#and i feel like this feeling of competition is so entrenched in people's minds

[bandzboy]

i don’t know if you’re an army but yoongi did not write snooze for his “fans” to go and shit on the very juniors he was trying to comfort with the lyrics

i am not exactly an army i'm more of a casual listener but i know the song and it's a very nice song really but also this brings up these discussions i've been seeing on twt about how some armys don't even read their lyrics or even care much about their music as much as they say they do and it's sad

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I've been trying to hold my tongue and not jump to conclusions but this just takes the cake BPP.

twitter. com / chain_7_/status/1630439943750434816.

This is after Seulgi said she won't sing Hype Boy so she doesn't "get into trouble" and company execs unironically called themselves Pink Bloods. I'm just astounded that this is still happening in 2023. Have things really not improved since 2017?

The depths of hatred, cringe, and ignorance from adults who should truly know better makes me almost want to weep Jesus Christ. I've read about SM group stans filing petitions with the Blue House of Korea because BTS won a kpop award and thought those days of insanity were behind us, but it's still happening NOW. It's amazing to me how all the things you said about kpop cultures in different companies is playing out in front of my eyes. I thought you were lying or exaggerating and truthfully, I've seen questionable behavior in army fandom too, but to see this kind of rot, from the top of that company, down to the fans who just mirror that sick banal behavior, and then the idols caught in the middle who can't even dance along to a popular song trend out of fear of angering their fans AND company executives. We are in hell.

And the gall of these people to then turn around and try to police armys' behavior?? It's giving Trump and Republicans 2.0 istg BPP and I'm sorry for ranting about this again in your inbox but seeing them sending trucks to Hybe building when they sat on their hands for decades while LSM skinned that company and the idols dry angers me so much! Did armys do something years ago to justify this hatred? Did BTS do something in 2013 that explains this behavior? I really don't understand how even SM executives can act like kpop stans on Twitter. Can you please explain this to me BPP??

Honestly, I get armys' behavior now. SM stans are everywhere in kpop and if I was surrounded with that kind of madness, I'd give them that energy back as well.

No matter if Hybe gets that majority stake or not, the things they have exposed in SM just in the last few weeks has soured my mind towards so many things in kpop and this is me being 100000% honest.

Yes I'm that petty.

I think you ignored my last ask because I had no evidence but I've included the link now. Is there any history of something BTS did that justifies more than a decade of hate and vitriol from fans of SM artists towards Hybe and anything connected to BTS? Real question so pls answer BPP.

***

Hi Anon,

Your link.

I ignored your asks not because you didn’t include evidence Anon. I ignored it because I honestly think you’re getting sucked in way too deep and I’ve seen this all happen before. As people prone to ‘discourse’ are wont to do, you seem to be getting far more invested into matters over which you have zero control, while stoking your anger over how the system works. And while giving you an outlet here could make you feel better and rally likeminded people to your cause, I feel it’s a counterproductive exercise at best because that also just further entrenches animosity and makes the whole space just more toxic.

But I feel you won’t move on unless you get an audience, so here we are. To answer the questions you asked:

There is nothing BTS or ARMY did years ago to justify the hate from the rest of k-pop fandom and from SM corporate executives towards anything connected to them. Except disrupting the system to be massively successful despite often doing the opposite of what was expected for a k-pop group and fandom, and still leaving the rest of the competition in the dust. Funny thing is SM executives way back in 2014 actually offered to buy BTS from Bang PD because they saw in them what we all see now. Bang PD obviously refused, and k-pop stans kept doing what k-pop stans do, as did the industry. Now, ARMYs today (especially after the Burning Sun madness in 2019 and the Jungkook gay club witch-hunt in 2020) have unfortunately gotten as good as the typical k-pop stan in giving back the same energy as good as they get, as well as platforming solo or akgae-lite voices in the fandom, and the fandom culture suffers significantly as a result. But yes the fact is that the animosity and hate towards BTS started out as a purely one-sided affair, with BTS and ARMYs taking the brunt of that insanity for years, until the last four years or so when ARMYs had the numbers to overwhelm the hate.

The typical k-pop stan is filled with resentment towards anything concerning BTS because they feel the group and fandom deserves to have a reckoning that will humble them. It’s a hatred that will persist for as long as BTS is at the top of the k-pop hierarchy because the underlying belief driving that hatred is that BTS does not deserve their status as other groups or idols are more deserving of the recognition and achievements. It’s why most of the criticism around BTS is centred around comparisons to ‘better’ groups or idols that aren’t getting the same recognition BTS is (obviously), regardless of the context. Or criticism around how BTS and the fandom respond to the system they’re situated in.

It’s essentially competition. With none of the sportsmanship, no referee in sight, and a mass of people who care more about ranting day and night about groups and fandoms they hate, rather than developing a knowledge base of the music and art created (however imperfectly) in this space. And what typically happens when competition becomes toxic and supercharged, is that it becomes politics.

That’s why the dynamics you see play out in k-pop fandoms is more akin to the dysfunctional political system in the US, rather than what you see in the Premier League (though they have their fair share of politics too). The typical k-pop stan is looking for Collective Guilt towards the fandom they hate to justify their behaviour since by that logic, BTS, yourself, and me are responsible for perceived slights done by the fandom, to other k-pop idols those stans support.

It’s why a couple weeks ago, a fan of SM groups walked into my replies, disagreed with me about Jungkook, but started cussing out ARMYs and the tannies immediately. That’s the kind of logical leap you make when you hate the subject, understand next to nothing about the underlying context, view the entire fandom of at least 5 million people as a uniform bloc, but are spoiling for a fight anyway.

This behaviour is also influenced by how the wider culture is dealing with a breakdown in civic institutions and traditional remediation channels. It’s happening everywhere now, not just in k-pop fandoms, but the structures informing those behaviours in k-pop have been entrenched for a long time.

And so Anon, I read your asks on SM, Hybe, k-pop and BTS and saw you’re falling into the same thinking patterns and beginning to conflate things that have no business being viewed together. For example:

Yes Seulgi skipped covering Hype Boy, but she was unclear about her reasons and there is no reason for you to fill in the gaps for her. Yes SM executives are explicitly, even somewhat myopically, anti-HYBE because they’ve tied up their economic interests with Kakao based on what has been disclosed so far, but that doesn’t mean every SM idol is prevented from enjoying art made by HYBE artists. You’re right about the culture of older k-pop companies and the fandoms of groups under those companies, but it’s pointless losing sleep over it because those behaviours are structurally supported.

There is nothing special about the hate BTS and those who love the group face in k-pop spaces. That hate is a function of how the system has been structured since at least 2009. If there was another k-pop group that approached the industry the way BTS did, and fostered the relationship with their fandom the way BTS did with ARMYs, they’d be on top and they’d be just as hated.

If hate from k-pop stans is something that bothers you, I suggest you avoid ‘discourse’, spend less time in k-pop fandom spaces online and try to build more fandom connections offline with a focus on what you genuinely love about BTS. Keep this SM-HYBE deal and the rest of k-pop discourse related to it at arms length because you cannot influence the outcome, and HYBE can take care of itself. For one thing you shouldn’t think your interests are identical to HYBE’s, but even if you were concerned, from a purely business standpoint HYBE’s downside in this deal is limited because they already own a stake they can always monetize later.

Detach, detox, and focus on what you love instead. It will do you far more good than getting upset over how millions of people behave in a system established by 20 years of incentives and culture.

[amara-iceleb]

Digital Detox & How to Do Nothing by Jenny Odell

When I went on my detox walk, it was early in the morning after a series of sunny days, but it was slightly windy and the sky looked like it was ready to rain. Usually, when I walk, I have headphones in so I can't hear the noises of my surroundings but without the connection of my phone, I was able to hear the sounds of sneakers against pavement from joggers going past, birds chirping as well as geese migrating back, and small animals running around in the overgrowth of the park. I had taken this walk several times before so I didn't notice anything new but I was very attuned to the sounds since I don't usually hear them. During the walk, I was feeling pretty relieved and calm as it felt like I didn't have much to worry about and all of my work was left at home.

My favorite quote from How to Do Nothing by Jenny Odell was from the final chapter of the book, when she wrote, "I wasn’t expecting to encounter it today, but this may be the best illustration of what manifest dismantling has to offer to those who are willing to receive it. When we pry open the cracks in the concrete, we stand to encounter life itself—nothing less and nothing more, as if there could be more.” I felt that this quote was meaningful because it encapsulated the essence of the book's message about the value of slowing down, paying attention, and embracing the richness of life beyond the confines of what capitalism deems as important/worthy of our time. I also think that this quote emphasizes the transformative potential of engaging with the world around us in a more intentional and mindful way.

I think that Odell's How to Do Nothing became an unexpected bestseller during the Covid-19 pandemic was because of its timely message of finding meaning outside the constant demands of productivity and digital connectivity. During that time, all of us were able to slow down and reassess their lives and the book provided a much-needed perspective shift. Many people had to go through some type of "deprogramming" during the pandemic, because they had started to orbit around their work instead of having work only be a small fragment of their life, and people continue to move away from the harmful cycle of letting their work overtake their time.y.

The attention economy benefits from our social media activity and media streaming consumption by monetizing and capitalizing off of our attention. Social media platforms and companies, as well as others, profit from keeping users engaged and scrolling, often through targeted advertising and data collection. Our constant interaction with these platforms provides them with valuable information about our preferences and habits, which they can then use to further tailor content and advertisements to keep us hooked.

Jenny Odell's How to Do Nothing touches on celebrity culture by critiquing the commodification of attention and the elevation of certain individuals to celebrity status within social media platforms. She argues that celebrity culture perpetuates a cycle of comparison, competition, and consumption that detracts from genuine connection and engagement with the world around us. Social media has expanded this effect tenfold, and made celebrities be viewed on equal footing as politicians, especially in America where celebrity culture has been deeply entrenched in the social fabric of the country.

I don't necessarily take "digital detox breaks" but I do have many instances of my day when I put away my phone and step away from everything. I don't think these classify as true breaks because I often listen to music during, but the example that immediately came to mind was my commute. My commute is 30-45 minutes and I take the commuter train, during which I usually look out of the window and avoid anything having to do with my phone. I also have hobbies (knitting and reading) which provide digital detoxes since they are very offline hobbies.

I do sleep with my phone or computer nearby. Despite being aware of the potential impacts on sleep cycles and relaxation caused by their constant proximity, I find it challenging to find a different room to leave them in, especially since I need the time from my phone. It has also never caused any issues with my sleep and now that Apple has introduced the different focus modes, my phone automatically silences all notifications from 9-7 on weekdays.

Jenny Odell defines "doing nothing" as a deliberate act of resistance against the pressures of productivity and busyness imposed by the capitalistic attention economy. It involves reclaiming our time and attention for activities that foster deeper connections, reflection, and engagement with the world around us. While it may seem paradoxical, she argues that true productivity and creativity often emerge from moments of stillness and contemplation.

In How to Do Nothing, nature plays a significant role as a source of inspiration, solace, and connection. Odell emphasizes the importance of slowing down and paying attention to the natural world, whether it's through birdwatching, gardening, or simply observing the environment around us. The presence of birds in particular serves as a metaphor for reclaiming our attention and rediscovering the beauty and complexity of our surroundings. I did know that birdwatching became popular during quarantine/the pandemic and I don't think it's surprising since people sought refuge and meaning, but also wanted easy, free things to do that could be done alone.

[prose-for-hire]

Claimed

Part One // Part Two

Pairing: Angel x vamp!reader

Request: as promised I'd like to request a part 3 to So wrong it’s right/Natural attraction

[Desc: Third part. An old friend of Angel’s comes to town and makes him wonder where your affection truly lies]

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Swearing. Implied sex/sex reference. Biting. Blood. A little violence.

You let me handle the plot so, as always, things got carried away. The timeframe moving from the previous part is either a while later or diverges a little from the show depending on where your imagination wants to take you. 🖤💖

You were slumped on the sofa in front of yet another re-run. So, incredibly bored. As if the lack of his presence had made life unbearably boring. When he was around he made you feel alive. Made you excited - as if you wanted to be someone he could hold affection for.

But all of this embarrassing hope had been dashed. You hadn’t seen him in so long, you only had the delicious memories of your last stolen moments with him.

But without him, the colour had been sucked out of the world again. It was so bleak that you were stuck inside moping over him hopelessly. God, when had you gotten this way?

It had been too long. You missed him so badly you ached. Yearned in this guilty way to be even just in his presence. This wasn’t just lust anymore. The excitement of sex or trading blows with him. Somewhere inside you knew that it was all of him that you wanted. Craved.

Mind, body and even that stupid soul of his.

He had crawled into your dead heart. Made a home there. Leaving you suddenly full of life. Wanting to be more. It still irritated you, at how much influence he now held over you. But you couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to anymore.

But he had been away recently. Dropped you as soon as he heard some Slayer was in trouble. He had been away in some ugly little town called Sunnydale. She needed his help. You soon learned from Angel’s team this Slayer was his ex. 

You dropped in on them every so often now to check in when you were bored and thought you might as well help them save the world or whatever. You were fun to be around, you didn’t hold back and they couldn’t help but like your company. So you stuck around them, enjoying the feeling of having something close to a group of friends. 

It was new to you, but you secretly enjoyed it. You spent a lot of time sharing your knowledge and trying to make their lives easier. Something you wouldn’t have even considered doing. Not before him.

But he had left you sorely lacking ever since he skipped town without so much as a word. You had really hoped that he might tell you himself, not get Wes to pass on some vague message about his ‘weekend plans’. 

The television buzzed soullessly as you stared through it. The only vision you wanted to see being him. And you were just sat there. Not even having the heart (or the attention span) to open a book. All you could think of was him. You were so bored. You were even considering masturbating for the millionth time to distract you from the way you needed him.

You started to move as if to do just that, when there was a massive thud at the door. Someone was knocking pretty urgently.

Shit. Debt collectors. You owed a lot of people a lot of kittens. You muted the tv and stumbled over your feet in the opposite direction from the door. You decided for everyone’s sake it would be better if you disappeared. Pretended not to be in.

You were almost panicking a little, not really sure if you had the mental or physical strength at the moment to take on a fight. So you did something too embarrassing to even describe properly. You rolled under your bed. Hid.

After some more urgent knocking, whoever it was got bored of waiting and just kicked the door in. As you had been expecting. You were hoping whoever it was looking for you was either too stupid to check under the bed for you or thought better of you than to even consider looking there.

The door was broken clean off its hinges. And you stayed still. Hearing two pairs of footprints stomping through your home. You were considering sliding out the window and onto the ledge while they looked around your living room. But then you heard something.

“Y/n?” His voice sounded urgent. Your chest swelled at the sound of his voice. Angel.

You rolled your eyes though. At what you were doing. God this was embarrassing. It was either stay hidden and risk not getting to see him or admit you had just hidden under a bed like some soon-to-be-dead loser in a shitty horror flick.

You decided you would just have to bear it. You rolled from under the best giving him the best scowl you could muster (you couldn’t help smiling a little at seeing him again).

He had the decency not to say anything about you rolling out from under the bed, although he had to hold back a small smile about it. He would tease you later, he was sure. Hopefully if there was a later he thought to himself.

“Funny how a weekend trip can last the full fourteen days now, isn’t it?” You hinted. You had missed him. You wanted him. He had left you longing.

“Look, it’s a Hellmouth stuff happened-”

“Too bloody right-” Someone else spoke up but you cut the stranger off. You hadn’t noticed him at first, your eyes only on Angel.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Look, he’s-”

“And why the fuck is he just stalking through my house like he owns it?” You snapped, snatching a rare book of yours back from his hands.

The pair shared a look at your outburst as if you were the unreasonable one. You smelled it then. They both had souls. You eyed them both, not sure how you had found yourself the only sane, normal vampire in a thirty-mile radius.

“Name’s Spike” he offered and you squinted, recognising the name.

“Oh. Old flame right? Did you go through every ex’s town on your way back from Sunnydale or just the ones you thought were attractive enough to make me jealous?”

“Spike is not an old-”

“One time! It was one-!”

“Well, that hit a nerve” You muttered, rolling your eyes. Great. You had more competition for Angel’s affection. And God, did you want all of his affection laid on you. You wanted him so badly that it almost made you throb with need just from this brief interaction.

You were just staring now as he spoke. The way his eyes glistened in the dim light. His features chiselled as if made just for you. He made you feel things you weren’t sure you could even name. Some long-forgotten emotion that made your chest swell and your stomach feel like there were baby bats in there.

“I thought you said they were a help. Fat lot of good this one is considering their fourth wank of the day in front of bloody Time Team” You snapped out of your Angel-induced daze to scowl once again at the blonde man and his, unfortunately, accurate depiction of the way you were currently living.

They turned conversation quickly to try to convince you that you were needed. There was yet another plot to take over LA. Someone had informed them on the Hellmouth. To reverse it, they needed three vampires, ones that have enough good in them. No human could stand the pain of it. Angel insisted the third one is you. 

He had faith in you. In some way, it made you fill with pride. But, again, this wasn’t your life. You had never wanted to save the world. He mentioned that there was a ritual you could do to check, to at least prove him right and to begin the reversal of this apocalypse was needed.

