#anyway i’m gonna rant about my identity this post was an excuse for that

[lunimy]

why is a kpop idol making me for real question if i’m aro

[abbyslev]

𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑻- 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

A/N: hello! sorry this is so sloppy, i’ve been cleaning my room and redecorating but i wanted to post something. my wifi is out and i can’t use my fucking laptop and it 4 am so PLEASE excuse any bad grammar or anything!! sorry for ranting i just love you guys sm 🙁 anyway i hope you guys truly enjoy this!!

WARNINGS: forbidden shit trope thing, spit, mutual masturbation, commander! hange and section commander reader, fingering. lightly proofread (i’m tired pls give me a break🙏🏼) any feedback is appreciated!!

It was past 7, you were in the showers, washing off the dirt from training.

Training cadets wasn't as easy as it looked, especially when you had idiots like Jean and Connie. The hot water burned against your skin, soap running down your bare body. You breathe softly, shutting off the water. You took your time getting ready, slipping on your sleeping pants and soft shirt.

You carried your little basket full of toiletries back to your room, soft shoes padding against the hard floor. You enter your office, looking up at Levi and Hange. “Hey guys.” You waved. “We were planning something, and we needed your opinion.” Levi leaned against your desk. “So you welcomed yourself into my office?” You sighed. Levi dangled your spare keys in your face. You sighed in defeat, shrugging.

“That shit needs to be cleaned.” He eyed the paper work on your table. “I’d rather shower first than sit in my own stench and do work.” You shot back at your brother, and approached the pair. “For our next expedition, we need you to lead the second wave, since your cadets are better than mine. I’ll be right behind you, is that okay?” Their long fingers trailed down the map, eyes tranced on your face.

“Y-yeah.” You nod your head, suddenly feeling nervous under their watch. “Okay, that’s settled. I’ll take this up to Erwin.” Levi grabbed the map. “You owe me, by the way. Finished some of your reports.” You push back your damp hair, your gray eyes meeting his identical ones.

“Whatever.” He closed the door behind himself. “So, how was your shower?” Hange sat on your desk, legs spread a bit, hand resting on their thigh, the other pushing their glasses up. “It was good, got that stiffness out of my body.” You say in your chair, rolling between Hange’s legs.

“You work too much, you’re just like your brother.” Hange tsked, hands meeting your shoulders. “He works overtime, I do my work and call it a day. I actually value my sleep.” You joke, arms tingling where Hange ran their hands over.

“Relax.” They whisper in your ear, stepping behind your chair. You felt your heart stop, breath hitching. Oh my god. “You deserve a break…” Hange ran their hands down your shoulders, fingers scratching your back slightly. You sighed, back arching a bit.

“Too much work to worry ‘bout.” You lean your head down, eyes focused on your lap. “Yeah?” Hange came back around the chair, leaning on your desk. Their eye watched your face as the blood rushed to your face, hands playing with each other. “Let me help you relax, then.” Hange hooked their foot around your chair, rolling you forward.

You look up, mouth slightly open. Hange placed their hands on your waist, pulling you towards them. You stumbled forward, lips almost touching. “So stiff.” They shook their head, lips pouting. They ran their hands up and down your back, before slipping their hands up the soft material of your shirt,

“Gonna make you feel so much better after this.” They pressed their lips against your ear, lips tracing around your jaw before finally kissing your lips. Their hands squeeze your breast, fingers tracing over your hardened nipples. You whimper against their lips, trying to pull back. Hange bit your bottom lip, keeping you from moving. “Relax.” Their nose traced against your face, hands working you.

This was wrong. All of it. You were literally about to fuck your Commander, your brothers best friend. Your higher up. How would Levi feel if he knew about this? This wasn’t right. You had reports to do, which sat, abandoned under Hange. Though you knew it was wrong, forbidden even, you whined for more.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You press yourself up against their thigh, hips fighting to grind on them. “Do you want to do this?” Hange’s brows furrowed, hands now rubbing up and down your hips. You blush, nodding. “Then it’s not wrong.” Hange kissed you harder, tongue exploring your mouth.

Your hands find their way into the loose hairs on the back of their head, tangling themselves there, slightly pulling them. “Fuck.” Hange groaned, pushing you against the bookshelf behind you. “So pretty.” Hange kissed your neck, moving your damp hair out of the way.

One hand slipped inside your pants. Hange pulled back, smiling. You close your eyes, humiliated. “All for me?” They smirk, fingers ghosting over your clothed clit. “Answer.” They press down a finger. You hiss, nodding. “Y-yes, god.” You try to close your legs. “So quick?” They got a kick out of you being embarrassed.

“Just fuck me already.” You lean your head into their shoulder, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Their fingers pushed your wet panties aside, fingers running through your wet folds. “Ohmygod.” You rush out, hands gripping their arms. Their knee nudged your legs apart, fingers teasing your entrance.

“Relax.” They drag out the word, lips kissing yours softly. Their middle finger slipped inside you. Your shoulders drop, head leaning back. “Fuck.” You whisper, hips bucking as they add a second finger, speeding up their pace. “Is it wrong to feel like this?” Hange breathed against your neck.

“N-no.” You shake your head, digging your nails into their arms. “Breathe.” They remind you, slipping out their fingers to circle your clit. “Hangeeee.” You moan, moving your hips against their fingers. Their tongue traced your ear, your jaw, down to your collarbone.

Their fingers were suddenly shoved into your mouth. You open your eyes, frowning at the sudden loss of contact. You suck on Hange’s fingers, eye contact strong. “Good.” Hange placed their fingers into their mouth, smiling. They got down on their knees, shirt slightly unbuttoned, giving you a good view.

Hange’s fingers hooked around your pants, pulling them down. You stared at them, head tilting. “Finish yourself.” They smile, eyes staring at your wet cunt. You bring down your hand, finger circling around your swollen clit,

Your hips jerk forward, mind racing. Hange was staring at you, and you felt humiliated, vulnerable and shy. Their fingertips raked your thigh, their other hand playing with themselves. You move your finger faster, inserting a finger inside yourself.

You pant, chest heaving up and down. Hange watched as your pussy clenched around your finger, your arousal dripped down your soft thighs. They opened their mouth, sticking their tongue out. You let your fingers slip out of you, releasing in their mouth.

Hange toyed with your sensitive clit, lapping at your soaked cunt. “So good.” They kiss your bud and up your thighs. They come back up, pressing their lips against yours. “Feel better?” “So much better.”

[misc-obeyme]

OKAY I’m back on my theory bullshit. Spoilers for all the things below.

I was thinking about this post I wrote forever ago about how I thought we were dealing with past!Solomon rather than present!Solomon.

I also had a theory that there were two Solomons since he seemed to be inexplicably changing his outfits for no reason. (I didn't put that one in the masterlist and I admit that I didn't go looking for it lol. It's on my blog somewhere, possibly in one of my lesson related rants.)

And THEN I was thinking nah it has to be that these are all the same characters from the present & they’ve just had their memories erased.

Barbatos knows what’s going on. That seems plain enough to me.

Isn’t it possible that being eighth on the list was just an excuse? Because he can’t tell MC the true reason for his anger. So he's doing it for MC's sake and to keep up appearances? It doesn't really matter, though, 'cause this post ain't about him lol.

I still think my original theory about Solomon might be right, but there are a couple other things I think might be happening.

MASSIVE DISCLAIMER: I love Solomon. I always have, I always will. I don't mind if other people don't like him, I totally get it. We all have characters we don't like. But I just wanted to be clear, it's all good either way and I think everyone's opinion is valid. <3

Scenario One: We really did go back in time and this really is a past version of all the characters. Events are now being changed due to MC's presence.

Scenario Two: We're in a simulation of the past, these are all the same present characters, but with their memories wiped. This is why events are happening differently than how they did before.

Scenario Three: None of the characters are real and the whole thing is a simulation and MC has been in a coma all along.

I don't really think it's that last one, but man if that turns out to be it, I will be so angry.

Anyway, I think we're either dealing with past!Solomon who knows stuff because he knows Nightbringer and/or because he used Barb's powers to look into the future to learn about MC (see my original post for more about that) OR we're dealing with someone disguising themselves as Solomon part of the time (thus the changing outfits).

There has to be a reason why they showed us that hard lesson where Michael took on Raphael's entire appearance to travel to the Devildom himself. (Though I admit the reason could just have been about Michael and nothing to do with trying to showcase how identities can be misleading.)

If characters can do that, who's to say that isn't what Nightbringer's been doing all along?

And I can't imagine who Nightbringer would pretend to be other than Solomon, the one who knows the most about what's happening, the one who's currently closest to MC, the one who could actually influence how things go at this point.

I'M JUST SAYING.

This nonsense has been stewing in my brain since April. I'm so annoyed, I just wanna know what happens so I don't have to think about it anymore, even if it's a terrible resolution that I hate lol.

Anyway, that's it. I just needed to rant about it for a minute. I'm gonna go back to fic writing now. It's much healthier for my mental state.

[tuiyla]

I see a lot of people saying Santana had anger issues. Do you agree?

Yes, wholeheartedly, though I might not have the same reasons as many others. Let's see if I can recall all the thoughts I had about this in the shower.

I have many, many, many thoughts on the topic of Santana and anger so we're slowly covering all of them one post at a time haha. I can't fit them all here but I will say what I think a lot of people refer to when they say she has anger issues. Keep in mind, this is based on my own experience in the fandom and by no means am I saying everyone thinks this and I don't know the exact posts you've been seeing, Anon.

I think people look at the Lima Heights Adjacent things and her general lack of impulse control and go "ah, yes, anger issues". Which is, to a certain extent, fair. I'd argue that even out of the few occasions Santana actually threatens to/goes Lima Heights, a lot of those are more about pride than anger and it's always played for comedy anyway. That doesn't make it irrelevant for character analysis but just imo makes it less juicy. It also plays into racial stereotypes what with her only ever really speaking Spanish on these occasions and I don't Love that. But there is a different convo to be had about Santana's anger and where it sits in the intersection of her identities.

Overall, I'd argue that yes, Santana has anger issues but the more interesting ways in which it manifests is basically most of her flawed moments. I'd even go as far as calling her anger (and spite) her fatal flaw, much more so than pride or ambition ever were. I suppose there is the allergy to vulnerability, but that intersects so much with her anger.

Santana herself spells it out in a rather astonishing moment of self-reflection so I'm a little confused when people ignore this aspect of the Hurt Locker to just focus on the confession of love:

What I’ve realized is why I’m such a bitch all the time. I’m a bitch because I’m angry. I’m angry because I have all of these feelings... feelings for you, that I’m afraid of dealing with because I’m afraid of dealing with the consequences.

Like, really just spells it out. Does all my character analysis work for me.

No but for real, that’s the core of Santana’s anger and that’s how it manifests, too. Like Karofsky, she doesn’t know what else to do with all her frustration and internalized homophobia so she externalizes it, spews it back out. And obligatory disclaimer, just because she’s going through it it doesn’t excuse her cruel actions, 90% of the time a result of her anger issues, but it helps us understand her. Santana’s so, so angry. Yes, the Lima Heights temper is part of that anger but it’s so much more than that or her Nationals “I have rage”. Because she does have rage but she also has this deep, visceral anger. The one that, I’d argue, makes her the perfect representative for the anger stage of grief in The Quarterback.

I agree, Santana has anger issues. It’s in how she doubles down when things get tough. Not just in about to go all Lima Heights but other moments, too. It’s in does he get so turned on by teen moms. In you are short, you are awful, and that’s never gonna change. In the 6x03 rant that shall not be discussed. Even in telling Rachel about having slept with Finn. In I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. Her anger stops her from clearly communicating and solving interpersonal problems so many times. I mean, time and time again I return to this idea of Alma having raised her this way and Sue’s potential influence, but I think she was just taught this way - certainly not born with it. She has rage. Seasons 2 and, surprisingly, 5, do a decent amount of character development with it, Shame season 3 doesn’t because they had the biggest missed opportunity.

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: Slightly suggestive flirting, fluff

A/N: This chapter is so cute omg I hope you guys like it <3

“Oh come on (Y/n)! It could be fun!” Twyla called after the girl, who she was currently chasing around the halls of the manors. The tall men in suits watched them but didn’t interact, not sure of what to do in the situation. The (h/c) haired girl ignored her, making lala noises with her fingers in her ear. “Real mature, babes, real mature!” When they got back to the girl’s room, Twyla closed the door, locking it so her friend couldn’t escape. She got on her knees, pleading and begging the girl.

“Twyla I can’t just pick up and go on a trip to Italy!” she shouted, forcing the girl to stand up. The tall girl grabbed her shoulders, shaking her shorter friend in her arms.

“Why nottt?” she whined out. (Y/n) smacked her hands from her shoulders growling some at her.

“A multitude of reasons, Twy! The main one being oh I don’t know, who’s gonna look after my damn bakery!” she hissed out the last part, throwing herself on the large bed, the blonde joining her shortly after. “I’ve got no one to watch the bakery, I don’t have any clothes nice enough to take and even if I did I’d have to travel by floo back home to get them! Also, who’s gonna water my plants? I love my plants, Twyla!” she ranted causing the girl to shush her.

“Relax, you worry too much and there’s a simple fix to all these so-called ‘problems’ you have.” she sat up, pulling the girl up with her. “Let’s start with problem one. You said you have to run the bakery, right?” (Y/n) nodded, curious of where the girl was going with this. “Easy, ask Tiana to run it for a while. She’s been looking to get more hours in since she just bought a house.”

“I can’t ask that of her! Plus, she can’t do all of that with the staff we have now, she’d be understaffed!” she said, watching the girl type away on her phone. She was always so amazed by Twyla’s ability to use muggle technology.

