#Work Ethic Scholarships

[wausaupilot]

Macdonald Foundation awards nearly $45K in scholarships

A foundation that recognizes students from Marathon County and the Merrill area recently awarded 28 Work Ethic Scholarships for the 2024-2025 college school year. The Macdonald Foundation, established by Mark and Donna Macdonald, owners of the Wisconsin Woodchucks, awarded $44,750 in scholarships to 16 graduating seniors and 12 current college students. Graduating seniors are eligible for…

[fanhackers]

Anne Kustritz’s Identity, Community, and Sexuality in Slash Fan Fiction

Anne Kustritz’s new book, Identity, Community, and Sexuality in Slash Fan Fiction: Pocket Publics has just been released by Routledge (2024).  You might know Kustritz, a scholar of fan cultures and transmedia storytelling, from her early essay “Slashing the Romance Narrative,” in the Journal of American Culture (2003) or maybe from some of her more recent work on transmedia and serial storytelling. But this new book is an exciting addition to the fan studies canon, and Fanhackers readers might be particularly interested, because the book “explores slash fan fiction communities during the pivotal years of the late 1990s and the early 2000s as the practice transitioned from print to digital circulation,”--which is the era that a lot of the fans involved in the creation of the OTW came from. As I noted in my book blurb, “​​While there has been an explosion of fan studies scholarship in the last two decades, we haven't had an ethnography of fan fiction communities since the early 1990s. Kustritz's Pocket Publics rectifies that, documenting the generation of slash fans who built much of fandom's infrastructure and many of its community spaces, both on and off the internet. This generation has had an outsized impact on contemporary fan cultures, and Kustritz shows how these fans created an alternative and subcultural public sphere: a world of their own.”

Kustritz doesn’t just analyze and contextualize fandom, she also describes her own experiences as a participant-observer, and these might resonate with a lot of fans (especially Fanhackers-reading fans!)  Early on in the book, Kustritz describes her how her own early interest in fandom blurred between the personal and the academic:

Because I began studying slash only a year after discovering fandom on-line, my interest has always been an intricate tangle of pleasure in the texts themselves, connection to brilliantly creative women, and fascination with intersections between fan activities and academic theory.  I may now disclaim my academic identity as an interdisciplinary scholar with concentrations in media anthropology and cultural studies and begin to pinpoint my fan identity as a bifictional multifandom media fan; however, I only gradually became aware of and personally invested in these categories as I grew into them.  This section defines the scope of the online observation period that preceded the active interview phase of this research.  In so doing it also examines the messy interconnections between my academic and fannish interests and identities. Trying to pick apart what portion of my choices derived from fannish pleasure and which from academic interest helps to identify the basic internal tensions and categories that slash fan fiction communities relied upon to define themselves, the pressures exerted upon these systems by the digital migration, and complications in academic translation of fannish social structures.

Later in the book, Kustritz discusses how fans have organized and advocated for themselves as a public; in particular, there’s a fascinating chapter about the ways in which fandom has adopted and transformed the figure of the pirate to forge new ways of thinking about copyright and authorship.  If the OTW was formed to argue that making fanworks is a legitimate activity, the figure of the pirate signifies a protest against the law and a refusal to be shamed by it: 

[F]ans also use the figure of the pirate to make arguments that validate some fan activities and consign others to illegitimacy.   At the urging of several friends involved with slash, I attended my first non-slash focused science fiction and fantasy convention in the summer of 2004.  The program schedule announced a Sunday morning panel discussion provocatively titled “Avast, Matey: The Ethics of Pirating Movies, Music, and Software” with the subheading “Computers today can distribute [more] intellectual property than ever before--not always legally. Is it ever okay to copy, download, and/or distribute media? Sorry, ladies, none of us will be dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow.”  The panel’s subheading, which obliquely warned away both lusty women and pirates, led a small contingent of slash fans to shake off Saturday night’s convention revelries unreasonably early and implement a plan of their own for Sunday’s panel.  As many fan conventions encourage costumes, known as “cosplay,” one of my friends and research participants happened to have been dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow of Pirates of the Caribbean that weekend, so I entered the piracy panel with Captain Jack and a motley crew of slashers, some of them intent upon commandeering the discussion.

The clash that followed exemplifies a structural fault line between various types of fan communities regarding their shared norms and beliefs about copyright law, the relationship between fans and producers, and appropriate fan behavior.

If you want to find out how this clash played out–well, you’ll just have to read the book. 😀

–Francesca Coppa, Fanhackers volunteer

[actualmermaid]

It's been three months since I made this post about Saints Sergius and Bacchus, John Boswell, classical Western homoeroticism, and Christian homophobia.

Since then I have read both of Boswell's books on the history of gay/queer people in premodern Christianity (Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality and Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe), familiarized myself more fully with the spectrum of charges against Boswell and his scholarship, and realized that he's been the subject of ideologically-motivated smear campaigns by just about every political/religious/academic faction you can imagine. My conclusion: Professor Boswell is a saint, martyr, and important queer elder who does not get the respect that he deserves, and I'm in awe of the sheer volume of the massive genius brain that was somehow crammed into his little blond head.

ANYWAY. This is an official followup to my original post, now that I've read Boswell's work.

I take back my hunch that Boswell's work was not intersectional. He was, in fact, a pioneer in the field of medieval social history, and utilized a wide range of critical lenses in his work. He was inhibited by the lack of documented evidence about some groups (for example, he was frequently criticized for not writing more about lesbians, but he was open about the difficulties of researching lesbians in history and explained what he was doing as a scholar and as a teacher to mitigate this) but he constantly called attention to issues of class, gender, and other social factors wherever they were relevant.

I was RIGHT in noticing that the slight difference in rank between Sergius and Bacchus seems to be an erastes/eromenos indicator! Boswell spoke at greater length and with greater sensitivity about erastes/eromenos dynamics in history, so if you want a deeper look into that, you should read his books.

I was also probably right in noticing that the legend of Sergius and Bacchus is seeded with various forms of Byzantine propaganda! I really wish that I could talk to him about it. :(

Both secular queer theorists and religious queer theologians seem to be most uncomfortable with the fact that Boswell was reporting on historical facts and observable social forces, not idealized concepts of queer people as somehow being more ethical or spiritual than the straight majority. He included evidence of things like abuse, prostitution, and exploitation not because he thought they were cool, but because they were part of the material reality of queer people's existence in the past, just like they were part of the material reality of his own 70s-80s gay subculture.

That was his bottom line: gay/queer people are a normal human variation, and as a historian, he could provide hard proof of their existence and what their lives might have been like. If his work seems "shallow" or "dated" to some more modern queer researchers, it's only because so many people were willing to dismiss his scholarship, reject his work, and abandon his research leads after he died. But, he was actually super smart and his scholarship was actually meticulous, so even his most dedicated critics have been unable to "debunk" him. Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality most recently had a 35th-anniversary reprinting, and he is still being cited as an authority by more recent scholars.

Even though the full strength of the Church and the Academy were leveled against him, his work has proven its own worth. He still deserves to be read and discussed by both professional scholars and enthusiastic hobbyists. And, the Open and Affirming movement in Christianity wouldn't be as strong as it is without his confirmation that "gays and lesbians are normal," as he put it, and not simply a construct of modern society.

Rest in power, Professor Boswell. We won't forget you.

Since I made that post, I have also opened a sticker shop with a bunch of queer Christian saint icons, including Boswell and some of the queer saints he discovered/wrote about. They're pretty cool. You should buy one.

[delphinidin4]

I just had a brainwave about Mansfield Park. This might be something that Jane Austen fans already know and think is obvious, but I've never heard it discussed, and I think it really clears up a lot of things about this book for me.

So scholars are always talking about how this book intersects with slavery. First of all, the Antigua property that isn't doing so well would have been worked by enslaved people (keeping slaves was still legal in Antigua, though selling them there was not). Also, at one point Fanny asks Sir Thomas a question about the slave trade, though it isn't really elaborated on. I saw this discussed again and again in the (admittedly little) scholarship I read on this book, and it always seemed weird to me that they zeroed in on that detail.

More recently, I read Margaret Doody's book on the names Austen used in her work, and she pointed out that the famous legal case that declared slavery to be illegal in England was called the Mansfield Decision. Any reader at the time, reading that novel, would have that information in the back of their head, and it would have informed how they read the book.

This much I knew. But I always felt like these arguments never really explained what slavery had to do with the love story of Fanny Price: even Doody never seemed to connect this factoid about the title very deeply with the novel's themes (a problem I had with a number of her discussions in that book).

More recently, I saw it pointed out that Fanny Price is treated like a slave by Mrs. Norris, and I thought, "Aha! Finally, an explanation!" But it still didn't feel complete to me.

But I just realized: you can take that metaphor a lot farther. (For this argument, please keep in mind that Austen, though on the side of the abolitionists, was a 19th-century woman who didn't have the same sensibilities about the discussion of race as we do now.)

--Like an enslaved person, Fanny is taken from her home and her family and moved far, far away (she isn't kidnapped, of course, but stick with me).

--The family that she joins considers her to be naturally stupider than they are because she has not had the advantage of their education. This is similar to African slaves, whom white people looked down on and thought intellectually inferior because they didn't have a western education.

--The term "family" at the time included the household servants and slaves, not just the actual family. Fanny, the poor relation, joins the household less like a cousin/niece, and more like a servant or an enslaved person. She is literally relegated to sleep in an attic, like a maid.

--Fanny suffers a great deal emotionally because she misses her family (especially Edward). Austen, as an abolitionist, would likely have read accounts like Olaudah Equiano's autobiography, which often described the intense emotional suffering of enslaved people separated from their homes and families.

--One of the justifications slaveholders gave for slavery was that they were "improving" the lives of the Africans they enslaved, by teaching them Christianity and occasionally, trades or other forms of education. Fanny is ostensibly being brought to Mansfield to give her a good education. And while she does get that education, she really functions much more in the household like a servant to Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris.

--Fanny IS taught a great deal of morality by Edmund, who is a bit of a prig. It seems hypocritical of him to be constantly "schooling" her in morality when it often seems like Fanny is more naturally ethical than he is. This mirrors the hypocrisy of white slaveholders who deigned to teach their slaves Christianity while acting extremely unchristian themselves.

--Fanny ends up with an inferiority complex because she is constantly torn down by Mrs. Norris and treated as inferior by Maria and Julia. In reality, she's very intelligent, well-read, and ethical in a way that none of them area. This mirrors the way black folks were unfairly treated as inferior by white society.

--The injustice of the Bertrams toward Fanny is so obvious to outsiders that even the morally deficient Crawfords are indignant about it. Mrs. Norris makes a snide remark to Fanny about "who and what she is" (a reference to racism?) and Mary Crawford is indignant on Fanny's behalf and rushes in to comfort her. Henry Crawford--at least, after he falls in love with Fanny--says that the way the family has treated her is disgraceful, and that he is going to show them how they should have been treating her all along. Austen may be pointing to the idea that slavery is SO wrong that it should be obvious to everybody.

I conclude that the book is titled Mansfield Park because Austen wants to point out that while slavery may be illegal in England, poor relations are still often treated like slaves by their families.

That being said, here are some questions this analogy throws up:

--Why is Sir Thomas so much nicer to Fanny after his stay in Antigua, where he would have been witnessing slavery on a daily basis? What does this say about him, both as an uncle and a slaveowner?

--Fanny goes home to Portsmouth, and finds that she doesn't like it and it isn't as neat and orderly as she would like. Is this Austen saying that if enslaved people went back to Africa, they would find that they still felt western society to be superior? How would we square that idea with the point above that westerners are not superior to Africans?

--Why does Fanny end up with Edmund? If he's analogous to the son of a slaveowner and she's analogous to a slave, why is she in love with him in the first place, and why does Austen seem to reify her choice by making them get together in the end? (Remember that even Austen's sister Cassandra felt strongly that Fanny should have ended up with Henry Crawford, not the priggish Edmund.) Is Fanny brainwashed by the Bertrams? How does that relate to the slaveholding analogy?

[letters-from-dekarios]

so high school

summary: you’re the high school’s star football player. never would you have imagined that your eyes would set on the dorky english club head and class president during the hottest party of the year, but some things are meant to be.

or: you flirt with gale at a party

word count: 7.5k

tags: modern high school!au, 18!gale x 18!reader, m!reader, some VERY minor suggested NSFW, another t!swift inspired fic, all the people are in this one somehow, football coach halsin, english teacher mystra (still part of the hate club), high school tropes, kind of underaged drinking (i don’t condone!)

Being the best wasn’t easy. Whether it was sports, academics, or the streets, dealing with the pressure of staying on top of everything was about the most difficult thing someone could do. Having to do all of that, while still being young and impressionable, just made it all the more arduous.