“And tell me again why I would want to go through all that pain rather than, say, relocate?” You muttered, already knowing you would agree. For him.

“Y’know... because you’re good now, right?” Even as he said it, Angel knew these were the wrong words to use. You scoffed at him. You had never claimed this. You just liked the company of the team. Enjoyed a good fight. Enjoyed… the proximity with him.

“I’m okay, thanks. Don’t care. Sorry. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out”

“Listen here, pet-” The other vampire appealed to you. Which was also the wrong move.

“Why is this Billy Idol impersonator talking to me? Is it a joke I’m too cool to understand?”

“Oi- look here-”

You didn’t speak this time, you just went to punch the man in the face. But Angel caught you before either of you reacted. Wrapped a strong hand around your wrist. Kept it there.

His grip tightening in a way that made you smirk. You had missed this. God, you had really missed this. He lowered your hand, his still firmly grasping your wrist. And you just stared at him as he did. Hoping he would lean in and catch your lips again. Tear the fabric of the walls apart just with a look.

“Enough” He warned. Touch lingering as his eyes did on your form.

You would let him wreck the house if you thought it meant you could have him pressed against you again even for a second. He was dangerous to you and you loved it. He, on the other hand was still more cautious of the way you navigated your relationship. Of how he showed just what you meant to him.

He thought about you all the time. More so, while he was away. He was addicted to you. The way you moved, spoke. Held yourself. Had such entrenched opinions and he might even deign to say morals (loosely, of course).

He thought more of you than he had ever done before. Dreamt about you. Thought about what you could be doing, wanting to know what you were thinking. What made you tick. He held on to every intimate detail he could discover.

Remembered it in such crystal clarity. Because it was you.

He decided to get you on side, he would appeal to the more logical side of you. Which, surprisingly, worked. He managed to convince you to put your un-life on the line. Because it would help your new sort-of friends. To save Fred and the others, you could try it.

You finally relented. You almost didn’t so soon, hoping that he might descend to fighting you over it. Some contact with your skin. It was needed after so long. You nodded though and they nodded and you started for the door. Stepping over it as you left.

“What a bloody delight” Spike murmured so that you could hear it.

“Can it, Blondie” You hissed as you strode behind them, your usual confidence evident to all around.

Angel side-glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips at seeing you again. Even if all of your barbs were being thrown Spike’s way. It was so good to see you.

Angel had never been so sure that he wanted you around. Permanently. He just wasn’t entirely sure how to admit this. To himself or you. You always left him wanting more. That demon part of you matched his. The demons had claimed the other long before either of you had embraced how you felt. 

Neither of you had dared ask the other how they felt. What they wanted from this relationship. It may shatter the illusion you both had. That there could be a future there. That at least some of your eternity could be theirs.

You were staring blankly at a carved tablet, one that Wesley had found in connection with this stupid apocalypse you had been roped into stopping. You weren’t really reading, just skimming it. You’d catch up later, you always did. Right now, you were thinking about Angel. He was all you were ever thinking about at the moment.

“What’s that? Picture book?” A British accent asked. Spike.

“No” you said shortly. God, he was dumber than a bag of rocks. What had Angel ever seen in him? He rubbed you up the wrong way. And not in an exciting way either.

Wesley explained what it was as you had a rant in your head, just staring at the tablet.

“All that eternity and you can’t even read. What exactly do you do?” You couldn’t help it. It slipped out. He was a fly you wanted to swat away. Squish into nothingness. 

You glowered at him, but knew there was some big stupid prophecy so Spike had to stick around. You did what the powers wanted just enough to save your own skin. And, well, if you staked him God forbid, they tried to make you a champion in his place.

Angel frowned at your words. He wanted you to be talking to him. Ragging on him at how he couldn’t read them either. Wanted the charged tension that always stretched between you back. But since he had returned you had appeared more distant. Less smug about the way you rendered him simultaneously infuriated and obsessed with you.

You were laughing with the team when Spike stalked in after calling up his precious Slayer and talking loud enough to wake the dead. Or, at least wake Angel who had been trying to sleep. Instead he had joined you and the rest of the team. Your face had lit up when Angel entered the room but he hadn’t noticed. Or, you thought he hadn’t anyway.

The laughter died when he entered and he scowled. Spike had enough of you. How nobody appeared to accept him but even with your ‘evil’ nature and lack of soul these people embraced you with open arms.

“Why’s every bugger hangin’ on their every word? Hello, I’m the one with the bloody soul here”

“Because nobody likes you Spike” Angel shrugged from the doorway.

“Yeah, because having a soul makes you suddenly likeable and some all-encompassing good right? You’re kidding yourself - choices are what make us not writhing around in the sand with some dumb demon for a couple months”

Everyone had braced themselves, expecting your usual rant about not having a soul not meaning anything. That you could make good decisions. You could do what you wanted and still not be evil. But you had decided to just make a cheap shot.

“Piss off. Like you could stand it anyway”

Angel had been watching with a frown. Didn’t like the way you gave Spike such attention. He thought it was the way you used to give him attention before you began to deepen your relationship. 

He wanted you to be focusing on him. Only him. He missed you. In his bed. The way you looked contorted in pleasure. His.

When he thought about it, truly thought about it, he missed talking to you. The way you could make him laugh. Speak to him the way nobody else could. You embraced every side of him. Even the parts that he struggled to embrace himself.

He found himself almost needing that interaction. Needing you. Desperately. Not just your body but your mind too. All of you in fact. He ached for it, quivered with need. He didn’t care you lacked your soul anymore, he just needed you. Thirsted for every side of you.

You kept glancing at each other. You weren’t his partner but he really wanted you to be. He was finally able to admit it to himself. He just didn’t know how to ask. How to tell you what he wanted. He wanted it just you and him. Not to have to smell any of the particularly nasty lingering scents of lovers you had taken since he had been away.

Angel kept making snide comments about Buffy and Spike at any opportunity. This always made you scowl because he seemed so bothered by them. Spike smirked smugly. Which made you scowl even further. It was mostly to distract himself from his feelings from you. But you didn’t know this. You wanted his mind to be on you again. He hadn’t even pulled you aside during any slow moments like he usually would.

On a particularly boring day, while they were taking a break from the research that was making everyone have a headache (except you and Wesley), talk turned to Spike’s new soul. And why he had fought for one. For this Slayer.

“I think it’s romantic!” Fred cooed as you caught on to what had happened.

“For love? You got a soul for love?! That’s so cute, did it come with a complimentary heart shaped box? A dozen roses?” You cackled and Spike looked like he was about to thump you. Pretty ruthlessly too. But Angel pulled you away before he could. Apparently he was the only one allowed to berate Spike.

He took you by the shoulder and pressed you against the wall in the corridor once you were alone. You smirked, face lighting up expecting his lips on yours. Just like the last time you had been close in this way. But he just half-heartedly chastised you instead.

“Cool it off” he warned. You were disappointed with his tone, you missed the way he would excite you. Mix with anger and passion the way you had missed so badly.

“Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable? It’s foreplay for us. You know it, I know it” You plucked the nerve just to see what would happen. Making his blood boil. You saw it then. That hint of jealousy. This flicker of the demon side of him, he wanted to claim you as his.

“Whatever. Do anything you want after the case, just not here” He consciously tried to even his voice this time, hide the growl. But his chest rumbled dangerously at even the thought of you and Spike. He was clinging to his human form as the demon protested.

This is what made you tug on the nerve, near severing it. You leaned into him, so that your lips brushed his ear. Your tone seductive, one he would usually enjoy.

“Don’t be jealous, baby, I’m very good at sharing myself out. Especially while you were away-”

You were cut off by his hands tightly gripping your shoulders. Even as a vampire, you were sure you would bruise. Your stomach flipped at the fire behind his eyes. The need for you to not stray from him. He slammed you back against the door you had just left out of, near shattering the glass behind you. God, you had missed this. So badly.

You couldn’t help smirking. You were ready to take him right here. Fucking or fighting. Either one would do it for you. So long as you received his full attention. Just you and him.

He had come back so disaffected. His face mostly neutral. You thought he had barely looked at you, let alone touched you. Even in this way. You would take what you could get and savour every second of it.

You didn’t realise just how hard it was for him to be back in Sunnydale or all of the baggage he had left there (some of it that he had had to bring back as well). Dredging up his past had confirmed something to him. That he wanted you with him. Wanted you to be his. He wanted something more than what you were already doing. It scared him. Made him nervous, which is why he had kept a distance from you.

Even though it guilted him that this was selfish and something that would make him happy. Even though you were rough around the edges and morally dubious. Even though you had never expressed softer feelings of your own.

You meant something. Everything. And he couldn’t deny it now. Couldn’t begin to fight it anymore. He didn’t want to.

That was why he didn’t like you interacting with Spike. Because he felt this so strongly. That you belonged with him. Not with anybody else. But you had never labelled your relationship and he didn’t know how to even begin to tell you.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, let me go” You warned. Hoping he would do the opposite. He gripped tighter for a moment and you got excited but then he just let you go.

Disappointment washed over you and you frowned. You had so wanted to taste him on your tongue again. To have his body, hot with desire, pounding against yours.

As time went on, Angel began to get more and more jealous watching you and Spike interact. You began to notice it more. The way his furrow deepened whenever you glared holes in the man. Mistaking the interaction for something that excited you.

But he didn’t say anything. Barely looked at you. Which left you so sore. So needy for him.

So, you took it into your own hands. Of course, you didn’t actually speak to him about it. Oh, no. Instead, you dialled it up. Speaking to Spike much more. Making Angel so jealous he would shake. Aiming to make him want you more.

The ritual couldn’t be conducted for a few months yet, just before the steps to the scheduled apocalypse had begun. So there was a lot of waiting around and planning. However, your mind was less on that and more on how to get Angel to touch you again.

You had an idea. You gestured with your head to get the blonde vampire to come over and speak to you. The vampire was hung up on the slayer and you were hung up on Angel so neither of you had any particular interest in the other.

“Look I don’t like you, you don’t like me. But you wanna annoy Angel right?” You offered, giving him a knowing look. You weren’t stupid, Spike had an obvious and complicated past with your- the man.

“I’m listening” He squinted. And you didn’t waste any time, you whispered in his ear your suggestion.

Along with your obvious intelligence, you could be very persuasive. Near manipulative (it was how you had survived this long and gotten yourself out of many, many debts).

So, the next day you swung your plan straight into action. It wasn’t a particularly clever plan. But it was enough for you and Spike to know it could end badly wrong. Like, dust on the floor wrong should Angel be in a particularly bad mood.

You and Spike turned up to the building with his arm slung around your shoulder. You had asked to wear his jacket but he told you to sod off. So, you compromised and had him sling his arm over your shoulder told him to whisper something. Anything. Encouraging him to be as crude as possible. Implying that you had spent the previous night together.

You were speaking to the room but your eyes were on Angel the entire time. Watching the way his thoughts began to spin out of control behind his eyes. He was shaking with anger. Filling with pure jealousy. The way Spike was allowed so close to you. How he pressed against you the way he should be pressed against you. Natural touch that should be his.

He couldn’t just stand there. Watching. He just walked up to you, snatching your hand in his and dragged you from the room. If he didn’t he would have exploded then and there.

“Problem?” You asked, that infuriating tone you always used. He just directed you by the back of your head to move your ear next to his mouth.

“You’re mine” he growled and you couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped in excitement. Made you weak for him. Your eyes lit up. But you wouldn’t let him see you submit that easily.

“Prove it” You challenged. And he did just that. He pulled you into him, crashing his lips to yours. The rough embrace made your heart soar with happiness. He wanted you. He really wanted you.

As you made your way to the bed you stopped in your passion every now and again on the way. Slamming you into the walls, more furniture lost to your desire. You pushed him back onto the bed smirking down at him. He reached for you and pulled you down against him.

Lips crashing. Hands grasping. Skin slapping.

He claimed you as his. The feeling, it was shared. His eyes telling you that he was yours. He clutched you, while you grinded against his body. He made you feel alive. It was primal. This animal attraction never ceased. But this connection was deeper than anything either of you could name.

Your demon forms shifted, facing each other again. As they always did when you were together. They had missed their equal so desperately. You moved with him. As if you were one. He bit down hard, fangs embedded in your neck. You moaned in his ear and it made him bite harder still. 

Your blood tasted so good in his mouth. He hadn’t done this in so long. Hadn’t trusted anyone this way. This bond, it ran deep.

You directed his head further into you as he did this, grasping at the hair on the nape of his neck. It was pure pleasure.  Blood oozed down your chest as his mouth moved from the bite on the side of your neck. He pressed some open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, following the trail of your blood. He licked slowly up it, catching every drop. His eyes bored into yours. Telling you what you already knew. You were made for him.

He pressed further into you, with a urgency that matched yours. He was finally embracing his demon. The way you had hoped he would for so long. You wanted all of him. To do this, you would have to give all of yourself. So, you did.

You stayed in bed together a lot longer than you usually might. You were just lying in bed together. You were on a slant, the bed had been lost to your passion. Frame splintering and collapsing. He would have to replace it. You were leaning on your side facing him. God, you had missed this. He had left you aching, empty without him.

He hadn’t so much as implied wanting to touch you like this since he had returned from Sunnydale. Just spent his time squabbling with Spike. So, this had been a needed release. Building up over so long.

“I missed this” You admitted, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked and you just nodded your reply. He found himself reaching for you, stroking your bare skin. You met his eyes, this tender touch he had never afforded to you before. It was alien but you wanted more of it.

“It was hard. Bein’ back there” He said slowly, referring to Sunnydale, “Seeing them both. Together as well, it hurt. Didn’t know what to do about it”

“Still hung up on them then?” You sighed, looking at a pull in the cotton. Twisting it in your fingers for something to do. Anything to distract from the way you had begun to hurt at the thought of him not feeling the same way as you did.

He shook his head but you didn’t see it. His hand stroking down your arm and resting on your hand. It was the most tender he had ever been. Action a lot subtle that you had ever shared. You found yourself wanting more of it.

“No. ‘Cause when I saw you again I, uh knew… knew that I’d rather be with you than anywhere else” He said slowly. He said it awkwardly, the words strung together as if they didn’t quite fit next to each other. But he meant it. He wasn’t sure if he had ever meant anything as much before in his entire life.

You didn’t know what to say to this so you just nodded. It was the best he could have hoped for. When you weren’t teasing, it was hard to reveal how you felt. You laughed though, mentioning you didn’t even like Spike anyway. You had just wanted him to pay you more attention again.

You then muttered something about not knowing what Angel had ever seen in him. Angel gave you a look but you didn’t get it (he felt that it was because you and Spike were too similar, that’s why you didn’t get on). Thankfully, he liked you a lot better than he liked Spike though.

You smiled at each other, both of you feeling even slightly more secure. You hadn’t been able to admit that you wanted to be exclusive, but you had both now implied it. Which was the best either of you could wish. You found yourself almost wanting to be his, the way he had hissed it in your ear. You couldn’t recall feeling that way before.

There it was again. That feeling that frightened you. Hope. It had crawled into your heart and only spread the longer you spent with him. An ugly thought popped into your head. One that embarrassed you immensely.

As you watched his face turn into that small smile beside you in bed. Understanding stretching between you. A glimmering hope that still frightened you more than anything else ever had. His jealousy still a delicious taste in your mouth. The wreckage of the room surrounded you but the atmosphere was almost... soft.

It was a thought he had already had himself and started to accept. You shuddered as you thought it though. Finding that maybe you truly had found your anti-soulmate. In Angel of all people.

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Manga Review – Yuri Is My Job Vol. 1-5

Yuri is a genre deeply rooted in its history and traditions. Dating back over a century, many of the scenes and situations from early "Class S" literature still predominate Yuri titles today. Common elements include senpai-kohai relationships between a bright and cheerful younger girl and an older, more assertive upper-classman. The bonds between the two were not the romantic and sexual love of lesbian narratives, but more sate or "pure" relationships often devoid of lesbian identity or attraction. The presence of S elements ebbed and rose over the past century, but they experienced a surge at the end of the 20th century. Contemporary S literature dominated the Yuri scene for at least a decade, and even now, its effects are still seen in many works today.

Naturally, as with any genre that becomes too entrenched with tropes or clichés, Class S literature became the subject of parody, commentary, and deliberate defiance. And while numerous works have repeated, twisted, rejected, and exaggerated tropes, perhaps none have done so quite as masterfully or as enjoyably as Miman's Yuri Is My Job! The series uses S Yuri's ideas uniquely and masterfully weaves a narrative in and out of them with a layered setting and great characters. The constant balance between and integration of reference, humor, and a strong core narrative had me gleefully enthralled and thoughtfully pouring over every page. I ravenously consumed the series, not just because of the cute cakes and elegant young women, but because I was so invested in the story and intrigued by the manga's premise.

