#and ive often not understood the appeal of a lot of it NOT ALL just a lot

[prettyflyshyguy]

I'm watching a contrapoints video on twilight and I am learning so, so much about the dark romance genre, the appeal, and the differences between yearning and craving and I'm getting so galaxy brain

Oh yeah it's all for a fic. It's for a spn fanfic. I'm researching for an spn fanfic I'm writing.

[scentofpines]

"have you ever considered...that identifying out of woman/girlhood because you don't relate to the societal implications, expectations, etc... contributes to making womanhood (feel) even more restrictive?"

i thought your post on this was very interesting. ive identified as lesbian most of my life, but have been recently wondering if the identity of trans man fits me better. your post is making me wonder if i only feel this way because my true self is labelled "[gender] non conforming." im a pretty rebellious person most of the time so i am hesitant to think id be submitting to the gender binary if i transitioned like you suggest.

the thing is, i know there are gnc trans men (even though i wouldnt be one), so it does seem to me that even within transgender identities, gender expression still exists separate from sex. id just be trans because i wish i was born with a penis, not because im gnc as a woman.

but idk im really conflicted over it, and would like to hear more of your opinion since your aforementioned post caught me so off guard and further added to my self-questioning

Hi, thank you for your message and your honesty! Sorry my reply is so long but this is just such a big and complex issue and also english isn’t my first language, so I often struggle with finding the right words.

I think due to the way societies across the globe treat women, it is already very hard to be born female and not struggle with your body at some point or another and it is even harder when you are a lesbian as that is kind of seen as „doing womanhood wrong“ because a lot of the stuff that is conventionally labeled as „feminine“ or „womanly“ is centered around gaining male approval and as a lesbian this tends to either not be important at all or less so than it is for heterosexual women (i think the male gaze or whatever you wanna call it is so deeply ingrained in women from their childhood on that it can even affect lesbians in the sense that we’re trying to indirectly appeal to men even though were not even attracted to them but thats a different topic).

The wish to transition very often affects gay people in my experience (before the rise in media attention to transgenderism it was in my experience mostly gay men that transitioned and even now with females i think the percentage of gay girls/women that want to transition is waaayy higher than that of heteros) and I think the reason behind that has a lot to do with societal aversion to lesbians (and gay men too). I have heard from both trans women and detrans women that they believe their transgender journey is linked to trauma that they experienced (partially due to their homosexuality).

You wrote that you don’t think that you would submit to the gender binary by transitioning but in my opinion you would still strenghten the concept of gender itself. What is it that makes you want to transition in the first place? You said you identified as a lesbian most of your life, what changed? What made you start questioning this identity and what made you think that there was something about your body that needed to be changed?

If i understood correctly, you said that you want to transition because you wish to have a penis. There are many reasons why someone who is female would wish for that from shits-and-giggles-reasons, to practicality (like peeing standing up lol), health struggles with their female genitalia, internalized disgust about them, generalized resentment of their female body parts etc. As I dont know your personal situation I cant really have an opinion about this, however I do not believe into the narrative anymore that trans people have been „born in the wrong body“. For a long time I believed this because I too struggled a lot with my female physique, breasts, etc and could empathize with this notion. But then I realized that this would imply that our souls/brains have a sex and this is soooo sexist. This sentiment was used for thousands of years to oppress women and I hate it lol. „L’esprit n’a pas de sexe“ has already been said by Poulain de la Barre in 1673 and it holds true. No one is born in the wrong body, especially if your body is completely healthy and functional. Just like no one is born with the wrong nose or skin colour, no one is born with the wrong sex. It is the circumstances (beauty standards, racism, sexism, etc.) which people grow up and live in that make it feel as if that were the case. THESE CIRCUMSTANCES NEED TO CHANGE, NOT YOU.

I know having a female body can be so fucking hard and it can cause so much suffering and resentment but there is NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU. You say you are rebellious and I bet that‘s true but the most rebellious thing to do as a female is to radically accept your body and fuck all expectations that society places upon you because of your sex, all stereotypes, ideals, etc.

Now you say you wish you had a penis but as said above, I think there is a reason for that wish forming in your head. I dont think anyone is born hating their sex characteristics and wishing for the opposite ones. Maybe you can work on finding out that reason (maybe you already do) and resolve it. I know that body dysmorphia and dysphoria can become so horribly bad that there are cases where a transition feels like and maybe truly is the only way out (I still dont think someone is born that way, but in some cases the damage to the way you perceive your natural body is already done and so bad that no amount of therapy and inner work can repair it, at least not in a "timely" manner), but from reading your message it doesn’t seem like this is necessarily the case for you.

It is great that you keep questioning yourself on this matter and seem to really think this through btw! I’m sure you are aware of this, but a transition (obviously) has tremendous effects on your body and mind and even some changes from HRT are hardly reversible (the permanent voice changes in ftmtf detransitioners for example and way more serious complications that can and do often happen) and especially the penis that you desire is hardly achievable. Even the absolute best results of srs for ftms are neither functional in the way a natural penis is, nor do they look like one. Depending on how bad and persistent the dysphoria was before, the result may or may not be satisfying. If complications arise, and they often do, they can be catastrophical.

One advice I would like to give might sound a bit harsh but I mean it lovingly and it is that you shouldnt even care so much about yourself or rather your identity. I genuinely never think about what my identity is or what label fits it and it is very freeing. I dont shave anything, I have very short hair, I dont ever wear makeup despite my features absolutely not fitting the current beauty standards, I wear exclusively comfortably clothes that mostly arent considered very feminine, etc. etc. but this has ZERO effect on my womanhood because me being a woman just puts a word to the fact that I’m an adult human female. I havent always felt that way and it still is hard sometimes to exist so contrary to the female societal standards but what really helps me is to see other women who do the same, sharing thoughts like your wishing to have male genitalia with women who felt the same and overcame it and are happy now with their bodies. So generally speaking: Stop revolving so much around yourself. You are capable of sooo much, you are literally a witness of life, you are consciousness, you are on this earth to observe and feel and create and do and experience and not to constantly wonder about your identity. Just BE. (I’m not quite there myself yet lol it takes time).

Ok I really rambled here and I hope this is at least somewhat coherent. No matter how you decide I really wish you the best and hope whatever you choose is the right path for you! Have a nice day <3

[aronarchy]

https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/pdfplus/10.14318/hau2.2.007

IV

Violence’s capacity to allow arbitrary decisions, and thus to avoid the kind of debate, clarification, and renegotiation typical of more egalitarian social relations, is obviously what allows its victims to see procedures created on the basis of violence as stupid or unreasonable. One might say, those relying on the fear of force are not obliged to engage in a lot of interpretative labor, and thus, generally speaking, do not.

This is not an aspect of violence that has received much attention in the burgeoning “anthropology of violence” literature. The latter has tended instead to move in exactly the opposite direction, emphasizing the ways that acts of violence are meaningful and communicative. Neil Whitehead, for instance, in a recent collection simply entitled Violence (2004), goes so far as to insist that anthropologists need to examine why people are ever wont to speak of “meaningless violence” at all. Violence, he suggests, is best understood as analogous with poetry:

Violent actions, no less than any other kind of behavioral expression, are deeply infused with cultural meaning and are the moment for individual agency within historically embedded patterns of behavior. Individual agency, utilizing extant cultural forms, symbols, and icons, may thus be considered “poetic” for the rule-governed substrate that underlies it, and for how this substrate is deployed, through which new meanings and forms of cultural expression emerge. (Whitehead 2004: 9–10)

When I object to this emphasis on the meaningful nature of violence, I’m not trying to suggest that the fundamental point is in any way untrue. It would be absurd to deny that acts of violence are, typically, meant as acts of communication, or that they tend to be surrounded by symbols and generate myths. Yet it seems to me that, just as in the case of bureaucracy, this is an area where anthropologists are particularly inclined to confuse interpretive depth with social significance: that is, to assume that the most interesting aspect of violence is also, necessarily, the most important. Yes, violent acts tend to have a communicative element. But this is true of any other form of human action as well. It strikes me that what is really important about violence is that it is perhaps the only form of human action that holds out even in the possibility of having social effects without being communicative.

To be more precise: violence may well be the only form of human action by which it is possible to have relatively predictable effects on the actions of a person about whom you understand nothing. Pretty much any other way one might try to influence another’s actions, one at least has to have some idea who they think they are, who they think you are, what they might want out of the situation, and what their aversions and proclivities are. Hit them over the head hard enough and all of this becomes irrelevant.

It is true that the effects one can have by disabling or killing someone are very limited, but they are real enough—and critically, it is possible to know in advance exactly what they will be. Any alternative form of action cannot, without some sort of appeal to shared meanings or understandings, have any predictable effects at all. What’s more, while attempts to influence others by the threat of violence do require some level of shared understanding, these can be pretty minimal. Most human relations—particularly ongoing ones, whether between longstanding friends or longstanding enemies—are extremely complicated, dense with experience and meaning. Maintaining them requires a constant and often subtle work of interpretation, of endlessly imagining others’ points of view. Threatening others with physical harm allows the possibility of cutting through all this. It makes possible relations of a far more schematic kind (i.e., “cross this line and I will shoot you”). …

I do need to introduce one crucial qualification here. If two parties engaged in a relatively equal contest of violence—say, generals commanding opposing armies—they have good reason to try to get inside each other’s heads. It is really only when one side has an overwhelming advantage in their capacity to cause physical harm that they no longer need to do so. But this has very profound effects, because it means that the most characteristic effect of violence—its ability to obviate the need for what I would call “interpretive labor”—becomes most salient when the violence itself is least visible, in fact, where acts of spectacular physical violence are least likely to occur. These are situations of what I’ve referred to as structural violence, on the assumption that systematic inequalities backed up by the threat of force can be treated as forms of violence in themselves. For this reason, situations of structural violence invariably produce extreme lopsided structures of imaginative identification.

These effects are often most visible when the structures of inequality take the most deeply internalized forms. A constant staple of 1950s American situation comedies, for example, was jokes about the impossibility of understanding women. The jokes (always, of course, told by men) represented women’s logic as fundamentally alien and incomprehensible. One never had the impression the women in question had any trouble understanding men. The reasons are obvious: women had no choice but to understand men; this was the heyday of a certain image of the patriarchal family, and women with no access to their own income or resources had little choice but to spend a great deal of time and energy understanding what their menfolk thought was going on. Hopefully, at this point, I do not have to point out that patriarchal arrangements of this sort are prima facie examples of structural violence; they are norms sanctioned by the threat of physical harm in endless subtle and not-so-subtle ways. And this kind of rhetoric about the mysteries of womankind appears to be a perennial feature of them. Generations of women novelists—Virginia Woolf comes most immediately to mind (e.g., Woolf 1927)—have also documented the other side of such arrangements: the constant efforts women end up having to expend in managing, maintaining, and adjusting the egos of oblivious and self-important men, involve a continual work of imaginative identification, or what I’ve called “interpretive labor.” This carries over on every level. Women are always expected to imagine what things look like from a male point of view. Men are almost never expected to reciprocate. So deeply internalized is this pattern of behavior that many men react to the suggestion that they might do otherwise, as if it were an act of violence in itself. …

Nothing I am saying here is particularly new to anyone familiar with Feminist Standpoint Theory or Critical Race Studies. Indeed, I was originally inspired to these broader reflections by a passage by bell hooks:

Although there has never been any official body of black people in the United States who have gathered as anthropologists and/or ethnographers to study whiteness, black folks have, from slavery on, shared in conversations with one another “special” knowledge of whiteness gleaned from close scrutiny of white people. Deemed special because it is not a way of knowing that has been recorded fully in written material, its purpose was to help black folks cope and survive in a white supremacist society. For years black domestic servants, working in white homes, acted as informants who brought knowledge back to segregated communities—details, facts, psychoanalytic readings of the white “Other.” (hooks 1992: 165)

If there is a flaw in the feminist literature, I would say, it’s that it can be, if anything, too generous, tending to emphasize the insights of the oppressed over the blindness or foolishness of their oppressors.[7]

[7] The key texts on Standpoint Theory, by Patricia Hill Collins, Donna Haraway, Sandra Harding, Nancy Hartsock and others, are collected in a volume edited by Harding (2004). I might add that the history of this very essay provides a telling example of the sort of gendered obliviousness I’m describing. When I first framed the problem, I wasn’t even aware of this body of literature, though my argument had clearly been indirectly influenced by it—it was only the intervention of a feminist friend, Erica Lagalisse, who put me on to where many of these ideas were actually coming from.

[hwallout]

our little secret - csy (iv)

summary: as a CEO of one of the country’s most powerful companies, you had your secrets to success. no one ever gained power without ruthless, filthy and unfair play, it’s all okay if no one knows right? well, what happens when your little secrets fall into the hands of someone you can’t get rid of that easily?

words: 7,1k

genre: angst, drama, some fluff if you squint

warnings: language

early an: honestly,,, is this worth continuing?

first part

second part

third part

The remark had different meanings for the both of you. Seungyoun was speaking his thoughts, but not exactly clear enough to be understood immediately. There was a hidden message behind the strong wall of his words, but the heir wouldn’t allow it to be known before the time’s right.

You looked at him with attentive eyes, pupils slightly dilated due to the sudden change of light. The moon carefully caressed Seungyoun’s features, making his skin glow bright. It seemed as if the heir wanted you to interrogate further, and with the curiosity that tickled your mind, it was only natural to do so. For whatever reason, the tiny voice whispered that it might just be what you were expecting all along - the door through which one would be able to regain control.

“What do you mean?”

“The drinking. I’m not an alcoholic, yet look at me” Seungyoun blurted out. There was a quiet but audible laugh coming from his end, which contrasted your sudden disappointed expression. Little did you know that Seungyoun wasn’t laughing because he was amused. The male was in disbelief, because even in such a state, he managed to hold his ground and lie.

The heir poured himself another glass of wine, the big black bottle now empty. He reached underneath the table and pulled out two things – another smaller bottle and one more transparent glass. Once opened, the aroma from inside of the bottle entered your nostrils almost immediately. It was strong and alluring, just tempting to reach for and taste. Seungyoun filled your glass and stood up, grabbing the other bottle by the neck and walking inside to throw it away.

The song playing changed but a new melody followed the same feeling. Calm and slow notes only immersed you more in the view, a rustling city that seemed so little and easy to crush from this high up.

Once Seungyoun came out, there was a little bluetooth speaker in one of his hands, while the other held his phone. A sincere smile caused by emotion one could only be able to describe as pride, was a rare sight on his features. The man sat down and sighed out loud after placing the two objects on the table.

“You know, this isn’t exactly where I saw myself a couple of years ago. Simply said, I still can’t see myself in a position of a future CEO”

This time though, as if some drastic change happened, Seungyoun approached his thoughts from a different angle. The tone used was unlike any other you’ve heard before. It wasn’t stern or emotionless, no, on the contrary, it was full of a certain something. You took a sip of the dark liquid, shivering at the taste.

“I always wanted to do music” He mentioned and you nodded along, already familiar with the fact. It wasn’t rare that the media pulled out that card when speaking about the heir. Blamed for being uninterested in business or praised that he’s doing well despite wanting to pursue a music career. Sometimes the only emotion one could feel while reading those was pure pity for the man. Could he really not do what he loved?

The melody changed pace. Your body unconsciously swayed back and forth, carried by the rhythm. The piece was so beautiful that it caused sadness, for you’ve been missing out on it for so long. Every beat was hitting just the right places in one’s mind and heart, awakening a thousand other feelings as it progressed. Unintentionally, your eyes closed and you relaxed back into the seat.

Soon, a soft voice accompanied the melody, and with careful, beautful words, only made the song better. The male singing had a mesmerizing voice, hushed and breathy to fit the current rhythm. Visible goosebumps formed on your arms, a smile sneaking up to beautify your facial features.  

Then, out of nowhere, that exact voice - just a little bit louder - sounded only a meter away.

It didn’t take long to catch up on the fact that Seungyoun was singing along. What took a moment to process was that Seungyoun’s voice matched the one in the song. Every single note, pitch, whisper was the exact same. Shivers ran down your spine in realization, but you didn’t dare interrupt the showcase just yet.

Once the last few beats faded away, the male turned around and locked eyes with yours, a huge smile on his lips, pearly white teeth bidding their hello. His happy expression contrasted yours, which was one of pure surprise.

“I made that” Seungyoun whispered. Short silence enrolled right after, but it wasn’t anywhere near uncomfortable. It was just a moment you dared take to properly swallow down the information that Seungyoun was actually seriously working on his music. A certain feeling welled up in your chest, caused by pure admiration for the man who still pursued his dreams, despite everything else.

“That was... pretty good if I’m being honest, Seungyoun. Good job” You replied, praising the other for the first time. The male looked at you staggered, as if the compliment was something much more serious, and maybe, for him, it was.

