovers fantasy following two princes, one alive and one cursed to die, who converse through their dreams. They are forced to work together to break the curse, or both war and the plans of an ancient cult will come to fruition.

Now that’s out of the way, let’s get to how YOU, beginner or fellow veteran, can better your NaNoWriMo experience, with the help of Scrivener! I have used Scrivener for seven years now, and I don’t think I would’ve been as organized with my writing if it wasn’t for them.

NaNoPrep

Usually, everyone takes the month of October to figure out and plan out their projects to write in November. However, we’re not always as organized as we’d like to be, scrambling at the last minute to come up with an idea. Don’t get discouraged — planner, pantser or plantser, there’s definitely ways for you to prep in your own way, and it’s on a sliding scale.

In my experience:

Pantsers (people who write off the seat of their pants) just need to know what direction their novel is going in, and perhaps some minor details about their characters and world.

Planners (people who extensively plan their novel) plan enough that you know the general beginning, middle and end of your novel and that they know their characters to some extent. However, as with most plans, they might be thrown out the window throughout the month as they begin to realize more details about their novel.

Plantsers (a combination of both, this is me!) plan until they're comfortable, and then discover the rest. In my experience, I mostly have the beginning and end planned, and tiny bits of the middle, and then the rest is to be found during the month!

Scrivener makes it super easy for beginners to prep their novels. By using their corkboard view, you can plot cards and rearrange as you wish. Plus, they have templates for character and setting profiles too, making it easier for you to flesh out your characters as you wish. And with the index on the left, you can arrange them into folders, making everything very neat and organized!

NaNoWriMo

November will come and go as swiftly as this year has gone. Whilst on average, it’s roughly 1,667 words per day in order to write 50,000 words a month — our schedules don’t always accommodate that. So I would say to pace yourself according to your schedule throughout the month.

Have a free day? Try to get as much writing done during that day as it’ll make other days much easier to reach your goals.

Need to be productive? Check Twitter or the NaNo Forums, there will probably be someone hosting writing sprints, where you can write for short periods of time in order to contribute to your larger goal.

I’ve found that in the past, spending five 10-minute sessions throughout the day writing 100 words was much more productive than one 50-minute session trying to write 500 words. Small amounts of progress add to a larger feeling of completion.

This is also what makes Scrivener exciting as I’m able to set word count goals and see the progression bar fill up as I write. Just seeing that visual confirmation really keeps me motivated to keep going throughout the month.

Plus, with Scrivener I’m easily able to organize and write my novel on a scene-by-scene level — plus, I won’t have to copy and paste everything into a manuscript as Scrivener’s compile feature does that for me without the hassle!

Have Fun!

Lastly, NaNoWriMo is a lighthearted fun challenge which most of all, encourages writers to write and make progress in their novels. Whilst winning and achieving the 50,000 word count goal is amazing, if you don’t win, the progress you made in November is still something to be proud of.

It’s important during this month to strive for progress rather than perfection. The words that you write during the month of November will only be the first of many drafts, so ensuring the words are down first of all is an essential step.

Have fun with your characters, have fun with your fellow writers. Maybe look to pick up the Traveling Shovel and use it in one of your scenes. This is a time to celebrate the fact that you have chosen to give life to an amazing story, so write it.

Overall, NaNoWriMo is such a fun month to get to know other writers, hone your craft and begin the progress of a novel you want to write. I hope that all of you make amazing progress over the course of November. Who knows, I might see you in some writing sprints!

For now, if you wanted to try out Scrivener, you can try out a free trial for 30 days and revel in the awesomeness. I highly recommend it, especially for those who are getting started with writing novels. Plus, if you use the code NaNoWriMo, you can get 20% off!

Good luck friends, and happy writing!

Joel Rochester is a writer of Welsh and Jamaican descent. As a young child, he saw books as an escape from the real world but he often found those books never truly represented him. He loves to read and write books about emotional boys, daring worlds, and intriguing tales. He advocates for more diversity in media. Particularly, more QPOC representation.

Presently, he reviews and discusses books through his popular social media presence, ‘FictionalFates’. He is also currently studying a BA (Hons) Creative Writing and English Literature at the University of Winchester. When not writing or reading, Joel can be found consuming other media. Whether it be video games, Korean dramas, or browsing social media. He also never goes long without a mug of matcha tea by his side.

[eventual-ghoste]

TOG rambling

Hello! This post has to do with Andy and some revelations at the end of Force Multiplied. Spoilers I give aren’t super specific but they’re there, and I can’t promise they won’t bite.

This is also in response to a TOG discord question I couldn’t stop thinking about, regarding Andy’s history as compared to Nicky’s, as posited by Em | salzundhonig:

But Nicky's past as a crusader and his growth from his past was well received, surely that'll be the same with Andy right?

I apologize if these ramblings sound like a rant but I swear my intentions are in the spirit of debate/discourse, and they are not an attack on any individuals.

The TL;DR is: Andy has work to do. Hopefully Hollywood and Rucka don’t fuck that up.

Feel free to check/correct/call me out if I’ve misspoke anywhere here (I realize I still have a lot to learn) but IMHO, I don’t think a semblance of Andy’s growth will be well received. Or, at least, I’m not so certain it should be because, in the comics, I genuinely don’t think Andy has grown. At the end of Force Multiplied, she still defends her actions with the “this is how I grew up” argument, and says it was “a long time ago,” and as much as I love love LOVE Andromache the Scythian for her badassery and how she’s a vision of female empowerment, I can’t help but think about how I hear those words all the time from people defending themselves against racist and/or sexist comments from so-called bygone eras.

Wanna know a sad difference between those people and our beloved Andy? They apologize for what they’ve done, or who they were. As hollow as the words will sound, however unforgivable their actions, however self-serving the apology will be— Those Asshats apologize. Comic!Andy never does, not even when confronted by Nile, an African American woman who likely descends from slaves, and has undoubtedly experienced racism and discrimination on a regular basis. It’s been thousands of years and Andy doesn’t even know how to say sorry (if she ever does, kudos to whoever finds a timestamp/panel, and let me know!). Instead, Andy buries the truth of her actions with a load of justifications to the point that she becomes self-deprecating, calling herself “vermin,” concluding she’s no better than the apathetic, selfish, evil POS they hunt. She may have spent the past millennia with TOG, trying to make things right but then—

But then she gives up. She’s tired. She resigns because she doesn’t have it in her anymore to fight the injustice she once willingly and self-servingly participated in. So, on top of being incapable of apology, Andy also doesn’t vow to do better. She doesn’t accede to change.

If there is one reason for why “The Old Guard” is a fucking absolutely shitty title, is that it refers to people who refuse to accept new ideas and progress. We are in a fandom that has four canonically queer characters, three people of color, and two female leads! Maybe the irony is intentional but damn, why is it that Andy, PROTAGONIST #1, hasn’t completely caught up with the program?

And that brings me to why I think Andy’s reckoning will not be on the same level as Nicky’s. Because as popular as Kaysanova is, neither Nicky or Joe are the main protagonists of TOG.

We don’t follow Nicky or Joe (or Booker) into scenes. The men are strictly back-at-the-ranch, supporting characters. We follow Andy or Nile (who also have the most screen time, I believe, but fact-check me). Filmically speaking, we ought to value them with a measure of precedence. Their words and actions matter the most, especially Andy’s by nature of how everyone looks to her for guidance.

So, with all that in mind: How does one reconcile a beloved protagonist with a despicable past in slavery, of all things? In the wake of an international racial reckoning, how is a celebrated, white South African actress going to fulfill that role? How is production going to balance fantasy with reality? How are Rucka and other involved writers (Theron, Prince-Bythewood?) going to alter the original IP, while retaining the nuance of this moral quandry?

Forgive me for the overkill but: How is it going to happen?

I’m well aware that my thoughts are going down a rabbit hole, and I am definitely overthinking this, but as somebody who’s genuinely curious about whether Victoria Mahoney and the rest of the TOG crew will have the guts to confront the issue head-on, or if they’ll take the easy way out. Excise the bits that no one wants to talk about, much less watch in a feel-good film that TOG has become for many fans.

Whatever production ends up doing, I hope that 2O2G doesn’t end on a cliffhanging “pity Andromache” note because, damn, I’m gonna feel real uncomfortable scrolling through fandom posts, reading people defending slavery and giving the same “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there” spiel, in order to protect a fictional character played by a conventionally-attractive cis heterosexual white woman.

(Also: If the past is so different from the present, why are there still calls for social justice? Why do ALL industries still lack diverse and equitable representation?)

Now, this is where I’ll go back to the original question and say: While I think Nicky functions well as an example for change/growth/redemption, I don’t think his change serves as a good comparison to Andy’s. I say this, even while I’m aware of double standards in gender, and even between the reception of gay characters vs lesbian characters vs etc. (re: I’m open to critique).

My line of thought stems from the fact that, canonically, Nicky always had Joe. The two have seemingly been inseparable from the moment they first killed each other. It’s likely that Joe would check Nicky whenever he said or did something wrong and offensive, and perhaps this symbiosis was mutual.

(I also have a feeling that many people easily disregarded the Christian/Muslim conflict because A) lack of knowledge in BOTH religions and B) the onscreen couple appear very much in love, especially when one is giving a beautiful monologue on the nature of their relationship. When we meet Joe and Nicky, we meet them at their best. Shout-out to interfaith couples who know more about this than my single (and secular) ass does, and might have more to say about this.)