Yet, here you stood— star of the football team, the greatest quarterback your school had in years. You were already being offered full-ride scholarships to play for some of the most formidable teams. Naturally, everything was going tremendously. How you’d managed to get this far was just astounding, especially considering you weren’t exactly known for being intellectual or getting all a’s. It spoke volumes to receive the stacks of offers from different colleges despite all that. A part of you couldn’t help but feel guilty for it, taking away the opportunities from someone who’d grow up to do much greater things in life than you. But the other part of you was just glad to be recognized for the hard work you put into your body.

After all, you were tall, lean, and incredibly fit. All the girls fawned over you like they were going to lose you if they didn’t. And you were hot, so that helped, too. Even some of the guys looked at you twice, despite the fact you were about 70% sure you didn’t swing that way. At least, you didn’t for the guys you caught looking at you. The other 30% was reserved for guys who looked like Flynn Rider, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, and a few of your teammates who you’d always joked that you’d date if you were a girl.

You were well-liked, popular, and knew anybody who was anybody in your hometown. You had connections thick and thin, and, really, you were the teamiest player who could play teams. Okay, that was stupid, but you were a teenage boy— virtually everything you said that wasn’t about football was.

It was getting to that time of year when all the school dances and after-parties were happening, and you were being invited to all of them. You, of course, were also accepting every invitation that came your way, making promises you knew you’d try, and fail, to keep. But, hey, at least you tried.

And then there was Gale. He was… well, a dork to say the least. He was handsome, sure, but he didn’t stand out to anyone besides being the class president and English club head. He was geeky, nerdy, and whatever other adjective you could think of for people who spent their free time analyzing the psychological effects of cannibalism in literature. Yeah, he was liked by the other nerds who were in the same club as him, but he wasn’t exactly popular. He was elected class president mostly as a joke, and you hated to admit that you were one of those votes. He was a nice guy and didn’t do anyone any harm but, alas, high school is a feeding ground for the wildest of beasts.

The most riveting thing about him was that there were rumors of him and the English teacher doing it in her classroom. With the way she looked at him and gave him unique treatment, it almost wasn’t even gossip. Everyone in the school believed it, and everyone in the school meant you, too. It wasn’t unheard of before, teachers going after their students, but that didn’t make it ethical or legal. Still, people talked about it like it was some article in the Sunday newspaper to be marveled at. Mostly, he kept to himself aside from the occasional class meeting that required him to talk to everyone, and was generally quiet.

This particular day happened to be one of his required meetings. You, and your grades’ peers, were gathered in the gymnasium for “information” on the school prom. Despite graduation coming so close, prom felt a million miles away.

You and your friends sat and joked with one another about mindless things, idiotic things, as you waited for whatever announcement was to come.

“Dude, when do you think it started?” Your friend, Wyll, asked you.

“What started?” You questioned, watching as he pointed to Mystra’s longing gaze directed behind the curtain. “Oh my god, we have this conversation like sixteen times a week. Can we please talk about something else?” You groaned, gaining a disapproving shove from Wyll.

“Oh, yes, I’d much rather talk about what we’re each going to have for dinner,” Astarion sarcastically remarked from behind you, kicking you softly. “Don’t be so dull! We have to get through this pointless meeting one way or another,” he pouted, and you nearly wanted to punch his perfect little face in.

“Don’t be so snide, Astarion. I’d much rather talk about that than the sex lives of our teachers,” Jenevelle retorted, rolling her eyes at all three of you.

“Tchk, boys. That is all they care about. Sticking their little wands into whatever hole will open for them,” Lae’zel added on, and all four of you audibly cringed at that. “What? Do I not speak the truth?”

You sighed, waving a hand to dismiss everyone’s comments. “Look, I want to figure out what our stupid prom theme is going to be and get out of here. Let’s talk sex when it won’t get us kicked out,” you told them, and a warning look from your coach, Halsin, signified your conversation was not as private as you thought.

“That’s enough, Mister Y/L/N,” Halsin called up to you, and you bowed your head in acknowledgement. Wyll nudged you playfully, and you snapped at him under your breath to cut it out.

“It is my pleasure and honor to introduce your beloved class president- Gale Dekarios!” Mystra, unmistakably, introduced Gale to the class who gave half-assed applause.

“Hello-“ Gale cleared his throat, glancing down at the notes he had written down. You always found it funny how anxious he’d get on stage. You’d see him start messing with the hem of his shirt, on the side, rubbing it repetitively between his fingertips, and then he’d start talking. This interaction was not foreign.

“On behalf of the students and faculty, it’s my pleasure to be able to announce this year’s prom theme with you all,” Gale began, and you heard some douchebag start booing him. He was quickly shut up by a teacher quickly shushing him, and Gale began again. “The faculty present at this event requested I start with the regulations first. So let’s get into that,” he smiled at everyone, turned a page, and went on.

“Oh brother, this guy stinks!” You heard one of your teammates reference behind you, a small chorus of laughter emitting from his section, you included. Gale went on about how there was no drinking, no aggressive or verbally offensive music, and definitely no sex. Some other rules were mentioned about dress and grooming but nobody ever paid any attention to those.

“This year’s prom theme is…” he allowed tension to build for a brief second, and then smiled as he looked up at everyone, “Midnight Masquerade!”

Your class erupted with both relief and joy. The previous year had ‘Under the Sea’ as their theme and it was a dumpster fire disaster. You all feared what the teachers and principal would decide but, thankfully, it seemed they pulled through this year.

“Looks like you might finally get laid, Lae’zel,” Jenevelle teased, only to be met with a hardened glare. “It’s only a joke, cut that out.”

Once the meeting was dismissed, everyone began discussing what their outfits would be. You had a few weeks to prepare, and you were already forming ideas in your head.

Those few weeks soon turned into days, and then hours as you and all your friends piled into a limo Wyll’s dad had rented for you all.

“Move over, asshole!” You finally got comfortable in the limo with some shifting about, everyone’s dates beside them. For the most part, at least.

“Dude, I thought you were going with Alfira? What happened to that?” Wyll asked you, and you shrugged.

“Dude,” you mocked, “We talked about this. She’s into girls, she’s going out with that one from the D&D club,” you reminded him, and he nodded in distinction.

“Damn, Y/N, going to the prom with no date? And I thought you were mister popular,” Astarion poked fun at you, while you rolled your eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll be going to the afterparty with someone, don’t doubt me on that,” you chuckled, and Wyll whacked your arm playfully.

“That’s the spirit! Or, hey, maybe you’ll meet someone at the afterparty instead. I heard there’s supposed to be booze,” Wyll grinned at you, and you kicked him back.

“Yeah, 'cause it’s happening at your bigass mansion,” you joked, then you and your party were off.

You each slipped on your intricate masks as you drove into the parking lot. Yours matched your suit, a navy blue color that had intricate black designs hand-sewn into it. The patterns made out flowers and daggers, twisting together into an amalgamation. The mask itself was also a navy blue color, with black lace lined over top. Your tie was the reverse, black lace on blue fabric, and you wore a black shirt that complemented the entire outfit. You were the star of the show, as expected.

You ate, danced, took stupid photo booth pictures with your friends all crammed into the tiny box— you had a good time. Eventually, the voting opened for the prom royalties and you knew immediately who would win.

The night went on, and people partnered for the slower songs that played over the speakers. Somehow, you were pushed up against a guy and encouraged to dance together. You shrugged, pulled him against your waist, and followed the motions of those around you.

“You look nice,” he complimented, his hands resting up at your shoulders.

“So do you,” you returned his adoration and observed his suit. It was a deep purple color that matched his skin tone. Much like your own, it was stitched with a lighter purple and gold that made intricate starry designs. The mask hiding his face was also like yours, matching the color of his suit and overlaid with golden lace.

You leaned down towards him, pulling his waist flush against you as you whispered low into his ear. “You look like royalty,” you hummed, feeling his hands tighten at your shoulders.

“Thank you…” he smiled softly as your lips brushed against his cheek. The warmth radiated off of his face and pulled into your own, his blushing far from hidden even under the mask. “I don’t think you’d say that without the disguise, though..” he laughed awkwardly and you stood straight up again.

“Oh? Why do you say that?” You asked, continuing to move around the dance floor with him, moving between other couples.

“Just a… general observation,” he shrugged, messing with your hair gently.

You lowered down near him again, brushing your noses together while looking into his eyes. “I’m going to take that as a challenge,” you grinned, glancing down at his lips and then back up at his eyes. “I’ll find out who you are and you’ll be mine by the end of the school year,” you smirked, and he gave a half-smile back.

“You can certainly try,” he teased and then began to pull away from you as the song came to a close. He stepped back towards his group, eyes still trained on you.

“Oh, I will,” you nodded in recognition before going back to your friends, who were laughing hysterically at you.

There was something magical about the energy he had, one that couldn't be replicated so easily. Despite the minor interaction, you were drawn directly to him. You knew that he’d stick in your mind like a bad stain you couldn’t wash out, clinging to the foreground of your mind. You wouldn’t escape him even if you tried, and you didn’t exactly want to.

“What?” You asked, taking a drink handed to you from Jen as you returned.

“What do you mean ‘what’? You were practically making out with that guy!” Wyll laughed, patting your shoulder reassuringly.

“You pushed me to him!” You defended, hands in the air as if you were on trial.

“That doesn’t mean you have to cause a scene,” Jen teased, nudging you in the side.

“You guys are just jealous I have more game than you,” you chuckled, everyone hitting you playfully.

“Mate, if you have more game than me then that means I’m dead,” Karlach cackled, the girl at her side giggling at her comments.

“Screw all of you. Seriously.” You shook your head at them, striking up a different conversation while the music slowly quieted. The lights moved from the dance floor to the stage as one of the teachers walked on stage.

“Homecoming and prom, let’s do this,” you smiled down at Jenevelle as the votes were beginning to be counted. Hands interlocked, you’d been praying for this for weeks. It didn’t mean anything academically, but it was the event that counted. The two of you had won the year prior at your junior homecoming and were slated to win prom, too. You had been childhood best friends, none the wiser, and always voted each other for things like this. You shared every joyous moment like blood siblings, and you believed this would be another to add to your memories.

“Alright students, gather around!” All the masked teens huddled near the stage, everyone whispering about who would be voted up this year.

“This year’s prom royalties are…” Since it was a masquerade, they got around saying names by simply pointing you out in a crowd. Both winners were shown with a bright spotlight highlighting them.

You, unsurprisingly, were one of them. You turned to Jen, expecting her to be lit up like you were, but found her shrouded in darkness instead. You looked up at the teacher, beaming at the crowd and motioning for you to step on stage. You were confident you and Jen were going on stage together! But as your eyes found the other light, twinkling in the back of the crowd, you saw it shining on another boy.

Another guy? Who voted for him? And how did he get enough votes to kick Jen out of her spot you were so sure was secured?

Your heart broke for a moment realizing that you’d lost out on this with her. What was supposed to be your final bow turned into breaking ankles. It didn’t feel right.

Jen pat your arm reassuringly and motioned you up to the stage. You smiled despite the hurt, walked through the crowd, and stepped up in front of everyone. The other winner followed a moment after, his friends encouraging him to make his way up. You recognised the suit belonging to the mystery dancer from before, a piece of you glad for it to be him and not a stranger. Even though he was, still, a stranger.

“Let’s give a hand to our royals!” The teacher stepped away from the mic to clap, allowing the other faculty member to place the plastic crowns on each of your heads. You glanced over at the other, who was clearly uncomfortable, and sighed internally. You’d make this easy for him, at least.

“Just follow my lead,” You told him, taking his hand and holding each of yours up with your award-winning smile. You waved with your free hand and pulled him down the stairs and to the dance floor. He barely contested with you, allowing you to guide him. You pondered over the challenge you’d proposed, wondering how you’d find out who he was. You only had so long to do it, of course, so you had to be on your toes to memorize any detail you could about him.

“Now, our traditional slow dance!” The same teacher called into the microphone before the music faded back in over the speakers.

“Just like before, yeah?” Raising a suggestive eyebrow at him, you wrapped your arm tightly around his waist, hand planted firmly against his lower back. His hands went back up to your shoulders like they had before, steadying himself against you.

“I didn’t mean to steal this from her,” the boy apologized, and you made a face to brush off the comment.

“You didn’t exactly look thrilled to do this, so I can’t assume you voted for yourself,” you shrugged, tugging him close by the waist. You took one of his hands, spun him away from you, and then back in. “Besides, I can get more clues from you this way. And put on a little show,” your eyes flicked towards the people recording, and the boy in your arms nodded in understanding.

“Thanks, for this,” he replied, smiling faintly at you. You could only nod your head to accept his gratitude, though you would have done the same no matter who was there with you.

When it finally ended, you two parted ways without much discussion and returned to your friend groups yet again. Though, the air was different this time.

“That was the same guy. Who is he?” Jen asked, and you shrugged. You had no idea, but you wanted to find out.

“I have no idea, but he’s cool,” you took the crown off your head and popped it on hers, smiling down at Jen. “There, now you can experience it,” you joked.

