#and taught me how to interact with people and how to respect social conventions when necessary even when i don’t understand them or agree

[chussy]

i think being raised by a mildly autistic mother saved me from a lot of pain because idk how i would’ve survived as a kid if i’d been raised by someone who didn’t experience and understand stimming/sensory issues/social issues/etc and couldn’t also accept the ones they don’t experience but i do. i would’ve gone feral

[kittyandco]

i haven't been able to stop thinking about that trope that's like "crush or s/o awe-stricken when seeing their partner in formal wear for the first time" with anakin.

my s/i is from the DUMPS. just a weird creature that didn't even notice (or claimed to notice) social conventions until meeting anakin, who is more "civilized" than the people on jakku, and especially more than herself. she wanted his respect and his attention. she never met anyone as amazing as him... it was unbelievable

anakin never gave her heat for it, he just let it be. he even liked how "misbehaved" she was. (though most of it emerged out of survival, necessity, and ignorance to "proper" behavior, and he knew this early on) loved it, even.

but my s/i knew that she wasn't graceful or "pretty." she began to get self-conscious about these things, and about the fact that anakin, literally an angelic beauty, seemed interested...? in her? he HAS to be lying... right? just jokes? well, no. she is articulate, strong, resourceful, and has a sense of humor... and none of these things she saw as particularly welcoming, especially when she discouraged interaction from anyone after being swindled and lied to so many times

she knew that she could never be what she thought he deserved. (or even what she thought he wanted before... bit of a misunderstood love triangle moment)

but she wanted to be better for him. he taught her the importance of doing that work. and one of the first ideas she had was to be more presentable. she felt that she had to compete with every other woman in the galaxy. he could have anyone he wanted. she had acquaintances help her dress up. it wasn't that she hadn't worn dresses before, because she does, but this was outlandish to her. especially with the updo and the makeup... she felt really good actually. she deserved to! and she wanted to impress him so much

and it did. he was surprised. i looked like a princess, and i felt like one! it was new, but it was good.

but... i didn't have to do that for him. i never would have to. he thinks i'm beautiful, on more plains than just physical. i actually wrote dialogue to use for fic about this and it made me cry because! he isn't with me because i'm willing to try to be "pretty" all the time. that isn't the reason he loves me, it never would be. he won't use me for that. ever.

[pooma-education]

10 OLD FASHIONED MANNERS WE NEED TO START TEACHING OUR CHILDREN

There is a lot of "woke culture' going on in today's world where the important values, ethos, manners and etiquette that was ingrained in us as little Children has now been seen as outdated or old fashioned.

So young people are now tilting towards behaviours that are trendy rather than appropriate. In today's world, nudity is now seen as self acceptance and confidence, fraud and dishonesty is seen as smart or 'street wise', being rude is seen as being daring, outspoken, or opinionated.

Trust me ,we have a menace at hand, as Parents, Educators and Caregivers embrace the contemporary times with all the amazing technology and innovations that has come with it , let us not loose the basics of our social interaction which are these 'manners that I will be sharing with you.

1. TEACH THEM TO BE POLITE: Teach your Child that being polite is a way of life, it is not something they should do periodically.Being rude is a huge turn off, they should know how to address elders, respond to questions, use the right body language,be respectful ,be kind,be empathetic etc

2. TEACH THEM TO USE THEIR MAGIC WORDS: The words 'thank you,please, excuse,sorry ,may I might seem casual but if your Child learns this, they can warm their way to any body's heart. These magic words are small but very expedient.

3. TEACH THEM TO GREET: The greeting culture is becoming obsolete today. Do you know that greeting isn't just a way of according respect to older people it is the first step in raising a socially intelligent child.Teach them the right time to greet,the right gestures, body language etc

4.TEACH THEM TO KNOCK: When last did you see your Child knock before entering. When Children learn to knock, they protect themselves from what they should not be exposed to and also respect other peoples privacy.

5. Teach them the right way to interrupt other people's conversation. I have seen this happen too many times, teach your Child that when they need to interrupt a conversation they should say "excuse me" and that if what they have to say is not urgent or important they should wait for a while

6.Teach them to use the right Voice tone. Have you heard teenagers have conversations lately? It is a competition of who can speak loudest. Children need to be taught to vary their voice tones to match their environment.

7. Teach them to put down distractions when being talked to: Have you ever talked to anyone and you can literally tell that they are distracted either with their phones or something else, how did that make you feel. This manner is a need of the hour, Children need to be taught the ethics of conversations. With addiction to screen and all, we need to help them balance it.

8. Teach them to say excuse my when trying to get someone's attention.

9.Teach them when and how to air their opinion about someone and something.

10. Teach them phone call etiquettes

11. Teach them Table Manners ( This goes beyond the conventional "don't talk while eating) Learn if you need to.

With the hustle and bustle of life, it can be very easy to ignore these basic manners in the guise that they will learn it some day, but you need to remember that Parenting is synonymous to teaching if you don't teach it, they won't learn it.

To teach my pupils these skills, I had to introduce something I called" Etiquette drills" so weekly we had manners, that the children could learn and master and it has been quite impactful, you can use this strategy in your home.

Another strategy you can use is ROLE PLAYING, after teaching simulate a real life experience where they can practice and master these mannners.

Beyond education and caring for your Child's needs, these little little skills also come in very handy in raising the phenomenal Child that you seek to raise.

It's has been discovered that social and emotional intelligence plays a greater role in your Child's overall success than education alone.

Are there more manners that should be added to this list? Please share with me

Are there manners off this list that you would like to integrate in your home? Let me know

[crippleprophet]

Do I "count" as being a person with a disability? My doctors can't work out what's wrong with my leg but it's often in a lot of pain that makes walking difficult, so I use a cane almost all of the time. I don't use it at work because I don't want my boss to know, but I often end up in a moderate amount of pain because of it. But I can still walk unaided any day of the week even if it's painful, and there are a lot of times when it's not painful at all. Does this fall under 'chronic health condition' or 'disability'?

Thanks! 💙💙

hey! 🖤 i really empathize with this question, having wrestled with this sort of thing for a long time a few years ago, so please know that everything i say is with understanding of the way society has taught you to conceptualize disability because it's the way all of us of been taught—while it's okay to mourn the time that we've spent questioning our validity, i'm not in any way trying to make you feel bad about where you're at, just provide tools that have been helpful for me and my understanding of the world and my body.

so! a chronic health condition is a disability; while we've been taught that there is some sort of bar to be “disabled enough,” be that consistency of impairment, physical appearance, types of symptoms, time of onset, or anything else, this doesn't reflect the legal, political, or material reality of living in impaired bodies. while i recognize that some chronically ill people choose not to identify as disabled, and i respect their autonomy in doing so, as a category the circle of chronically ill people is within the circle of disabled people, if that makes sense.

i'm from the US, so the ADA definition of disability was really transformative for me: “a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more major life activity.” there's no requirement for how consistently it affects that life activity, what sort of assistive technology someone uses, if any, or any of the other categorizations society imposes on us to try to invalidate our experiences. (which is not to say that there aren’t differences in how groups of people are treated and marginalized based on these and other aspects of their disabilities! but that's a different post.)

this definition and conceptualization is similar in most countries with disability civil rights laws; your pain substantially impacts your ability to walk, which affects basically every major life activity, therefore legally you are disabled. the united nations convention on the rights of persons with disabilities expresses the concept similarly: “persons with disabilities include those who have long-term physical, mental, intellectual or sensory impairments which in interaction with various barriers may hinder their full and effective participation in society on an equal basis with others.”

this leads into the concept of disabled people as a political category: the social model of disability argues that we are disabled by a society that excludes and otherwise oppresses us, rather than by our bodies. (there is a decades-long and still raging debate as to whether bodies and impairments can also be disabling, to which as a sick person i answer yes, so there's nuance here for sure, but for me that doesn't dilute the power of the idea.) all of the reasons you decide not to use your cane around your boss, all of the physical environments that are difficult for you to navigate because they aren't accessible in ways that would cause you less pain, all of the ableism you’ve experienced—these things are disabling, therefore we are disabled.

from a social model perspective, that's what a disabled identity means: i am a person who is disabled by society. the fact that i have a diagnosis now, that i use different mobility aids, that i have developed a new symptoms and new chronic illnesses altogether—these things affect my life, the way i move through the world, and the way people treat me, but i was still a disabled person four years ago when i used a cane part time for chronic knee pain. i certainly don't have the authority to give you some sort of permission to claim a disabled identity; no one does. if you want it, though, it's already yours.

i wish you so much love on this journey, and please feel free to send another ask if there's any way i can help 🖤💕

[americasmarauders]

in your eyes - Bucky Barnes

author’s note: so remember when I said I wouldn’t write Bucky anymore, only that one time? yeah, so I said, you know, like a liar. I saw the first episode of falcon and the winter soldier and that was all it took for me to fall into the ‘bucky barnes simp’ hole all over again. I made an entire one shot based on a single piece of a dialogue from the first episode. the story starts right before the first episode and ends right after the last. I spend an entire month and a half working on this please give it some love.(pls reblog i beg of you) Huge thanks to @batarella and @glorified-red for beta-ing this. ily <3 hwo knows, if people love it enough I might give a part 2. 

summary: her quiet job in the library got louder when Bucky walked into her life. (Bucky Barnes x telepath!librarian!reader)

WARNINGS: i do write a bit about addiction in this, if it makes you uncomfortable, please do not interact. it’s not heavy, or graphic, but the reader does experience abstinence. be warned.  no spoilers for tfatws, but i do reccomend you watching it. 

words: 11,416

mastelist

#

#

It was all so loud usually. When she first discovered her ability, it was like there were suddenly a thousand voices yelling inside her head all at once. She remembered falling to her knees, clutching her ears and crying out as the voices shouted different things at her. 

 Then the Professor came, promised her to help control her own mind. She didn’t want to trust the guy, even if he said he had the same power as her--even if he said everything would be alright. But the headaches were getting worse, the voices were getting louder and louder. She took him up on it and left her home to live in his boarding school. 

She met interesting people and--at the end of her stay--she achieved what she was there for. It took 4 years of her life, constant nightmares from reading too much of her colleagues' minds, and several isolated afternoons - more than she wanted to admit. Nevertheless, she could finally go to a concert or have a normal college class without crying from pain. 

She lived a normal life after her time at the Institute. She mostly ignored how her teenage years were far from the ordinary, or how sometimes she could hear a random thought from the person sitting next to her if the thought was loud enough. There were days when everything got too much, days where she lost control. She would stay in her house with noise cancelling headphones on (even if it didn’t work like that, it somehow helped) just going on throughout her day as quietly as possible. Tom knew she would get sick, even if working at the library rarely made her go into her lockdown modes. 

The library calmed her in a way. The thoughts were rarely disordered and loud, more focused and quiet. It fascinated her that even in their thoughts, people respected the quiet environment the library required. But sometimes, someone would appear with a troubled mind, something  books couldn’t even soothe. 

There was a regular now, he was one of those people whose thoughts were always all over the place; she couldn’t pick them apart, words would fly through her head -  words she often associated with the book he was reading. She wouldn’t know, it was Nancy that talked to him most times.

He always sat at the same old, worn out armchair, talking with the older people in the library as if they were the only people he was comfortable with. Sometimes, she would be restocking the books and see him looking at old newspapers. She never got the courage to talk to him. She figured her curiosity wasn’t enough to muster up the bravery needed to utter a word to him. 

Tom was on leave that day. He was stalling his doctor’s appointment, telling her his back pain wasn’t that serious, but she knew better. Every so often she would hear a whisper of pain in her head and she knew her boss wasn’t alright. It had taken her months, but she finally convinced Tom to go and get his back looked at. 

So she was working the counter that day: checking books off, admitting them, and then separating them so she could reshelve the books the next day. It was pretty boring work, repetitive, and she wondered how Tom kept busy all day when she finished all of her chores in a couple of hours. 

“Excuse me,” she heard, standing up as a reflex. Her eyes trailed up to the person standing in front of the main desk. It was the Loud Man (that was what she had taken to calling him). “I want to check this off.”

“Yeah,” she said, breathless. She was hearing too much from him, too many random words. It made her feel dizzy. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

She took the book from his hands, her fingers brushing slightly at his leather gloves, her thoughts suddenly got even more flooded at the slight touch. She could feel a rising nervousness in him, so much it blended with her own nerves. She quickly retrieved her hand, hoping she hadn’t seemed impolite. 

She sat back at her chair, looking at the book. “The Hobbit, huh?”

“I’m re-reading it,” he said, his eyes sincere, “I read it when it first came out.”

She looked at him funnily. “You read it in 1937?”

His expression froze, the slight smile morphing into a frown, his loud thoughts got louder with a single word: ‘lie’. “That’s a funny joke.”

She smiled at him, not taking his comment too seriously. “I’m a funny gal.”

He laughed, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was like he was only checking off  a box of social convention. It quickly faded to an impatient expression, and she could tell he wanted to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. 

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he mentioned.  

“Oh,” she muttered, “I’m usually reshelving things, Tom operates the front desk but he went to the doctor. I’m the only other person who works here, so,” she trailed off, “I’m Y/N.”

“Bucky,” he responded, his face slightly tensed. His eyes hovered over everything in the library, as if he was trying to find something wrong in it. 

“Nice to meet you, Bucky," she handed the book back to him. "It's due next week. Don't be late with it.”

“I'll return it tomorrow,” the words slipped from his mouth. 

“Fast reader?” she asked. 

“Got nothing else to do,” he shrugged, the word ‘lie’ once again swimming in her head in the mess of thoughts she received from him. 

He gave her one last smile and disappeared into the library. His thoughts got distant, but they lingered in her head. Flashes of pain, bright white lights, and screams littered her mind. She shook her head trying to get rid of them. It rarely worked, not with thoughts so persistent. 

Her head started to pound as the thoughts got more intense somehow. That never happened before, usually she could only hear people that stood near her and she was sure Bucky walked all the way to the back - he wasn’t close to her in any way. 

Her hand shook as she fished out her headphones. She put them on and connected them with her phone. Playing her music was a hopeful distraction, detering her brain enough to quiet down everything. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly, just like the Professor had taught her. He used to say a quiet and strong mind was the key to ward off stray thoughts. 

It helped clear the thoughts, the mess of words only leaving whispers of broken thoughts in the way. She grabbed those and put them away, shoving them inside a mental box of lost thoughts. She did that with all the others, it helped keep her mind organized. 

She didn't know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes. She always took too much time clearing her mind, she would forget the outside world. Peter used to poke fun at her for that, drawing penises on her face. When she came to her senses she would always run after him, ready to tackle him to the ground. It was always useless: you can't outrun Peter. 

She noticed Bucky leaning on the frame of the front door. It was getting darker outside, an orange hue illuminating his eyes perfectly. Her breath hitched for a second before recomposing herself. 

“Good nap?” he asked, the smallest smirk on his lips.

“I wasn’t napping,” she smiled, shaking her head. She checked the clock and saw it was way past closing time. It didn’t go unnoticed by her that he had gone out of his way to stay with her when he should have gone home. “Why’d you stay?”

“Everyone left,” he said, “and I thought it wasn’t safe to leave you in a trance alone in an empty library.”

“I wasn’t in a trance,” she took her headphones off, resting them around her neck, “I was… clearing my head.”

He looked at her funnily, “Busy day?”

“It’s been weirder than usual,” she responded, smiling. She sat back down and logged off the system.

“How weird is working in a library?”

She scoffed, lighty. “You have no idea,” she smiled mischievously.

She picked up her things, keys in her hand. She left the front desk, going to Bucky’s side. “Thanks for staying,” she said, “You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem,” his hand brushed the back of his neck with a timid smile, very unlike his general physique and stance, “I had nowhere else to go.”

She could feel his thoughts bubbling underneath her skin, wanting to come out and flood her brain with confusing images and words. Whispers of faint words echoed through her mind, soft enough that she couldn’t distinguish what they were. 

“I find that hard to believe,” she said, words slipping out of her mouth faster than she could stop it. Old habits she supposed. She could always keep thoughts of other people to herself, it didn’t seem fair to them she could hear their thoughts, the least she could do was keep them to herself. But when it came to her own, they just came out of her mouth before her conscience could stop her. “I mean,” she started, “a guy like yourself -  good looking and all - must get a lot of people just, um, throwing themselves at you.”

He breathed out, an awkward expression on his face. She could hear one word clearly: ‘lie’. “I don’t date a lot,” he stated, “Not really my thing.”

She changed her approach to the conversation, sensing the uncomfortable energy he oozed. “Oh,” she muttered, “It’s okay, I mean, I don’t date a lot either. I barely leave my flat actually,” she brushed a single piece of hair out of her face, “I hate crowded spaces, and I have just the weirdest habits. You know, not a lot of people are into women who work at a library and barely make minimum wage,” she mumbled, her hands in her pockets restraining her hands for gesturing too much just like she always did,  “I have a lot of issues too, at least that’s what the Professor used to say to my therapist before each session, which is fair and--oh God, I’m sorry, I just rambled.”

He chuckled (an actual chuckle), a full light-hearted laugh, one that rumbled throughout his chest. “It’s fine,” he said, “I like listening to you talk.”