Breaking down every reference is far too daunting a task that frankly deserves its own dedicated article. Still, to briefly overview, Yuri Is My Job! is set primarily at a café themed after an all-girls mission school, Liebe Grils Academy. The servers of the café act as the elite students of the fictitious academy and offer outside visitors, patrons of the establishment, a glimpse into their forbidden world of elegance and sisterly love. The series follows high school student Hime after she starts working at Liebe after accidentally injuring the manager, Mai. The series takes off from there, with Hime participating in the various themed events and navigating challenging relationships with coworkers, including her hostile schwester, the upperclassman who mentors her, and, in the world of the café, partners her.

Yuri Is My Job! is much more enjoyable with an understanding of S literature and themes, as references can slip by readers otherwise. However, particularly after the first volume, the series opens up a little more with an overarching plot that dips in and out of the thematic S material. Even without a grasp of S tropes, readers can enjoy watching server Kanoko struggle with her hidden affection for Hime or get caught up in the excitement and scheming during a popularity competition between the staff.

Throughout the first five volumes, multiple shorter narratives, such as the cook getting sick or Hime learning how to serve guests, are interwoven with the overarching character and relationship-driven story. Although almost every character has plenty of time to shine and distinguish themselves, the main plot revolves around three characters, Hime, Yano, and Kanoko.

Hime, the protagonist, maintains a constant facade of the sweet and beloved princess. However, her adorable and charming act is just that, and only two people in her life know her secret, Yano, and Kanoko. Inside the café, Yano acts as Hime's "onee-sama", holding her close and praising her to the delight of Liebe's patrons. However, she is terse and often angry with the girl, unable to move beyond a misunderstanding in their shared past and her insecurities about Hime's true feelings. Kanoko however, acts as a foil to Yano. She relishes Hime's facade, specifically in that she is one of the few privy to the truth, and harbors an attraction to her; she hides these feelings rather than wear them on her sleeve as Yano does. The dynamic between these three drives much of the "action" in the manga.

The more I read Yuri Is My Job! The more I was able to see and appreciate the distinct patterns of storytelling and how the main plot is woven between three layers. The first, and most prominent, is inside the café, in a world dominated by S tropes. Here, characters play politics and plot against each other using their performance and the audience's reaction. For example, thinking how they will get votes for themselves or others during a contest, or else Hime acting cute and loving around Yano, forcing her to return the affection to maintain their roles as schewstern. Outside the fictional world of the café, elements of the story alternate between more grounded drama and thematic moments featuring Yuri tropes. Miman beautifully navigates the relationship between the plot and the parody, weaving a delightful story in and out of different classic Yuri scenarios.

Miman matches this creative story and setting with excellent artwork. Character designs are distinctive and well constructed. So much, that when characters say something "off-screen", a small sketch of their eyes and mouth in the speech bubble is more than sufficient to identify the speaker. Of course, the robust and developed personalities also assist here, as most lines are easily attributable thanks to solid writing and strong personality. The art also features very creative paneling, with almost every page having an entirely different layout. However, the order is still easy to follow and reads naturally.

Not only is the art pleasing to look at, but it also adds to the manga's setting and parody of Yuri tropes. Panels feature the girls holding each other in dramatic and literally flowery poses, like a shot straight out of Strawberry Panic, complete with a backdrop of lilies. Appropriately, these fantasy-inspired poses occur in the café, often to the pleasure of adoring patrons screaming in celebration (thus mirroring my reactions). Like the other Yuri tropes, these artistic presentations occasionally jump outside of the café in more emotional or poignant moments. However, in a few crucial scenes, those more related to the narrative when it steps outside the boundaries of Class S, feature more grounded, although still dramatic, art. A particular shot in Volume 4 where Kanoko confides her hidden feelings to her senior, Sumika, and is comforted, sticks out in my mind just for this reason. It is a perfect example of art assisting the themes of the narrative and changing to suit the situation.

Yuri Is My Job! focuses mainly on Class S style storytelling, and thus, while it has plenty of traditional Yuri imagery, there is a starkly limited amount of lesbian content. Sure, readers can enjoy a decent number of illustrations featuring girls holding each other in a dramatic pose, but this is the act put on for the cafe, which is copying the "practice" relationships of S literature, themselves devoid of lesbian attraction. It is an imitation of an imitation, not queer content. Of course, this is by design, but it does mean that if readers want a grounded lesbian romance, they will find the series lacking. A bit of lesbian content does exist, Kanoko's crush on Hime exists outside the boundaries of work and S tropes, a relationship told in a flashback was, at least to one of the characters, "real," and there are signs of an eventual romance. However, the lack of lesbian identity should not be a reason to avoid this excellent manga.

Yuri Is My Job! is one of the most brilliant and exciting Yuri works out there. The ways Miman plays with the tropes and expectations of the genre are hilarious, complex, and exceptionally compelling. The characters are exciting and watching their stories weave through different classic Yuri scenes and tropes is as breathtaking as it is enjoyable. My sincere thanks to Diana Taylor, and Jennifer Skarupa and editor Haruko Hashimoto, for so deftly translating this series and preserving the S ties. I cannot wait to visit the students, or rather employees, of Liebe Girls Academy, in Volume 6.

Ratings: Story – 10 Characters – 8 Art – 9 LGBTQ – 3 (Yuri 10) Sexual Content – 1 Final – 9

Review copies provided by Kodansha Comics

Get Yuri Is My Job! digitally and in paperback today: https://amzn.to/3gNNeRt

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[maandarinee]

what are all the podcasts you listen to?

anon I'm so glad you asked

Since it is a pretty long list including synopses (stolen from the podcast feed or website because I'm Bad at summaries and in some cases it's been a while since I listened) I'm going to put it under a cut.

I've separated the list into "Complete" (either finished or cancelled) and "Ongoing" podcasts. Some have additional comments by me. Current favorites are marked orange. My eternal beloved are Our Fair City and Wolf 359.

Complete

ars PARADOXICA: "When an experiment in a time much like our own goes horribly awry, Dr. Sally Grissom finds herself stranded in the past and entrenched in the activities of a clandestine branch of the US government. Grissom and her team quickly learn that there's no safety net when toying with the fundamental logic of the universe."

Blackwood: "Five years ago, Molly Weaver, Bryan Anderson, and Nathan Howell started a podcast focused on the local legend of a monster called The Blackwood Bugman. Quickly, the investigation grew out of their control, as they discovered that, not only are the legends seemingly true, many people in Blackwood have turned up dead or disappeared without a trace." --> [this feels like the Blair With Project, but as a podcast. Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

Dreamboy: "Dane, a spun-out musician spending the winter in Cleveland, Ohio, has two main goals: keeping his job at the Pepper Heights Zoo and trying not to waste all his time on Grindr. What he doesn’t expect is to get swept into a story about dreams, about forevers, about flickering lights, about unexplained deaths, about relentless change, and about the parts of ourselves that we wish other people knew to look for. Oh, and also a murderous zebra." --> [very NSFW; does cool things with music! Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

King Fall AM: "...centers on a lonely little mountain town's late-night AM talk radio show and its paranormal, peculiar happenings and inhabitants." --> [cancelled after 100 episodes, ends on a huge cliffhanger]

Our Fair City: "A campy, post-apocalyptic audio drama." --> [I know the description sounds like nothing but just trust me, I love it so much]

Steal the Stars: "...is a gripping noir science fiction thriller in 14 episodes: Forbidden love, a crashed UFO, an alien body, and an impossible heist unlike any ever attempted."

Stellar Firma: "...a weekly Science Fiction, Comedy podcast following the misadventures of Stellar Firma Ltd.'s highest born but lowest achieving planetary designer Trexel Geistman and his bewildered clone assistant David 7. Join them each episode as they attempt to take listener submissions and craft them into the galaxy's most luxurious, most expensive and most questionably designed bespoke planets. However, with Trexel's corporate shark of a line manager Hartro Piltz breathing down their necks and I.M.O.G.E.N., the station's omnipresent and omniinvasive stationwide A.I. monitoring those necks to within 3 decimal places, they'll be lucky to make it a week before being slurried and recycled into raw human resources." --> [semi-improvised, I thought I'd have a problem with the improv bit because that's not usually my thing, but no, I absolutely devoured this]

TANIS: "...is a serialized docudrama about a fascinating and surprising mystery: the myth of Tanis. Tanis is an exploration of the nature of truth, conspiracy, and information. Tanis is what happens when the lines of science and fiction start to blur." [+ spinoff The Last Movie] --> [I have no clue what the hell is going on here]

The Black Tapes: "...is a serialized docudrama about one journalist's searc for truth, her enigmatic subject's mysterious past, and the literal and figurative ghosts that haunt them both."

The Magnus Archives: "...is a weekly horror fiction anthology podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join new head archivist Jonathan Sims as he attempts to bring a seemingly neglected collection of supernatural statements up to date, converting them to audio and supplementing them with follow-up work from his small but dedicated team. Individually, they are unsettling. Together they begin to form a picture that is truly horrifying because as they look into the depths of the archives, something starts to look back…"

Time:Bombs: "...a new audio drama podcast about the hilarious world of bomb disposal. Ride along with EOD technician Simon Teller on the busiest night of the year for him and his team - when business is, quite literally, booming."

Wolf 359: "Life's not easy for Doug Eiffel, the communications officer for the U.S.S. Hephaestus Research Station, currently on Day 448 of its orbit around red dwarf star Wolf 359. He's stuck on a scientific survey mission of indeterminate length, 7.8 light years from Earth. His only company on board the station are stern mission chief Minkowski, insane science officer Hilbert, and Hephaestus Station's sentient, often malfunctioning operating system Hera. He doesn't have much to do for his job other than monitoring static and intercepting the occasional decades-old radio broadcast from Earth, so he spends most of his time creating extensive audio logs about the ordinary, day-to-day happenings within the station. But the Hephaestus is an odd place, and life in extremely isolated, zero gravity conditions has a way of doing funny things to people's minds. Even the simplest of tasks can turn into a gargantuan struggle, and the most ordinary-seeming things have a way of turning into anything but that." --> [starts funny, turns very intense]

Ongoing

Alba Salix, Roya Physician (+ The Axe & Crown): "A witch, her apprentice, and her fairy herbalist treat the ills of a fairy-tale kingdom." + "Gubbin the troll tavernkeeper deals with his clueless new landlord, his shady niece, and some new competition."

Archive 81: "A found footage horror podcast about ritual, stories, and sound."

Arden: "A (fictional) true crime podcast about cold cases and the reporter and detective who try to solve them."

Brimstone Valley Mall: "The year is 1999. Lurking somewhere between Hot Topic and the food court, five misfit demons from Hell kill time inciting sin in a suburban shopping mall. When the lead singer of their band goes mysteriously missing, the demons only have two weeks to find him before they play the biggest gig of the millennium - or face the wrath of Satan herself."

CARAVAN: "First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary." --> [also pretty NSFW and horny in general]

Death by Dying: "The Obituary Writer of Crestfall, Idaho finds himself deeply in over his head as he investigates a series of strange and mysterious deaths… when he is supposed to simply be writing obituaries. Along the way he encounters murderous farmers, man-eating cats, haunted bicycles, and a healthy dose of ominous shadows." --> [I had to stop listening to this in public because it kept making me undignified laugh and snort noises]

Desperado: "Blood magic, Voodoo magic, old gods, new gods: We've got it all! Follow the story of misfits from all over the world, as they try to survive and protect their heritage from modern-day crusaders."

EOS 10: "Doctors in space, a deposed alien prince, a super gay space pirate and a fiery nurse who'll help you win your bar fight."

Girl In Space: "Abandoned on a dying ship in the farthest reaches of known space, a young scientist fights for survival (and patience with the on-board A.I.). Who is she? No one knows. But a lot of dangerous entities really want to find out. Listen as the story unfolds for science, guns, trust, anti-matter, truth, beauty, inner turmoil, and delicious cheeses. It’s all here. In space."

Janus Descending: "...follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place. Told from two alternating perspectives, Janus Descending is an experience of crossing timelines, as one character describes the nightmare from end to beginning, and the other, from beginning to the end." --> [absolutely harrowing horror]

Love and Luck: "...is a fictional radio play podcast, told via voicemails and set in present day Melbourne, Australia. A slice of life queer romance story with a touch of magic, it follows the relationship between two men, Jason and Kane, as their love grows both for each other and their community." --> [soft and gay, feels like a warm hug]

Potterless: "Join Mike Schubert, a grown man reading the Harry Potter series for the first time, as he sits down with HP fanatics to poke fun at plot holes, make painfully incorrect predictions, and bask in the sassiness of the characters." --> [the only non-fiction podcast on the list]

Primordial Deep: "When a long extinct sea creature washes up on the shores of Coney Island, marine biologist Dr. Marella Morgan is contacted by a secret organization to investigate the origins of the creature’s sudden and unnatural resurgence. Soon, she and a team of experts find themselves living on the research station The Tiamat, traveling along the abyssal plains as they search for answers far below the waves. But there are dangers in these ancient waters. Reawakened, prehistoric monsters are rising from the deep -- jaws wide and waiting, and in the darkness, something is stirring."

Red Valley: "No one at Overhead Industries wants to talk about defunct research station Red Valley, and account man Warren Godby is out of his depth. When he meets Gordon Porlock, a disgruntled archivist with a bag of tapes from the station’s last known occupant, they will begin a journey to the limits of experimental science, confront horror and trauma from the past, present and future, and try to remember the cheat codes from Sonic the Hedgehog 2."

Rusty Quill Gaming: "An actual play podcast following a mixed ability group of comedians, improvisers, gamers, and writers as they play through the extended, tabletop roleplaying campaign Erasing the Line, an original game world of the GM’s crafting." --> [took me a while to get into because I have trouble focusing on non-scripted things, but eventually I got really hooked on the plot and attached to the characters. This podcast is really fucked up at times if you think about it]

SAYER: "A narrative fiction podcast set on Earth’s man-made second moon, Typhon. The eponymous SAYER is a highly advanced, self-aware AI created to help acclimate new residents to their new lives, and their new employment with Ærolith Dynamics." --> [feels like Welcome to Night Vale but narrated by GLaDOS from Portal]

StarTripper!!: "Join Feston Pyxis on a road-trip through the cosmos, as he leaves behind his old life in search of the best and wildest experiences the galaxy has to offer!"

The Amelia Project: "...is a secret agency that fakes its clients' deaths, then lets them reappear with a brand new identity! A black comedy full of secrets, twists... and cocoa."

The Big Loop: "...a biweekly anthology series. Each episode is a self-contained narrative exploring the strange, the wonderful, the terrifying, and the heartbreaking. Stories of finite beings in an infinite universe." --> [I don't like anthologies, except this one]

The Bright Sessions: "Dr. Bright provides therapy for the strange and unusual; their sessions have been recorded for research purposes." --> [think X-Men, but with therapy instead of a school]

The Deca Tapes: "Recordings have surfaced of ten people that are locked into the same space together. We don’t know where they are, or if they'll get out. But the answers must be somewhere on these tapes."

The Silt Verses: "Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories."

The White Vault: "Follow the collected records of a repair team sent to Outpost Fristed in the vast white wastes of Svalbard and unravel what lies waiting in the ice below."

Tides: "...is the story of Dr. Winifred Eurus, a xenobiologist trapped on an unfamiliar planet with hostile tidal forces. She must use her wits, sarcasm and intellectual curiosity to survive long enough to be rescued. But there might be more to life on this planet than she expected." --> [think The Martian, but on a water planet]

Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery: "Lillian Harper moves to the small town of Mt. Absalom, Ohio, to care for her estranged mother Dorothy after an injury. Living in the town's boarding house which has been run by her family for generations, she discovers conspiracies, ghosts, and a new family in the house's strange assortment of residents."

VAST Horizon: "Nolira is an agronomist tasked with establishing agriculture in a new solar system, but when she wakes up on a now- empty colony ship, the whole of her plan disappears. The ship has been set adrift, with numerous mission-critical problems requiring immediate attendance outside of her area of expertise. Nolira is aided by the ship’s malfunctioning AI, which acts as her confidant and companion during the fight for survival."

Victoriocity: "Even Greater London, 1887. In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions."

We Fix Space Junk: "...follows seasoned smuggler Kilner and reluctant fugitive Samantha as they travel the galaxy, dodging bullets and meeting strange and wonderful beings as they carry out odd jobs on the fringes of the law."

Welcome to Night Vale: "Twice-monthly community updates for the small desert town of Night Vale, where every conspiracy theory is true. Turn on your radio and hide."

Within the Wires: "Stories told through found audio from an alternate universe."

Wooden Overcoats: "Rudyard Funn and his equally miserable sister Antigone run their family's failing funeral parlour, where they get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But one day they find everyone enjoying themselves at the funerals of a new competitor - the impossibly perfect Eric Chapman! With their dogsbody Georgie, and a mouse called Madeleine, the Funns are taking drastic steps to stay in the business…" --> [one of THE funniest podcasts I have ever listened to]

[softowlhours]

paperclip chains

akaashi keiji (officeAU!)

a collection of scenarios following you and akaashi as you try and finesse the art of navigating life as working adults.

genre: a bit sad at times, but hopefully fluffier in the future.

a/n: my first piece of writing and this is pure self indulgent because work is hard and nothing makes sense sometimes. hope you all enjoy and find some comfort in it. 

word count: 3500~

pt. one 🦋 blank like a sheet of paper. 🦋

[friday. 3:00 p.m.]

someone had cracked open the window. the air inside the office had been much too oppressive, stale with the smell of the murky, insipid coffee you could get from the cafeteria. for free. staff privileges, they call it. late afternoon sun pours in through the large square windows. it ignites the office, dying it in the shades of an inferno. however, the warmth of it does not reach akaashi’s heart. the way the rays set everything aglow was in contrast to the chill crisp autumn air. akaashi could hear the leaves rustle, clinging to the branches waiting for that particular gust of wind, strong enough to blow them off. the leaves would then twirl and twirl until they’d softly land on the damp earth becoming one with it again. he wishes he were a leaf.