She took the crown off, and handed it back to you, flattening out her hair. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want to get head lice from you,” she shook her head, freeing herself of the thought.

“You’re so dramatic,” you laughed, ruffling her hair slightly, causing her to whack your arm.

���Hey! That was crazy!” Karlach came running over, another girl in her arms, tossing her other across your shoulders. Sometimes you wondered why she wasn’t the quarterback, but she much preferred other sports.

“You going to the afterparty?” You asked over the music as it got louder again, consuming your thoughts.

“Hells yeah I am! You?” She asked, shaking you slightly in excitement.

“Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t go!” You laughed with her, though you could never understand her excitement half the time. She was good company, and you knew the afterparty would be ten times more enjoyable with her there, so who were you to complain?

Your group noticed people starting to leave and took that as your queue to head out. You slipped back into the limo, the party continuing on with the drive back to Wyll’s.

With everyone linked up with their significant others, or their dates for only the one night, you couldn’t help feeling lonely. Each of your friends had a partner, and you were just.. there. Fame meant nothing if there was nobody to share it with. And, no, you weren’t going to not share it with your friends— but sharing it with a lover was so much different. It would’ve been nice to have someone to joke with about dancing with another person that wasn’t them. Yeah, you claimed you didn’t really “swing that way” but, maybe, you kind of did? After all, you’d just essentially flirted with a guy for half the night. Maybe you wouldn’t mind it if it meant you had a partner who fit against you like the missing piece of your puzzle.

“You look spaced out, Y/N, you good?” Wyll asked suddenly, and you snapped out of the daze you’d been in.

“Huh? Oh- yeah! I’m just thinking about how tired we’re going to be tomorrow,” you laughed, and Jen patted your knee in agreement. With all the thoughts bouncing around your head, you were sure you’d leave almost immediately after arriving. But at least you tried!

In the back of the limo, as you all pulled up to the event, each of you began shimmying out of your tight-fitting clothes. Thankfully, you had on an undershirt and pants stored in the car so your change was rather easy. You stuck your suit under the seat to grab later while you changed out of your shoes.

“Hey, Wyll, thank your dad for getting this bigass limo for us!” Karlach shouted as she helped Jen out of her dress, everyone tangled within one another as they changed.

“Yeah, and for hosting the afterparty,” you added, everyone cheering because you knew you’d have a good time.

Once you pulled up, you were back to being stupid, wild teenagers again. Some people stayed in their outfits, but not many, and most had gotten comfortable long before they got there.

Once again, music cut through your thoughts as you entered. You flipped a switch instantaneously, smiling and waving at people who knew you as you passed through. You caught up in idle conversations here and there, laughing with your teammates and drinking back the lingering feeling you had earlier. But the longer the party went on, the lonelier you got.

You were so adored by everyone that nobody considered loving you. How does that even happen?

Maybe you were just notorious for turning girls down- claiming you didn’t want anything serious. It’s not like you slept around, either. You tried to be a gentleman, but the girls who always wanted you only wanted to change you. They wanted you for their little football player fantasies, and when they couldn’t have you they moved on to someone else. It was weird. You shined and sparkled like the night sky, but who was your moon to ignite the atoms that made you who you were?

Eventually, in your tipsy state, you ended up alone in a library, seeking solace from the throbbing of the world around you. Red solo cup in hand, slumped down on the white leather couch, you scrolled aimlessly through your phone. You didn’t hear the door creak open until it was shut, and someone sat on the couch next to you.

“Oh- sorry. I hope you don’t mind,” you turned your head to look at who had joined you, only to find Gale seated there.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged, taking another sip and going back to your phone. “Trying to find quiet from the party?” You asked, not bothering to look up.

“Ah… yes. I wasn’t exactly expecting to receive an invitation and I’m quite dreading the fact I said yes and showed up,” he chuckled, and you saw him messing with his shirt like usual out of the corner of your eye.

“You do that a lot,” you remarked suddenly, and he looked confused.

“Apologies? I do what a lot?” He asked, head tilted at you.

“The shirt thing. When you get nervous you rub the corner hem of your shirt between your fingers.”

“You noticed that?”

You blinked at your phone, realizing what you’d said aloud. You didn’t mean it in a bad way, it was just an observation of his habits. After all, you had to stare at him while he talked about class politics and whatnot for hours during the semesters- you saw him do it all the time.

“I don’t.. sorry, I…” you cleared your throat, taking a sip of the drink in your cup with a small shrug. “Don’t mean it in a bad way, I guess. I just noticed it,”

“Oh. Okay.”

Gale pulled out his phone, knee bouncing as he got comfortable and assumed a position similar to yours.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he added after a second, and you weren’t sure what he meant.

“On what?”

“Being prom king. It was expected, but congratulations anyway,” he smiled over at you, and you returned it half-heartedly.

“Thanks. I have no clue who was up there with me, though,” you laughed slightly, though the confusion was genuine. Something felt so right about dancing there with that boy that you weren’t sure what it was. Fate, or simply that nagging longing in the back of your mind looking for someone to fill the void?

Gale was about to respond, but several of your teammates came barging in, all yelling and talking over one another.

“Dude! Lae’zel just got dared to jump in the pool from the roof and she’s gonna do it!” You finally made out, and your face changed as you ran out with them to watch her.

Chaos resumed and your thoughts were no longer your own again, instead they belonged to the teenage relevancy of idiotic decisions and crazed actions. When you all returned inside, dry, save for Lae’zel, you kept up with the party once more.

But your eyes kept flickering back to the library, and then around the room. Gale had such an interesting aura about him, you couldn’t put a finger on it. Then, your mind wandered and you wondered if you could tell who your mystery dancer was, like Cinderella’s prince.

You tried to recall the details of the masked man, the way his eyes creased with your jokes, laughing like you were the best comedian there could be. The way his lips turned with his emotions, covering but not concealing what he was truly thinking.

“Dude, did you see Gale showed up? We all thought he’d be all up in Mystra by now!” One of your friends cackled, and you laughed slightly, but not really wholeheartedly this time.

“You know that’s not really that funny,” you stated, and the looks you got were borderline dangerous. It was like jumping into a pit of snakes and stepping on their tails- you had stepped into hazardous territory with your challenge.

“What?”

“I said it’s not funny.”

“Are you serious right now? Since when did you care about Gale? We joke about him all the time!” That struck a nerve. The guy had been nothing but nice to everyone and this is how he got treated? You almost felt sick. But why now? Why did it suddenly matter?

“Just- drop it, okay? Let’s have fun without screwing people over,” you waved their discussion off and moved to play beer pong with some people. The party began to dwindle, and you caught Gale in a group of some people looking like he was enjoying himself. At least he had that going for him.

Eventually, there were only a few people left in the room, and someone had the bright idea to play spin the bottle mixed with truth or dare.

“Alright, we need some ground rules here,” Jen said as she folded her legs neatly while she sat on the floor.

“Either truth or dare, or you kiss the person who spun you,” someone else said, and everyone seemed to agree on that.

Shots were handed out and, with newfound confidence, you and the small group were enjoying yourselves. Stupid pranks were being pulled, dumb secrets were being untold, and things were getting heated. Kind of, at least. Some people had gone home, which left you, Wyll, Lae’zel, Jenevelle, Karlach, Astarion, and Gale. Astarion was just kissing everyone whenever he didn’t like the dare, Karlach was full-throttle choosing dare every time, Jen only picked truth until someone forced her to pick dare, and between Wyll and Lae’zel you couldn’t tell who was more balanced in choices. Though, Lae’zel had less clothes on than anyone so perhaps her scales were tilted. Gale, he was the odd one. He’d stay away from choosing to kiss someone and hadn’t kissed anyone at all. You realized you hadn’t either, and the two of you kept going back between truths and dares so nobody forced you to do so.

“Gods, this is getting boring! Someone needs to make out.” Astarion yawned, draped over Karlach with his shirt tossed off to the side.

Wyll spun the empty bottle in the center of your group and it landed on you once it finally slowed to a stop. Within seconds, he got a bright idea in his head. There was no way you’d end up kissing him, not in a million years, and Astarion wanted action. What better way to do so than messing with you?

“Truth or dare, mate,” he grinned at you, and you sighed. You hadn’t picked dare in a while, so it was time.

“Dare. Give it to me good, jackass,” you smiled right back at him and watched in abject horror as his grin turned into a smirk.

“I dare you to do seven minutes in heaven with…”

He paused, looked at the crew of people left, and then met Gale’s shy gaze. “Gale.”

“What?” You both asked in unison, almost making the same face at him.

“Go on. Or you can kiss me, but, I don’t think you want to do that,” he smirked, and you cursed everything in him that made him that way.

“You’re an asshole.”

“There’s a bedroom right around the corner, might as well take that one,” he ushered you two up, and you both begrudgingly stood. “Your timer starts... Now!” He closed the door after walking you inside and locked it almost immediately.

“Look, we don’t have to-“

“It’s alright,” Gale interrupted you, waving a hand to dismiss your concern as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll mess up my hair and shirt in a few moments and they’ll be none the wiser if you do the same.” He smiled, and you recognized the pain behind the eyes. Too bright to be looked at without burning, he sought nearly the same thing as you. “I’m only here as a joke anyway, right?” He chuckled sadly, shrugging. “You don’t have to make me feel like more of one.”

“That’s not—“

“I overheard you talking about me. Quite plenty of people forget that I, too, have ears. You all believe I’m imperiously deafened to the rumors you spread in the halls. I hear them all, you know. I know where they begin and I know the last person who’s been touched by them. There’s no stopping the wildfire that’s been set ablaze in my wake, the vicious jokes made in my name, the roughened edges I’ve created to save myself from it all. But please, I ask that you not twist the dagger any more than it’s already been plunged inside me.”

You blinked at him, not… exactly sure of what to say to that. As you decoded the poetic words in your mind, you understood his point clearer.

“I’m sorry, about all of that,” you began, sitting down beside him and messing with your hands. “I don’t really know why they—“

“You say it too.”

You cleared your throat and began again, “Why we… say all that stuff. It’s just bullshit to keep us entertained, I guess,” you shrugged, head low as you thought of all the people you indirectly hurt climbing your way to the top. How many others like him did you turn to gold with your Midas touch? Forever banning them to a life of solitude in your shadow, forcing them under your submission, and rarely quashing the arbitrary lies that were told under you? How many people had you turned into stone statues with your headdress of snakes? Those who claimed to identify as friends but ruined your peace in the process? Would you ever find out? Would you ever have the time to apologize for letting your kingdom go so cold as the heat of your infamy died down?

“It hurts, so you’re aware. Mystra.. she’s not what you all believe her to be. She’s quite the teacher, and she sees the potential that I have in her class,” Gale sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just want to do right by people, whether or not I’m put in positions of power as a sick prank. I could have declined, but who else would take my place? Who would have stepped up and made the changes for all of you like I had? I fight for the good and get treated like the dirt beneath everyone’s feet.” He coughed and then shook his head. “I know it’s not just you. But I heard you tonight, so right now it’s about you and everyone else, too. I don’t mean to discard these feelings on you but…” he trailed off.

“I tried defending you. I don’t think you’re a bad person and you definitely haven’t gotten as much recognition as you should have,” you started, trying to find the words. “I didn’t… get to know you, and just made opinions based on stupid rumors. I’m sorry. About that.” You cleared your throat once more, and a quiet hush fell between the space that separated you. He didn’t owe you a thanks for your apologies over your hurtful actions, and he wasn’t about to offer one, either.

“You’re really… uh… what’s the word?”

“Eloquent?”

“Yeah, eloquent. I see it.. now,” you smiled over at him and then looked to the floor once more.

“Thanks,” he returned your grin, and then quiet fell into the bedroom once more.

“Three-minute warning!” You heard Wyll call from outside the door, and the two of you groaned in unison.

“You have a girlfriend?” You asked him, and he shook his head no. “Are you… not into girls?”

“What-“ his face flushed and he looked at you with wide eyes.

“Like, are you gay? I mean, it’s cool, there’s a shit ton of gay people at our school. I was just asking,” you shrugged.

“I… I’m not exactly..”

“Out of the closet?”

“Can you let the words come from my mouth before you finish my sentences?” He huffed, and you made the motion of locking your lips. “I do like women. But I also like men. And I like whatever is the in-between of it all,” he started again and then sighed. “To me, it’s more about connection and personality. I can have a romantic relationship with just about anyone, but it’s not because of their gender. It’s because of who they are as a person, do you understand?”

“Yeah, I get that,” you nodded, looking over at his shoes. A striking familiarity crossed in your mind, as you connected the shoes he was wearing to the man you’d danced with earlier in the night. You gazed up at his face, studying it intently.

“Do I have something on me?” He asked, wiping at his face.

“You’re him…” you replied, leaning closer toward him.

“What- who..?”