Without any more words exchanged, you stood up, taking hold of your glass and walking towards the railing. Leaning against the handrail, you continued staring into the distance, still mesmerized by the overall view. Silence once again filled up with a calm melody, you heard Seungyoun shuffle in his seat, before standing up to approach you. Taking a generous sip of the strong beverage, you felt another shiver overtake the body. The drink was something you’ve never tasted before, for it had a pretty strange, sour, yet addicting taste.

“You know...my father and I... I was always a disappointment for him” The heir spoke with a calm and collected words, which was somewhat surprising due to the amount of alcohol he consumed. Seungyoun didn’t look at you, but he was well aware that his every word was being listened to.  

“I was the creative kid, with a great voice and feeling for composition. I’ve never really been interested in what my dad was calculating or making business calls for late in the night. It never appealed to me”

You listened, although not exactly interested in the topic. Truthfully, you paid attention not to be rude more than anything else. In the end, the man was speaking about an emotional and serious experience for him, so really the least one could do was listen. Taking another sip, you looked at the other, noticing the little frown on his lips.

“When I wrote my first song and presented it to my parents, it’s an understatement to say they weren’t pleased. My mother had to shield me from his harsh words of discouragement. I still remember every single thing he has said” Seungyoun’s voice broke at one point, but he tried to cover it up with a forced cough. The heir was a decent businessman, but actor? Not so much.  

“You can imagine how a kid with broken dreams feels like” At that, Seungyoun broke a smile. A pitiful, weak smile, that still held that certain, hidden emotion behind it.

“I’ve built this empire, expecting it to grow stronger in the future. I didn’t throw away my whole youth to not have a responsible heir take after me! I’m not going to accept my son screech into the microphone when he can rule the world!”

Seungyoun’s words suddenly seemed to hit a certain spot inside of your heart. Gulping down what was left in the transparent glass, you went to pour some more before returning. The little ‘break’ allowed you to take a few deep breaths and calm down the heart that was unreasonably getting sad and empathic. It took Seungyoun a few seconds to continue with his talk, the man playing insecurity about continuing further which you dismissed with a soft hand gesture.

“Over time, you learn to be silent and take it. There’s no other way, really. You’re obliged to follow up and continue what someone else has started in such a situation. But... it hurts more when you’re guilt tripped into it as a child”

Another long moment of silence enrolled. The chill wind grew stronger, caressing the warm surface of your skin in a hurried manner. The alcohol flowed freely through your bloodstream, already having a strong effect on the heartbeat that quickened and mind that opened. You’ve never been someone who can handle a lot of alcohol well, but still far away from a lightweight. Often, you’d drink just enough to feel just a little carefree, but that line seemed to have been passed long ago. Surprisingly, it took two glasses. Who knows what kind of wine Seungyoun had at home.

A feeling of guilt bid its hello. Suddenly, the weight of words became far too important and noticeable. You remembered the times you’ve intentionally tried shaming the man in front of his father, not aware of the consequences they had. One voice whispered that those were asshole moves, something you should be apologizing for, while the other yelled that you shouldn’t be backing down and caring so much. The mind was walking a path that branched into two and it had no idea which one to take.  

The one that whispered appeared close and intimate, speaking slowly, softly, yet louder as you took another sip. The second voice seemed more distant as time went by, it yelled and tried to warn of the possible consequences, but it was so, so far away.

“I... I’m sorry...” You muttered quietly, unsure if the words should reach the heir’s ears. Unfortunately, they did, for Seungyoun turned to face you with one eyebrow lifted and a smirk on his lips. There it was, the true emotion surfacing. You could’ve left it at that, but without much reason, decided to continue.

“I must’ve affected and fueled the fire with my words in the past... I’m... I’m really sorry, Seungyoun” Your free hand moved and took a hold of his, feeling the contrast in temperatures between the two bodies. Seungyoun’s look turned more curious, but only to hide the sly one hiding behind. Despite it all, his chest squeezed tight, the space inside becoming way too small for the erratic heart. It encouraged the man to act up on the emotions he’s trying to dismiss and replace with something fake.  

Seungyoun finally found the hole that allowed entrance to the space of your mind and heart, yet restrained himself from acting on it. So far, the heir was managing just fine, finding out what were the exact weaknesses of your being, and using them properly against you. Manipulation – his face contorted in disgust at the word.

Of course, there was that voice that yelled at him for playing the game in such a way. Just your tentative hand on his forced the heir into rethinking all of the planned steps. You weren’t supposed to give in so quickly, to show the hidden, caring fragments of personality he never saw. Seungyoun suddenly felt guilty, although he tried fighting it off. The immediate battle inside of his mind, housed two worlds that clashed against each other. It was either he stuck to the plan until the end, or let fate do its job. It was either he won the game immorally, or accepted the guilt and opted not to ruin the life of someone he cared for. Success or possible elimination.

Sighing out loud, Seungyoun threw the dice and let them fall however.

“It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it” That was such an asshole reply, and the male was aware of it. This way, he indirectly confirmed that you did have an impact, causing your heart to ache.  

Seungyoun both did and didn’t deserve this. There were many reasons that stood behind both of those statements. He was the one who approached the whole thing incorrectly, and although blindly, added yet another problem to his plate. On the other hand, Seungyoun had a proper and overall pure cause for his initial actions. The son only wanted what he thought was the best for his father, something that would finally get him the smallest bit of appreciation from the older.

After all, Seungyoun never once used the knowledge to his advantage. One call, click, or talk would do so, so much irreversible damage and it was that easy. You always jumped over it so carelessly, thinking that Seungyoun wasn’t dumb enough to ignore your threats and put his own head on the gambling table.  

But that simply wasn’t the case. Seungyoun has been putting something else on the table, something that made him look like an even bigger fool. The heir wasn’t scared of your threats and power, for he knew you just couldn’t put a bullet through his head no matter what.

The worst thing was, that you were aware of it too. You were aware of just how strong Seungyoun’s check mate was.  But it was your pride and ego that always tried pushing those thoughts somewhere far, far back, or under the mat.

The alcohol once again did its thing, blurring your thoughts and causing yet another unnecessary question to spill out. At this rate, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get yourself into tonight...

“Don’t use my question as encouragement but...” The words were quiet once again, but the eyes that looked into Seungyoun’s were far stronger than before. Your irises focused on his, as if searching for something that would wake you up from the current state of mind.

“Why aren’t you using what you have against me?”  

“Why would I?”

Seungyoun’s reply was met with hush and a dumbfounded expression from his partner. Why, he asked? The man had the power to end the whole INVICTA empire, the power to prove the elder that his son was no little kitten. Yet... why?

You remained silent, afraid of giving away any ideas. But there was no need.

“Do you not realize my goal is not destroying your company?” The tone Seungyoun used to say those words appeared a bit too harsh. Visibly taken aback, you took a step away from the other, a breath you weren’t even aware of holding in, coming out in a form of sigh.  

“My goal is gaining my father’s trust. Everything else is just a part of the plan that will help me accomplish it” His face was surprisingly emotionless while speaking. The words seemed to have an effect on the organ inside of your chest, for it squeezed tight once before letting go. The revelation of being used was never a pleasant feeling, but you swallowed it down shamefully, tasting its bitterness.

Seungyoun turned around, facing the city and away from you. This were the facts and his selfish nature that occasionally surfaced as a defense mechanism. He didn’t want you to know the proper, complete truth, and decided to choose the rougher path to walk on. The not so irrational fear of losing you so quickly was too strong.

Maybe it was the better for you to know partial truth, which in most cases was better than none. Or, may haps it wasn’t, because from now on, there will always be that heavy feeling of being used hanging just above your head.

“I’m sorry that you were the one who got tangled into all of this, though”

The atmosphere was quiet for a little while. Both took time to take in the situation. With gazes trained far away, the two souls got lost in imaginary world. Chilly wind continued caressing the hot skin of your face, a light reminder of the present, but not strong enough of a sensation to begin sobering you up. That exact breeze messed Seungyoun’s hair up, strands flying in all directions, making him seem a little more boyish than usual.

The man wasn’t physically holding you back. He never did. You were allowed a chance to go home, rethink the whole deal over, change the gaming plan. Yet, for the first time ever, there were invisible chains pulling your legs down, making them too heavy to move. You couldn’t step away, and the other was well aware of that.

“If only you knew how delighted my father was when the news of us came out. He was so happy to see that his passive son found someone who’d maybe pique his interest for business” Seungyoun laughed pitifully and spoke with a voice that was much quieter than before. He resumed staring at the disappearing car lights in the distance.  

His words once again hit the soft spot. They had you thinking about your own parents, with a heavy heart. Losing both parents was the worst trauma you ever had the chance of experiencing; but even with that behind you, it wasn’t possible to imagine the pain of losing their support. Being distant emotionally with someone so close was on another level.

Seungyoun, intentionally or not, was playing all the right cards to awaken the emotional and trusting person that you tried so hard to hide. Especially in front of him.

This was the first time the two of you had a serious conversation about personal topics, which was a surprisingly pleasant change. It allowed you to get more comfortable and intimate with the other.  

On top of everything else, looking at the heir was a different sensation tonight. The stray strands that flowed freely through the breeze, occasionally covering his dark eyes. His skin glowed under the moonlight, the straight nose bridge emphasizing his beautiful side profile. And the soft, rosy lips that were just slightly parted, calling out to have a finger caressing over them.  

As if the desire you’ve been hiding for a while decided to come out and play with your already fragile mind. It suddenly fought all the pitiful emotions felt before, giving you all the different new ideas you’d usually be vary of.

It was the alcohol. The unknown, dark liquid that tasted better with each sip that made you feel such ways. With feelings all over the place when drunk, you were prone to sudden and drastic changes of mind. But even the tiniest pieces of sober mind weren’t making an effort at preventing your actions this time.

“Take a picture, it will last longer”

“I’d rather enjoy it live, thanks”  

Seungyoun’s cheeks rose higher, lips lifting upwards as a flustered giggle escaped through them. His hand came up over his mouth, trying to hide the smile that was too hard to control. After a few seconds, the heir glanced at you, noticing the hazy look in your eyes. Slowly, but surely, your body slowly rocked back and forth, as if carried by the wind.  

At one point, it looked as if you were going to stumble back, but Seungyoun was quick to step closer and prevent it from happening. A wide grin spread over your soft features upon feeling strong hands on your waist. The dilated irises only now proved your drunken state, as if the alcohol only now intensified its effect.

“Seungyoun?” You whispered, the grin never once disappearing. The heir hummed along, never once weakening his hold. A free point finger traced unknown patterns on his chest, the sensation slightly ticklish for the other.

“What if I... willingly helped you with the plan...” Seungyoun’s eyes widened at that, head moving backwards for an inch. It was impossible to believe that those words left your lips and entered his ears properly. The finger moved upwards, tracing a line over the male’s exposed collarbones, your gaze never once decreasing its strength. Even in such a state, you had Seungyoun on his toes.

“But!” Of course, there was a condition.  

“You have to... get rid of all the evidence you have against... me. No bullshit because I will find you out”  

At such a proposition, the male didn’t need a minute to think of an answer. Immediately, he let go of your waist, extending an arm with a smile.

“Deal” Seungyoun replied, watching the way your gaze fell to look at his hand, before they travelled back up with a mischievous grin. In a blink of an eye, your bodies were pressed against each other, fingers gripping the neckline of his loose t-shirt, pulling down lightly.  

“I’ll rather sign this way” Closing in the last piece of distance, your lips pressed against his in a hurried manner. Seungyoun was quick to reply, fingers once again positioned on your waist, trying to pull the two bodies even closer. Eventually, with one hand situated just behind your neck, the heir controlled the kiss and allowed it to grow more heated as time ran by.

Seconds turned into minutes, kisses into bites, sighs into moans. Seungyoun carried you back inside, opening unknown door and entering what you supposed was his bedroom. The man sat on the bed with you now placed on his lap, hands wandering beneath the thin shirt and over his back.  

Hungrily, Seungyoun’s lips trailed down, leaving light kisses on your jaw, before moving to the sensitive skin of your neck. Moving around, you allowed more space for the sinful bites, that the heir left behind with each kiss.  

Eventually, your fingers threaded through his thick strands, pulling with the slightest bit of force, just to have Seungyoun crane his neck back. He looked at you with hooded eyes, lips curving into a wicked smile, a silent laugh escaping through. Diving down, you excitedly began returning similar marks on his neck, listening to the most beautiful sighs and sounds that the man produced.

All while, your hips dragged down over his, but neither made an effort to take everything just a step further. Shirts were thrown down on the ground, but nothing more. It was the mutual understanding that although the moment was heated and tense, both parties were drunk, mind clouded and driven by more factors than just lust for each other.  

Therefore, the night continued with the same feeling. The only sound inside of the room were lips smacking against each other, sighs and occasional, slipup moans.

The morning brought a slight headache with itself. It was kind of unusual, for you appeared to have a mild hangover because of just two glasses. Truthfully, who knew what it exactly was that Seungyoun offered last night – probably something with a high alcohol percentage.

Your eyes opened a few seconds later, studying the small view of the dimmed room. The surface your head was pressed against was much firmer than a pillow, and it moved. Needless to say, it took a confused moment to process that you were laying down on the heir, who was still deep asleep.

Raising your head as high as possible, you studied the male. His face looked puffy, lips pouting slightly and eyelashes falling beautifully over his soft cheeks. Seungyoun’s hair was disheveled and sticking in many directions, alluring calling for a hand to run through and fix it.  

He looked like a sleeping beauty.

As your eyes travelled down, towards the man’s exposed neck and chest, you found a few deep purple marks. With eyes shut and brows furrowed, you sighed out loud, remembering the whole timeline of last night’s events. There was no doubt that similar purple rings would appear on your own skin too; a low curse perishing into thin air.

The plan on how to stand up without waking Seungyoun up demanded a few minutes of thinking. In the end, you decided on moving as slowly and lightly as possible, freezing up the moment the other moved.  

It took about ten minutes to execute, but in the end you managed. Once on the other, free side of the bed, you rolled down in an ungraceful manner with a slight thump. Laughing quietly, you stood up and looked around the room. It was huge, with similar aesthetics to the rest of the apartment. The curtains allowed only the slightest bits of light inside, making the space look incredibly dim, but light enough to see and navigate through properly.  

Although usually clean, the floor was now a mess thanks to your clothes. Despite remembering not doing anything too scandalous with the male, you looked down in panic. Thankfully, your body was covered up with an oversized shirt. Upon investigating what’s under, you noticed that fortunately, the underwear was still there, in its place.  

Opening the door of the bedroom, you clumsily navigated towards the bathroom. Locking the door behind, you stepped inside the shower, opting to take a refreshing shower. Cold water felt arousing to the hot skin, body moving in different directions to seek more feeling. The sensation elicited a soft moan and you froze, hand coming up to prevent any more sounds from escaping. You supposed the towel from the bunch of neatly folded ones in the cupboard were clean, so that’s what you used to dry off.

There was a big mirror above the sink, showcasing just what type of mess you currently were. Although clean, your hair needed good grooming, which you solved easily using a small black comb placed right beside the sink. Next, and also big reason for worry, were the expected purple marks. Fortunately, none were too high up, most of them decorating your collarbones and lower neck. Unfortunately, there was nothing but clothes you could hide them with for now. That was a job for later.

Without a toothbrush, you chose to take a little bit of the Seungyoun’s red mouthwash on the cupboard. The liquid burned the mouth, and you spat in out quick after a few seconds. Although not perfect, the mouthwash effectively dealt with horrible morning breath.

At that moment, you felt like a parasite living off Seungyoun’s necessities. Oh well.

When you walked back inside of the bedroom to pick up all the clothes scattered on the floor, there was a quiet but sensual melody playing. The small bluetooth speaker from yesterday was placed on the bedside table – exactly where the sound was coming from. Seungyoun was obviously awake, but his eyes were still closed.  

“Good morning” You chirped, faking charm while coming over to sit next to the heir. A hand came up to caress the man’s forearm. Soft fingertips touched the outlines of his bicep tattoo, before moving down to trace the circle on his inner elbow. The action tickled Seungyoun, eliciting a quiet but childish giggle.  

“Good morning, I’m surprised you’re still here” He answered, voice hushed and groggy.

“I can leave?” You answered, jokingly sitting up with intention of walking towards the door, but the man was quicker to grab your wrist. Almost stumbling forwards, you gasped, but Seungyoun was there to prevent the fall from happening for the nth time. Once you were safely situated back on the bed, he replied.

“Stay for breakfast at least?” Seungyoun’s eyes finally opened, immediately scanning your beautiful appearance. Despite the room being dimly lit, his irises shone with their own kind of light. The organ inside of his chest skipped a beat, noticing all of his marks on your skin.  

“I was planning to, but thanks anyway” At that, you stood up, breaking out of the light hold without much force. Picking up the heir’s shirt that still rested on the ground, you threw it back at him. The cloth barely flew through the air before it fell on Seungyoun’s face.