She heard the words ‘like’ and ‘quiet’ shoot through her mind. She smiled at him shyly, looking down at the ground. “I don’t know how to respond to that,” she laughed awkwardly, “Thank you again, for waiting and being, I don’t know, just nice, I guess.”

He smiled, a slightly bigger smile then he had given her the entire time they’d interacted. “Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head, “No problem.”

Both of them walked out the door. She turned and locked it, then pushed a button that activated the security systems of the building. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said whilst shrugging. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he went down a few steps of the main staircase. “I’ll see, uh, see you tomorrow.”

She saw him go down the steps, listening to the faint echoes of his thoughts in her head. She felt the tips of her mouth curl up, watching him go as the sun set on the horizon. She hadn’t felt that before, that sense of mystery, of wonder and curiosity. His mind was in shambles, broken pieces of it laying in every corner of his brain, and she heard all of it. It compelled her, even if it felt completely wrong to be so enthralled by someone’s mind. 

She felt inadequate for liking his mind when he didn’t even know she could listen to it. It wasn’t the first time she felt that way. She remembered a boy from the shop near the Institute, she loved hearing his thoughts. She rarely left the Institute, but when she did she would always sneak to the store to buy a popsicle as an excuse to admire him. Sometimes he would smile at her and her brain would malfunction for just a second, his thoughts flooding her and overwhelming her every time that happened. 

She anticipated it was only a matter of time before that happened with Bucky again. She didn’t exactly know if that was a good thing, if she should indulge in the latent curiosity and table herself further with his mind - with him. 

The sun set in the horizon, the orange glow fading to the blue of the night sky. Walking down the streets, she could still hear remnants of his thoughts inside her head, his imprint already set on her. She wondered how long it would take for it to fade, if it would fade and if she wanted it to.  #

#

He gave her one last look before walking away from her. She could feel him uncomfortable, it lingered in her head longer than it should. He lingered in her more than he should. Her eyes followed him on his way out of the library. His mind was confused and tired, it left a trail of breadcrumbs calling for her to solve the mystery that was.

Tom’s doctor ordered maximum rest. Apparently, the problem in his back was more serious than both of them anticipated. The doctor ordered as much rest as Tom could have, meaning more breaks and leaving early. That also meant she had to do double the work - she wouldn’t mind at all had she not left a pile of returned books to shelve. 

She put her headphones and drove the cart full of books through the library all afternoon. Usually not a lot of people came in on a Monday afternoon to check out books, most were local teens that were there to study or make out. She always pretended not to know which ones were there to actually study or not; the thoughts always flew out to her when they were there to snog, most times it was hard to contain the shit-eating grin that would want to rise. 

She felt someone touching her shoulder. She jumped slightly, startled at the touch. Turning around, she saw Bucky, his thoughts overwhelming her. She rested the headphones around her neck, pulling out her phone to pause the music. “Hey, Bucky,” she breathed out, trying to contain the images and words in her head, “What are you, um, how you doing?”

“I’m good,” he smiled at her, looking down at the ground, “Um, Tom’s not at the front desk and I gotta return the book.”

“Oh yeah,” she took the book from his hand. It was still warm from his touch, “I thought you wouldn’t come today, to be honest.”

“I said I was,” he looked at her intensely, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“Well,” she smiled awkwardly and averted her eyes to the ground, “People sometimes say things they don’t mean.”

She didn’t realise what she said until it was out of her mouth. She remembered how he was uncomfortable around her, and how he would think about lies just as he told her something. Embarrassment flooded her senses, she felt heat rising to her cheeks. 

He looked at her weirdly, as if he was analyzing her. The more he looked, the more she listened to his mind. Words of suspicion floated around, she swallowed dryly and nervously at the thoughts. Echoes of screams and a crushing sense of guilt came through, she wondered what had happened for him to think of that. She wondered if she was the one person that caused him to think like that. 

“I’ll return it for you,” she said, motioning for the book, trying to get the attention off of her. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, “D’you mind if I get another?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, “I’ll wait for you - at the front desk, I mean,” backing away from him, she accidentally bumped into a bookshelf,  “Not, um, not any other way.”

He stared at her and nodded slightly. She turned around and walked to the front desk, cringing at her inability to mutter coherent words to him without stumbling in the middle of a phrase. Something about him made her lose all of her composure, she didn’t know if it was the constant flood of thoughts and memories she listened to from his mind or just him making her nervous. 

She sat down at the chair behind the front desk, and rubbed her face, as if it would rub the embarrassment out of her. Sighing, she returned the book for Bucky. Just as the day before, his thoughts lingered in her head, images that meant very little to her were calling out.

“Why’s Tom not here?” he asked. She looked up at him, his blue eyes piercing through her. It was the first time she noticed his eyes, and somehow, it made everything worse. Instead of whispers, she heard everything clearly. Fools said the eyes were the windows to the soul. She knew better: someone’s eyes told her what they were thinking, what they were feeling. And she could tell Bucky felt a lot. 

“Um,” she looked back down to the book she just admitted back, moving it to the pile of books to reshelve. “He’s on leave, doctor’s orders.”

“Back pain was somethin’ serious then?” he responded, handing the new book to her. 

“Yeah, I told him to get that checked out, turns out I was right,” she shrugged, getting the book, her eyes still fixated on the computer. She felt the leather of his gloves graze the tips of her fingers, and a searing pain shot through her head. She brought the book down to the table, closing her eyes hoping the pain would stop. “Brave New World? Revisiting the classics, huh?” she struggled to keep a whimper from emerging from her mouth. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out. She heard a whisper of concern run though his head, “Um, are you alright? You don’t look very well.”

She shook her head, faking a smile, pretending she wasn’t getting a thousand thoughts from everyone in the library- especially Bucky’s thoughts - blasted at maximum volume on the speakers of her mind. “Just a bit of a headache.”

“It looks serious,” she could hear the leather from his gloves squeaking as he rested his hands on top of the counter. 

“I’ll be fine,” she gritted through her teeth. It had been years since she was last in a position like that, her head throbbing with thoughts that weren’t hers. “I have these all the time.”

She heard his thoughts of concern louder than the others. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

She dismissed his question, not wanting to dwell on his concern longer. “Here,” she handed the book back to him, her other hand closed in a fist, “it’s due next week. Don’t be late with it.”

“I won’t,” he said, his tone slightly strained. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she shook her head, her eyes closed and teeth gritted, choosing not to question how he would return that book tomorrow. She fisted both of her hands, her fingernails sinking in the skin of her hands. “Yeah, it’s fine,” she whispered to herself.

She heard his footsteps moving away from her, she sighed in relief, hoping it would mean her mind was going to calm itself and the headache would fade. Instead, the footsteps grew closer to her once again and then the leather of his gloves was grazing the skin of her arm, helping her stand up and guiding her somewhere.

“Imma take you to the hospital, doll” Bucky stated, not leaving room for discussion. 

“No,” she tried to shake off his hold, “My shift’s not over, I can’t leave.”

“You look terrible, and you’re clearly in a lot of pain,” he grabbed her arm again, “You need to go to a doctor.”

“Doctors won’t solve this,” she once again freed herself of his hold taking a step back from him. More of his thoughts flooded her mind, a mess of memories and guilt overwhelming her. “They never solve anything,” she breathed out, her voice breaking, “I just need to rest.”

“Doll,” he dragged, his tone temptive and careful. 

“No doctors,” it was the first time she had looked in his eyes willingly. There was a sort of weird determination in her eyes, one that came with years of terrible experiences with doctors. Hundreds of appointments that left her more desperate than before, endless tests and thoughts heard that she didn’t have any fix, as if she was broken in the first place.

His jaw tightened and his intense eyes fell upon hers. Her throat dried up under his gaze, her head unbearably heavy with his thoughts and hers. “Fine,” he growled, his hands moving to the pockets of his jacket, “Fine.”

“I need to go back to work,” she backed away from him, slowly. “I--I’m sorry,” she whispered, not sure why she was apologizing to him. 

“It’s okay,” his jaw was still tight, his eyes were still intense lingering at her. She couldn’t even appreciate his gaze at her, and how if she was a normal person,--if she didn’t have that goddamn gene--she would have let her heart skip a beat and feel coy under his gaze. “It’s your choice.”

There was a stubbornness to his stance, something that told her he wouldn’t be backing down so easily. She couldn’t go to any doctor, she couldn’t risk anyone finding out. She didn’t want to go through the tests and the never-ending questions, whether it was out loud or not. There was only one person who could possibly help her, and she refused to go to him. 

She backed away from him quickly, turning around and heading to the front desk once again. Her headphones found their way to her ears, and she started to blast her music at full volume, hoping, or rather praying, it would help ease her headache. She put her phone in her back pocket, grabbed the book she had just returned. 

The cart wove between the shelves with ease under her direction. She could still feel Bucky’s presence within the library, it was like carrying an iron ball tied to her feet at all times. Unlike the day before, he was more troubled, he felt more things and more intensely. It was too much. She wondered what happened for him to be so restless. 

The music hardly helped, it somehow made it worse. She couldn’t shake the tangled thoughts and think for herself, and the music disturbed even more. She dropped her headphones, frustrated. Her head pounded, desperation rose in her. She refused to call Professor, he would not help, he would only rub in her face that she shouldn’t have left. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if you stayed at the Institute, Y/N,’ she could imagine him saying if she closed her eyes. 

“Are you better?” turning around, she saw Bucky, his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. His eyes were focused down, his shoulder slightly hunched. It looked like he was ashamed of asking her if she was alright, almost as if it was his fault that she was in pain. It was, but she didn’t hold it against him. She was certain it wasn’t his fault. 

“Not really,” looking at him, she analyzed his expression. His jaw was tense, she could see his hands were fisted inside his pockets, “I just need to sleep.”

He nodded slightly. “You sure you don’t want anythin’?”

Her head tilted slightly and her mouth quirked up a little. She could tell he wanted to charm her, she heard the word bounce around her head faintly--the guilt was louder, though she could barely hear anything else--and she would lie if she said she didn’t like his attention. “I am” her hands entangled together, her knuckles tight, “but thanks for the offer.”

“Yeah, yeah” he breathed out, his hand brushing the side of his leg in a nervous habit. “I need to go,” he pointed back at the door, his face stony. 

He gave her one last look before walking away from her. She could feel him uncomfortable, it lingered in her head longer than it should. He lingered in her more than he should. Her eyes followed him on his way out of the library. His mind was confused and tired, it left a trail of breadcrumbs calling for her to solve the mystery that was. 

#

#

She sat cross legged on her bed, her eyes closed. There were candles around the room, the lighting dim and warm. The smell of  incense was strong, it swallowed the entire room. It was necessary, she needed that to ground herself to the real world, and not lose herself in her mind. 

 Since calling Professor was not an option, she tried to take matters into her own hands. She was going to untangle the knot of thoughts Bucky had left in her head by herself. It could potentially be dangerous, if she wandered too far who knows what could happen. She had taken the necessary precautions, but she had  only done that before under the careful and judgemental eye of the Professor. It was the first time  she was doing it alone, it scared her to think what could go wrong. 

She breathed in calmly and concentrated on the knot in front of her. Her head was a whole other world, it could be molded to her will, she felt safe in it. Now, it was a black empty space, the only thing filling it was herself and the pulsating mess of thoughts Bucky had gifted her. 

Kneeling in front of it, she carefully picked apart superficial thoughts, setting them aside. They didn’t matter to what she was there to do, they were only random words and snippets of his day-to-day life that she was sure were not the ones causing him so much pain. 

It didn’t take long for her to reach what pained him. It was surprising to see the amount of thoughts in front of her, usually it was much less. People tended to blow things out of proportion often, little things could cause a world of hurt to themselves. Bucky seemed to take a lot of pain, underestimating his grief. A typical mentality of someone who lacked the confidence, who didn’t trust themselves enough. 

She picked a single memory and entered it. 

The lighting was dim, a yellow glow swallowed her. The room was dirty and disgusting, the tiles that were once white tinted an yellowish gray. It looked like a room used for medical procedures, judging by the sheer amount of medical-like instruments littered around the desks. There were no calendars in sight, she had no way of knowing when the memory had happened. 

There were at least 5 or 6 people in the room, all surrounding a metallic chair. She approached the scene, carefully. Standing beside the chair, she saw Bucky.

He couldn’t be much older than he was when she met him. His hair was slightly longer than it was currently, just brushing his forehead. He was shirtless, his skin glistening in the faint lighting of the room. His hand was tied to the chair. His temples bruised from something she hadn’t figured out yet. His chest moved violently, struggling to breathe properly. And his left shoulder? There was a red swollen scar there. She doubted the wound was fresh, more like reopened. Maybe they tried putting a prosthetic there and it failed. It was likely they hadn’t administered any painkillers in the procedure, and she felt anger boiling inside her at the thought. 

“James Barnes, 3255...” he trailed off, muttering under his breath. His eyes were halfway closed, it looked like he barely could keep them opened.

“Попробуй снова,” try again, one of the doctors said. 

Her eyes lingered on the doctor that had just spoken. He looked evil, and she felt in her bones he was. His smile was wicked as his eyes lingered on Bucky struggling to catch his breath tied to that chair. All of the doctors looked sadistic and malefic. She felt goosebumps flood her skin, disgusted by the situation. 

The machine started whirling. An appendix lowered into Bucky’s left eye, another lowering to his right temple. Someone put a protection on his mouth, and she could see Bucky trying to free himself from his ties. Something told her, even in an altered state of mind he was already conditioned to know that noise and that feeling were bad news. She swore she saw his eyes flicker to hers just before everything started. 

The screams - his screams - bounced on the walls and filled her soul in a terrifying way. Tears came to her eyes as she carefully studied what was happening to him. His hands formed fists, his knuckles totally pale on his flesh hand. His eyes were shut violently, his mouth open in a painful way. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she couldn’t. She wanted to hug him and take him out of that awful place, but she couldn't. It was all a memory, it already had happened and she couldn’t do anything about it. 

The doctors recited words in russian repetitively. Her eyes traveled to the doctor holding a red notebook. The wicked smile never faltered, completely ignoring the man in pain in front of him. She felt a urge she had fought so hard to suppress: she wanted to invade their brains, pick them apart and tear them down from the inside. She wanted to scream and shout at them and destroy everything in the room with a single thought. The fact that she was inside a memory and couldn’t physically change anything bothered her little. The anger and sadness she felt were real.

The machine stopped humming and Bucky stopped screaming. When he opened his eyes, she saw something that utterly terrified her. His eyes were empty, devoid of emotion, very much unlike mere seconds before. They were wide open, focused forward, looking beyond the doctor that was hovering over him. 

“Soldat?” one of the doctors asked, a wicked smile forming on his lips.

“Готовы соответствовать,” ready to comply.

The room became blurry and she was sucked out of the memory. She stood there in front of the knot of thoughts. A feeling of inadequacy overwhelmed her, and she willed herself out of her own mind. She shouldn’t have done that, not without his permission. He didn’t even know she could hear his thoughts, much less explore the memories he had left with her. 

She gasped for air as she came back to her senses. Bucky was much more complicated than she had anticipated, and the guilt he carried around with him wasn’t blown out of proportion and unwarranted. He felt as if things he had done, whatever those things were, had been his responsibility. But she knew more about the mind than him, she knew that that person she had watched be tortured was not him. Those eyes told her nothing, and his eyes told her everything and more. Those eyes were from someone who was a puppet, stripped of free will and agency. So maybe his guilt was warranted, but it didn’t mean it was his fault.

She rubbed her face and laid in her bed, looking up at the ceiling. Her heart raced inside her chest, the adrenaline of doing something so wrong settling on her. She would have to be honest with him.  She let a shuddery breath, as she realized she was at the point she avoided when meeting people. The fear of rejection was crushing and familiar and with time she realized it was easier to push people away, not forming connections deeper than trivial than to explain what she was. But Bucky was different, she felt it in her bones. And she wasn’t willing to let him go. #

#

Tuesdays were fuller than Mondays, but only slightly. Maybe one or two more students came in, trying to get ahead of the curve and not procrastinate their studies more than necessary. The amount of work she had was enough to keep her busy throughout the day, even without Tom’s help. 

She hummed the song in her headphones, weaving her way through the shelves, puting the few books that were returned that day back where they belonged. It was the part of her job that gave her the most pleasure. It gave her a sense of control and order, something that had lacked almost her entire life, especially while she was at the Institute. Professor had controlled everything back then. He controlled her and Peter and all the others to be something that most would not have chosen to be if given the choice. It made her feel helpless and tiny. But she had freed herself from that reality, much to Professor’s dislike. And now she could happily find her control in tiny things, like putting books back on their shelves. 

“How come I always come when no one’s at the front desk?”, her headphones fell to her neck as she turned around to look at Bucky. He wore a shy smile on his face, clutching two books tightly in his gloved hands. His thoughts were quieter that day, but still present and loud. She doubted it was enough to give her a headache, but it was enough to leave a mark on her mind.

“Well, I’d say it’s just your luck,” the corners of her mouth quirked up. “Wanna check those out?” she pointed at the books in his hands.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. She started walking towards the front desk, Bucky at her tail. “So, are you better?”