You gently grabbed his chin, turning his face towards your own as you studied the details of him. You couldn’t be mistaken, you’d recognize those eyes anywhere. You laughed slightly, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip.

“What…” You could see it in his eyes, he knew exactly what you meant. But could he dare indulge in it? In the idea of you?

“The one I danced with tonight, the other royal…” you hummed, smirking softly as you leaned back again. “You knew it was me, didn’t you?”

He stuttered in an attempt to find a lie, an excuse, but gave up after a moment of embarrassment. “Who couldn’t?” He replied, lowering his head in shame.

“You know—“

“Just kiss me.”

You blinked, glancing over at him. He made eye contact with you, strong and unwavering, and you raised a brow.

“Don’t lead me on to something I know is never going to happen. Don’t set your sights on me and leave me high and dry. It’s not fair for you to make me feel a certain way and then hang me on your line of people you’ve caught in the traps you unknowingly laid. Please, just get it over with bec-“

You grabbed his face, pressing your lips together hastily. Why? Did you just want to get this over with so you could each move on?

You didn’t know him as well as your friends, but this aching feeling came bursting through your chest. It desired to be let go, set free into the world. You needed him, your other half, to balance you out. Something in you knew this wasn’t just a one-off moment to save him the heartbreak, you knew you were now tied to one another whether you’d like it or not. But you could pretend to be “getting it over with” for the sake of this interaction.

His hand steadied himself on your shoulder, and you wrapped an arm around his waist. Swiftly, you pulled him into you and onto your lap, your other hand on the back of his head to keep him there. He made a small noise you could akin to satisfaction, and you laughed against his lips. Your head tilted to the side, leaning up into him as the kiss continued. Your hands moved down to his sides, grabbing his waist tightly.

He broke it off after a second, his breathing heavy as he looked down at you. His eyes screamed love and lust all in one, wrapped in a delicate bow, those soft eyes of his and the lingering smile tying it all together.

“You…”

“Hm?” You tilted your head at him, bringing his chin down to grab his attention. He focused entirely on you, eyes connected and unbreaking.

“You’re really good at that…” he laughed nervously, adjusting the way he sat in your lap. You felt him up against you, and a sly smirk found its way onto your face.

“Yeah? You think so?” You asked, pulling his hips forward, hands slipping around to his ass.

“I mean, I have a practiced tongue with what I read, but..”

“A practiced tongue?” You laughed at him, squeezing where you could as you threw your head back.

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” He whacked your chest, which only made you laugh more.

“What, you get practice rolling your r’s over those fancy words of yours?” You cackled, leaning up towards him once again.

“You’re so childish,” he tsk-ed, lowering his head down to you, your noses touching again.

“But you seem to be into it,” you claimed, raising the argument with him.

“This feels just… so high school,” he stated, and you tilted your head as to what that meant. He noted your confusion and continued, “Truth or dare, spin the bottle… you know how to ball, I know Aristotle…” he raised both eyebrows, hoping you understood the trope he was getting at.

You laughed again at his comment, shaking your head at him. “You’re so funny,”

“It’s true! Swear, scouts honor,” he leaned into you, brushing his lips against yours. Then, out of pure adrenaline, he said something he never would’ve imagined ever stating to anyone else. “I want you to touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto…”

You smirked at that, connecting your lips briefly. “You’re gonna have to stifle your sighs for that one,” you teased, kissing him again. He returned your kiss, allowing you to trace your lips down his neck.

“Times u-“ Wyll burst in, and then stared directly at both of you. You were rather unfazed by it, but Gale turned to stone in your arms. You continued kissing his neck, ignoring Wyll just… standing there. Hello? Say something!

“Fuck off, Wyll.”

“Yeah! Yep! I’m- ahuh!” Wyll turned back around and closed the door again, shell-shocked from what he perceived as a horror before him. Not that gay people scared him, but you were kissing Gale? He didn’t actually expect you two to be like that.

“Y/N-“ Gale pleaded, gently pushing at your shoulders.

“Hmm?” You switched sides, slipping your hands under his shirt and holding tight onto his waist.

“Please-“ He pushed again on your shoulders, and you got the hint. You pulled back and looked up at him, in awe of his beauty.

“This was really, really nice. But I don’t.. want to do this if it’s just to prove a point,” he slipped out of your hold and stood up, fixing his hair and his shirt.

“That’s not-“

“Again, spare me. Spare me from the horrors that will unfold from your pursuit of this. Whatever reason you might have, I don’t desire to be the object of any more jokes,” he cleared his throat, clearly holding back the pain he felt.

“Gale-“

“Please,” He begged, his voice quiet. He didn’t want to become a laughingstock if things went south.

“Okay, okay,” you put your hands up defensively. You stood, running a hand through your hair. He was about to leave, but you grabbed his hand before he could. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you paused, letting go of his hand as you looked down at him.

“But I do… want to get to know you. We can be friends, yeah?” You pulled out your phone from your pocket, holding it towards him to input his number. “Doesn’t have to be anything else. And I can probably get people to stop making rumors,” you offered, and Gale sighed at you.

“Are you going to marry, kiss, or kill me?” He asked quizzically as he inputted his number. What was that supposed to mean?

“It’s just a game-“

“But really,” he looked up at you, sighing once again. “I’m betting on all three for us two.” He handed your phone back, his hand slipping down to rub the edge of his shirt. He laughed a little bit at the idea of marriage. Gods, no. “No one’s ever had me, not like you. I don’t want things to go south if we head into things too strongly,” he pushed his hands into his pockets, all too aware of his anxious stimming. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get rid of the rumors. We can be friends, but that’s all I’d like for right now.”

“Can we make out every once in a while because I’m kinda getting the practiced tongue thing now-“ you joked, only to be met with Gale shoving you slightly.

“What did I just say, Prometheus?”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” You saved his number in your phone and then opened the door for him to leave. Skipping past everyone, you led Gale out to his car. “Uh.. who’s Prometheus? Asking for a friend, definitely not for me,”

“You don’t know who Prometheus is?” Gale stopped walking entirely to look at you with horror and hurt, a look worse than when he talked about the rumors. Jesus, this guy cared about literature more than anything.

“Is it an English club thing? I only ‘know how to ball’,” you recounted his former comment, laughing as he made a face of annoyance now, walking to his car without another word.

“Oh, come on! That was a funny sentence!” You followed him as he got into the driver’s seat, and you leaned against the window while he started the car. You knocked on the window, pouting at him softly.

He rolled the window down and you took the opportunity to reach in, open the door from the inside, and lean on the top of the car while keeping him from closing it again. “Don’t be mad at me, Dekarios,” you grinned at him, but that didn’t change the annoyance in his eyes.

“Is this how you treat all your friends?” He cocked an eyebrow at you, arms crossed tight over his chest now.

“Just the ones I really like…” you lowered yourself down towards his face, biting your bottom lip slightly. He pushed your face to the side, ignoring the temptation.

“I’d prefer if you liked me a little less, just for now,” he retorted, and you laughed at his joke wholeheartedly.

“I’ll try,” you nodded, hitting the top of the car as you stepped back and closed the door for him. “Get home safe, yeah? I’m going to send you my number.”

“I’ll try,” he copied, and you couldn’t help but want to kiss his pretty little face again and again and again and- okay, we get the idea.

As you watched him drive off, your heart felt a little less lonely. You weren’t technically dating, and it would take a goddamn long time before you’d get there, but you had a friend with hope for you. A not-so-more-than-friends, friend.

You entered back into the mansion with a stupid grin on your face that was instantly wiped away as you saw everyone staring at you.

“So, you made out with Gale, huh?”

“I actually fucking hate you guys,” you laughed as you rejoined the group, recounting the entire event that was getting to make out with Gale Dekarios.

Maybe it was the brink of a wrinkle in time, bittersweet endings, and brand new beginnings. You couldn’t tell what possessed you to be like that with him, and Gale wondered the same on his way home.

In a few years, where would you find yourselves? You hoped you’d be waking up to your poet wrapped in your arms, comfortable in the space you’d created together. But you were still in high school, and lots of things could change between now and then.

For now? You’d just be happy with what you had.

[librarycards]

Hello! Sorry if you’ve posted about this somewhere already/if it’s redundant, but I thought your coinage of “transMad” was very cool and I’m wondering what that term means to you? I’m really happy to see other people talking about madness being intertwined w their gender/transness and looking forward to checking out your reading lists :))

thank you so much for asking about one of my favorite things to infodump about!! rather than rehash a bunch of stuff, if it's okay, I'm going to borrow a few quotes from past!me that i've published in different places // offer you some things of mine to read.

broadly, though, i use transMadness as a way to explore the identificatory, epistemological, methodological, and theoretical implications of an orientation (to use Sara Ahmed's term) toward bodymind noncompliance and self/selves-determination. this orientation refuses to delineate diagnostically between Maddened / transed experiences of the world/our many worlds, and instead takes this shared/overlapping ground as a jumping off point for solidarity and speculation - that is, something that allows us to imagine otherwise worlds / make them manifest through creativity and collaboration.

(Ha, and I claimed i wouldn't talk too much...famous autistic last words)

ANYWAY. here are some clips that might help explain more dimensions of transMadness. note that, in my dissertation-in-progress, i'm focusing on xeno/neogender and/as self-diagnostic cultures among queercrip and transMad internet users. i'm interested in the anti-psych liberatory potential of this digital community work, especially as it centers forms of knowledge and scholarship devalued within Academia Proper, especially because so much of it is made by and for disabled, Mad, queer, trans people, esp. youth. Onward to quotes!

On transMad epistemologies: citation/power/knowledge:

I’ll spend most of this piece looking not at what transMad is, but what it does. First and foremost, transMad cites. Even its name alludes to other portmanteaus: neuroqueer and queercrip being the best-known among them. Many people have offered many different (ever-“working”!) definitions of these terms; today, I offer co-coiner Nick Walker’s (2021) definition of neuroqueer: a verb and an adjective “encompass[ing] the queering of neurocognitive norms as well as gender norms” (p. 196). In terms of queercrip, I also return to its coiner, Carrie Sandahl (2003), who for whom the queercrip (as person and as method/movement) confuses the diagnostic gaze, bears sociopolitical witness, and performs glitchful[4], incongruous, confusing in(ter)ventions into possible community. At base, “queer” and “crip” appear as analogous, reclaimed slurs signifying marginalized transgression. When combined, they describe a loop, perhaps a Möbius strip: crip (ani)mates queer, queer tells-on crip. The specter of crip haunts queer—and even more explicitly, as we will see, trans—and the crip(ped) bodymind holds, moves, and fucks queerly. Who knows where “queer” stops and “crip” and “neuro” begin? Likewise, transMad, whose citational style leaves little room for diagnostic clarity amidst a pastiche of noncompliant text.

On transMad epistemologies: multiplicity (h/t @materialisnt):

They encourage us to remove others’ names from our bodies, to reign in unruly citations, to set “boundaries” which violate Mad, crip ethics of care (see Fletcher, 2019). In truth, any framing of individual authorship in which the body text is “mine” and the citations gesture “elsewhere” belie the inherent interdependence of all intellectual life, and particularly of transMad intellectual life. transMad plural scholar mix. alan moss (2022) argues in relation to the pathologization of multiple systems: “all people, indeed all that exists, is a system that itself is constantly enmeshed in several overlapping and interconnected systems.” In short, I am full of Is, and will continue as many more. Just as disability justice helps us understand all life as interdependent and deserving of access, a transMad approach sees our selves as numerous and fuzzy. We have permission to dispense with the need for tidy texts, with our interlocutors, edits, and iterations either obfuscated entirely or exclusively relegated to a bibliography. transMad citation may thus be considered akin to visible mending[6], creating flamboyantly messy, multiplicitous work that does not seek to pass as objective or discrete.

On the value of (crip) failure and/as "virtuality":

Don’t get me wrong: Zoom PhD work is a failing enterprise. That is to say, it is a queercrip, transMad enterprise, which is to say, it is a beautiful, beautiful project. Mitchell, Snyder, and Ware describe such “fortunate failures” in the context of “curricular cripistemologies.”5 Coined by Merri Lisa Johnson, the term “cripistemologies,” refers to “embodied ways of knowing in relation, knowing-with, knowing-alongside, knowing-across-difference, and unknowing,” ways which frequently exist outside the purview of mainstream academia.6 Curricular cripistemologies, then, refer to an intentional, queercrip deviation from normative pedagogical approaches which trades the corrective impulse of “special ed” and other rehabilitative programs, and offers instead a generative noncompliance.7 That is, rather than trying to identify, isolate, and ameliorate difference, curricular cripistemologies lean into difference as it is experienced by disabled students ourselves, querying how atmospheres of in/accessibility shape normative approaches to education and how the embrace of “failure,” not as a last-resort but as a first choice, poses potentially transformative possibilities.

On transMadness and fat liberation: (for @trans-axolotl's Psych Survivor Zine)

A transMad, fat approach to disorderly eating requires making connections with humility and understanding, and, as I discussed above, engaging in compassionate, critical interrogation of our own anti-fatness.