“Well lucky for you, you won’t have to ask her. I just did!” her boss gawked at her, going to tell her off but she continued speaking. “And plus, it’s summer. Do you know how many culinary art students are looking to get hands-on learning in an actual bakery? You don’t handle the application process anyways, Tiana does that. Remember, you stopped doing that because you’d cry any time you had to reject an application.” she made many valid points, slowly pulling her over to the side that wanted to go, wanting to be on a trip with Neville. “Also you’re the only owner who spends so much time working. Isn’t the point of owning a business to make people do shit for you?”

“That’s true.” she sighed, picking at the skin around her cuticles. “But what about my apartment? And my clothes?” 

“Don’t you still talk to that old couple that sold the bakery building to you? Ask them to watch your plants!” she retorted, smirking triumphantly. Slowly but surely her reasons for not being able to go were dwindling. (Y/n) sighed before shrugging.

“You know what? Screw it, I’ll go.” Twyla squealed, grabbing the girl’s hand as she dragged her out the door.

“Hey tall man, where’s Neville?” she asked the guard who was posted outside. He cleared his throat, adjusting his sunglasses.

“In his office. Downstairs and to the left, miss. He’s currently in a me-” without another word she grabbed the girl, dragging her downstairs. They reached the large wooden doors that had two large men standing there causing the shorter girl to cower in fear. Their glares were intense as they stood up straighter.

“Can we help you?” one of them asked, his rough voice booming. The other one nodded along, leaning down to her height as he gave her a strong glare, vein on his forehead popping out. 

“The boss is in a meeting so unless you’re someone special, get lost.” (Y/n) felt her lip quivering, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Oh you’re fucked buddy, that’s the boss’s girl. Come on, I’ll let you guys in.” an unfamiliar voice said from behind her. Turning around she saw two identical men, quite lanky and tall in stature. She couldn’t help but notice how they favored another certain Ginger she knew.

The one on the left pressed on the small earpiece in his ear, clearing his throat. “Hey boss, your lady friend is out here crying. You should get more observant guards.” he said giggling as a shout could be heard from beyond the large door. The men visibly paled but kept their composure. The door swung open revealing Neville, who adorned a white button up and black trousers, a pair of suspenders connecting the two together. 

“I-I’m sorry boss, I didn’t know.” one of them stuttered out, sweat building up on his bald head. Neville gripped his shirt tightly pinning him to the wall causing the man’s feet to lift from the ground. (Y/n)’s eyes widened at the sight. The man he was lifting had a large, muscular build making her wonder just how strong Neville really was.

“If you think that’s something, you should've seen him last night.” Twyla whispered out the corner of her mouth, the twins nodding along in agreement.

“You better listen because I’m gonna say this once.” Neville said, a calm tone which was somehow scary if he was to yell. The man nodded along frantically, wide eyes trained on the man. “That girl right there? She’s my flower. Let it be known that if she sheds a tear caused by any of you, you’re dead and what I’ll do will be worse than anything the Weasley twins could do combined.” and with that he dropped him, walking over to the girl. Weasley twins? So they were related to Ron! She felt her face flush as Neville leaned down, brushing away the tears that had threatened to fall from her eyes. “You alright, love?”

“Yeah I was just coming to tell you that I’ve made a decision. I’ll be joining you in Italy.” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He grinned at her lifting her up in a hug as he spun her around, laughing some. “B-but I don’t have any clothes so I still have to figure that out.” he sat her down, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Just buy new ones when we land.” he declared. She froze, scratching the back of her neck. That would be an easy solution if she hadn’t spent any extra savings she had on the night before.

“I don’t really have the money to do that..”she trailed off. Neville put something in her hands causing her to look down confused. In her hands was a black card, his name engraved in the front of it. “Is this...is this a black card?! I can’t take this. Plus what about you know, “ she cleared her throat, blood rushing to her cheeks and ears. “My undergarments. I don’t have any on me for before we go shopping.” Neville smirked at her words, feeling particularly confident from her flustered expression. She was so soft, so...pure. Anytime he neared her she’d get all warm in the face and anytime he kissed her that same look would double. Temptation was his flower and he was tempted. Hearing her inquire about something that had innocent intent behind it had him thinking about anything but.

“Nonsense, pretty girl. Take my card and for your undergarments..” he trailed off, leaning down next to her ear. He placed his hand around her neck, gently squeezing it as he chuckled. “Let me take care of that. Better yet, let me buy the ones for the trip as well.” he whispered, nibbling the shell of her ear. (Y/n) squeaked, looking at him with wide eyes. Was he doing this on purpose or was it a simple misunderstanding? Either way, she couldn’t stop the heat pooling between her legs. “I’m only messing with you cutie. However I wasn’t kidding, leave that to me.” with a final peck to her lips he stood up straight, adjusting his tie before heading back through the wooden doors, the twins following behind him.

“Nice meeting you (Y/n)!” they said in unison, offering her a smile before they closed the door after themselves.

“You know he totally wants to bang you, right?” Twyla said, causing the girl to glare at her. She held her hands up in defense, looking back at the girl as she began to walk off. “I’m just saying! It’s obvious. You should share a room with him when you go to Italy.”

“Do you..do you think he’d want that? I don’t wanna get in the way of-”

“Are you kidding me?! The man practically worships the very earth you walk on, why wouldn’t he?” Twyla exclaimed as the girl followed her blindly. (Y/n) gasped, looking up at where they were. Around them were large counters on the floor and ceiling. Marble countertops with a matching marble floor along with two large fridges and a state of the art oven. Ignoring Twyla’s rambling, she began to walk through the kitchen, inspecting and exploring every part of it. Her eyes landed on the pantry to which she opened, letting out another surprised noise. It was massive, food lining the walls, all organized to perfection. There was even a walk-in freezer and fridge down the hall!

“Twyla, I’ve gotta use this kitchen. If I don’t bake something in here I’m going to die.” she said, running out to the girl as she began to shake her back and forth. “Quick! Give me an excuse to so I don’t feel bad about messing things up!”

“Ooh! I love excuses! I mean, Neville’s having a meeting so you co-” before she could finish the girl put the kettle on before beginning to pull out various different bowls and ingredients.

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

“Well, do you have security plans?” Neville asked from the end of the table, quirking a brow at the italian man at the end of the table. He noticed even through the man’s fear that he probably didn’t understand what Neville had said fully. “Sorry, um, avete piani di sicurezza?” he asked, causing Blaise to quirk a brow at the man’s fluent italian. Neville rolled his eyes at him before turning his attention back to the man. He nodded, sliding back a file folder filled with papers. 

“How long are we going to be there for?” Seamus asked.

“Does it matter? Money is money. Plus it’s not like you have anything important going on in your life, Finnegan.” Draco retorted which resulted in the shorter man growling as he grew red in the face.

“Don’t you dare fucking start. If you’re going to act like fools I’ll replace you with two lower levels in a heartbeat.” Neville gritted, not even looking up from the plans. He looked at the other man next to the italian man. “And you, what’s the exhibit worth exactly? If there’s no high hitting items we can already consider this a dud.”

“U-um. It’s estimated that it’s worth over 1.5 million, sir.” he responded, gulping as he reached for the water they had given him with a shaky hand. However, Neville wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“Listen, did I ask you what it’s estimated to be? I asked for the exact cost. If you only have estimates then how bout I est-” he was interrupted by light knocking on the door. “Who is it now?! J-just come in.” he said, huffing out. The door opened followed by a quiet set of footsteps causing the inner circle of men to smile, giggling some. Curiosity got him, causing him to turn around, his expression instantly softening. “Petal? What are you doing here, angel girl?” he asked, pulling her closer but being careful of the large tray in her hand.

“I thought you might want some snacks for your little meeting. I hope there’s enough for everyone.” she said, setting the tray down on the table. It was funny really, comical, the way the doily and flower covered tray contrasted with all the men in the room. On the tray was a large array of different foods. Scones, tea biscuits, even tea sandwiches. In the center was a beautiful antique floral teapot along with matching cups. 

“This looks amazing, princess!” he exclaimed, his stomach grumbling in agreement. She giggled at that, causing his ears to tint pink. “There’s most certainly enough. Go on fellas, don’t be-” before he could continue the men began to grab at the food, swooping in like vultures. 

“Oh my god, this is like heaven!” Seamus moaned out, bits of sandwich falling from his mouth. Ron nodded along in agreement, a bunch of unintelligible words leaving his mouth. Even Blaise was wide eyed as he sipped at the tea, taking a bite of his tea biscuit.

“Yeah, is there any more of this? What kind of tea is this? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of having it before.” he said, taking another sip. She looked at them sheepishly, leaning into Neville’s embrace.

“It’s butterfly pea tea infused with strawberry and honey. Also there’s more of everything! I kinda went overboard.” she responded. Neville smiled, grabbing her hand before placing a kiss on top of it.

“Well thank you, I really appreciate it. You’re so lovely.” he muttered, turning her hand to place a kiss on her palm before proceeding to do the same all up her arm. She giggled some at the action, looking away from him shyly.

“Well I better get going before Twyla buys more stupid things with Draco’s black card.” she turned once as she got to the door. “Good luck with your meeting!” 

Neville sighed happily before turning back around, looking at the men at the table before them. He grabbed whatever scraps the ravegers had left, eyeing everyone intensely. “What?” he spat out angrily.

“Mate you are so whipped!”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @elemental-of-magic @beewitchedlou @simpforremuslupin @mottergirl99 @princesslaiahg​ @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend​ @redpanda-poetry​ @vibingaesthetically

[launching-a-thousand-ships]

Some Dramas idk if I Even Rec

1 2 3

Cutie Pie: My Torment

These are some series I’ve watched that... they aren’t great? But they’re also so cheesy and over the top I can’t help but watch them anyway. I’m not reccing them but also I kind of am. Was gonna put all 3 in one post but then I ranted too much so gonna split up. First off: Cutie Pie

Spoiler free version: It has fun moments and some great music. The tertiary ship and side characters def make the show. Can rec for a wild ride and also intense frustration at the mcs being dumb. Kind of painful to watch, but also can’t look away. More details/spoilers under the cut.

Cutie Pie

I have so many thoughts on this series. I can’t actually say I hate it since it lowkey spawned a whole WIP for me where I’m writing a wangxian cutie pie au but also... the series isn’t good?

Pros: The music is great. Love it, it’s on my playlist and I will sing and dance to it even though I don’t know the words. I also love Zee in it even though I have comments about his character. His dancing is 10/10.

Also, Kuea’s friend group. They are all so supportive and hilarious and them pretending to be compsci students for him is everything. Syn is my fav out of them because all his scenes are hilarious and his side ship is actually my favourite.

I also love the premise, in theory (though set up for arranged marriage was weird and idk about the whole timeline). I’m a sucker for secret identities/dramatic reveals so I was really looking forward to it until... well, let’s get to cons.

Cons: Oh lord. The main 2 ships were just... Kind of a spoiler but also happens in first ep that you learn Hia Lian knew all about Kuea’s secret life as a motorcycle/drummer/engineer dude (who also plays soccer bc needs more rebel things idk). And then it’s just a whole bunch of manipulation and terrible communication and they did have some fun scenes, lover their dates and happy!Lian is adorable, but wow so much could be solved with a convo. And nothing is ever fixed and they don’t grow or anything so it’s just... it’s hard to watch. Though also on Kuea because Lian made it pretty obvious he knew and Kuea kept hiding.

The other ship (Yi and Khondiao) was harder to watch. Partly is I’m not a fan of the ‘bottom’ being so infantilized and that was definitely played up in this drama. It made their whole dynamic... weird. They get better later on? But very iffy.

The plot really was a bit all over, with a cycle of secrets and manipulation, but I rec watching if you don’t take it seriously and just want a chaotic time. Tbh I only watched it because I’m a fan of Perth (whose character confuses me because idk what his deal is) but the series haunts me with random details and now I’m writing this wangxian arranged marriage fic which is lowkey an excuse to rewrite the series and fix the problems.

If you want a stress-free life, just listen to the soundtrack. That I can rec.

Stay tuned for part 2: My Engineer

[darthkruge]

heyy Megan, I'm trying to do a character study on Anakin but im finding very limited information online. what do you think are some of his worst and best traits? his personality, humor and like his values? thank you so much,, hope you have a good day/night

omg hi!! thank you for asking me!!