“Yep,” she nodded, getting behind the desk and taking the books out of his hands, “Told you I just needed to rest.”

“Doll,” his head tilted, his eyes carefully analyzing her. She heard worry bounce around his head, “you looked like you were about to drop dead.”

She shook her head, a smile creeping its way to her face. “It’s more common than you think, it’s fine, Bucky, really,” dismissing his worry, like it was the best way to earn his trust. “For whom the Bells tolls? Really diving into the classics, huh?”

“Need some comfort,” he shrugged. “It’s been 80 years since I read these, it felt like the time to re-read.”

“80 years,” she dragged, “You look a lot younger.”

His face became briefly stony, his brain going haywire for a second before he relaxed and gave her an awkward laugh. “You’re a lot funnier when you’re not in pain.”

“Aren’t we all?” she slid the book over to him. “It’s due next week, don’t b--”

“Be late with it, I know,” he completed, “I’ll return it tomorrow. Like always”

She heard words of charm and flattery from his mind. It was a timid voice saying it, if she had been distracted she wouldn’t have heard it. Her eyes trailed downwards, her smile tiny and shy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re lying.”

“How’d you know better?” his eyes narrowed at her and his head tilted to the side. She found it absolutely charming that he did that when he was confused. 

“I read minds,” she said, seriously, her face impartial, very much unlike mere seconds before. 

“That’s funny,” he laughed, pointing at her. 

She opened an awkward smile at him, looking carefully at his expression. His mind told her he thought she was pranking him, being funny to charm him. She wasn’t. “I know you think I’m trying to charm you,” her eyes looking at her feet, her fingers entwined in a nervous habit, “but I’m not,” she finished, whispering. 

She could hear confusion clearly in his thoughts. It wasn’t exactly at how she could read his mind, more to why she was telling him the fact. “I can hear your thoughts very clearly, they’re very loud,” she whispered. After all these years of experience with this power, it never got easier telling people about it. “And I didn’t think it was fair to listen to your thoughts - you think a lot you know? - all so loudly and clearly,” She couldn’t look at him, her eyes were still cast downwards in shame, “If you want to, I can explain how it is, we can go for a walk or whatever.”

She could feel his intense gaze on her skin, she didn’t dare to look up. Disappointment was one of the things she hated the most, one she had dealt with a lot. Seeing it in his face would surely break her heart, even if only a little bit. “Fine,” she heard him say it, airly, “But you’re paying.”

She looked up and his expression was impassive. But his eyes were twinkling with a sort of curiosity and wonder that could only mean good things. A weird sort of relief washed over her. She let out a sigh, her features relaxing. “Great,” she brushed a piece of her hair out of her face, “great,” she breathed out, “I just need to close this place.”

“I’ll wait.”

#

#

“Tell me what that boy’s thinking,” he said, pointing to a little boy by the pond feeding the ducks happily. 

Her eyes trailed to the kid, trying to focus on him. It was an exercise she hadn’t done in a while, since she had left the Institute really. “He’s happy he’s with his dad,” she reported, “he doesn’t see his dad often and he misses him.”

“What about the dad?” his hands were in his pockets, his gaze locked on the dad sat on the bench just behind the kid. 

“He’s guilty he doesn’t spend enough time with his son,” she added, her eyes following the posture of the man. His eyes were fixed on his son, watching his every move. It was clear he felt some sort of guilt towards his son, and it was easy to assume that by his stance alone--if you were observant enough. Bucky was, “He works two jobs to pay the child support. He can’t find time between them often.”

 “How do I know that you didn’t just meet those people and they told you their life story?” Bucky questioned, his gaze intense and locked on her. They stopped beneath a tree, orange sun rays peeking from between the leaves. 

“It’s the first time I've ever seen them,” she plopped down beneath the tree, crossing her legs childishly, “I barely leave my apartment.”

He stared at her, his gaze strong and judgmental. Huffing, he calmly got down and sat beside her, his legs spread out in front of him. He crossed his hands on his lap, and her gaze locked at his left hand. She wondered if the arm was still the same as the one she had seen in his memory. That arm sent chills down her spine, it was intimidating and terrifying, the red star staring at her menacingly. “Why, though?”

“I can’t, really,” she shrugged. She looked up, her head tilting to the side, considering her words. “I have these lockdowns when I’m surrounded by too many people. It hasn’t happened in years but,” her eyes closed, the memories of the last lockdown she had flooding back at her. She saw her younger self falling to her knees in the middle of the Institute’s lobby, screaming and clutching her ears, “but it happens, and I’d rather not go through that. I’m not in speaking terms with the person that can help me and I’ll do anything to not talk to him again.”

His lips formed a thin line. A hum trembled his chest, his head resting on the tree behind them. “How much have you seen from…” his jaw clenched, his voice quiet and hesitant. 

“Not much,” she dragged. “I stopped after I realized that I, um, that I was…”she found she couldn’t complete the sentence under his strong gaze. “It wasn’t fair to you for me to see anything, not without you knowing.”

“What did you see?” he gritted through his teeth, his eyes watery and sad. 

“I saw,” she gulped, her voice straining with emotion as she looked deep into his eyes, “I saw you, um, tied to a chair. You were so out of it,” she shook her head, tears flooding her eyes, “you were mumbling your name and some numbers. And then,” she sighed, picking up strength to continue, “and then they - they broke you.”

“What else?” he growled, his hands in fists. His eyes were no longer sad, there was a latent anger in them. It made her sad that she was the cause of his anger, or rather the target. 

“Nothing,” she shook her head, “nothing else. Nothing other than random words from your day to day.”

He considered her for a moment, his eyes hovering her face frantically. She tried her best not to listen to his mind, trying to focus on elsewhere, on someone else. But he was like a magnet, and she could help but to be attracted to him and his thoughts. Words of confusion, anger and infatuation floated in his brain and echoed in hers. “Can you turn it off? Your...thing?” he pointed to her head almost in disdain. She knew better than to believe his gestures.

“Not exactly,” she hugged her legs, her chin resting on her knees. “If I could, I would have, a long time ago.”

They remained in silence after that. He looked at the clouds, considering everything she had just told him. She looked everywhere but at him, trying to stray her mind from him. It felt impossible,  he became her gravity center, and she couldn’t really escape it. She found that she didn’t want to. 

“How did you get the…” he tried to find the right words, “the mind reading thing?”

She laughed at his silly phrasing. “I was born with it,” she looked down at her hands, her cheeks feeling hot. “Professor picked me up and took me to the Institute after I turned 13 because of it.”

“That sounds like a cute way of saying you were kidnapped by the guy,” he commented, his tone serious and his eyes on her. 

“I wasn’t,” she tilted her head towards him, as if she was telling him a secret. “I went willingly, actually. The nightmares were getting worse and the headaches,” her eyes locked with his for a brief second as she brushed a piece of her hair out of her face, “well, headaches like yesterday’s are light ones compared to those. And the Professor, he promised to help me control it.”

“That doesn't sound suspicious at all,” she could hear him roll his eyes in disdain. 

“He did help me,” she assured him, “but at the time, I didn't realize that it would come with a cost.”

“I’m guessing he wanted something out of you,” he inferred, “that you weren’t willing to give.”

“Something like that,” she responded, her voice vague and distant. Remembering the things Professor had planned for her made her scared and, most of all, angry. Angry he dared to think she would be so desperate to abide by his wishes. She had learned that following his plans brought her nothing more than frustration and loneliness, he robbed her and her friends of a stable childhood so they could become his pawns. “He wasn’t a good person.”

“I get that,” he whispered, his head down, looking at his hands. He opened and closed his left hand repetitively. The anger he had felt once she had told him what she had done came back, but directed towards someone else. 

“Listen, Bucky,” she turned her whole body towards him. Her hands itched to grab his, but she knew neither of them were prepared to cross that line, “I’m truly sorry that I… couldn’t control myself. I figured that if I could decipher your thoughts the headaches would stop, but I didn’t realize how much you kept hidden,” she confessed, her fingers fiddling with themselves in a nervous habit. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, I want to give you a chance to tell me these things yourself, that’s why I told you.”

He looked at her for a moment before responding. “You told someone who you’d only known for a couple of days your biggest secret,” he recited, almost as if he had been rehearsing the line in his mind over and over, “because you felt bad.”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds foolish,” she grumbled. “I know what’s like not to be given a choice, and I wanted you to have the choice to, you know, walk away from me,” she finished, her voice just above a whisper. She struggled to keep her tears at bay, a couple of them spilling and running down her cheeks. 

“Why would I walk away from you?” he asked her, sincerity in his eyes. 

“You wouldn’t be the first person,” her eyes were cast forward, looking way beyond the park. She didn’t bother cleaning the tears that were rolling down her face. “And you wouldn’t be the last, certainly.”

“Doll,” he dragged, his voice low and beautiful, “I wouldn’t.”

She could barely hear his thoughts over her own. She couldn’t think straight anymore, too many emotions flooded her own senses, it was all too much. Her hands rubbed her eyes, trying to rid them of the tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry.”

“It’s okay,” he shook his head. “But, seriously, don’t tell your biggest secret to someone you barely know.”

She laughed at his suggestion, her smile watery. “I won’t, don’t worry,” her head tilted to the side, her eyes carefully studying his face. It was the first time she truly took him in. His face was so wonderfully beautiful. His nose and his lips were perfect. But it was his eyes that would always fascinate her. So wonderfully blue and so beautifully deep. It was impossible to not fall in love with him with those eyes. 

He got up and brushed his gloves on the sides of his pants. He offered her his right hand, “How’d you say we get that coffee now and you tell me the craziest things you’ve ever seen people think?”

She smiled sincerely at him, her eyes looking up at him in admiration. She took his hand and she let him guide her.

#

#

“Doll, you need to start staying at the front desk,” he leaned casually on the side of the bookcase, looking calmly at her as she turned around to face him. “What if someone important comes in and there’s no one there?

She felt amused at Bucky’s teasing and smiled. “Tom’s supposed to be there, he must have just left to do something,” she stated, smugly. “Besides, you’re the only important person that comes here. At least, to me you are,” she tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. 

He bit his lip and looked at her in a way that made her melt. “Aren’t you a charmer.”

She could hear clearly in his thoughts he was amused by her behavior, the word ‘charm’ levitating around her brain. “I learned from the best,” she shrugged brushing past him and walking towards the front desk. 

She heard his heavy footsteps behind her. “Are we still up for tonight?” his voice had an edge that wasn’t there before. She sat down on her chair behind the counter as her eyes carefully analyzed his face. His jaw was tense, his eyebrows were furrowed and his fingers were tight around the book he meant to return. 

“I’ve been up for it every day for the past month, Bucky,” she narrowed her eyes at him. His jaw clenched even more in a way she didn’t know possible. She tried to ignore his thoughts and the words that bounced around her brain. “What are you trying to say?” she asked softly, taking the book from him gently. 

He sighed, resting his elbows on the counter he leaned in. “Sam needs my help,” he said, his voice low and tired. She could tell he wasn’t telling her the full truth, but she didn’t push it. 

“Oh,” she muttered, typing away to return the book he brought. “So you’re cancelling?”

“Doll, I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important,” he stated. She could tell he was sad, his eyes told her so, and so did the words in his head.  It pained her to see him give up their time together. It was cherished by both, and she suspected it was maybe one of the only moments of the day Bucky didn’t have to hold everything in. Mostly because she could see everything he was hiding. 

“Don’t,” she stopped him before he could further apologize. “I understand, an Avenger’s calling you,” she whispered, a devilish smile on her lips, “how could you not answer it?”

“I can think of a lot of ways,” he gritted. He had told her his qualms with Sam Wilson, but it only seemed like friendly teasing and nothing else. Nothing too serious, that's what she judged it to be. 

“Bucky,” she warned him, “there are more important people than me, and Sam is definitely one of those. Don’t feel guilty, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Y/N,” he never used her first name. He would call her ‘doll’, or ‘love’ or even sometimes ‘sweetheart’, but never by her first name. Hearing it leave his lips sobered her up quickly, “there’s no one more important to me than you.” 

Her mouth hung open in complete shock at his declaration. Her brain short-circuited for a moment, before recomposing herself. She opened her mouth to respond him but he quickly beat her to it. 

“I’m truly sorry, love,” he shook his head, his eyes cast downwards. 

Her eyes hovered him quietly for a second before slipping the book to him. “I extended the due date. Two weeks and nothing more,” she said, sternly. “You know the drill, Bucky.”

“Don’t be late with it, I know,” he recited. His eyes lingered on hers for longer than it normally would. It felt as if he was memorizing her, studying the little details of her face, the little quirks of her personality. She felt heat rising to her cheeks, like every time she was under his intense gaze. He looked downwards for a moment, his mouth slightly opened. “I won’t be gone too long, just a couple of days.”

She got up from her chair and walked to his side. She bit her lip as he watched her go around the front desk. He leaned on his arm, casually standing there as she looked down at her feet in front of him. “You have my number, I’m just a phone call away,” she muttered shyly. She couldn’t handle this flirty interactions with Bucky. Mostly because she would have to juggle her own thoughts with his. But there was something about his demeanor at that moment that put her at ease, she didn’t feel the need to juggle both of their thoughts, only to embrace them. She let herself feel the butterflies and be fully flustered under his charm. It felt nice. “I’m gonna miss you,” she whispered. 

“Yeah, me too,” he looked at her eyes, deeply and soulfully. She didn’t know how she hadn’t melted at the spot. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The corners of her mouth quirked up. “I know,” her lips brushed his cheek. She quickly kissed it and looked back at him. “You should probably go. Don’t wanna keep Sam waitin’.”

He smiled at her one last time before leaving her. His smile, there was something different about that. It felt sincere and genuine, unlike all his other smiles that were usually caused by awkwardness and embarrassment. She had seen something completely different in that smile, something she couldn’t exactly place yet. 

#

#

She arrived quietly at her apartment, carrying a bag full of groceries and flowers for her tiny garden out in the fire-escape. Her upstairs neighbor had complained about it for months, until he joined and now she shared it with him. She had plans to make the whole building to contribute to the little garden, she was almost convincing her downstairs neighbor and she was a pivotal person. 

The apartment was too quiet, unlike normally. There were always whispers of her neighbor’s thoughts echoing through the walls, the busy sounds of the streets, the shouts outside from people going by their day. 

“I know you’re here,” she shouted to her apartment, “you weren’t subtle about it.”

“I knew you wouldn’t talk to me, otherwise,” Professor rolled in. He hadn’t changed a single bit since the last time she had seen him. His clothes were the same, his bald head glistened the same way it did, and his chair was just as stoic as his face. She hated him and seeing him in her apartment only reminded her of that.

“That’s cause I don’t want to talk to you, Professor, I thought I had made myself clear,” she growled, resting the bag and the flowers on the kitchen counter. “Why are you here?”

“It has come to my knowledge you’ve been having your episodes,” he said, robotically. 

“I’m not having any episodes, I'm fine” she muttered, her back turned to Professor. She cursed Peter mentally for being a fucking snitch. Next time she saw him she was going to give him a piece of her mind. 

“You’re not,” he corrected her. As usual, she only heard him in a tone of superiority and condencense, he always knew best. “We know what happens when you let yourself go with other people’s thoughts, child.”

“Don’t call me that,” she gripped the counter, her teeth gritted and her eyes shut. Her hands felt clammy, almost slipping from the counter. She had escaped the Institute, she had sworn she would never go back, for fucking Peter to bring Professor to her again. She knew Peter did it because he was worried. It still didn’t make it sting less. “I said I’m fine, I have everything under control.”

“How long have you been taking the suppressing pills?” he asked her, his voice judgemental and cold. 

She turned around to face him for the first time. He was impossible to read, he always made sure of that. As much as she begged him to teach her how to do it, to help her block out thoughts and stop people from getting into her head, he never really did it. She had to discover for herself, and, in that, she never was as effective as him. “It’s none of your business,” she scoffed. “It’s not like I’m of any use to you anymore, Professor. I’m sure you have a brand new shiny pawn you can play with that’s even better than I was. Besides,” she added, crossing her arms on her chest, “you gave me those pills.”

“They’re for emergencies only, Y/N, not continuous use,” he shook his head at her, his piercing through hers, She looked down avoiding his gaze, her jaw tight. Her head started to feel heavy, and she didn’t know if it was his prying or something worse. “Do you remember the last time you used those same pills continuously?”

Her teeth gritted and she closed her eyes to stop him from seeing the tears accumulating in them. She looked at him, her eyes completely angry and full of hurt, “I'm a lot stronger that I was back then,” she gritted. 

“Bad things happen when you repress your power,” Professor warned, leaning on his knees. “You learned that the hard way.”

“I haven't taken them in days.” she stated, trying to keep her head focused and her voice free of emotion. Professor considered her for a moment. She could feel him prying in her head, searching for traces of a lie well told. She knew he wouldn’t find any, she told the truth, even if it was half of it. 

“I know you’re not telling everything,” he told her, his hands fiddling with the orange vial temptevely. “What are you hiding?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. When she was younger, she wouldn’t even consider behaving badly around him. Now, she knew better. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Professor. I don’t even understand why are you here,” she pointed accusingly at him. “You've done a pretty good job showing you don’t care all my life, I find it hard to believe you care now.”