“Go shower, I’m gonna prepare us something to eat”

“Don’t burn the kitchen down!”  

“So, let’s set this clear, now that both of us are awake and sober” You said, chewing on a smaller bite of omelet with bacon. Seungyoun took a sip of yogurt, before taking a bite of his own omelet. The male hummed in appreciation at the taste, and although it was a rather simple dish, you felt happy that he enjoyed something you made.

“I will do what’s in my power to help your situation and you will get rid of any form of evidence you have against me and my company” While speaking, you lowered the fork and knife down, looking at the other with serious eyes. Seungyoun swallowed down with an audible gulp, choosing to imitate your actions and become more serious. Still, there was a smudge of yogurt left on the corner of his lips that made your façade break into a slight smile.  

Reaching out, you wiped it off in a quick motion. Seungyoun nodded and coughed to hide the embarrassment he felt.

“Yes. You said that you’ll have me found out if I don’t” The heir laughed, but it wasn’t because he found it funny, rather because the tension started to build. Your gaze turned sharp, warning the other about the situation still being quite serious.  

“How can I know that I can believe you, though?”  

“Well miss, you’re a businesswoman, a CEO, you’re supposed to know which deal is worth taking, no?” Seungyoun bit back, raising one eyebrow at you. Honestly, it should be expected that the heir will take whatever chance he gets to tease. You leaned back in the seat, sighing out loud with arms crossed. The other coughed again and straightened his posture.

“Okay, okay... how can I be sure you’ll help me though?”  

“Because I already am, although unwillingly. It wouldn’t be a problem for me to put in more effort. We’re only bargaining for 25/75 here. You’ll get my whole support and won’t have to act like a piece of shit to get what you want, while I guarantee safety for my own company. You’re getting more than you lose here”

Seungyoun acted as if he thought it over. The reasons seemed perfectly legitimate. Of course, the male didn’t have a problem with the whole proposal, from the moment it was suggested last night. It was only that he wanted to see you in action, negotiating the best possible outcome for INVICTA.

“You mentioned your father loving me. Just imagine what I can do with that information, Seungyoun. Winning the game is just a decision away from you, but so is losing. Think about how much impact I have on both outcomes. Confirm that INVICTA’s secret database won’t be in your possession, or anyone else’s for that matter, and I’ll play an angel”

The heir cocked his head to the side, prolonging the anticipation of the outcome. He watched your eyes grow more nervous, and it was almost possible to hear your hurried heartbeat. The scene was unbelievable, almost as if both of you weren’t aware that the deal was approved last night, almost as if the night didn’t mean anything.

But it did. It meant a lot. In many ways.

“Deal” Seungyoun said confidently, standing up and extending an arm over the dining table. Pleased with the answer, you did the same, accepting the handshake with a strong hold.    

After breakfast, you decided to leave. At the doorway, Seungyoun pulled you into a quick kiss, not leaving much time to process the situation, before you instinctively kissed back. The act lasted only a few seconds, but it left you feeling dumbfounded once finished. Looking at the man with dilated pupils, you bid a quick farewell and stormed towards the elevator.

It was almost 10am, which meant you a small amount of time to stop by the apartment and fix your appearance up. The Porsche roared as it glided through the streets slightly past the speed limit, the pleasant sound all too familiar to your ears. Thankfully, you arrived in a matter of twenty minutes, all but teleporting out of the car and inside of the building.

Changing into a new set of formal clothes didn’t take long, for you already had them ready in the wardrobe. Makeup took more time though, the marks on your neck appearing a bigger problem than you initially thought. The clock was ticking and you decided on covering only the ones that were higher up. Rest of the purple bruises will be hidden by the buttoned-up shirt, anyway.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you hummed in satisfaction, before heading outside.  

While driving towards INVICTA, an unknown fatigue blurred your vision. Shaking it off and turning on some music to wake up, you slowed down, entering a gear two levels lower for safety precaution.  

The strange energy continued to fluctuate even as you walked through the glass entrance of the expensive building. Every single employee seemed to be staring with a curious look. It wasn’t every day that their boss was late, therefore such circumstance piqued interest. The obnoxious sound of heels clicking against the ground served as a great distraction and stimuli to keep grounded. Which was funny, because in your eyes, the ground was slightly shaking, and in no way completely steady.

The inside of the elevator was covered in mirrors. There, you leaned against the metal rail that went around the walls, sighing out loud. It was hard maintaining a straight and stoic posture, especially during days like these. Looking at the completely normal, clean reflection in the mirror, you wondered what exactly it was that had everyone staring. You’ll hear the rumors fast if there were any, anyway.

With a soft ding, the elevator door opened in a swift motion. Eunha was standing right outside, as if she’s been waiting for the boss’ arrival all this time. Your frowned slightly.

“Good morning, Miss” She chirped and walked alongside you. The assistant had a vibrant smile on her face, an expression much different than the ones you’ve encountered at the entrance. She made no remarks about your timing, which you deeply appreciated.

“Good morning, Eunha” You replied with an unusual tone. It lacked energy and the usual upbeat. Time was barely morning, almost eleven o’clock, but it still seemed like the most appropriate way to reply to her greeting.  

Only when you flopped down into the comfortable leather chair, did your mind begin to blur. Seeking more air, you unbuttoned the collar of your shirt, head leaning back against the backrest. Eunha watched carefully, contemplating whether or not to ask about your state. Something happened to deter her from doing so, for she knew you’d tell her if it was anything serious.  

But that tiny purple patch on your now exposed collarbone perfectly triggered her curiosity. The assistant could only hope you’re going to speak up about it.

“A few people called, but no one who I couldn’t have rescheduled, not knowing you were planning on showing up today” She said, standing straight and swiping over the sensitive screen of a big tablet. Her pencil skirt was an unusual color of baby pink, different from her normal black, and instead of listening to the list of calls, you focused on the refreshing change.  

Your eyelids started dropping the more she went on, and all that you’ve picked up from the presentation was that working overtime tomorrow is a must. Currently, it didn’t matter because all that you wished for was another nap, being just millimeters away from dropping down and taking one on the desk.

“Miss? Should I leave and then come back later?” Eunha interrupted, immediately collecting all attention on herself. She was close to the desk, but ready to leave. Her head was cocked to the side while gentle hands held the tablet tightly against her thighs. You looked up at her and tried signaling something with a weird hand gesture.

“I’m sorry” You whispered, watching the other’s expression turn surprised.  

“Why, Miss?”

“I’m not feeling that well...I feel drained...” You continued, opting to massage your temples, hoping it would somehow help the situation. Eunha placed the big device on the desk, crouching down to be eye-level with you. The female had her own assumptions about your state, eyes still occasionally wandering down your neck and towards the little mark.

“Should I bring you some water or coffee? Aspirin maybe?” She questioned, tone nothing else but caring.

“You’re a sweetheart, please do” You answered, head finally lowering onto the two crossed forearms. It was a makeshift pillow, that you hoped would at least help make the short rest more comfortable. Eunha giggled at the passing compliment, whispering a quick ‘it’s my job, Miss’ before heading outside.  

Just when the fatigue was slowly getting the best of you, eyes steadily closing shut – your phone vibrated. The screen turned on, a colorful background now blurred, with a notification of a new message. With a sigh, you moved to throw a quick glance on it, interest immediately piquing at the name of the sender. It was Seungwoo.

Clumsily pressing in the four-digit passcode, you unlocked the device, reading the message in a hurried manner. Even though the man wasn’t anywhere near, you still heard him through the text, voice soft and cheerful.  

------

Snoopy – 10s ago

Hey, how about we go to our café later today? I’ll wait outside when you finish, I got discharged early.

Me

Can you come pick me up in twenty minutes? I don’t feel well and I don’t think I can drive home. We can pick up something on our way back. It’s on me.

-------

With the way your state keeps worsening as the day progressed, you didn’t want to risk driving home. At the same time, you couldn’t have asked for a better-timed moment to meet the other. Time with Seungwoo was extremely limited and rare nowadays, both being way too busy with work.

Often, the male appeared whenever you needed help. It was strange because frequently, Seungwoo didn’t do it intentionally – much like today. Sometimes, you wondered if he had a special sense that detects whenever you’re feeling even the slightest bit wronged. Those thoughts would usually paint a shy smile on your expression, easing off the tension felt at the moment.  

Without any questioning, Seungwoo texted back, saying he’s already out and will be waiting. Unconsciously, you cooed at the other.

Eunha walked in, carrying a glass with water with a dissolving tablet inside. The sound of tiny bubbles travelling up from the bottom filled the quiet room. Once the drug dissolved, you chugged down the liquid, eyes opening wide afterwards, as if to get yourself to shake of the never-ending daze.

Just then, upon a quick glance at the assistant, you noticed the direction of her eyes. Looking down at your chest, it didn’t take long to connect all of the dots. With a half-hearted, more so pitiful laugh, you motioned towards the chair. There were still fifteen minutes until you had to head out, there was just enough time for a quick recap. Eunha was quick to follow orders, hands neatly placed in her lap as she waited for the boss to talk about last night’s interesting events.

Maybe it really was the aspirin, or the excitement of meeting with Seungwoo, but you appeared more awake.

Putting on the usual stoic expression, you walked with much more confidence, greeting everyone with a strict nod and gaze. The employees bowed politely, going back to their usual work without much eye contact with their boss. No one dared to stare anymore.

Outside, Seungwoo stood leaned against his car, eyes travelling all around the place. The man wore a red silk shirt, fitting black jeans and black shoes. Needless to say, without much effort, Seungwoo was the center of everyone’s attention.

His hands were tucked inside of the jean pockets, long fingers occasionally coming up to sweep through his dark hair. It only took the man ten seconds to lock eyes on your approaching form, immediately noticing the slight sway of your hips.  

Pushing off the expensive Aston Martin, Seungwoo leaned in for a hug. Strangely enough, his arms lingered on your body way short, hold similar to a light breeze. Throughout the years, you got used to warm and strong hugs, ones that lasted a lifetime from the other. Therefore, the sudden and drastic change was nothing but unpleasant and disliked.

Swallowing the annoyance down and opening the door, you lowered down into the comfortable leather seat. It was as if you heard the white Porsche weep while you drove away in another car.

“So, what’s up?” The male asked, head tilting in your direction as he spoke. The pure, raw sight of him right now would arouse anyone. Seungwoo’s gaze was sharp but friendly, an eyebrow raised in curiosity and lips forming a teasing smirk. One of his hands was comfortably placed on the gear stick, while the other rested on top of the wheel.  

“Ah, I don’t know what has gotten into me...” You sighed, relaxing further back into the cozy seat. “I’ keep feeling more tired as the day goes on, I was late to work too. That never happens?”

While shuffling to a more comfortable position, the white shirt underneath your blazer moved, exposing that annoying hickey you haven’t covered. Seungwoo’s eyes absentmindedly moved to that area, immediately picking up the sight of it. His brows furrowed and the male reached out to pull the shirt back up, effectively covering the mark up. At least from his own eyes.

“It’s quite obvious what has gotten into you. Just tell your boyfriend to be a little bit less obvious next time” Seungwoo noted, with a voice he rarely ever used. You never caught onto its meaning, despite being good at reading people.  

The male locked his sight on the road, making sure to drive under the speed limit. The streets were bustling with people, and usually you’d look outside, enjoy the urban city, yet this time you couldn’t. Of course, it was only to the closest of friends, but why have you been so eager to tell Seungwoo that Seungyoun wasn’t your boyfriend? Why were you silently hoping that he’d speak up just so you could dismiss his statement?

“Seungwoo, he’s not my boyfriend” With a certain kind of pride, the words escaped through your lips. A tentative hand reached out and patted Seungwoo’s arm, feeling the tension of his muscles. As if externally sensitive, they visibly flexed underneath the careful touch.

“The mark on your neck doesn’t agree” The other spat again, this time with a noticeable amount of displeasure. Choosing the moment to tease the other and ease the tension, your hand that was previously on the man’s arm, moved to his sharp jawline. Your fingers gently caressed the soft skin.

“Is that what’s suddenly bothering you?”  

Seungwoo looked at you as he came to a red light, different emotions flashing inside of his irises. They were dilated, while his lips parted slightly, just barely showing traces of shock. He was ready to lie and disagree, but your thumb and point finger moved to grasp his chin.

“Would you feel better if it was yours?”

A/N: Hi! Uh this took... a lot of unreasonable time to write, I’m sorry. I was confused about what I want to do and what to write, and honestly I hope you guys still remember this fic and wanna keep up haha. Please be careful and stay healthy!

[ficsnroses]

Friends With Benefits Part 4 - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Chapter IV ~ Her Name Seeps From His Lips.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I’m so sorry this sucks but I promise promise promise chapter 5 will be good.

Word Count : 3362

Warnings : NSFW, 18+ content. Masturbation. 

Series Summary : What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing and confiding in each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.

A/N : Y’all I’m not a guy but I tried okay. I hope you enjoy this chapter, friendios 🖤

Keanu and you had an unspoken bond to each other. In fact, your entire relationship, which started off as just friends, only came to be because you appealed to each other. You appreciated each other’s company above all, especially due to the fact neither of you had ever had much interest in the mass of social crowds.

Sex only became part of the equation well after. You were friends, before friends with benefits. 

Of course, the sex stuck around because of how mind blowing it always was. Neither of you meant for it to, but it had become routine. Needless to say, Keanu and you had a very frequent and healthy sex life together. Your need to satisfy each other only grew with time, almost becoming religion.

•

As Keanu collapses on his bed, propping his feet up, he can hear the faint sound of the misty LA rain out his window. December in LA tends to be wetter than the rest of the months, the days shorter and gloomier than before. The steady drumming on the window feels nice. Its calm, serene, contrasting to the intensity of the work week thus far.

Naturally, when Keanu hadn’t seen you in over a week, he found himself missing you. A lot. You had suddenly left the morning after your steamy midnight session a week prior. The morning you showed Keanu the galaxies alike, woke him up in the most sinful of ways with your gorgeous little mouth. The morning Keanu and you had ventured out together for plan B. The same morning the media caught you at brunch.

Keanu and you hadn’t met up since that day, which left him feeling very unsettled. With Christmas approaching rather soon, Keanu had planned to spend more time with you this week. He wanted to have a movie night or two, or perhaps take you out to a nice dinner. He knew your family was back home, and you didn’t have anyone in LA to spend the holidays with. Keanu understood that. He felt lonelier than usual around the holidays as well. He thought you could use each other around this time.

Keanu always tried his best to show you how much he valued you. Your relationship was a special case…for sure. But it worked for you. It was always his priority to make sure you never felt used. For Keanu, you weren’t solely just his fuck buddy. You were one of his best friends, a woman he respected, appreciated, and cared for deeply. He’d seen you at your most vulnerable. How could he not feel so deeply connected to you? The intimacy you shared together was precious. He often found himself reflecting on just how beautiful it really was. Just how lucky he really was to have you fill his needs, and to be able to fulfill yours.

However, the week hadn’t gone as planned so far. Keanu and you were normally very active. You both always managed to make the time to see each other, to be with each other. You hadn’t been intimate in a week. Each time he proposed, you had rubbed him off, claiming a busier workload, or just being plain tired.

That didn’t seem like Y/N though, and Keanu knew that. In fact, normally when she was tired, Y/N wanted Keanu to please her even more. They did that a lot for each other, when one needed relief, the other would work harder to give them the release they so desperately craved, whether it was just a brief pop in for a quickie at her office or his trailer, or a long, steamy evening at one of their houses, where they left each other gasping for air by the end of it, their skin sticking together as if bound as one, their lips shaping, dripping each other’s names.

Gosh, it had been a week since Keanu had had any sort of release. A week of tense, diligent, exhausting training without Y/N to make him feel good. He’d craved her body this past week, almost as if reciting a prayer, he so desperately needed to be heard.

Y/N was amazing, to make an understatement. She was as gratifying as a siren, an enchantress with her body, so skilled, so perfect. He had had her a hundred times, which may be what lead him to become so addicted to her. The feeling of her, all of her wrapped around him, the feeling of her soft, delicate hands running over his calloused skin, the linger of her warm breath.

The way her warm, velvety, sinfully wet tongue felt lapping around him, the way her shallow bobs could almost take him whole.

Keanu hadn’t realized himself palming at a growing bulge in his sweatpants, gradually leaning against the headboard of the bed, eyes drifting closed with a mural of Y/N clouding his mind.

Before Y/N, Keanu used to relieve himself often. He hadn’t been in a real relationship in years, and one night stands weren’t too frequent in his busy schedule. Not to mention, he was never too fond of one night hookups. He enjoyed feeling an emotional connection to his partner, liked the added sensation it brought to know the woman taking him is someone who cares for him, and not just another brag to the world of sleeping with movie star, Keanu Reeves.