He tries to focus on nature’s gentle melody, but the hubbub of the office is overbearing. the incessant clicking of alphabets on the keyboards, the murmur of pages being turned, someone sneezes loudly and it is immediately followed by lazy ‘bless you’s’. his ears are attuned to the low electric groan of the printer, and he hopes someone would get up and unclog the jam of papers before the white noise drives him insane. he ends up doing it himself, almost losing a finger in the process as he tries to pull out a badly stuck paper from the printers’ rollers. today had been one of those days where nothing had gone right, a domino of disasters triggered the moment he’d opened his eyes. these days had been coming by way too often lately for his taste. he felt tired.

none of these turmoils showed on his exterior though, he wore a calm, unbothered mask. despite his depressing inner monologue, he diligently read through the manuscript highlighting bits he’d like to go over with the author at their next meeting.

it wasn’t like akaashi hated his job, infact, this was his dream job. he loved what he did but sometimes his love for his work was eclipsed by the politics the workplace was entrenched in. the naivety from when he had first joined almost a year ago had worn off quickly. it took him a mere week in the workforce to understand that a job demanded more than the list of skills and tasks specified in the job description. in any office, beneath the veneer of civility, there always remains an undercurrent of competition, jealousy, idle minds looking for entertainment at the expense of each other. there were people who did not love their job, the free loaders who somehow never did their share but managed to take home their bag of coins. they would slack and slack some more until the burden of their neglect would be shifted upon the shoulders of the new comers. too timid to resist. he pulls out his leather bound planner, a gift from his friend to celebrate him landing the role of an assistant editor all those months ago. it is almost filled from start to finish with his scribbles and the leather is soft with constant handling. his eyes scan past all the work he had wrapped up for the day, until one of his seniors had dumped an endless stack of files containing short stories that had been sent in for the monthly writing contests. they’re not short anymore when you have a hundred of them to read at once. apparently, the senior had a date he’d forgotten about and had to leave early. akaashi couldn’t report this to the boss, he knew how offices worked. its venomous hierarchies slithered like snakes ready to diss whoever defied them. rookies must act like rookies. akaashi quickly jots down in his planner a list of things he must get done over the weekend and the bulleted list slowly fills up two entire pages.

when he wasn’t picking up after someone’s mess akaashi did enjoy what he did. he enjoyed being on top of his work, found an euphoric satisfaction in duties well done. while his colleagues took it easy during the day and whined as they worked overtime in the evenings to meet deadlines, akaashi was most probably done for the day by then and already at home; fresh out of the shower and lighting his favourite candles that made his bedroom smell like cinnamon. he’d curl up under his soft comforter letting the tension of a busy day dissipate from his body. he kept his favorite books on the nightstand and would read them as he waited for sleep to come.  

“akaashi-chan,” he hears the soothing voice of his supervisor, an old well natured man in his sixties who had worked here for almost thirty years. he walks upto akaashi’s desk, his eyes crinkling with a gentle smile as he takes in the mess that was his desk.  “its difficult being a rookie, huh?” hatori-san says. “i would’ve just let you gone home, but the design and printing departments are an anxious bunch. they’re breathing down our necks for the final draft of the magazine two weeks before the release date.”

“please don’t apologise, hatori-san. It’s always like this towards the end of the month.” you aren’t the one who should be apologising.

“hmm...” the elderly muses, “maybe you should dilly dally like your colleagues, afterall, who is to blame you? the youth are meant to be reckless. ”

“but hatori-san if i did that not even a quarter of our magazine will be ready by the end of this month!” akaashi’s voice is filled with amusement, and mild terror.

hatori-san chuckles. “yes, yes i’m aware. i’ll rely on you then akaashi-chan. i do have a bit of good news for you though.” a bonus-

“we’re getting another assistant editor on monday, hopefully your workload can be halved from then on and a be little more manageable. i’m worried you’re starting to look older than me akaashi-chan.” he jokes. “i’ll leave her in your care.”

❀ ✿  ✿ ❀

[friday. 8:20 p.m.]

he stays in the office until late that night, finishing as much of his work he can before the words on the screen begin to blur and he can feel his brain churn in his head. he packs the documents he needed to read over the weekend, putting them neatly in his black briefcase. the temperatures have dropped quite low and with his tan coat on and a scarf wrapped around his neck, he steps out into the world. outside, tokyo is buzzing with life, the lights twinkle and a bubbly atmosphere engulfs even this usually grim and dull part of the city; where most companies found their home. salary men and women chatter excitedly as they pour into the office district from the high rise buildings of concrete and glass. groups of people stand on the sidewalk chatting amicably, smoke rises from cigarettes, plans to go hangout at karaokes, bars and restaurants float in the air.

it wasn’t that akaashi did not have friends, or ever had trouble making any. he was easy going, attentive and though not the loudest in the room, he was enigmatic. people were drawn to him. especially the weird and loud ones. not that he minded. not that he ever judged. which is what made people open up their hearts to him so easily. they knew he’d take them for who they were. but, like earlier today he couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that clawed at him. he had his dream job but the hours he spent on his desk day after day, the endless exchange of apathetic emails, the unlimited cups of coffee, had all amalgamated into a kind of hollowness. he felt empty instead of fulfilled. he idly wonders if bokuto-san ever felt this way, or knowing him, did he charge straight ahead without any inhibitions? if you asked bokuto whether he could see himself playing volleyball for the next twenty or fifty years, bokuto would say ‘yes, ofcourse!!!’ in a heartbeat. and akaashi knew bokuto would mean it.

he wonders how hatori-san had spent his entire life in that office. could i do the same?

akaashi considers hanging out with some of his friends from university, maybe take hatori-san’s advice and just let go and forget everything for a while. he could be your typical 20 something, going to the bars with his 20 something friends where they’d shit talk their rude colleagues. He could console that one friend who wouldn’t stop crying over his ex-girlfriend who left him 3 years ago, every time he’s drunk. he could go home with that girl at the opposite end of the bar who wouldn’t stop looking his way, and who in his drunken haze, he thinks to be pretty. but eventually akaashi decides he is too tired to do any of that.

much later, when he settles into bed, he mindlessly picks up a book from his nightstand. he starts reading from where he had left off the night before but his eyes don’t really register a single word. for all he knew, he could’ve been staring at a blank sheet of paper. after a few more minutes of seeing nothing, he puts the book away and buries himself deep underneath the covers.

he feels the tears fall.

❀ ✿  ✿ ❀

[monday, 9:45 a.m.]

its odd. akaashi feels well rested. very very well rested.

his eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is the blue sky peeking from the gap between his curtains. he’s afraid to look at the time.

9:45 A.M. well, shit.

akaashi feels winded by the time he makes it to the floor where his office was.from the door he sees hatori-san standing next to akaashi’s chair, his back towards him. akaashi’s heart is in his throat, an apology that sounds fake dances on his tongue. he then hears hatori-san chuckle. a soft female voice says something he cannot catch. ah, the new assistant editor.

“good morning” he calls hoarsely, as he approaches them.

“Ah, hello akaashi-san,” his supervisor beams, “meet y/n. hopefully, your new partner in crime.”

“i was told i’m supposed to help slow down your aging process.” her voice is soft, and despite the shyness there is a mischievous lilt to her tone.  “i’ll do my best. please do guide me.”

hatori-san excuses himself. she’s practically buzzing with excitement, akaashi notices. before he can say anything, she pulls out a brand-new notepad from her bag, pen clicking open. she looks ready to take on the world.

he has to bite back a smile. she’s cute, cheeks flush and lips in a pout as she  jots down something on it. he genuinely wonders what it is she writes, considering he hasn’t even spoken yet. her hair is neatly tied away from her face but a few stray tendrils fall and delicately frame her face.

he wonders if this is how he had looked on his first day at work. face pink and eyes bright. probably not as cute though, oh no, definitely not cute. he internally cringes at the memory of his awkwardness.

but you miss it. that excitement.

“it’s fine.” he says, “please just sit down and relax, i’ll guide you as we go through our daily routine.” he gives her a small smile.

they spend the morning, going through the basics of the trade, she's a fast learner, he notes. and later during the lunch hour he divulges to her the little ‘how to survive in this office 101s’. he tells her how how she mustn’t drink the free coffee they hand out at the cafeteria (even though he’s come to accept it himself, for he welcomes caffeine in any state and form). he suspects they reuse the coffee grounds more times than considered acceptable. how if you ever jammed the printer, try and leave before anyone realises it was you if you don’t want to be the recipient of death glares from colleagues all day long. He tells her which restrooms are the best and which elevators reach their destinations the fastest. the grimmer and more ruthless bits of working here can wait, he thinks.

passion was something he lost some time ago and hasn’t been able to find ever since.

“make sure to take it easy.” he mumbles to her as they are putting away their trays, “if work gets too much, you can always place the manuscripts and drafts  on my desk when i’m not looking.”

she looks at him incredulously. laughter bubbles from her lips as she tells him with mock indignance that she’s better than that. she asks the cafeteria lady for two cups of the infamous coffee, offering him one.

“lets toast!” y/n proposes .

“to what?”

“to all the times we’ll be the the last two brain cells holding up this company. together.” she jokes, touching her paper cup to his. 

he likes the sound of ‘together’.

❀ ✿ ✿ ❀

[shimmershae]

If you’re questioning what YNB means by the D0nnie “set up” apparently she followed up her statement with something like “they wrote it in a way that it’s carol’s “fault” that Connie was trapped, and that they wrote it “just enough” to make Daryl turn away from carol and into connie’s arms or something along those lines. I think we have to remember that while we love that she ships Caryl, I don’t think she watches it on the deep level that we do. Sad that she thinks this “rift” is permanent.

If that’s what she’s considering a set up, it’s weak. Especially considering all that these two characters have been through and how much they have grown emotionally, particularly Daryl.

Every action he has taken this season has been taken with Carol at the forefront of his thoughts. When he accompanied Siddiq to Hilltop, some of the first words out of his mouth were to EZ about Carol because he so unselfishly wants her to have the support she needs to work through her grief that he’s willing to have it come from what some would say is his competition (personally? I cannot be grouped in that some). Then he joined the search for Kelly because he’s been established as the best tracker the communities have.

Carol and Daryl have been through hell and back many times over at this point. So many family members blood and otherwise have died and so many tragedies have befallen them that if YNB really thinks that Carol and Daryl’s relationship, whatever you want to qualify it as, is irrevocably broken beyond repair over a character that is not that deeply entrenched in the shared communities and the viewers’ hearts and minds? I say it’s YNB’s faith that has been shaken. Not Daryl’s. 

Sure, it hurt that Carol didn’t keep her word and that thus far, he hasn’t achieved the results he’s wanted to in pulling her from the darkness laying heavy over her broken heart. But the man said it himself. He’s never gonna hate Carol. It’s not in him. He’s so full of so much love he doesn’t even know what to do with that he spent the whole fucking night just chilling on a log with his obnoxious sworn enemy. For her. While C0nnie was still out there. Perhaps still trapped beneath a pile of fallen rocks (something’s off with Magna) or perhaps wandering the woods in a bloodthirsty fog. Perhaps struggling and fighting her way back to her sister. The point is Daryl has presumed her G.O.N.E. Had that been Carol out there? The man would still be searching. Forever searching. I mean, he searched for Rick’s body for 6 years. Imagine how long he would search for Carol’s if he thought her just lost out there? To infinity, lovelies. You can bet on it because even before their friendship had deepened beyond what it has now where I’m not even sure either one of them can quantity how very much the other means to them? The man tracked her down to the tombs and agonized over the possibility of what he might find there.

Other than looking torn up over Carol going back on her word and his perceived ‘failure’ as a leader to the people that got trapped?  Dude has barely blinked an eye.  He’s moved on and has been working to keep the rest of his family and community safe.  The only thing he hasn’t moved on from is worrying about and caring for Carol.  

So yeah.  I think the so-called set up is flimsy.  Laughable even.  But if YNB wants to buy into it, it’s her prerogative.  If she wants to lose faith like that and move on, it’s her choice.  Definitely not the one I’m personally making.  

I have to question, though, that she only looks surface deep with this show due to those damn notebooks of hers, lol.  Something doesn’t add up about those two notions.  I don’t know how exactly it’s possible to look for clues and keep a record about stuff that stood out to you and not see what’s staring you right in the face.  Maybe she needs to polish her Caryl glasses some?  

Thanks, anon.  I’d read her follow up statements and honestly?  I still cannot reconcile how differently different people can view the same show because I just cannot see it.  The so-called set up.  It’s weak ass.  It’s barely there (if it even is).  It’s something I wouldn’t dare claim if I wrote it because it’s embarrassing how poorly the groundwork has been lain if that’s where they really want to go.  I mean.  I’ve squinted and turned sideways and the only set up I still see is a set up to an eventual crescendo of how loud and proud Daryl finally is with his feelings for Carol.  A climax where something finally gives and our babies finally see the light for what it actually is, lol.  

Carol’s going to follow Daryl’s light.  Right into his waiting arms.  

I don’t know about y’all, but that’s the only set up these eyes have seen.  

[cats-obsessions]

Mark Your Love in Ink

A geraskier soulmates au

Part one - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: T

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Read on ao3

Summary:

Jaskier has always known he has a soulmate. The ink of tattoos have been appearing on his skin since he was born. He spends his whole life wondering who they are, what they'll be like. When he's eighteen, he gets a tattoo to let them know he exists, but there's no response. Three years later, Jaskier begins to wonder if he'll ever meet them at all. Funny how fate has a way of bringing people together.

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

Jaskier always knew. There was not a second of his life that he hadn’t known he had a soulmate. He was born with the silhouette of a wolf on his ribs. At first, it looked like a blotched birthmark, but after a few years, the shape became clearer. His parents had wondered if he was cursed, but after a visit to an herbalist and a pellar, it was clear it was just a tattoo- the mark of a soulmate.

Something about the purposeful act of marking one’s skin was transferred through the bond. Other things like piercing and scars weren’t shared. Most say that’s because damage is rarely chosen, but who really knows?

Not everyone has a soulmate, but some do- people scattered across the world that their souls are bound to. No amount of space or time can separate them, nor can simple magic remove the bond. Its furiously romantic, at least Jaskier had always thought so.

It was entrenched in their society; people going as far back in time as tattoos themselves wrote of marking themselves when they came of age in hopes of finding another meant for them by fate itself.

The ink appearing across his skin over time sparked as much curiosity as excitement. There were questions, whispered between his parents when they thought he couldn’t hear, musings and worries. Why were the marks appearing at such a young age? What kind of scallion would have all these tattoos? Do they not know they affect someone else? Will he be able to get a job with his markings? Jaskier always rolled his eyes at that one.

They made him cover up, shoved him in turtle necks and long-sleeved shirts even through the sweltering summers. The more he got, the more ashamed his parents became, but Jaskier only felt more of a thrill. They were beautiful, too- tastefully placed and clearly done by good artists. Though he was always most fond of the wolf, he loved each of them: a large arch-griffon showed up on his bicep in middle school, some Latin quote on his chest his senior year, the skull of something very inhuman on his calf in college- a leshen, he thinks.

There weren’t too many, and they seemed to revolve around the fantastical world of monsters and myth- the types of things that were rare in this world. They still existed, but humans had driven many innocent creatures to extinction.

That was another point of contention with his parents, though most things were. It wasn’t a surprise when Jaskier left at the age of sixteen, flying across the continent and enrolling in Oxenfurt University. Two years later was when he got his first tattoo- he thought of himself as pretty clever for it, too.

---------

It’s late autumn when Geralt sees it.

He wakes up late, the wind howling outside against the rickety windows of his apartment. He had dealt with a drowner problem the night before. Of course, the contractor he was working for said it was only a few when it ended up being at least a dozen. And of course, he was underpaid again. But it was work. The results of it, though, left him exhausted and sore from the unexpected battle. He stumbles into the little, dimly lit bathroom to take a shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he does so.

Stark black lines stand out against his pale skin below the wolf on his ribs. It’s a phone number. Above it are the little words “call me” embellished with a heart.

Fuck.

He feels like he’s on fire, that hot sensation in his cheeks he’d recognize as blush- if he could blush. Which he can’t, right? But there’s panic, too. How could this possibly be?! Witchers don’t have soulmates. Fuck, most people don’t think witchers have souls! And look at him, he’s given this person more than enough ink against their will. That thought makes him sick. Almost as sick as the thought of having a soulmate.