His eyes found hers, as always completely unreadable. But she saw the little details, the way his jaw tightened slightly, the way his fingers opened and closed the cap of the bottle nervously. It was hard to tell if the tick was fabricated or not, she could never tell with him. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll be in touch,” he wheeled himself towards the door. 

“Please don’t,” she said clearly as he exited her apartment.

As the door closed she let a shuddery breath, laying on her couch in exhaustion. She let a couple of tears fall from her eyes, quickly drying them after. She had cried because of Professor too many times in her life, she would not cry for him one more time. 

Her phone vibrated on her back pocket. She sniffed and fished out, checking what was the cause of the notification. ‘Just arrived. Call me’ from Bucky. Her heart picked up, smiling at her phone happily. 

It rang a couple of times before he picked up. “You’re late,” she said, before he had the chance to say anything to her, “you said a couple of days.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” he breathed out, “it took longer than anticipated.”

“It’s okay,” she shook her head, a smile on her face. “The book, though, you’re gonna have to pay a fee for being late.”

He laughed at the other end of the line. “First time I ever return it late, can’t you make an exception for me?”

“I didn’t do anything, it was Tom,” she stated quickly. Her lips adorned a permanent smile, so much it barely seemed Professor had just left her apartment. They stayed quiet before anyone said anything.

“I missed you,” he whispered, her heart racing in her chest as he recited the words. 

“I missed you too,” she replied back, her voice soft and full of emotion. She tried to contain her tears, an accumulation of feelings from just before and that moment but she couldn’t. “I was so lonely, I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too, love,” he sighed on the other end of the line. She could imagine him looking down at his feet, a silly smile on his lips. His eyes were twinkling in her mind the way that melted her, he looked absolutely beautiful as usual. “Do you want to go out? I owe you 2 weeks worth of coffee.”

She looked at the ceiling, trying to contain her heart and failing miserably. “Yeah, yeah, I’d like that,” she breathed out. 

“I’ll pick you up in 20.”

She hung up the phone and got up from her couch, a silly smile on her face. Her smile soon faded after she realised what she had done. She was only off the pills for 2 days, it wasn’t enough time for her powers to normalize. Without Bucky present, the abstinence wasn’t as noticeable. Sure, she could hear everything more clearly, the music her neighbor had stucky in his head, or the busy thoughts of a random person passing on the sidewalk. But Bucky always had a thousand things in his head, and that surely would be a problem. 

She was telling the truth to the Professor. She wasn’t taking them continuously, only a couple of times a week, when Bucky’s thoughts were always the loudest. But she hadn’t told him that she had stopped so late, later than she should have. She was toeing the line again, just like she had done when she was a kid and the prospect of not listening to everyone all the time seemed too good to be true. 

A sigh escaped her lips, her heart racing inside her chest, not for the right reasons. She hoped she could control it, keep her latent power at bay just like she did everyday. It was easy to fool herself like that. She forgot how addicting Bucky could be, how wrapped up in him she would get. It was almost an experiment: how would she deal with Bucky’s mind when her power was at the most raw. She wondered if she should be curious or scared. 

Her hands sweated as she unpacked her groceries. A cold rush ran through her spine, and she remembered the symptoms she experienced the last time she was off the pills. Dread settled in her, anticipating what was about to come. She cursed Professor, her stupid mutated gene and those fucking pills. She often wondered what would have happened if she never manifested any powers, how her life would have played out. 

Then, her senses were flooded by Bucky. She whipped around to the door, seeing the shadow of his feet lingering outside. Her head felt heavy and there was a pain blooming, something much worse than the ones she’d endured when she first met him. It was a side effect, she should have expected that. She leaned on her table for a moment, trying to get used to the pain. The knock echoed through her apartment. She barely registered it, his thoughts flooding her. It was all so incoherent, flashes of yellowed memories and newer ones ran through her head. She heard her name screamed in his head over and over again, his voice whispering pet names he had given her with images of their time together. 

She opened the door and there he was, standing in front of her. He wasn’t wearing his traditional gloves, and he had dodged the leather jacket of a simple longed sleeved t-shirt pulled at his elbows. It was the first time she saw his arm being displayed so freely, so unashamedly. He wore a boyish smile on his face, holding a bouquet of yellow and purple flowers meant for her. “I brought you flowers,” he handed the bouquet to her, his eyes twinkling with a charm she hadn’t seen in him before.  “You said you wanted to expand your garden,” he justified with a shrug, his eyes on the bouquet. The smile never left his lips. 

She almost forgot about her symptoms, letting his charm encapsulate her and warm her heart. She accepted the flowers, their smell overwhelming her. She stepped aside for him to come in, he ducked his head and got in the apartment quietly. It wasn’t the first time he had been over, but it was still odd to see him in her place. It looked smaller with him in it, less lonely. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, closing the door. Her hands glued to the plastic wrapping of the flowers. She wiped her other hand on her pants, gulping nervously. If before she thought his thoughts were loud, in that moment it seemed like they were being blasted in amplifiers at maximum volume. “How’ve you been?” she stuttered, her mouth dry. 

“I’m good, good,” he laughed looking down, his hands on his pockets. She could tell he wasn’t lying, for the first time she asked him that question he actually answered it honestly.  “How are you, doll?”

She grabbed a pot and some dirt to stick the bouquet in it from the cabinet under the kitchen island. “I’m okay,” she replied quietly. Resting the supplies next to the sunflower she had just bought, a wave of nausea washed over her. She felt the color drain out of her face, feeling lightheaded. Her hands gripped tightly around the backrest of a chair, trying to not collapse to the floor. 

She heard him rush to her side, his hands supporting her. The cool touch of his metal arm was contrastant with how hot her skin felt at the moment. “You don’t look okay,” it was like he was yelling in her ear, but she knew his voice was barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

“I’m off my pills,” she gripped his forearms, her eyes shut close. She tried organizing her head, separating her own thoughts with the thoughts of others. 

“Let me get them for you,” he guided her to the couch, gently sitting her down. 

“No,” she reached for him, her voice dying in her throat. Her hold on his wrist was weak, her eyes closed. The light only worsened her headache, she couldn’t bear to open her eyes. “There’s none left.”

“What d’you mean there’s nothing left?” he asked her, his voice strained. She knew he tried to contain his worry, but it slipped out in his tone. If she wasn’t so sick, she would have appreciated his care. “It seems like something important to have.”

“Professor took ‘em,” her words slurred, “I can’t take more, Bucky.”

“Why?” he hesitated, “what happened?”

“My powers,” her jaw clenched at the sharp pain going through her head, “I just wanted to spend time with you, Bucky, but the pain…” the tears spilled from her eyes, her eyes still closed. The grip on Bucky was tight, she was holding onto him like he was her lifeline, the only thing grounding her to the real world and not her head. 

He sat beside her, his hands hovering over her, unsure of what to do. She heard a sliver of guilt going through him, and sadness overwhelmed her because of that. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. 

“No,” she shook her head, wrapping him up in her arms, “it’s my fault. You’re amazing, Bucky, and I couldn’t stay away,” her tears wet his shirt, her head resting on his shoulder snuggly. She couldn’t help but notice the safe feeling that overwhelmed her in that moment. It was almost like it was where she belonged, safe in his arms. “Your mind… it’s just so beautiful, you’re so beautiful, Bucky. And I was greedy, I wanted you to myself, even if it meant a little pain.”

“A little?” he asked, his voice laced with a sassiness she hadn’t seen before. 

She laughed quietly, looking at his face. His blue eyes were sincere, full of emotion and thoughts she could never bring herself to decipher. “A lot,” she sighed, her eyes fixated on his.  “I fell back into old habits.”

“I get it,” he assented, his eyes cast on hers, looking for something she didn’t quite know what it was. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Stay,” she whispered, her heart beating fast inside her. “Please, stay.”

And Bucky did. For the first time, someone who had met her, all of her, stayed with her. That only made her love him more. He hugged her tightly, his head resting on the crook of her neck. “I’ll stay,” he reassured her, his thumb caressing her shoulder gently, “I got you”

She mumbled ‘I’m sorry’ like a prayer on his shoulder. It was too much input, her own emotions and his blended and her tears were their escape. “I shouldn’t have unloaded this on you,” she sniffed, breaking the hug. “It’s not fair.”

“Hey,” he gently pushed her hands out of her face. Her face was swollen and her eyes were red, but she could tell he didn’t care, she heard the word ‘beautiful’ bounce around in his head. “I can take it.”

She shook her head, words unable to escape her quivering lips. “Hey, stop,” he said firmly but lovingly, “listen to me,” he grabbed her face delicately, his fingers brushing her cheeks delicately. “I can take it, doll. Trust me. I have my demons too,” he whispered, “and they don’t scare you. You don’t scare me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t look away from his eyes. The sincerity in them disarmed her completely, the little restraint she had completely gone. Her breath hitched at the sight of the glimmer in his eyes and the love in his mind. “Thank you,” she mouthed, her voice gone. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled at her, the boyish grin he had sported when he arrived back. “How about I make you some tea?” he got up, walking a few steps to the kitchen. He moved around like her tiny little flat was where he belonged. “I make a mean chamomile tea.”

She laughed quietly, her brain slowly calming down, her fever settling. “I’d like that.”

[dropintomanga]

About Fans Telling Mangaka They Read Scanlations

When creators and celebrities attend fan conventions to meet with audiences that love them, it’s often a wonderful time for everyone. However, there’s still some cases where fans have to be reminded that while it’s okay to let guests how much they love them, there’s always a limit to how much a guest can take.

This past weekend, one of manga’s top mangaka, Paru Itagaki of Beastars fame, had a panel interview at the virtual anime convention Otaquest Connect. She talked about her thought process while creating the series, her inspirations, and what she liked about the 1st season of the Beastars anime. While this was a really good interview, it’s the final words that Itagaki says that stood to me. It’s all regarding an experience that many mangaka have been through when they use Twitter and overseas fans have a chance to communicate with them.

I’m talking about when overseas fans express their feedback to mangaka on social media about weekly/monthly chapters that aren’t published in Japan due to scanlations of them being released before official Japanese street dates.

Itagaki actually mentions this in the end of the interview. She said that she gets a bunch of responses on her Twitter account from overseas fans about the latest chapters of Beastars. While she’s grateful for the support, Itagaki points out that fans are accessing them through less-than-legal means and tells fans to buy official translations if they’re available.

This is probably the first time I’ve heard a mangaka actually say something a manga publisher would say. I’ve heard anime convention stories where fans mention they read certain manga titles online at scan sites in front of representatives at manga publishers’ booths. I recalled hearing a story from Toronto Comics Art Festival 2018 when Inio Asano came and someone in the autograph line for him told Asano straight-out that they read his work online. 

Of course, it’s easy to say “Stupid fans and their entitlement over piracy!” I know there’s some trolls who think piracy is the true answer for exposure. But as a industry person I follow on Twitter was saying about how pirate sites like Kissanime/Kissmanga got huge in the 1st place, he believes that the majority of their users are innocent as those aggregator sites normalized fans’ desire to have a central hub for everything anime/manga related. The sites also diminish the value of anime and manga by raising user expectations to a somewhat insane degree. In a sense, many anime/manga fans that were using those sites were being manipulated. Add the fact that they’re usually young, impressionable and starving for attention and you have a formula that creates misunderstandings for everyone.

I do think most manga fans don’t know any better when it comes to talking to mangaka. Part of me does blame aggregator sites and also celebrity culture. Mangaka are celebrities in their own unique way, sure, but they are human beings like you and I. I think when we get a chance to interact with a celebrity via social media, fans would take any moment to express their love in all kinds of ways. Social media is supposed to reduce friction and encourage connection. However, it raises expectations in that the fan has to be satisfied at any cost. That expression of love can grow to stalking in the worst case scenario. Social media reinforces this expression with little regard to safety by continuously providing suggestions on famous people they might follow that’s relevant to their interests.

A lot of fans want someone they can relate to and or emulate. They’re not taught to look up to the people around them who make a much better impact than any celebrity can. I do know that close and immediate role models are hard to come by as many anime/manga fans tend to be social outcasts. I mean, those relationships take a long time to build, so why not go for the quick fix of building one with a famous person they like. I also think people want to appreciate someone badly and that can lead to awkward moments. 

For Beastars, I know a lot of fans can relate to the struggles of Legoshi, Haru, Louis and the rest of the cast. A good part of the internet just filters out the true reality of official-translated manga versus scanlations, thanks to aggregator sites that don’t care about the anime/manga industries. All the platforms do is provide basic answers that don’t make you think. And if you don’t think, it makes you easier to control and not ask questions that you really need to ask.

I don’t have any easy answers on how to get fans to stop talking to mangaka on Twitter about leaked/early chapter releases. You have to challenge that mindset head-on. A good place to start is to ask them questions while telling them the truth about the manga industry’s perception of scanlations. Ask those fans what compels them to tell mangaka about their new chapters. Please don’t shame or guilt-trip when they give answers that you may not like. It just encourages fans to double-down on their behavior. Let them know that they’re capable of doing the right thing or take steps to doing so. 

I also started to think about what it really means to have gratitude for someone. I’ve read stories from essential workers during the COVID-19 pandemic that don’t want to be just thanked by upper-class workers who can work from home. What they really want is actual financial support that helps them survive. Words don’t mean much when gratitude is often used by the giver as a way to feel better about themselves. In a way, a lot of people who are technically higher up in large companies use gratitude as a way to justify not giving lower-level employees increased salary raises/benefits. How many times have we heard stories about notable media sites telling writers who aren’t paid well to be grateful that they have a chance to write for a big site such as their’s?

Gratitude can be used as a way to shut someone up in cases of bad situations. It prevents change that may need to happen. Think of all the times when someone with mental health problems and mental illness is told that they should just cheer up and be grateful they’re alive when they really need their negative feelings/concerns to be validated. 

I sensed this with Itagaki as she’s bluntly pointing out what a lot of mangaka are unable (or don’t have the guts) to say on Twitter or at a convention. Honestly, if someone pirates manga, they pirate. I get it. If you can only buy a few series you really love, there’s nothing wrong with doing that. I just want fans to have better manners when it comes to talking to creators about reading their works online. You don’t need to always says thanks and/or even say anything at all. All those kind of “positive comments” do is make mangaka feel less of themselves as if their work isn’t worth paying for. As someone who dislikes the idea of chasing happiness, I think we have to discuss how positive thinking can get toxic.

In a time where everyone has an opinion about something, it’s perhaps a good time to learn what mangaka and every creator does - bask in the right kind of silence that leads to powerful actions that benefits BOTH yourself and other people with respect.

Photo Source: Otaquest Interview with Paru Itagaki (February 28, 2020)

[reicchel]

I think I didn't not realize how "sheltered" I had always been until, well, I'm not. And I mean sheltered in a good way, I mean that I had always been in a relatively healthy and understanding environment.

Like, given the fact that I most probably belong to the autistic spectrum, my social interactions were never conventional.

I used to attend a private high school so a lot of the kids were wealthy and dumb and like everything that it implies, but I had the fortune of find friends who were simple, sincere people, who shared my weird interests or had their own, who were tolerant and taught me about tolerance, who never judged me, or hurt me, or looked down on me, people who I also truly admire and that are still my friends.

And then in med school I had good classmates but the one friend I made was exactly the same as stated above.

This March I started a new stage in my life that I'm very happy to have taken, but it consists of a small team that relies on each other, so bonding is almost mandatory for it to be easy and enjoyable.

So I find these people whose main interests are... Superficial.

They only talk about fitness but like, not to be healthy, but to look better. And I hate it because they make some remarks and I'm just becoming too much aware of my own flaws and I hate it. I hate not being comfortable with myself (when i was 8 months ago). I hate comparing myself. I hate having to be in pictures with them because I don't look good. I hate that environment.

And then there's the other issue. Their idea of fun is getting drunk. Most of them are wealthy too, so they want to party. We're all around 27-31. I've never been one to party and I really don't like anything related to drunk people (I don't drink myself of course). I know they think I'm boring, and it's just like high school again. It's so stupid. In February I went to a party and I enjoyed it because people respected me. They knew I wouldn't drink, but they included me in the chat and games and we just had fun. In September I went to a party with this new team, and was offered a jelly who supposedly didn't contain alcohol, but it did. And like no, it didn't made me sick or anything. But what did they achieved? Why did they do it? What was the point? Was it fun? Funny?

I just. Today I'm just tired.

[hellzyeahwebwielingessays]

The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 19: MJ is NOT a super hero

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Mary Jane is an incredibly gifted woman who you don’t want to mess with. But do those gifts really make her a hero, one who could take on Mysterio?

I was initially planning on looking at Mary Jane’s combat record in this post. However, before doing that there needs to be a dash more context to really put things into perspective.

I could simply cite Sen v2 #32 to prove my point. In this issue the Parker family are on the run since Peter unmasked and opposed the Super Human Registration Act. At her wits end MJ contacted Sue Richards for guidance.

During their conversation MJ opens up about how stressed she is. She even refers to Sue and other heroes as ‘you people’, clearly demarking a difference between them and herself.