He began groping his bulge unknowingly, his pants undoubtedly growing tighter and tighter at the thought of Y/N. Keanu’s sex drive was rather high for a man his age, although he was never much of one to act on it. Of course, until Y/N came along. She had always been there to help him when he needed it, happy to give him the ecstasy he so desperately wanted.

With a bite of his bottom lip, Keanu slips his hand into the waistband of his sweats, feeling over his sensitive skin. He hadn’t done this in a while; he hadn’t needed to. But it had been 8 days, not that he was counting. 8 days without any release. 8 days without Y/N.

Kicking off his sweats, Keanu positions himself comfortably in his bed, the rain at the window still pelting away. His eyes catch the splatter of tiny water globes, sprayed across the glass. There’s so many of them, thousands if he tried to count, millions. Numbers, quantities, digits. It’s a funny thing to think of how much of so much there is of everything in the world. So much love, so much admiration, so many people.

Yet here he was, on a cold, rainy day, alone. Feeling more alone than he had in a while. He wondered what Y/N was doing in that moment. If she had thought about him as much as he thought about her this past week.

He pulls out his cock to the sound of the rain getting heavier, the sleet downpour thumping on the roof, almost entwining with the beat of his heart racing faster by the second, blood pumping to his lower. Wrapping his palm sloppily around his base, Keanu pumps himself full, base to shaft, leisurely, up and down a few times. His hooded eyes trace down and see his girth growing bigger and bigger through the touch.

A light moan escapes his lips at the sensation. It’s not the same as having Y/N’s tight, dripping cunt engulfed around him, but its something. Something to feel. He reaches over to the bedside table into the drawer, for a bottle of hand cream he keeps available. He hates to admit it, but its kept for times like this. It hadn’t seen the light of the bedroom for a while, not since Y/N had been coming around. But Y/N wasn’t there today, leaving the timeworn, guilt ensuing hand cream to accompany him through the deed. He felt pathetic, pitiful on himself.

But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when he needed this so bad. Squirting a dime sized amount onto his palm, he jerks himself whole. A low groan stumbles from his lips as he strokes his entire length, his thumb swirling over the tip of his cock, smearing droplets of clear, gooey pre cum over his head. He closes his eyes, trying to remember the feel of Y/N’s plump, moist lips swirling him, the sounds of her tiny gags as she took him in and out.

His cock begins twitching, sending shudders through his nerves. He begins pumping himself harder, tighter, faster, grunts and low moans sashaying out of his mouth with each jerk. With his spare hand, he brings it down to toy with his balls, massaging, kneading to add to the pleasure.

“Fuck…oh fuck…Y/N, baby..” your name slips from his mouth, the thought of you fogging his mind as he worked expertly with his hands on himself. He was a bit rusty, but it all came back once his hunger for relief overtook all his senses. He begins adding twists into the combination, trying to simulate the feel of any part of your body on him, making him feel so good the way you always do, the way you so proficiently bring him to the edge with ease, as if second nature.

He feels himself close, his cock twitching, throbbing, pulsating as he yanks himself, your name habitually falls from his mouth in sinful baritone. Keanu had never met a woman that had reduced him to a moaning mess like this before, he’d never dreamt of a women making him feel this way, the way he hardened instantly at the thought of you.

He had always needed something to get him going before you, a video, a magazine, anything. He was surprised at the effect you had on him, he had no idea it was that strong until this moment.

“Y/N…oh Y/N. Fuck.” Keanu growls, whimpering as he pumps himself to the edge. Grabbing a cluster of tissues off the bedside table, while simultaneously stroking himself faster and faster, he reaches his climax, his silky, creamy, succulent release shooting into his tissue equipped hand.  

With a string of moans, he felt himself lighten at the vast amount of seed he’d released, the tissue heavier and heavier until he drained himself completely. Panting, with a thin line of sweat glazed across his forehead, his head falls back, relaxing, breath heavy.

He lets the tissues fall to the floor, as he rests his eyes, chest raising and falling gradually. He’s cleared his mind, his release so powerful, but never the same. Not what you could give him. As his cock falls flaccid, he brings his forearm to rest over his head, surprised at how easily he had just masturbated to the thought of you.

The rain hasn’t stopped. Its been complemented by gradual rumbles of thunder. The day is only growing darker and darker, mirroring the way his chest felt in that moment. He missed her, he missed her a lot. Y/N was his friend, not just someone he had sex with. Why had she left so suddenly that morning? Why hadn’t she wanted to meet up this week? Had he done something? He couldn’t shake the feeling. But he needed her. He needed to see her, if not be with her. He needed to know she was okay, and that there wasn’t something wrong in her life for her to keep herself so occupied, so deserted from him.

He reaches over to check the time on his phone.

4:00pm. Y/N wouldn’t be home from work until at least 6:00pm.

He decided he should check up on her tonight. Scarce text messages hadn’t been cutting it, and she hadn’t answered any of his phone calls recently. This wasn’t like her at all. He needed to hear from her in person. It wasn’t about wanting sex or her body, he wanted to be there for her in case something was terribly wrong. Y/N was an independent woman, headstrong and assertive. She wouldn’t boast or cry about her sorrows to anyone. Not even him. That’s why he needed to make sure she was okay. He needed this for peace of his own mind.

She was one of the most important people in his life after all. She took priority over a lot of other people in his life.

•

As evening falls over the LA coast, Keanu finds himself driving to Y/N’s apartment further into town. The tar black sky hadn’t finished its showery monsoon onto the city. Everywhere he looked, he saw colourful umbrellas sprawled about, peppering the town with specs of reds, yellows, some blues, some grays. Beads of water trickled down each of his car windows, slightly blurring the sight of the city folk continuing in on their day.

He couldn’t help but notice couples hand in hand, walking together under scattered umbrellas. It must be nice to share such a limited space with someone, such an intimate setting, shielding each other from the downpour.

Pulling into Y/N’s parking garage, Keanu paces up, into the elevator, an unopened bottle of Y/N’s favourite red in hand, wrapped in a brown paper bag. His black leather jacket is speckled with rain dewdrops, his hair a little damper than when he had left from his house. He hoped Y/N wouldn’t mind. He often found himself wondering if Y/N cared about how he looked. If she found him…attractive. Or something like that.

With a ring of the bell on her floor, he hears Y/N’s voice over the buzz of the apartment door.

“Who is it?” her soft, tuneful voice asks. It was so fucking nice to hear her voice after a week long hiatus.

“Hey, its me. Keanu.”

After a momentary pause, he hears a jingle of the lock, and the door opened to reveal Y/N. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, and she’s dressed in a loose v neck shirt and some sleeping shorts. He can tell she hasn’t got a bra on underneath, not that he meant to look there.

“Hey, come in. Sorry, my place is kinda a mess and I look horrible. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She shrugs, running a hand over the back of her head, closing the door behind him.

“It’s fine. You look nice.” Keanu assures her. “It’s Friday, thought we could leisure a little.” Keanu chuckles, holding up the bottle.

Keanu swore he saw a twinkle in her eyes, complemented by a curl of lips into a small smile on face. However, it dropped so slightly, her eyes falling a little. He swore he saw it, no matter how brief.

“Yeah, sounds like a great idea. Thanks for coming, Ke.” She offers him a smile, patting his bicep. After a slight contemplation, she nods her head and goes in for a hug. Keanu was her friend, and despite her feeling a bit weird lately about their relationship, she couldn’t deny the fact that she loved the care he showed for her. Why did he always have to be so god damn thoughtful? Why couldn’t they just be fuck buddies who just fuck? He probably didn’t think much of his nice gestures. He was just that much of a wonderful, compassionate, considerate gentleman. He did these things for everyone he knew. He treated everyone with this much love.

Keanu wrapped his spare arm around her, pulling her in close, and planting a kiss on her cheek. Y/N didn’t know how to feel about that. She did feel…something…when he did that. But she knew she needed to shake away those feelings. It was just sex. They were together for just sex. They’re not in a romantic relationship. She doesn’t come home to him everyday. She doesn’t get to wake up to him every morning. She doesn’t get the anniversary dinners or the casual nights in, enjoying each others company. This man wasn’t her boyfriend. He doesn’t feel that way for her.

Pulling away from him, she asserts herself. Tonight needs to establish, emphasize that their relationship is just physical. She’ll be sure of it. The second they start behaving in any way that normal friends with benefits don’t, she’ll draw the line. She’s sure of it.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab the bottle opener and a couple of glasses.” She smiles at him, before trailing into the kitchen, Keanu behind. He shrugs off his coat in the process.

“You been away lately. Everything okay?” he asks, setting himself down on a bar stool in her kitchen, resting his head on his hand leaning on the counter.

“Yeah. Just been taking up some extra projects.” She replies, avoiding eye contact, pouring the wine into two glasses for them.

“I was worried. You barely kept in touch. Thought something was wrong.” Keanu empathized. He made sure to let her know that she was on his mind. He hadn’t thought of it as “not a big deal.”

“All good. Only thing to worry about is this horrendous look I’m flaunting right now.” She laughed, gesturing down to her attire. Y/N usually tried her best to look good for Keanu, she wanted him to want her. Wanted him to think she looked good.

Sliding over the glass to Keanu, Y/N holds her glass in the air, gesturing a “cheers” before taking a sip.

“I’ll keep saying it, Y/N. You look good. You always look good, honey.” He smiled, making direct eye contact. There it was again. The thing he did to her. Y/N pauses for a moment, getting lost in his eyes. She shakes herself out of her trance, walking closer to him, setting her glass down. She needed to draw the line. This was the time for that.

She positions herself in font of him, grabbing hold of his collar. With lust in her eyes, she lowers her gaze.

“Do you wanna…” she starts her sentence, trailing off as she bites her lip, staring him right in the eyes. Keanu’s taken back, she normally isn’t this way, she never initiates sex out of the blue. Not when they’re just spending time together, like they do often.

But he couldn’t help the bulge that threatened to grow in his pants. Y/N was in just some booty shorts and a loose top, sans bra. Her breasts looked so firm, perfectly plump resting on her chest. Gosh, he loved those fucking breasts, loved the way they provided a safe haven for him to rest his head when he was on top of her, thrusting in and out, the way they practically melt in his touch. So warm, so inviting. Just like Y/N looked right now. 

“Y/N, we don’t have to, I’m here to just…yenno, check up. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. If you’re not in the mood, I’m okay. We can do it another time.” Keanu rambled, watching her every move as she began lowering her shirt off, exposing a bare shoulder. Her skin looked so dewy, so soft for the taking.

“No, I want to. It’s been a while, Keanu.” She mumbled, running her hands over his chest as he still rest on the bar stool, waiting for him to say yes, as she eyed his lips. “I want you.” She whispered, lips close to his ear, grazing over the thick skin.

She felt his hands plant themselves on her waist, as her hand cruised the inside of his thigh. She could see him growing harder, his pants tightening as she threatened to run her hand over his crotch.

“You know I can’t say no to you, darling.” Keanu murmured, attaching his lips to her jaw.

Y/N’s eyes went dark with the words that escaped his mouth. It had been a while. She missed the way he filled her up so fucking well, the way she’d be left sore and throbbing after he was finished, the way her thighs would stick together with what he left behind.

She was going to make him see the stars tonight; she was sure of it. She was his fuck buddy, and she was going to be the best at just that. Make him forget the world behind them.

Grabbing his hand off her hip, she guides it into the waistband of her pants, never breaking eye contact with him.

He had no idea 

what he was in for. 

>>Chapter 5>>

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Taglist Posted Separately (Ask to be added or removed!) :

[saraa-lancee]

I just.... wanna talk about how important Elvis having the death totem was. Especially because ive seen some people digging into it.

It really opens up the potential for a very special and meaningful conversation about death.

A lot of people complain that a warrior of some kind should have gotten the totem but... i hate that. (I agree, it could have given us some fun and interesting characters, like maybe Churchill or something idk). Not only because people in general are obsessed with war (they want to see their favorite historical figure. Which don't get me wrong, I don't blame them.) But because of the relationship that a warrior has with death-- a relationship we see with Sara. And Sara didn't even want to hurt people, especially not the people she loved.

But the totem made her. Imagine the power of the totem in the hands of histories greatest warriors and generals-- people who wanted to hurt other people. Sara rejected the power of death, and she hates herself for what happened and for her past. But others... wouldnt have those same feelings. Any other warrior who felt the same would also have rejected the Totem, pushing into the hands of the guiltless. Making them (and their cause) practically unstoppable. And do you think they would give the totem up alive?

They would weapanize the totem, pervert the dead to their own whims, use it to kill even more.

But... that's the easy story. Its obvious. (And a story of a warrior 'seeing the right path and giving up the totem is great and all but also incredibly easy and predictable). Its easy because death is scary and to be avoided at all costs, death is a tragedy no matter the circumstances. The real challenge, the deeper story, is love, and Peace. Not hatred and war.

We've seen that the totem has the power to destroy-- the first Anarchronism was that it destroyed Memphis. And thats often what we see death as-- destruction.

But there's more to the power of death.

Elvis was desperately seeking connection. Not power. Not vengeance. Not destruction.

He wanted Love.

The ghosts he accidentally summoned... they just wanted love and acceptance too. They wanted to be remembered. They weren't really intending to destroy the town and hurt people, but nobody else besides Elvis (with the totems power) saw that. The ghosts were hurting people by accident, because the people were afraid of them and they didn't know how to communicate (that's also just... an incredible metaphor too, I think).

Elvis was using the totem as a crutch-- it was seeing into his soul into his deepest desires and he desired the relationship of a brother. He, in real life, spoke about his dead twin-- he honestly ached for that connection. He was an only kid in a poor family. The prospect of having a twin-- a constant companion and close friend-- would definitely have appealed to him a great deal. He probably felt robbed of that, especially during those roughest times. The ache of everything that could have been. Elvis was just lonely.

And a lot of people are lonely. Especially by death-- singled spouses, children who lose parents/parental figures, parents who lose children, the untimely loss of a close friend. Death feels like loneliness. And nobody wants to be lonely.

Elvis didn't use the totem for power. He never intended to have power over others-- that was an accident. He used it for wisdom. He used it for love. He used it to gain acceptance about the loss of someone so dear. (Just because someone dies as a baby doesn't make them less dear, not even to those who barely knew them-- in many cases, it serves to make them more dear. Its all of the empty potential. All of the what-could-have-been. Elvis might have felt, especially as an identical twin, that a part of him was gone, that he'd lost half of himself.), to gain understanding that just because Jesse was gone doesn't mean he was completely gone-- Elvis could still love and cherish his brother and invision his pride. A lot of times, its the emptiness of death that gets to people-- but just because they're gone doesnt mean you can't remember them, cherish them.

The episode also gifts us with the idea that those who are dead are reciprocating that love-- they didn't want to be forgotten. They also wanted to be loved. That death maybe isn't quite so empty after all. (The idea of someone you love 'looking down on you' or other similar ideas). Its the idea that the dead aren't truly gone, unless we want them to be.

Also, because thentotem was fused to the guitar and yet came off so easily at the end suggests that Jesse didn't want to leave Elvis either. At least, not until Elvis truly understood.

Once Elvis understood, he easily handed the totem over. Because sometimes love is about letting go.

Elvis deserved the death totem because he was able to turn it into a story about family, about love, about loneliness and the human condition.

We don't need a run-of-the-mill story about power. That's literally the entire conversation about Damien Darhk. That's literally the conversation in the next episode with Sara. Thats the easiest conversation to have.

Elvis and the totem brings balance, and thats what the six totems are all about-- Balance. Yes, death can be about power. But death can also be about love. Power is easy. Love is infinitely complicated.

(And I haven't even talked about this episode and music, and I could probably lecture on that. As a musician, it means a lot. But nobody cares lmao. Honestly, nobody will probably even read this far but its cathartic to get these ideas out of my head like this.)

[goodticklebrain]

Q&A August: Kate Powers of the Redeeming Time Project

Q&A August continues! I first met Kate Powers at the opening reception of the 2016 Shakespeare Theatre Association conference.  It was my very first STA conference and I was, needless to say, SUPER NERVOUS about suddenly being in a huge room with hundreds of top-notch Shakespeare experts, artists, administrators, and educators. I felt very much like an impostor and interloper: after all, I was just drawing these stupid little comics, while these people were making Shakespeare come to life, and were changing lives in the process.

I had heard of Kate’s phenomenal work with Rehabilitation Through the Arts at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, so I was already suitably intimidated when I was first introduced to her. However, she took one look at my name tag, said “Oh my god, you’re HER”, and then seized me by the arm and proceeded to lead me around the reception, introducing me to all manner of Shakespearean theatre luminaries and instantly incorporating me into the STA community. And that’s pretty much Kate in a nutshell for you: welcoming and supportive, absurdly generous with her time and energy, and never hesitating to help lift people up in any way she can. Over the past several years she has become a wonderful resource, correspondent, and friend, and I’m so excited to share her with you now.

Take it away, Kate!