*cracks knuckles* let’s get into it 

anakin skywalker character analysis

best traits:

intelligence, overall skill, curiosity 

anakin was building droids from scraps when he was a child. he spoke huttese and basic from a young age, as well. he’s an insane battle strategist, wonderfully skilled in battle/with a lightsaber, and incredible pilot! he can pick up new skills quickly, as well. i’m just gonna link this post by @chokemeanakin bc it just sums it up real nice.. but yes smart boy love him

compassion, capacity for emotions, empathy, understanding

anakin feels things deeply. i’ve talked about this a lot before lol. but yeah he is frequently in conflict over the sheer weight of the emotions he carries. further, as a jedi, this is not something his peers could relate to. but he always tries to be there for his friends and would do anything to ease their pain. and i think that anakin seeks to understand others. he’s spent so much of his life feeling alone and like no one related to him; he wants to know how other people work, feel, and think.

loyalty, friendship, caring

anakin is so fucking loyal to those he loves. and, tying into my previous point, he loves deeply. he cares, he always has. he treats droids as humans and forms attachments, even though they may be forbidden. he held onto that need for love, for connection even after he joined the order. and he would defend those he loves til the very end... 

selflessness, protectiveness, bravery

anakin would literally dive headfirst into danger to save someone he loves. he doesn’t care about hurting himself or honestly whatever happens to him, as long as those he cares for are safe. 

worst traits:

impulsivity, recklessness

i think we’ve all seen anakin be a bit impulsive at times... sometimes, he just doesn’t think everything through. this is especially clear when someone he loves is in danger. anakin’s lost so many people that when he’s faced with the threat of losing another, his judgment can become clouded. 

insecurity, jealousy, fear

anakin is frequently jealous, which stems from his insecurities. he was probably conflicted a lot; brought into the order as a young child and told he was the chosen one. the weight of the galaxy was placed on his shoulders and, yet, he was held back in classes as a padawan, he didn’t make rank (canonically). i think these things are what allowed palpatine to manipulate him; palpatine knew anakin was afraid, insecure, and, yet, arrogant (my next point dw). he tapped into this and because anakin and the council did not have much mutual trust (aside from like obi-wan), it was easier to get to him. especially because palpatine used anakin’s fear of losing padme and his unborn children to do so. fuck palpatine bro- 

arrogance

yes, anakin was insecure. yes, he was also arrogant. let me explain myself. he occassionally rushes into things without thinking, thinking he can handle them. i think a lot of this stems from being told he was the chosen one from such a young age. that title combined with his skill?! it makes sense he’d internalize it. i am now going to stop myself before i rant about how the gifted education system is a fuckfest. this is coming from someone who spent years in that program. anyway-

personality/overall rant about his life/motivations:

i think i summed up a lot of his personality within the best and worst traits because i got ahead of myself but im going to say some more!! i think a lot of anakin’s personality is dependent on his deep capacity for emotions. you can see that throughout ROTS, he was conflicted almost all the time. he grew up as a slave and all he wanted was to protect his mother. he built droids to help her and competed in podraces to tryand get them anything that could help. 

then, he was taken to the order. suddenly, all these amazing traits he has make sense!! but then the person who’s supposed to train him (qui-gon) dies after anakin’s only known him for a short period of time. anakin’s attachment issues are abundant (i don’t think i need to explain that one) so of course he grows close to obi-wan! but obi-wan was trying to be strong for anakin. even though obi-wan struggled himself with attachment, he tried to be strong and put up a front as a “good” jedi for anakin to look up to. while this was helpful, anakin probably just felt more conflicted, as no one in his life could relate to the bredth of emotions he felt. this caused him to be more introverted and withdrawn (i talk about that in this post)

then, he loses his mother, she dies in his arms. the only person he’d wanted to protect from a young age, who he left to join the jedi, dies in his arms. he blames himself for this, thinking he should have gotten there faster, should have done something more. he probably also blamed the jedi, to at least some extent. why do these powers matter if they can’t save the people he loves? i believe he acted out of anger, killing the tuskens, because (at least to some degree) of the jedi. instead of teaching him how to express his emotions (pain, fear, loss, grief, etc.), they train him. to some degree, he might think all he’s good for is these skills. so he acts out of anger, slaughtering them. 

and then finally he finds someone who loves him in the way he wants to be loved. padme stays by his side, even after he killed the tuskens. she sees the good in him and treats him as a man, not a prophecy. but once again, this motif of fear remains! he has to hide this love, one of the only pure and good things in his life! he has to live in fear every second of every day because, if the council finds out that he found happiness and love, everything is ruined. 

but then he starts getting the vision’s that padme will die. and not just padme, now his unborn children could die, too. the one thing he has that is good and purely his could now be ripped away. he knew he was helpless, knew there was nothing he could do to stop it by himself. the council isn’t that helpful, telling him to learn to let it go with the force. while that might help any other jedi, it just pushed anakin away. he would never be able to just surrender and let go to the force, not when the life of his entire family is at risk! 

and he finds palpatine, someonoe who has spent years trying to manipulate him. but palpatine is smart, he’s cunning. anakin didn’t know what the real intentions were and, truly, he probably didn’t want to know. he was blinded by his fear and if anything could save padme, he would do it. then the council try to get him to spy on palpatine. again, conflict. anakin’s loyalty is repeatedly questioned and pushed and prodded, he was probably so confused! he didn’t know who to trust. but, when you combine the current situation with his backstory with who he is and what he cares about, it makes sense why it all happened. 

this is what i mean when i say conflict. he was pulled in a million directions constantly. and we all know how his story ends and i don’t want to cry so i’m not gonna detail it...

also: i’m not saying any of this excuses all of his choices, but it does explain them.  

humor:

lowkey a dork

he is. and i love that about him. you can see this in the way he flirts with padme sometimes... like floating the pear to her and the whole “i don’t like sand” thing. he’s a fucking dork. can’t exactly blame him nor do i hold it against him! he didn’t have many close friends growing up and he was like pining for padme for years so it’s not like he spent that time creating a playbook

he’s also witty!

i think this comes with his intelligence; he’s witty and he’s quick. example: “general grievous, you’re shorter than i expected.” i mean he’s no sass-king obi-wan kenobi but anakin definitely can hold his own in a verbal sparring match! 

also i headcanon him as having horrible puns but loving them!

values:

love, friendship, connections

at his core, anakin just wants to find someone who understands him and his emotions. who can relate to him. he wants those connections; in fact, he actively seeks them out. love is a key part of his identity. i talk about this in this post about his love languages so imma just link it there!

success, validation

tying into his determination, anakin wants to do well! he pushes himself and i think he’s a perfectionist, too. you can see this in the way he holds himself as a general; he doesn’t slack off, doesn’t not care. he understands the responsibility he has in that role and he takes it seriously! and just in his overall skill level, even though he was a bit of a child-prodigy, he clearly spent a long time training. he probably also had some imposter syndrome going on and was constantly trying to prove his worth. 

----

uhh yeah i think i got everything?? yes?? he’s so complex and i legit love him immensely. doing character analysis for anakin is my favorite thing in the entire universe! if anyone has anything they want to add, please feel free!!

[struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor]

Lisstennnn I love the boys but tbh if u notice the western artists they collab with or “look up to” are very mainstream, the type to make songs you hear whilst shopping at the mall u know what I mean? Like no doubt they have a couple bangers but cmon anyone that has worked in any clothes store is TIRED of artists like Ed Sheeran, Halsey, Shawn Mendes, Justin Beiber etc. And I hate to see the boys having them as inspirations bc they end up w songs like PTD which are not very good compared to their songs in Korean and I feel like Army is just giving them the views, trying to reach the “goals” and shit withou really liking the songs which isn’t good cause they are just gonna keep making songs like thisss😭 I love my boys but PTD was kinda eeh for me. Lmk what u think 🥺

Hi! Thank for the ask, first of all. People rarely read or respond to my posts, but tbh I can't blame them. I don't even think my posts always show up in the BTS tag lol, and I talk too much. Anyway...

I find it super ironic that BTS seem to love artists that make the kind of music a lot of Armys don't want. The thought of a BTSxJB collab makes me shudder. I love the music BTS make but often not the music BTS listen to. Still, Agust D, RM's music and collabs, Hope World, some of the vocal line's solo songs (especially V's) are not at all the kind of music they've recently said they listen to. Is the music they make and the music they listen to inherently different, or are they just making music that fits their "concept" and the musical identity they've carved for themselves and not necessarily the kind of music they want to do?

This also makes me think of something else, which is that Army literally goes on and on about Black Swan, but BTS have never once said they love the song. I honestly think it's another one of their songs they enjoy but don't think about much. I bet most of them prefer Butter over Black Swan. Some of their favorite songs from MOTS:7 were Zero O'Clock and Louder Than Bombs (both mellow tracks). That's kind of why it's not surprising that they're going in this direction - not only because of the popularity thing, but because they do like more generic pop music, and don't mind doing it (especially if it's only three songs so far).

I think BTS will be surprised by the reaction to this song. When Butter came out I (and some people) didn't like it, but the comment section here and on reddit was mostly positive. The song is cool and trendy. But that's not the case this time around. PTD sounds like a HSM song, and that's not exactly what's fashionable right now. On here and on reddit people have been dissing the track a lot. I don't know what's going to happen in terms of streams and stuff, because Army is powerful and the song might be well received by the GP, but I think they will reach the lowest point in their careers since Dynamite. I don't think the song will bring in a huge number of fans. It won't be a "flop" or whatever, and it's not a title track so it's fine that it doesn't perform super well, but it might hurt them more than benefit them in the long run. They're a lot of disgruntled fans right now and I think their image will take a slight hit. This is the culmination of fans' worries and complaints about their English releases. This time they don't have the excuse of the song being good or a bop. It's truly not a bop, so even Army is outright complaining.

I know people want the song to not do well so BTS can learn a lesson, but even if the song doesn't do well they won't change their current direction. Once the pandemic is over they might drop another Korean album like MOTS:7 and BE, but these albums still have songs that are more poppy and generic than desired. Their next album will have people complaining and their next songs will be blander than the norm too. This is just BTS now imo. Fans talk about ON and Black Swan - and, yes, those songs are amazing and creative - but MOTS:7 also had tracks like Louder Than Bombs and WABP: The Eternal, which, to me are American-y enough. However, fans like those tracks. Current fans don't mind the more American pop sound as long as there are meaningful lyrics and BTS put their own spin to it. BTS will never go back to their Wings era. I don't mind that because I love LY: Answer and MOTS:7 is my favorite album (even though I don't like all the songs). The point I'm trying to make is that, no, BTS won't stop releasing Butter-style music. We can hope that with PTD not doing amazing (it will probably do much better than expected), BTS might try to release a darker song or something.

Sorry for the rant. What do you think?

PS: Am I the only one that felt genuinely embarrassed for BTS watching the MV and listening to the song? I know it's stupid but this was the first time I felt kind of embarrassed being Army. There's nothing wrong with liking 1D or HSM, but, yeah...

Thanks for the ask :)

[mariaiscrafting]

okay but your post on dream making mexican jokes to quackity has awaken smth in me. quackity puts up with so many microaggressions from the community, and his friends too sometimes. and quackity takes it as jokes and lighthearted, but idk....wilbur + fans making fun of his english pronounciation? dream's 'drugs and tacos' joke? imitating quackity and putting on a thick mexican accent that he doesn't even have?? like... i swear he put the mexican dream but to rest bc of how much yt ppl were doing

I am so exhausted from running myself in circles thinking about this issue and this ask, so I’m gonna stop aiming for creating a perfect response and simply respond freely, uglily, and messily, as I would naturally.

When I criticize CCs or mcyt stans for being problematic, I’m always selfish. I almost never do it to defend those CCs, except for very, very few times, which usually have to do with the CCs being minors and me being protective of minors. Otherwise, when I criticize CCs or mcyt stans for being problematic, it comes from a deep place of hurt within me. When I first started that discourse on the fetishization and pathologization of DNF, it wasn’t for DNF’s sake; it was because it fucking hurt, as a queer person, to see. When I got pissed off about the Fundy jokes, it could give two shits about Fundy himself; it was because it fucking hurt to hear, as a woman. When I went off about Niki’s writing getting ignored, it wasn’t to defend Niki, because she doesn’t need my random defense; it was because of me, it was to address the hurt I felt.

With all that being said, when I criticize CCs for their treatment of Quackity’s being Mexican or speaking Spanish, it isn’t because I truly care about Quackity. It might sound cold, but I like to distance myself from CCs because I know they are just entertainers and that they will never be my friends or anything. As much as I gush about CCs and care about them and am in awe of their talent and energy and creations, I don’t endeavor to protect them as I would a friend or my sisters. When I speak about the anti-Latinx racism I’ve witnessed that’s been targeted at Quackity, I speak from my own hurt, my own anger and frustration.

Microaggressions are naturally going to be a part of being a minority in a community or career field, of course. I didn’t really expect everyone to be normal about a Mexican creator among mostly white, American or European men. I didn’t expect them to never make offhand remarks or exhibit weird patterns of treatment that can be summarized to be microaggressions. That doesn’t make me any less disappointed or frustrated by the times they do.

For me, what’s really important is context and a basis of either ignorance or hatred, for something to be deemed a truly racist microaggression. The reason I didn’t rant about Wilbur in that post was because Wilbur literally does that with everyone; he makes fun of the ways Niki says words, Phil, Fundy, even Tommy. Him making fun of the way Quackity says some words is insensitive of Spanish being Quackity’s first language, yes, but was it really, like, a microaggression formed from ignorance or hatred? Debatable, but in my opinion, not really.

Now then. Dream. Let me first say that I am biased; I already don’t like Dream, so that might unfairly cloud my judgement of Dream’s actions. But the main video that pissed me off a couple months ago was a stream where Quackity has this bit where he’s “running from the cops” because of drug dealing, and Dream is chasing him, George, and Sapnap. I’ve seen people in the comments section and on Twitter subsequently excuse Dream for buying into the stereotypes Quackity sets up - making remarks about smelling like drugs and tacos, for example - with the fact that Quackity was the one who started the bit in the first place. This just... is not okay. I don’t know how else to say it. I’ve talked about how black comedy functions, about why it’s usually more fitting and less offensive for people of a certain identity to make jokes about their own experiences, here. But to expand on that, I’d like to say that the reason Quackity making jokes about Mexicans smoking weed and drug dealing and being from the barrio and eating tacos isn’t offensive goes beyond Quackity simply being Mexican himself; it’s because he is essentially subverting those stereotypes by portraying them in a ridiculous, satirical manner himself. I don’t know if this makes sense to anyone but me, lol, but basically: if you take a stereotype that would typically be used by white people, and you portray in a clearly comedic manner, you make it seem ridiculous. In that way, you aren’t really making a dig at Mexicans themselves; the people you’re ridiculing, offending, etc., are the people who believe and create those stereotypes. You’re turning the stereotype on its head, using it as a tool to make racists look stupid. The thing is, if you yourself are Mexican, there is little room for questioning whether or not that’s what you’re trying to do because you are Mexican; you’re probably not trying to make Mexicans seem dumb or criminal or gross because you are Mexican, why the fuck would you put down your own identity? But when a white man then takes that joke - what was supposed to be a satirical bit - and feeds into it, playing the part of a police officer deriding that criminal, drug-smoking, taco-eating Mexican for all those things... the butt of the joke is now the Mexican. It is no longer the white man, but the oppressed group. And that. Is. Fucking. Racist.