Sue basically tells MJ to toughen up, referencing herself, Jessica Jones and Storm, the (then) wives of Reed Richards, Luke Cage and Black Panther respectively.

However, at the end of the conversation MJ points out the difference between herself those women was that she didn’t have powers to fall back on.

There you are. MJ herself acknowledging she has no powers and is not a super hero.

End of discussion.

Well no, because we can dive much deeper.

Let me start with this irrefutable statement: Mary Jane is a bad ass.

She truly is.

Mentally, emotionally, physically, she’s pulled off some truly impressive things.

But the thing is those things she’s pulled off…they wouldn’t be that impressive (if at all) if say, Wonder Woman did them. Or She Hulk. Or Mockingbird. Or Batgirl/Barbra Gordon. Or you know…Spider-Man himself.

So why do fans gravitate towards these things, these feats of heroism, self-defence and protection of others?

Because they are impressive considering Mary Jane is NOT a super hero.

You see it’s all a matter of scale.

The Chameleon is a trained and experienced mercenary but doesn’t possess any super human powers beyond the ability to change how he looks. In what has become one of her most iconic moments, Mary Jane defeated him with a mere baseball bat. This occurred when she knew what to expect, when Chameleon was underestimating her and when he was unarmed. That is  impressive no doubt.

But were the situation the same but Batgirl was substituted for Mary Jane it wouldn’t nearly be as impressive because Batgirl, even with just a baseball bat, is at worst on a similar power level as the Chameleon. But in all seriousness is almost certainly his superior in terms of combat proficiency. She’s thoroughly trained in various forms of hand-to-hand combat, strategy, thinking on the back foot and highly experienced.

And experienced against people who’re actually much more physically dangerous than the Chameleon, such as Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy or the Joker. When you remove Chameleon’s stealth and weapons you are left with someone who is highly violent and could kill the average civilian if given the chance…but ultimately not someone as dangerous as most of the famous super villains from Marvel or DC.

If anything arming Batgirl with a baseball bat would be needlessly excessive, she could defeat Chameleon with just some punches or kicks.

Now apply that same scenario but substitute in Mockingbird, who can dent steel with her bare hands and has an accelerated healing factor and arguably superior fighting skills to Batgirl. Or how about She-Hulk, someone with vastly more strength, an even better healing factor and immensely more durability. And as Wonder Woman…she is literally a millennia old demi-goddess with divinely empowered durability, strength and speed, fast enough in fact to easily deflect bullets. *

If you were told any of these  women defeated the Chameleon with ‘just a baseball bat’ would you  be impressed? Would you feel that’s a huge accomplishment for any of them?

Of course not.

Because on even an incredibly rudimentary power scale common sense would clearly define for you that Chameleon wouldn’t be a physical threat to any of them.

Because they are actual super heroes wit either physically enhanced physiologies or advanced equipment or highly practiced expert level combat training.

The reason MJ dispatching the Chameleon has been celebrated for over 20 years is because none of that applies to her.

Let’s unpack exactly  what MJ does and doesn’t have in her arsenal.

Mary Jane lacks any bona fide super human abilities or advanced combat training.

She has experienced being targeted directly by criminals or being caught up in criminal encounters. But these are intermittent experiences resulting from either her association with people the criminals have a grudge against (typically Spider-Man) or plain bad luck. She does not regularly  in her day-to-day life deal with such things nor does she even deal with them on a weekly basis in her life. If she does they are likely the result of simply living in Marvel’s version of New York city, which thereby means most of her experiences are the same as the average resident of the city.

Apart from these intermittent experiences (and exempting her seeking help from others) the traits she possesses that might (in one capacity or another) be applicable in a dangerous situation are as follows:

She is a physically fit woman approximately aged between 24 and her mid-30s. But nowhere close to being Olympic athlete levels of fitness. 

Excerpt from ‘The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe: Spider-Man 2004’

In terms of conventional/stereotypical beauty standards she is generally considered to be stunningly attractive. She is 5’8” and weighs in at 120 lbs. Her outward appearance then could potentially be used to make her would-be assailants underestimate her or even be dazzled by her beauty as a distraction

Mary Jane is not blind to the harsher realities of life and has developed proficient street smarts. But it’s not like she knows where to find stool pigeons and how to go about shaking them down for information, nor the inner workings of the criminal underworld.

She is a skilled actress particular practiced at adopting the façade of a seemingly carefree and simple party girl

She is at worst rather experienced when it comes to flirtation. Arguably we could extrapolate this into her being decent at general seduction but that’s debatable

She has good at improvising

She is exceptionally skilled in social interactions

She has a pretty decent ability to read people’s personalities, but is not a fully trained psychologist or any similar field that’d make her an expert at reading people very quickly and taking advantage of them as a result

She has certain basic self-defence skills gleamed from classes most people can attend

She has had at exactly one basic training session with Captain America, where the focus was more upon mental discipline and focus. The session never implied he taught her any practical self-defence moves and the session was geared more to instructing Peter  not Mary Jane.

She has demonstrated/developed certain basic and unrefined (albeit often proficient) self-defence skill. These primarily consist of using melee weapons (typically objects not actually designed for such a purpose, like baseball bats) and to a lesser extent firearms, and to an even lesser extent hand-to-hand attacks. Mary Jane for instance has never been shown to practice using a handgun, although she does know how. She can slug someone in the jaw, but she’s never been shown to have trained how to do that, you see what I am getting at.

Technically speaking she possesses a pair of bracelets that are modified web-shooters, along with a set of regular web-shooters. 

The former have a limited amount of web-fluid and are designed to stall a target, with the aim being for Mary Jane to surprise her assailant and buy time to escape, not engage in an outright fight. She has been shown to rarely carry either of these on her person though and there is no implication she has them in Amazing Mary Jane #1. Additionally since she is on set it would be unlikely that she’d be allowed to wear them as they wouldn’t be part of her on outfit for the movie.

Along with most of New York she has possessed identical powers to Spider-Man (in addition to organic based web-shooters) for less than 24 hours, during which time she displayed a proficiency in using them (due to bad writing, literally no one struggled to adjust to the use of Spider-Man’s powers). She has never possessed these powers again since, and this includes in AMJ.

On a handful of occasions she has piloted various different advanced armoured suits designed by Tony Stark. These have chiefly included his rudimentary MKII armour and the Iron Spider armour originally designed for Peter’s use. 

In both she demonstrated proficient defence skills. It is not clear how easy the armours are to use so whether MJ’s proficiency was due to a natural skill or due to the armour’s design is debatable. Regardless there is no indication she regularly has access to this technology and certainly not in AMJ.

MJ possesses incredibly strong willpower and understands the need for self-sacrifice, demonstrating in her time a willingness to give something of her self for the good of others. This could be important in regards to protecting other people.

As you can see MJ’s skillset is impressive for a civilian.

But some instances (like the Stark armours she’s donned) make the depths of her skills unclear. The most advanced equipment she has access to are her web-shooters but she is shown to only use or even carry them on occasion. In both cases she is not shown to have access to either in AMJ. Her other skills are things anyone in real life could hypothetically possess and in fact several other civilians in the Marvel universe either do possess or could possess.

What I'm saying is Mary Jane is, by any metric, a civilian.

A civilian who knows how to use a gun, has had cause to defend her self dozens of times and is very good at thinking on her feet. But a civilian nevertheless.

She has the spirit to cut it as a superhero but not without powers, training or access to advanced equipment like Iron Man’s armour. None of which she currently possesses or has access to in AMJ.

When you get right down to it the reason we fans celebrate whenever Mary Jane triumphs or survives or even just pulls off some good moves against a criminal or super villain is because we understand she is ultimately the underdog.

We grasp that it’s innately more impressive for someone in the featherweight division to even hold their own for a little while against someone in the heavyweight division because normally they wouldn’t stand a chance and we are naturally inclined to be sympathetic towards them.**

This isn’t exclusive to Mary Jane by any means, underdog stories date back to the Bible itself with the classic tale of David and Goliath.

To use an example closer to home though, in ASM #229-230 Spider-Man had to stop the Juggernaut, a villain whose strength and durability had given him a reputation as unstoppable. He regularly tangled with the Hulk and was over all far beyond Spider-Man’s weight class. The story is widely regarded as one of the all time best in Spider-Man history, primarily because  it is such a shining example of an underdog story.

Such stories are fairly common in super hero comic books, but so too is the popularity of civilian supporting characters that contend with outright super villains and criminals.

Alfred Pennyworth is utterly beloved within the Batman fandom with his attempts and successes at dealing with Batman’s infamous rogues celebrated. The same goes for Edwin Jarvis, sometimes celebrated as the bravest of all the Avengers. Jarvis’ popularity is such he was in fact the main character of the milestone 400th issue of the Avengers. And to use a closer equivalent to MJ, Lois Lane’s moments of skill, toughness and bravery in the face of danger are celebrated within Superman circles.

NONE of these characters are super heroes. Even Alfred, who (in most modern incarnations) has some military history, is still a more elderly gentleman thereby accentuating his vulnerability and making his victories all the larger.

With that out of the way, we now have the appropriate context to start examining some instances of MJ defending herself.

* And what about Spider-Man himself? Has he not tangled with Chameleon often? Is it not usually impressive whenever he defeats him? Indeed it is…but rarely whenever Spider-Man physically  over powers him. 

Because we readers are very aware that Spider-Man is physically stronger and faster than the Chameleon and his other powers give him yet more physical advantage over him. 

In fact a poignant Chameleon storyline entailed Chameleon (in disguise) tricking Spider-Man into removing  his powers and thereby rendering him vulnerable.

Even then, the Chameleon opted to hire muscle (mainly muscle with super powers) to take on Spider-Man rather than fight him personally.

Chameleon’s awareness of Spidey’s superior might is arguably the reason he recruited physically powerful Kraven the Hunter in ASM v1 #15 (Kraven’s debut and Chammy’s second outing). 

Spidey’s victories over Chameleon are impressive or cathartic not because Peter overpowers him physically, but does so mentally. This is in fact showcased in the very same storyline that Mary Jane famously took a bat to Chammy’s cranium; specifically Spec #243.

In this story, Chameleon (in the guise of Doctor Kafka) uses drugs and makeup to trick Spider-Man into believing he is someone else. However, drawing upon his will power and affection for his loved ones Peter breaks free of Chameleon’s trap.

**And I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that a part of that for at least some fans is the fact that Mary Jane is a woman doing such things, and a female love interest to boot.

Stereotypically women aren’t superheroes or action heroes, and stereotypically love interests are the ones in need of saving, not the ones saving themselves or others.

For some fans this appreciation of stereotypes being subverted can come from a bad place. “Mary Jane just beat a super villain even though she’s a chick!”

For others the appreciation can be viewed as empowering. To perhaps reveal a stereotypical view of my own, I imagine female readers would constitute the majority of this category, although in theory anyone who feels like an underdog or perhaps vulnerable could resonant with MJ’s victories.

Finally there are definitely some readers who appreciate these examples because they are just plain refreshing.

And of course some people might just like Mary Jane in general so seeing her shine in some capacity could do it for them.

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[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Iyla!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER with the faceclaim of  Tom Payne! We’re so excited you’ve decided to apply for a second character, as Caradoc has brought so much to the game! We really enjoyed how you included the differences between Caradoc and Mundungus and how that will affect writing and plot. Also, the slang terms were just delightful! 

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME:: Ilya

AGE: 32

TIMEZONE: GMT+1

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m pretty much still in the same situation as before. I don’t have yet a set schedule, but lately I’m trying to be more consistent with the time I dedicated to replies. I still fully intend to aim for more than a post a week!

ANYTHING ELSE: No specific triggers or squicks!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Mundungus Fletcher

AGE: 31 (June 17th, 1950)

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY:  Demi male. He/Him pronouns. Bisexual.

Mundungus doesn’t have a problem with the gender he was assigned at birth, but if he were to be perfectly honest he wasn’t sure it fitted him perfectly. He sees it more as a well-worn dress that while it won’t sit comfortably it is at least familiar.

As for sexual attraction, he noted from a young age that he was attracted to more than one gender and has never made a big secret out of it. But he knows when he needs to be discreet about it.

BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

Officially, Mundungus is a halfblood. That’s what one would find written on his Ministry file, and that’s what he says when anyone asks. But he has Goblin blood on his mother’ side, making him a half-breed (¼ Goblin).

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: Low Level member of the Order. Previously an Affiliate.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

‘But when all is said and all is done / Jefferson has beliefs. Burr has none.’

Far from being Aaron Burr, nonetheless, this passage came to me when I first thought how to describe Mundungus’ personality and it stuck because of the simple fact that Mundungus is the opposite of Caradoc.

Where Caradoc has a strong sense of morality and personal responsibility, Mundungus has little to no morals. He is ultimately someone who has no care for society and its rules, be it laws or social conventions, and has a somewhat cynical view about life. 

Yet, he never lets this stop him from fully enjoying life. If anything, seeing the ugliness in the world makes him do everything he can to savour the good and beauty in it with a carefree attitude. In a way, he shrugs everything off because in the end he won’t let himself be tied down by things that are of no consequence for him. And thus makes interacting with him, when being on good terms, a fun experience, if somewhat chaotic.

Because of his lack of regard for social conventions and laws, he often acts antagonistic towards law enforcements and people that work for the government and in general showing a rebellious attitude when it comes to respecting authority.

He’s also far from being the crusader that Caradoc is. Fundamentally, he is  a coward, always looking to save his own skin. Looking for any way to avoid pain, imprisonment, impoverishment, no matter what he has to do for it. Even, say, rob the dead or sell light drugs to teenagers or jinx someone in the back.

On the other side of that coin is loyalty. While he would never stake his life for ideals, for a group of people like Muggleborns or Goblins, not even to avoid living in a world run by Death Eaters, he would for that one person he is loyal to. Bound to fealty, one could say loyalty gets in the way of his cowardice more than the other way around.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

A sound mistrust of wixen and the name he was stuck with was all that Dardanos Datchery, manager of young witches with talent and too much trust for their own good, contributed to his son’s life. Mundungus has never known his father aside from the tales he heard from others, and no matter how pink his mother’s glasses were with which she looked back on her past with the wizard, it was clear he was a piece of dragon dung and someone better not to have in his life.

His grandmother, Cleometra Fletcher, was his role model and teacher. She taught him all he knew about conning people and picking pockets, and the two were thick as thieves—pun intended. Despite being a witch herself, she also taught him to mistrust anyone and everyone and to rely solely on himself to live his life successfully.

While officially, she was an ‘artifact dealer’, everyone in the underworld, and a few figures in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement knew that many of the artifacts were stolen and part of the illegal deals. Still, she lived to be a free old witch, still pulling a smuggling stint now and then.

More than a decade ago, his mother, Calypso Fletcher, had been known in the Wizarding High Society and all those theatre-loving wix, as Kallisto Datchery. A stunning beauty and astonishing actress, London had fallen in love with her. Wixen desired her and when all their attempts were rewarded only by smiles and giggles, maybe the occasional cheeky kiss, then rumours started floating around that maybe it was all a trick. She had to be a Veela; that was everyone’s guess, incapable to accept she could be a common witch or better: that she was actually part Goblin. 

She had left that world behind, finding it too fake and her part in it a role too suffocating to carry without killing a part of herself, and exchanged it for an old rickety theatre that had seen all of his chairs empty and her family. She taught her son the love of theatre and being on its stages, but most importantly she taught him about courage and family when she chose to reconnect with her own mother and to be one to Mundungus. A mother who was there for him, always, and would teach him about life and its trick, even if it meant to leave behind her fame and the man she had loved for so many years. It was worth it, and she proved it to him—always making sure he felt loved and safe.

OCCUPATION:

Mundungus’ dream was to become an actor, and once he graduated from Hogwarts he was sure he’d make acting his career. Only, it didn’t turn out quite like that. He spent six months auditioning, both in the Wizarding and Muggle world, but each time he was passed over for someone else. When he tried improv and little open shows, he was booed out of the stage and ended up banned by the manager from ever going back because of how bad his acting was.

Still, not wanting to give up, he worked as crew in the theatre for a while before being thrown out for substituting a sick actor and causing the whole show to get what is considered the worst review on The Daily Prophet since its first publication.

After that, he found help in Aberforth Dumbledore that let him work at the Hog’s Head Inn as a bartender for a while. But that job, too, ended when Aberforth discovered that Mundungus sold alcohol and other illegal substances to Hogwarts students. He was fired and banned from ever entering the pub again, a ban still standing.

So, he made crime his primary job. From pickpocketing to little cons, from burglaries to elaborate con schemes. All while still trying to audition, sure that one day he’d get his break. Other jobs, bartending, shop keeping, all were part-time, just something to give to the Twiggies* and the Minnies** when they questioned him about some inquiry on criminal activities. “I ain’t anything to do with that, guv. I was doing me job.”

Since coming back from Paris, in the summer of ‘81, he’s back to holding just a part-time job. Right now he’s looking for a new one, someplace he can be helpful to the Order.

*Twiggies = slang term for Aurors. **Minnies = slang term for Ministry Employees.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Low Level member. He used to be an Affiliate.