On the other hand: Andy never had someone who was like how Joe was for Nicky. No one ever calls out Andy because A) she’s the oldest, B) she’s the lead, and C) her business card says ANDROMACHE OF SCYTHIA, WAR GOD. Yeah, she had Quynh/Noriko but— at the risk of yelling at Rucka for vilifying a queer woman of color (or praising him for not leaning on the stereotype of Asian passivity? idk, anyone got thoughts on this?)— Noriko is clearly not encouraging good behavior. Neither will Quynh if Netflix lets 2O2G be as faithful to the comics as TOG1 was.

Which means the Law 282 conversation might be…unavoidable? Somewhere along the line, we still end up in the hotel room with Andy, on the floor, pleading for her crew to not abandon her, even though she is the one who abandoned their cause.

This sets up a circumstance in which Fade Away might be spent trying to redeem Andy/Charlize Theron, bring her back to the “good side,” teaching her to be better— thereby highlighting her experience and “salvation,” rather than making a point of her past, and the reality of her actions. In other words, a “pity the white woman” fest.

(Because I’m crossing my fingers that TOG production/Netflix know better) In an effort to prevent that from happening, I wonder if Rucka will combine Force Multiplied with Fade Away for the 2O2G script. Given the series’ track record, I think it is feasible that FA’s release coincides with 2O2G’s, and that it finally resolves Andy. Whether by revitalizing her energy as a do-some-gooder, or finalizing her vulnerability by putting her 6,000 years to rest, thus handing off the reigns to Nile and a new generation of leadership.

The last thing I want to leave off with is: I don’t hate Andy. It’s a credit to Rucka and fellow writers (from film and fandom) that I don’t.

I might not love her character as enthusiastically as I used to, but that doesn’t mean I’m not amazed by her creation. She’s a female lead whose sexuality is not exploited by the male gaze; whose emotional vulnerability is not considered a hindrance to, nor an explanation for, her battle prowess; and whose unabashed queerness is not reinforced by cookie cutter stereotypes. Andromache the Scythian is AMAZING.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to excuse or ignore her most glaring and contemptible flaw. More than anything, I’d love to sweep her past under the carpet so that 2O2G can be problem-free. Like many people, I just want to enjoy a movie without getting triggered.

I want to see Quynh and Andy kiss and make up. I want to see Joe rocking Those Shorts, and a cheeky shot of Nicky appreciating his ass. I want to see Nile welcoming Booker back to the family again. Some form of group therapy would be chef’s kiss.

But something about glossing over/removing slavery from Andy’s narrative reeks of dishonesty, and reminds me that the (Hollywood) movie industry is full of people who do not want to be tainted with negative perceptions. Understandably, appearances are their livelihood— but that particular truth is something they still have to reckon with.

[thedetectivessay]

Highlights from the Fan Meeting

(took longer than planned. sorry..)

So, there were definitely A LOT of people watching during the event. At one point, it reached 26k viewers - but it could have been higher than that. They were also broadcasting through VLive so there were more. 

There was an earlier interview thing that was reposted later on on Instagram. I’m not sure if that was something exclusive to SK viewers or if it really was just a private interview (saw a news outlet’s watermark somewhere; Yonhap News’, I think). 

Either way, in that interview, Cho PD participated. He wasn’t there for the international fan meet, though.

Anyway, here are the highlights in a (mostly) chronological order:

• During the opening, the cast were introduced. Jaesuk or the MC did mention straight off the bat that this will be the final season. 

• Sejeong roasted Kwangsoo because of his hair 😂 It’s currently very long because he and Sehun had been filming for Pirates 2; Sehun’s hair was long-ish as well. But yeah - he got the most teasing because his hair is as long as Sejeong’s now lol

•  Okay, I gotta mention this: Jongmin was DRESSED TO THE T. He looked so nice, but it was so cute! He was just so determined to impress the international fans present. It just showed how much he cared about us and about how we felt about him. 

So yes: if you haven’t yet, give Jongmin some love. 

He was also asked at one point who he felt the closest to among the cast members, and y’all - he hesitated 😭😭 It was obvious he wanted to say he felt the closest to Sejeong, but he got scared because he thought the fans who were there might get mad at him 😭

But Sejeong, being the sweetheart that she is, kept encouraging him to pick her anyway by throwing hearts at him 🥰

Y’all, what are we gonna do once this show is over? This brOTP is the best when it came to roasting people! And they act like fr siblings 😭😭

• On the same question, after Jongmin did pick Sejeong, Kwangsoo made a remark, saying that he thought Jongmin was going to choose him. He looked hurt 😂

Side note: are we finally getting more Jongmin and Kwangsoo scenes this season?? 😃

• Not that long after, they played a game. Three of the cast members were chosen prior to the meet to draw a picture summarizing an episode. The rest had to guess where it was from. 

Kwangsoo was the first to go, and his clue - drawn nicely - pointed to S1EP5, The Last Vampire. Jaesuk was the first one to solve it, mentioning that it was the episode Park Hae-jin was in.

Seunggi was next, and it took the cast a while to figure out which episode it is. Can’t remember who solved it or if Seunggi just gave them the answer, but it was depicting one of the final scenes in S2EP10, The Flower of Death. It was that part where they were in Flower Killer’s hideout, when he finally told them who he really was while standing over Minjae. 

Kwangsoo afterwards said he was surprised by how terrible(?) Seunggi’s drawing skills were. Seunggi just laughed. 

Sejeong was next. She drew the detective team (beautifully, btw), and underneath the picture were the words versus + seven silhouettes with question marks on their faces. 

Kwangsoo praised Sejeong for her great drawing skills, and the cast agreed. 

The cast eventually figured out which episode, but they were hesitant to really speak of it.

It was then revealed that it’s an episode/case where the detective team faces off with a copycat team. We will see this and find out who the copycat seven are in S3. 

• Afterwards, they did this thing where a roulette chooses one of the members, the MC reads the messages written to them by fellow cast members, and they guess who they think it’s from. 

I’ll probably make another post later for this if you guys want since I can’t remember everything that was said, but basically...

> Jaesuk received messages from Sehun and Seunggi. Can’t remember what Seunggi said, but Sehun pretty much just thanked Jaesuk for teaching him 10% of what he needed to know about variety (he said the other 90% he learned himself lol) 

> Seunggi received messages from Sehun and Minyoung.

> Kwangsoo received messages from Jaesuk and Sejeong. Jaesuk said in his message that he highly valued him and Jongmin - and he asked them to stay with him forever (😭)

Meanwhile, Sejeong said that she’s thankful and sorry to Kwangsoo. When asked what she was sorry about, she said it was because she knew there were moments when it needed to be funny, and Kwangsoo would make a fool of himself to make that happen. 

(Side note: she interacted a lot with Kwangsoo this fan meet, too, so I have hope that I will also get the Kwangsoo and Sejeong brOTP scenes I’ve been asking for 🙌🏼)

> Minyoung received messages from Jaesuk and Jongmin.

> Jongmin received messages from Kwangsoo and Sejeong (my other brOT3 😭❤️)

> Sehun received messages from Jongmin and Minyoung. Jongmin said in his message that he was sorry to Sehun because he didn’t (couldn’t?) take care of him better. 

> Sejeong received messages from Jaesuk and Minyoung. Minyoung asked somewhere in her message for them to have a drink together some time, while Jaesuk asked Sejeong if she could help Kwangsoo land a role in her current drama 😂

Kwangsoo then revealed that Jaesuk always does that: whenever he meets with his friends and other celebrities, he always asks them to cast Kwangsoo in their drama or movie. The cast laughed. 

Seunggi then mentioned afterwards that he’s currently working on a new drama or movie (not sure which one), and he offered Kwangsoo the role of a mouse lol

• That was then followed by the Thank You messages from the fans. Some of you may be aware of this, but about a week and a half ago, on IG, the Busted Netflix official account asked fans to submit a 10 second video of themselves saying “Thank you, Team Busted!” in their native language. 

It was so cute, you guys! It just showed how much the cast and crew were loved by many all over the world. 

Although: there was one fan from Sweden or Norway who had a whole PROJECT D MARK HANGING ON HIS WALL. THE SAME ONE HANGING OUTSIDE THE MAZE IN C’S LAIR IN THE SERIES PREMIERE.

Where did he get that?? I want one, I’m so jealous!! ☹️

•  The fan meeting closed with messages from the cast. Most of them seemed so tired at this point, but Jaesuk proved to be the best leader the cast/team could ask for even in the end. 

I mentioned this on the first update, but he said he felt sad that the series was coming to an end especially since the cast had such great chemistry. It was heartwarming to hear because it personally gave me a sense of closure. 

To hear a cast member address the feelings a number of us feel is comforting, you know?

• The fan meet ended with bouquets of flowers (non-threatening kind 😏😉) and gift bags for the cast! They were all so pleasantly surprised, and it was so cute. 

Netflix seemed to be aware that the awards season just finished in SK, so they gave each of the members their own trophies bearing personalized awards! It was a weighty trophy, too; the cast commented on it.

I don’t know what the other members received, but Sejeong, I think, got the Bright Future Award. 

Myuk PD later posted on his IG pictures of this big gift bag that Netflix apparently gave him and the other PDs. One of the gifts they received contained a pair of wine glasses with an electric bottle opener in the middle. It was so classy and nice.