Whatever, anyways, I’ve gotten myself way too riled up. There are other instances of MCYTs doing sketchy, racist shit in relation to Quackity, and there are other times Dream has done that kinda shit, but I just don’t have the energy or will to go into every single instance at this time. The thing I ranted about in my original post about this was about a totally different instance, where Dream asked if Quackity was “casting a spell on him” when he started cursing him out in Spanish, which reminded me so much of my own experiences with speaking Spanish around non-Spanish speakers - basically my many East Asian friends in high school. I could unpack the colonial, Westernized, Christian views that influence these kinds of jokes, or I could unpack the treatment of Spanish speakers as Other and Odd, Spanish words constantly warped out of their original meaning, in white America...... orrrrr I could do literally anything else.

So I’m gonna go do literally anything else.

[everlarkficexchange]

Operation: BREAD (Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad)

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 23: Rumor: MrEverdeen crossed fence dividing Town and Seam, kidnapped Mrs Everdeen making her his common law wife. Years later, Mellark sons plan to avenge their father by raiding Seam and kidnapping one of Everdeen’s daughters for one of them to take as a wife! Does Katniss “volunteer,” does she escape, how do the 3 brothers decide what to do with her since they didn’t plan it all out well? [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rated: T for now, for language.

Author’s Note: So, I resigned myself that this prompt won’t be completed by the new dateline of May 10th, because believe it not, quarantining with the husband and children at home makes for a very busy day… everyday. I haven’t been able to write anything for days at a time, and everytime I come back, I reread what I’ve written so far, and find faults that need fixing and what I hoped to be a short story is turning into a long one shot because I’m incapable of keep things simple… and now I’m ranting about everything instead of thanking everyone— from the EFE administrators, to @567inpanem for the prompt, and y’all dear readers— and wishing all moms a happy Mother’s Day, even if you celebrate it on a different date in your country… and I a belated happy birthday to Katniss Everdeen and Also a happy Mother’s Day to her, because she deserves it… anywho…

Here’s is the very first part of this story, that can’t make up its mind on what it wants to be (it’s leaning into romcom territory right now), I’ll post all my submissions soonish (hopefully finished), and I apologize for any formatting defects since I’m posting from my cell phone, otherwise I’ll forget to post it at all.

Sorry this is messy! I love y’all! Stay healthy.

————

“Quiet, you morons!” Bannock… whispers?

Is that the right descriptor for the harsh, low sounds that comes from his mouth? I’m not quite sure, but I look at him sheepishly, since I was the one to trip on air this time around and nearly knock down a clothesline, poles and all.

“S-sorry…” I stutter drunkenly.

Rye shrugs, uncaring. Asshole!

Bannock glares at us with his bloodshot, angry blue eyes before turning around and creeping forward.

It’s a chilly night out, with no stars and just a sliver of moon casting minimal light over us, ideal to maraud and raid… if we lived any place else, that is.

If we were to find ourselves face to face with the flashlight of a Peacekeeper patrolling the streets, things could go anywhere from awkward to deadly, and I really hope we don’t have to find out how it’ll truly go. We’re wasted, outside our house after curfew, and facing our mother’s wrath would probably be as terrible as any punishment the peacekeepers would inflict on us.

The later option has me swallowing thickly.

I’m no coward by any stretch of the word… but I do enjoy being alive, so… yeah.

“Don’t mess around, no more!” Bannock chides.

As soon as Bann turns around, Rye mouths his words back, mockingly, and I wonder— not for the first time— how can my brothers be so immature? Bannock just turned 25, while Rye has the mind of a 13 year old trapped in the muscular body of a 24 year old man; leaving sweet, little me, the 21 year old baby sibling, to bring the rear.

Rye burps, mostly quietly, earning another warning glare from Bann. All things considered, I’m a little impressed at how stealthily we’ve been moving so far, being as enebriated as we are and all. But who knows? Maybe we really aren’t as slick as my alcohol soaked brain thinks we are, and I’m just too skunked to know any better.

“D’you think we’ll be back before father wakes to take care of the ovens?” Rye slurs a little, squinting his eyes at a cat trotting across the alley in front of him. A second later he’s frowning down at the cat, shushing it obnoxiously, as if it’s soft paws are the ones making the stopping sounds coming from his own boots.

Bannock shrugs, “Who cares!”

I’m about to raise my hand and respond that I do, I care, but Rye starts laughing like an idiot, already distracted by something else. We turn to catch him picking up a stick and throwing it at the poor, unsuspecting cat. As soon as the stick hits it’s side, the animal loses its balance, making it fall into a trash can, with a terrified cry.

It’s awful. And loud.

“Knock it off!” Bannock growls as quietly as he can. “You’re gonna wake up the whole town, asshole!”

The cat meows indignantly, climbing out of the trash. He jumps to the other side and it’s gone in the next moment.

I sigh, rubbing one hand over my face. “Guys, I think we should go back. I don’t think Father will approve of this.”

“Shut up, Peeta!”

“Yeah! Shut it, runt!”

I grunt in aggravation under my breath. “I’m serious. We shouldn’t be out here… at all!” I insist.

“Why did you come then?” Bann hisses.

“You dragged me out with you, jackass!” I counter, pointedly. Plus, I’m the least drunk out of the three of us, and I figured I should keep an eye on them two, make sure they don’t get hurt in this idiotic quest… but I don’t say that out aloud. “I still don’t understand why, are we stumbling across town in the middle of the night, risking getting caught outside after curfew.”

“You know why, Peeta! We’ve gone over it to death,” snaps Bann, twisting his whole body to face me and almost walking into a potted plant sitting by somebody’s back door. “Father doesn’t know how to take care of himself, let alone how to defend his honor!”

“Our hands have been forced, runt. We need to pick up the slack, that’s why!”

I roll my eyes at my brothers.

It’s true though. For the last 26 years, our father has been both the butt of every joke said in the streets of district 12, and the victim of a tragic cautionary tale, people somehow feel the sadistic inclination to bring up to us, Mellark boys, as if we needed the reminder.

“Geez… save it for Everdeen, Bann. Let the runt keep his head instead of chewing it off him!”

Bannock frowns. It’s not everyday Rye comes to my defense, which means he really must be hammered.

Cool! I love brotherly affection… even if given under the influence.

“Whatever.” Bannock mutters under his breath. “We’re here anyway.” He signals to the fence dividing our district into two unequal sections: the merchant quarter, where we live, and the Seam (our destination), the largest— yet poorest— side of 12.

It’s unclear why the government erected the fence running right through the district in the first place, but the effect of having a literal barrier separating everyone in our small district, couldn’t be any clearer: we have a huge social divide amongst our people, very distinct and hard to overcome. Both sides distrusting the other, despite there never being a tangible reason why.

Personally, I think the most logical explanation for the creation of the internal fence, was just sheer desire to create hostility and antagonism between the citizens of 12… maybe it’s easier for the Capitol’s long arm to control a podunk place like here, when there’s an unbridgeable social chasm between our own denizens; how can we band together to demand better treatment and fair representation from the mighty Capitol, when we’re fighting with each other?

Of course, I keep my opinion to myself, because speaking of such things is just a sure way to find oneself in prison, facing charges of public agitation and whatnot.

Bann cuts through my musings, “Alright… let’s find a spot to cross over.” He says determined and still very intoxicated.

The worst kept secret in District 12, is how some sections of the fence are too close to the houses in the merchant side. If one really wants to cross into the other side over the fence, one only needs to look for a low wall adjacent to the top links of the fence to climb on, and after that, it’s all a matter of gravity pulling you down. Its been done before too…

Everyone speculates that’s what happened the day our father fell into disgrace: A man from the Seam found a weak spot to exploit… and the rest is history. Never mind the fact that jumping the fence is a common enough hooligan deed; how else can teenage couples reach the Slag Heap at the edge of the old coal mines to engage in their secret affairs?

It only takes us a few minutes to find a brick wall circling the backyard of a random house, just two feet shy of the fence.

We climb it with all the grace of a pig crawling up a greased pole, but after much huffing and puffing, we manage— with great effort— to drag ourselves over the barrier. We’re sweating and swearing, but who could blame us for that? We Mellark boys are just too broad and heavy with muscle, add to the mix the fact that we’ve drank our body weight in white liquor right before Bann had the brilliant idea of dragging us out here, and you have an uncoordinated— mostly clumsy— sad excuse, trio of vandals.

Rye goes first, then I go; finally, Bannock splatters down like a bullfrog, falling on his ass. He’s disgruntled and I suspect in dire need of a nap.

“Come on!” He commands, dusting his behind sloppily.

We’ve been walking aimlessly through unfamiliar dirt roads and dark unpaved alleys. The place is littered with produce crates set upside down in neat circles every other road… I vaguely wonder if that’s what passes as a socializing hot spot here in the Seam, like the square with its concrete benches is for us in town?

Sometimes I forget how things can be so shitty on this side of the District. It makes my stomach twist unpleasantly with guilt, realizing I take certain privileges for granted.

About five minutes into our stupid intrusion into Seam territory, Rye speaks up.

“Dude… do you know where they live?”

Bannock’s head snaps up, clearly annoyed. “How hard can it be to find the Seam’s apothecary?”

Very, actually.

First of all, The Seam consists of row after row of seemingly identical shacks, in varying states of shabbiness, arranged in a huge matrix of sorts. Each row is made of three to five houses with a slim road in between the next set of homes.

For what I gather in my limited liquor-addled brain, each horizontal row has a designated letter, and the vertical street goes by number. Other than that, there are no other distinguishing signs, telling us where we are or how to find the ‘Seam apothecary’ as Bann inarticulately dubbed it.

Rye groans in annoyance, seeming ready to overrule Bannock and call the whole thing off, himself; but my drunk ass is too stupid to keep my big mouth shut.

“They live close to the electric fence. Right before the meadow. They probably have a fence-in yard, too.”

I wince, regretting my words right away. I shouldn’t have said anything, but like an idiot, I couldn’t help spilling out the small bursts of information I’ve gathered over the years on the Everdeens.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but the Everdeens are a bit of an obsession to me… for all of us Mellarks, really. Given our entangled past with them, it shouldn’t be so much of a revelation, but this thing between our families has been a nuisance ever since I can remember and while my brothers and mother use it as a focal point of hatred and animosity. For me, is a curiosity driven thirst for knowledge on everything Everdeen. Anything that could shed light on our sordid past, I would gobble up, trying to answer why something that has virtually nothing to do with me and my brothers, still haunt us everywhere we go.

Rye frowns. “Fence-in yard?” He looks around the houses we are passing, realizing none of those have fences.

“Goat.” Bannock grunts, nodding thoughtfully. “Good catch, runt.”

“Huh?” Rye is scratching his head, confused.

“The blonde girl,” Bann says with mild irritation.

People from the Seam have a very specific look to them: dark— usually straight— hair, gray eyes, olive skin… ‘blonde’, blue eyed and pale, is more of a descriptor for people from the merchant class, like us… like Mrs. Everdeen.

The poor woman must stick out like a sore thumb in here; probably the same goes to her merchant-looking daughter, Primrose.

“What about the blonde?”

“She makes goat cheese.” Bann huffs as explanation, but since Rye still looks like the concept is too hard to fathom, Bannock grunts, expanding. “She trades the cheese in town. Mainly with Father. Which means, Everdeen has to keep at least one goat for the girl to have access to milk.”

“M’kay… goat, fences, meadow.” Rye lists clumsily on his fingers, following after Bann. “Got it!”

We quickened our steps in the direction of the electric fence. I’m still kicking myself for saying anything when we reach the last row of houses before the meadow.

I really hope I’m wrong about them having a goat, although I find it hard to believe Primrose steals milk from other people for her cheeses. She looks so sweet and innocent.

Alas, I’m too clever for my own good sometimes.

The very first house in the row at the edge of the meadow, has a pen connected to the house on the strip of backyard allotted to them. A tiny but sturdy shed stands against the back wall of the house, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, I can barely make out the snout of a goat, peeking out of the narrow opening of the shed.

“This is it!” Rye crows excitedly, rubbing his hands together and licking his chops like a hungry, humanoid wolf.

“Yeah. Finally!” Grunts Bann, “keep your voice down, doofus.” his reaction, both frenzied and anxious.

“Let’s do this!” Rye’s smile is deranged.

“Great!” I hiccup with fake enthusiasm. “What are we doing?” I deadpan, staring at my siblings with all the aggravation I can muster.

My brothers speak excitedly at the same time:

“Taking one of the girls back home with us!”/“Beating the shit out of Everdeen!”

My brothers look at each other, perplexed, and go, “”What?!” At the same time.

“Fuck!” I groan to the skies, noting its near dawn. “You better be joking! We came all the way out here, and you idiots didn’t plan what you were going to do once we arrived?”

“No… I mean, yes! No. it’s simple,” Slurs Rye trying to stare me in the eye and failing miserably, “We’re dragging Everdeen out here. Then, we’ll beat the snot out of the bastard, and have you doodle the whole thing out for Father… you’ll finally use that art talent of yours for something we’ll all enjoy… not just you,”

“No, no, no, no!” Snaps Bannock. “We’re taking one of Everdeen’s daughters, bring her back home with us, and avenge father.”

“What? Why?” Rye whines much too loud and even I shush him. “I thought we were just gonna jump the bastard and rearrange his face a little,” Rye sounds disappointed.

Bannock answers right away, sounding like our mother when she’s chiding us for some thing or another. “Dude… the guy stole Dad’s girl! You know what they say about repaying a slight with the same coin and all that shit. It stands to reason, the course of action here is to take one of the girls home with us, sleep with her, and get her pregnant or something, then she can’t come back to her daddy.”