Albus Dumbledore started approaching him early on, before the Order was the proper organisation that it is today. Mundungus refused back then. How dare a pureblood wizard approach him for help, not even offering anything in return?

But Dumbledore tried again, after he ended up in trouble with Aberforth Dumbledore and got banned from the Hog’s Head Inn, only to be turned down once more. And then again and again and again, but each time the Order of the Phoenix was something that Mundungus wanted to have nothing to do with. What good could wizards do, anyway? So he would return any favour he owed Old D and then parted ways.

Then came 1971 and things truly got dire for Mundungus, Albus helped him once more.  This time, he didn’t know how to repay him if not by working for the old bag of socks steadily. Mundungus ‘joined’ the Order in an affiliate capacity, taking orders given directly by Old D and him alone—he wasn’t going to be ordered around by any other wizards, thank you very much.

As the years passed and the war escalated, Mundungus found a new motivation to be in the Order. 

In May 1981, he went to Paris and considered staying there, enjoying life away from the war. But he found that while his instincts told him to rebel against Old D’s rule—why should he take orders from him and do anything he said?—loyalty commanded him that he went back. So, when everything turned a mess in France, he rejoined the Order with his loyalty to Albus Dumbledore going hand-in-hand with the feeling that the war had now grown personal.

So he, begrudgingly, moved out from the shadows of being just an affiliate, to take a deeper and more meaningful step into the Order of the Phoenix, deciding that he’ll show them, he’ll show all of them—Death Eaters, Order and Ministry alike—who was better here.

His role is to gather information from the Wizarding underworld about Death Eaters and anything of interest. He also provides the Order with illegal items, or things they want to keep under the radar of the Death Eaters and the Ministry, much like his counterpart, Lucinda Talkalot, provides for the legal ones. 

He is also very skilled at undercover work, though, sadly, every time he tries to show someone he’s just rubbish at it. Yet, he still comes from tales he could have only heard or seen if he had been in the room where it happened.

SURVIVAL:

He is squatting at 133, High Holborn Street, London, the old building of the now abandoned British Museum Station of the London Underground. Having fitted the building with all the spells necessary to make sure no Muggles or passing-by Wixen could find him, Mundungus is the only person living inside. The only other tennant is the Egyptian ghost of Nefertiri, who resides in the old tunnels underneath but sometimes pops up just to scream at him when she feels particularly cross or happy or bored.

Mundungus Fletcher would be the last person one could see risking their own lives for something like the Order of the Phoenix, and this is because he hardly ever appears to stick his neck out for anyone but himself, often disapparating out of a situation at the first sign of danger. He is vocal about his lack of care for society at large, and he has never let his air of indifference break in public.

He also knows how to lay low and disappear when needed, along with knowing how to make oneself useful. When it comes to criminal enterprises, he doesn’t discriminate against clients. After all, making sure his hands are on multiple pies is how he gets the Order the information they need, and how he gets his cake and eats it too.

It helps that people underestimate him. He is notoriously such a terrible actor, banned from numerous stages, that no one would ever think the witch in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, seated strategically close to hear a very important conversation, is actually Mundungus Fletcher.

RELATIONSHIPS:

For all Mundungus’ indifference and dislike of an entire group of people, when things get on a person-to-person level, he can grow quite attached to people without meaning to. Yet, this still doesn’t stop to sometimes take advantage of them or drag them into his own schemes, no matter how ill-advised that is. He is a mischief-maker, though he prefers to be backstage of his own tricks most of the time when it comes to pranks—all to avoid the possible ire of his victims.

Because he is never one to wallow on bad and sad things, he often tries to cheer people up, even if it’s just so he doesn’t have to be around misery, and tries to always find something to laugh about. He cares little to nothing if he is the focus of ridicule, since he has learned to let insults wash by him without having his pride or feelings hurt by them.

While in the past he kept his distance from the other members of the Order, now that he has committed to being a member, he doesn’t keep himself apart any longer. If anything, he’s compensating a bit, trying to get into people’ spaces so they know he’s not going anywhere.

Albus Dumbledore: Mundungus has mixed feelings about Old D. He’s grateful, of course, for the favours the old wizard has done for him in the past and especially the latest one, that allowed him back in the British Isles and back into the Order. But it’s a resentful kind of gratitude, even now. Still, even with the resentment, the distrust he still feels towards the man and being a coward himself, he is never going to betray the man. He can’t promise he’ll stop stealing his socks, though.

Lu Travers: It had all started with an “I owe you.” Lu got him out of a very sticky situation with the French and ever being one to stand this sort of debt, Mundungus found himself helping them get into the British Pureblood Society and passing for one of those old sacks of entitlement and perpetual stink under their noses. At first, he hated how that shiny world got another Muggle-born to fall for it, but then he found himself drawn into this way past what he had owed Lu. Truly, it was beyond him what they saw into that shiny world, especially because despite (and because of) the quarrels, jabs and insults, he was growing to like them. But a promise was a promise, and this might turn into his best con yet.

Other possible connections:

Adonis Carrow: It happened and still does, that from time to time, Mundungus comes in possession of some fine artifacts which he would much rather not have found on his person. The thing is, often he needs someone to tell him what they are and how much they are worth, and maybe even help him find someone that might be interested in buying them.

Alice Longbottom: One might say it’s a side effect of being in line of work that Mundungus and Alice are to ending up crossing each other paths. He was used to getting stopped, now and then, to make sure he wasn’t somewhere doing something that law said he shouldn’t be doing. Sometimes the person on the other side of the table was Alice Longbottom, and he was always amused to play the part of someone that didn’t know what this twiggie got up to when off the clock. Just as she had to pretend not to know what he did for the Order. Still, he really didn’t want to test her acting skills, if she ever were to catch him for one his personal missions

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I don’t have any set ship. Like for Caradoc and as a general rule, I do prefer to ship chemistry. But I do want to point out that no matter how it can come off, I am categorically NOT shipping Mundungus and Dumbledore (either brother).

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Since childhood, the whispers and rumors of what he was have followed him along with all the chosen insults that were hurled his way. Half-breed. Half wizard and half-anything they could imagine, anything that could be demeaning and hurtful.

His grandmother taught him to not to care much for those insults and to take revenge by making fools out of those wizards.

Because of those past experiences Mundungus has a lot of prejudices against wizardkind: they all think themselves better than any other kinds. The one exception that he makes are muggle-borns, which he sees more as fellow half-breeds. Until, of course, they also get corrupted by that same thinking. Just as some Squibs have been. 

He tends to use his own prejudices as reasoning and justification for his cons. If wizards are so much better than others, they ought to prove it, don’t they? How can they be better, though, if they keep falling for his cons?

These heavy prejudices are reinforced by the one privilege that Mundungus has in the Wizarding World: being able to pass as a halfblood wizard. His looks are not so distinct that they draw attention, and his Ministry file reports ‘halfblood’ in the field ‘blood status’. While, of course, some still think themselves better than Mundungus, it’s impossible not to notice how differently they behave with him when it’s halfblood instead of halfbreed.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

As I mentioned, I usually avoid Marauders Era RPs but Mundungus was my first love. Especially because I like to challenge people’s idea of who he is. Yes, he’s the amoral, cowardly thief we see in the books, but I also think that Mundungus is someone that has lost a lot. Lost friends and probably lost himself.

Watching the movies we tend to forget how young the marauders were when they met their demise, and how many of those that were in the Order died or disappeared. Who was left? Mundungus was, and I think surviving took its toll on him.

I look forward to playing him during the war with a destiny that is not set in stone. Maybe someone could teach him some morals, or give this Cowardly Lion a bit of courage. Who knows.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

In terms of character-related plots, I’d love for Mundungus to start becoming loyal not just to Dumebledore but others within the Order. Seeing his cowardice tested time after time by this newfound loyalty, too.

Having Mundungus create a bit of ‘innocent’ chaos, by helping people with pranks and agree with any conspiracy theory it comes his way: the more absurd the better.

ANYTHING ELSE?

He’s a Gemini and a Slytherin: https://hp-aesthetic.tumblr.com/post/146954905907/gemini-slytherin-moodboard-slytherin-geminis

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

Growing up with his grandmother, a thief, Mundungus came to learn everything there was to know about surviving on the streets of the Wizarding Underworld, while his mother, a stunningly beautiful half-goblin actress, taught him to love the theatre. His dream was to become an actor, but alas every time he tried, he ended up botching the part so badly that even today, people are still recovering from the failure and second-hand embarrassment they’d felt that night. Yet, away from the limelight, Mundungus was a master of working under cover. He could transform himself completely and pass for a whole different person, conning people out of their money and any valuable information for future schemes. Unfortunately, because of the secretive nature of this particular stage, no one would ever know how great of an actor he truly was. Being, in fact, so good that, but for a few exceptions, no one ever even noticed they had been conned by Mundungus Fletcher. His face stayed a plain one, easily forgotten, and never associated with any of the many aliases he used. Never, until: Albus Dumbledore.

Flattered by the recognition but holding too much distrust of wixen, Mundungus turned down each of Albus’ offers to join the Order of the Phoenix and worked for the man only sporadically, when a favour was owed. The cause he believed in, why wouldn’t he want a fair and equal world? But because of his resentment against Dumbledore and those wixes pretending to care about the lives of halfbreeds, he only showed up to take his orders and carry them out—seemingly—reluctant. Nonetheless, whenever he succeeded in one of his missions, he couldn’t help feeling relieved and satisfied. Almost proud.

PRESENT:

After almost a decade working for Dumbledore, something big happened. Something that could cost him his freedom, perhaps life. Albus offered to help him—in return for a favour. A big one. Bigger than any other ever before. So it became clear to Mundungus that it was time to call it quits. Time to leave Britain, to take his mother away from all this violence and to give her the life she deserved. Paris seemed a much nicer place, despite the French, and it offered new opportunities. Yet, much like Leprechaun Gold—even though at first it had felt good to be out of the oppressive shadow of war—the world there felt lackluster. The novelty of conning French fools soon wore off, and Mundungus became sloppy with his work. For the first time in his life, he felt bored and nostalgic. And the Order and its cause simply wouldn’t leave his mind. The threat of Death Eaters and their vicious plans for the Wizarding World had not reached Paris at that time, it didn’t affect him, but still he couldn’t shake the memories of his time as an affiliate for the Order. Yet for a man with little pride, he had just enough to stop him from taking the first Portkey back. He couldn’t go back to Dumbledore and the Order, no matter how he missed them both. Hence, when a young Muggleborn needed his help to con the Pureblood Society of Britain, he gladly jumped on the opportunity to go back home. To his mother it was obvious that Mundungus had only waited for such an opportunity to arise, an excuse to finally accept Albus’ offer after all, but Mundungus insisted that he was being selfless, and solely doing this for the young Muggleborn in distress. Either way, he returned to Britain, let Albus wash his name white and in return paid his debt: he joined the Order of the Phoenix.

FC CHOICES: Tom Payne. Taron Egerton. Michael Socha.

I like how Tom’s face has this youthfulness about it despite his age. I like to think Mundungus’ face has this same quality of looking old and young at the same time, making it a little difficult to guess his age.

[lil-nest]

TU vs VOUS, a quick guide

Hello, French learning friends! I’ve seen many people try and often fail to explain when you should use “tu” or “vous” in French, and for the longest time, I couldn’t find a reliable rule myself. However, a completely unrelated Ted Talk about communication and collaboration in human society helped me finally put my finger on the underlying pattern I could sense but not explain.

Now, before we begin, this post will be long. It is a “quick” guide not because reading it will be quick, but because once you have read it, deciding between “tu” and “vous” will (hopefully) be quick.

Introduction: On communication and collaboration in human society

First, as soon as I find the link again, there shall be a link in this sentence to the Ted talk I mentioned, it is mildly relevant to this introduction, completely irrelevant to French politeness in general, and pretty cool regardless.

Okay, so. Do you know what is super cool about human society? Our ability to communicate and then cooperate with total strangers with the help of social scripts. And it’s not even just basic cooperation like handed a bill to a cashier in exchange for a liter of milk. For example: last month, I was sick. So I went to the doctor. It was my first time meeting this particular doctor. And yet, before we even met, we had managed to agree to a meeting time. Then, I let a complete stranger poke at my throat and ears, trusting that he would not hurt me. Meanwhile, he put his finger near my very numerous and sharp teeth, trusting that I would not bite him.

Crazy right? You will probably answer “of course not!”. Because society has taught us that it is (most often) safe for Patients to let themselves be poked by Doctors, and that it is (usually) safe for Doctors to poke Patients without fear of being attacked.

Now, what you must remember for the rest of this is the way I capitalized Doctor and Patient. Because despite being both complete and complex people, for the duration of this appointment we were interacting as a Doctor and a Patient. We were both filling social roles in a socially scripted situation, and everything went smoothly because we both trusted the other would do it too.

There is, of course, another type of interaction, which happens between two people who know each other, (mostly) off the script, where things go smoothly because we know each other, and can predict what the other wild want, do or say and act accordingly. For example, if my sister decides to poke my cheeks, I trust that she won’t hurt me, because I know her, and she trusts that I will be careful not to harm her when I swat her hand away.

You see how different those two situations are? Situations like my visit to the doctor will be put into one big category of “Society is what enables us to trust and cooperate” and situations like my play-fight with my sister will be “Personal connection is what enables us to trust and cooperate” (There are probably real sociologic words for these things, but my knowledge comes mainly from science popularization, which often shies away from big words)

This distinction is important, because people are incredibly complex, and there is neither enough power nor enough storage space in our brains to consider every single person we interact with like Complex People. Instead, we create roles and stereotypes (some of which are bad, most of which are necessary - try to live your lives refusing to assume the nicely dressed people with silver plates in the restaurant are the waiters).

How do I get tu vs vous from this?

Well it’s easy, just ask yourself: Are we talking/interacting as Complex People or as Social Roles?

If you are talking as People, use “tu”. If you are talking as Social Roles, use “vous”.

Examples:

*)Checking out milk at the corner store. You are customer #172, they are Cashier #3, use “vous”.

UNLESS the cashier happens to be your BFF. Then, upon seeing them, your first thought will not be “This is a Cashier” but “This is my Friend, who happens to be a cashier”. Even though the situation should call for Social Roles, your brain overrides this by pointing out the Person hidden behind the Role: you should probably use “tu”.

*)Talking to your BFF: this is your BFF. You know each other like the back of your hands. “tu” is your best choice.

UNLESS you want to be very formal, but using vous for your BFF is like calling your husband “mister”. It’s funny if you’re doing it ironically, otherwise it will make the people around you feel like they are in Victorian England.

*)you just joined a knitting club: use “vous”, but because clubs are about socializing, you will most likely be told to use “tu”, and be quietly expected to tell people to call you “tu” too -in general, if someone tells you to use “tu”, especially during introductions, it’s better to reciprocate - this is because while you found the club thanks to Social Roles, the people in the club wish to become Complex People with other members, so you use “tu” not because you are already a complex person to these people, but because they are allocating the space in their brain for you to become one once you have gotten to know each other.

In a way, “tu” vs “vous” is a lot like first name vs last name vs title + last name. But since first/last name conventions are wildly different from country to country the comparison isn’t very helpful. Just note that usually in France, the people you call “tu” are the same people you call by first name, and the people you call “vous” are the same people you call “mister/miss/missus X” (note that “mademoiselle”, the French word for “miss”, is best avoided until you’re confident in your knowledge of the hows and whys of it, for reasons related to sexism which I will not get into because this post is long enough, just use “madame” for all women and if they don’t like it they’ll ask you to call them mademoiselle instead, no big deal)

Now if you only wanted the rule of thumb you may stop here, but I also added a bit about how and when mixing them might offend people, and another about exceptions and ambiguous cases, if you’re curious.

When and how choosing the wrong pronoun(?) will offend

Before I start on the exceptions, let me give you a general idea of what happens when you get it wrong, so you can decide what risks to take when you hesitate.

Now, obviously, in most cases, messing up will just result in being kindly told to use the other one, because causing a scene about it is most often a rude thing to do, especially if the person you are talking to is aware that you are not a native speaker. BUT regardless of how the other person reacts, the confusion might make them feel upset, and we’re trying to avoid that because we are kind people.

Now, if you call “tu” someone who was expecting you to call them “vous”, they will feel disrespected. The idea is that calling someone “tu” is a sign of familiarity and knowing each other. The person will feel as though you think yourself much closer to them than you actually are. In the words I used earlier, calling someone “tu” is claiming you are interacting with them as Real Complex People. If the person you’re talking to was just seeing you - and wanted you to see them - as a Social Role (Coworker, or Neighbour, or Literal Stranger Asking For The Time) they will feel as though you are trying to force yourself in a private social circle you weren’t invited in. This is why common responses (or internal rant) to being wrongfully called “tu” are along the lines of “you don’t KNOW me” or “I’m not your friend”.

For those it might interest (fic writers) asking someone to call you “vous” when they used to call you “tu” is a way of saying “we are now strangers” with irreproachable formality. Think of the Drama. Also if you feel like someone is acting in an overly familiar manner with you, ask them politely to call you “vous”. If they’re decent people and didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, they will understand the underlying request and correct their behavior. If they cause a scene, treat them like you would treat a guy who makes a scene because a girl in the street refused to give him her number.