Bro - no one can say that Netflix didn’t love the detective team and the creators of the show. They threw all kind of love and attention on them, and they didn’t skimp on the gifts and ads either. 

There are other points from that earlier interview I was talking about, but I’ll put that on a separate post if you’re interested :) 

Detective Fam! There’s literally only two days before the final season drops! For those of you who live on the Eastern hemisphere, it’s just one day and some change! 

Season 3!! Are you guys excited??!

[tog-resources-archive]

Hello fellow fan who has been here since the beginning! I come from the “other side” I suppose, in that I do think the top/bottom discourse is worth talking about. It has to do with the elephant in the room which I haven’t seen anyone touch on – self-identified top!joe fans (in contrast to simply fans who enjoy or prefer content where joe tops). I remember the original top/bottom discourse coming out of a more general conversation about trends in fic (1)

Thank you fan!anon for sending me such a long, detailed message! Never apologize for writing me an essay since I always seem to be writing essays for other people in return lol. Also sorry it took a while to get to! This required a bit of preparation. You’ve given me a lot to respond to. I’m going to be putting the entirety of the ask under the cut and the tl;dr because this one is very, verrrryyyy long. 

Tl;dr- fan!anon talks about the history of top/bottom discourse in TOG and the issues of racism in our fandom. My response: my own feelings on the history of the top/bottom discourse in TOG and the current state of it. General issues I’ve observed in this fandom and the current discourse. Also, we shouldn’t ignore fandom racism, but I don’t think we should be looking at it through the lens of top/bottom, AND I think we should be focusing on misogyny, homophobia, etc. in addition to racism. Not ignore one for the other. 

Bottom line though, don’t harrass people, block people if you need to, focus on what you love, support fan creation and let’s try to be a better fandom. 

Okay, time to dig in!

Hello fellow fan who has been here since the beginning! I come from the “other side” I suppose, in that I do think the top/bottom discourse is worth talking about. It has to do with the elephant in the room which I haven’t seen anyone touch on – self-identified top!joe fans (in contrast to simply fans who enjoy or prefer content where joe tops). I remember the original top/bottom discourse coming out of a more general conversation about trends in fic (1) wherein Joe was more violent, less empathetic, often not religious, more aggressive in sexual scenarios, and also most often topping. People asked the fandom in general to simply consider, if that is how they perceive Joe, to reflect for themselves about implicit biases that could be colouring that interpretation. The self-identified top!joes used that conversation as a starting point to argue that the above interpretation of Joe, (2) and writing/drawing Nicky as smaller, almost twink-like, demure, more feminine (or writing fic where he was de-aged) was justified by canon (if you recall the multi-day argument about the approximately 1 inch height difference between Marwan and Luca) and connecting those ideas to top!joe just “making more sense” to them. In the hands of a good writer (of which we are blessed to have many in this fandom!), which character tops in an explicit fic is of no consequence to me. (3) But the concept of top!joe has, in my mind, become so closely tied with those fans who, a) interpret these characters and actions in a way that seems influenced by racial stereotypes and tropes and b) use that characterization as “justification” for top!joe. All this when I thought we all agreed that position preference has nothing to do with personality? (4) If someone sees Joe as a very masculine, aggressive, dom-type character (which is a bit of a one-note characterization to start, but I digress), that shouldn’t be related to him being a “top”, correct? Yet that is the interpretation and connection that the top!joes themselves make. So that’s why to me, the top/bottom framework continues to have some value, eve though in an ideal world it wouldn’t: (5) because some fans connect what should be a neutral sexual position preference to an interpretation of Joe’s character, an interpretation which I think doesn’t do him justice. I understand if you don’t want to publish this but I’m hesitant to talk off anon due to how heated this whole conversation is. I also don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or make them feel bad about how they are participating in the fandom, but I do think self-reflection in terms of how we engage is valuable. (6) And just to fully reiterate in case it wasn’t clear, my above points are specifically referring to who I think of as “top!joe only” fans as opposed to fans who enjoy or prefer content in which joe tops – only the former of which I am wary of. Anyways, sorry for this long message, and I hope I've been able to explain my reasoning. If we continue to disagree, thanks for reading this anyways and continuing the dialogue. Thank you also for promoting femslash events and content! (7)

So....I did say in a previous post that I’m not a big fan of hearsay, and I’m sorry but… that’s kind of what you’ve given me. A lot of “this is what Top!Joe Only people have said” and “this is what the rest of the fandom has said back.” I have to ask, who are these “Top!Joe Only” people that are on the other side of this fandom war? Who are the people representing the “rest of the fandom”?  The only names I could really come up with myself are the Top!Joe Server mods as top!Joe only fans, and they haven’t exactly been active recently. Not to mention the Top!Joe server mod @karanoidandroid was the focus of the Art Theft and Bullying debacle a while back (here) which even if you disagree with her… that’s not the way you treat people. Full stop. 

But anyway, to break this down, you’ve said that top!joe only fans wanted to interpret Joe in a way that was “more violent, less empathetic, less religious, more sexually aggressive, and topping (most of the time)” and that Nicky is “smaller, more twink-like, more demure and feminine” and that the hardcore top!joe stans are using this interpretation as a reasoning for liking top!joe explicit fics (and for underage fic?)

Er, honestly, I’ll have to disregard the “less religious” comment in this one. Lucyclairedelune has talked about it very eloquently here. As for the rest, let’s say these opinions were expressed on tumblr in July, just when the fandom was getting started. However, after personally going through all the Explicit July fics, I gotta say, the overwhelming majority of writers are focused on romantic Malta sex vacations lol. 

From my personal observations (I started reading fic on ao3 in August), I’ve seen some stories that cater to very… specific tastes (mostly kinkmeme fics so I’m not going to touch that) and some that have…. been written in poor taste perhaps. But, honestly, the majority of fics (aka G, T, M rated) that I’ve seen? I would say that they were written with care and concern for the character’s portrayal. 

Now, some fans (usually older fans) are very focused on “your kink is not my kink” and other fans feel this is an inappropriate way to view “racist, homophobic, islamophobic, etc” fics. And I agree with that. If people are using kink to excuse racism, homophobia, islamophobia, transphobia, antisemitism, misogyny, etc, in fics: Fuck that. But I think there’s a lot of misunderstanding flying around when people react to ‘ykinmk”. This fandom likes to assume the worst of their fellow fans imo, and I honestly don’t think that when a person defends kink that they’re trying to defend racism. They’re trying to defend their kink community which, historically, has been attacked and misunderstood by the purity police. Look into the Livejournal, ffnet, and even the Tumblr purges if you don’t believe me. 

For the record, I don’t know anyone on tumblr personally. We’re all effectively strangers talking to each other on the internet, so I’m not going to make assumptions about people from stories they’ve posted on AO3 or the kinkmeme. If you want to talk about the issues those fics represent, that’s cool, but don’t harass people whose life stories you don’t know (and don’t vagueblog about them). (This is just a general statement, not saying this about you anon! I feel really strongly about this.)

Now you say, “some fans connect what should be a neutral sexual position preference to an interpretation of Joe’s character” and I hate to say it, but there are ALWAYS going to be some people who have awful opinions. Ones that are either truly terrible, or kind of in poor taste, or maybe you just don’t vibe with them. Personally, I don’t have enough time in the day to address every weird thing that a person spews on the internet. I won’t judge if you want to take them on, but, personally, I haven’t seen any recent militant top!joe only posts that are calling for racist portrayals. I see people referring to past conversations, for sure, but again, I can’t do anything with hearsay. 

And honestly, we keep bringing up the top/bottom discourse of early TOG fandom, and we’re just not the same fandom we were then. SO MANY people have left the fandom in that time-- a lot of big name (or simply well known) fans and a lot of MENA fans. Regardless of what “side” you’re on in this, we all lose by focusing on the positions, by dividing everyone by “top” or “bottom” or “switch” fans, and by bringing up what people said in July, or August, or September.  It’s exhausting, especially because I think a lot of people have done exactly what you said. Many authors HAVE self-reflected, they’ve thought about trends, the implications, and are contributing/interacting with the fandom as best as they can. Do I think we should stop focusing on self-reflection? That we should stop being careful about writing potentially damaging portrayals of our favorite characters? NO. Let’s keep at it! Let’s encourage others to do the same… but not with top/bottom discourse.

Let it be known that I don’t think racism is a topic we should disregard to focus on other things. Honestly, I would be happy if people gave some of the energy they have for “top/bottom” discourse to talk about the portrayal of Nile Freeman or Lykon or Copley or Quynh… the other POC representation in TOG that usually gets ignored. You may interpret this as me going “but what about??” and that’s fair. I just think that we talk about Joe ALL THE TIME in this fandom. There is an avalanche of conversation and content for this man (who I love, don’t get me wrong) and it just feels really disingenuous (to me) to talk ad nauseum about racist portrayals of Joe, but then to ignore Nile Freeman and wlw fics when Nile is the rare Black Female Action Protagonist and Andy/Quynh is an extremely rare interracial canon lesbian couple. And I’ve been trying to use my blog here to bring attention to this, think of me what you will because of that. (Again just a general statement anon! Not directed to you XD)

And from what I’ve seen in this fandom (and many others to be fair) is that we care about racism SO MUCH…but only when talking about how a man has sex.  It speaks of a lack of intersectional understanding of these topics, disregarding the misogyny that IS ALSO inherent in fandom, and disregarding the homophobia of overfocusing on the top/bottom dynamics. BUT I’m not asking you to ignore racism; all I’m asking is for you to focus on the other issues too. 