I throw my hands up in the air, “That’s it! I’m out!” My brain practically short circuits with the outrageous shit my brothers are spewing out of their mouths.

Sure, beating the lights out of an unsuspecting man in front of his house in the middle of the night is already crazy, but Bann’s idea to take a girl away from her home, it’s beyond preposterous!

Instead of lashing out, I turn around and stalk away as fast as my legs can carry me. I’m still tipsy, so I stumble a little, but I’m determined to leave.

“Hey! Where are ya going?!”

I get grabbed by the bíceps and pulled back to ‘hide’ behind a scraggly bush overlooking the house we assume is Everdeen’s. My brothers push me down by the shoulders roughly, until I’m sitting on my ass.

“The hell is wrong with you two?” I snarl, trying to punch and kick either one of them.

“Shut up, runt! They’re gonna hear you!”

“Good! Then someone will call the Peacekeepers over.”

“Wha— No! Why would you want that?” Rye whines.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this crazy shit!” I spit enraged.

“Dude, you can’t bail on operation BREAD,” Rye scrunches up his face.

“Operation Bread? What in the hell, is operation Bread?” I wrench my arms free from them at last, glowering up at both.

“Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad!” Rye says proudly, a lopsided smile brightens his face, and all I want to do is punch his nose.

“You’re insane!” I sputter.

“No… I’m cle-ver!” Rye grins, tapping a finger to his temple.

“Come on, Peeta. You know this needs to be done!” Bann cuts in.

“No! It doesn’t!” I argue. I still feel woozy from alcohol though, so it’s costing me too much effort trying to get up. “This is just insane, Bannock! What you’re proposing is just… heinous!” I hiss.

Bannock’s face hardens, “Nobody will see it like that.” He assures, “An eye for an eye, baby brother.”

“So what? We’re gonna kidnap and rape an innocent girl in revenge, and you think that’ll fix anything? Will it bring peace? It’ll help you get Madelynn’s parents to back off and let her marry you?” I’m so pissed off, I’m pretty sure spittle is flying out of my mouth. “It won’t do anyone any good! Not us, nor father, and especially not Katniss or Primrose!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bannock flies at me, and all I have to do is lift my arms to shield my head.

Rye is an equal opportunity asshole most of the time, but in this moment, he’s the one stopping Bannock from breaking my face in two, and I’m very grateful for my middle brother manhandling our eldest for me.

“Rape is a strong word, runt.” Rye gasps with the effort of keeping Bannock from kicking my ass. But if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, I think maybe my words are chipping away some of his complicitness in this mess. “Maybe, what Bann meant, was, one of us will… you know… spend time with the girl, and then… make her his common law wife or something?” Rye looks at Bann expectantly.

Bannock nods. Rye lets go of him.

We all stay silent, breathing heavily for a moment.

“Same coin. Simple as that.”

If the stories are to be believed, Sorrel Everdeen crossed the fence dividing the merchant quarter and the seam, kidnapped my father’s betrothed— Lily— and made her his common law wife, despite being common knowledge, that the woman in question was engaged to our father since they were very young.

It’s an old rumor, really, with no real way to fact-check the events that led to this moment in time, but there’s always been some nasty whispering churning around town; tales varying in height and perjury, sometimes scandalous, others depraved, always with add-ons and full of conjectures flavored by the speaker in turn, but never the whole truth.

The worst thing is that the stories die down for a while when something juicer comes up, but then resurface, like a persistent oily stain on cement… It’s been 26 years since the real events leading to the Everdeens controversial marriage took place, yet the old gossip mill in District 12 has waxed over and rewritten the sordid story through the lense of judgemental people over and over again, until even our mother has started to repeat the outlandish tales, as if she wasn’t an active participant of the story herself.

Still… “I just can’t!” I say both exasperated and grossed out. “We should just go home—“

I get cut off when the door of the Everdeen house opens spilling faint candlelight into the almost blackened-out street.

My brothers rush to huddle around me, crowding on top of me like a pair of boulders… or worse: a pair of sweaty, heavy, alcohol doused men. Disgusting!

The door of the shack closes softly and to our shock, a very angry looking Katniss Everdeen stomps in the direction of the sad excuse for a bush we’re hiding in.

“Hmm… guys… I think she sees us.” I mumble calmly, yet terrified. Katniss Everdeen, eldest daughter of Sorrel and Lily, is coming our way with fire in her eyes.

TBC on AO3…

[whookami]

About Stobin

Or

An asexual’s limited experience in what romance and relationships are actually about and how she totally put her foot in her mouth and probably offended an entire demographic unintentionally, but was also super aggressive about it?

Or

Whoops. I done fucked up.

So, no denying it. I made a post yesterday in which I argued in bad faith about the entire topic of Stobin, and why shipping them without a sexual component shouldn’t receive the amount of hate it does.

First and foremost: I’m in no way an authority on sex and sexuality and sexual identity. In fact, I’m probably the least qualified person to talk about it. I’m asexual. I’m actively repulsed by most physical contact, and I’m pretty content 90% of the time with my permanent singlehood.

But! At times I see relationships, and I envy them. I want them. I want that connection that two people feel so deeply that makes them choose each other above anyone else in the world. The problem is that when I see this take the form of a romantic relationship, let’s say Jancy for instance, I can’t relate. I don’t want that. I don’t want the touching and kissing and all of that stuff. I see something like Steve and Robin, who have a dynamic I envy without any physical component, and to me that is the ultimate perfect ideal. I want to grow old with someone like that.

But this ignores and invalidates Robin’s sexuality, and in a comment I received and replied to, it mentions that my take reduced the identifier of Lesbian as being limited to a sexual concept, when it means more. And I replied that I understood and agreed. But after a few hours of sitting with this, I realized, I don’t really understand. Like, at all. To me, labels like Gay or Lesbian did, in my mind, indicate a sexual identity, but not an emotional one. In my head I’d always divorced the concept of physical attraction and emotional attraction as two separate pieces, but with a certain amount of overlap, as this is true of my personal experiences. I can experience aesthetic attraction, and desire an emotional connection with other people that is, maybe?, on par with romantic attraction. I’m honestly not even sure. But I’d always internalized these pieces as being very separate and not limited or affected by gender.

But like, I can’t pretend like I understand how these different pieces line up, or feel, or affect each other in allosexual people. I mean, I said I understood, and I grasp it a bit, but, most of that understanding comes from the media I’ve watched in my life, and so much of that expressed love and romance from an exclusively patriarcial heteronormative perspective. What the hell do I actually know about how women view sex, and how lesbians view themselves and their identities? Even though I’m afab, my own sexuality has largely separated me from how most women experience themselves, their bodies, their awareness of their own sexuality, and how that affects their behaviour. It’s kind of weird to realize just how little I understand this thing that is just so innate to other people.

That doesn’t give me a pass to be an ass about it, though. My post yesterday was assholish. I did get rid of that piece, but I kept myself a copy as a reminder. I’m honestly embarassed now. I don’t have an excuse. I am cringing at myself right now. I said something truly stupid about not being allowed to view Stobin as romantically possible is somehow (how??? How, Courtney?? You did a shit job explaining this part and today, only a day later, I don’t even know what the heck I was trying to say!) denying my sexual identity or some vague shit like that. I seriously do not know what I meant. I do know I was angry because over messenger I’d been talking with a friend about fanfic and mentioned I was writing one in which Steve and Robin are in an arranged marriage, and while it is sexless, Steve is incredibly happy and Robin is caught feeling guilty and unhappy and a bunch of things because she cares about Steve and doesn’t want to hurt him and lie to him and blah blah blah, not important. Anyways, she called me disgusting and that I should give up writing for all time. Which, okay, hurt. I was angry and upset and for whatever reason it lead to that awful rant, and just… fuck. I was such a piece of shit. I really was. I’m mad at myself for having such a knee jerk reaction and saying a bunch of garbage, it was a pathetic attempt to make my feelings seem more valid, or like I was somehow the offended party.

Let me be perfectly clear: I wasn’t. Of course I wasn’t. My friend was harsh and could’ve definitely spoken with me about the issue in a better manner, but I’m the one who went off and made a private disatisfaction into this rant in which I tried to speak with authority about something I have no right to pretend like I understand.

I’m really sorry. It was offensive and filled with a bunch of terrible ideas and poisonous concepts and just an unfair anger that I am ashamed of in hindsight. I used terrible arguments to try and make my own feelings seem more valid, because I didn’t want to feel wrong or bad for how my take on them as an ‘ideal’ relationship ignores a huge part of their identities, and in Robin’s case that identity means an awful lot to so many people who have long been either unrepresented, underrepresented, or poorly represented. And I go opening my big fucking mouth and just stick my entire leg in there.

So yeah, that was shitty of me and I’m gonna try to do better. It’s not gonna be perfect, but like, I can just keep trying and keep listening when people who actually do know what they’re talking about have something to say to me about it.

[emybain]

Total Fluff Where Nova Surprises Everyone

I previously posted something about a mother coming up to sketch’s team in public and asking them to hold her baby while she did something, and the baby is crying and all of that, and no one can calm them down except for nova, much to everyone’s surprise and amusement. I decided to write it because i have nothing better to do with my life. Im gonna say it takes place post-archenemies but pre-reveal so…. Here. 

Edit: Holy heck I did not mean for this to be so long Im so sorry. Warning: this is unedited bc im tired.

Nova’s eyes followed Adrian as he paced back and forth. They were in the lounge, waiting to be called in for a patrol shift. Oscar and Ruby were playing Battle to the Death, like they always did, and were volleying insults to one another. Danna was...well...stuck in swarm mode still. Nova’s stomach churned at the thought. Her butterflies had disappeared after the gala a couple of weeks ago, according to Adrian, and hadn’t made an appearance since. Nova was constantly checking her surroundings whenever she was alone to make sure that one of them wasn’t following her the way the one currently trapped in the room she shared with honey was. She tried to push down thoughts of Danna, and how if her trapped butterfly somehow got loose, it would all be over for Nova.

    Nova wanted nothing more than to be done with the Renegades, but she still had a mission. A mission that was supposed to have ended two weeks ago, had it not been for the arrest of her uncle, Ace Anarchy. This hero charade was running itself dry. Nova was back on track; her uncle’s arrest reminded her of that. She was expecting Leroy or Honey or Phobia to tell her any day now that she could put Nova McLain and Insomnia to rest. That she could become Nightmare, fully, again.

    She waited for that day with anticipation, fingers itching to grasp it. It was only a matter of time before the Renegades caught onto her game, also. Too many clues, too many reckless mistakes, had been left behind the night of the gala. Then, she had thought her time parading around as a Renegade was over. She hadn’t cared about what she did or the damage she left that would lead the Renegades busting down the door to her home and arresting her. She cared now. Every step, every maneuver, every breath, was taken with precaution. Even now, Nova’s eyes left Adrian’s pacing form to glance at the elevator doors, at the exit signs, at the room full of Renegades that could easily outnumber her. Every time the elevator buzzed open, she expected more experienced and higher up Renegades to come bursting in, armed with powers and weapons and handcuffs and Agent N specifically for Nova.

    Adrian passed her for the umpteenth time, and she grabbed his hand, which had been used to amplify his rant about Nightmare. She had only been half listening to him, as it was stuff she had heard a thousand times before, how much he hated her and how she would pay for what she did to Max.

    Max, who was currently hidden away in his quarantine. No one was allowed to visit him, not even Captain Chromium. After barely surviving being ran through with the chromium spear, and having to go through a surgery that lasted hours, Max had been transported back to his quarantine to avoid the media and to prevent prodigies from being affected by his power. He was on strict bed rest, and would be that way for many weeks. Nova’s heart tugged, and she longed to tell Adrian that it wasn’t Nightmare who almost killed Max, but Genissa Clark, who was no longer a Renegade after being tranquilized by Nova herself. However, there was no way for her to tell Adrian without revealing her true identity and ruining everything. Not that it would matter much if he knew the truth, anyways. He still hated Nightmare with a burning passion.

    Ironic, really.

    Adrian paused in his ranting, mid-sentence about how in the hell did Nightmare even have access to Agent N and how she was able to take down Frostbite’s entire team alone. Another thing that could trace itself back to Nova.

    Adrian looked down at their hands, mouth open slightly. He stopped pacing, finally, too surprised by her confidant gesture. Nova took the opportunity and pressed her luck more, covering the back of his hand with her other one, sandwiching his together between hers. She squeezed his hand softly with the one holding his palm and stroked his knuckles with the thumb on her other hand. She gazed up at him, trying to feign a worried face. She batted her eyelashes, opened her eyes a little wider, raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips. It wasn’t hard, as she was truly worried about him. About his obsession, his lack of sleep, his constant Nightmare this and Nightmare that. He was worrying himself sick over the same person he was letting hold his hand.

    “You need to stop, Adrian.” Nova insisted. “You’ve been going on about Nightmare ever since we set foot in here, and you’ve been obsessing over her ever since that night.” He flinched, down casting his eyes.

    “You don’t understand,” he muttered. “I have to find her, Nova. She tried to-”

    “I know.” Nova sighed, a little frustrated. She pushed down the negativity, though, and stopped her stroking to stand and nudge his chin so he would look at her. He jumped at the contact.  “You need to get your mind off of her.”

    Adrian tugged her closer, making Nova’s heart race. She ignored it. Mostly. “I’ve tried. It’s just...it’s hard to after what she did.”

    “I know,” Nova repeated. They were inches apart. For all Nova cared, they could be the only two people in that room. In the entire world. “How do you think I felt after my family..you know..” she trailed off, then shook her head. “I was angry for a long time, Adrian. I’m still angry, but there’s nothing I can do about it to change what happened.” When his eyes started to drift away from hers again, she placed a desperate hand on his chest. “Adrian, Max is still here. He was very lucky.”