He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t get another tattoo to offer an explanation or anything. He just ignores it, which isn’t that hard to do, really. It’s not in a terribly visible place, and if he keeps his eyes away from the mirror when he showers, he almost forgets about it. But he still feels it; every time he remembers it, it’s like fire burning a hole in his side, taunting him, reminding him someone out there is waiting for a prince charming, and he’s what they got.

---

Three years pass like that, Geralt ignoring the tattoos that pop up on his body from time to time, none of which cover the phone number. The other tattoos aren’t bad- even beautiful. He gets a set of flowers on his shoulder blade, lovely and shaded perfectly; a set of oddly specific music notes appear on his foot, though he doesn’t know what song they’re from; a songbird on his arm, adding to his collection perfectly; his favorite is a small minimalistic portrait of a wolf surrounded by yellow flowers that appears on his wrist one summer.

Late at night when he’s alone with his thoughts, Geralt lets himself imagine that they got that because of him- because of the first wolf tattoo he got. He lets himself think maybe they think of him fondly, associate the wolf with him, and chose to put that tattoo in such a visible place for him.

It’s not true, though, and he knows it.

Even if it were true, they would change their mind if they knew him- knew what he is.

--

He gets a contract to clear out the warehouses on the edge of the city, deep within the less savory parts of town. Here, humans are more likely a danger than monsters, but still, some do stalk the streets, especially late at night.

The man that hired him said he didn’t know what beasts laid in his warehouse, simply that a worker had turned up dead with what looked like scratch marks, time of death estimated around midnight. Blind jobs were always the worst. If the man died at midnight, Geralt will have to wait until then to approach as some creatures only transformed or showed themselves deep into the night.

He decides to kill time at a local bar in preparation. He has never been here before, some odd little college bar, but the food smells good and they have alcohol; nothing else matters.

He sits by himself, running through his list of things he needs to do this week as he waits for his food- maybe he should buy Roach a new toy if this pays well… his eyes shift to wander around the room and take note of the patrons. They’re the usual, grungy broke college kids and people with drinking problems. There’s an alarming overlap between the groups. Then, his eyes shift to where a single musician is setting up for live music.

He looks young; soft hair frames his boyish face with big blue eyes. He’s bright: bright smile, bright eyes, bright clothing- he wears a denim jacket with far too many buttons and patches stuck to it, a colorful floral T-shirt underneath, too tight black jeans, and are those white converse hand-painted with yet more flowers. The kids are still doing that?

Yet, as he begins to sing, Geralt can’t help but keep glancing at him. A song or two go by; his voice is lovely, deeper than he had expected, and it gets harder and harder to look away. It’s a ballad that really captures the witcher’s attention. It’s sad and lonesome, singing about longing for love. Something about it weighs heavy on his heart.

“They say love is mankind’s greatest joy/

But what if I can never find you?”

When the waitress comes by with his food, Geralt finds he doesn’t even glance at her, somehow transfixed by the young man’s singing. His singing is magical. Of course, Geralt knows it’s not literally magical, but it has been a long time since he’s felt drawn to someone like this- if ever.

The song ends and the singer shifts to something more upbeat, some attempted crowd-pleaser, and Geralt shakes the feeling off. He returns his focus to his meal, scrolling through mindless nothings on his phone.

--

When Jaskier finishes his last set, only a few claps can be heard throughout the bar. One asshole says a little too loudly “He’s finally done!”. He sighs in defeat, but this isn’t exactly the live music kinda bar. It’s… actually gross. The floors are awfully sticky. If only he could get a spot in one of the better venues in town, then maybe he could get a break. But music is competitive here.

None of that matters when his eyes lock on the mysterious and gorgeous man brooding in the corner of the bar. He seems to be the strong silent type, sitting alone with his food and an empty beer. He has long white hair, pulled half up. T-shirt under, leather jacket, and are those biker boots? He looks like trouble- no, he looks like danger and heartbreak, and exactly what Jaskier needs in his life.

The musician snags two beers off a waitress’s platter, ignoring her fussing as he moves in closer toward the man.

“As a musician, patrons are typically supposed to offer me free drinks, but I figured I’d make an exception this once.” He says, placing the darker beer in front of the man, hoping he got his preferences right.

He seems to ponder it for a moment, breathtaking golden eyes assessing the beer, then Jaskier. Finally, the man accepts it, taking a long drink before scooting his basket of French fries towards Jaskier ���Would the starving artist like a fry?” His voice is deep and gravely and perfect.

“Who said I was starving?” He grins, though he does take a fry, quite happily.

The man ‘Hm’s at him, thoughtful, yet somehow playful “Must be if you’re playing in a dump like this.”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier smiles- or, continues to smile. “I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

His companion doesn’t reply immediately, eventually responding “Geralt.”

“So, Geralt, you know I’m a starving artist. What do you do?”

That seems to entertain him as Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him, a sly smirk on his face. “You don’t know, do you?”

Jaskier scrunches his eyebrows together “That’s why I’m asking?”

Geralt huffs amusedly “Call it security.”

“For shitty bars?”

“No.”

Jaskier fakes a pout, fluttering his eyelashes “Aw, and I had already been planning to come back to see you.” He watches as Geralt rolls his eyes- his golden… cat eyes. In the dim lighting of the bar, his pupils had been big enough to seem round, but Jaskier notices them contract slightly, forming something more adjacent to slivers. And suddenly, it makes sense. His hair, the medallion around his neck, the brooding- the musician gasps “You’re a witcher!” he says, almost giddy with excitement.

There’s nothing meek about Geralt in the slightest. Yet, for a moment he looks as though he wants to crawl under the table. It doesn’t bother Jaskier, though, who is nearly grinning ear to ear “Oh, how wonderful! Tell me everything,” he demands, leaning farther across the table.

Geralt gazes at him quizzically, actually surprised by his reaction “Not really supposed to share details with strangers.”

“Ah, you probably don’t want to talk about work, anyways. Perhaps another time,” he adds slyly. The witcher does not offer to redirect the conversation, seemingly content with his silence. Though, he doesn’t object when Jaskier snags more of his fries. The musician goes as far as leaning across the table to dip them in the little container of ketchup Geralt has sitting in front of him. That’s when he notices the squiggly outlines of black on Geralt’s arm, just barely showing under the cusp of his sleeve.

“Oh, you have tattoos,” Jaskier points out cheerily.

He had expected Geralt to offer to show him, but he only gets an affirmative “Hm,”

“I love tattoos!” he pushes “I only have a few myself, but I always want more. They’re addictive, you know. Can I see them?”

“Fine.” Geralt says as if it were a burden, but he sees him smirk, however subtle. Ah, so Jaskier chose the right topic, after all.

He watches a little too closely as Geralt shucks off the leather jacket. At first, Jaskier focuses on his muscles- gods he’s muscular. It almost looks like he’s going to rip his shirt, the way the fabric strains as he pushes off his jacket. But then, with his arms showing, Jaskier’s eyes freeze on the tattoos- the familiar arch-Griffin, his wolf with flowers, the swallow. Jaskier’s tattoos. And suddenly he feels like he can’t think, can’t process what’s going on. The sound of the bar patrons in the background all but drowns out to the pounding of his heartbeat.

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes it, then tries again. “Why didn’t you call me, you prick?!” Jaskier exclaims, nearly jumping over the table with the way he’s out of his seat in an instant, the chair making a loud squeak against the hard floor as a result. A few people turn to look at them, but he doesn’t notice.

He thought his plan was foolproof, thought for sure that his soulmate would call, and when they didn’t, the tattoos stopped too. It was the worst feeling Jaskier had ever experienced. He doesn’t know how long or how much he cried. He thought they might have died!

“Do you know I had to pay a hundred dollars to keep that phone number last time I switched phone providers? Just in case you called!” Jaskier fusses, though that really probably shouldn’t be what he’s most concerned about right now.

“What are you talking about?” Geralt asks, voice suddenly cold and harsh.

Jaskier rushes to push his jacket sleeves up, hands shaking with anticipation. However, when his tattoos, and heart, are finally bared to the witcher, he recoils.

“We’re soulmates, bounded by fate!” Jaskier beams, hoping his excitement will rub off on the other man. “I’ve been waiting forever to meet you.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

The words are flat and dull, said as though they weren’t crushing. Jaskier tries not to take it personally. A lot of people are frightened when they meet their soulmate. And- well, Geralt’s a witcher. They’re notorious for being loners.

Still, he pushes. “Come on, we’re connected for a reason.”

“No, we’re not” Geralt barks back with a frown. He’s on his feet in an instant, digging through his wallet and throwing down some bills on the table. He’s tall. Oh, heavens he’s even taller than Jaskier, only by a little, but his broadness makes it more obvious. Jaskier barely has time to register what’s happening before the witcher is walking away from him, strides heavy, confident, and broody. Of course, he got the broody one.

He doesn’t let his soulmate’s negativity deter him, though. Jaskier throws his guitar over his shoulder and scuttles after Geralt.

--

The cold night air should be refreshing. It should help him clear his mind but hearing the boy’s hurried footsteps and thundering heart behind him does little to calm Geralt. It had been fine, just a bit of non-committal flirting and a free beer until tattoos came into play. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Jaskier asked to see; it wasn’t the first time he’d had someone ask. He never expected to meet his ‘soulmate’ and especially not some college kid in a dive bar. If the adrenaline coming off Jaskier in tidal waves is anything to go by, he wasn’t expecting this either.

Speaking of the devil, Jaskier catches up with him, speaking much faster than before, all nerves and pent up energy. “Look, I’m not proposing to you right here and now. Hell, I’m not even asking you to hop back to my apartment for a celebratory romp- not that I would be opposed, regardless of the tattoos, but- oh, shit, you could be straight. Gods. I know it might be a lot. But we’re connected!”

“It’s just haphazard, faulty magic. Some people claim to see the future by sniffing cheese. Do you believe everything they say, too?” Geralt tries to reason with him- or with himself. He isn’t quite sure which one needs convincing more.

“I’m just asking to get to know you. As friends.”

“No. I don’t do friends.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve spent my whole life wondering who you are. I- gods it all makes sense now. You’re a witcher. You must be quite a bit older than me. I was born with a tattoo: the little wolf. My whole life I knew I had a soulmate, and all I ever wanted was to meet you, and now you’re pushing me away?!” his voice cracks on the last word, and Geralt feels the guilt shoot straight to his gut. “Just give me a chance.”

Geralt stops in his tracks, turning to face Jaskier. The sudden movement has the man tripping over his feet to come to a halt. “I’m sorry,” Geralt says finally.

Jaskier gawks at him, confusion evident on his face.

“If I had known, I would’ve never gotten all these tattoos. I’m sorry.” He reiterates “That must have been rough.”

“Is that why you stopped getting them after I got one?” Jaskier murmurs. The way he looks at Geralt with those round eyes makes his stomach churning. It’s like he can communicate every emotion so clearly through a glance- pain, hurt, hope… Geralt nods, and the rawness of the moment is gone in an instant, replaced by Jaskier’s confident prattling once more.

“While I admit, most people don’t start seeing tattoos until they’re in high school at the earliest, I never resented them. I adore them- really. I suppose I’m quite fortunate. You have fantastic taste in tattoos.” He grins

That makes Geralt smile, just in the slightest, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. “I’m not the kind of person someone like you wants to be around.”

“But I do.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“And you don’t know me. I want to change that. That’s all I’m asking.”

Geralt breathes in deeply, holding it in for a second before releasing and allowing the tension in his shoulders to subside. It's his habitual method of getting ahold of his stress, but it has the inadvertent effect of inundating him with Jaskier’s scent; he smells like flowers, a combination of some cologne and his naturally sweet smell, something Geralt wishes he didn’t notice.

What options does he really have? He’s already marked up the boy’s skin. What kind of man just walks away from that? He gets the feeling that if he did, it wouldn’t be the last he would see of Jaskier- seems like a persistent bugger. Maybe one conversation would sate his curiosity enough to drive him away.

Finally, he speaks “I have two hours, then I have to go to work. What did you have in mind?” Before Jaskier can open his mouth, he adds “Somewhere public.”

“Of course, of course- I would never threaten your honor.” Jaskier chuckles, “I know a place not too far from here that serves boozy milkshakes,” he offers.

“Fine.”

[airlock]

so! Fire Emblem: Three Houses is a game that delves deep, although not very deep, in the complexities of politics and administration... and so, people get to talk about how these things happen, both in Fódlan and, as a token of comparison, in the real world!

which is why I, some college student with no background in polisci whatsoever, have decided to write this whole post on the realistic reasons why people should not want a meritocracy, whether it’s being brought about their favorite white-haired girl in a fictional world or being promised by a politician in real life who is probably swindling you

sounds like a bit of a trip, right? meritocracy is a compelling idea on paper -- eliminate entrenched privileges, give everything to the people who deserve it. we especially find such ideas inspirational when we live in times of ridged inequalities, where some people are born with everything and others with nothing, and the former continue to take everything even as they repeatedly prove their failings, while the latter toil no matter what qualities they might have. nonetheless, it’s just not that simple, and the meritocratic ideal is even one of the things that got us into this mess to begin with!

let’s go blow by blow, shall we?

merit is subjective

as it turns out, meritocracy is a very fancy way of saying “I want the people who are in charge to be good people” -- which is what we’d all be supporting if it were just that simple! you might have noticed the snag, though, in that it looks a lot more ridiculous when you replace “meritorious”, “accomplished”, “competent”, etc. with “good”, despite those being equally vague descriptors of value.

I’ll get to the point: what is merit? who decides what is merit? who decides what is meritorious?

you might quickly find out that these questions have haunted not only governments but every form of administration for millenia now -- schools, companies, recreational competitions, the artistic world... and no one, no one, ever arrives on a one answer that always works.

since Edelgard never puts forth ideas of a system through which merit might be determined -- like, say, exams, which have their own failings -- the assumption is that she’s intending to handpick whoever she might want in charge, which is a common way of implementing meritocracy. and also a terrible one! now, your position in society is dictated by the extent to which you can impress the emperor -- who, however discering, isn’t perfect, or capable of giving everyone the clinical eye. if a system of “impress the person in charge to get in” were capable of living up to the meritocratic ideal, most of us would be having far less trouble with jobs.

although not all of us, anyway, since so many of us are neurodivergent -- and oh yes, those of us who are should know from a mile away that meritocracies have this particular problem...

the meritocratic ideal is ableist

callout post for the- ahem

have you perchance seen Edelgard and Linhardt’s support conversations? the one where he repeatedly frustrates Edelgard by being too neurodivergent to put his gifts to the efficient streamlined methodology that she favours? the one where he makes it clear that he can’t thrive in a result-oriented environment, so Edelgard busts her rump to figure out some way to give him a job that makes use of his talents?

well, he was lucky that he got to personally befriend the emperor and weasel her into some distincitvely unmeritocratic policy, because anyone else who cannot thrive in a result-oriented environment will have no such luck. and that’s precisely what a meritocratic society is: a result-oriented environment of society itself.

hell, you could even take a moment to notice that a lot of the insults that are routinely hurled at disabled people are also the criticisms that people make of those they wish to eliminate through meritocracy. y’know, “lazy”, “weak”, “moocher”, the works.

now, would this be any better if our Supreme Arbitrer of Merit were exceptionally woke and able to mitigate this, be it through assistance or by implementing metrics of merit that better suit the neurodivergent? perhaps. but as we think through these utopias, we ram a separate problem...

meritocracies cannot be implemented in a vacuum

the meritocratic narrative has us constantly thinking of the incompetent privileged vs. the competent underprivleged, but those simply aren’t the only types of people who exist in society. in fact, we’d have to expect that privilege would mostly make people more competent -- this doesn’t sound great until you realize that the alternative is to claim that poverty is good because it builds character and other similar kinds of nonsense we very much know to be untrue.

when it comes down to it, anyone can sit on the throne and say “I declare meritocracy to be happenning right now”, but saying that doesn’t erase the inequalities previously existing in the system. if I decided to make the whole world participate in a race a month from now, everyone starting from the same starting line and running the same course to the end, who do you think would win -- someone who eats well everyday and has as much leisure time as they want to practice running, or someone who has to continue working three jobs? sure, every now and then you’d have an exceptional runner out of the unexpected end, and you’d also have lots of privileged people who just don’t feel like runnin’, but systematically speaking, most of the winners would still probably be the ones who can throw more resources at winning.

and that’s to say nothing of the fact that pre-existing privileges also make it a lot easier to perform merit. I’ve mentioned both schools and exams so far in this post about meritocracy, right? there’s something in that topic that my mind keeps coming back to, actually -- entry exams for universities in my country.

right now, my country is experiencing an elusive demographical phenomenon where the majority of the population is college-aged; in a good country, this would mean college-level education would be thriving, but in this country, it means that each university has become far more selective with who gets to enroll. thus, all the universities with any sort of prestige above the level of “pay to get your Instant Diploma (Just Add Water) here” run yearly entry exams and enroll the people who get the best scores. sounds meritocratic, right? except now, there’s also a rash of cram schools dedicated to training people to do well on these exams, and with the high demand, they tend to be somewhat costly. in other words, if you’re born into money, you’ll have an opportunity to be taught the rotes necessary to pass the verification of merit.

people haven’t yet figured out a way to prevent meritocracies from just completely corroding under the weight of that problem, given enough time. whatever the metric you set for merit -- even if it is, in fact, the metric of “impress the emperor” -- someone will start selling better prospects for fitting that metric, and the ones buying will be the already privileged ones.

but even if it weren’t for all that...

meritocracy is discrimination

so far, I’ve mostly exponded on the issues with “merit”; however, the real gaping one actually lies in “kratos”, power.