1.  Who are you? Why Shakespeare?

I am a director, a text nerd, a prison theatre maker. I saw my first production of Shakespeare before anyone had a chance to tell me that this was going to be good for me, or that these people talk funny.  I was eight.  The play was in a park downtown; we had a picnic and a can of mosquito spray standing by as we watched Petruchio arrive (on a motorcycle, wearing leopard-print hot pants, as it happened) to wed Katharine.  I am sure that I missed a lot, but I had a great time.

After a student matinee of my production of Measure for Measure at the Kansas City Rep in 2005, a girl asked at the post-show discussion, with great urgency, if Isabel was going to marry the Duke.  When I directed The Winter’s Tale at American Shakespeare Center, I spoke to a lady in the audience who was seeing her first-ever Shakespeare play.  She asked me if I had updated the language or if someone else had done it for me.  She was stunned when I told her that we had not changed a word.  “It’s crystal clear,” she exclaimed.  I am all about smashing up the cultural church of Shakespeare and starting the Shakespeare block party.

2.  What moment(s) in Shakespeare always make you laugh?

It’s cheap, but it is textually supported cheap. I laugh every time an actor playing Malvolio reads the letter, “If this fall into thy hand, revolve,” takes a beat, contemplates, and then turns in a circle. It’s not actually what the letter writer means (it means “consider,” essentially), but it doesn’t matter. I think you have written a strip about revolving Malvolios, (Mya interjects: I have!)  and I would like someone to start a band called the Revolving Malvolios.

3.  What's a favorite Shakespearean performance anecdote?

I would probably have to go with Squirrel Butt Romeo.

Mya interjects: Kate is, of course, referring to the immortal anecdote that led to the creation of this comic:

4.  What's one of the more unusual Shakespearean interpretations you've either seen or would like to see?

I saw a Czech language production of Hamlet while I was in grad. school. The host at my B&B in Prague strongly discouraged me from going. I think he thought I would be upset when it wasn’t in English. I told him it was okay, that I was fairly familiar with the story. They cast Claudio much younger than I had previously seen. The late king’s much younger brother. He read like an older brother to Hamlet in some ways, and also, he was HOT. I suddenly understood “The king doth wake tonight and takes his rouse, / Keeps wassail and the swaggering upspring reels,” much more clearly, and I also could see the appeal, the sexy appeal, the temptation, the need to believe, for Gertrude.

The interpretation that I have seen far too often is the leather-clad Hamlet wielding an AK-47. Just. Don’t.

Mya interjects: OK, I have definitely seen leather-clad Hamlets, but Hamlet wielding an AK-47? What is that??

5. What passages from Shakespeare have stayed with you?

“It is required you do awake your faith” and “Let be” are perpetually in the front of my consciousness.

Mya interjects: I totally forgot about “Let be”. Is there a more powerful two-word quote in all of Shakespeare?

Right now I hear Sir Thomas More’s “mountainish inhumanity” speech to the rioting mob loudly and insistently:

“Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise Hath chid down all the majesty of England; Imagine that you see the wretched strangers, Their babies at their backs and their poor luggage, Plodding to th’ports and coasts for transportation, And that you sit as kings in your desires, Authority quite silent by your brawl, And you in ruff of your opinions clothed; What had you got? I’ll tell you. You had taught How insolence and strong hand should prevail, How order should be quelled; and by this pattern Not one of you should live an aged man, For other ruffians, as their fancies wrought, With self same hand, self reasons, and self right, Would shark on you, and men like ravenous fishes Would feed on one another.”

6. What Shakespeare plays have changed for you?

Which ones haven’t?

7. What Shakespearean character or characters do you identify the most with?

I pretty much am Beatrice, with a dash of Paulina. Very smart, very punny, often wielding my words as a weapon, tenacious, determined, protective of those around me, and also afraid of getting hurt, yet determined to speak, to name injustice when I see it. “I care not. It is an heretic that makes the fire.”

8. Where can we find out more about you? Are there any projects/events you would like us to check out?

I am the founder of the Redeeming Time Project. Our name comes from Hal’s speech in I Henry IV, “I’ll so offend to make offense a skill / Redeeming time when men think least I will.” We make theatre with men incarcerated in two Minnesota state prisons. I started doing this work over a decade ago with Rehabilitation Through the Arts in New York state.  We believe human beings are born inherently good, and we teach critical life skills (such as empathy, critical thinking, communication skills, teamwork, conflict resolution, goal setting, delayed gratification) through making theatre together. At Sing Sing Correctional Facility in 2016, while we were rehearsing Twelfth Night, one of the men said, “Shakespeare gave me words for emotions I didn’t know I had.”

The act of imagination required to play a character can become the spark of compassion that leads to empathy. One can learn empathy through the effort of performing a play, because one must ask, “What is it like to be this character? What is it like to walk in his shoes?” Through rehearsal room disagreements about the interpretation of a scene, or a line, one can learn to tolerate not just different points of view but also ambiguity itself. This newly acquired tolerance and wider understanding of human behavior helps cultivate patience and perspective.

Shakespeare teaches us what it means to be human, in all the nobility as well as all the depravity that it can entail. Again and again, he asks us, “What does it mean to be alive? How should we act? Who am I? What do I love?” Redeeming Time makes Shakespeare accessible to all, restores a voice to the silenced and voiceless, and explores the full complexity of the human condition.

Incarcerated individuals who study and perform Shakespeare challenge. They develop a passion for learning. They explore the full complexity of humanity through Shakespeare, reassessing their past and current choices, as well as their future options, as they do so. Although RTP will work with material written by other playwrights and authors, Shakespeare will always be the firm ground on which we stand.

(Back to Mya) Thanks so much to Kate for taking the time to answer my questions. You can find out more about Kate and her excellent work here:

plainKate.com

The Redeeming Time Project

@_plainkate_ on Twitter

Plus, you can hear Kate on several episodes of the Reduced Shakespeare Company Podcast:

Episode 346: Theatre in Prison

Episode 398: ‘Salesman’ Behind Bars

Episode 498: Year of Shakespeare

Episode 532: Shakespeare and Trump (also featuring yours truly)

Episode 580: Redeeming Time Project

COMING THURSDAY: A fellow Michigander who just happens to be one of my personal Shakespearean superheroes!

[jewpacabruhs]

what are some of your fave fanfics kween shay

;o glad u asked. it should be noted that i dont rlly read fic anymore so these are all from my original stint in sp fandom (2013-2014) & most of them do the jew/fatass thing we’re all tired of, but they do it better than all the other fics of the time + hold nostalgic appeal for me personally & just,,,,, are good fucking fics idk

better left unsung - my all time favorite kyman fic forever always ... it’s from 2011 & in kyles pov (1st pov) but it jus,,, means a lot to me & still makes me cry a lot i adore it. also has drag queen cartman, and in 2011 ! next level babey

herbert garrison’s night school for unwed fathers - ok ive always been fond of mpreg & ppl make fun of me but it’s not like a weird thing i jus enjoy,,, the problems it imposes on a couple i think ? two of my fav ever fics r mpreg & it’s jus cuz it poses interesting problems ig.. dont shame me. anyway this fic is one of those two, it’s not kyman or anything, it’s,,, style, candy, tyde, creek, bunny,,, i’m a b i g hollycomb fan, i adore all her shit, and this fic is like. her at her best, i just love everything here... some characterizations are dated but, again, nostalgic for me so idk

the smoking section - i always rec this to kymans & they always fall in love w it immediately, it’s just fucking gorgeous, the absolute best... shortstacked is my fav kyman author ever & she knows it fjdkfh this fic is literally so poetic & lovely, & she understood kyle & cartmans relationship when no one else did ... looking over it again tho it has explicit content, jus a note ... many of these do tbh hh

being the cause of immediate withdrawal - this one’s rlly short & rlly old (11 years old!!) but perfectly gets cartman’s side of kyman ... i love it

dulcinea - another hollycomb fic, this one’s kenman/cutters and has literally influenced my writing so so so so much, hollycomb does my favorite characterization of kenny ever & her cartman is amazing too & this fic is like,,,, just so perfect i reread it often & think of it always , the tone is absolutely perfect & i always try to emulate it aaa .. also explicit

this means war - this on a kink meme so be careful, but dont be dissuaded, it’s gorgeously written, another hollycomb fic (i have like 4 authors who i stick to p muc dkfdkj) .. it’s kenny/multi & craig/multi and such a good and subtle character study, good shit. also has adult themes

it’s hard to know they’re out there - oh man, another hollycomb but i didnt find this fic until july 4th 2017, i specifically rmr reading it while sitting outside & listening to fireworks (i’m from las vegas & they go off all along the strip it’s rlly cool). anyway it’s like a kenny-centric mostly gen darkfic (style and kenbe overtones), school shooting tw but it’s jus,,, so melancholy and beautiful it makes me rlly emotional

[autisticchangeling]

I want to get into star trek, but where do I start? There's a few different shows and movies on netflix, I a don't want watching them out of order to ruin the experience for me.

Thank you so much for asking! You have a few options here, so buckle in, haha. It took so much willpower not to just recommend Deep Space Nine, but I have prevailed and have my recommendations below.

Short Version: start with some of the best episodes of the Original Series and then watch the Next Generation before moving on to whichever series appeals to you most.

Long version:

Realistically, I think you could probably start with any of the TV shows, but some will be more confusing than others. I wouldn't recommend starting with the movies, because I think Star Trek works best is a TV show and the movies can be fun but the good ones require background knowledge of the show.

Here are some starting places I would recommend, with pros and cons.

The Original Series: this was the first TV show, so you're definitely not missing any prior context. There is a lot of good stuff here, but it does very much feel like a TV show that aired in the 60s, and might be harder to get through if you're used to more modern TV shows. the tone is silly but taking itself seriously in an endearing way. There's some great social commentary and the juxtaposition between the absurdity and the serious elements is something I really enjoy.

The Animated Series: I have not seen this, but I've heard it's good! It's also animated, so if that's not your style be aware. I'm pretty sure it has all the actors from the original series voicing their roles though, so that's cool.

The Next Generation: a good combination of classic Star Trek and a more modern TV Style. This is definitely a decent starting place and will provide you with a lot of the context that might be important if you watch the other shows that aired after it. That said, you don't necessarily need to watch this in order if you don't want to. The first time I watched next gen I just skipped around to whatever episodes I thought were more interesting, and although I missed a little bit of the character development arcs it wasn't the end of the world. Not every episode is very good, and common consensus is that it's better after the first season, but I enjoyed some of the first season episodes and disliked some of the later episodes, so your mileage may vary. The tone is light but serious, and maybe a tiny bit pretentious? But not in a bad way, if that makes sense. I find it comforting.

Deep Space Nine: this one definitely needs to be watched in order. There is a lot of great stuff here, but it does have more political Intrigue than the other shows and it's probably more helpful if you see next-gen first. You could probably watch this without having seen and understood all of the nuances in the Next Generation, but you might have a little more understanding of some of the depth and character cameos if you've seen it. This is my personal favorite, so I'm a little biased towards it. The tone is a little darker but still with some light and silly moments, and there's definitely a drawn-out overarching plot line.

Voyager: this one is very hit-or-miss, in my opinion? There was some really good stuff here, but also some kind of mediocre or questionable stuff. I wouldn't necessarily recommend starting here, but it's not super confusing to watch first. You might miss some of the references, but I don't think there's anything that would really throw you if you watched it first. I still wouldn't recommend starting with this one, though. Watch this one once you're already committed to Star Trek. I'd say the tone of this show is a little wacky? Episodes often have a combination of very silly and very serious elements.

Enterprise: Enterprise gets a bit of a bad reputation, but I don't think it's really all that bad. It's a prequel, so you could technically start with it and not miss anything, but it does drag a bit in parts. It's a neat show with some interesting stuff, but one of the season plot arcs was a little drawn out for my tastes.

Discovery: Discovery is also a prequel, but it does have cameo appearances by some of the characters from the original series. Just watching a handful of original series episodes would be enough to prepare you for this, I think. It's a pretty controversial show right now, but I do have to say I personally am enjoying it, and whether or not it's a decent starting point for you would depend on your taste in television. It's definitely a more modern style of TV show compared to the older series, so keep that in mind. It has some darker elements and more overall plot then some of the older series, much like the DS9 did. The visual style is brighter and flashier than DS9 though.

Movies: honestly, a lot of the movies are mediocre. There are however some excellent movies and I will recommend those below.

Star Trek II, III, and IV: these are excellent and classics. Watch these after you've seen some of the Original Series, in particular the episode Space Seed.

First Contact: this was good! Watch this after you seen the Next Generation episodes The Best of Both Worlds parts 1 and 2.

The 2009 Reboot Movies: the first and third movies are probably better than the second one, in my opinion. You don't need to see the second movie for the others to make sense, but whether or not you skip it is up to you. These movies are an alternate universe of the original series, and can probably be seen without any prior context. The second movie is heavily based on Star Trek II, but as mentioned you can skip it without missing anything in the third movie.

Let me know if you want my best and worst episode recommendations for some of the series I'm more familiar with

[beeyeah]

Jikook: Appeal to Logic

Title: Appeal to Logic

Summary: /Jikook/ Two-shot/ Canon/ Where Jimin tries to convince Yoongi why he was positive Jungkook likes him and Yoongi asks him, “What would you do with that information?”

Indeed, Jimin wonders what the point was to all this.

Notes: I wanted to post on Valentine’s but I guess my calendar is ten days late hhhhh Anyway, I lurk a lot in Jikook tags (like I’m here everyday) and I’ve read long discourses regarding the legitimacy of their relationship. I thought it’d be interesting if one of them begins to share his proofs too and joins the hot pot of convo his own way. TLDR; enter this fic lol I promise it won’t be 20 chapters this time. 

Chapter 1 under cut or you can read at Ao3

Chapter 1: Points Were Made

It was an on and off thing.

Like a passion project that you know you just would figure how to complete someday but needed time because life would get in the way.

Today though marked the moment Park Jimin was ready to lay out his cards and tell someone that definitely… maybe… with a little more sprinkle of confidence that --

“Hyung, I think Jungkook likes me.”

There was silence in Min Yoongi’s room when the statement was pronounced. It made Jimin squirm on his seat as he tried to understand the non-committal stare directed at him, right behind the bond paper that held Jimin’s scribbled notes for lyrics.

Ah, that was right.

His initial purpose was to hear Yoongi’s feedback on a thing he'd been working on. Somewhere along the way, his thoughts drifted to another which inevitably led to his bold declaration of Jungkook’s far from familial, alleged infatuation for him.

Yoongi reached out to his left where his mug of coffee sat.

“I don't know what you want me to say. Of course, Jungkook likes you.”

Jimin frowned, wrapping his head around how he should explain himself. “No, hyung. I mean Jungkook likes me.”

Yoongi’s mouth was slightly gaped and his eyes were blank. His hyung looked lost while he attempted to blink his confusion away.

Well, his observations go way way back, two years worth of evidence. Right in the hallway of their home, an evening in October.

“Jungkook treats me differently,” he told Yoongi, legs crossed and under him as he put up a finger and discussed his first point.

It wasn't as if it was only him who questioned it. Jungkook only gave Jimin a birthday present in the span of the past years, no one else and that got to mean something.

They were all tired from shoot that most of them were tempted not to shower. Hoseok was pushing him around and urging him to a quick bath before lying on his bed because that was what Hoseok was. He liked things clean and perfect and that same rule applied for his roommate. But then Jeon Jungkook, his beloved dongsaeng, appeared out of nowhere and blocked him from his merry way to the bathroom. A little awkwardly might he add because he stood there, hand fiddling with his fringes and eyes searching the floor in trepidation. At that point, both Jimin and Hoseok unlatched themselves from each other's grip to attend to the youngest who seemed to need some attention.

To his surprise, and perhaps his hyung’s too, Jungkook held out his hand and shoved Jimin a paper bag. Hoseok curiously peeked from his shoulder as Jimin tried to open it while muttering, “What's this?”

Jungkook answered with a shrug and he waited. He waited there and watched Jimin opened his present.

It wasn't even anything grand. In this stage of their career, they were just beginning to gain traction from their first win and as Namjoon had put it, at breakeven, to finally enjoy the fruits of their hard labor. Knowing how their earnings were distributed based on performance and royalty fees, Jimin was pretty sure Jungkook received the same profit he did. To be honest, it wasn't exactly much. The only difference was that Jimin was prone to lavish it on people while Jungkook would save it for practical and grander things.

The practical, grander things in Jungkook’s head was Jimin. Bought him a sweatshirt which costed around 44,000 krw. Jimin researched the price because he was curious how much the maknae was willing to spend on him.

No greeting cards. Not a high end brand. Just plain white paper bag from the department store where he bought his first gift for a Bangtan member.

Needless to say, Jimin was ecstatic and made sure to rub it on everyone's face.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi tried to interrupt him but he shushed the older with an afterthought.

“It wasn't the gift that's strange. Jungkook's face was really weird when I thanked him.”