[...]

A transMad, fat, abolitionist politic is one that makes room. We imagine beyond the cage, even if the details of that imagining are not yet clear. Just as we have carved micro-sites of support within violent digital and in-person contexts, just as we have learned to think about our lifeworlds beyond the paradigm of “recovery or death,” we can also reconceptualize fatness not as the enemy, but as another form of bodymind noncompliance in alliance and/or entanglement with disorderly eating practices. For thin disorderly eaters, this requires us to fundamentally challenge the way we view food and embodiment, even while maintaining a Mad respect for alternative ways of approaching reality.

On xenogenders, virtuality, and self-determination:

It is this very “irrationality” –– the “unrealness,” the “you’ve-got-to-be-kiddinghood,” that is most frequently weaponized against xenogenders, as well as their newly-coined sets of xenopronouns. The perceived and actual virtuality of xenogenders is often placed against the notion of “actuality,” in this case, of “real” (or “practical”) genders and pronouns to be used in one’s “real life.” Disabled activists have rightly resisted the distinction between online and (presumed-offline) “real life,” given that this categorically excludes homebound bodyminds, as well as those without IRL social and support circles. That said, I believe the virtual –– as almost, not-quite, proximite, making-do –– is incredibly useful in thinking about xenoidentities as transMad tools –– particularly, as transMad tools of underground collaboration / co-liberation.

[...]

What if gender was a project we wanted to fail? That is, what if trans- was a process not of getting better, not of moving-toward a bodymind more sane, more straight, and more cisheteropatriarchially desirable, but rather a line of flight on a longer trail to illegibility? Indeed, what if we replaced pathology’s narrow “path” with a trail lighted by the language of our comrades, whose linguistic interventions make and break gender in ways heretofore unimaginable? Xenoidentities, both individually and as a trans-gressive M.O., are fundamental to a broader transMad project of crafted, collective illegibility; intersubjective citation (imagine what it feels like for someone to be the gender that you coined!); and collective care that refuses a politics of cure. Crucially both virtual and digital, xenoidentities are furthermore a manifestation of the power of trans, predominantly disabled digital counterpublics, who overturn the hierarchy which places the IRL-real above the digital-unreal, making unruly, Mad space in which (with apologies to Donna Haraway) a hundred xenoselves might bloom.

On Maddening queer "diagnosis":

In her indictment of all “Kwik-Fix Drugs,” Gray further indicates the practice of forced treatment as in and of itself as a project of violent normalization, regardless of specific target or reason. The intentional ambiguity between her narrative of Madness and her narrative of asexuality disrupt mounting demands for a healthy (sanitized, neoliberal, and consumable) queerness. A Mad ace approach identifies these demands as, indeed, comparable with cis heteronormative notions of sexual maturity and responsibility – the idea that participation in culturally-normative sexual practices is a prerequisite for health (Kim, 2011, 481) and thus, personal autonomy (Meerai, Abdillahi, and Poole 2016, 21). By fusing the “lack of sexual appetite” attributed to her medications for bipolar disorder with her asexuality, Gray destabilizes the binary between healthy-sexual-diversity and unhealthy-psychopathology. She is once again disrupting contemporary queer impulses to dissociate from ongoing histories of pathologization. Here, Mad and queer/asexual activism are as inseparable in text as they are in Gray. Gray and her comrades collectively refuse both sexuality-as-“rehabilitation” (See Kim 2011, 486) and asexual acceptance predicated upon normative “health” (Kim 2010, 158) – that is, they Madden asexuality. Twoey, in her own voice, remixes the sources of her own pathologization, staggering the supposedly-divine pronouncement of the DSM across pages and bookending its extracts with her own writing and art. In this undermining of the DSM’s epistemological polish, Gray disrupts the domination of written prose over poetry and visual art, while also critiquing the role of the DSM in commercialized health “care.” Her zine opens with the lines “sex sells and sex is sold / sex was being sold and i didn’t buy” (Gray 2018, n.p.). Gray indicates a pathology perceived not only in a refusal to practice sex, but also in a refusal to buy (into) it. After all, a refusal to buy into existing sexual paradigms is for her also a refusal to buy into a feminized reproductive mandate.

[unkat]

chilaios medical au idea i have been bouncing in my head (will not be written until after my current one is done)

i am thinking of a like firefighter/paramedic story for these guys. where laios is a new shift commander/chief at a small middle of nowhere station and chilchuck is a medic from a big city who keeps getting reassigned because he is trying to recruit for a union and the company is trying to make his job unworkable/find a reason to let him go.

laios was promoted because of his work ethic and ability to teach other people about the ins and outs of emergency medicine, not because he wanted to be in charge. he is too new and disinterested in the company politics to throw him under the bus for other people, and by the time someone explicitly says he needs to fire him, he has gotten attached.

"he's reliable, does good work, and catches things nobody else here would have. i know he cussed out the family trying to get into the rig, but he had already told them no and they should be grateful he saved their daughter instead of filing a complaint! even if i were to discipline, he deserves a verbal warning and not dismissal. You were not there, and i am his direct superior."

(wins the argument and walks away trying not to hyperventilate)

also falin is a surgeon and marcille is a research fellow who abandoned her big-city super-focused projects to come out into the country and work with subpar equipment and an incompetent assistant. im not thinking like full rural hospital here, but closeish to it. could be an academic satellite hospital and she switched from like gene therapy trials to studying exposures/population/histology stuff.

shifting the touden hyperfixation from monsters->medical fascination i think would still get across the same vibes. falin is very nice and pleasant but she treats everyone nicely and pleasantly without actually empathizing with them. shes one of those surgeons who went to shadow a heart transplant in college and cried because it was so beautiful and then got a bunch of scholarships plus student loans for med school.

laios hunts and has a big appreciation for the lives of things he kills and butchering/using everything he can. then it translates to him being fascinated by the human body as an object more than as a being that is different and special from other animals that he is a part of. he is a fantastic emergency responder because of this- people are a pile of flesh that is broken somewhere, and he wants to figure out why. (this is something that I'm like. not sure if it is okay for me to include because it can be squicky/triggering. but i feel like when I'm unsure if I'm going too far that is when i am reaching the line i want to?)

the touden siblings still go hiking and mudding and spend their time off in the woods (marcille wears white shorts and sandels on a hike leaving laios to be very explicit and offering clothes to chilchuck when he offers him to join. chilchuck borrows his shirt and it is way too big, but he keeps it for a while.)

chilchuck is extra divorced. he facetimes with the girls a couple of times a week and gets them on rotating holidays. sometimes ex-mrs. tims invites him over for dinner because she feels sorry for him and her new boyfriend is also there. it's awkward but they both know he's harmless, just annoying and closed off. he smokes but has tried to quit 7-8 times. started when he was an emt and couldn't shake it because it helped him destress. he only knows how to drive well enough to pass his vehicle license renewals and still doesn't know what the buttons in his car do. the ac has been "broken" for a week before a station mechanic pushes the button to turn it back on (they should put a subway around here, stupid cars).

laios respects his experience and history of being at a constantly busy station that saw a variety of crazy shit. chilchuck initially resents him for being so out of touch, but grows to respect his leadership abilities. laios also always follows up on cases at the hospital to figure out the outcome and reflect on best practices.

he is the first person to get chilchuck to actually debrief after a shitty call and chil cries and never wants to talk about it again. but its like a seal in a dam has been breached, and opens up when they are cuddling on the couch. they spend more time off shift with each other. chilchuck crashes on laios' couch and initially feels like he needs excuses to do it until laios says he really likes talking with him and having him there. he tells him about the company's EAP coverage and that he encourages everyone to take advantage of it.

in the end, they hit that threshold of basically living together, and one of them would need to change their station (superior/employee romance) after they go from making out off shift in secret to seriously considering having laios meet his daughters in person. (they already think they're married because laios is always there when they call now)

[growingstories]

Farming

High-rolling lawyer James Christophers is a name partner in a prestigious firm, specializing in liability cases for pharmaceutical clients. He is known for his handsome, muscular appearance and confident attitude. Despite his tight schedule, which includes early morning workouts and back-to meetings-back, James enjoys the city and life his spends weekends at bars gay, always with a new boyfriend in town.

Recently, James inherited a vast farm in the middle of nowhere in Northeast Ohio from his late uncle. As he was married to his mother's sister and childless, James is the sole heir. Although James flies to the farm in the company jet during weekends, he finds the intensity of combining the farm and his city life overwhelming.

It is during one of these visits that he meets Jackson, his neighbors' 20-year-old son. Jackson, who prefers to be called Jackie, reveals that he is on the brink of losing his wrestling scholarship if he doesn't win his next match.

In a surprising turn of events, James proposes a deal to Jackie. If Jackie loses the match, James will pay for his last year of tuition In return, Jackie agrees to work on the farm during his free time while attending school. Unfortunately, Jackie loses the match and immediately starts working on the farm. The initial weeks prove to be challenging as he tackles manual tasks such as harvesting and yard work, providing enough physical exercise to maintain his muscular physique. As the holidays approach and there is less work to do on the farm, Jackie realizes he has gained weight due to his continued wrestling diet.

In the spring, James visits the farm and unveils his plan for a flourishing agricultural business. He introduces a new fertilizer for wheat and corn, promising faster growth and larger yields. Although it is not yet available on the market, James decides to conduct a trial season. The whole village becomes interested, and James offers to share the results after the next harvest.

Even though there is a lot of hard labour Jackie keeps eating like he did as a wrestler, during the summer, Jackie continues to gain weight, reaching a staggering 260 pounds.

Also James sees his weight climbing. Despite the weight gain, the crops thrive, and James seizes the opportunity to sell his shares in the law firm and invest the money in expanding his farming business. The town becomes dependent on James for their seed supply, and he even keeps some wheat for the local bakery and corn for his own livestock.

Eventually, Jackie graduates and secures a job at a real estate company out of state. This leaves James in need of a solution the to farm work. He finds Danny, the son of a local baker.

Though Danny lacks ambition, he possesses a strong work ethic. Unfortunately, working alongside this young man becomes detrimental to James' fitness goals, as he gains weight due to the delicious goods from Danny's mom she prepares everyday for them.

Desperate to lose weight, James spends two months at a fitness resort. Upon his return, he successfully sheds the excess fat and gains some muscle, resulting in a weight of 205 pounds.

However, he quickly gains weight yet again after consuming too many pastries from the bakery, reaching 237 pounds. Concerned the about rapid weight gain, James reaches out to his previous clients for the trial reports, only to discover that the hormones in the seed additives cause an increase in appetite and muscle growth, as well as the faster storage of fat in humans and animals.

Faced with this startling revelation, James contemplates his options. After studying the fine prints he realizes that he is legally protected and not liable for the consequences of the seed additives. Unsure whether to inform the baker or Danny's mother, James decides to continue with the next season, planning to visit a fitness resort as soon as the seeds are planted. However, amid the increasing demands of his growing business and the rapid weight gain of his animals, he struggles to find a solution for his own weight.

Frustrated, James strikes a deal with Danny. In exchange for not revealing James' secret of not eating, to his mother, he pays Danny a bit more. Danny agrees to eats both his and James’ food his mother baked. Weeks and months pass, and James remains unable to lose the weight. Without the motivation of his previous lifestyle, he is less concerned about his appearance.

Meanwhile, Danny's newfound popularity because of his new size leads him to overeat even more from his mothers goods.

After a year, Danny has gained an astonishing 220 pounds of pure fat, reveling in his newfound sense of power and masculinity. In town, he becomes popular among girls who appreciate his larger frame. However, the consequences of his actions, as well as his increasing weight, continue to unfold.

[heich0e]

tags: smut, f!reader, oral (f!receiving), slight exhibitionism, slight coercion (reader is reluctant but easily swayed), mentions of slightly toxic relationship dynamic, this was inspired by @andypantsx3 and @mydiluc so credit where credit is due!!, word count 2.4k, 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

the door to the spare bedroom in your apartment (that in the past few years has doubled as a makeshift office, a storage room, and has very seldom actually hosted a guest) creaks open, and out of pure instinct you temporarily turn off the video feed from your end of the zoom call. 

"i'm bored," eren pouts, slumping against the doorframe with his hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie.

"eren, i'm in a meeting," you whisper, even though your microphone has been muted for the majority of the video conference (and will likely remain that way until it concludes.)

"you're always in meetings," he complains, slinking a little bit further into the spare room and closer to you.

"eren, that's because i have a job," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, "meetings are part of being employed."

eren makes an indignant little sound. his lips flattening in what you recognize as offence. 