Bottom line though… the discourse is not what it once was.  A lot of people, on whatever side, have left the fandom, or have taken a break, or are vocally tired of “top/bottom” discourse. Personally, I think we should talk about racism… but not through the lens of explicit mlm fic sex positions. Let’s talk more about race, gender, sex and sexual orientation, but not in a way that divides the fandom, in a way that makes people sick of being here, in a way that kills our content creator’s passion. Honestly, I think it can be done! But only if we work toward that goal together. 

I would like to focus on encouraging events in our community, such as the ongoing Old Guard Big Bang 2021 event and the upcoming Femslash Fortnight Spring Solstice Edition event. If anyone is organizing other events, let me know and I’ll hype you up! But as for the rest, I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all tired. Let’s try and work harder to be a kinder, more inclusive fandom in the future, for everyone’s sake. 

[blue-lions-baby]

Operation Confession (Dimitri x F!Reader) [Ch. 3] [FINALE]

hi!! well, this is it. the final chapter of operation confession. to be very honest, with everything going on it was quite difficult to write this, but i hope the quality is still relatively the same as my previous chapters! i had so much fun writing this series, and i hope reading it was just as entertaining! thank you so much for sticking with it-- it means the absolute world to me :)

this will prob be my last post for a bit before i head off to college; please rest assured i do not plan to leave this blog or this wonderful community anytime soon! thank you for being patient with me as i adjust to this very new chapter of my life!!

without further ado, please enjoy ch. 3!

~*~

“Hey, false alarm!” Sylvain traipsed back in, hands behind his head. “(F/N) and Felix are actually gonna freshen up a bit before heading to dinner.”

Groans and angry huffs spilled out of the frazzled Lions; the menacing stares that the redhead bore made him squeak, and he cleared his throat.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry! They ran into us while His Highness was changing--”

“While he was changing?” Dedue and Ingrid looked like they were about to have a stroke.

“I-It’s a long and,” Sylvain looked at The Hand, “painful story, but what’s important is that they didn’t see him! All thanks to Yours Truly.”

“You were a blubbering idiot. The only reason why (F/N) didn’t bother questioning you further was because she was too tired to care.” Felix joined in, the permanent scowl on his features deepening.

“Felix!” Sylvain’s countenance lit up joyfully before hazing into confusion. “Wait, I thought you were gonna freshen up before heading to dinner.”

“I don’t need to. Hardly broke a sweat during training.”

“W-What?! How?!”

“I guess you wouldn’t understand, seeing as how your only form of exercise is chasing after anything that wears a skirt.”

Sylvain’s eyes took on a glossy, hollow quality as the Lions hollered in laughter.

“Uh... So Sylvain, where’s His Highness?” Asked Annette, having expected him to walk in.

“Oh, he ran back to his quarters to put his clothes away. He should be coming back any minute now.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After neatly hanging his uniform in his closet and giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror, he gave himself one last pep talk before swinging the door open and--

Seeing the side of your head as you idly engaged in conversation with a fellow student.

Oh Sothis, help him.

As quickly (and loudly) as he opened the door, he closed it and promptly went back inside to scream into his pillow. Where in the world did you even come from? Weren’t you supposed to be ‘freshening up?’ Your quarters weren’t even down this hallway; what in the Goddess’s name were you even doing here?

He pressed his ear further into the door, straining to pick up bits and pieces of your conversation in hopes to inform himself on your sudden visitation. Nothing. All he could hear was muffled banter bouncing between either of you-- muffled banter that didn’t sound like it was going to end any time soon. He screamed curses in his head and awkwardly slid down onto the floor, lightly banging his cranium against the solid wooden door.

He desperately wished for someone, anyone to save him.

He sighed while rubbing his temples-- a desperate attempt to quell the arising headache. Dimitri combed through his options, each less viable than the last. After eliminating any and all half-baked ideas of escape, he was face-to-face with the one option he didn’t want to consider.

Sit here and wait until you left.

So Dimitri sat (more like paced) in his room, occasionally pressing his ear against the door in hopes that he didn’t hear your lighthearted banter outside. Why was it the one time he didn’t want to run into you, there you were! Right outside his door. You might as well have come with a giant bow on your head!

The floor beneath him rumbled slightly, pulling him from his thoughts; the even pacing grew stronger and stronger until it stopped just a little ways past his door.

“(F/N).”

Wait... That’s... It’s unmistakable! That has to be--!

“Dedue! Hello!”

“I apologize for the interruption, but I have come to remind you that it is your turn to tend to the greenhouse today.”

A short pause ensued, followed by an audible gasp.

“Wait, yes! You’re right! I’ve completely forgotten, thank you so much for reminding me!”

Dimitri heard muffled apologies and goodbyes sputter out of your lips, followed by light footsteps scurrying away. Your former companion proceeded to engage in very light talk with the Duscur man before quickly excusing themselves from the scene; Dedue, glancing down the hall to ensure that no one else was nearby, approached and gently rapped his lord’s door with calloused knuckles.

“Your Highness, you may come out now.”

The inner mechanisms of the door clicked softly, the hesitancy of the room’s occupant translating directly through the brass knob.

“Oh, thank the Goddess you came, Dedue. Frankly, I had given up any hope of escape.” Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck tiredly.

“I knew something was wrong when you did not return. I am glad that I came.” Dedue gave a curt bow.

“Thank you Dedue. Come. Let us head to the dining hall, shall we?”

“Of course, Your Highness. (F/N) should be preoccupied with her greenhouse duties for a time.”

“Yes... Actually, Dedue, how did you know it was (F/N)’s turn to tend to the greenhouse today?”

“Truthfully, Your Highness, I didn’t. It was pure luck she was scheduled today.”

“You mean--” Dimitri’s eyes widened.

“Yes. That was just a fluke. I have no knowledge of the schedule, other than the times either you or I are assigned.”

“Hah!” Dimitri’s hand landed on his retainer’s shoulder. “What luck! After hearing that, I can not help but feel a bit more confident about tonight.”

“And why is that, Your Highness?”

“If fate is as real as the ground beneath us, I would say that, perhaps, (F/N) and I are truly meant to be together.”

“That is quite a romantic notion, Your Highness.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dimitri sighed as they crossed the threshold to the outside. The sun was just starting its descent past the hills; the slowly extinguishing rays of light brushed the sky with vibrant hues of vermilion and marigold.

“Despite that, I can not help but feel... hopeful. And... happy.”

“I am glad that this whole experience has collectively been a pleasant one, Your Highness.” Dedue responded as they neared the dining hall. “You deserve to be happy.”

Dedue’s words echoed in Dimitri’s head, ringing alongside Sylvain’s previous sentiment. Guilt wrung his heart until the familiar pangs of remorse pounded in his chest.

“Do I... Do I really deserve such a thing?”

“Without a doubt, Your Highness.”

“Even after everything that I’ve done... Even after... everything... I still... deserve it?”

“Of course, Your Highness. You deserve to be happy, just like everybody else.”

As the duo ascended the stairs and approached the Lions that were all congregated together for Dimitri’s cause, the prince’s features relaxed and-- just for a moment-- the voices that incessantly plagued his thoughts ceased.

“Thank you, Dedue.”

“I am always happy to help, Your Highness.” Like his prince, Dedue’s rough exterior melted away to reveal a warm, genuine smile.

“Hey, there you are!” Sylvain bounded up to them, meeting them halfway across the platform. “We were gettin’ worried about you! What happened?”

After Dimitri and Dedue explained what transpired, Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh at the terrible wonderful luck that Dimitri possessed.

"Dedue really got you out of a tough spot, huh?”

“As he always does.” Dimitri cast a grateful look at his retainer.

“I was shocked when I learned that (F/N) was actually scheduled today.”

“What were you gonna do if she wasn’t?” Sylvain queried.

Dedue paused thoughtfully.

“Perhaps I could have asked her to help me weed the courtyard, or to tend the horses.”

“Fair enough.” Sylvain nodded. “Well, it’s getting late so people are starting to leave the dining hall. Hopefully by the time (F/N) is done tending the plants, you two will be all alone.”

Sylvain wriggled his eyebrows and peered cheekily at the reddening face of the prince.

“Please do not be so nervous, Your Highness. (F/N) will surely appreciate all the effort you had put in.”

“Yeah!” Sylvain propped an arm on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Remember what I told you, Your Highness? You’re the leader of the Blue Lions! Start actin’ like your namesake! You gotta be bold!”

“R-Right. Bold.” Truthfully, Dimitri looked anything but; however, this only prompted a deluge of much-needed encouragement and hype that the two happily supplied-- Sylvain taking a more... fiery approach to his psyching while Dedue slightly doused the ecstatic flames set by the redhead with more grounded assurances.

“Now remember, Your Highness. Look her in the eyes, smile, and tell her that she’s beautiful. Like this!” Sylvain turned to Dedue, who suddenly became an unwilling participant in the playboy’s example.

“Hey, babe. You look gorgeous tonight. I gotta admit, I’m no mathematician, but I can still see you’re a ten outta ten.”

“Please get away from me ... Thank you, Sylvain.”