Jimin knew Jungkook well enough to know when he was happy. Whatever gratefulness he saw on Jimin’s face translated on how satisfied Jungkook was on what he did. There was a sense of pride and innocent glee in Jungkook’s eyes similar to the way they would twinkle when he was offered cheesecake or lamb skewers. It was odd how he was comparing himself to food but Yoongi would probably understand the reference. He would bring Jungkook to lamb skewers so often that the maknae even vowed to stay with him forever if he would agree to become business partners.

That was beside the point.

Back then, Jimin thought he was onto something but the idea didn't linger because it was indeed a special occasion. Jungkook was a good dongsaeng and treated his hyung well even outside their birthdays so, on a second thought, it wasn't really much of an evidence.

The hand that held Jimin’s lyrics now dangled limply over the office chair’s armrest.

“Jimin-ah, just get to the point.”

Jimin pursed his lips. As far as he was concerned, he was straightforward from the get-go. He thought Jungkook likes him and he stated the fact right on, now presenting his evidence.

“Number two,” he said after lifting another finger. Perhaps Yoongi wanted him to speed things up and he should. He certainly didn't have all day with their comeback looming around the corner. “Jungkook thinks I'm beautiful.”

Yoongi’s confusion had more color to it this time. Beyond his blinking eyes that questioned where this conversation was headed, his brows met when he spoke, “Should this really be coming out of your own mouth?”

“It didn't come from me. Jungkook told me,” he replied, voice defensive.

“Jungkook thinks you're cute. But so do I. Might as well tell me that all members like you.”

“No,” Jimin answered, tucking his arm in and across his chest. His eyes narrowed, teeth worrying his lips, trying to recall the exact moment that prompted him to ask the youngest. “Ah, that's right,” he muttered when the epiphany came. He searched his pockets for his phone and scrolled through countless and countless of albums of selcas and videos of him with Bangtan.

It was somewhere in there.

“Hyung… this,” he finally said after almost five minutes of sifting through his files.

Yoongi’s back was facing him after he stopped talking to look for his proof. He really should've prepared it beforehand. Now his hyung seemed to have completely lost his interest. He was typically patient to listen, but Jimin interrupted him when he was in the midst of editing a melody submission.

Though Yoongi said it was fine. Jimin would be his breath of fresh air because the team would so rarely go out during crucial period right before their comeback. He knew better not to push the limit but it was tempting and he needed someone to listen to him.

He pulled the bean bag next to his hyung’s leg, lifted his phone so that Yoongi would be able to see what he was referencing to.

His hair was pink, the clip a mere six- seconder. He was staring at the camera, trying to appeal to ARMY. He needed it. There was this greedy part of him that wanted to know how they would react to his flirting. Tell people, ‘Hey, Jimin is right here and this is how he looks right now. His hair changed.’ That kind of drill right before their comeback and their response would in a way boost his confidence. A conscious tactic to keep his fans interested in him perhaps?

“What do you think?”

Yoongi made a face and pulled back to a cringe as he'd expected. Highly likely, he would've done the same thing if any other member showed him a video of themselves. So he merely nodded in agreement. Bangtan wasn't the audience for this video. ARMY was.

“Do you know how Jungkookie reacted when I showed this to him?”

Yoongi sighed. “Would I want to know?”

“He replayed it, hyung,” he said as a matter-of-factly. “He told me I should post it because our fans would love it. Which I did, if you remember.”

“I don't,” Yoongi admitted and turned his chair so that he was facing Jimin, a leg over the other while he waited for him to continue.

“I posted it on Twitter and do you know who posted afterwards?”

“Jungkook?”

It wasn't a wild guess.

“Yeah,” Jimin confirmed the obvious. “After 10 minutes, he posted something and you know what it said?”

No response.

“He posted a song.”

The title was right on the hashtag #ILYSB by Lany.

When it came to music that wasn't in their own language, Jimin would seldom take efforts to find translation. So long as he understood bits and pieces of what little English he knew, he could work around it. Namjoon said to be careful of listening to artists that might cause uproar by association, so he would still have to check it out if he'd want to share it with the fans. But for as much as he believed that lyricism was a key ingredient to any good music, Jimin preferred to feel rather than completely understand and analyze. That job was for their leader.

However, he decided that he wanted to fathom the youngest’s thoughts that night.

The noob part of him thought the title was some secret internet code popular in the west so he searched naver only to be greeted by a simple yet telling I love you so bad. His mouth formed an ‘oh’ when he realized that it might've been an intense confession. It invariably piqued his curious mind so that later he would be listening on loop to… and you need to know that I'm hella obsessed with your face.

“You're reading into it too much,” Yoongi told him with a shake of his head as he reached again for his coffee. “I'm not one to judge who you want to date, but think how this appears to other people.” Yoongi paused, seemingly debating what he should and shouldn't say next. “Jimin-ah, a lot could happen in ten minutes. Like you, Jungkook might be sending that message to the fans. Namjoon recommends a lot of songs. It wouldn't be about us.”

“I know, so I asked him directly.”

Yoongi almost spat his drink on him. He tapped his chest as he drowned out his cough to reaffirm. “Ya, you what?”

“I asked him if the lyrics were about me.”

“And?”

“He laughed,” Jimin confessed.

Truth be told, his ego was slightly hurt to see Jungkook’s initial response to his question. He was serious about it because he was just about more than a quarter sure about his theory. It didn't feel good to have this kid finding amusement to something he pored over. He could've just said ‘no’ outrightly and Jimin wouldn't have minded.

Jungkook’s laughter died down when he saw Jimin’s expression transform and he was reaching out for his hand in apology before he knew it.

Jimin let him hold him.

“It was…” he almost sounded uncertain. “Hyung, why are you being like this?” Sounded almost helpless and then relenting, “Yeah, it was about you. I was nervous so I laughed.” Instinctively, his free hand reached for his fringes like the night of Jimin’s birthday.

When he saw the younger fidget, Jimin felt relieved. Ah, he still knew Jungkook better than anyone. Mindful to see every little shift in the air, Jimin wasn't wrong in reading the situation.

He ruffled Jungkook's head and returned the wide staring with his own curled eyes in amusement. “I knew it,” mumbled to himself and turned once he got the confirmation that he wanted.

“You just left?” Yoongi asked him, tone surprised that it nudged some bafflement at the back of Jimin’s head.

He bobbed his head yes because, well, what else was he supposed to do? He already proved he was right. Yoongi hadn't even heard the rest of his evidences yet.

“Three,” he said to share what was left in his folder.

“Stop,” Yoongi said, planting a foot on Jimin's thigh to emphasize the urgency of his demand.

Jimin slapped the foot away and dusted off his pants.

“Do you even like Jungkook?”

He tilted his head sideways. “Of course,” Jimin answered simply, wondering why it was even a question in the first place. He liked Jungkook. Jungkook was and still is his favorite dongsaeng and BTS member. He'd take care of him even if he grew his muscles and grew taller than him.

Yoongi shook his head. “I don't think we're talking about the same thing.”

“For the third one… ” Jimin took in the opportunity of minute lag on Yoongi’s response to divert the conversation back to the task at hand. He really didn't understand what Yoongi meant but better to finish this off before his momentum dried and faltered.

He picked up his phone again and browsed through his apps. It was quite a long memory lane down Vapp’s timeline until he found the correct reference. He slid the video right on the important moment, him in his bathrobe with Taehyung’s voice singing in the background. The camera was on with Jungkook in his white shirt’s glory, sitting for all ARMY to see.

“That's right… Jimin-hyung is bad at playing games,” Jungkook said to echo his claim.

Back then, the staff berated them silently to turn off vapp. Jungkook was too loud. Jimin wasn't kidding when he said he was hearing him across the hallway. They were only given five hours to eat, take a bath, and nap before they reconvene for post-con review and plan out the adjustments in their set list but this kid chose to do an hour of live for the fans.

Jimin was out his room because Sungdeuk wanted to talk to Hoseok. They needed to work on spacing for Not Today. Their hyung thought they didn't maximize the stage well enough and he was also keen to give feedback on blockings for medley so they could properly execute group choreography for Bultaoreune.

Hoseok was too tired to get up his bed so he texted Jimin if he could get the notes in his place. Which Jimin was happy to do. He loved the fact that Hoseok trusted him and it gave him a sense of pride.

He and Sungdeuk were just about done talking when the older guy stopped him from his tracks by grabbing his arm.

“Can you tell Jungkook to tone it down a little? I heard he opened vapp but everyone's tired.”

Jimin honestly didn't want to deal with it. He was wearing his bathrobe without any make-up and only rushed out in the middle of his evening skin care routine because he wanted to be a useful dongsaeng to Hosoek and let him have an early rest. If he so much as spoke, audible for fans to hear, people were going to ask and he'd have to show himself on camera. Jeon Jungkook, really this kid should know when to stop.

“You know Jungkook listens to you well.”

Jimin jutted out his lower lip, “He doesn't.”

He could already imagine the maknae turning the volume up further for the sake of raising his hackles. Sungdeuk knew this but he was asking Jimin to do it because he knew Jimin couldn't say no when it came to Jungkook.

“Alright, alright,” he said, bobbing his head weakly and dragging his feet towards Jungkook’s room.

Across the end of the floor, he saw Taehyung towing right behind their leader who whispered him something. It made his friend glance at his direction and the next thing he knew, Namjoon was off his room and Taehyung was walking the opposite direction.

Taehyung got hold up by Sungdeuk who was midway his own room and right then, Jimin pressed on Jungkook’s room’s bell and twisted the knob open.

“I heard you from the neighboring room. Let me sleep,” he said, trying to keep his tone annoyed and nagging even when Jungkook was beaming at him so widely. “Stop singing in the middle of the night. Go to sleep.”

“You're losing me here, Jimin-ah. This is just you trying to discipline Jungkook. I would've scolded him the same.”

“Hyung,” Jimin replied sternly, eyes determined and a hand squeezing Yoongi’s thigh. “Did you watch it? Jungkook wanted my attention.”

Yoongi leaned back on his chair, challenging.

“Well, it wasn't even about that.”

His proof went beyond Jungkook's childish yet so endearing attempts to make Jimin come back and join his live. He slid the video right back to the moment and handed his phone in Yoongi’s hand.

When he crashed Jungkook's live that evening, Jimin had every intention to make an impression. After how people disregarded his precious, scant hours of work reprieve, he believed he deserved the screen time. It was tempting to test the waters to say the least. Not just with Jungkook. He wasn't dumb, well aware of his effect when he tried to appeal to someone.

“I don't know why you go to those lengths. They like you already,” Yoongi interrupted him mid-explanation, referencing to their fans. “What's more to prove?”

Jimin wondered to himself why but decided against it. “That's not the point, hyung,” he offered, not wanting to divert from the case at hand. They could ramble on about his insecurities later.

After confiscating the speaker that agitated Namjoon down to coordi noona who just finished fixing damaged buttons of their Blood, Sweat and Tears stage costumes, he went back in Jungkook’s room to greet their fans. A hand comb through his blond hair, cute sounds, zoom the bare face closer to the camera when he knew he just applied mask so he'd look good.

More important than that though was to stare at someone far longer than what was necessary that he’d be conscious to repay the attention. So he did what he knew would work, lure Jungkook's eyes to him and whisper. Mumble because that required someone to pay better heed and read his lips.

“That's not right, I was good at playing games a year ago.”

Then Jungkook would nod absentmindedly and whip his head towards his direction as Taehyung sang Chandelier in the background. Jimin wouldn't say it was the perfect song for the moment but it was good to have a song. Cause Jimin was aware they were recorded. He could go back to this, a song would help with epiphany and drama.

“What do you think?” he asked Yoongi who was squinting at his phone. Doubtful but probably a lot more convinced than he was five minutes ago. “I can be convincing if I want to.” He extended an arm to retrieve his phone.

He fell forward when his hyung suddenly pulled back to keep the small device out of reach. “I don't know if you're being serious about this.”

Jimin titled his head. “I am,” he said. “I am serious. Jungkook really likes me.”

He wasn't unreasonable. The kid had a habit of staring when someone would talk. He observed these things, sometimes obsessively, because it helped him understand the maknae better. So he knew why Jungkook would do it. He found it difficult to focus and physically directing his attention to someone would help him catch what they were trying to say better. It wouldn't be a deal then if Jimin was talking.

But when it was Namjoon who was put on spot to answer an English interview, their leader who still strove to speak a foreign language to represent the group, Jimin quite expected for Jungkook to listen… ogle.

“The korean teacher asked me a question, ‘What are the hardships of being a leader?’”

It wasn’t the first time Jungkook was caught. There was one at a fansign, then at the backstage of a music show, also during that one gayo episode and probably instances he wasn’t aware or the others he couldn’t remember. If Jimin wasn’t so busy overthinking things, he would have found it funny how Jungkook would play it cool and avert his gaze elsewhere. 

“There are hardships when we take positions, specifically being a leader...”

Namjoon continued his answer in the background while Jimin thought to himself what actually goes through the maknae’s head when he would look at him. Was the need so compelling that he’d do it or was Jimin really just that. Beautiful?

“Ya, do you hear yourself?”

Jimin giggled, his head falling back to comfortably rest on the loveseat. It was funny to call himself beautiful. Even he wouldn’t be that shameless.

The point still stands though. Jungkook would stare at him, and he would call him beautiful.

“It has to mean something right?”

He wanted to confirm the motivations behind the not-so-subtle attention. However, he didn’t want to do a repeat of the last time when he confronted Jungkook about the song. It made the air between them strained and the youngest would agonize in his presence. Jimin thought he was being shy so he’d hold back.

But then what about his own curiosity?

“You’re curious, that’s it,” Yoongi said plainly. “What would you do with that information?”

Jimin pursed his lips as he thought about it. 

Good point. Where was he leading with all these? He didn’t think that far enough. He wasn’t even done with his final proof.

“What do you think, hyung? What should I do about it?”

...To be continued

[create-ninety]

Wednesday 20th February, ’19. 10am.

There’s nothing quite like going to a gig at a small venue in a trendy part of town to make you feel like a geriatric.

While I was getting ready for the event, I was wondering if I was going too casual – I was wearing a plain t-shirt with black jeans and an oversized floral blazer. Turns out I should have gone in what I normally wear as pyjamas! There were kids (I say kids, because while there were definitely a few ‘older’ people in the crowd, the majority looked like they were born this side of the century) wearing what I can only describe as their dorky mum’s clothes from the seventies. It was bizarre. Lucie and I stood to the side in a somewhat demure fashion by comparison, me sipping on non-alcoholic beer, and Lucie overheating from a temperature brought on by a nasty cold.

We both agreed that, if we were born when they were, it’s this kind of crowd we probably would have found ourselves in. Perhaps it’s because they were wearing exactly what we were wearing, once upon a time. I can imagine this isn’t a unique experience for people who find themselves looking over their shoulder at the next generation and wonder what the hell is going on.

The show itself was great – the band were amazing. I’ve seen them three times now and each time they’ve got better. The audience loved the performance and it was actually quite inspiring to see people passionate about their art in action. And it was obviously the kind of crowd that didn’t bat an eyelid that I was draped over completely over Lucie, which is always a plus.

When we got home, we lay awake talking about it the performers. I wondered what the process is that gets a person to the point where they feel confident enough to get on stage and perform in front of others. Essentially saying, “I am confident enough that my work is good enough to not only subject you to, but I am compelling enough to perform it in front of others.”

That’s a pretty brave thing, for anyone to do. To be inviting open criticism and to stand up and project vulnerability. I do, genuinely, marvel at musicians and stage actors who have to suspend what can only be described as ‘normal reality’ to sing, move about, and create a large amount of sound – something that in any other situation would be wildly inappropriate and strange. And yet there we all were, gathered around a stage, making noise for individuals who were inhabiting that space of vulnerability. I’ve decided that, for me, it’s actually less about hearing the music of the artists when I see the live show, and more about watching and observing the emotions that they’re going through, as they do it. And you can see it on their faces. The nerves, the little shakes, the awkward chatter between songs when the polished performance of practiced routine is paused.

Lucie pointed out to me that writing a novel isn’t so different to that.

In some ways, perhaps not, but by and large I think there are some key differences.

I think that if you’re a creative person by nature, then creativity has the opportunity to express itself in several key ways: as an actor, a musician, a visual artist, or a writer. Each of those could be called spheres with smaller subsets breaking off (stage actors vs film actors, painters vs photographers, poets vs fiction writers, and so on). I suppose it just depends what vehicle you ultimately are drawn to and prefer as your mode of expression. Because ultimately, the point of anything creative is fundamentally the same: it’s just that, expression. You are expressing something emotive, experiential, a message, something others might relate to. And each of those spheres give you the option to do it, but with completely different methods of execution.

When I was growing up I played with all of the different spheres and I can see them all, now, as different sizes and at varying distances from me. At certain points in my life I’ve actually valued them and explored them in different orders. Some have increased in resolution and texture while others have stayed smaller and smoother.