However, if you call “vous” someone who expected you to call them “tu”, it is generally less likely to offend, because like all things concerning human relationships, if one person feels close to another, but the other doesn’t, the two people are considered “not close”. It might lead to disappointment or hurt, though, because being called “vous” when you were expecting “tu” means the other person doesn’t feel as close to you as you expected, and it can be a bit disheartening.

Note that that situation is different from the situation where you are a stranger to the other person but they ask you to call them “tu” because they wish to make the Social Role situation into a Complex People situation, or at least pretend to do so (this is most often seen at work, when your boss asks you tu call them “tu” for “team morale” or stuff, or things like vacation camps and stuff where the guides ask you to call them “tu” to avoid making the trip feel stiff and formal). In this situation the person you’re talking expected you to call them “vous” and hence do not have any kind of hurt feelings.

Exceptions and ambiguous cases

Now that you know the basics, let me tell you about all the ways everything I just told you is wrong. I mean, us French have several proverbs about how our all the rules in our language have exceptions, and this one has plenty.

The first exception is kids. My only advice for kids is “do your best not to use pronouns to them until you’ve heard someone else do it”. The general rule is that at least until they’re teenagers kids should call all non-friends “vous” and everyone should call kids “tu”. For teenagers you do literally whatever you want - people who call teenager “vous” usually do it in order to say “I take you seriously and I don’t think you deserve less respect than an adult”. Some teenagers see this and are happy about it, but you might get mocked. Also, note that more uptight and traditional families will expect their kids to be called “vous” - this might be useful to remember if you become an Au Pair or something.

The second related exception is post-BAC/university students. There the rules are simple:

-your classmates are all “tu”. Yes, even if you’ve never talked to them because your “class” if a “promotion” of 100 people. If they’re in the classroom with you and not teaching it’s “tu”. An exception might be made if you are An Actual Adult who went back to school as opposed to a Young Adult who never left it, but they tend to insist on being called “tu” too. Fellow students who are not in your class are will probably not care. Most student will go with “tu” in that wase, but I usually go with “vous” because being overly formal is how I cope with social anxiety.

-PhD students who do teaching for lower grade students (I think in the US they’re called TAs?) will call them “tu”. Lower grade student will decide on “tu” or “vous” depending on whether the PhD student is acting like “I Am Your Teacher” or “I Am An Older Student Here To Share My Knowledge”. If you hesitate “vous” will not be out of place.

-Teachers will expect to be called “vous” and whether they call students “tu” or “vous” is a coin flip. If the teacher calls you “tu” and is just being friendly, let them, but if they are being uncomfortably familiar with your, don’t hesitate to put an entitled expression and very formally ask them to call you “vous”. If they’re decent they won’t cause a scene, if they get angry it should be an alarm bell. (see above section). Once again, people who are not Young Adults will be called “vous”, even by teachers who call the Young Adults “tu”. (There might be something uncool about the way young adults who are students get treated like teenagers more than like other adults, but often they don’t consider themselves “real grown-ups” either, and either way it’s not the point of the post)

The third exception is about hierarchy: sometimes someone who is above you in a hierarchical environment will feel entitled to call you “tu” while demanding to be called “vous”. In any context other than university this is disrespectful and you should know it. It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable calling them out, but know that you deserve better.

Ambiguous situations are usually either:

a)”We only interact via society roles but we do it often and a lot so we befriended each other and now we don’t know whether to keep using “vous” or switching to “tu”” - this is often the case among coworkers who slowly got to know each other. It’s best to have a conversation about it, even though it might feel a little awkward.

b)You are introduced to someone via a common friend, but you do not have a relationship with the person outside of the common friend. The best-known case if your In-laws -once again, just ask.

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

make no mistake, i have no intention of using those words in my own speech day to day, but trying to codify penalties for their usage instead of just, you know, having normal societal pressure against them (where friends/family or neighbors attempt to correct behavior) is far, FAR better than idk the police yoinking 800 pounds out of your bank account because you taught a dog to lift one foreleg to piss off your girlfriend.

anon just wants to say nigga and not feel guilty about dehumanizing props to his entitlement within his environs

politeness and social conventions are such bullshit lmao

i interact with so many people who i feel are just doing the polite thing to me

lord, i love it when i speak to other humans who respect me and i sense it.

i actually respect people who dont hide how they truly feel about me because it saves me the trouble of having to question and study responses of the polite ones like you irl.

ACtually no, most of the time it’s randos who make it known how they percieve in passing on the street, so maybe not. lol

aghhhh

I can’t say it hurts or really bothers me. I guess im annoyed, if anything. Because it screams how much you only give a shit about ANYTHING if only because something you CAN do but confers a sort of consequence for it that begs comprehension of WHY, bothers you into political action to return to a state of nihilistic Not Ever Giving A Shit. It’s literally juvenile.

[sovinly]

Notes on ‘the mist that cloaks the river, the clouds that hide the stars’

So, rather than crowding my fic notes with extraneous information, I decided to make a tumblr post about it!

I tried to have grounded characterization, and I’d like to think I can back up all of my choices. I don’t suspect it’ll work for everyone, but honestly, the show was very, very giving and consistent in its portrayals and subtleties. (Did it take me nearly 60k to make one of the connections/revelations about why some particular scenes were included in the show? YUP, 100%.)

I also did, um, quite a bit of research for this fic. I may have had over 100 tabs of references and research materials open, so, I guess, good job for making me learn things, fic.

When coming up with names for the various background characters who didn’t get them, I used as many resources as I could to try to make sure they were plausible. And then googled them to make sure I didn’t do anything like, say, accidentally name someone after a pop star (don’t worry, I fixed it). Since I decided not to include notes in every single chapter, I didn’t post name meanings or character breakdowns, but I do have many notes if anyone wants/is curious about them!

The Northern and Southern Dynasties period is a really fascinating one, despite the relatively chaotic shifts in power. Da Liang loosely references the Southern Liang dynasty, but a lot of the aesthetic and cultural references include Han Dynasty touchstones. It does make it a little messy in terms of placing things, but I think the show presents a pretty cohesive alternate fantasy history, so I think it’s pretty forgiving as long as you’re consistent.

Apparently this period had some massively conflicting impulses in Confucian dictates in music and poetry (social mores! morality! ethics!) and a more Taoist line of thought that called for harmony in poetry and music (also nature) as a way to balance human emotion. This was alongside MOTHER FUCKIN' POP MUSIC and DECADENT POETRY (I use the former term a little loosely, but you get my point), as well as the slow influx of musical instruments from western China to the plains area, but basically all the scholars and writers had Strong Opinions about this and it's GREAT. There are two whole PhD dissertations on Southern Dynasty music theory and they’re both behind paywalls (rude), but it’s a fascinating subject and definitely adds depth to Yujin being so deeply involved with music.

Also, building further on that! Yujin is explicitly familiar with Guang Ling San, the music score that Mei Changsu supposedly “found.” Guang Ling San was the masterpiece work of Ji Kang, which he played before his execution. Ji Kang was Three Kingdoms era composer as well as a Taoist philosopher and alchemist who favored these scholarly pursuits over a government position and was heavily critical of Confucian policies (hence that whole… execution thing). Marquis Yan’s withdrawal into philosophy is not unprecedented and I don’t think this was a direct parallel, but it is interesting all the same for the similarities between them.

I’m not going to try to go too much into the clothing stylings in the show, other than to say that they’re very intentional and well-done. They’re definitely updated a bit for modern audiences, though as far as I’ve read, they’re very attentive to Han dynasty color theory and rules/expectations for uses of material and decoration, including the embroidery patterns. It does omit a loooot of Northern and Southern Dynasties styling, including the swallowtail edging. Unfortunately, I had to avoid too much discussion of clothing simply because a lot of the benchmark visual references I might use for our erstwhile protagonist are blurry or brief (this show is Very Uninterested in young noblewomen as a whole, which is part of what prompted this fic in the first place). Nihuang and Xia Dong’s stylings are excellent but also very intentionally masculine, so they’re of relatively little help. I do have some thoughts on the subject, but since it’s speculative, I opted not to dive too deeply into precisely how Yujin negotiates perceptions and gender expectations via clothing.

Moving deeper into the philosophy corner, however, I did want to talk a little bit about the running themes and metaphors I used. The water imagery thread specifically is an interesting one. Yujin’s name includes a water-related character, for one. Da Liang, taking its cues from the Han dynasty, uses black Imperial robes, symbolizing the dominance of water. I thought it would be more appropriate to not use imagery of earth or fire to symbolize the forces opposing the emperor, but the same element of the dynasty – Prince Jing’s cohort embodies the same force as the country, after all, but it’s a force redirected. But water, philosophically, is an element of stillness or conservation (also associated with yin, as are women), which might seem a little strange considering how… moving and energetic Yujin is? But I’m using water imagery as more of a touchstone throughout – juxtaposing unstill water with overwhelming emotions for that tension, deep and still water with deadly and quiet things. The fear/anxiety and calmness dichotomy is also relevant, as is the way that water relates/interacts with earth throughout. I think it suits, though, considering that much of Yujin’s internal energy is used to deflect and hide.

Anyway, I guess, to conclude this, I hope that it’s clear that I wanted to engage with some of the people that canon looks away from. As much as I genuinely, deeply love what canon does and has to say about a lot of things – morally, ethically, philosophically – a lot of women got shafted by the narrative. There’s a lot of fridges for the 500s. So I wanted to write some of them back in, and to examine possibilities of their influence by presence or absence. And I didn’t want it to be a litany of “bah history was BAD AT WOMEN,” so I’ve tried really hard to dig into some of the options that women did have, while also being honest about constraints and expectations. The Southern Dynasties were, generally speaking, more restrictive and conservative on the subject of women than the Northern Dynasties, but that doesn’t mean that these women didn’t have lives and do things. There’s a lot of complaining by stuffy dudes about how engaged women are in the social scenes, so, y’know. Suck it, dudes.

Women did have options! Aristocratic women especially were expected to have some level of education, even if mostly to handle household affairs and teach their children. Hairong’s narrative in particular draws a lot on the historical rise of Buddhist convents and monasteries in China during this time period. There were conflicts, of course, and some really interesting stuff has been written on how these monasteries were both supported by Southern Dynasty governments while there was a lot of careful social navigating around traditional Confucian expectations of filial obligations. But, historically, there was certainly a tradition of aristocratic women entering religious orders at the time, and these nuns seem to have been generally respected and considered proper: a number of them taught, lectured, and even served in courts.

As with every place and period, a lot depended on context. Social position, systems of privilege and advantage, and personal negotiation of expectations had a lot to do with what options were open to people at the time. I don’t know, I tried to be really thoughtful about this, and I hope that at least is clear!

(More notes, at an anon’s request)

[house-gardinier]

Uluscant - First Meeting in the woods

This is a very personal memory of mine. More than you might assume it to be, since it touches on parts of my history that I have purposefully forgotten. From any perspective aside from my own, this may require more narrative than what I can offer, but I will explain to you how the event transpired, regardless.

Time has barely eroded the clarity of this memory for I have studied methods of preservation much like the relics on display here in Bisnensel. It takes care and diligence. Truth and clarity. I have many vivid memories of cherished moments from my past.

It was morilatta, the season of shifting colors and falling leaves. The southern arid winds retreat as the shadowy overcast brings rain to this land.

It was loneliness that drew me into the Viridian Woods one particular evening. An unorthodox solution to what I would have otherwise elucidated through socializing among my own. In reality, the woodland life was far more vibrant than the doldrums of the Ayleid cities. Within their societies I felt dissonant and unconventional, too young to understand the inconsolable loss that my people had endured, but old enough to know how they brought about their own contention. Many were hesitant to interact with the native Bretons for that reason, but I found myself seeking out such an encounter deep within the woods. To seek other outside the realm of my understanding.

In all my previous attempts, I only found the strained comfort of self-reflecting silence. I pondered on several subjects that brought me unease. I could see what I presumed to be my own visage in a still pool of water below my feet. Barely recognizing the being who returned my gaze. I wore clothes and used self-defining terms that were opposite what others expected, but not only did l need to convince my peers of this dysphoria, I had to convince myself that I knew it was not my own reflection gazing back at me.

I still had an inkling of doubt. A sense of guilt.

I pondered the subject more, until the sound of scraping tree limbs broke my meditation. There was a breton above me, peering like a crow observing my intrusion. Clad in black with their face partially obscured behind bark colored hair. They were about average sized for a human, but spindly and slim. As I looked up I could easily spot a pair of discerningly cold grey eyes affixed to my very location.

I spoke a greeting in Cyrodilic, but I assumed the attempt was made in vain as most humans had their own regional dialects. To my surprise, they understood and replied more clearly than I expected.

“You are familiar, what is your name?” They asked. I replied honestly; with a name I felt fondness for.

“Uluscant.”

“You speak the truth, but you only vaguely appear and sound like the Uluscant I know. Is this another form you take?”

I was perplexed at this moment in time. The only other form I could wear was an owl; An alteration spell that Corvus Direnni taught me.

“I am a novice in that study of magic, this is how I have always appeared. Perhaps you have met another with my name?”

“Possible…” The ominous breton replied. “But untrue. You are the Uluscant I know, but you vaguely resemble him. I think I am starting to formulate where, and exactly ‘when' I am. The Alessian empire had driven your people from Cyrodiil a few years ago, yes?”

I could not formulate a reply as easily as I wished. One part of that sentence was confirmable but there was one single word that stood out as a possibility that I could not yet validate. I chose to accept it, as if I trusted the being before me to only speak truth. At the time this was a naive hope.

“They have, but I hold no grudge towards humanity. Our fate has followed after lineages of cruelty and I will accept and mend that.”

“You are truly a healer then, just as I've always known you.” The breton replied.

I stared up at the sturdy oaken trunk with its limbs outstretched, perplexed at the willowy figure who perched a few heads above me. I distinctly remember the rain falling softly upon yellowing leaves as the stranger formed a crooked, yet reassuring smile. Beyond the intensity of their expression, I knew they doubted themselves as equally as I did.

“I do not wish to be rude, but I am not a healer. I once found the subject to be in my interests, but such studies are not supported by the scholarly masters that I apprentice under. Perhaps if was born to a different clan in a different point of time, it may have been an option, but that is not in my fate.”

The enigmatic breton paused, contemplating what I said for reasons I could not discern.“How can you claim to know Fate?”

“I do not.” I reaffirmed.

“Exactly. You can not assume that you know where Fate guides you, Uluscant.”

At that precise moment, I vividly recall the experience of an epiphany. As if I truly aligned myself to something that felt familiar and lucid. It was a mere amalgamation of words spoken from a stranger’s mouth, yet it affected me so strangely.

“May I burden you with my concerns?” I offered, feeling the weight upon my dissonant body and mind.

“For all that you will do, and have done for me. Always.”

I might have assumed this was the mad prattling of a stranger, but they knew so much of who I was, or wanted to be. Who I would be. Perhaps I was assuming too much, but at this moment, I wished to confess a plethora of my concerns to the person before me. Anxieties and complications that I had suppressed to fit into my people’s culture.

“I must first apologize for not knowing who you are. I have not expressed my interests in the restorative magic for many years, knowing that my theories aren't conventional to most. I accepted the path of my apprenticeship, but the practices are too mundane for my tastes. I feel as if the scholarly masters of Balfiera underestimate the unexplored potential of restoration, but the priests of Merid-nunda are equally as fixed in their tradition.”

In my pause, the breton slid from their seating and gently levitated to the forest floor. They gave no reply, but their focus was unyielding.

“In many ways…” I took this cue to continue. The words that refused to manifest in front of my colleagues became easier to speak here. “I feel ungrateful to what I have been given. Am I selfish to yearn for something more? In many ways I feel as if I want more than what I am given.”

I could discern their features more clearly. Sharp angles of a mer, but the intense yet rounded eyes of a human. Despite their noble attire, their posture was slouched and disheveled.

“What do you define as ‘more'?” They replied. I had to ponder this question before carrying on. The answer was intuitively felt but beyond verbal description.

“More...is wanting something beyond what I have been given. This body, in how incorrect it looks, how improper certain words and pronouns describe me. How I wish to study the complexities of our minds and correct the wounds that exist there; to balance an understanding of the forbidden with the foundation of empathy. This balance does not exist among my people. They only dwell in the extremes and choose to feed their blind hubris. I struggle with how much I empathize with them, but I feel isolated and easily dismissed. I owe my life to the elders, but I am restricted by that same respect.”

“Their hubris has already spelled their end, and you are wrong, Uluscant. What you ask of is not ungrateful. You must realize that you are not a product of your own people. However, I know that you already understand that, but it is in your nature to disregard this concept for the sake of others well-being.”

Their advice had the figurative strike of a blunt-ended weapon. I had no window for rebuttal, so I spoke the truth.

“I care about them and I know that they too, care about me.”

“...but do they understand you?”

“I…” I paused for a moment. “No. I suppose you can express emotional attachment towards someone without understanding who they are.”

The breton's hand wove magicka like thread, as the space around their fingertips bent and warped. This alerted me, but I sensed that it was nothing more than a small conjuration spell.