Dimitri stared at the duo with a confused fixed smile plastered on his face. The gears in his head took their sweet, sweet time to churn and process the cursed pick-up line, but it eventually clicked.

“Hah! I get it now! That’s a great one, Sylvain. I’ll definitely remember that.”

A flush of pride stained Sylvain’s cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks! Oh, here’s another one. This one’s also super popular with the ladies.”

Sylvain cleared his throat and turned to Dedue, who was quietly trying to shuffle away.

“Hey, hun. Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

“If that is the case, perhaps it would be in your best interest to stop looking at me.” Dedue lightly glared. Dimitri’s eyes crinkled gleefully.

“Ah, these are all wonderful! I look forward to using them on (F/N).”

“Great! But remember Your Highness-- too much of a good thing is a bad thing. You can’t just spout a couple lines like that and expect her to fall for you instantly. You gotta do it tastefully.”

“Tastefully... Got it.”

Dimitri nodded his head, soaking and digesting this newfound knowledge. His eyes suddenly shot up, excitement bubbling out of its watery depths.

“Oh! It appears that I have come up with something!”

“Go for it, Your Highness!”

“I’ve got no taste, but I’d still like a bite of you.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

“Sylvain?”

. . .

. . .

“Dedue?”

. . .

“... Perhaps the map one wasn’t so terrible after all.”

“You said it, Dedue.”

“Wha--! Surely it wasn’t that atrocious, was it?”

“I believe it would serve His Highness well if you taught him more pick-up lines, Sylvain.”

“Sure. Whatever it takes to keep him from saying stuff like that.”

“H-Hey!!!”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After sprinkling the few remaining drops of water onto a patch of slightly wilting plants, you dropped the empty watering can with a clatter and threw your arms high above your head, stretching all the bundles and ties that knotted in your shoulders. Your stomach gurgled and a pulse of hunger radiated throughout your core. Perhaps it wasn’t the brightest idea to completely skip your meals.

You placed the watering can in the shed and, making sure everything was as orderly as it could be, stalked out of the greenhouse while still massaging the few stubborn knots that remained tied in your muscles. The sun had long disappeared below the horizon; whatever light remained served only as a prelude to the beginnings of a starry night.

A nippy breeze nibbled your exposed skin, contrasting the slightly humid atmosphere that you’ve grown accustomed to in the greenhouse. Teeth chattering and tummy churning, you hastened your feet to move faster to the brightly lit dining hall.

As you approached the door, you were pleasantly surprised to see that the hall was practically empty, save for some guards and faculty sneaking in a nightly snack-- but even they didn’t linger for long. As you were racking your brain for ideas on what to eat, you walked into the warm building; the ambrosial aroma of succulent, roasted duck caught your attention immediately.

To say that you didn’t shed a small tear from the experience would be a lie.

You scouted and scoured the kitchen for the fowl of your dreams, but it eluded you. Where in the world could this duck--

“A-Ahem.”

You had come dangerously close to collapsing from shock.

Your body jumped and slowly turned around to face the owner of the voice.

“Good evening, (F/N). You look as radiant as ever.”

A young man wearing a white suit decorated with small pins and medals stood before you. Gloved, quivering fingers delicately brushed the lone strands of hair that slipped onto his forehead to the side.

“D-Dimitri...? Is that you?”

“Ah y-yes, it is I. Please forgive me if I had surprised you.”

“N-Not at all!” You replied, your cognitive processes hiccuping at the sight of this magnificent angel. The light from the torch gently surrounded the prince with an almost ethereal quality, rendering him simply divine. The corner of his lips turned up slightly, pulling his handsome features into a half-smirk.

“Please, allow me to escort you to our table.”

“O-Okay...”

He took a step towards you and his eyes flickered down; you followed his gaze and saw his slightly shaking hand slowly reaching for yours.

“May I...?”

Whether it was a simple case of the jitters or the excitement bubbling from within, it didn’t matter much as you enthusiastically clasped your hand in his. Dimitri froze in place, every muscle in his being stiffening at that small point of contact. However, he managed to get his racing pulse (somewhat) under control-- just enough to pull you into a stiff walk at least.

“Please follow me, (F/N).”

The pounding in Dimitri’s heart found its way into his ears, drumming and thundering an aggressive beat. He never knew that fear and glee could intertwine so readily with one another-- until he felt your hand gently press into his palm. Worries and questions and warmth spurred his thoughts into a hazy flurry of emotion. Was he squeezing too hard? Was he holding your hand correctly? Were you at all uncomfortable? Oh Goddess, you look so beautiful when you smile like that--

“Ah! Dimitri, what is all this?”

“W-Well,” Dimitri swallowed what felt like a boulder, “it is our dinner.”

“Our... Dinner...?”

“Yes. Um...” His locked fingers reluctantly separated from yours. “We have prepared a roasted duck, a fine, savory pastry called ‘garlic bread,’ a simple salad, and baked sweets made by Mercedes. I pray this is enough to whet your appetite.”

“You whet my appetite Everything looks so good...” You swallowed thickly, eyes resting heavily on the succulent fowl. “Heh, well... I actually didn’t eat at all today, so--”

“I beg your pardon?!” You blinked and immediately found yourself sitting in front of the palatable entrees. Dimitri’s countenance-- full of concern and tinged with anger-- stared at you from across the sea of food.

“You mustn’t skip meals. That is terribly unhealthy for you.”

“You’re one to talk, Dimitri!” You laughed. “You skip meals all the time!”

Dimitri’s visage fell and his entire face took on all shades of red.

“I... admit, I am not one to berate you on this matter, but regardless, I ask that you still heed my warnings... You should never skip meals.”

Giggling to yourself, you rested your chin on folded hands and your head tilted slightly. That, combined with your killer smile and rosy cheeks, introduced Dimitri’s palpitating heart to a livelier pace.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do my best not to skip meals.”

“Urgh-- Yes! Please... don’t.”

Your lips curved into a smile and your eyes lustily darted to the food in front of you.

“Well, let’s dig in, shall we?”

You, of course, immediately reached for the duck-- as did Dimitri.

Your hands collided en route to the silver cutlery by the fowl, and a fountain of apologies spewed out of either of you. Dimitri, somehow managing to awkwardly bounce back from the innocent error, cleared his throat and took this opportunity to impress you with his... gentlemanly charms.

“Please excuse me, (F/N). Allow me to cut a slice for you.”

“Oh! Well, um... sure?”

Dimitri’s fingers rounded the shiny handles of the knife and fork before cutting into the tender meat. Delectable smells spilled forth from the bird, eliciting a growl from your stomach-- a... very, very loud growl. A growl that was loud enough for Dimitri to stop and look up.

“Uh... I’d like to apologize...” You mumbled ashamedly, your cheeks growing hot to the touch.

Dimitri chuckled, slipping a thick slice of duck onto your plate along with a small bushel of salad, a few pieces of garlic bread, and some sweets.

“Do not worry, my Beloved. I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

You smiled, graciously accepting your plate filled to the brim with food. You cut the slice of meat into more manageab--

Wait...

‘Beloved?’

It seemed that Dimitri realized his mistake around the same time you did.

“Dimitri--”

“Er, (F/N)! Aside from this morning, how was your day?”

“Huh? I-I mean it was fine, but Dimitri--”

“Ah, splendid! I am glad your day had gotten better. I was really worried when you suddenly left class like that.”

“Dimitri,” you cut in, “did you just call me... your... ‘Beloved?’“

Dimitri simply sat there as his brain was fried and shriveled into a crisp.

“W-Well, uh, I-- You see-- I deeply apologize for-- That was, very inappropriate of me--”

“Oh! No, no, it’s okay... Um, I was just a bit surprised is all.” You brought your cup to your lips in a pathetic attempt to cover the bashful grin that threatened to escape.

“Ah... Of course...” Dimitri stabbed a small tomato with the prongs of his fork and shoveled it into his mouth, his cheeks seeming to absorb the color of the little red berry.

You cleared your throat and thumbed the surface of a macaron with light fingers, a heavy silence blanketing the table. The quietly screaming royal took a bite of some garlic bread, his brain hardly processing the soft, fluffy texture of the dish.

Dimitri’s eyes widened inconspicuously, his mind flashing to the one thing that could save this dumpster fire of a date from certain demise--

His pick-up lines.

He could only pray that you were a fan of such things.

He cleared his throat and borderline slammed his fists onto the table, rocking a handful of mini cupcakes from their tiered seats. You quite literally jumped in your seat and got caught in the fierce stare of your house leader.

He can do this.

Come on, Dimitri! Remember your training with Sylvain!

He can do this.

Be a lion! Be bold!

He can do this!

“A-Are you ten? Because y-you look lost and I’d like to bite you.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

If-- in that moment-- Dimitri were to suddenly be thrown onto the path of a charging chariot, he would make no effort to move.

Simultaneously, you were well on your way to combusting into open flames-- if your swiftly coloring cheeks were any indication of that.

Neither of you spoke for a long time, gawking at the other in a silent, unconscious contest to see who could reach strawberry red first.

And Dimitri was the unwilling winner.

“I--”

“You--”

“I am so--”

“What did you--?”

“I am so, so sorry--”

“You want to bite me--?”

“Oh Goddess, I am so sorry (F/N)-- I can explain--”

“U-Um, perhaps it would be best for me to go...”