The smallest of my creative spheres, the one most under-developed and child-like, is visual art. I’m not bad at basic sketching or copying something. And I can stare at a piece of art and try and pull out its meaning. But when I was young, the pleasure I’d get from mixing paint or translating an emotion onto a canvas or something else just wasn’t very high for me. So I didn’t spend time doing it. There were moments where I’d develop a surge in interest (this still happens) – I’d go and buy watercolours and start painting for fun, or I’d be obsessed with sketching raccoons or something. But it’s always fleeting, and ultimately, not really something that I have been able to use as the best means of my expression.

I found a lot of joy in stage acting and performing when I was young, right up to my teenage years. I would include public speaking in this. I found it exciting. I liked playing characters with interesting stories, and I liked to turn different emotions on and off to create scenes with others. I liked finding mirrors of myself in characters, and ‘becoming them’, for a short time, was a small reprieve from myself. But sometimes it was hard to occupy the emotions of a character when my own were trying to take centre stage, so to speak. In my last year of high school when I was arguably involved in the most theatre I’d ever done – I was the lead role in my drama class’ final show, I was in a speech finals competition, I was sitting a speech and drama exam that had multiple theatrical components, I was in our school production, and in an improv team – I was stressed as hell. I realised, ultimately, I didn’t like standing up in front of others to be scrutinised as a version of myself that wasn’t me. I didn’t like that there was a ‘right way’ to act, and a ‘wrong way’. Because, well, there’s a director telling you what to do and how to do it. And so when I left school, I stopped any form of acting. I thought about joining a theatre company but I didn’t. I almost studied Theatre at uni, but I didn’t. It just wasn’t the creative vehicle for expression for me and I dropped it all together. I think, as a result, that acting is now my least valued and explored sphere.

Music, on the other hand, was something I discovered in my late teens. I’d tried piano earlier but didn’t like it, because I was taught classical, which to me was basically mathematics with your fingers. I wasn’t good at translating the written music to something that requires you to be so profoundly dextrous. Years later I would discover tab, and learn the general principles of music accidentally. I realised that chords are the foundation of all music, and that chords translate across all string and wind instruments, including the piano. Once I understood that, and once I was able to master basic dexterity and rhythm, music became the most wonderful tool of expression. I was able to write lyrics, write melodies, and then later on, piece them all together to make a song on my computer. I must have made hundreds. I did struggle to ‘finish’ one, though, and my desire to perform them never became overwhelming enough to take it to the next level. For me, it really was just means to express something. I liked the personal nature of it. I liked the different emotions that could be conveyed through the different sounds and instruments. Sharing the songs with anyone was always a profoundly terrifying experience: the music was an extension of myself, as if I had translated my own identity and ‘suffering’ into sound – and for others to hear it, and to judge it, would be for them to judge me.  And so the music sphere for me has grown large, but it has stayed at the same size for some years now. I pick up the guitar when I’m feeling emotional. Or when I want to put music to a poem. And when I see musicians perform, I see love for the vehicle. I often dream about writing an album to compliment a film. I suppose that now, there is actually the option to actually produce music without having to perform at all – you can do it all digitally. But I don’t think that I love it enough to put it out there. There is so much music available. I don’t think that what I create would be contributing to anything other than my own creative expression. And so, it’s for that reason, while it’s fun to dream, I think – unless I suddenly have unlimited free time and money – that it’s something I’ll never take further than just tinkering around when I fancy.

Writing, for me, is the perfect mode of expression. It’s a completely internal process. With music there is this external component, which I think is ultimately what turns me off about it, but with writing, it can be done completely behind a veil. When it is released into the world, it’s consumed by a reader internally. You are not the work. The work is as separate from you as possible (perhaps in many ways like visual art). This is what appeals to me so deeply. That I get to have a personal, raw, emotive and transformative experience writing something and exploring it in a depth that has so many layers of meaning. And when someone reads it, the work becomes a personal experience for them. You are just a a vehicle for the expression. My physical form, my personal likes and dislikes and expressions, are not relevant to the ideas being put out into the world. And I love this. Writing also carries with it the highest possibility for profound connection: books take a long time to be read, and upon each separate reading, new meaning can be found and uncovered. The same can be said for all the spheres, absolutely – I’ve certainly spent hours listening to the same song and attached various meanings to it, and felt connections to musicians I’ve never met  – but there is something unique about a narrative with a character who goes on a journey. I would argue that in a book you can still experience all five senses, but in an abstract way.

I don’t like the thought of who I am as a person getting in the way of the message. I want to place the art and the ideas at the centre of the experience. When you involve yourself – in a way that musicians and actors have to do – then you become consumable. And that is a scary concept for me. One could argue that the person performing is actually, themselves, part of the art - I would imagine this to be true - but I think this is what differentiates the spheres.

And, more than anything, writing is as automatic and as essential to me as breathing. Or eating. It’s just something that’s part of my day and necessary for normal functioning. For people who master the other spheres, you can see that they have this feeling about their own medium. I saw it on the faces of the performers last night. They live and breathe music. Their instruments are extensions of their identities that they have to exorcise. When I scroll through the Instagram profiles of visual artists, their dedication to the craft is demonstrated through the picture after picture after picture of their creations.

And, finally, I am now – perhaps like the musicians – confident enough to think that my work is good enough. I also think it’s now good enough for others. So yes, maybe I am more like the musicians than I think.

[septimore]

Replaced with secrets

Something people don't know about cryogenics is that after your thawed you're so sore. Like after a really intense workout where breathing results in pain shooting though you. Maybe its just me though. I haven't exactly met any other Cryo walking on the street. Its not like you can yell out, "I'm a Marine from the past and I was on the first transporter! Back in my day we called it Arc Travel. Get off my lawn!" It'll just get you some crazy stares, believe me. You'd think that as a Marine who devoted his life, and his morals, to the Corp that I would have been treated better. When I was on Mars and I was first given C-24 I didn't think about what would happen if I lived. I was just hoping I didn't become a monster like the others did. I did so many bad things in the Corp, even if I did them for good reasons. I had thought that it was a genetic marker that determined a persons ability to be good. Its actually just another genetic DNA strand. Afterwards when the Corp came, and I got out they couldn't save Sam. Everything was for nothing. There was no reason for me to fight Sarge down there. I could have just held off the door. Made sure the monsters didn't get out. I didn't need C-24. I sure as hell didn't want immortality. I'm glad that my humanity made it so I can still age, just heal extraordinarily fast. Maybe that's why I didn't fight it when they wanted to freeze me. I didn't have anything left. The corp wanted to freeze me so when I thawed out they would be able to test on me. See why I was a success when Sarge.... when Sarge wasn't. Only they didn't. They forgot about me. Left frozen in cyro until the failsafe failed. I woke up alone as I'd ever been, in a world that changed. We barely got to Mars and now were exploring other galaxies. And aliens! Sorry, xenos. Apperantly saying alien is rasist. And we somehow achieved world peace? Last I recall we were on the edge of a distopian society. Adjusting was pretty hard. Getting used to new cultures, and new slang took almost a year, an I'm a pretty quick learner. I'm sure I still sound xenophobic, but I'm still learning. I can't exactly ask about other races outright, because a lot of this I'm supposed to already know. Vulcans and Romulans look alike, but Vulcans don't emote. Klingons are violent, but only if there's honor in it like space Vikings. Arc travel is now transporting. Its hard to keep up sometimes. As I was wandering around the world I was trying to understand why the Corp left me? Did they just forget about me or did they never intend to wake me, just let me be frozen until I was someone else's problem? I mean, you hear stories. Its no secret they train civilians into soldiers, killing machines, brainwash you so you can't go back to your old life, then cut you loose so you'll reenlist. But I'm talking the stories you only hear at night in the barracks. About this guy nobody's seen in a while in another company that was allegedly killed for overhearing something. Or experiment that aren't exactly legal. That one was true. Maybe I wasnt supposed to survive Cryogenics. It never worked before, despite what the media said. While I was pondering this I realized it didn't matter what their intentions were, just that it happened. Then I was on this shuttle in the southern states when I found Leonard. Identical to me, if a little younger. And his eyes. The brightest baby blue I've ever seen. So full of life. This was someone who became a man without losing that child-like innocence. A rare thing, and something you never see surviving in the Corps. He was so friendly, smiling with his dimples and talking about this girl he loved and wanted to marry. Then started talking about his dad and how he was a doctor so it inspired Leonard to do the same, even though he and his dad had a huge fight about morals and weren't speaking. He just kept on talking and didn't ask me about my life, probably because he felt like he was talking to a more serious version of himself. My saying something would shatter the illusion. Within the hour I felt as if I'd known him my whole life. Like he was my best friend and I was there watching everything he said. And the whole time those blue eyes bore into mine. I have green eyes, so in know what its like to be on the other end of that intense look. But it was different with him. Maybe because even though he didn't know anything about me, I could pretend he knew me too. I decided I wanted him. Not romantically or anything. I wanted to be around him. Be around his happiness, his innocence. Then the shuttle crashed. I was knocked out, and when I came to C-24 had saved me again. But I was the only one. Leonard's bright blue eyes weren't bright anymore, just blue. He was dead. It was like a cruel twist of fate. I decided to care about someone again to have them ripped away. Like my team. Like Sam. But I wasn't gonna let his dream die. He truly wanted to help people, and I did too. That's why I joined the Marines in the first place. So I buried him in a glen nearby. I recited the few parts of the Bible and Torah I knew. Then said a Muslim prayer that I learned when I was on a mission in the middle east. I'm not sure what religion he was, if it even was a human religion to begin with. Maybe he didn't believe in God at all, but it felt like the right thing to so at the time. Then I went to the college he was going to attend. I took his name and I took his place. I grieved this man I had only known for a few hours, and wished he could have been here. The news station never even mentioned him in the crash because there was no passenger log. His parents never called. Must have been one hell of a fight, or they're just as stubborn as he said. I broke up with his girlfriend, and said I wanted to focus on my career. She hated it, but she understood. Years later I was still Leonard when I got that itch again. The itch to go somewhere and get away. Something the Corp didn't have to teach me. It was something I learned when I left Mars and Sam behind. So I joined Starfleet. It wasn't the military, and I wasn't a soldier, but it was close enough to see the appeal. I was on a shuttle again when I had a flashback to Leonard. Its not often I get flashbacks, I've done to many bad things and got used to it. But I hid in a bathroom until a stewardess yanked me out and made me sit next to someone who was beat up. I rattled about space and danger, like a cynical version of what Leonard did for me before I looked up. Blue eyes that rivaled Leonard's looked back quizzically. I quick made up a story about an ex wife as my reason for joining if I hated space, but I was rattled. When he asked my name I almost said John. I caught myself just in time. His name was Jim. He had the same wonder in his blue eyes as Leonard, if a little more gaurded. I decided then and there I was gonna stay as far away from him as I could. Bad thing happen to people I care about. But the little brat decided I was gonna be his friend and I didn't get a choice. We did become friends, against me wishes. And he didn't ask about my past. I slowly started telling about Leonard's past while mixing in a little of my own. For some reason he could tell when I was lying. He knew when I was talking about me and when I was talking about Leonard. He wouldn't even call me Leonard. He called me Bones because apperantly that was somewhere in my initial rant. And he survived. He was as much a trouble magnet for himself as I was for everyone else. He knew how to get out of scrapes like no one else did before. Then I realized that the same reasons I wanted Leonard ware the same qualities Jim had. Jim was like Leonard but could survive being around me. But Jim doesn't know I'm really John. If I tell him I'll lose him. It hurts to lie though after he told me about his dad dying, his mom leaving him with Frank, about Tarsus IV. Maybe I'll tell him about Olduvai and C-24 one day. Finally finished it! @speedygal here ya go, headcannon into a fic. Sorry it took so long, but I appreciated the support!

[phawareglobal]

Rebecca Hamilton - phaware® interview 260

Rebecca Hamilton was diagnosed with portopulomnary hypertension in 2015. She details her multi-year court battle for disability benefits. 

My name is Rebecca Hamilton. I am 44 years old and I was diagnosed with portopulomnary hypertension on December 20th, 2015.

From my understanding, portopulmonary hypertension is diagnosed when someone has chronic liver disease and somehow that affects the cleaning of the blood so they believe that liver disease has caused the problems with my heart and my lungs.

I was 41 and I had just given birth to a little boy on December 7th, 2015. What seemed like a normal pregnancy, a normal delivery other than the fact that I had to be put under general anesthesia due to low platelets which is something that often happens with liver disease patients, I had to be put to sleep to have him. I had my fourth C-section and went into recovery. Had a normal hospital stay with a newborn and was released back home with the rest of my family about three days later.

When I was discharged, I noticed I started getting some swelling in my ankles and my feet and that had never happened before in any of my other pregnancies. Again, this was my fourth one, so I thought that it was very strange because I've never had that problem. I noticed that I was just really tired and kind of lacked energy, but my doctor just basically said it was just extra fluid from having the baby. He put me on Lasix to try and get the fluid off.

He sent me home after I had my one week follow up and put me on a Lasix for one week and then I came back to his office and basically the swelling hadn't gone down and I was becoming more and more short of breath. It was around Christmas, we had gone to a family function. We took the kids to see Santa and I had to climb these stairs into Cleveland Browns stadium and I couldn't make it up the stairs without taking breaks.

The next day, I went back to the ER and they got me in immediately. The first test that they decided to do was an echocardiogram. The tech came in to do that test. I had never really had one of those before and didn't really know what was happening other than I thought they were looking to see if I had a blood clot. As we were waiting there, three or four doctors came into the room and said to me and my husband that I had pulmonary hypertension. I didn't even know what that meant, because I had never heard of it.

They basically just said that they were very sorry. That there was no cure. That some people go on to have a heart and lung transplant. So, of course, I was just completely overwhelmed with the amount of information that was coming at me within the matter of an hour of being sent to the emergency room.

From there they told me that I would be admitted to the Intensive Care Unit at that hospital and they were going to start me on some medications and do a right heart catheterization. All of these things were being thrown at me and I was stressed, overwhelmed, sad and I thought, "I'm dying."

Well unfortunately, I had a setback when I started the medication. I was at local hospital in my town. It was a smaller hospital and they were just actually starting a pulmonary hypertension department there, so there was about three patients total that they had even worked with that had pulmonary hypertension [who were] diagnosed. So, it was fairly new to them. When they started me on IV Veletri, which is what they put me on, I had some hypotensive issues in the ICU and I had adverse reactions where my blood pressure dropped to 58 over 12. At that point they were bringing crash carts and talking to my husband on whether not I was even going to survive at that point.

My husband immediately put in for a transfer to Cleveland Clinic Main Campus in Cleveland, Ohio and they transferred me on New Year’s Day. From there I was monitored more closely and stabilized, but I remained in the ICU for 20 days. I was having some arrhythmias, again low blood pressure issues. They finally got me stable and I was able to titrate to a good point to where I could then be released, but I was in the ICU for 20 days. It was very traumatic. I suffered from some post-traumatic stress disorder after having my son and then all these things happening. ICU delirium. It's been quite an adjustment, because I did get post-traumatic stress disorder after, some depression, and some severe anxiety over the whole situation.

It was horrible at first, but once I finally got to go home and settle in to my new normal, I did a lot better. However, it wasn't simple for me, because what I thought was going to be a happy time of my life, I went out on medical leave to have my son and was going to return back to my career, all of that changed in the blink of an eye.

We were hoping that I would be able to return from work but my pressures upon diagnosis were in the high 90s. I was considered very, very severe. So, I worked for an End-Stage Renal Dialysis [Center] as a financial coordinator, or insurance coordinator. I took care of about 900 patients who were on end-stage dialysis waiting for kidney transplants. I applied for grants and did social security disability paperwork for all of those patients and I had worked there for 15 years.

I had assumed that I would be able to go back to work and everything would be fine, but unfortunately that didn't happen, because I was still having quite a bit of problems so I went out on my company's short-term disability and then I switched to long-term disability while I filed for my social security disability.

With social security, unfortunately, if you're still getting paid from your employer you're not considered disabled. So, I had to make the decision to allow them to terminate me which took about three months. I was completely on long-term disability and then was able to file the social security disability paperwork. Unfortunately, it was denied even though I was on IV therapy and my pressures were in the 90s and I couldn't really do anything. Walking was exhausting. Climbing stairs was exhausting. There was no way that I could drive and cover 16 different clinics doing what I was doing in the past, so I had assumed with my condition the way that it was that I would get approved. But, unfortunately, I was denied. Then I appealed it. The appeal was denied. Basically, my next opportunity would be to go in front of a judge and plead my case, which took three years. I was just waiting, and waiting, and waiting to see the judge, [to] hopefully get approved.

In those two years, I was getting paid supplemental pay through my long-term disability company, but because I was denied for social security twice they decided to terminate my benefits also. For the last two years we've had no income coming in other than my husbands and he's a professor at Kent State University. We took a huge financial loss, because our mortgage and things like that went to zero dollars. Financially, for a family of six it was very, very difficult.