    Adrian stared at her for so long that she shifted, feeling his eyes bore into her, making her feel bare. Then, he closed his eyes, let out a slow breath, and pulled the hand that was still holding his to his lips. The soft press of his kiss on the back of her hand was so intimate that it sent a shock through Nova’s body. She felt her cheeks light up. He held her hand there for a second, then pulled back, letting their entwined hands fall between them. She instantly missed the contact, even though they were still holding one another.

    “You’re right,” he finally said, with a slight nod.

    Nova pressed a smile to her lips. It was tight. “I have an idea: let’s take a walk. Maybe go to the park? They clearly don’t need us here right now if we haven’t been called in yet, and if they do, we’ll get a message through our communication bands.”

    Adrian seemed to ponder it for a moment, then nodded again, this time firmly. “Alright. Should we tell Oscar and Ruby, or should we let them continue their bickering?”

    They both glanced over at the pair, who had moved onto another arcade game that Nova was unfamiliar to. It looked like some sort of racing game, with seats and steering wheels. Ruby was trying to mess Oscar up by swiping at his steering wheel, causing his car to veer off-course. He cursed her and swatted at her hand, shoving her away, although not harshly. Ruby cackled, trying to do it again while controlling her own wheel, but Oscar was able to keep her away this time. He kept glancing at her, and if it was out of precaution or affection or both, Nova had no clue. She shook her head.

    “I think they need some fresh air, too.”

    Nova and Adrian trailed behind Oscar and Ruby, hand in hand. Oscar must’ve made a bad joke, because he threw his head back laughing while Ruby groaned, face palming. Nova caught a glimpse of a smile on her face, however. She also noticed Oscar’s failed attempts to reach for her hand, as Ruby was animated and used her hands whenever she spoke. A pang of sympathy went through Nova for Oscar.

    “When are they going to get together,” Nova said under her breath, shooting a smile to Adrian. He chuckled and shook his head.

    “When they decide to fess up to each other.”

    “So never?”

    “Probably.”

    Nova shook her head, watching the two in front of them. She thought back to her conversation with Oscar back at the gala. He really was charming, despite, well, everything he did. And it was clear that Ruby liked him back; he was just too in-denial to see it.

    A breeze blew through, sending goosebumps down Nova’s arm. The weather was starting to turn, becoming chillier every day. The issued Renegade’s uniform wasn’t exactly made with material for winter. Nightmare’s disguise would’ve kept her warm, she thought smugly.

    Ahead, Oscar and Ruby slowed to a stop and looked behind them, waiting for Nova and Adrian to catch up. When they did, the four of them started walking again.

    “Have either of you heard anything from Danna?” Ruby asked, worry lacing her tone. “Oscar and I were just discussing that, and how her swarm won’t fair well with this weather.”

    Adrian shook his head. “No. Nothing since the gala, when I last messaged her.”

    “Yeah, we haven’t heard anything since we saw her butterflies at the cathedral.” Ruby shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

    Nova opened her mouth, about to feign having not seen her either, when a young woman with a crying baby in her arms rushed over to them. The group stopped, all four surprised.

    “Excuse me,” the woman said, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but there are no other mother’s around, and I saw the uniforms. Can you watch my daughter for me for like five minutes? My son just ran off and I can’t catch him while holding her.”

    Adrian was the first to speak. “Of course, ma’am.” He smiled at her pleasantly. “Do you need any help finding your son?”

    Relief swept over the woman’s features. “No, I know where he’s going, I just need to grab him before he gets there or I’ll be in huge trouble. He’s done this dozens of times that I know his route and how fast he goes, so it won’t take long.” She hurried forward and pushed the baby into Adrian’s arms, forcing him to let go of Nova’s hand, much to her dismay. “Thank you so much! I’ll be back in a minute!” The woman waved a hand over her shoulder as she dashed off in mad pursuit of her rogue son, shouting his name.

    Adrian looked to Nova, then to Ruby, then Oscar, panic written all over his face. His shoulders were stiff, and he held the baby at a distance from himself, awkward. The baby continued to cry, harder than before now that she was separated from her mother.

    “Help,” was all Adrian said. Nova’s mouth twitched, and she bit her cheek to keep from smiling. It was too comical.

    Oscar was less nice about keeping it in, and bust out laughing. Adrian glared at him. Ruby rolled her eyes and stepped forward, muttering about how useless boys were. She took the baby from Adrian’s arms without question, cradling her close to her chest and making shushing sounds. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet, rocking back and forth.

    The baby continued to cry, fisting her hands against Ruby’s uniform.

    After a minute, Ruby looked up with the same panicked expression as Adrian. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she stammered out, “I used to hold my brothers all the time when they were babies, and I could usually get them to stop crying. Oscar?”

    Oscar backed up, eyes wide. “Hell no. I love kids as much as anyone, but me holding a baby is bad luck.”

    Ruby groaned, shifting the infant in her arms.

    Nova had an idea. A terrible idea, really, but one that would work. She debated for a bit, arms crossed and biting her lip, then stepped forward, arms outstretched.

    “Give her to me.” She beckoned for Ruby to place the crying child in her arms. Ruby looked at Nova as if she had grown a second head. Adrian and Oscar held similar gazes.

    Nova’s face reddened at the staring. Her jaw tightened in defense. “What? I had a baby sister. I knew how to calm her better than my parents.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She spent multiple nights using her power on Evie to keep her quiet in their tiny apartment.

    Ruby hesitated, then sighed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to do. She placed the baby in Nova’s waiting arms, unfurling her little fists from her uniform. Nova held the infant close to her chest, cradling her beneath the head. Her pudgy face was scrunched up and scarlet from crying. It didn’t look like she would be giving up anytime soon, either.

    Nova glanced at the others, who were watching her closely. With a great sigh, and a small tinge of regret for what she was about to do, Nova cleared her throat. Her Papà used to sing her and Evie to sleep when they were having rough nights. She distinctly remembered one lullaby that always got her to fall asleep quickly. And if that didn’t work on this baby, well, she had her power.

    Reluctantly, Nova opened her mouth, and sang.

“Ninna nanna, ninna oh

Questo bimbo a chi lo dò?

Ninna nanna, ninna oh

Questo bimbo a chi lo dò?”

    Out of the corner of her eye, Nova saw Oscar’s jaw drop. He elbowed Adrian roughly, whispering. Blushing furiously, Nova turned her back to them, swaying from side to side to the rhythm of the song.

“Se lo dò alla befana

se lo tiene una settimana

Se lo dò all’uomo nero

se lo tiene un anno intero.”

    The crying from the baby had stopped, thankfully, and the little girl’s eyes were open. Their deep brown orbs stared up at Nova in wonder, mouth open. Nova cracked a small smile, sad, as she thought of Evie.

“Se lo dò al lupo bianco

se lo tiene tanto tanto

Ninna nanna, nanna fate

Il mio bimbo addormentate.”

     The infant did not close her eyes as Nova had hoped. Instead, she reached up and tugged at Nova’s hair. Nova ignored this, remembering that Evie used to do the same thing. She started the lullaby again, doing a little dance now. She kept her back to her teammates, not daring to look at them. When she got near the end of the song, she let her power flow through her gently, like with Evie. She stroked the baby’s soft curls, smiling at her as the baby’s eyes grew droopy, then closed. The baby girl relaxed instantly, curling into Nova. Nova hummed the lullaby, pretending that she was still trying to get the baby to fall asleep as she turned to face three wide eyed Renegades, mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. She avoided their gazes, continuing to hum and rock and look at the baby’s features. The baby was pretty adorable when she wasn’t screaming her head off.

    “Thank you so much!” Nova looked up to see the mother, now sweaty and out of breath, coming towards them with a squirming toddler beside her. Nova could see how white the woman’s hands were from holding her son so tightly. He looked very proud of himself, mischief in his eyes. “Oh my goodness, you got her to fall asleep?” The mother gaped at Nova, then glanced down at her child, still fast asleep in Nova’s arms.

    Nova laughed nervously. “Um, yeah. I sang to her and she just passed out. I used to sing to my little sister all the time when she was a baby. She was always crying, and my parent’s could never get her to sleep. But, whenever I held her, she would fall asleep almost immediately.” A partial lie, but the stranger didn’t need to know that.

    “She hates going to sleep!” the woman exclaimed, still staring at her baby in wonder. “It takes me hours to get her to even close her eyes. You have a true gift!” She turned her attention to her son, made him promise to not run away again, let go of his hand, and took her daughter from Nova, slowly to avoid waking her. “If you ever need some extra money, I would love to have you as a babysitter.”

    Nova’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vigorously. “Oh! Um...I would love to, but...I..I’m already so busy with Renegade work and my studies and things at home.” She smiled sheepishly. “But thank you for the offer.”

    The woman’s expression fell for a moment, and Nova felt bad. But what was she to do? Nightmare becoming a babysitter was the last thing Nova needed, even if she could bring in some money for the Anarchists.

    “Well, okay. If you change your mind, my name is Liliana Hemmings. I walk through this park every day around this time, so feel free to come find me.” She smiled brightly then at all four of them, gratitude written across her features. “Thank you again so much for the help. It’s always good to know we can count on the Renegades. Have a nice day!” She waved to the four of them, and they all said their goodbyes. Nova bit her lip in irritation at her comment. No one should count on the Renegades. They only brought disappointment.

    Oscar whistled loudly, moving forward to clap an arm around Nova’s shoulders, which she pushed away instantly. He snorted, unbothered. “Well, would you look at that? Our vicious and antisocial little Nova not only knows how to rock a baby, but she can sing too!” Nova glared at him, then cast her eyes downward. When she didn’t reply, Oscar continued. “And did you guys hear that vibrato? I say she’s a solid soprano.”

    “Shut up, Oscar.” Nova rolled her eyes, annoyed, yet trying to keep a smile from blooming on her face.

    “No, but seriously, where did you learn all of that, Nova?” Ruby raised an eyebrow, amused.

    Nova shrugged, shrinking under so much attention. “My dad used to sing all the time in Italian. And like I already said, I used to help put my sister to sleep all the time because my parents always had a hard time.”

    They seemed to ponder this for a moment. Then, all of their communication bands went off.

    “Looks like they need us.” Ruby beckoned them. “C’mon, let’s head back.” She and Oscar started walking, and Nova was thankful, for the first and last time in history, for the Renegades for saving her from further embarrassment. She started to follow behind Oscar and Ruby, but was pulled back by Adrian. There was a teasing smile on his face that burned her cheeks, yet she still allowed him to pull her against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist confidently. Through their uniforms, she could feel his heart beating against hers.

    “You have a beautiful voice,” he murmured, moving a hand to cup her cheek. His hand was cool against its heat. “I had no idea you could sing.”

    “Oh, we’re being Mr. Suave now, are we?” Nova tried to keep a neutral voice, but she couldn’t hide the shaking in her tone. Adrian grinned, much to her frustration, pleased at the not-compliment. The hand still at her waist squeezed, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping. Her arms remained at her side, balled into fists. She would not be drawn into his antics.

    “I’m feeling much better because of you, Nova. I wanted to thank you.” His voice turned sincere, and he pulled her closer, tilting his head down. Nova’s eyes betrayed her, flitting down to his lips. She glanced back up at him.

    “You’re welcome,” she said, although it came out hoarse. She could feel Adrian’s breath on her chin. Unable to control herself anymore, Nova closed the space between them, pressing her lips against his. He grinned and returned the kiss, deepening it slightly.

    “We’re in public.” She pulled back slightly, just to have Adrian chase after her lips.

    “And?” He moved both his hands now to cup her face, kissing her tenderly. Nova wrapped her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into his hair. She could go on like this forever, wrapped in Adrian’s warm embrace, cuddling, kissing, enjoying every second life had to offer.

    And then Oscar had to ruin it.

    “Ay, lovebirds!” he yelled, almost twenty feet away. The people around them turned their attention to Nova and Adrian. Nova pulled back instantly, but Adrian leaned in for one final peck, lingering a second too long for Oscar’s liking. “Can you keep your faces apart for two seconds or am I gonna have to come over there?” Nova turned, glaring. She wanted to slap that smug smile from Oscar’s face. Next to him, Ruby held her face in her hands, probably embarrassed for Nova and Adrian.

    “We’re coming!” Adrian called back, tugging at Nova’s hand.

Not two (2) days later, in the lounge before a night patrol:

    “You guys remember that time Nova showed her soft side by singing in Italian for a baby in public?”

    “Oscar if you don’t shut up now I will throw this pillow at you.”

[fruit-teeth]

Rant/vent: bigots playing the victim card

Okay so I might regret posting this but...goddamn, I need to talk about this real quick.

So there’s this YouTube channel called “Minute Videos”, which posts these animations (maybe that’s what they’re called??? They don’t really move though) with voiceovers of a person telling a story. The stories range from school stories to very personal accounts of different situations, like bullying or abuse or anything else.

Anyway, they posted this video earlier which told the story of a girl who got bullied until her grades dropped and she had to switch schools, and according to the story all of that bullshit happened because she said she “didn’t support the LGBT+ community”....excuse me, what????

Simply put, I don’t think this happened, but let me tell you: the comment section on that video was absolutely horrid. It was full of homophobic and transphobic straight people who were all like “Because I don’t support the gays I’m getting bullied and it sucks and THEYRE the bad guys and I can’t believe I’m getting demonized over an opinion!!!” NO NO NO NO

Saying you don’t support the rights of a group of people is NOT an opinion. An a opinion is if one person likes one TV show but another person likes a different one. Those are opinions. If you’re a straight person getting “bullied” for disagreeing with LGBT+ people feeling accepted and having basic human rights, then buddy I got news for you: they aren’t attacking you because you have a different opinion, they’re attacking you because you’re an asshole.