“Wait!” Dimitri shot out of his seat with a clatter. “I-- um--”

“Goodnight, Dimitri.”

You made a mad dash for the door, leaving the flustering royal a metaphoric fish out of water.

“(F/N)!”

He tailed after you, the delicious food that he and all the other Lions labored to prepare becoming a distant memory.

The sun and any trace of it had all but vanished from sight, replaced by its nightly counterpart. You were speed walking to the stairs when your wrist was snagged by a firm grip.

"(F/N)...!”

“Dimitri, listen, I really appreciate the food and everything, but I really should get going now--”

“Wait, please! I...” He gulped, finally throwing caution to the wind. “I love you.”

Your heart had stopped beating altogether and your lungs ceased operations. Your clenched jaw prohibited you from speaking, and you simply stared at him as those three simple words resonated in your mind.

“Er, that is to say...” He sighed, resignation taking hold of his features. “Can we... talk about this please?”

He loosely pointed to a nearby bench shaded under a tall tree. His hard grip softened, moving to interlace his fingers with yours as he led the two of you to the secluded spot. He sat with a deep exhale and pulled you beside him.

“(F/N).” He gazed at you steadily, his fingers rubbing shallow circles into your hands. “It is no exaggeration on my end to say that you mean everything to me. I-- along with the other Lions-- labored to make tonight the best it could be. Though truthfully, I never imagined my confession would turn out like this. But alas...”

Dimitri chuckled tiredly then sighed.

“I’m afraid I can’t hide my feelings for you a moment longer. I love you, (F/N). With all of my being. You motivate me to work harder, train harder-- to be a better man. You are so kind, and smart, and... absolutely mesmerizing. I can not keep my eyes off you, really.”

He laughed at your sheepish response then continued.

“You mean the world to me. So... I humbly ask that you... Um...” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Be mine.”

A gentle breeze swept through, carrying his small plea along with it. He stared at you, intensely and unblinkingly, with bated breath.

“Although,” he added, pain thinly veiled in his eyes, “if you do not feel the same way, I understand. I promise I will not hold anything against you. If it’s not too much trouble, I... I hope we can still be friends after all this--”

You dove straight into Dimitri’s arms, effectively knocking his words and the air right out of him. You felt his muscles tighten and the thumping in his chest blared loudly in your ears. You nuzzled your face into him and looked up, smiling.

“I love you too, Dima!”

D-Dima...?!

Poor Dimitri looked like he was about to choke. The little streams of moonlight that slipped through the holes in the trees reflected off of the prince’s reddening face; for a long time, all he could do was stare at you-- cheeks darkening and eyes widening.

Finally, the Goddess re-granted him the ability to speak.

“R-Really...?”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” Your arms moved from his torso to snake around his neck, pulling him a bit more to your level. “I love you, Dimitri. I’ve loved you for so long...”

You drew him into a hug again, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The crisp, sharp scent of his cologne flooded your senses, sending pleasant tingles and goosebumps throughout your body. You felt the prince’s arms wound around your frame, pulling you closer to his racing heart.

“If this is a dream, I wish to never wake.” He muttered into your hair, thankful that he could appreciate the light apple notes that came from it to the fullest.

“This isn’t a dream, Dimitri.” You whispered against his skin, causing a sweet shiver to run down his spine. “I love you, Dimitri. I love you so, so much...”

“My (F/N)... My Beloved...” He pulled away from you slightly, cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing it gently. He could hardly contain all the love and pure adoration he held towards you; the way that you and only you reflected in his beautiful eyes showed that. With a gentle smile he pressed his forehead against yours, relishing the moment.

“May I... May I have the honor of kissing you, my love?”

His hot breath tickled your sensitive skin and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sensation, in addition to his endearingly adorable politeness.

“Yes, you may.”

Dimitri’s eyes flickered to your slightly parted, wet lips and leaned closer, his eyes fluttering shut. You followed suit, guided only by the synchronous beating of your hearts. A warmth like no other blossomed upon your lips, melting any and all tension into nothingness. Your lips engaged in a clumsy yet heartfelt dance, eliciting an airy chortle out of you.

Dimitri’s chest rumbled with a chuckle of his own and he parted to catch his breath. Not a moment later, his lips found yours again and again, more ravenous than the last. Each kiss left your head spinning faster and your heart wanting more, more, more. His teeth nibbled your bottom lip, drawing out a gasp from you; his fingers found residence in your hair as he slipped his hot tongue into your mouth. He explored your wet cavern excitedly, every one of his senses wracked with newfound pleasure. Your moans and sharp breaths intertwined heatedly, sending your thoughts into a frenzy and numbing oblivion all at once.

The chatter of guards and metal boots clanking against cobble spurred warning bells in your head, and a painful reminder of how exposed you were for any curious passerby. Dimitri reluctantly leaned away, still pressing his lips to yours until the last possible moment.

“Ahem... M-My apologies... I got a little too excited just now...” Dimitri panted, a dazed yet elated expression on his face. You, panting as hard as he, shook your head in response and pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead, down to his nose, his cheek, and finally stopping at his flushed, pink lips.

“Not a problem, Dimitri. I know you mentioned you wanted to bite me.” You gazed at him teasingly.

“T-That’s...” Dimitri sighed, burying his face in your neck to hide his blush (though how hot his skin felt against yours was all the confirmation you needed). “Please don’t tell anyone what I said...”

You snickered and patted his head, smiling when you felt him relax into your touch.

“Okaaay, I promise.”

“Good. Thank you, (F/N).”

He pulled away from your neck and adjusted himself into a more comfortable seating position. He securely placed his arm around your shoulder and you both sat in comfortable silence for a long time.

“It’s getting quite late, no?” Dimitri mumbled out of the blue. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”

“Actually, Dima... Do you think we can go back and finish dinner? I’m still really hungry...”

“O-Oh! I have completely forgotten about that! Yes, of course we can. Although... Regrettably, our food would have gotten cold by now.”

“That’s okay. Being with you warms my heart anyways.”

“Ah-- Um--” Dimitri coughed, looking away. “I confess that your teasing will take some getting used to... But it is a pleasant thing nonetheless.”

You giggled as he stood up and helped you to your feet.

”Hey, Dimitri?”

“Yes, my Beloved?”

“I love you.”

Dimitri planted a soft kiss on your forehead and stared fondly into your eyes.

”I love you too, (F/N).”

bonus: despite swearing to himself that he would *never* use pick-up lines ever again (its powers being too great for any mortal to fully wield), dimitri would still indulge a line or two for you if you asked him hard enough (and swore on your life you would never divulge what he shared with you to anyone else). and yes, when you two eventually got more comfortable with each other, he did get a bite of you from time-to-time but that’s a story for another day.

[teaplease1717]

I'm Here: You’re Not Alone

Ship: Todoroki Shouto x Yaoyorozu Momo

Rating: T

Chapters: 1/1 (Complete)

Ao3: Click Here

I want to give a shout out to everyone who participated or helped out in the @todomomo-mini-bang-2020! This event has blown me away! And thank you to my fellow mods for all your hard work!

Before beginning, I must also thank my betas: FlourChildWrites and Emberstork for your help making this readable. And Taq for giving me some ideas on the ending.

Also big thank you to Marls_Bars21, who has drawn the beautiful piece found in this story. <3

A couple of last notes, there are slight spoilers for the current arc, but they are very light. Also, for this fic, the boys and girls' sides of the U.A. dorm are not separated with a barrier. I imagine it more like a hotel; you go left for the girl’s side and right for the boys.

XXXXXX

The pure black of the night bathed the U.A. campus in velvety darkness.

Inside the dorm, there was a feeling of tension that hung in the air, like static electricity building.

Momo rolled onto her back. Draping her arm over her forehead, she stared up at the silken canopy of her bed and briefly wondered if she'd ever get to see it again. She felt restless.

The truth was no one knew what to expect tomorrow. The heroes had no real insight into how many villains there would be or what their quirks were.

She felt a faint sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t as if she was afraid per se. Perhaps anxious or uneasy were the correct terms. They were only sixteen, yet were being sent off to fight — what was technically a war — against the League of Villains and Meta Liberation Front.

She wished her mother was there to hold her.

Turning over, Momo clicked the power button on her phone. 12:30. Too late to call home. She placed the phone back down and turned back over. She stretched her legs.

She really needed to try and sleep. Her alarm was set for 5:30, less than five hours away. Momo drew in a deep breath to clear her mind, but couldn't fall asleep.

All the top heroes of Japan would be present at tomorrow’s operation.

They’d been divided into four teams, two offensive forces and two support guards. Endeavor, the current number one hero, would be leading the main battalion, which would be over 80 kilometers away from where she would be stationed in the woods.

The likelihood that she would be fighting any of the more powerful villains was slim.

But not nonexistent.

Momo’s mind returned to the current number one hero, and her throat tightened. He had almost lost an eye fighting against the League earlier in the year.

What if an enemy with a power type quirk attacked her tomorrow? She’d be at a distinct disadvantage. Would she even be able to win?

Momo was fairly confident in her deductive and strategic prowess, but in the heat of battle, especially fighting Nomus, there was always a chance of failure.

Her fingers clenched the silken sheets. They had fought the League of Villains before — at last summer's training camp — and, if not for Awase, she would have been cleaved in half by one of the engineered Nomus. A shiver ran down her spine at the memory, and she turned back onto her side, curling into a ball.