"baby, i didn't mean it like that," you say softly, remorse seeping into your words. 

eren doesn't work. he's supported by his family, old old money, and has been picking away at a master's degree for the past few years that with every passing day you wonder if he'll ever actually finish--not that you'd ever tell him that, and not that it really matters considering he technically never has to work a day in his life and he'll still have more wealth to his name than most people could ever hope to accumulate. 

you didn't grow up in a family like eren's. didn't have the same privileges and safeguards and assurances that he's had all his life. you went to university on a scholarship. worked your ass off to maintain it. fought for competitive internships that would make you more appealing to prospective employers, and graduated with a good GPA that sweetened the deal. 

you met eren in your sophomore year, though his reputation absolutely preceded him–he was well known among the students not only for his family's name (the same name on multiple buildings across campus), but his good looks and his charm made him a bit notorious. you knew he didn't take school particularly seriously, but loved partying. and after a long (relentless) pursuit on his part that spanned the better part of the fall term, you finally agreed to a date after he half-jokingly threatened to enrol in all the same courses as you the following semester (a threat which, to this day, you're uncertain was really much of a joke at all.)

and now it's been years since the two of you got together. to the point that it's hard to remember a time without him at all. 

but those differences in your upbringings, in your work ethics, are still something that the two of you often have to work through. eren would prefer you didn't work at all--or at least didn't work quite so hard, or quite so much--but you enjoy working. sure the job you'd snagged as a new grad wasn't the most lucrative position, but it was entry level at a great company and there was opportunity for advancement which you planned to take full advantaged of. it was a competitive opening in your field and you'd managed to get the job all on your own--even in spite of eren begging you to let him ask his dad to call in a favour on your behalf.

eren sees no issue in using his family name in his (and those closest to him's) best interest. you'd prefer to earn things on your own merit.

the fundamental divide between the two of you.

eren eyes you mistrustfully from the edge of your desk, still sulking from your comment. 

"i really didn't mean it like that," you insist, reaching out towards him. "i just meant that there are parts of having a job you can't change."

eren slinks into your grasp, letting you wind your arms around his waist and burrow your face into his tummy from your seat in your desk chair. the video call in the background hasn't made much progress since you tuned it out, so you're not overly worried about what you might be missing. 

the soft material of eren's hoodie brushes against your cheeks, and his hands cradle the back of your head to hold you against him. 

"i know you didn't mean it like that," eren hums above you, and you tilt your face up so your chin rests just above his navel so you can peek up at him. "i just feel like i never see you anymore."

"eren we see each other every day," you reply, brow furrowing in confusion. you work hybrid in-office/work from home, and with eren picking away leisurely at his masters dissertation his days are mostly spent at home "researching" (playing video games.)

"but you're always so busy," eren pouts, his large hands cupping your cheeks. his thumbs stroke the hollows below your eyes. "you work so hard."

you tilt your face into his touch, your cheek squishing against his palm. he presses a little firmer against either one of your cheeks until your lips pucker, and chuckles softly to himself -- a quiet little 'heh'.

"is your call boring?" eren asks, his eyes sliding to the computer screen in front of you where the call is continuing. 

"ah widd'l," you say, your cheeks still smushed together in his hands. he eases up his grip, brushing some hair back from your face. you sigh, turning in your desk chair and looking back to your computer. "i haven't even really said much. i never do in these meetings since it's mainly advertising and marketing execs, but attendance is mandatory for my team." 

"so you don't have to say anything?"

you hum, reaching forward and clicking on the chat box to see what new messages have popped up since you've been distracted. there are a few links in the conversation and you click to open them in a new window to review after the call concludes. 

eren crouches down beside you, dragging your chair back slightly from the desk. 

"eren, what are you doing?" you ask him, flushing as he pushes your knees apart and squeezes his broad frame in between them. from the waist up you’re dressed in normal work clothes, but you hadn’t bothered to put on proper bottoms that morning so all you have on your lower half is a silky pair of pyjama shorts (one of the perks of working from home.)

“i wanna give you head,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he reaches for the waistband of your shorts but you stop him with a hand on either wrist.

“eren!” you hiss, your eyes flickering to your screen again just to double—triple—check that your mic is muted and your camera is really properly off. it is, but it still brings you little comfort with the faces of your company’s executives plastered across your computer screen.

“what?” he asks, pouting. he rests his cheek against the plushness of your thigh. “why can’t i?” 

“i’m working. i’m in a meeting.”

“that you don’t need to talk in, and that your camera is off for,” he counters, his lithe fingers snaking up the leg of your teeny tiny shorts—he grins when he realizes you’re not wearing panties underneath. his breath is hot and humid on your skin, and the look in his eyes makes your stomach feel tight. 

“eren, i can’t—” 

“you don’t have to do anything,” he smoothly interrupts, the tip of his finger stroking softly up your slit underneath your shorts. “just let me take care of you, my professional, hardworking girl.”

eren was blessed with a silver tongue to go along with the silver spoon he’d been raised with in his mouth. you know you shouldn’t. that it would be an egregious act of misconduct to go along with what he’s saying. but before you can even think to refuse him your silky shorts are hanging off your ankle and your legs are looped over his broad shoulders, slumped back in your desk chair as eren licks long, broad stripes through the sopping wet petals of your pussy. 

“eren, eren—!“ you choke on a pealing moan, your fingers tangling in his soft hair and tugging firmly against the strands. he’s always so slow to take you apart, so dilligent in the way he presses his tongue against you, so methodical about the way that he skirts around your clit—brushing it but never giving it quite the stimulation you want—which only makes you more desperate and needy for him.

just the way he likes you.

“you taste so good,” he murmurs against your cunt, wet and sloppy as he drags his tongue up to collect your slick and his spit along it. he swallows animatedly, like he’s making a big show of it. “do you know how good you taste?”

you shake your head in a trembling little show of dissent. 

he hums. “so good. sweetest little pussy on earth.”

he dips his fingertips inside of you, letting you get just a taste of the stretch before he’s pulling them out again. he holds them up to your face so you can see the shine of fluid clinging to his skin, down to the first knuckle. 

“taste it, baby.”

he presses against your lips and you welcome the digits in. you wouldn’t call the taste sweet by any stretch of the imagination. there’s a headiness to it. a tang. something familiar to the taste that’s not unpleasant. 

eren pushes his fingers back so far in your mouth that you almost choke, but there’s something familiar in this too—you’re used to the prodding at the back of your tongue, the sudden intrusion just at the opening of your throat. he likes teasing you like this. dominating you in such a subtle way it feels like more of a game. you moan, and as your head tips back eren finally sucks hard against your neglected clit. 

your toes curl as they hover over the planes of his back, your spine bending and lifting your chest up towards the ceiling as it bows. eren slips his fingers, now soaked in your spit, back out from between your lips—leaving a little trail of saliva down your chin. eren rubs his slick fingertips against the swell of your clit, rubbing quick circles against it. 

the heat in the pit of your stomach kindles, the knot tightening in your core. 

“you gonna cum?” eren asks, pressing a contrastingly chaste kiss to your trembling thigh. “you gonna cum for me—“

“miss reader?” 

your last name shocks you like a splash of ice water across a circuit board.

both you and eren freeze, your eyes snapping to the computer in front of you. 

the call has gone quiet, and the senior ad executive is looking expectantly to the screen. 

“miss reader are you still there?” the executive repeats. 

frantically you push eren away from you, snapping your legs closed and pulling yourself up to the computer in your chair. you unmute your microphone after clearing your throat. 

“hello?” you say, your voice fluttery and flustered. “i’m here!”

the executive relaxes slightly, chuckling. “thought we’d lost you there!” 

“sorry, sorry,” you apologize, your shaking hands pressed over your eyes. “i’m having, um, some issues with my internet connection. keeping my camera off is helping but the call is still a little laggy on my end.”

the executive hums. “no worries, it happens to us all. just wondering if you have any updates on this quarter’s numbers?” 

you swallow, eyes flickering to eren who’s seated on the ground next to you, leaning against your desk with a sly grin on his face, palming at his cock through his sweatpants. 

“yes, of course,”—you nod even though your camera is still off, instinct more than logic—“the data is still raw, and we haven’t had a chance to properly analyze it yet since it’s still early, but i can forward the spreadsheet to everyone after the call?” 

you watch your colleagues all nod or make small noises of agreement from their sides of the screen.

“ok, sounds good. we’ll keep an eye out for it,” the advertising manager nods, and you see the end of his pen swivelling in the corner of the screen as he makes a note out of frame of his webcam. “now, moving onto the issue from last week’s meeting—“

you slam you mute button on once more, slumping back in your chair in relief. you toss your arm over your eyes, a throbbing between your temples the echoes the dull, unsatisfied ache between your legs. 

“good job, baby,” eren laughs, running a comforting hand up your bare thigh, fingertips kneading into the flesh. “you barely sounded like you were just about to cum.”

“eren, that wasn’t funny.”

eren pulls your chair back from your desk again, pressing a kiss to one knee and then the other. 

“i’m sorry,” he says softly, you pull your arm away from your eyes to peek down at him. he’s looking up at you with a wide-eyed, beseeching gaze. he rests his chin in the valley between your knees. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you sigh lightly. 

“i’m not upset,” you murmur, touching his cheek gently. he reaches up and places his hand over yours as it cups his face. “it was just stressful.”

eren tilts his face so he can press a kiss to your palm, then pulls your hand a little closer so he can press another to your wrist where your pulse pounds arrhythmically. 

“i know,—” 

eren nods as he peeks up at you through his lashes, the green of his gaze cool and comforting. the hand that’s not holding yours to his lips snakes easily between your knees, easing them ever so slightly apart. 

your breath hitches as the cool air catches on the remnants of spit and arousal that have smeared messily along your upper thighs. your stomach clenches. 

“—so just sit back and let me make it up to you.”

[wausaupilot]

Macdonald Foundation names scholarship recipients

The Wausau Woodchucks announced this week recipients of the Macdonald Foundation Work Ethic Scholarship, including five employees:

WAUSAU — The Wausau Woodchucks announced this week recipients of the Macdonald Foundation Work Ethic Scholarship, including five employees: Cole Graff, Madeline Seidl, Genna Hoffman, Brooklyn Hoffman and Abby Madonia. All recipients were awarded between $1,000 and $2,500. These employees are also students who have distinguished themselves by working their way through school while maintaining…

[yuri-is-online]

Sometimes the Wallpaper is Just Yellow: A Heartslabyul Color Analysis

This research was inspired by this post by @mothman-files! I am so sorry for @ing you please let me know if you want me to remove it and I will do so ASAP. Thank you for sending my head into a tail spin, I've learned a lot of stuff.

After reading mothman's musings, you might be thinking to yourself like I did: "hey, there is something familiar about red, blue, yellow, and green color coding." And it is, as mothman correctly points out in the notes of their post it is an extremely common trope in anime. The reason was both exactly and not not at all what I expected after I resurfaced from this little detour I took from fic writing.

How well do you know the colors of your oni? Because that's more important than card suits for this particular trope, but to make it all make sense I am going to go through each of the Heartslabyul boys one by one saving Cater for last. With that being said, pack your bags and grab some beans we are going to learn some meditation techniques.

Setsubun and the Beaning of Life

No seriously. It all relates back to beans. As a refresher for those unaware, Setsubun is a Japanese festival celebrated at the start February, the day before spring starts on the Japanese Lunar calendar. It is typically part of Lunar New Year celebrations today, and if you know anything about it from anime you probably know that it's that holiday where the Japanese throw beans at demons to chase them away so they can start the new year without their evil influences. What kind of evil influences? Well according to Buddhist belief there are five main ones that are referred to as the five hindrances: sensory desire (i.e. greed), ill-will (i.e. anger), disquietude (i.e. anxiety), sloth (i.e. unable to make decisions), and doubt (i.e. self explanatory).

Now why is this all relevant? Well I saw it repeated again and again, on some articles about Setsuban that the oni who appear during the festival are COLOR CODED and fucking finally thanks to this beautiful, beautiful person called Matthew Meyer (the Yokai Guy) on Patreon of all places! I found out why. Because a professor of History named Yagi Tōru said so and I am inclined to believe as he is the president of the World Oni Study Society! Which is a thing! And he has written textbooks?!?! I get that this might be a tangent but it is important to me you understand I am not pulling this out of my ass, there is scholarship on this I am not lying to you. So what are those colors?

Red Oni (Greed) Blue Oni (Anger)

The only reason I even tried looking at this angle was because of these two. Everyone say thank you to Aduece. You might have heard "the Red Oni Who Cried" folktale in an anime or two (My Love Story is the first that comes to mind for me) and it is thought to have spawned a sort of character trope in anime. There's a hot headed red coded character and their intellectual blue bestie, or maybe they're twins (FFXIV and Tokyo Rev jump to mind), one of them jumps first and the other asks all sorts of questions, both now and later. When I first saw Aduece I thought they were a clever twist on that trope because they're both trying to fit those color molds but... aren't really making it.