I finally got my court hearing date which was March 5th. I went before the judge and [he] did not make a decision that day when I was there. He told me that he would make a decision in two to three weeks. The judge was very empathized and very sympathetic to my situation. He let me explain what pulmonary hypertension is. My doctors wrote letters explaining what it was as well and why they felt I couldn't work. I was being referred also to liver transplant to possibly get worked up for a liver transplant in hopes that I could possibly come off of the IV pump medication.

Basically, the judge, three weeks later sent a letter that he was favorable in me winning my case all the way back to 2015. Now, I'm at the point where I'm just waiting for back pay and I'm waiting for my first check. It will be a huge relief, because it's been financially stressful. A financial burden and a hardship just all the way around for our family, for our marriage. It's just been quite the struggle.

My advice if I could do it a little differently would have been to get an attorney at the very beginning. But since I worked in disability and understood the rules and the laws, I assumed I was doing everything that I could with the knowledge that I had from my career.

In hindsight, maybe things would have been a little different had I made sure that my medical records all were received and got a copy of all those myself to review before just having a hospital send them straight to social security, or at least if you want to try it the first time yourself on the first denial, get an attorney to help you with the appeal process, because unfortunately I think you have to be represented in order for them to take you seriously.

And to advocate for yourself. I contacted my doctors and asked them to write letters explaining what my condition was and how they felt if I could work or not. Having my doctors on my side to say, "No, she should not work. She can't lift more than 10 pounds. She needs to rest through the day. She needs to elevate her feet."

There's no job out there that's going to allow her that type of work environment. There are some people who can work with pulmonary hypertension and then there's some of us who can't. Unfortunately, I can't. The best thing I could say is get an attorney and advocate for yourself and just do your due diligence in making sure that your attorney's getting all the documentation that you need. Ask to review it. Ask for those letters and just fight for yourself.

My name is Rebecca Hamilton and I'm aware that I am rare.

Listen and View more on the official phaware™ podcast site

[freewhispersmaker]

What are the strengths and weaknesses of the “sources” of Public International Law? Discuss how they differ from the sources of law used in Australia and in particular the common law?Question:

1)    What are the strengths and weaknesses of the “sources” of Public International Law? Discuss how they differ from the sources of law used in Australia and in particular the common law?

Instructions:

1.    Please write only 1500 words in total (references in footnotes not included). If you fail to comply with the 1500 word limit “the whole of the assessment item shall be marked” but then you will be “penalised according to the following formula”:

i.    0-10% excess: no penalty; ii.    11-30% excess: 15% of the total marks available; iii.    31-50% excess: 30% of the total marks available; and iv.    51% plus excess: 50% of the total marks available.

2.    You must adopt a particular standard for referencing the materials you use. You will need to cite these in the footnotes to your assignment. You should adopt theAustralian Guide for Legal Citations (AGLC) which is commonly used by legal scholars. You can access it online as a PdF document. We have included a brief guide to the AGLC,produced by some other institution, in the Research Essay folder on blackboard. You must include a bibliography at the end of the assignment. This can include materials that you have not used in your footnotes but which have influenced you in writing your paper.

Marking criteria and some helpful suggestions:

The detailed criteria sheet that we will use for this assessment item is attached as Annex 1 to this document. It contains guidelines in terms of how we plan to mark your essay. You will receive the criteria sheet in Annex 1 with our comments on it in addition to anything else we may write on your actual essay itself. Generally speaking, you will receive marks for: (1)    The quality of yourdiscussion and analysis, and the structure of your answer(15%). (2)    The quality of the research you have done to answer the question and how well you have integrated what you have found into your written answer (10%). (3)    How well you have written your assignment, checked your spelling and grammar and generally proofread your work. (5%).

(a)    This assignment is designed to add to your learning experiences in this course. During weeks 3 – 7 you will have had the chance to learn about the basic features of Public International Law (PIL). You need this knowledge to further develop your understanding of the role that PIL plays in the global community.This assignment asks you to explore how PIL is created and by whom and what are some of its strengths and weaknesses.

(b)    This assignment requires that you do extra research. You should have plenty of materials in your reading pack to get you started. However, the depth of your understanding and the originality of your answer will need to be shaped by the quality of the research that you do and how well you integrate what you find into your answer. In order to do so, you will need to find out what scholarly materials are out there, to select relevant materials from journal articles and books, to read them, take notes, and start constructing an answer by putting together what you find appealing. Spend some time searching for key words related to your topic, browsing the links you find on each page, and following their suggested/recommended reading sources. One way to start your research is to look through the bibliography of books, references in journals and book chapters. Amongst the lists you will find references to materials that you can look through and read.

Your paper should emerge from your research: once you have read, noted and synthesised the knowledge you had in front of you. Always keep in mind the question you have chosen to answer and structure your writing according to the main themes that you want to cover. If you have any troubles finding extra resources for your answer, please do ask librarians to assist you in finding and sourcing new and relevant materials.

(c)    It is important for us to see how well you have understood this assignment question as well as what we have prescribed for you to read in weeks 3 - 7. The question should make sense only if you have applied yourself during the early stages of the semester and have been reading the prescribed materials for this course.

(d)    You will notice that 15% of the marks allocated for this assignment arefor the quality of your analysis of the question, the prescribed readings materials, and the issues that you choose to evaluate. However, the other marks for this assignment will also be allocated on the basis of how well you have integrated your research into an answer that makes sense. Please avoiddescribing anything in so much detail that you leave yourself no room to engage in analysis.

What might a pass, credit, distinction and high distinction look like?

Pass •    Your summary of the researchyou read is the only part of your work that is cogent and reads well. •    Simply repeating what you have read from the textbook and combining this with some of your own thoughts. •    Only parts of your essay directly address the substance of the question and then it is mostly descriptive of the basic frameworks in international law. •    You place very heavy reliance on just a couple of research essays to answer the essay question. •    Your answer to the question reveals that you have not adequately understood what the questionwants from you. In some cases your description of key concepts and ideas is inaccurate or very undirected.

Credit •    Your answers to question make sense and it follows a structure that takes us to a conclusion or an argument that you are trying to make. •    You not only refer to ideas that come from reading the materials for 1028Law,and have thought about your reactions to them and have critically evaluated them in the essay. •    You articulate the issues that you want to discuss, and evaluate ideas and examples to address them. •    You use good examples that show you have not only understood the question(s) but also the materials that you have read. Sometimes these examples come from you or the research that you have done. •    Your essay answers the question. That is, wewill not have to think about whether parts of your essay are relevant to answering the question or not. •    You make references to a variety of different views (including yours) in responding to the question. These views might come from research papers, books, internet materials, etc. You research might be thorough but you do not use all of the materials that you find to substantiate your arguments or to shape your thinking on relevant issues.

Distinction. •    You have one or two main points and they are discussed and evaluated in much detail. •    You have read various journal articles and have thought about what they say. You draw on the readings to critically discuss ideas that might contradict what you want to say or argue in your essay. You may choose to combine your own ideas with those from the readings that are most relevant to the particular focus that you are seeking to develop in your answer to the essay question. •    Your examples are succinct and focus your reader on the main argument that you will be making in your essay. •    Your work is polished. This means that your statements are tightly developed without lots of unnecessary words. You do not say the same thing more than once. Importantly, your reader does not have to try and double guess what you are saying because of spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. •    You have found a lot of different materials (research papers, books and so on) to support your arguments and have employed them to answering the question. You do not just cite the research but actually make use of them in developing your arguments in a particular direction. •    Your views in response to the question(s) are analytically sharp because you have understood the question you have been asked.

High Distinction •    All of the above points made under the distinction heading. •    The focus and critical assessment in your arguments responding to the question are tightly developed and novel or original in some way. •    Your own ideas in response to the question are novel and contribute to the originality of how you frame your answer. Please note that this should not be confused with simply sharing your thoughts. Original or novel ideas rely on knowing what is already in the literature you are referring to. •    You have managed to see conceptual connections between the different research articles and books that you have found and have used them to frame your response and develop your critical engagement with the issues you raise in your work. Your research is very thorough (that is, you refer to a lot of materials that shed light on what you want to say). You have also managed to refer to writers whose views are cited more often than others and whose work carries weight. That is, you have shown some discretion in terms of whose work you have chosen to use and refer to in drafting your response to the question.

The post What are the strengths and weaknesses of the “sources” of Public International Law? Discuss how they differ from the sources of law used in Australia and in particular the common law? appeared first on Academic Writers BAy.

[globlenet-blog]

Arnold Palmer obituary

https://clearwatergolfclub.com/arnold-palmer-obituary/

Arnold Palmer obituary

Among the finest players within the good reputation for golf who won 73 tournaments

In almost any listing of causes of the current recognition and financial standing of golf, the name, and also the game, of Arnold Palmer are irresistibly linked.

Palmer, that has died aged 87, was probably the most charismatic golfers ever to experience the sport, your man who had been admired by ladies and a person to whom no play was ever impossible. She got into, and from, more trouble around the course than any one of his championship winning peers, and thus crazy were his recovery shots he rapidly attracted an enormous following.

The fans, the feet soldiers, who adopted him through good or ill grew to become referred to as Arnies Army plus they never deserted him. Despite the fact that his golf inevitably declined as we grow older, their fervour for him was undimmed, as well as around the US Seniors tour he almost always departed the very first tee having a bigger gallery than other people. Nor was his appeal limited to periodic fans. Jack Statter, golf correspondent for that Sun newspaper, used to be watching his beloved Arnie as he observed the great mans caddie had unsuccessful to exchange an enormous divot. He nipped in rapidly, trousered it, required it home and finally increased an entire front lawn from that certain small bit of turf. He known as it, proudly, Palmers Piece.

Such devotion was inspired through the apparent passion that Palmer had for that game. He’d a slashing, dashing style, frequently supported with a grin. He’d hit the ball hard, the conclusion to his swing resembling an area athlete attempting to break the planet record for that hammer throw. It wasn’t a swing that may be certain to keep your ball from the trees, nor made it happen. Jim Murray, the late and great La sportswriter, along with a fan of Ben Hogan was eventually watching Palmer when certainly one of his drives carried out in deep rough. Based on Murray the ball is at a stack of twigs leaving and i believe there is a defunct squirrel along with a beer can inside too. Anyway, Palmer walked over and looked lower at his ball. He then saw me standing there and requested: OK wise guy, what can your idol Hogan do here? I told him: Hogan wouldnt be around. Palmer chuckled striking the ball to the eco-friendly anyway. Trouble, he once stated, isn’t good to get involved with but fun to get away from. I guess there is a spot to be cautious but so far as Im concerned it is not around the course.

Palmer was among the couple of men to possess given a thing new meaning in golfs lexicon. In 1960 he won the united states Masters at Augusta by finishing birdie, birdie, birdie. The majority of the sportswriters known Palmer charging right through to the win, and that he duly grew to become renowned for his final round finishes, the Palmer Charge.

3 several weeks next Augusta win, also, he won the united states Open and again the charge is at evidence. After three models it looked as if he was lacking an opportunity, and prior to the final round he was discussing his prospects having a sportswriter friend, Bob Drum. What, wondered Palmer aloud, would a 65 provide for me this mid-day? Drum, a large, burly and blunt man, was dismissive. Nothing, he stated. Palmer, stung, recently drove the very first eco-friendly at Cherry Hillsides, Denver, an opening calculating 346 yards. She got towards the submit 30, returned in 35 and won that which was to become his only US Open. He won the Masters four occasions, in 1958, 1960, 1962 and 1964, and the seven majors were performed by winning outdoors championship two times.

Palmer was appropriately credited with reviving the virtually moribund Open by playing inside it the very first time at St Andrews in 1960. Couple of Americans thought it worth their while in the future and participate in the earliest of golfs major titles, but Palmer made the decision otherwise and encouraged a lot of his compatriots to help make the trip too. He was runner-in 1960 after which won two times in succession, in 1961 and 1962, at Royal Birkdale and Troon correspondingly. The outcome was immediate and immense. Just before Palmer, 3 Americans had won outdoors because the finish of world war ii: Sam Snead in 1946 and Hogan in 1953. Within the years 1961-81 they won 14 occasions, through which time outdoors took over as most cosmopolitan, and perhaps probably the most influential, championship on the planet.

Palmer was created in Latrobe, a little industrial town in western Pennsylvania, to Deacon, a golf professional in the Latrobe Country Club, and the wife, Doris. He started playing at Latrobe at 4 years old, began caddying at 11, and it was winning big local tournaments in the teens. He began their studies at Wake Forest College (now College), but was badly impacted by the dying of his room-mate Bud Worsham inside a vehicle accident, and left college throughout his senior year to start a 3-year stint using the US Coast Guard, mainly in Cleveland, Ohio, where he felt he could re-think his existence. After finishing using the Coast Guard he labored like a salesperson in Cleveland and rekindled his curiosity about golf, winning the united states Amateur championship in 1954 and turning pro exactly the same year.

The following decade was certainly one of heroic achievement, despite the fact that Palmers last win inside a major arrived 1964, his affect on the sport continued to be undiminished. He ongoing winning other big tournaments in america until his last victory there in 1973, and the last win in Europe is at 1975. Also, he ran their own tournament around the US tour, the Bay Hill Classic, which, due to his status, attracted fields just like might be found outdoors the majors. The programme for your event, locked in Orlando, Florida, transported advertisements for products endorsed by Palmer, varying from cans of oil to tractors, from Cadillacs to Rolexes, from private banks to batteries, and that he was making increased sums of cash around the back nine of his career than he did around the front.

For those his fame, however, Palmer would be a modest man. Every so often people attempted to obtain him thinking about politics, also it was seriously suggested, in the height of his recognition, he run not only for governor of Florida as well as the US presidency. He never as it were considered such nonsense, for he would be a man much more happy in the living room or his workshop compared to any high office.

In the living room he’d a Moving Rock beer dispenser, well used when buddies known as round, as well as in his workshop he’d all of the tools any-time club professional ever possessed. He never was more happy than when trying out clubs, re-gripping or re-whipping a classic set, altering a golf club loft or adding some lead strip. Some who saw him during these surrounds recommended he could have been more happy in the existence to be the club pro his father was before him. However that point of view overlooked the fierce competitive instinct which, although it consumed him, always continued to be well-hidden.

There wasn’t any better illustration of that instinct once the draw introduced him and Jack Nicklaus together for that final round from the 1980 Masters. At that time Palmer hadn’t won a competitive sport for 5 years, and Nicklaus, uncle and great rival, was the reigning US PGA champion. It ought to happen to be no contest. But Palmers wife, Winnie, understood better. Arnie plays better when hes got something similar to this to light his fire, she stated. Palmer, whose reaction on hearing the draw have been to roar Ill whip his ass, recently shot a 69 to Nicklauss 73, finishing fifth. In the previous 18 attempts at Augusta he’d unsuccessful to interrupt 70. Palmer were built with a lengthy romance with Augusta, so when in The month of january 1997 he found that he’d cancer of the prostate, his first reaction ended up being to ask whether, if he’d the surgery immediately, he’d be fit to experience at Augusta in April. The solution was yes, and that he was.

Altogether Palmer won 73 tournaments worldwide, including greater than 60 around the US tour. Only Snead, Tiger Forest, Nicklaus and Hogan are in front of him for the reason that department. Twenty-nine of his victories were at that time 1960-63, which brought eventually to him being named Connected Press athlete from the decade for that 60s. He made an appearance in six Ryder Cups from 1961 to 1973, playing in 32 matches and winning 22, and it was two times a Ryder Cup captain inside a playing role in 1963 along with a non-playing capacity in 1975, winning both occasions.

He joined his last US Open at Oakmont, in Pennsylvania, in 1994 4 decades after first playing in case and the enthusiasm and durability is shown because the space between his US Amateur championship win in 1954 and the US Senior Open victory almost 30 years ago was 27 years. Possibly no professional ever loved the sport more. Most of the top players cannot bear to experience unless of course there’s an aggressive aspect, along with a round with buddies for pure enjoyment is unthinkable. But Palmer performed for that pleasure from it, as well as in his communication of this fact lay the key of his incredible recognition.

There is an event away Hill as he and also the then emerging Forest found one another around the practice range simultaneously. Palmer requested Forest if he was enjoying existence around the tour and Forest responded he was, because, the thing is, the factor is the fact that I enjoy play golf. Palmer smiled and responded: Well, thats good. I understand something about this. Its an issue Ive had for around the final six decades.

Winnie (nee Walzer), whom he married in 1954, died in 1999. He’s survived by their two kids, Peggy and Amy, by his second wife Package (nee Gawthrop), whom he married in 2005.

Arnold Daniel Palmer, golfer, born 10 September 1929 died 25 September 2016

David Davies died in 2008

Find out more: https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2016/sep/26/arnold-palmer-obituaries