What if she got a massive scar across her face like Endeavor?

What if she lost an eye?

No one would ever want to kiss her if she didn’t have both of her eyes. The thought hit her like a bucket of cold water, and Momo instantly felt guilt twist in her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Disgraceful, she berated herself.

Even if she were to get hurt and lose an eye or a limb, there was a lot more to the world than looks. Besides, getting injured was part of being a hero, too. She should be proud she was participating.

Still, Momo's chest clenched painfully. Anxious butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the thought of never receiving a first kiss.

She drew in a long breath as she turned back over. Her thoughts were jumbled. Momo could almost hear Jirou poking fun at her for jumping to the worst possible conclusions, but she couldn’t help overthinking things. It was hard to turn off her mind when her thoughts started spiraling. She needed to talk to someone or at least not be alone.

Momo debated getting up. Perhaps, Jirou would allow her to sleep in her room. The Earphone Jack Hero might still be awake; she could talk her down from the metaphorical edge. And it wasn’t like her spending the night in Jirou’s room was unprecedented. Momo seemed to always end up there when she had a lot on her mind.

She sighed as she gave up on sleep and got up. Slipping on her house slippers, Momo assessed herself quickly in the mirror hanging on the back of her door, ensuring her white chiffon nightgown was appropriate before heading down to the third floor.

The elevator dinged quietly as the metal doors slid open. Momo tiptoed out and made her way down the dimly lit hallway.

As she rounded the corner to the girl’s side of the dorm, a faint glow from underneath Jirou’s door caught her attention. Momo’s eyes widened, and she inhaled deeply, the tightness in her chest loosening.

She hurried closer, a smile pulling at her lips as she stopped in front of Jirou’s room and raised her hand to knock when soft laughter wafted from behind the closed door. Momo froze; her eyes widened.

Jirou and...Kaminari?

She felt something sink in her stomach, and she pressed her lips together. What was he doing there? It was late; he should be in his own room.

The conversation was muffled by the door, but it was definitely his voice from inside, she was sure of it.

Momo swallowed over the unbidden feeling of jealousy that rose up in her throat. She let her hand drop back down to her side and took a step back.

She shouldn’t interrupt.

It wasn't like people were required to have only one friend. Jirou had no responsibility to her. She was allowed to have friends outside of Momo.

Besides, Jirou and Kaminari had been growing closer recently. Momo would just be intruding if she were to ask to join them.

Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down the long hallway. The only other girl on the third floor was Hagakure.

Would she still be up?

Momo shook her head. She shouldn't be waking her classmates up just because she couldn’t rest and wanted to be with someone.

She sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night and headed back towards the elevator. She paused before the metal doors, her finger ghosting over the raised button for the first floor. Would anyone still be downstairs? Momo pressed her lips together and pulled her hand back.

No.

She really needed to go back to bed. Staying up would set a bad example for all the other students. Besides, she already knew no one would be down there.

Momo drew in a deep breath and pressed the top button.

As she shuffled out of the elevator, she paused. The moon shone through the plexiglass windows like a beacon in the dark. Momo looked to her left. The door to the roof was on the boy’s side. Her fingers twitched.

No one would notice.

She knew from experience that the alarm on the door had been disabled. She could go up there for a few minutes. The fresh air might help calm her, she reasoned as she turned and crept down the right corridor.

There were three boys on the top floor: Satou, Sero, and Todoroki.

Momo’s eyes flickered unconsciously towards Todoroki’s door as she passed. The placard with the twenty-one strokes of his surname glowed faintly in the soft light of the display case.

She bit her lip. She had watched Todoroki since the beginning of the school year. He had been a recommended student like herself and yet had been so different from her. He was strong, confident, unwavering. He was the type of person that brought others calm.

And she admired him immensely.

Momo pressed her hand over her chest as she felt her heartbeat speed up. She didn’t know when it had happened, perhaps when he had encouraged her during the practical exam against Aizawa, but she found herself increasingly fond of her seatmate. It was like a seedling had taken root in her chest, growing slowly over the last months, and transforming her passing crush into a chronic state of pining.

She looked away as she continued towards the stairwell. A selfish part of herself wanted to see him tonight, wanted to be near him. Maybe not to confess — definitely not to confess — but, perhaps she could talk to him like Jirou and Kaminari were doing. Momo’s chest tightened.

Out of all her classmates, Todoroki seemed to understand her better than anyone. He was quiet and unobtrusive, but he knew how to make her smile. And when her thoughts began to spiral as they were doing that night, he always seemed to know how best to save her.

But, Momo wasn’t about to wake him up for something as silly as to talk.

The green exit sign glowed above the stairwell.

She climbed the steps and took a deep breath before pulling open the steel door to the roof. The fluorescent lights flickered to life at her movement. Momo gasped as she stepped outside and felt the crisp April breeze on her face. The wind nipped at her skin, rustling through her nightgown.

For a moment, Momo stood uncertain in the doorway, looking out at the empty concrete space before drawing in a deep breath and moving over to the chain-link fence enclosing the rooftop. She leaned against the cool metal, her fingers slotting into the holes as she gazed out onto the silent campus.

The tall training halls speckled across the forested grounds like boulders sticking out of the sea. And in the distance, the lights of Musutafu shimmered as if they were stars painted across a dark canvas.

A sudden gust caught in her black hair and rustled her white chiffon nightgown, sending a shiver down Momo’s spine.

If it had been a regular school year, this month would have been the school dance. Perhaps, Todoroki would have asked her to go with him. Her heart stuttered as the thought swirled unbidden through her conscience. Momo’s mouth twisted into a frown.

What was wrong with her?

There were far more important things in the world than to be worried about such frivolous things as first kisses and school dances.

Momo closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure where this sudden narcissistic streak had come from, but she needed it to stop.

And yet, was it wrong to crave normalcy? Did being a pro hero really mean she had to leave her other dreams behind?

“Yaoyorozu.”

Momo swallowed over a nervous squeak as her head jerked up. Letting go of the fence, she turned in surprise towards the deep voice that she would have known anywhere and straightened.

Todoroki Shouto stood in the doorway staring at her. He had changed out of his U.A. jersey and into gray sweatpants paired with a white t-shirt that seemed to fit him a tad bit too well.

Momo felt her cheeks and ears grow warm.

“To-Todoroki-san?” Her voice hitched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing up here?”

Todoroki stared at her for several seconds before sighing. His head dropped as he slid a hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck.

“I thought I heard you walk by,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance. “You said you always come up here when something is troubling you, so I thought I’d check.”

Momo’s heart leapt at the thought that he had remembered such an inconsequential conversation before she pushed the feeling down.

She licked her lips and dropped her gaze.

“I’m fine,” she said, running her hands down the front of her nightgown, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. Momo forced herself not to overanalyze the comment or the fact that he had come to look for her.

She wouldn’t hope.

“I was just having a hard time falling asleep. I’m sorry to have woken you.”

His heterochromatic eyes were pale gray and blue as he raised his head and stared at her, his expression masked. “You wouldn’t be up here if you were fine,” he finally said as his eyes locked on hers. “What’s wrong?”

Todoroki’s expression had barely flickered, but something in his tone sounded genuinely concerned. Momo felt her chest tighten. She shifted and grasped her other arm. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

She was simultaneously hopeful of what his concern could mean and disappointed in herself for reading into his every word.

Todoroki was going to become a great hero, the type of hero who would bring peace to the citizens of Japan. And, no matter how much she wanted to, Momo wasn’t foolish enough to think that his concern was anything other than a general courtesy. Surely, he would extend this kindness to any of their classmates.

Wouldn’t he?

“Can I join you?” he asked abruptly, pulling Momo from her thoughts.

Her eyes snapped up. Todoroki didn't wait for her to respond as he moved closer. He stopped on her right side and stared out at the U.A. campus.

There was a long silence.

Momo took a moment to study him from under her lashes. He was striking. All contrast. Fire and ice. Crimson and moonlight. Turquoise and steel. And as much as she tried not to let appearances affect her judgment of people, she couldn’t help but agree with Ashido that Todoroki was the best-looking male of their grade.

What would he think of her if she had an ugly scar across her face like his father? Momo felt her stomach drop at the thought, and she looked away, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed.

It was a silly notion. He had his own scar over his left eye. If there was one person who wouldn’t judge her for a facial wound, it would be him.

Weak and pathetic — that is what he would think of her disgraceful thoughts. Momo's stomach twisted painfully; she didn't know if she could handle his scorn. She hugged herself and shivered.

“What are you thinking about?”

The air around them suddenly warmed.

Todoroki must have used his quirk.

Momo felt a light fluttering in her stomach at the realization. He was always so considerate.

She closed her eyes. “A lot of things.”

“About tomorrow?”

She hesitated then nodded minutely. He didn’t say anything, and she opened her eyes to study a crack in the gray concrete flooring.

“Todoroki-san,” she said softly after a minute. “Do you think we can win?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him tilt his head back to stare up at the sky, his expression turning pensive. “It'll be difficult,” he said slowly. “But, they've gathered all the top heroes in Japan, so I think we can.”

Momo hummed in agreement.

His lips thinned, and he looked back down. “But, we’ll fight harder," he said, his tone firm. "We have people that we wish to protect, so losing isn’t an option.” He brought his hand up and slowly curled his fingers into a fist. “I think that is what makes us heroes strong — maybe.”