“everything to the people who have earned it” sounds like good mote, if you don’t think too much about the converse -- “nothing to the people who have not earned it”. however successfully you might address all the other problems I’ve brought up so far, the fact is that meritocracies, inherently through their design, build societies of haves and have-nots.

and the thing is, there’s no turning back once you do that. eventually, a generation will pass, and the haves and have-nots will have passed the torch to their children; whose children will be best prepared to perform merit? and besides, giving power to the meritorious means they get to make decisions, set policies, write laws -- what’s stopping them from decreeing, blatantly or subtly, that society should favour their own and disfavour their enemies?

in other words, meritocracies can’t create societies with more equal opportunities, because they are inherently unequal themselves. in fact, basically all the notable unequal systems we’ve experienced historically were born as meritocracies of some sort. you know the nobility system that edelgard hates so much? in real-life Europe, the nobles were mostly the far-flung descendants of the most meritorious roman generals. and as for us, living under the boots of the 1% who can do whatever they want? once upon a time, these people had all the same rights as a peasant. and when the day comes when we finally topple these buffoons in the name of not just a better society but also an extant planet, the only way we can break the cycle is by not buying into the idea that meritocracies are a good thing -- be it in fiction or in real life.

[personalityarchive]

Edgar Valden 4w5 ISFP

[[16 September 2020

Originally written as a comment thread on PDB]]

While we all seem to agree that Edgar is undoubtedly a 4, it seems that there has been some debate over his wingtype; based on the newly released information for him, I would argue that Edgar is a clear example of a 4w5. In fact, his enneatype also feeds into the disagreement over his MBTI (and vice versa).

To begin, here is a direct translation of his character summary, also featured as the brief description on this profile:

“The only son in the Valden family of aristocrats, Edgar showed an interest and high talent in painting from childhood. Praise from his family and the public has led to his eccentric character. His perception of the world around him led to his belief that nobody else is worthy to speak to him about art.”

A surface-level look at this may suggest to some a 3 wing, for the simple fact that “praise from the public” is mentioned. However, the key here is that it has resulted in his becoming an “eccentric character”, a label the 4w3 is less likely to be assigned than a 4w5. The influence from the 3 gives the 4 a bit more awareness of social expectations and appearing “acceptable”, but a 5 wing gives the 4 an even more deeply introspective and self-referential worldview. Any enneatype can receive public praise; it’s how the person reacts to it that truly indicates their personality type.

This description of his character also pairs well with Fi > Fe, as in (an unhealthy) use of dominant Fi in the ISFP; Edgar displays absolutely no Fe. He is not interested in the feelings or opinions of others. In fact, what frustrates him is that nobody else seems to understand how he feels, which in his mind is obviously the only correct way to see and understand art.

His character trailer only further cements the interpretation of an emotionally-driven, authenticity-seeking 4w5 ISFP:

“All that is beautiful in this world; once upon a time, that was the inspiration for my paintings. But slowly, they stopped looking so cute to me. The plebeians, you see, they do not revere art, because they will never grasp it. Hypocritical and double-faced, avaricious and insatiable, obstreperous and useless. None amongst you can speak with me on the true essence of art.”

“And when this place can bring me pleasure no more I can only hope that that paradise will bring me yet unknown inspiration.”

His arrogance is not the pride of a 3 wing; it is more in line with the sense of pseudo-intellectual superiority of a 5 wing. He feels that the people around him cannot possibly understand the depth, the “true meaning” behind art. We can see this further reflected in how he describes the “plebeians”:

“Hypocritical and double-faced, avaricious and insatiable, obstreperous and useless.”

Here, there is a clear emphasis on the values of the 4 — authenticity, deep feelings, a sense of meaning — alongside an outright rejection of the 3’s social masking. The passion of the 3 is deceit, which manifests as molding the self into the vision of “success” or being “productive”. A 4w3, especially a less healthy one, struggles to balance the inner need to express themself and the desire to maintain appearances or be in style, one way or another.

The 4w3, because of the assertive Hornevian type of the wing, is also more openly competitive and ambitious, and tends to be more socially extraverted than a 4w5. With a 3 wing, Edgar would be driven to not only express himself creatively, but would also desire success — he would self-promote in order to gain recognition. His character trailer clearly expresses that his struggle is not lack of praise for his work; rather, it is a feeling of hopeless longing, of having a rich internal world that nobody can understand.

This aspect of Edgar’s character is far more the struggle of the unhealthy 4w5. With a doubly introverted frame of reference, the 4w5 is more prone to getting lost in the fantasy world they have constructed; anything that doesn’t meet this set of expectations is derided as being “inauthentic” and discarded. Moreover, even the choice to describe people with words like “two-faced” and “obstreperous” points to a 4w5. We see in the first adjective the 4’s concern with presenting only one’s inner truth, and in the second an aversion to loud and aggressive mannerisms, as well as a discontentment with others’ expectations.

His distaste for hypocrisy is presented to the viewer, and is not then followed by an ironic twist where Edgar himself is shown to be engaging in such behavior (as in other character trailers); therefore, it’s safe to say that he presents himself true to his beliefs, and is generally neither loud nor demanding. Again, with influence from 3, we would expect to see some of these traits reflected in his character; their absence, along with the presence of the more ruminative melancholy, make clear a 4 with an influence from 5.

Edgar’s reverence of art and its “true essence”, on top of the stylistic choice of the trailer itself, further lends towards such a reading. While the artistic direction of the animation could simply be because he’s an painter, this idea could easily have been conveyed using any number of alternate techniques. The choices made were deliberate — or at least, in such productions, should be — and as such, can be taken thusly.

As always, the trailer is in the first person, and is meant to reflect his own perception of the world. By framing Edgar’s entire life as being contained within various paintings, of being defined by the abstract or intangible “essence”, the video suggests that he is living inside his own head, with all external input being filtered through his own personal values and beliefs. This is both the realm of the 4 (especially wing 5) and an ISFP using unhealthy Fi.

Further support for this can be found in the word choice of the original Chinese: the version of the pronoun “they” used in the opening lines:

“All that is beautiful in this world; once upon a time, that was the inspiration for my paintings. But slowly, they stopped looking so cute to me.”

This version of “they” in Chinese is only used for people, not objects or a concept. However, the handling of the “they” in question is the same way one would talk about something non-living. In other words, Edgar sees people primarily as objects of inspiration for his own creativity; the things he experiences in the real world are heavily filtered through Fi, and (before his further deterioration in health) shaped into whatever he needs them to be to inspire him to create.

From this quote, we also know that his primary extraverted function must be perceiving. His natural instinct was to draw his inspiration from direct observation of the physical world around him, rather than being able to generate it fully from within. When describing his motivation for going to Oletus, Edgar says:

“And when this place can bring me pleasure no more I can only hope that that paradise will bring me yet unknown inspiration.”

This supports both the 4’s search for that “missing something” and an ISFP’s need for Se input to support dominant Fi. Furthermore, as an artist, Edgar uses his Se not only to take in sensory information, but also as an outlet for his Fi. By creating art, he’s able to express his emotions and intangible inner landscape in a way that others can experience, and hopefully, understand.

He does not search for connections between ideas or people like a Ne-user, nor does he focus on making quick or logical decisions like a Te-user. Sure he’s judgmental, but it comes purely from a place of emotion, not reason or anything more concrete than that he finds humanity as a whole to be ugly and worthless. This points to unhealthy Fi and inferior Te.

Edgar’s focus on the “true nature” of art and his feelings of disillusionment with humanity is the result of his dominant Fi and tertiary Ni; together, his Fi and Ni create for him a bottomless well of emotions where he holds a sense of art’s essential “essence” and a need to find meaning in everything he experiences. Without these things, he has no inspiration, and therefore must seek out a new external environment (Se) to feed his internal one. With unhealthy Fi, Edgar has gotten so deeply entrenched in his own vision of the world that he has let it overwhelm him, and his Fi interpretation of his Se has become excessively negative.

The Fi’s need for authenticity and confidence in its own internally-held ideas can come across as equally harsh as a dominant or auxiliary Te-user’s criticism. The key difference here is that while the Te’s aggression comes from a frustration at others’ lack of logic or practicality, the Fi’s hostility comes from feeling misunderstood or personally attacked. While Edgar may have Te, it is clearly his inferior function. Not only is he not primarily driven by external decision-making, the way he does use Te is to serve his Fi. In ISFPs, the Te is relied upon when their Fi holds an opinion strongly enough that they feel they must take action on it. This is especially true when under stress or defending against perceived threats; when in such a state, ISFPs can become incredibly critical of others, and will state their Fi beliefs in a matter-of-fact, Te style of speaking. In Edgar, this is what has created his attitude of “None amongst you can speak with me on the true essence of art.”

Further evidence for Edgar having the ISFP function stack is held within his third external trait:

“The Painter focuses on the sensations behind real objects. Therefore, he is not afraid of progress when sitting on a rocket chair. When a Painter is put on a rocket chair for the second time, the progress in sitting on the chair continues from the moment he was last placed.”

Aside from meaning that he can be chaired four times, this external trait is interesting in its title. The Chinese characters used for the first word confidently translates into “sensitive” (as in emotions), while the second word can be translated two different ways. The second word is used to mean either “direct observation” or “intuitive”. Therefore, a full reading of this trait can be either “emotional sensing” or “emotionally intuitive”.

Furthermore, the trait description itself lines up with a function stack that leads with Fi: “The Painter focuses on the sensations behind real objects.”

This is just shy of having “Edgar leads with feeling” outright stated. Moreover, it supports auxiliary Se, where he uses his Fi as the primary way to understand the external stimuli he receives. This more internally-focused way of engaging with reality once again supports a 4w5 reading over 4w3; Edgar is not driven to use his creativity in a way that would generate professional success. He is creating for creativity’s own sake, to express something that is true to his vision of art.

Also in Edgar’s profile are the character traits “arrogant, paranoid, neurotic”. Coupled with his “eccentric character”, this solidly places Edgar as a 4 with a 5 wing, with a clear influence from the 5 in his paranoia and neuroticism. While Edgar seemed to enjoy the praise heaped upon him, this does not automatically indicate a 3 wing. The 4 is just as capable as the 3 of basking in praise; after all, it feeds into the 4’s need for specialness just as much as it does the 3’s need for outstanding achievement. However, we see for Edgar that this praise was not enough; ultimately, the attention was worthless because nobody could understand the true essence of his work, or grasp the deeper meaning behind it.

Edgar’s emotional rejection of his adoring public continues to support a 5 wing. At average to unhealthy levels, 4w5s retreat into an at times bizarre fantasy world that to them appears real. The elitist and eccentric nature of the 4w5 leads to an ever-intensifying internal search for an expression of the genuine and unique self. They can appear to “push the edges of sanity” in pursuit of this, which ties into Edgar’s description as being “neurotic” and “paranoid”.

As the 4w5 decreases in health, the feelings of emptiness and isolation grow, and their image of the world becomes increasingly bleak. Just as in Edgar’s trailer, the world, once rose-tinted and romanticized, is slowly transformed into a grotesque or ugly place; humanity becomes a breed of irredeemable, ignorant or sick creatures. There is a wallowing in the hopelessness and magnification of feelings (that then get bottled up inside) resulting in a negative feedback loop. This is the sort of state that the letter finds Edgar in, and what draws him to Oletus.

The trailer makes it clear that Edgar’s acceptance of the Manor’s invitation is based entirely on his desire to complete a work that will satisfy himself, and only himself. He is not interested in gaining recognition for it. Rather, he sees it as a cure for his own sense of longing — nothing has been able to satisfy him.

On the other hand, the 4w3 tend more towards social extraversion, and are more likely than 4w5s to directly share their overwhelming feelings. Even at decreasing health levels, the 4w3 has more of the performative nature of the 3 than the withdrawal of the 5. The 4w3, when under stress, attempts to magnify the emotions they identify as “genuine”, paradoxically losing touch with their true feelings. There is a theatrical quality to their emotional displays not present in the 4w5; this serves to cover up their inner feelings of an emptiness that can’t ever be filled. Rather than an attachment to a fabricated inner landscape, the 4w3 exhibits a clinging to the external expression of manufactured emotions.

One of the few things I can think of in terms of how Edgar could be mistaken for having a 3 wing is that he has so in his instinctual stack; however, even with this, Edgar is sp/so, which in theory should make his 5 wing more obvious. As for how his enneatype and MBTI can cause mistyping in one or the other, I do have a few ideas. When exhibiting the highly critical and arrogant nature of an unhealthy 4 — especially with a 5 (mind center) wing — a character may have Te ascribed to them. However, their strong words and actions are ultimately tied to emotions, not logic; with auxiliary Se serving unhealthy Fi, the choices made are impulsive (Se) rather than decisive (Te).

Additionally, I can perhaps see some mixup regarding his sweeping statements about art’s underlying nature. This can be seen perhaps as him being a Ne-user, or either a dominant or auxiliary Ni-user. In fact, this ties back into the 5 wing; the 5 is interested in creating a mental theory of the world, or some particular part of it. This “big picture” thinking is characteristic of strong intuition users. However, we see with Edgar that of higher importance is his own subjective values; art has a certain essence because he believes it to be so. This sense of what art “truly is” cannot be Ne, because it’s derived entirely from connections made between his own internal feelings and “gut sense”, rather than between things in the world around him. It is not dominant or auxiliary Ni, because his Fi is much stronger. Once again, this ties back to Edgar’s 4 base, and to his unhealthy use of dominant Fi.

In short, Edgar displays none of the traits or motivations characteristic to the 4w3, and has a function stack that even at a cursory glance simply cannot lead with thinking or intuiting. Given the information provided by both his trailer and the Chinese character profile, I cannot see Edgar as being anything other than a 4w5 ISFP.

[prevaricatcr]

‹ TARON EGERTON, HE/HIM, CISMALE, BISEXUAL.  ›  ELLIOT GALLAGHER is the TWENTY SIX year old from SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said,  ❝ MIGHT AS FUCKIN’ WELL, RIGHT? GONNA HATE MY LIFE EITHER WAY, MIGHT AS WELL DO IT WITH SOME SCENERY. ❞ they claim FUNNY GAMES is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would TAUNT THE KILLER AND GET WHACKED FOR IT. their fears include DRIVING A CAR, WRITHING SNAKES and PUPPETS, and they don’t know we know, but… HE’S PAID OFF MULTIPLE WOMEN WHO HAVE HAD HIS CHILDREN. hope they enjoy their stay.  ‹  MUSE A from HOLLYWOOD’S BLEEDING penned by, Z, 25+, CST.  ›

- - - - - - - BASICS.

Name: Elliot Rian Gallagher. Pronouns: He, him. Nicknames: n/a Age: Twenty-six. Birthdate: April 18th. Zodiac: Aries sun, taurus moon, gemini rising. Ethnicity: white, his father's grandparents were second generation irish and his mother always stated that her parents came from Sandusky, and didn't know more than that. Nationality: American. Birthplace: Santa Monica, CA Gender: Cis Male. Sexual Orientation: Bisexual.

- - - - - - - BACKGROUND.

Parents: Craig Robert Gallagher; 58 years old, alive. Teresa Dawn Shwitzer-Gallagher ; 52 years old, alive Siblings: 2 older siblings, a boy and a girl, and two younger sisters. Spouse: n/a. Children: 3 by different mothers, whom he sends monthly allowances to. He makes it his business not to know any more. Current Job: out of work musician. Dream Career: to be back on top of his game, winning grammies like he used to. Schooling: Attended Crossroads in Santa Monica on and off, eventually graduated with lots of monetary assistance. Income: Receives pay from royalties from the band he was in as a teenager that kicked him out.

- - - - - - - PHYSICAL.

Height: 5'8". Weight: 160 lb. Eye Color: Blue. Hair Color: Dark brown. Hair Length: Fairly short. Hair Type: On the thinner side, with some wave. Body Type: Fairly skinny, with small hips and waist. A little thicker around the midsection with his short stint of sobriety. Clothing Size: Medium to large. Shoe Size: Size 11 Complexion: Very pale, freckles fairly easy, burns very easy. Scars: scars and calluses on his hands, a puckered scar on his temple half hidden by his hair, and a scar on his right hip from a bad car accident, his knees are assessed as much older than himself because of how poorly he treats them combined with genetics, and a long scar on the left side of his back.

- - - - - - - PERSONALITY.