Maybe I’m being mean, but you know what? I’m gonna speak up on behalf of, oh I don’t know, EVERY LGBT+ person ever when I say that we all got bullied for our identities and sexualities for years and people like us have literally been murdered and beaten for a significantly long period of time because of who we are, but the minute we want to have basic human rights some straight asshole has to pipe up “OH BUT I DONT AGREE WITH THAT AND YOU SHOULD RESPECT MY OPINION!!!!!!” and then they have the fucking audacity to act like the victims when they get called out on their bullshit.

I’m sorry if I sound harsh but I am infuriated by all this. You aren’t a victim if you’re the one against oppressed groups of people getting the basic human rights and respect they deserve. Rant over

[dyingunknown-blog]

BEGINNINGS + GENDER

As said in the introduction: this is a selfish blog where I rant about myself and my feelings. Here goes my first ramble. Within this ramble contains bits of: gender, femininity,  sexuality and eating disorders. Y’know, the usual mix of edgy Tumblr content. I am posting this in celebration of Pride Month (!!! YAY!!! I HONESTLY LOVE PRIDE MONTH) but also because I’ve had this build up in my heart for too long. 

A NOTE BEFORE I BEGIN...

I know you (reader) cannot hear me doing this, so imagine me (author) taking a deep breath, filling my semi spacious lungs, and releasing all that pent up air with a heavy sigh. 

Here we fucking go. Here’s to tip of the iceberg, from 4 years of pent up gay shit to recent moments of gentle gender dysmorphia. Do not expect my writing to be fully coherent, nor written in the best grammar. I am writing for my own therapeutic needs, because I gotta get some of this energy released and I have nowhere else to dump this. This piece is a full on rant, as in I literally wrote this angrily tapping away at 2-4 am. However, I’d like to mention that I mean no offence to any parties, and simply want to vent out some of the deep thoughts I’ve been pacing around for the past few years. Feel free to send me a message regarding your personal feelings, or to just chat. I’m always here as a friend and listener <3 

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN...

I think I owe myself and you (reader) an explanation on where things began to really start. The main “spark” that got me going and prompted me to start this blog was when I found myself unable to stop playing songs by Dorian Electra. Actually-- to be honest-- it was the music videos that really got me going. The glorious explosion of just “QUEER” screaming and banging its head at my 13 inch Mac Book Pro got me extremely inspired to actually do something about the gross reactions of confusion that were occurring in my brain and body. As Dorian Electra put it, “You know I’m not straight, but I’m gonna give it straight to you.” So here’s my best shot at “giving it straight.” 

By the way... I’m from a fairly traditional family with high hopes for me, so the most freedom I can really grasp onto is starting an anonymous Tumblr blog at 2 am laying naked with just my underwear on. 

PERSONAL TOPIC 1: GENDER...

So here’s the thing, I stick to my biological birth gender like it’s my lifeline-- my comfort zone-- I guess, if anything. I personally feel like gender and sexuality have their own little symbiotic (or perhaps parasitic???) relationship, where one’s gender impacts their sexuality-- but I can also accept that my understanding is probably not politically correct. I can say, however, with a heavy heart: 

I am utterly fucked when I think about my gender and sexuality. 

I’ll take it easy first and rope down my feelings towards my gender and its definition. I jokingly scream in the halls that gender is a social construct, but let’s be honest-- is it not?  Other than our dongle-longs and hoochie-has, what makes a woman different from a man? I mean maybe it is just the sausage and the grapefruit, but I’d like to argue that... Just kidding, the more I think about it the more I fall into a rabbit hole where I can’t figure out what a male is and what a female is. I mean what are they? Is it based off of the definition I provide for myself, or what society conveniently slams into my face? Is the LGBTQ+ community the people who get to decide or is it the Westboro Baptist Church??? 

Note: these are not a rhetorical question, please answer this to your opinion because I’m in desperate need of some kind of direction beyond biology. I accept all ideologies and concepts. I’m just hella confused. 

Ehem.

Anyways, my own battle with gender goes beyond not knowing where the “line” is, or if it even exists (again, I’m still not sure if this is a personal question or something based on society...) It also goes into where I stand on this polarised scale. See-- I have a bean, a hole, and melons. Alas, in slightly more proper terms, I have a clitoris, vagina and breasts. So what does that mean for me? Am I automatically a woman? For the first 17 years of my life, I would respond to that question with a VERY confident nod. Pink was once my favourite colour, I like boys, dresses, cute animals and romcoms. My physical body only went to assure what I already knew. Now? I’m not so sure. As it is more acceptable nowadays to be “queer,” I’ve slid into the an identity crisis where I realise I’ve never revelled in the fact that I had tiddies, nor felt comfortable about having a coochie. I used to blame my confusion regarding my comfort in my biological gender on the growing queer influences in my life-- after all, everyone wants to be special and sometimes being apart of the LGBTQ+ community is the best way to stand out, especially when it’s being shoved in your face with media. Everyone who comes out of the closet is faced with incredible amounts of love and attention, and my younger self thought “maybe I should get on the boat” hence, labelling myself as bisexual for the longest time without truly feeling like I am (until in recent years.)  I blamed my confusion in identity and sexuality on the attention whore who lived inside of my heart. My feelings were only justified as true this year, when I found myself staring at myself in the mirror and couldn’t help but to feel unhappy with what I presented myself with. Undies clad with a slightly cropped black muscle tank, I could see the linings of a “V” line on my lower abdomen and felt kinda hot about it. I did the annoying fuckboy pose (you know, the one where the guy is biting his shirt to reveal his oh-so-humble six pack) and found it... kinda fun? I did have a 36D underboob flail around, but my focus was more on my bottom half, with my Victoria Secret blue lace underwear and masculine illusion.  It wasn’t like a grand glorious moment, nor was it like I was the tomboy of the house and everyone just “knew” and I only had to convince myself. Instead, it was an anti-climatic moment where I realised “fuck, I have another problem on my hands that I can’t ignore anymore.” 

I don’t know if I truly identify as female or male. Honestly, I don’t really think I need to identify myself, but that’s the 30% of my consciousness who is super queer, chill and cool. See, the other 70% of my mind is going in a frenzy screaming, because I just lost one of my key defining attributes. Think that episode of Spongebob, where Spongebob’s brain cells are screaming and throwing papers around the office setting of his brain.

Another question has also become increasingly relevant in my journey of finding my “true inner zen self.” 

Who am I choosing my gender for?

In 2018, and most of the years before, I adored being loved by boys and having guys waggle their dicks like dog tails for my tits and ass, but in 2019, I randomly figured out that I never liked my boobs for anything but that. I mean having an hourglass figure was always (and still is) a goal of mine, but I question for what reason. I’d like to say it’s for personal aesthetic appeal, but it wouldn’t be surprising to me if I just do it so people will like me more. In fact, I battled with bulimia for the very reason of: I don’t know what the fuck I want or like, but  the crowd likes “skinny thick” girls so lets do that by purging. Am I currently wearing a waist trainer and corset on top of each other because I like the outcome, or because the people around me like me more for it? I’m trying really hard not to segue into the alluring topic of toxic femininity, because I can rant for HOURS AND PAGES about that, so I’ll just say: I don’t know if I’m being a girl for myself or because I’ll be more liked for it. 

In all honesty, the truth regarding my gender became clearer the more I self conscious I became. In 2018, I fell into the trap of sending boys nudes (apologies for the TMI and sorry family if you somehow came across my blog and are currently reading this.)  I liked it for a millisecond. Why? Because it felt good to have someone desperate for me. That millisecond died off real fast. My own thoughts pooped my nude Alpha Female party with insecurity and fear of how my body compares to other girls my age. Three days after the first nude I sent I realised I hate my body. I felt empowered in the moment (honestly I do love the feeling of tease. I still do send ohohoho raunchy pics for the pure euphoria of just having someone crave me) but overall just left the experience with lingering guilt and self hatred. I wasn’t sure if I was doing this to please myself or others. I also abhor taking nudes, because I do not think I embody femininity and dislike my body for that very reason. Identifying as male makes me far more comfortable than as identifying as a female. I might have tits, I might have soft facial features, but I just don’t like how I mentally feel like I can’t compare to the unrealistic standard of femininity that women uphold. I spent my whole life trying to  tick the boxes under “female,” but always felt like I was just doing the bare minimum... Hence my past is full of desperation, the need to show skin for the sake of proving I’m “sexy” and being perfectly fine with getting mislabeled as a slut at school. Nowadays, I show skin because I’m comfortable and am learning to love my body. I am not okay with slut shaming in general, but I am most definitely not okay with being called a slut either because I’m still a fucking virgin. So hun, I really do wish I could call myself a slut and have that much game, but I’m very far from that.

Anyways, uh more on my gender crisis:  I’ve also always adored mens fashion and absolutely revel the aura of being the “alpha.” Ever since my middle school days, I’d secretly snoop around and envy the men’s section of Barney’s and Saks, because it just looks so damn cool. Excuse my lack of “high quality language,” I can hear my English teacher sighing about my lack of “professional” or “appropriate” language, but I really can’t express my feelings regarding mens fashion other than it’s fucking cool. I must say though, my style of clothing and expression of self doesn’t stop itself at mens fashion. In fact, I enjoy dressing to exhort a more dominant presence, whether it’s with a short denim skirt and tight crop top or a loose fitting silk blouse and skinny jeans with a belt. So I guess in a way, my fashion and what I feel comfortable in explains my gender for me. A little bit of both and a little bit of neither. Although the next step would definitely be playing around with my hair and piercing, but I think my traditional family would whoop my ass to the moon if I do it now, and I can’t say I’m not scared of regrets. I just want to discover myself a little more this year...

Regardless, I just wanna further clarify that I don’t feel comfortable being put as female, male or hell-- even androgynous.

And I gotta say, after holding this in and denying it for 4 years, it feels damn good to type it out and admit it.

 In deciding to be a “gender”, there are standards. Deciding to be anything comes with the price of standards. I just can’t personally handle not being able to fit into the standards there are for them... Especially now since people are so bothered on being politically correct, so if I’m “not being properly androgynous” or “not properly female,” I’ll get shit on, and if I’m not accepted by the mass majority, I’ll feel societal hate mixed with self hatred. 

I also want to say that sometimes I don’t feel like I have the right to be confused or declare a gender because I’ve been on the judgemental side before. 

In middle school one of my close friends moved away, and soon later began to label themselves as gender fluid. It was such a new concept that I initially thought that they were doing it as a publicity stunt, but slowly realised that it is indeed who they are. I wasn’t hateful, but I can’t say I’m innocent, even if it was when I was far younger and less understanding. I remember when they first started using their current pronouns, I was confused on how to utilise them and initially disregarded them. Today, I regret my ignorance. Misgendering can always be a mistake, but it can also be extremely spoiled, belittling and condescending. So even though I know someone that probably went through a similar journey as I am today, I feel guilty asking them about it because of the shit I gave them when I was 14.

 Additionally, I’m scared of being wrong about myself. I can’t describe it too well, but I’m just scared that I’ll slip up a wrong opinion and then be automatically thrown into the can of “special snowflake wannabe LGBTQ+” when in reality: I truly feel like I’m not of “cisgender” or anything normal. I don’t want to dip too deep into my history with crippling anxiety and experiences with depression, but I will say that I can’t help but to hate myself for being queer too.. Alas, I’ll have to learn how to get over that and continue loving myself, but what the hell am I going to do now? 2k words later and things aren’t exactly clearer, but I can (somewhat) confidently say that I know what I’ll do (for now.) 

As of today, June 17, 2019, I have decided to not give a fuck and to simply just identify with the LGBTQ+ community. I don’t feel comfortable identifying as male, female, neither, both, gender fluid, or anything else. I will simply put off gender and let people call me by whatever pronoun they want.

I just wanna be me. 

Until I find out something else, or become more comfortable with myself, or gather the confidence to “come out of the closet” and stop being so selfish and finally decide what the hell I am, it’ll probably just be like this for awhile.

And honestly? I think I’m okay with that.

[lordelmelloi2]

BACK FOR ROUND 2!!!!!

Tired of putting long posts on people’s dashboards so I’m slapping this under a cut like I should’ve done with the first post tbqh 

Man if you can’t clearly see that I’m not talking about anything other than FGO when I make those statements then I don’t honestly know what to tell you. You hear one person make a passing statement in frustration and suddenly have a super personal shitfit over it... I don’t know what to tell you, man. Don’t base your identity in consuming fate content for one. It’s not gonna be good for you and evidently me saying “fate fandom shouldn’t exist” as a passing comment (which, do you want me to go into specifics on the non-fgo fate fandom...? do you want me to do a sociological analysis...? what do you actually want from me here that I can be Justifiable In My Statements! in your eyes) hits a nerve so deep that you have to change your IP to send another anon.  

And, also, what, “not everyone in the fandom even likes girls” like... do I look like ... I’m out here like... hello? Hello? What? I’m talking about toxic misogyny and you’re like “not everyone likes girls” what? You think I haven’t seen people act like complete jackasses towards the men, too? Do you want me to be covering every base when I make a post so you can’t nitpick it to hell and back? You think I haven’t seen gay fate fans be jackasses towards women or something? What are you actually trying to point out with that statement? Hello? Does being gay excuse misogyny? What? You’re gonna have to change your IP again if you even want me to have some clarity on that but if you message me again I’m honestly just going to delete it. 