She looked up at him. “Your family?” she asked.

He dropped his hand, and his eyes met hers. “Something like that,” he said, and his stare seemed more pointed than usual.

It felt like there was more to that statement than he was saying, but she didn’t want to pry. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “You’ll be with Midoriya-san, and Bakugo-san evacuating citizens near the city center tomorrow, no?”

Todoroki hummed, then turned to fully face her. “Yeah, but that’s not what’s really bothering you though, is it?”

Momo flinched.

He really could read her a little too well. She felt her face warm and drew in a deep breath.

“No, it’s not.” She folded her hands in front of herself. Then, before she could reconsider, added. “I’m nervous about tomorrow.”

Todoroki stared at her but didn’t say anything as he waited for her to elaborate.

Earlier, she had desperately wanted to see him, but now that he was there, a small part of her wished for him to leave. She didn’t want him to see this side of herself.

Momo dropped her gaze. Briefly, she contemplated lying to him but quickly disregarded the notion. Todoroki was incredibly perceptive and could be annoyingly stubborn. There was no way that he’d let the conversation go if he thought that she was hiding something, and she had never been a very good liar.

She could feel his heterochromatic eyes on her.

Momo licked her lips and drew in a deep breath. Knowing that he wasn’t going to leave, she suddenly was filled with the overwhelming desire to talk.

“I…I knew that we would have to fight one day, but somehow it never really hit me until tonight that we are only sixteen and are about to be helping out in an operation that is far larger than ourselves.”

He didn’t say anything. Her fingers twitched, and her eyes flickered towards him. Todoroki's hands rested by his sides, so close that if she stretched out her fingers, they’d brush his. She looked away, pushing down the foolish urge to reach for him.

“Todoroki-san, do you ever wonder what it would be like to be a normal high school student? If you weren’t on the hero track.”

Todoroki looked at her for a moment then tilted his head back slightly.

“I don’t know,” he answered after a minute. “It had never been an option, so I guess I never have,” he said slowly looking back at her.

Momo swallowed, twisting her hands together. Her throat felt constricted. “It’s embarrassing, really, but I was thinking about all the mundane and inconsequential moments that we may miss out on because of this path. Tomorrow we are going into battle, but I haven't even gone on a date or had my first kiss. And I wonder what if I never get those moments.”

“Don't get me wrong,” she added hurriedly, clenching a hand over her chest. She felt herself flush. “I'm proud to be a hero, and I'm not having self-doubts about my choice. But I guess I never thought about all the little ways my life would change because of it. I just wonder what if -” Her voice hitched. “What if something happens tomorrow that makes it so I can never have those things? Never go on a date, or go to a school dance. Never get married or have children. It’s so stupid. I know.”

An aching sensation spread across her nose and cheeks. She sniffed and brought her hand up to rub at her eyes with the back of her hand as she struggled not to cry. “I hate having these shallow thoughts when tomorrow’s mission could decide the fate of Japan, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t want to be alone just because I’m trying to be a her-”

“Yaoyorozu.”

Momo jerked at the firmness in his tone. It had been a long time since she had heard him use that voice. Not since Aizawa.

She turned slowly towards Todoroki, and her eyes widened in surprise as he stepped closer. “You’re not alone.” His gaze was intense.

A blush ran across her face and down her neck.

He lifted his hand and wavered for a moment before he pressed his palm against her cheek.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away the tears she hadn’t realized had slipped down her face. “So, you don’t have to worry.”

His touch was gentle, almost tender as he cupped her cheek, and Momo choked back a soft sob as she closed her eyes. It was exactly how she had dreamed of him holding her.

Every night.

Every day.

In between studying and classes.

She let herself lean into Todoroki’s touch.

He was only comforting her, she reminded herself as her heart stuttered almost painfully in her chest. But surely, he wouldn’t judge her for this, would he? She was allowed this small comfort. Friends would allow for this, wouldn’t they?

After a moment, Momo drew in a deep, steadying breath and looked up.

Todoroki was close. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. They shone like molten silver and teal stars as he stared down at her, and Momo’s breath caught in her throat. It felt like her heart had stalled momentarily in her chest as he studied her face.

Then slowly — so slowly she wasn’t sure if her heart could take it — he closed his eyes and dipped his head down, brushing his lips against hers before fully capturing hers.

It was like lightning had struck Momo. She stood frozen under him, eyes wide, unbelieving for a moment before her whole body melted into his touch, and she closed her eyes and kissed him back.

His lips were soft as they moved over hers, and stars danced behind her eyes.

It felt like a burning, gaping ache that she hadn’t been aware of had finally been filled within her chest.

He kissed her a moment longer before pulling back.

His hand dropped from her cheek, and Momo’s eyes fluttered open as she watched him through a hooded gaze draw away. Then, suddenly it was like the magic of the moment had lifted. Her eyes widened as her mind jumped-started back into action as it tried to process what had just happened.

Momo could feel her face burning and she cupped her cheeks.

She felt elated and stunned that he had kissed her. But also uncertain. Was it something he meant or just something needed to be done to help take her mind off of tomorrow?

“Sorry if that wasn’t any good. That's my first kiss too.” Momo looked up. Todoroki had covered his mouth with his left hand. The tips of his ears were red, and the sight calmed her slightly.

Hesitantly, she brought her fingers to her lips. They were still warm from his mouth. “Wh-why?” she forced out.

Todoroki dropped his hand, and his usually expressionless features seemed almost bashful. “You said you were worried about never getting a first kiss. I - I hope it was okay that it was me?”

Momo felt her heart sink. So, he had only kissed her as a friend. He didn’t care for her like she did for him. She dropped her head. “Ye-Yes. It’s fine,” she said softly, turning away.

She inhaled deeply. She didn’t want him to see her cry. He had only been trying to help.

“Yaoyorozu.”

A strong hand closed around her wrist, and she looked up sharply.

Todoroki stared down at her. He seemed to be searching her face for something.

"Do you..." he started, and his eyes flickered slightly. He clenched his jaw and swallowed. "Do you remember what you told me after we defeated Aizawa?” He didn’t wait for her to respond before continuing hurriedly. “You said that I was the type of hero that brings people peace. That I make you feel at ease.”

His lips twitched. “I was really happy when you told me that. I had been struggling with what I wanted to be for so long, your words helped me decide. But—” Todoroki raised his head, and something glinted in his gray and turquoise eyes as they met hers. “It also made me realize that I wanted to be more than just a hero, too.”

Momo’s chest felt tight as she waited for him to continue.

He swallowed and seemed to hesitate before his expression hardened. “You asked earlier if I’d ever dreamed of a life not as a hero, and I said ‘no,’ but that’s not true. I have.”

“Todoroki-san…” Momo whispered; her heart was beating louder and louder in her chest, unsure of the implication of his statement.

He cleared his throat and straightened. “You have a lot on your list, so it may take me some time, but once this is over, I’d like to be the one who makes your dreams come true.” He looked at her, and his expression was intent. “That is, if you're okay with it being me?”

Momo drew in a deep, stuttering breath.

“Todoroki-san…” she forced out. She could barely breathe. It couldn’t be. She must be dreaming.

Something must have shown on her face because his lips tilted up into a small tentative smile that made her heart ache.

He so rarely smiled.

“So, I don’t want you to worry,” he said, releasing her wrist. Slowly, to give her time to draw away, he slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer.

Momo was breathing quickly. She felt almost faint and didn’t know if her legs could support her anymore. Tentatively, she raised her arms and wrapped them around his back. She leaned her head against his chest. He smelled woodsy, like cedar, and she could feel the thrum of his heart as it beat through her.

Todoroki’s body relaxed. He dipped his head down to rest on hers.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll win,” he whispered into her hair. His tone was deep and unyielding, filled with conviction, and it warmed her.

Momo wrapped her fingers into the cotton of his shirt as the confidence of his voice sank into her. He was so certain, so sure of it, and Momo felt her heart catch in her throat. She swallowed. It was the same confidence that he had used all those months ago when he said he believed in her. It sounded like a promise.

She felt more tears slip over her cheeks as she drew back slightly to look up at him. She smiled. His face was so close to hers that she could feel the heat of his breath on her lips. “Yes, we’ll win,” she whispered back.

His eyes glittered; his hands tightened around her waist. And, as he leaned his forehead against her own, Momo felt the promise touch her soul.

XXXXX

This is dedicated to my hypochondriac, anxiety ridden self who would most definitely jump to the worst possible conclusion, and think I may die horribly or lose a limb or an eye or something if I was going into battle. One of the reasons I like Momo so much is because I feel she'd be the same. She's a thinker, and if she doesn't keep her thoughts in check they can easily spiral. I love the current arc, but shonen manga, in general, never have their characters dwell on the thought of getting hurt or killed. So, I wanted to touch on that topic. And how, when everything feels out of control sometimes you just need someone to ground you. Tell you that everything is going to be okay. To me, that is what Shouto is for Momo. He is her pillar of support, and he comforts her by telling her that no matter what happens he wants to be with her, and provide her hope that there is a life waiting for her after the battle.

Anyway, I was in a little bit of a mood (if you couldn't tell) when this came to me, so I hope it turned out alright and that it was enjoyable enough.

All comments and critiques are welcome. :D And once again thank you to everyone who participated or helped out with the TodoMomo Mini Bang!