Positive Traits: adventurous, charming, direct, passionate, sociable, competitive, creative, lively, versatile. Negative Traits: volatile, extravagant, defensive, envious, juvenile, wasteful, unreliable, vulgar, pessimistic. Mental Condition: Currently drinking again and using cocaine along with a few prescription pills after attempting out-patient rehab and tapering down his drinking, which he's been addicted to since age fourteen. No officially assessed disorders or conditions besides his alcoholism. Struggles with intimacy while sober. Emotional Condition: Fragile, filled with guilt and self loathing after relapse. Sees trust as more important than love and is very guarded with what he considers his innermost self. Likes: All black outfits, sunglasses, a tall glass of boulevard when he's drinking to taste it, people that make him laugh out loud, old school SNL, the fine tuning of behind the camera work, treating the people he cares about to nice things, arguing about oscars prospects for any given film, penny slot machines, jokes that make people groan loudly. Dislikes: lazy jokes about addiction, late night talk shows, people who look at him and see his misdeeds and not who he is as a person, "lizard people" conspiracy theories, elevator music, plastic covers on mattresses, the concept of an all seeing, all knowing god, TMZ, the smell of industrial cleaner. Strengths: intelligent, ambitious, sincere, passionate, generous, philosophical. Weaknesses: reckless, impatient, cowardly, detached, foolhardy, irresponsible. Fears/phobias: sobriety, letting someone see every single part of him, allowing himself to be vulnerable when sober, having hallucinations, driving a car. Hobbies: little to none as his primary hobby has always been drinking, mostly reading and watching movies. Quirks: fiddling with his glasses, biting the inside of his cheek, humming any song that comes through his mind out loud when he's distracted or concentrating hard on something.

- - - - - - - HISTORY.

!!! possible triggers in the following biography: drug use, alcohol abuse and alcoholism, driving while intoxicated, car accidents, parental neglect of children !!! You are two and a half when you land your first commercial. Your younger sisters managed their first roles before you, but it was a little easier for them as they were infant twins; far more in demand than just a tiny toddler boy. This is how your family eats and keeps themselves in an apartment in Santa Monica that's meant to house three when your family eventually grows to hold seven in total. A lot of mouths to feed. Thankfully you don't remember a lot of this, as the small time work you and your siblings do is enough to keep your family afloat. You make your way into middle school; pissed and stand offish and looking like a cherub; which insures that no one takes you seriously. The friends you make, you hold tightly to, and you kick around in your best friend Boston’s basement, just fooling around on his parents drum kit, their guitars that aren’t actually supposed to be touched. It’s all just for fun, the band and the EP you slap together; just trying to impress each other, until one of Bos’ parents finds someone who wants to sign the band. Everyone tells you over and over again, that this is the deal of a life time. That this will make sure you work in Hollywood for the rest of your life. This is both true, and untrue. The EP is an unmitigated success, and every review has something to say about you, the kid on bass with backup vocals who’s face looks barely legal but plays like he’s planning a murder. Almost everyone remarks on how much older than your few years you seem. Which at first makes you feel special, important. Makes you seek out big words to use when you're sitting on the couch as a guest. The audience really loves that. Of course, this also spawns those times when you end up at wrap parties and after parties, your mother schmoozing whatever producers and execs she can find, your father nowhere to be found, and a sea of adults getting high and wasted around you. None of the vices of Hollywood have ever been all that strange to you, though. Your parents have always had a very blase approach to the innocence of childhood, and didn't much care to shield you from anything. It’s still all fun and games, really. The five of you have too much fun, and everyone wants to treat you to everything, so. Somehow the option you end up choosing most often is the bottle in your hand. The bottles that are so readily available, everywhere, that get pressed into your hands and put into the end of the night goodie bags your mother always takes three of. You think that waking up in an unfamiliar bed every single night of a week is something the rest of your bandmates are doing. It’s all a laugh, we all drink and we all smoke and it’s kid shit, right Boston? You learn that it very much is just a ‘you’ thing when you come to rehearsal (late, as usual) one Thursday afternoon and they’re all somberly waiting for you, hands in their lap and silent. You are being released from your contract with Cthulhu Rising...but the band has elected to move on and create their debut album. Unfortunately at this point you are eighteen and very, very deeply entrenched in alcoholism. The press has been playing you as a party boy who enjoys simple teenage excess for a very long time, but it's starting to wear thin. TMZ is growing a lot less glowing in their articles. You try not to pay attention even as you get yourself thrown out of clubs and tossed into drunk tanks and bailed back out again by whichever assistant your mother has hired this week. As long as you can find a way to make music, you can keep breathing. But with your growing notoriety, offers start to dry up. Those late night shows that loved your precociousness take pot shots at you in their opening monologues. Kimmel's pre-taped Lonely Island style sketch about 'you' endorsing a brand of gin in the style of I Love Lucy gets over a million views on youtube. All of Hollywood, and by extension all the world is laughing at you. It get a little less funny when you ram your matte black Lamborghini Aventador into the median taking the exit for Interstate 10, pinball off of it and into the car in the lane next to you, back into the median hard enough to flip your car into a roll, tumbling side over side across the lanes into the ditch. Your blood test results at the hospital show your blood alcohol content was nearly triple the legal limit. The accident doesn't kill you, though it's a close thing. You're convinced the recovery is worse. The total at the end adds up to a fractured pelvis, six broken ribs, safety glass embedded in your left temple, lacerations all over your arms and face, bleeding in your lungs and swelling in the brain that leaves you in a coma for the better part of two weeks. The most pathetic part of it all? All of that, the things you don't remember from that day coupled with the bursts and flashes of what you do remember, the year and a half you spend in recovery still isn't enough to make you put the bottle down forever. And doesn't that just make you fucking hate yourself?

[annikasafternoonread]

Will and Gill. The twins. So many bittersweet memories. 

They overhear Cia and Tomas’ table mentioning that they didn’t finish the tests (Cia tells the others, and they all agree they didn’t finish either) and immediately decide “yes these people are cool people lets sit with them.” It’s refreshing to find someone honest and unabashed, I guess, more worried about being truthful than being top dog.

I know I’d be glad of it. I hate this kind of bitter, competitive environment. I hate the toxicity of it. I love school and I tend to do well with tests, so I would totally be excited to excel and prove myself, but all these awful people would make me want to shrivel up. I hope.

I say “I hope” because I remember one time (this may seem like a weird tangent but bear with me) an MMORPG that I played introduced a new “world” to visit where all the characters were TOTAL dicks, super stuck up and condescending, and I hated it. After I completed the quest line there, I refused to go back. But it wasn’t that their insults made me feel bad -- honestly I’d handled worse, and clearly their sense of superiority wasn’t true since I beat them all in battle anyways. But I hated how it made me act.

Whenever they were rude and condescending, I wanted to be just as cutting and cruel right back. My mind would immediately turn to what insults and put downs I could craft to hurt them. I’m not sure if the fact that they were fictional characters made that response worse or better. But I hated it. I hated how it felt. I hated that it made me want to be just as bad as them.

“When they go low, we go high.” It’s a mantra I return to often -- usually when one of my relatives says something particularly bigoted and I have to talk myself into trying to reason with them or at least call them out instead of just tearing into them. Attacking doesn’t help, doesn’t persuade anyone, doesn’t protect anyone, it just makes their opinion all the more entrenched. And it doesn’t make me feel good about myself. It doesn’t make me the bigger person. 

I remind myself that I want to be better. I ask myself if Michelle Obama would be proud of me. I take a deep breath. And I choose to respond intelligently to unintelligent treatment. Even when it’s hard. 

[maxfieldparrishes]

intro to genevieve, pt. 3

🎵here i go again on my own...🎵 Part 3 is live!!! @ocelotsflatass here’s more about the bae!!!

M: Maternal 1. She’d say she’d be happy with either, but she’d honestly probably want a girl.  2. Genevieve is pretty ambivalent about having children, but she might, if she ever found the right person. There’s a part of her that doesn’t necessarily want kids for their own sake, but would want her partner’s child.  3. Viv would want to be a good parent and would try her hardest, but she’d be so careful about not trying to mold the kid into her image and giving them space to be themselves that she may come across as a little distant, when she’s really trying to be respectful. She might also get overwhelmed trying to be one of those All-Together Moms, or otherwise just get overwhelmed trying to do it all for her kid. She’d love her kid more than anything, though. No doubt about that.  4. What would she name a son? Probably something Old Testament, because a lot of boys names nowadays don’t appeal to her. A girl... she’d probably name her Elaine, or something similar. Something classic, that will age well with the child, no matter what gender the child is.  5. Viv would be okay with adopting, but there is a part of her that would want a child that’s biologically hers. That isn’t to say she wouldn’t love an adopted child just as much as one of her own, or that she would never adopt, but that she’d also want a kid that’s hers, you know? 

N: Never Have I Ever 1. Would not harm a child or an animal, even if the child is pissing her off. That doesn’t mean she won’t throw down with one, if necessary (like it sometimes was with her special-needs job), but she won’t go out of her way to be vindictive or hurtful towards a kid. She actually likes children, which surprises her as much as it surprised everyone else, because she always said she never liked them.  2. Viv would love to pull a bank heist, or otherwise rob a multibillion-dollar corporation and redistribute the assets. Also, if starting a revolution for a more egalitarian and greener society and restructuring the world counts, then doing that too.  3. Talk on the phone when at a checkout. Sometimes it can’t be helped and she gets that, but the times when it can and people are just being dicks irritate her. Also not tipping their servers properly. People need to live!!! AND just being an asshole in general!!! Don’t be like that!!!! 4. Once in third grade she started taking off her clothes because another kid was putting on snow pants to go outside for recess, and she thought she should do the same. The teacher was on her like a cat.  5. Had sex in a public place. To be fair, said public place was a graveyard at one in the morning and she and Zoe were Making a Statement about homophobia, but it was still a big risk for her to take. And it was fucking awesome.

O: Optimism  1. She tries to be optimistic, she really does, and overall she relatively is? But she does have moods where she’s very frightened about the future because she doesn’t like the way the world is going and doesn’t feel like there can be enough done to change it.  2. Viv tries to be supportive and encouraging, because she loves her friends and family and wants them to succeed. She might overdo it, but that’s just because she cares, and she might not understand that blind optimism might not be what they need.  3. She’s pretty level-headed overall, so... yeah? On the other, she’s also risk-averse, so... in that respect, no.  4. Dante is very supportive of her and whatever project it is she decides she wants to do, as is Zoe. Zoe, though, is more realistic. Dante has no clue what’s feasible and what isn’t, so she can’t always rely on him for help, which bothers him a little because he wants to be involved with what she likes; Zoe is more down-to-earth and pragmatic. 5. She wasn’t always optimistic, nor is she always optimistic now. Instead of asking her whether the glass is half full or half empty, she’ll ask you where more water will come from. Always be prepared. 

P: Personality  1. Her curiosity and open-mindedness are very endearing, and she’s very warm and personable and kind. She’s also very intelligent and organized, which makes her handy at a lot of tasks. She’s pretty motivated.  2. Viv can be overly concerned with planning ahead, and she can also be a little type-A if her Systems are interrupted, or if she’s forced to do things in a way that’s not intuitive or familiar for her. She can also be snarky to the point of being inadvertently mean, and it’s not intentional... usually. Viv suppresses it well, but she does have a lot of internalized anger, and when her fuse goes off... boy, does it go off. It takes a lot to make her mad, but when she is, god help you. And once you’re firmly entrenched on her bad side, there’s really not a lot of option for going back. She can also get extremely frustrated if she’s not good at something fairly quickly. It’s a former Gifted Child thing. Also is a bit nosy.  3. People like Viv because she’s a genuinely kind person? She’s pretty non-judgmental and accepting, and a lot of people are drawn to her because she’s kind-hearted and is genuinely interested in the people she loves and their lives.  4. Her intelligence, and her seemingly-together aura. Viv is very smart, and very capable in a lot of ways, but she always feels she could have things more together. She’s by far the most organized and capable person in the Devil May Cry office, which, to be fair, is not saying much, but she’ll take the compliment if it’s offered to her. She doesn’t have a huge ego, but she is very aware that she is good at a lot of things, and doesn’t mind people reminding her of that.  5. Viv goes back and forth between thinking she’s too chill or thinking she’s too type-A, it really depends on the situation. Others? Dante thinks she needs to massively chill; she thinks he needs to actually try, and use his damn brain for once in his life. Zoe thinks she can be distant, believe it or not, and Viv thinks Zoe can be flighty and kind of ruthless and overly competitive, even by her standards. 

Q: Questions 1. Viv will ask for help if there’s someone around who’s capable of helping her with her specific question, but a lot of the time she’s the person people are asking to help them. She doesn’t mind helping people figure stuff out, though. She doesn’t feel any kind of way about needing help. That’s just life.  2. Viv was absolutely the kid who asked questions in class, especially if it was a class she was passionate about, and also the kid who did so until it was irritating. Teachers have had to tell her to can it or ask them after class because she’s That Into It.  3. Depends on the question, what it might reveal about her, and who’s asking. Like... if it’s about what happened in her childhood and you’re a friend, yes. Certain sex questions are off-limits to most people, though.  4. Again, depends on the subject. She certainly isn’t averse to it.  5. Oh, hell yes. One of her best (and worst) traits. 

R: Rules 1. For the most part she follows the rules. Partly because she thinks some rules are in place for a reason, and partly because it isn’t worth the consequence of breaking them. She’d rather change a rule or a law than outright break it, but it is up to the specific situation.  2. She’d try to be in the middle as much as she can, but she’d probably end up the stricter parent. She’d certainly expect her child to want to succeed, which might be her single greatest flaw as a parent.  3. She’s certainly faced consequences for breaking rules in her family, and in her family’s house, but she’s never been arrested or charged with anything.  4. Not really? Sometimes she regrets lying to her family about her life, but she does think it’s genuinely for the best.  5. Not particularly, for people she knows. She does think there needs to be harsher punishments for child sexual predators and sexual offenses--certainly life incarceration, if not outright execution, because she Does Not Tolerate that shit. At all. Not a fan of the current justice system and thinks it needs to be drastically overhauled. 

[foreverlogical]

The election season of 2015 and 2016 was defined by chaos, infighting and a pool of deep resentment that came boiling over when votes were cast. But this election was barely noticed. It happened on February 17, 2016, in a rundown labor union hall in Portland, Oregon. Union members were voting on a new contract with their employer, Koch Industries. The union members felt powerless, cornered, and betrayed by their own leaders. The things that enraged them were probably recognizable to anyone who earns a paycheck in America today. Their jobs making wood and paper products for a division called Georgia Pacific had become downright dangerous, with spikes in injuries and even deaths. They were being paid less, after adjusting for inflation, than they were paid in the 1980s. Maybe most enraging, they had no leverage to bargain for a better deal. Steve Hammond, one of the labor union’s top negotiators, had fought for years to get higher pay and better working conditions. And for years, he was outgunned and beaten down by Koch’s negotiators. So even as the presidential election was dominating public attention in late 2015, Hammond was presenting the union members with a dispiriting contract defined by surrender on virtually everything the union had been fighting for. He knew the union members were furious with his efforts. When he stood on stage to present the contract terms, he lost control and berated them. “This is it guys!” his colleagues recall him yelling. “This is your best offer. You’re not going to strike anyway.”

I thought of the free-floating anger in that union hall often as I travelled the country over the last eight years, reporting for a book about Koch Industries. The anger seemed to infect every corner of American economic life. We are supposedly living in the best economy the United States has seen in modern memory, with a decade of solid growth behind us and the unemployment rate at its lowest level since the 1960s. Why, then, does everything feel so wrong? In April, a Washington-Post/ABC Poll found that 60% of political independents feel that America’s economic system is essentially rigged against them, to the advantage to those already in power. Roughly 33% of Republicans feel that way; 80% of Democrats feel the same.

What reporting the Koch story taught me is that these voters are right— the economy truly is rigged against them. But it isn’t rigged in the way most people seem to think. There isn’t some cabal of conservative or liberal politicians who are controlling the system for the benefit of one side or the other. The economy is rigged because the American political system is dysfunctional and paralyzed—with no consensus on what the government ought to do when it comes to the economy. As a result, we live under a system that’s broken, propelled forward by inertia alone. In this environment, there is only one clear winner: the big, entrenched players who can master the dysfunction and profit from it. In America, that’s the largest of the large corporations. Roughly a century after the biggest ones were broken up or more tightly regulated, they are back, stronger than ever.

I saw this reality clearly when I went to Wichita, Kansas to visit Charles Koch, the CEO of Koch Industries, a company with annual revenue larger than that of Facebook, Goldman Sachs and U.S. Steel combined. Charles Koch isn’t just the CEO of America’s biggest private company. He also inhabits one extreme end of the political debate about our nation’s economy. A close examination of his writing and speeches over the last 40 years reveals the thinking of someone who believes that government programs, no matter how well-intended, almost always do more harm than good. In this view, most government regulations simply distort the market and create big costs down the road. Taxing the wealthy only shifts money from productive uses to mostly wasteful programs. Charles Koch has been on a mission, for at least 40 years, to reshape the American political system into one where government intervention into markets does not exist.