Ace wants to portray himself as an easygoing guy who doesn't think too much about things, but we know that's not true. He is extremely smart, he just refuses to put in maximum effort unless forced. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to classify him as greedy either, but when you are sharing the stage with Azul it can be easy to forget that greed isn't always accompanied by a great work ethic. Ace cheats at cards, makes a deal for a study guide he doesn't need, and sucks up to his senpai's all to make things easier on himself. What he actually needs to do is work bitch and when he does that and only then will he realize his true potential.

Deuce, poor ex-delinquent Deuce. He does think about things before he does them and constantly lectures Ace for just doing whatever he wants without thinking, but he is far from naturally intelligent and prone to outbursts of anger. As soon as he looses his temper, he also looses his rational thought, but he accepts that about himself. That's what allows him to discover his unique magic, he knows he has his own sort of intelligence and is determined to work on what he does not.

Green Oni (Sloth)

I don't really think it is revolutionary to say Trey is a bit of a slacker when it comes to addressing interpersonal issues. He finds it easier to try and keep the peace or manage the fallout than directly address the problem at hand, and he is resistant to doing additional work not assigned by his housewarden. Or required by the school, just look at how "excited" he was to be a starsender. If he was any more unhinged he would have started throwing hands. Sloth as a sin isn't strictly just about being lazy. Apathy, a lack of reaction towards something like say, your friend's control freak tendencies that is clearly him acting out his own trauma can qualify as sloth.

I would like to add, though, that I don't really think it was Trey's responsibility to tell Riddle he was going overboard. That should have been Crowley's job, but that's another post. For now just take green as a sign of dodging emotions and let's go.

Yellow Oni (Disquietude)

As pointed out by mothman-files, Cater is supposed to be yellow, but he is more often portrayed with reds and oranges, pinks even, than yellow. Like them, I don't think it is a coincidence he is associated with orange when that's what happens when you mix red and yellow together. Cater is taking on what he perceives to be the identity of his dorm, and he is extremely dissatisfied, disquieted, and anxious because of that.

Something I think should be considered, NRC freshmen are sixteen years old. Cater is a third year, he's spent around two and a half years at NRC, two and a half years that were relatively stable compared to what he tells us about his previous schooling. I think that he has some genuine dissonance in him that is getting harder for him to ignore because he has played this role longer than the ones he has played previously. Cater the Heartslabyul student, the NRC mage, that is who he is now, and I wonder if he knows how he got to this point or if he feels like he just woke up in someone else's body someday and doesn't know if he likes it.

What's worse is I think he does like his friends, and he is suddenly confronted with how little they actually know about him, what could be more anxiety inducing than that.

Black Oni? (Press X to Doubt)

I don't think Riddle is meant to be the black oni, but I do think it's interesting that the color black is associated with doubt and loss of ones convictions when that is essentially both the cause and color of an overblot. Idia and S.T.Y.X. seem to be focused on emotion + extreme magic use to be what's causing the blot... but the more I roll chapter 7 and all the reading I did for this post around in my head it seems to me that overblots like the ones at NRC seem to be tied to a loss of identity and the shattering of one's perceived reality.

I would also like to mention that I have no idea if any of the cited folklore has anything to do with Yana Toboso's mindset when she created these characters. She seems to be someone who does a lot of research and thinks deeply about symbolism, but this color coding and its associated vices can be found in a lot of anime. She could have just picked up on it from that.

I hope you found this descent into madness informative, and if not at least entertaining. Thank you for your time, I am going to go eat a cookie.

Semi Unrelated Fun Facts:

A lot of this brainrot was inspired by Amnesia, as I stated in a post I already made, but I also was thinking about the song YELLOW by Yoh Kamiyama which I don't fully understand the meaning of, but think it is supposedly about being trapped in a false reality from some of the things I've read.

Back to Amnesia, the yellow diamond in that Visual Novel (I haven't watched the anime adaptation because they did my man Kieth dirty) is the yandere route. Which made me start to think about how often yellow is used as a color for characters with identity issues, like Sailor Venus from Sailor Moon and Amu from Sugo Chara! and led to... this mess

According to this thing I found while trying to look for the professor Yagi Tōru he has a son who is a male voice actor???? I don't have time to look this up someone else do it please.

Please check out the Yokai Guy. You can join his patreon for free, his art is lovely and he saved my sanity. I cannot read Japanese so I almost didn't bother saying anything about this because I knew I wouldn't be able to provide an academic source for it, and that's important to me as someone who has a love of history. Also he has a kick-starter up for an illustrated book of folklore, did I mention his art is lovely?

And lastly a lovely hello to @somany-fandoms-solittle-time who kindly asked to be tagged in this post (つ≧▽≦)つ I hope you liked it.

[the-joy-of-knowledge]

5 ways to become luckier

The harder you work, the luckier you are to people

Find mutual interests: I met a student on campus and we started a deep conversation about life and meaning. It went so well that she took my number and invited me to a dinner party. At the dinner party, I met other students from my school who are interning at top firms that I want to intern at. The host of the dinner party studied at Harvard and Oxford and even told me she can look over my essays when I apply to business schools. It's been a year since I was invited and I have been introduced to doctors, lawyers, engineers. All they care about is your interest and character.

Define your character and personality: You need to figure out what you want to be know for? The one who is curious? The one who comes to work early? The one who dresses well? The smart one? The funny one? You get to define who you are and it attracts people with similar personalities and before you know it you will attract opportunities.

Take risks: No risk, no reward. You need to put yourself out there. Go out to coffee shops, networking events, introduce yourself, join groups. You may not get what you want immediately but you are learning and making choices based on the people and opportunities you have

Use resources: Use free and paid resources to get you where you want. Connect with your professors, career centers, boss, online experts, podcasts, friends of friends, books. Take advantage of scholarships, professional organizations, mentors etc. What you will realize is that there are many opportunities available to you. Set up coffee chats with alumni, reach out to your Linkedin connections, and take advantage of local small organizations.

Be disciplined: Your work ethic and education wil speak for you. Your degree is not carved on your face so it is your conversations skills that will help you. Getting to Harvard is not a joke, you will ahve to prove yourself through discipline. Getting to work for the Big three is a goal that only a few can achieve. Yet some people get offers from all. Before you call anyone lucky remember people make sacrifices, they study hard, network hard, apply to 50+ jobs. Get ready to do the work.

[bellaxgiornata]

Yes, I know. Another one. But as an ex-wedding photographer I love writing wedding fics. So for anyone curious about a teaser for this upcoming short, short series, there's an unedited snippet below the cut.

The entire bridal party, along with Marci and Foggy’s immediate family, were staying here for the duration of the weekend's festivities. Tonight you were practicing the rehearsal for the wedding ceremony here at the venue before heading to a nearby restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. Tomorrow was the big wedding day itself, which meant an early morning start for hair and makeup during breakfast, followed by an incredibly long day and probably a drunken evening. Then on Sunday Marci had scheduled a late morning brunch before everyone departed the manor, allowing a bit more time to visit before the newlyweds left for their honeymoon. Coming to a stop before the large wooden door, you released the handle of your luggage long enough to push it open. Immediately you were met with the sound of voices and loud, boisterous laughter coming from a hall to your right as the door swung wide into the foyer. Though as you began to pull your suitcase into the building, your ears picked up on the sound of a familiar voice. One you hadn't heard in a long time. One that instantly put you on edge. It was annoying that he was here. Of course you'd expected it–Marci had warned you ahead of time–but actually seeing him again this weekend was going to be another story.  Matthew Murdock. The cocky fuck boy of Columbia who thought he was smarter than you, always going out of his way to show you up and point out your every mistake because one time you had embarrassed him by correcting him in class. He was an asshole, always so irritatingly ethical for a man who slept around without a care for anyone's feelings. Though of course he'd never flirted with you, always choosing to argue with you instead. And when graduation day had come, he'd certainly rubbed it in your face that he'd been top of the class.  Though what he hadn't known was that you'd spent most of your time busting your ass working at a coffee shop just to try to pay what scholarships wouldn't cover of your tuition while your mother was struggling with a cancer diagnosis. Thankfully she'd gone into remission not long after you'd graduated, but still, Matthew Murdock had made college miserable for you on top of everything you had going on. And you'd despised him for it. So you certainly weren't excited to see him this weekend.

[simonalkenmayer]

We really have no idea to what degree we absorb propaganda. There are ways to check for it, ways to filter. There are ways to act that include both or many possibilities. Who cares why the building fell down, how do we save people? You see?

The quicker and more practiced your mind, the easier this task becomes, but most of us, especially my cousins, never exercise their brains in a meaningful way.

Logic puzzles,memory exercises, reading. Everything. Anything. This is why I will not thin my word count. Read. It’s good for you, you bastards.

So what can we do? Resign ourselves to the notion that like is a simulation? A shadow on a cave wall, and we never really know if anyone who speaks has been outside. Or…

Look at the impact of the information and see what happens. Watch a statistic land in a population and their clever little minds devour it and spit out the bones. That’s why Wikipedia works—you cannot undo the righteous correction of a hell bent editor with a niche hyperfixation. They will win whether or not you hack. But again…bias and spurcing of facts is what determines accuracy. My own experience with them is a reliable source for me. Information is flawed.

Impact isn’t.

Repeat the lie “the Bible says gayness is against the will of god” and watch a gay rights activist with two degrees in biblical scholarship explain to you how Hitler influenced the translation of the Bible to say homosexual, when in fact, it says pedophile.

So if you don’t know what to think, watch what happens and who is wounded, how they are, and what to do about it.

If you worry you won’t be fast enough…then read the trend. Seems like the info is getting pushback, act in defense of the side you think is right—kind, ethical, correct.

If you can’t weed through information…watch for the impact it has and analyze that.

[cleoluvrr]

The Last Days of Summer I (Rafe Cameron x Heyward!OC)

Warnings: violence, underage drinking, drug use, verbal abuse, jealousy, forbidden relationship, enemies to lovers, gaslighting + manipulation

Synopsis: Stuck in a situation she never dreamed of, Neriah Heyward blurs the line between Kook and Pogue; Rafe Cameron a witness.

masterlist

word count: 3k+

↠━ღ◆ღ━↞

I stand next to the shop, watching as my brother hops into a small, rinky-dink boat, profusely apologizing to our father as he drifts off with his friends up the canal. My father yells after him from the dock, assigning him with the unfavorable chore of cleaning the week’s catch. I shake my head and chuckle humorlessly, unamused by their antics once again. 

“What’s up, Riah?” I hear a voice call out from the boat. The disheveled looking blonde waves at me, smiling brightly as he looks in my direction. 

I tilt my head, pushing off the wall I was leaning against to step closer to the three boys attempting to avoid the wrath of my father.

“Hi, JJ.” I say sweetly, laughing as my sibling swats at the back of his friend’s head and my father curses at him.

“Don’t flirt with my sister-” “Don’t talk to my daughter you little bastard!” The two of them say simultaneously.

The group speeds off into the distance, John B. cackling at JJ getting chewed out by Pope and narrowly missing his barrage of hits. I turn back towards the shop, shaking my head as my father grumbles out his disdain for his son’s friends. I freeze in my place as my dad yells out my name from the dock.

“I don’t want you hanging around them kids. Ever.” He says, wagging his finger at me. “You understand me, Neriah Heyward?” 

 “I understand.” I reply, nodding my head as I continue the journey to my bedroom. “Wasn’t planning on it.” I add under my breath.

“Londyn, let’s be so forreal right now.” I deadpanned, staring across the table at my friend. “Kelce is an asshole.” 

I’m seated on the balcony of the country club, deep inside the Figure 8. I wore a white tennis skirt, the bottoms paired with a cropped, pink sweater I ordered from an inexpensive store online. My friends are dressed similarly, our attire reminding me somewhat of the Powerpuff Girls. The club is a common hangout spot for my friends and I, people watching and gossiping to fill our free time over the summer. 

While my brother runs around with the Pogues, likely doing something illegal, I spend my time on the high side of the island with the Kooks. Although we are siblings, the only thing we have in common is that. Our blood.

This didn’t happen out of nowhere, nor did it happen easily.

Pope and I are both very hardworking and intelligent, that I will admit we also have in common. We were always the smartest in our classes, envied for our perfect grades and work ethic. Not that we had much of a choice if we wanted a shot of getting off this island one day. 

Where we differ once again is our ability to make friends. Pope had his Pogue friends. JJ, Kie, and John B. They’re practically inseparable and have been for as long as I can remember. I, however, didn’t have that same luck.

I had a hard time making friends as a kid. I was shy, a bit abrasive, and a know-it-all. I made it a point to show everyone that I was better than them, and I’m sure that didn’t help my likeability amongst my classmates. I was a loner for 8 years of my schooling, many of my pre-teen years spent eating lunch alone and helping my parents at the shop while my brother was out enjoying life.

You can imagine why I jumped at the chance to go to the Kook academy in ninth grade. 

My brother was smarter than me by miles, I will also admit. However, his attendance was not so great, nor the reputation of his friends. Which is why when the scholarship offer came, it was my name on the letter instead of his. I’m sure he would have flat out rejected the offer, anyway, refusing to be separated from his best friends.