“May I ask, who are you?” My inquiry was polite. “You have no bags to be traveling, and the woods are increasingly untame here.”

The stranger cast their gaze upon me. A pair of stone colored eyes affixed themselves to my location as a book manifested into the palms of their hand.

“You, like any seeker of knowledge and truth know who I am.” I watched as a black mist formed and faded to reveal what was brought into this plain of existence. An aged black covered book was offered to me. I took it into my hands and inspected the cover. My finger traced the details, feeling the foreboding magic that emanated from its core. My instincts warned against briefly ‘thumbing' through the pages, as the black cover suddenly pulsated like a heartbeat. The shape of a tendriled creature with multiple eyes served as the book’s ‘title'.  

“You are Hermaeus Mora.”

That name was uttered infrequently by the mages of Balfiera. This was long before such recognition was considered taboo, before the Dragonfires created a veil to prevent the natives of Oblivion from entering Mundus.

“If you believe that, then I suppose it’s true.” The stranger replied. I was not satisfied by this answer but I entertained it. Despite the omnipotence of their identity, their parlance was unceremoniously lax.

“Why have you offered me this item? Are you attempting to sway me into your servitude?” I did not intend to oblige the idea, but outright denying a possible deadric prince a favor felt ill advised.

“I govern over Fate, the intersecting lines that have provided our meeting. It is Fate that brought you here to me, and me to you. I want to offer you this book, but it is not the key to your potential. This Black Book is merely an instrument that you will learn to use with caution. With trust.”

“...and what do you wish from me?”

“A choice, not a demand. If you wish to become Uluscant, then make that your choice. Return to Bisnensel and do not blind yourself with the hubris of your peoples’ Fate.”

Raindrops graced the leather surface of the harrowing tome. I felt a daunting sense of responsibility placed squarely into my hands. The biblichor of worn pages wafted in the evening air alongside the sharp stench if ink. It would have been wise to decline this presumed demon of knowledge, but I was not a pious follower of Merid-nunda. In my hesitation, Hermaeus Mora spoke once again, the prince’s voice shifted into a distorted lull.

“Your Fate is greater than your restrictions. I depend on you more than anyone. One day you will know that for certain, but for once in your lifetime--consider who you are, and not what is expected of you. I come here in the displacement of time--in the moment that we have first met to give you this expression of my gratitude; to save you from circumstance.”

In my memory of this moment, I recall how silently I pondered. My gaze passed through the being before me and words dared not leave the sanctity of my mouth. A new potential outcome of my life aligned itself like the hands of a clock. I had a renewed sense of certainty.

Apart of me still remained anxious and doubtful, however. I knelt to graciously return the deadric artifact to its owner. I respected this offer, but I could not yet fully accept it for myself. I pondered my own worth and self-entitlement to such things.

...but they were gone. The distant rolling of thunder echoed through the woods. A pair of footprints gathered water as the storm picked up its pace. I covered the book in my apprentice robes, and quietly allowed the rain to wash away my regrets.

From that point forward. I was, and always would be, Uluscant.

[patgreenphoto]

The Story Behind “(Un)Aware Crossing” & Breaking Rules!

Are you a prisoner of rules? Do you serve the rules or do the rules serve you? I have never been a fan of rules. Someone dear to me once told me that conventions are good, rules restrict.

A lattice supports the vine so it can grow, but it does not control the vine or tell the vine how to be a vine, it merely gives a structure. The same is true of a rule or convention.

The Rule of Odds

The rule of odds is a composition rule taught to many first year photographers and beginning enthusiasts. It is often taught on the heels of the rule of thirds. The rule of odds, as defined succinctly by Digital Photography School, reads, "The rule of odds states that, whenever possible, a composition should have an odd number of objects, not an even number of objects. So an image should have three flowers rather than two, and five people rather than four."

The primary reason is that the human brain tends to pair things together and that can make a photograph less interesting. When you shoot in odds, the brain and the eye is forced to spend more time digesting the elements of the photo.

I use this as a guide or a convention when I shoot street or do product photography. With street I tend to look for individuals doing something interesting, or look for interaction between three people.

But if we stop at the rule, we never analyze the benefit. Three people, three apples, three puppies. Great! I have your attention, but what now? What have a drawn your brain into?

Triangles, a point, a pattern, someone dominant, contrast, tension, and on and on.

The rule by itself is meaningless unless you know why you have the rule. The why of the rule allows me break the rule to honor the spirit of the convention.

The Pair

I watched them at the intersection waiting for the light to turn green. They were not together, but they were in close proximately about to do the same thing. She took a puff from her vape while waiting and carefree allowed her exhaled vapor flow everywhere, including him. She was engaged in her phone and and unaware of the affect of the world around her. He was aware and respectful of social distancing while outdoors.

The light turns green and they cross. I am not sure how she knew the light turned green. But as soon as it did, she walked on seemingly to never look away from her phone. He is looking both ways as he crosses. His stride is confident and hers is uncertain. There is more, but that is for you to analyze.

They are doing the same thing, crossing a street. They are a pair of humans, but there are contrasts and differences. There is tension, patterns, shapes (count the triangles, tell me how many you find), contrasts, leading lines and more.

End of the day, most people are not going to dissect an image I place on social media at this level. But when we make a photograph, when we compose, all of this and much more is in our minds and eye as we depress the shutter.

Allow conventions (or rues) to guide you to your vision. Let the lattice support you so you can grow as you will.

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[essenceanddescent]

Your "Beautiful" Character Sucks

Or … Why I Avoid Fics with overly "Beautiful" OCs

Or ... What Makes a Mary Sue, Part 2

Pre-rant:  I don’t normally write about what people shouldn’t do. I don’t like guidelines. I don’t like standards. I don’t like best practices. I don’t like any rules that are placed on highly subjective and creative art forms. So the point of this isn’t to tell you what you shouldn’t do, because you should write whatever the hell you want to. The point of this mini-rant is to point out something that, I … as a reader of fiction … make it a point to avoid reading and why.

For the most part, I’m going to put "beautiful" in quotes, because “beauty” is supposedly subjective, although that is not, in fact, true. For the purposes of this ramble, I’m going to be referring to the socially accepted standards of “beauty”. I am not talking about the people who are so intriguing that they are attractive in ways that are not conventional. I’m talking about the person that 98% of the people in any given room would agree is “beautiful” without ever speaking to them.

So … Those Kinds of Fics. Yeah, you know the ones.

We’ve all read that fic. The one that starts highly promising. It's got all the right tags: Romance, True Love, the right pairing. It’s even well written, the spacing is perfect, the author’s note and summary before the story actually starts is clever and almost pleasant. It shows INCREDIBLE promise.

We are immediately intrigued and very optimistic. Those little butterflies flutter in our stomachs as we start to read and take in all the glorious words, hoping deep down inside that this is going to be the fic that we’ve been waiting for. This is it. Someone has done it and it that will introduce or fix something that is missing in our broken little fandom hearts and then we get to the line (or one very much like it).

He/She steps into full view and [everyone or anyone] gasps as their jaws drops at his/her jaw-droppingly beautiful eyes, and jaw-droppingly beautiful skin, and jaw-droppingly beautiful hair and jaw-droppingly beautiful body and … and … and … and … beautiful … beautiful … beautiful*. Maybe you don’t understand: BEAUTIFUL.

YES, I know this is a blatant exaggeration, but you get my point. It's love at first site because they were just so goddamn beautiful. They haven’t spoken yet. They haven’t shown they have a single thought behind their beautiful eyes … but it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s beautiful, and that means she’s a good person. And that means we have to love her immediately, because Beauty Equals Goodness in our fucked up superficial society.

No romance, no growth, no nothing. Everyone on the cast wants to fuck your OC because they are simply irresistible. I sniffle because … sadly … this fic is not the one. Rarely reading even another single word, I close the tab and begin my search anew, feeling suckered into reading the beginning of it at all.

Look, I get it. I really do. A lot of fic is wish-fulfillment and a lot of us wish that we were that beautiful, but there’s a cost to that kind of power that authors never take into account when developing their characters into something that could make me care about them.

Beauty really IS a Real World Superpower

Before you write blindly about "beauty", do you really understand it and its effect on those around it? I’m not a “beautiful” person, but I’m not ugly either; I’m like the majority of women out there, stuck in some kind of terrible nebulous middle ground: Unbeautiful Purgatory.

As women, we are taught from birth that our worth, regardless of how intelligent we are, regardless of how talented we are, regardless of any other trait, is placed solely on our appearance and ability to be desirable. Franky, anyone who tells you otherwise is full of shit. "In my household." BAH. It's not just our own families that uphold this stereotype, it’s the media and society itself. It even comes directly from us (even in the fics we write) and our friends. We enable and continue to drive and reinforce these superficial ideals on a daily basis.

But, being a highly intelligent woman, stuck in this strange tortuous middle ground, you get a fascinating view of how real world people react to "beautiful" women. When an incredible “beauty” enters a room, she has a powerful effect on all of those around her, men and women alike. This isn’t a myth or an unfounded stereotype, this is a well documented cognitive bias known as the Halo Effect.

TL;DR: The halo effect works in both positive and negative directions (the horns effect): If the observer likes one aspect of something, they will have a positive predisposition toward everything about it. If the observer dislikes one aspect of something, they will have a negative predisposition toward everything about it.

If you’ve watched 30 Rock, then you might have seen the episode, The Bubble, (see Handsome Bubble for the trope of this) with Jon Hamm that touches on this point quite laughably. Hamm plays an overly attractive doctor who doesn’t even know the heimlich maneuver; he’s a tennis coach who doesn’t even know how to play tennis. While this is obviously an exaggeration for comedic effect, it doesn’t make this phenomena any less true. "Beautiful" people experience life quite differently from the rest of us, whether it be for the better or not. And … “Beautiful” people are BORING.

The Halo Effect … First Hand

This is a personal story, and you can skip it if you wish.

I’ve witnessed this effect first hand and found it actually terrifying. Being internalized and introverted, I tend to observe in social environments more than interact. At a social event, a few years ago, I found myself in a room full of highly intelligent men and women engineers who got flustered immediately when a "beautiful" woman entered the room.

Just a quick note here: I am not talking about just some pretty face. This particular woman’s "beauty" was talked about at the water cooler daily. She could easily have been a model instead of an engineer.

So, I watched, in awe of the situation unfold, as this said person committed various atrocious acts of social crimes: forgetting people’s names, touching people inappropriately, talking over people, not listening to what people were actually saying before replying. She was entirely unable to follow the technical aspects of the conversations currently in play and as such the dialogue was immediately dumbed down to allow her to participate. She immediately became the ultimate center of attention and … everyone loved it. It was like a show was being put on and you were supposed to be enamoured by her, regardless of what she was actually contributing. It was her mere presence that was the drug to them.

Now, I should have been just as enamoured with her and I do not think that I am immune to the Halo Effect, but I was immune to her effect, specifically, because I had been her officemate for over a year a few years prior to this strange social interaction. We shared cubes in the same office for over a year passing each other every day and exchanging nice pleasantries.

I had learned, over several months, that she was entirely incapable of doing her own work and was … in fact … lacking any kind of significant personality. Over the year of sharing the space with her, she progressively became less and less attractive until I found myself standing uniquely outside of her realm of influence. Don’t get me wrong, it is an extremely powerful effect as it took months and months of constant stimulation for me to build up a tolerance to it and see through the thin veil of just her exterior.

So when someone introduced us at this social event, I started to laugh, because … duh, we already know each other and she put her hand out to shake mine because she had no idea who I was. Sure, it’d been a few years and I’d grown up, lost weight, and changed my hair color but …

Wait. What? Are … you … kidding me???

When I spoke to a friend about this, they actually dismissed me. "It's not a big deal. She didn’t mean to be rude. She’s actually a really nice person. You shouldn’t be so sensitive." I really didn’t look that different, but I was confused why this was suddenly socially acceptable. I have a hard enough time dealing with socializing as it was and the entire experience was a big turn off for me going forward putting in effort to socialize with this group of people.

Socializing and interacting is a pretty tricky game as it is, especially for someone who is hyper observant. Extroverts have a one-up on introverts here. Sure. But the game is entirely stacked the other way around when you are playing with an obvious handicap or … in her case … a Game Genie.

I also want to make it clear that this story wasn’t to put down one unlikeable "beautiful" person. No, the purpose of this story was not to point out her as an abnormality or even to call her out as the standard of “beautiful” people. The point was to appreciate the reactions by everyone around her. These were people whom I’d know for years. People who I considered were highly intelligent. People who had earned my friendship over years of interacting. How did a group of people that I had so much respect for fall prey to groupthink so very easily? It’s simple, we’re wired that way.

I learned a lesson that day: Beauty Completely Disrupts Normal Behavior

But "Beautiful" and disruptive means it’s a Mary Sue. Doesn’t it?

You knew I was going to tie this back to Mary Sue-ism, right? Hehehe, of course I was.

I see a lot of talk about a character being so "beautiful" that she overwhelms the characters and plot and therefore, she is a Mary Sue. This definition, as the previous definition of a Mary Sue, is a bad one.

So, here is the thing with "Extreme Beauty". If you read about the Halo Effect and the physical attractiveness stereotype, then when an insanely attractive person walks into a room, most (it does not have to be all) of your other characters (original or canon) will most likely be enamoured by them and will automagically treat them much differently than other people.

But, you say, the argument that a character is a Mary Sue because they change the characters and plot and story to fit around them is somewhat invalid at this point, isn’t it? Some part of a Mary Sue is all about causing characters to act OOC or act unbelievably. If most people are, in fact, affected by The Halo Effect then it is absolutely IC (In Character) for them to be enamoured with her at first glance and treat her quite a bit differently than they would treat anyone else.

I would even go as far as to say that if you have described your character as infallibly "beautiful" and most of the characters are NOT in the least bit flustered with her beyond reason, that might be OOC (Out of Character). “Most” is an important distinction in that previous statement, as I do think that there are people/characters who are, in fact, immune to the Halo Effect. (This is an extremely important trait for me to find in a hero, btw)

Great! If she’s not a Sue, then I can disrupt with her all I want!!!

Sure. Yes. Yes, you can and yes, in my eyes, she would be a valid character in that sense because absolute "beauty" has a tendency to disrupt absolutely, but why do that? Is it a satire? I might read that then. If not, is that really interesting? Will there be any growth behind her trials or her affect on the characters? Will she provide a lesson learned or just serve as a porn star in the fic to be used and discarded?

Who really wants to read that? Probably some people? I don’t and I won’t. If I’m reading fic about a canon character, chances are I like that canon character and I feel like that canon character deserves my extra attention, so why would I want to read about them and an obvious sex toy with them? I know, I know … that is what smut is, right? No. Smut can be written with real people. Show me real attraction, don’t just tell me about fleeting infatuation driven by the physical features of a vapid bombshell that is supposed to be a husk for reader to assume control of in their minds.

I’m so very tired of being bombarded by the media that makes me feel inadequate as it is. From the issues introduced by problematic tropes to recent Hollywood shenanigans, I actually turn to fanfic specifically to read about realistic characters with which, I always hope on some small level, to be able to relate to and when I find that it's the same regurgitation, I get turned off immediately.

But My Character really is ULTRA UBER Special! LOVE HER!

You: No, no, no. You don’t understand. My ultra "beautiful" character is different. She’s nice, kind, sweet, and she’d never let her beauty get to her head. She’s incredibly smart and playful and lovable and absolutely empathetic and charismatic … She’s JUST SUPER SPECIAL!

Me: ಠ_ಠ

Ok. Here’s the deal …

If you’ve grown up with this "effect" on you for your entire life, there will be parts of your character and personality that are inevitably stunted or just flat out fundamentally different compared to those who didn’t grow up with such … advantages or … (I shudder to use this word) privilege. It’s easy to understand: if you’ve never really used muscles before, then people who have will have stronger ones. Get me? “Beautiful” people are usually gonna be socially stunted and inevitably very, very, very boring.

You: But that’s just the rule. There are exceptions! Extenuating circumstances!

Me: ¯＼(ツ)/¯ Uh … sure? I guess? You just better be goddamn good at SHOWING and SELLING me on it, instead of just TELLING me.

So, the above characters can exist and they can actually be written very well. Absolutely. Who I just described above is … Captain America, handsome Steve Rogers himself. Yup, he is all of those things, but do you know what makes him nearly believable for me? He didn’t grow up like that. He experienced a transformation. He was given this super power after being the complete OPPOSITE of what is considered "beautiful" for a man. He grew up battered and beaten down, learning what it really meant to be empathic and understanding. They SHOWED us that, on so many levels. I related to him. He was introverted and he stood alone in the corner at parties. He went on double dates and was the third wheel that the girls ditched in favor of his best friend. Because of his appearance, he was the outcast.

But, be careful using the Beautiful All Along trope though. Unless you can provide some interesting backstory for said "transformation", then it can be hard to buy. Some people go for the She Is All Grown Up, which isn’t much better IMHO.

All I ask is that you put a little bit of effort into making your character attractive in ways other than physically “beautiful”.  It’s tiresome and, honestly, it only perpetuates the problem further.