But for all the free-market purity of Charles Koch’s ideology, there is not much of a free market in the corporate reality he inhabits. Koch Industries specializes in the kinds of businesses that underpin modern civilization but that most consumers never see—oil refining, nitrogen fertilizer production, commodities trading, the industrial production of building materials, and almost everything we touch, from paper towels and Lycra to the sensors hidden inside our cellphones. This is the paradox of Charles Koch’s word – he is a high-minded, anti-government free-marketeer whose fortune is made almost exclusively from industries that face virtually no real competition. Koch Industries is built, in fact, on a series of near-monopolies. And it is these kinds of companies that do best in our modern dysfunctional political environment. They know how to manipulate the rules when no one is looking.

Consider the oil refining business, which has been a cash cow for Koch Industries since 1969, just two years after Charles Koch took over the family company following his father’s death. Charles Koch was just in his early 30s at the time, but he made a brilliant and bold move, purchasing an oil refinery outside Saint Paul, Minnesota. The refinery was super-profitable thanks to a bottleneck in the U.S. energy system: the refinery used crude oil from the tar sands of Canada to be refined into gasoline later sold to the upper Midwest. The crude oil was extraordinarily cheap because it contained a lot of sulfur and not many refineries could process it. But Koch sold its refined gas into markets where gasoline supplies were very tight and prices were high.

Why didn’t some competitor open up a refinery next to Koch’s to seize this opportunity? It turns out that no one has built a new oil refinery anywhere in the United States since 1977. The reason is surprising: the Clean Air Act regulations. When the law was drastically expanded in 1970, it imposed pollution standards on new refineries. But it “grandfathered” in the existing refineries with the idea that they would eventually break down and be replaced with new facilities. That never happened. The legacy oil refiners, including Koch, exploited arcane sections of the law that allowed them to expand their old facilities while avoiding the newer clean-air standards. This gave them an insurmountable advantage over any potential new competitor. The absence of new refineries to stoke competition and drive down prices meant that Americans paid higher prices for gasoline. Today the industry is dominated by entrenched players who run aged facilities at near-full capacity, reaping profits that are among the highest in the world. In this industry and others, the big gains go to companies that can hire lawyers and lobbyists to help game the rules, and then hire even more lawyers when the government tries to punish them for breaking the law (as happened to Koch and other refiners in the late 1990s when it became clear they were manipulating Clean Air regulations).

The oil refining business is just one example of how Koch has benefited from complex regulatory dysfunction while public attention was turned elsewhere. In the 1990s, for example, a Koch-funded public policy group called the American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC) pressured states to deregulate their electricity systems. California was a pioneer in this effort, and the results were disastrous. Lawmakers in Sacramento created a sprawling, hyper-complicated system that surgically grafted a free-market trading exchange onto an aged electricity grid. Virtually no one paid attention to the 1,000-page law as it was being written. Almost immediately after the markets went online in the early 2000s, electricity traders at Koch Industries and Enron began gaming the system. They earned millions of dollars doing so, even as prices skyrocketed and the state’s grid collapsed in rolling blackouts. Lawmakers were blamed when the lights went out, and then Governor Gray Davis was recalled. The role that traders played in the crisis was hard to understand and hidden from view. Federal regulators filed a case against Koch for manipulating markets in California, but the legal proceedings dragged on for more than a decade. Koch ended up settling the charges and paying a fine of $4.1 million, long after the damage was done.

To take another example: In 2017, Koch helped kill part of the Republican tax reform plan to impose a “border adjusted” income tax that almost certainly would have hurt Koch’s oil refining business. The plan was being pushed by none other than Paul Ryan, a onetime Koch ally who was then Speaker of the House. Ryan wanted to include the border adjustment in President Trump’s tax overhaul because it would have benefited domestic manufacturing and would have allowed the government to cut corporate taxes without exploding the deficit. But former Koch oil traders told me that the border adjustment tax would have hurt profits at the Kochs’ Pine Bend refinery in Minnesota. Koch played a vital role in killing the border adjustment tax before a vigorous public debate about it could even begin (A Koch Industries spokesman insisted that the Koch political network opposed the border-adjustment measure only on ideological grounds, because it was basically a tax, and not to protect profits at Koch’s oil refineries) . By the time most people started paying attention, Paul Ryan admitted defeat and jettisoned the border adjustment.

Charles Koch doesn’t talk about issues like this when he talks about free markets. When I met him, Charles Koch was giving interviews for his new book that described his highly detailed business philosophy, called Market-Based Management. I had heard a lot about this philosophy, but what surprised me most when I interviewed the people who worked with him, some for decades, is how much they admire him. They said he was brilliant, but also unpretentious. He was uncompromising, but fair. I felt this way too, the minute I met the billionaire. I remember him telling me something along the lines of: “Hello, Chris! You didn’t need to put on a tie just to see me,” when I walked in the door (my audio recorder wasn’t even running yet, so the quote might be inexact).

Charles Koch’s avuncular, aw-shucks persona masks his true nature. I think of him instead as an uncompromising warrior. He has been fighting since he was a young man. He fought his own brothers, Bill and Freddie, for control of the family company (and won). He fought a militant labor union at the Pine Bend refinery (and won). Most of all, he fought against the idea that the federal government has an important role to play in making the economy function properly—even while taking advantage of government laws to maintain his company’s advantages.

When Charles Koch became CEO in 1967, the U.S. economy operated under a political system that is almost unimaginable today. The government intervened dramatically in almost every corner of the economy, and it did so to the explicit benefit of middle-class workers. This happened under a broad set of laws called the New Deal, which was put in place in the late 1930s. The New Deal broke up monopolies, kept banks on a tight regulatory leash, and even controlled energy prices, down to the penny in some cases. It greatly empowered labor unions and boosted wages and bargaining power for workers. Charles Koch dislikes every element of the New Deal. He has formed think tanks to attack the ideas behind it, donated money to politicians who sought to dismantle it, and built a company that was hostile to it.

As it turned out, the American public joined Charles Koch, to a certain extent, during the 1970s. Vietnam, Watergate, rampant inflation and multiple recessions shattered Americans’ confidence in the government’s ability to solve problems for ordinary people. Passage of the Civil Rights Act shattered the political coalition behind the New Deal, which had relied on Southern segregationists for support. Ronald Reagan rode the tide of antigovernment sentiment to the White House. But even Reagan wasn’t able to repeal the New Deal. He failed miserably when he tried to repeal Social Security, for example. He cut taxes, but never could restrain spending. What emerged during the 1980s and 1990s was an incoherent governing system, one that is deregulated in some key areas, like banking and derivatives trading, but hyper-regulated in others like the small business sector.

If the American political system is confused, Charles Koch is not. He rules over his company with undisputed authority, and he uses that authority to spread his Market-Based Management doctrine. This philosophy inspires the rank-and-file employees at Koch Industries—the company cafeteria is full of young, entrepreneurial workers who thrive in a system that heaps promotions and bonuses on top performers, while unsentimentally weeding out employees considered weak. But the unbending nature of Market-Based Management, and how it applies to the factory floor, played a big role in building the rage that swept through that union hall in Oregon.

When Steve Hammond, the union boss, tried to bargain with Koch, he found himself fighting over ideology, not benefits. In one case, the Koch negotiators wanted to strip down workers’ health care benefits, requiring employees to pay more money out of pocket for their benefits. The Koch team framed their request not as a way to make more money for Koch, but to create a system that better reflected the ideals of Market-Based Management. “It’s a matter of principle,” recalled union negotiator Gary Bucknum. “The principle is that an employee should be paying something toward their healthcare, or otherwise they’ll abuse their health care.” It was hard to bargain against principle. And the unions didn’t have the leverage to fight. The policies that once supported labor unions have been steadily undermined since the 1970s, dragging union participation in the private sector down from about 33% of the workforce to less than 10%. The union took the cut in health care benefits.

The current American political debate is focused on the shiny objects, the high-profile contests between Team Red and Team Blue. But companies like Koch Industries have the capacity to focus on the much deeper system, the highly complicated plumbing that makes the American economy work. This is where Charles Koch’s attention has been patiently trained for decades, as administrations have come and gone in Washington.

Thanks to this focus, Koch wins every time.

VISIT WEBSITE

[rapeculturerealities]

The seemingly unassailable world of the male creative genius seems to be crumbling: Roman Polanski and Bill Cosby were recently expelled from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Junot Diaz stepped down as Pulitzer Prize chair after multiple women have spoken out about his pattern of harassment; and, 10 years after David Foster Wallace’s death, Mary Karr is reminding the world of his persistent abuse and stalking. In this unique social and political moment, a previously untouchable artistic archetype has finally become something close to vulnerable.

Genius is power. It is unquantifiable, uncontainable, and like beauty, exists in the eyes of the beholder. Genius enhances access—sexual, social, economic, political. It is a collective agreement—or, in many cases, a collective lie—that grants boundless latitude to those we anoint with the title.

But genius is also an indelibly gendered currency used by men—almost always men—of means and success to purchase license. The lie of genius is inextricable from the lie of meritocracy: Culture dictates that these men have risen to fame and success because of their unstoppable genius. But now that so many geniuses stand accused of abuses of power including sexual assault and violence; and as debates about separating the art from the artist spill into every corner of media and pop culture, the aesthetic alibi that artistic genius exists unfettered by lowly considerations like morality may no longer hold up under scrutiny.

With the rise of auteur theory in the mid–20th century, film joined the ranks of other fine arts, like painting and writing, that have long cultivated the mythology of the genius. Auteur theory, originating in French film criticism, credits the director with being the chief creative force behind a production—that is, the director is the “author.” Given that film, with its expansive casts and crews, is one of the most collaborative art forms ever to have existed, the myth of a singular genius seems exceptionally flawed to begin with. But beyond the history of directors like Terrence Malick, Woody Allen, and many more using their marketable auteur status as a “business model of reflexive adoration,” auteur worship both fosters and excuses a culture of toxic masculinity. The auteur’s time-honored method of “provoking” acting out of women through surprise, fear, and trickery—though male actors have never been immune, either— is inherently abusive. Quentin Tarantino, Lars Von Trier, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, and David O. Russell, among others, have been accused of different degrees of this, but the resulting suffering of their muses is imagined by a fawning fanbase as “creative differences,” rather than as misogyny and as uncompromising vision rather than violence. Allegations that Tarantino forced Uma Thurman, for instance, to disastrously perform her own driving stunt in Kill Bill: Volume 2—as she put it, part of a dehumanization “to the point of death”—is not dissimilar to Alfred Hitchcock’s torment of the actress Tippi Hedren, both dynamics masquerading as artist-muse relationships transcending common sense. As Imran Siddiquee writes of genius directors and abusive behavior: “Many of the ‘greatest’ artists in our most influential visual artform continue to be celebrated for their own obsessive, often abusive exercises of power and control.”

Daniel Day-Lewis’s temperamental dressmaker Reynolds Woodcock in 2017’s critically lauded Paul Thomas Anderson film Phantom Thread has all the makings of a genius: He is successful; he is considered a visionary by the elite; he is messy; he is twisted; and he preys on young women. Phantom Thread was a frontrunner in the Oscars race this year, along with Darkest Hour, a character study of of Winston Churchill at the dawn of Britain’s entry into World War II. Gary Oldman (alleged wife beater), won Best Actor for his role as Churchill; elsewhere at the Oscars, Kobe Bryant (charged with sexual assault in 2003) won for best animated short. Guillermo Del Toro took home the Best Director Oscar for The Shape of Water, which also won Best Picture—and while the film’s win is notable given that no film with a female protagonist has won the award in 14 years, Del Toro’s explicit supportof Roman Polanski (accused of sexual assault by five people; charged with drugging and raping a minor and then fleeing the United States to avoid sentencing) make his position as a supposedly progressive director a tenuous one at best. The Academy Awards have always been deeply entrenched in establishment capitalism and Hollywood liberal lip service, but amid the flurry of the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements, the 2018 awards offered an instructive example of what still holds primacy in the film industry: the sometimes difficult and troubled, often abusive, and always male genius.

Men like Polanski retain artistic cred and social license because gatekeepers and fans argue that their cultural contributions outweigh their individual transgressions and crimes. It is not that passive consumers of art don’t recognize that their idols may be flawed: It’s that genius is imagined as a separate faculty that exists beyond ethics and morality. Genius is unemotional and objective, elevated beyond such paltry concerns. Of course the generous leaps of imagination and apologism offered to men of genius do not apply to women and gender-nonconforming creators, so if the latter should distinguish themselves, it is not because they are genius, but it is because they are “different.”

Superlative women have always been encouraged to believe they are notable because of an inherent “difference” from other girls; this difference is what distinguishes them in creative fields dominated by white men. I once thought I had the “androgynous mind” Virginia Woolf says is necessary to creativity. Mary Wollstonecraft, in her groundbreaking 1792 treatise A Vindication Of The Rights Of Woman, wondered whether the “few extraordinary women” in history were indeed “male spirits, confined by mistake to female frames.” Even Ursula K. Le Guin, whose revolutionary fiction challenged contemporary humanity’s preoccupation with gender, said some strange stuff about her own conception of herself as a “generic he,” a “poor imitation,” and a “substitute man.”

While we know it is both reductive and essentialist to reason this way, it’s historically understandable. The cultural misogyny that underlies the archetype of the male genius has ancient roots. According to Christine Battersby’s 1989 book Gender and Genius: Towards a Feminist Aesthetics, the 19th-century reworked an “older rhetoric of sexual exclusion” from Renaissance ideas about sexual difference in the arts (which were themselves based on the ancient Greeks and Romans). But the Romantics contributed something unique to “anti-female traditions”: While emotionality and expression—traditionally “feminine” attributes—rose in prominence, women themselves were further downgraded as artistic inferiors. Notes Battersby: “The Romantic artist feels strongly and lives intensely: the authentic work of art captures the special character of his experience.” And his art became his individualistic expression.

Originality and creativity wasn’t always inherent to artistic practice. Greeks thought of art as mimetic; the poet as a prophet; painting and sculpture pretty facsimiles of the natural world. The Middle Ages similarly viewed the artist as ungod-like, simply an imitator rather than a creator. The term “masterpiece,” had less to do with terrific originality and more to do with the “piece of work produced by an apprentice who showed sufficient skill.” A master was a “trade-union leader”—and women were active in these guilds as well. “Hostility towards women in the arts only increased when the status of the artist began to be distinguished from that of the craftsman…suitable only for the most perfect (male) specimens of humanity,” writes Battersby. She dates this change to when artists began gaining patronage during the Renaissance, freeing artistic creation from religious restrictions. In other words, when a great deal of money entered into the equation, art became profitable and it suited men to push out competition.

The modern term “genius” comes from the melding of two words: “genius,” a symbol of fertility represented by a little boy, and “ingenuity,” or skill. While Renaissance women lacked genius, they were artistic inferiors because they lacked “ingenium”—according to Juan Huarte’s 1575 Examen de Ingenius, men, in the Aristotelian fashion, were hot and dry; women, cold and wet, were a “lesser man.” (Aristotle also thought women were “flower pots” and sterile—creativity and procreativity both being male attributes.) Huarte’s physiological reasoning, though widely discredited, was later referenced by Schopenhauer, whose argument that women “lack all higher mental faculties” is a good example of Romantic reworking of cultural misogyny. (It might be worth noting that Schopenhauer is a well-known touchstone of Woody Allen’s many autobiographically based neurotic male protagonists.)

Further, madness and deviance were idiosyncrasies worked into the masculine artistic template. Artists, once expected to uphold societal values, became “countercultural” around the time of Lord Byron, who was once described by an ex-lover as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” The image of the antihero, the messy, the eccentric, the intoxicated artist persisted from the Romantic period through today. And while craziness was celebrated in the elite men, “female madness” was stigmatized. As Vox writer Tara Isabella Burton notes, the male artistic establishment begets the tortured, unruly genius sex: “That female flesh is the reward for a male job well done is not an uncommon cultural phenomenon in any field, but in the arts, that dynamic often takes on a faux-spiritual aspect.”

Even as the #MeToo movement picks up momentum, famous men who have sustained public critique in the past few months are already plotting their comebacks, with ample assistance from industry media. Tarantino, a man accused of choking Thurman and Diane Kruger for the sake of on-camera authenticity; who told Rose McGowan he used to jerk off to her; and who publicly defended Polanski, has unveiled his latest enterprise: a movie about Charles Manson. Charlie Rose has reportedly floated a comeback via a talk show in which he would interview men like Louis C.K. brought down by#MeToo—thereby facilitating their own comebacks—and Matt Lauer apparently hopes to be back on television screens as well. Despite the recent spate of high-profile falls from grace, the culture of media and art world are arranged such that neither whisper nor lawsuit will be able to fell geniuses for long.

Those who try to separate the art from the artist are setting up an illogical argument: The art was alwaysseparated, which is why these male auteurs had the the license, the support, and the cover to victimize as they did and still make more celebrated art. In the aftershocks of predatory unveilings, we have seen multitudes mourn the loss of the genius of these men. We need to now consider that we have elevated what we’ve inscribed as genius at the expense of the humanity and potential of people they silenced, erased, and preyed upon. We need to examine the destruction wrought by the archetype, and acknowledge that we have let it fuel rape culture and sexual exploitation. We need to acknowledge that genius has been a construct all along—that it may not actually exist.