I started at the Kook academy my freshman year of high school, wide-eyed and innocent. Not so surprisingly, I was often picked on in the first semester of my time there. My scholarship student status, being a Pogue, being larger than the rest of the girls my age, both in height and weight. I was never bullied at my old school, despite being widely disliked, so this was something I had not been prepared for.

Once again, I spent my days in the back of the class and eating my lunches alone for months. The emotional torture was worth it if it meant I would get the hell off Kildare Island. Sometime in my second semester there, I met one of my closest friends. Practically my savior.

Londyn Woods. Youngest daughter of a Neurosurgeon and former runway model, sister to a lawyer brother living on the mainland, and my lifeline. 

She was loved by many and envied by many; her beauty could not be rivaled by anyone but her own mother. Despite her looks, status, and popularity, she was the farthest thing from shallow. Even knowing that, I wondered what drew her to me, why she would want to be friends with me.

The only things we have in common look wise are our heights, though she still stood three inches taller than me at five-eleven. The dark brown of my skin contrasted against her toffee-colored complexion. Her slim frame looked even smaller when next to me, dwarfed by my broad shoulders and thick thighs. Her face was chiseled, mine was round. She is so very headstrong, and I am so very not. I can’t help but wonder what the appeal was. However, we have everything else in common. Music taste, style, hobbies, future careers. If you know everything about me, you know everything about her.

She is my person, my protector in a way, and I suppose I am hers as well.

Eventually the Kooks began accepting me, not only because I was harmless but because Londyn began airing the dirty laundry of everyone that tried to pick on me. Everywhere I went, she went. Except the Cut. Not that she hasn’t tried, because she has, many times. But because it’s not safe for a girl like her to be there. Since she can’t come there, she drags me around Figure 8 with her like a puppy in a handbag. 

Which is exactly why I’m at the country club now, begging my friend to listen to my boy advice for once.

“Okay, but he’s so cute!” Londyn whines, stomping her feet like a young child. “And whenever he sees me, he smiles at me so sweetly, and he holds the door open for me, and I need you to please hear me out.” she pouts at me.

“I am hearing you out, and I’m not liking what I’m hearing.” I rub my temples, the effort of talking my hard-headed best friend out of making bad decisions draining my energy. “When has Kelce ever been nice to anyone?”

“He’s nice to me! And you!” She exclaims. I raise an eyebrow at that, looking at her skeptically. “Okay…well he’s never been mean to you. Please, Neriah. I beg of you!” She stands out of her seat, walking to my side of the table.

“Girl, don’t beg me for anything.” I say, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of the iced tea in front of me. 

“Do you promise to be nice to him? For me?”

“No.” I snort, shaking my head.

I watch as my friend gets down, her bare knees on the wooden floor of the balcony. She begins repeating the word ‘please’ numerous times, ignoring my pleas for her to get off the ground. Her antics draw the attention of the older people around us; their faces wearing looks of disapproval as they watch the two of us on the deck. I stood up, grabbing her hands away from my knees and tugging her upwards as heat took over my face.

“Okay, fine! I’ll be nice.” I speak. “Get your ass off the floor.” I whispered harshly.

“Yay! I love you so much.” She jumps up, wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace. I grumble, pushing her off me gently and sitting back down. She plops down in my lap, stealing my drink for herself despite my protests.

We sat like that for a while, me scrolling through my phone and Londyn toying with my braids in between her fingers while she watched me scroll through the device mindlessly. We hear multiple footsteps walking onto the balcony, neither of us looking up at the sound.

“Aw, how cute.” A familiar voice comments dryly. I lift my head slowly, something nasty itching to leave my tongue when I see the tall, blonde standing by our table, Kelce and Topper not too far away. 

“Rafe.” I say, just as dryly. “How are you? Laying off the coke?” I ask disinterestedly. Londyn tries to keep a straight face, turning her head away to hide her smile. Rafe chuckles humorlessly, tongue poking against his cheek.

“You should try it, Neriah. Maybe you’d lose a few.” He retorts, Thing #1 and Thing #2 laughing at his jab towards my weight. 

“Nice one, Rafe! You should apply for a job at the laugh factory, I know you need one.” I say. “Do you think they employ deadbeat drug addicts?” I ask Londyn who is now standing behind me, hands resting on the back of my chair. She shrugs, failing to stop the laugh crawling up her throat. She coughs and clears her throat, covering up the sound.

Rafe relents, scoffing as he walks to the other end of the deck, sitting at a table with his minions close behind. A small victory for me.

Rafe and I met at the Kook academy a few years ago, when I was a mere freshman and he was a junior. At first I was entranced by him, blinded by his charming smile and powerful aura. Everyone loved him or wanted to be him. I always kept my distance, knowing better than to ever let myself get anywhere near him to save myself the embarrassment of saying something stupid.

That didn’t last very long.

The summer of my freshman year, Londyn dragged me along with her to Midsummers despite my refusal. She actually sat outside my house with her driver and wouldn’t leave until I came out, all dolled up in the pink Selkie dress gifted to me by Londyn for Valentine’s Day. 

“You look so beautiful!” My friend says when I entered the vehicle, clunky, platform sandals banging against the side of the car as I climbed in. I felt strange, wearing clothes someone else bought for me and on the way to a place where only one person wants me.

We arrive at the venue, Londyn trying to hype me up the entire ride there with no results. The taller girl is handed two flower crowns as we walk through the country club, placing one of them on my head gently with the biggest grin on her face. She grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd of people to the outdoor space where everyone else is mingling. She takes me to her parents, the two figures towering over the rest of the Kooks.

“Neriah! You look absolutely stunning.” Her mother greets, embracing me in a tight hug. “How have you been?” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Woods! You look gorgeous, as always.” I say sweetly, the model pulls away, patting my head endearingly. “I’ve been well, thank you for asking.”

“We haven’t seen you around lately. I’m sure we miss you just as much as our daughter has.” Mr. Woods says, giving me a welcoming side hug.

“It’s really busy at the shop this time of year, my parents have been working me to the bone.” I tell them dramatically, the three of them laughing at my demeanor. “Speaking of parents…if my father asks, you never saw me.” And with that, Londyn drags me off again to hang with other teenagers.

For a moment, I let myself forget about the ongoing class war. I let my guard down and had just as much fun as everyone else. I was just a normal teenager doing normal teen things. I got to dress up nice and be a Kook for a day. I stopped worrying about being careful.

That is where I went wrong. That is when the Devil struck.

I snuck off to the restroom, leaving my friend alone to mingle with the Kook kids. The halls were practically empty, most people outside on the patio. I walk around mindlessly, the music of the gathering outside leaking into the otherwise quiet building. I hear a door open, but ignore it, thinking it was a staff member or something. I continue, the restroom sign in my sight at the end of the hallway.

I was very mistaken.

A hand reached out and grabbed my forearm, dragging me into the door that had just opened. The door shut loudly behind us; my writhing frame roughly shoved against the wall. I try to scream, but a large, warm hand covers my mouth and nose. A body presses up against mine in the dark room, chuckling over my muffled screams. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I notice who it is that has caught me off guard.

Rafe Cameron. The Kook prince himself.

I stop fighting, my own hands grabbing at the one covering my only source of air. Rafe watches me struggle, pressing his hand harder against my face with a look of morbid curiosity. As if he wanted to see how long I could go without properly breathing. He turns on the light with his free hand, wanting a clearer look at my pleading frame and watering eyes. He tilts his head, finally releasing my mouth and nose. 

He doesn’t move, still standing close as my chest heaves and I take in more air than I’ve breathed in my entire life. He looks at me strangely, a mixture of wonder, disgust, and curiosity. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” I exclaim, shoving against his chest harshly. He doesn’t really move, my assault barely affecting him. 

“I think I should be the one asking you that.” He says, squinting at me. “What do you think you’re doing here?” 

“That’s literally none of your business.” I look up at him in disgust and confusion. “Are you insane?” All positive feelings I had for him were gone.

“You see,” He starts, running a hand through his blonde hair. “Everything that happens is my business, because I make it my business. Especially when it comes to rats running around on Figure 8 like they own it.”

“Wow, you are a fucking psycho.” I comment. “Why am I surprised?” He laughs dryly at my words, shaking his head. 

He grabs my face again, fingers tightly gripping my chin. My cheeks squish under his hold, lips forced into a pout. I swipe at his hand again, and he only grips me tighter. I wince, dropping my hands and looking up at him in frustration. He tuts at me, moving my head side to side with disappointment adorning his face.

“Poor little Pogue girl can’t remember her place and needs someone to remind her…” He brings his face closer to mine and I flinch back, my movements halted by the grip Rafe has on my jaw. “That’s okay, I can show you.”

“Rafe, you are fucking insane.” I say, words slurred together out of my forcefully parted lips. He jerks my head roughly, releasing a sound of disapproval. He shushes me, bringing a slender finger to his mouth.

“It’s my turn to talk, Okay?” I don’t respond, eying him warily. “Good girl. You see, life is just so much easier when you follow the rules. When you follow the status quo. But you? You simply refuse to do that. And I don’t like that. I don’t know what your little friend has told you, but you aren’t one of us. You never will be. It doesn’t matter if you go to the Kook school, if you have Kook friends, if you put on a pretty little dress and party with Kooks. You are always gonna be a disgusting gutter rat. Getting all dolled up won’t make me forget that. Make anyone forget that. Do you understand that?” He spits at me.

I nodded, just wanting to get out of that room as quickly as possible.

“I’m glad. Now, I don’t want to have to have this conversation with you again. I won’t be as nice.” He smiles at me, the look making my skin crawl. “Now run along.” He releases me and I shove him away, yanking at the door handle next to me furiously.

“You’re a piece of shit, Rafe. I won’t forget that either.” I say, turning around to face him as I exit the room.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says, the compliment throwing me for a loop. “I wouldn’t want to have to change that.” At that, I storm out of the room and back to the party. The threat sat heavy on my mind for the rest of the night, spending my time watching over my shoulder to keep an eye out for the older guy.

It was that moment I no longer felt admiration for Rafe Cameron.

I didn’t fear him either, though I did that night. The most emotion I feel for him nowadays is disdain and annoyance. Occasionally anger, but I never show it because that’s exactly what he wants. I never told Londyn about our little confrontation, so it’s been a secret between the boy and I since then.

“God, Rafe is such a creep.” Londyn says annoyedly. I give no reaction other than raising my eyebrows slightly. “He’s been staring over here for, like, five minutes.”

 “Let him. He won’t do anything.”

I glance over in his direction, the two of us locking eyes. He mimics my raised eyebrows, waiting for me to give him a reaction. I keep a disinterested look on my face and look back at my friend, once again ignoring his presence. Everything he does is to get a reaction out of me so he can somehow use it as evidence to prove that I’m some kind of menace to Figure 8.

Londyn and I leave a short time later, the club becoming far too stuffy for the both of us.

[thatfreshi]

Origins (University AU)

Here's some little backstories I put together for all our faves. Undecided on how I will write Tav for this, but I'm excited nonetheless. (Also it will still be Astarion x Tav bc it's the only way I know how to live but I wanna write more of the other characters)

Astarion Ancunín: A senior studying philosophy in hopes of pursuing a law degree in grad school. Modeling since 16, he's recently rose to fame under a designer called Szarr, along with six other young promising models. While rumors always spread about Szarr and his work, hit piece articles never seem to make it to the news.

Gale Dekarios: After excelling in the arts, Gale has found tutorship under Ms. Mystra, who has found great pleasure in helping him with his thesis project. She noticed him early on in his college career, and the two have become a very powerful pair in the art world, but it seems as though she sees him as way more that a student, always coddling him as her prodigy.

Karlach Cliffgate: Perhaps an odd choice for an esteemed university, Karlach got into school through a wrestling scholarship, and takes her sport very seriously. However, it seems Coach Zariel expects a lot out of her athletes, including some not-so-ethical doping and 'accidentally' injuring other team's wrestlers. However, Karlach has no other options, and can't afford to lose her scholarship.

Wyll Ravenguard: Son of the dean, Wyll is quite an interesting student. Despite having a blood relationship with the dean, the two are never seen talking. Instead, Wyll has taken over the SGA, and works closely with school admin Ms. Mizora, who has started using Wyll's place as SGA president to pull some strings in the university.

Shadowheart: Currently studying biology for her undergrad degree as a junior, Shadowheart is quite in tune with her religious background. Despite growing up with different beliefs, a nearby church has caught her eye, and its leader has promised her the impossible, at the price of suffering.

Lae'zel: After being trained to run in the Olympics since she was young, Lae'zel finds herself injured during her junior year of college, unsure of what to do with her life now. Will she be able to run again, or will the people she's grown up with and admired for so long throw her to the side, leaving her a pent up college student who didn't even really want a degree?