Like, what exactly do you want me to do, here? You have this image of me on a high horse looking down at everyone, treating everyone like this, all that, personally ruining everyone’s lives, and I’m like... literally just typing posts and complaining on my own damn time. You don’t have to expose yourself to this, you don’t have to make me into some idol of fate fan existence, I don’t want that shit anyways. I said it before, you’re not obligated to follow me. Hell, anon, you’re not even obligated to check my blog over and over. You’re not obligated to screenshot, share, link any of the things I say - but you’re doing it anyways. You think you have an argument and you just plainly don’t. Even if you did, I feel like I could easily copy and paste this to literally any other popular fate blogger who has even an inkling of disgust for what goes on online, and they’d probably respond either in kind, or delete and block you right off the bat. THey wouldn’t give you the time of day. Moreover you wouldn’t be sending me this shit if I had like, 40 followers. Or maybe you would...? I don’t know if you’re that easily upset by the idea of a lot of people hearing me say “fate fandom shouldn’t exist” regardless of concept of a user’s popularity on this website. 

The more you simplify what I say down to easily arguable positions instead of the reality of the issue and try to turn me into a strawman-like Bitch who Hates Fate Fans, Every Last One Of Them, Wants To Destroy The Fate Fandom and all that, the more you force me to explain what my actual position is. You want me to not respond and to not go on a big rant...? Because I still can, but I think your concerns were worth the elaboration in the first place, even if they’re misinterpreted. 

Where exactly did I admit I looked down on people... were you even reading what I wrote... Stating that there’s a problem and it needs fixed isn’t looking down on people. Stating that there’s people who have serious issues who are prevalent within the quote unquote Fate Fandom and that we need to do better isn’t Looking Down On People. You want me to look down on people? People who purposefully sexualize the minors in the series should go to hell and rot and die. That’s a pretty ostensibly agreeable statement. Many people agree with that statement and also look down on those who sexualize the minors in the fate series. What do you fucking want, dude? 

You have to realize it’s up to you to start actually holding your own self accountable for your progress. I don’t have the time, money, or energy to fund any sort of research into how to unshape oneself from basing your identity in the media you consume. I’m only slowly unpacking this shit myself, I’ve said it before. Do you want me to be high up on a growth pedestal or something, kindly guiding everyone to do the same? I don’t have the energy for that, and a lot of people don’t want to listen anyways. Even if I was making posts consistently on “here’s something we should all collectively unlearn, and stop doing”, you know how many people will come off the bat and be combative of that because they value their enjoyment of media over respecting other people? I’ve already had my fill before of trying to do that nicely; no one listens and people still try to engage you in the same content you’ve critiqued while ignoring your boundaries. This is a lose-lose situation. 

Listen, if you really want me to help you out and to approach you kindly, come off anon and earn my trust. You came right off the bat with criticisms based off of your own personal misunderstandings of what I talk about, so I can’t help you because you’ve only like, annoyed me. If you wanted to have an honest discussion about all this in the first place you could have EASILY thought about what you were sending and actually made a point about it or asked me to clarify but you did none of that. You really only have yourself to blame for that ‘big rant’ or whatever. I’m not even going to tell you why you’re full of it on the ‘wondering why [I] was called obnoxious” BS. You come in here, you accuse me based off of personal feelings and misunderstandings, you refuse to approach it like an adult capable of honest communication, and you get back what you get back. 

Or you can go ahead and continue to construct the narrative that I hate everyone who isn’t at the same level of growth or recovery as me yet - that I look down on them and whatnot - continue to pursue this argument as though I am incapable of listening to anything but an echo chamber and that I refuse to hear any honesty presented honestly. 

If you’re gonna act like this, I’m gonna respond in kind. I really have limited patience to be kind and nice with people who talk and accuse others like you do. An eye for an eye, anon. 

At the least, after all this, try to have a nice day or something. Do something to make yourself feel better on a grounding level. If depression keeps you from going outside or something, like, go and try and cook something you might like, even if you have limited ingredients. I don’t know. Do something with your day today that isn’t responding to me. I know I have stuff I have to do. 

[notesfromthefielddesk]

Episode 3 - Talal Asad Khartoum International Airport

Episode link; https://open.spotify.com/episode/07Pf4STyxpY5EcMMvBv4uH?si=7b4b9c36d9f44368

(Beep indicating a voicemail message) 

Susan 

Do you think I’m stupid? You think I believe your flight got diverted to South Sudan? South Sudan? Oh and it just so happens that it’s thematically appropriate for your little podcast? Get back to London. Now. We need to have a serious conversation.

(Fade in on airport sounds) 

John 

That’s the voicemail I got just after I arrived at Juba airport. I’d been ignoring Susans phone calls, because… well because i was scared of talking to her and I knew I was in trouble. 

I’m going to level with you listeners, in the spirit of honesty and full disclosure which I have learned is important to some people in anthropology. For some reason. The truth is my flight did not get redirected to Juba. The trunk of ethnographies is real but I already knew about evans-pritchard. I saw he did research in South Sudan and I fancied it, I’d never been and what’s the point of anthropology but to visit new places? 

It was actually really hard to get there. I flew from Brisbane to Dubai then from there to Kenya. Stayed in Nairobi for a night then went to Juba. Took me almost two days. 

I think that that gets lost in all this. That I’m working really hard, and in some ways what i’m doing is very innovative! 

I had been planning to go to Indonesia, I was going to cover Geertz next but I suppose I should head back to London and placate Susan. I just hope she doesn’t fire me. God my dad and grandad would be so angry. Do you ever feel like the useless one? My sister works at Shell you know? What am I doing? Sitting in an airport talking to no-one. I guess Indonesia can wait, an airport is as good a place to do an episode. I guess we’ll cover Talal Asad, seen he did his first ethnography in North Sudan. And we are in Khartoum. I’m not going to describe it, you know what an airport looks like. 

In Anthropology we are kind of into liminal spaces like airports. Liminal is just a fancy way of saying between two places. Anthros like a liminal space because they tend to be areas where normal social rules break down a bit, witches in some contexts tend to live in liminal spaces for example. Usually between the village and the brush. 

In other good news I managed to lose that weird guy who has been following me around. Gave him the slip at the airport, I told him I’d go back via Nairobi but then I booked myself onto a flight here. I mean it sucks now because the flight back to London isn’t until tomorrow, if i’d gone to Nairobi i’d be home by now. Worth it to get away from that guy though you would not believe what he told me he was doing in Papua New - 

(Phone rings) 

John 

Hi Susan. 

Yes I got your messages. 

Well I think you maybe weren’t getting through because I was in umm south Sudan, signal wasn’t amazing. I called O2 about it, they said it was not really within their service area.

Yeah, no i understand why you’re angry, but really it was purely an accident that I ended up in Juba. Act of God is a pretty good excuse right? 

Where am I now? Well… you’re gonna laugh, I mean it’s pretty hard to believe but there’s this guy who has been sort of following me around and I was running away from him so…

No, it is the truth…

Right… 

No I understand why you wouldn’t believe me - and why you’re angry. In my defence though, and I was just saying this on the podcast - 

No! No, no, Don’t listen. - 

Just because it’s not very good. - What do you mean you can believe that? Anyway, in my defence I think what i’m doing is quite innovative....

Well Derivative is a little harsh - 

Well, that’s as maybe but I think they students are getting a lot out of this, you know they’re more engaged with the texts than if I was just in London talking dryly about them - no, not your lectures they aren’t dry. 

Ah, I hadn’t thought of office hours. No, that’s my bad. No I didn’t reply to the students email but again, the plains of South Sudan aren’t great for wifi - yes I suppose that is my own fault. 

Well I’m coming back as fast as I can. 

(We hear from down the phone “What do you mean as fast as you can? Where are you!?”) 

I’m in Khartoum, like I said I was trying to run away from that guy. 

(Down phone “You have a tutorial today! When do you fly?”) 

Sorry, not till tomorrow. But I can do it from here, the airport has pretty good wifi. 

(Exasperated noises “If I could fire you right now I would.”) 

Sorry, Susan. 

She hung up on me! Well I suppose I should give you guys a little bit of background on Talal Asad before the tutorial seen as the students have dictated that that is what we’re doing next. 

The students have been insisting on Talal Asad for a while. So here it is. I was honestly unsure if Asad really fits into the tutorial, but then I found out Evan-Pritchard’s was Asad’s doctoral advisor.  So we’ve got some continuity going on. 

Anyway, I have been getting insistent emails about Talal Asad for a while. Hold on, let me read out one of them. (shuffling noises) ummm “Dear Mr. Johnson, You still haven’t given me feed—” okay sorry wrong email. Oh, here it is 

“Dear Mr. Johnson, I actually enjoy your tutorials. But I have some suggestions for the future. Also, if you could check my latest assignment and” Blah blah blah this and that, oh here it is. “I think Talal Asad would be a good fit for your tutorials. Asad is a postcolonial cultural anthropologist, he is Saudi-born and brought up in Pakistan—”

Ok see, here is where I think we all go wrong as a generation. People think where this man was born and brought up somehow changes what he has to say? Is he automatically post-colonial because he was born in the Middle East? Anthropology in practice is about being objective, being the fly on the wall, I know we’ve talked about objectivity, but I still think being an outsider gives a less biased look. What does identity politics have to do with it?

And I know the students have been insisting on alternate field work and auto-ethnography, but the feeling of being on the field. Being part of somewhere different, the grass under your feet, water in your shoes? Slipping out of yourself and becoming someone else! That’s irreplaceable. 

Tannoy

“Can the owner of a large wooden trunk full of books come to the customer service desk. It is blocking the Mens toilets. If the trunk is not collected it will be removed and destroyed. The name tag says John Johnson. Again, can John Johnson come to the customer service desk and retrieve his large wooden trunk.”

Oh that’s my trunk give me one second.

(transition thing)

Okay, where were we? Yes, the student's email. She says “Asad is a post-colonial anthropologist. Much of his work focuses on anthropology of religion. He will fit right into the introduction to anthropology course we are studying because he moves away from locations and towards themes. 

Most of his work focuses on being critical about the things in anthropology which are taken for granted. 

Specifically, the conceptualization of Islam and human rights in the global arena. He said that a lot of the colonialist anthropologists concentrated on categorising different groups of people. They went to the field and found differences through limited observation which they then turned into official documents. Those documents were used to justify colonialism and/or to divide and conquer”

Isn’t that a bit harsh? I said as much in my reply to this student. Which I CC’d to the whole class. I said these are still the fathers of anthropology. And as Asad himself says, historical context is important (smugly) Besides what is anthropology without the field? “A move to themes” Sounds like someone didn’t like getting their hands dirty. 

The back of that guy's head looks familiar. Is that him again? But no, I’m pretty sure I lost him in Juba Airport. 

(Deep breath)

Besides I’m pretty sure that student is wrong. Asad did do field work. His first book was built on his ethnography in North Sudan hence why we’re in Khartoum. Although it is true that Asad is careful to specify that his work does not encompass the lives of the Kababish tribe but rather focuses on certain aspects of their lives, such as their ecology, economics and social organization of the tribes. That’s a big change from traditional ethnographers like Malinowski who said the aim should be to describe all of society. 

After that first work Asad shifts towards being critical; critical of secularism, critical of human rights, and even of what his peers had to say. 

Like there’s this guy, an anthropologist, Ernest Gellner, and he is not exactly what my students would call ‘woke’ and the thing is I am not much for “cancel culture”. 

But Asad really rips him a new one. Very unprofessional. Asad criticizes Gellner for having a limited perspective of Islam. Gellner thought Islam had a strict blue print, whilst there is more flexbility in Judaism and Christianity. So Gellner is kind of a structural functionalist for Religion. But Asad said Islam was also felixible and Gellner failed to apply his critique of Islam to other religions...maybe because he had other motives? Like my students and their “anti-colonial” issues with EP. 

And personally I don’t think EP or Gellner were intentionally being colonial. Gellner’s ideas are based on the Middle East aka the birthplace of Islam. So surely that’s the authentic form? Also, I mean Gellner is an older man, he can make mistakes and he was a product of his time…. wait what? Sorry, it says here Gellner is only 7 years older than Asad. (clears throat)

Regardless, I don’t understand why we have to cancel EP or Gellner for it. 

Oh shit it’s time for the tutorial. 

(Skype call sound)

John

Wait is this everyone? Should I wait five minutes to start or something?

Zahra

No...I think it’s just me. After they read your email where you kind of ranted about cancel culture they all said they weren’t going to come. 

John 

Oh… Right, I guess I should keep my opinions to myself. (kind of mumble this) 

Zahra 

Um, Mr. Johnson? Sorry, I don’t want to be rude. But I don’t think anyone is trying to cancel Gellner? I just don’t think you understand what Asad is trying to say with his criticisms.

John 

Well why don’t you just explain it to me then. Because clearly you all understand anthropology better than me.

Zahra

Well that’s kind of your job but okay. 

Asad is not just being critical of Gellner, to be mean. He is being critical of the kind of academia that Gellner represents. Especially in Anthropology, where much of the colonial discourse argued that when someone goes into the field the outsider has an objective idea of the field. Hence, Gellner believing as a non-Muslim, and as not being a part of the group, that he has a more neutral understanding of the group he is looking to study.

While Asad is criticizing this exact practice, he is also saying there needs to be more of a focus on the history behind how certain concepts come to be rather than just the group. So for example, Gellner says Islam is political, and Christianity isn’t. So Asad wants people to examine where that idea comes from. 

To do that Asad says there needs to be like frameworks that look at religious tradition not as static and the opposite of modernity, but rather look at tradition and modernity together and how they create specific social structures and varied collections of beliefs and customs. So we should think of  religions as conversations between lots of people throughout history rather than a monologue laid down by a handful of powerful people.

So it’s like academia, we build it together, Malinowski has an idea then EP criticises it and improves it and so on. It’s not cancel culture, we’re building knowledge as a community. Sometimes that means saying your hero is wrong, or even - maybe - like racist. 

Are you listening to me?

John Johnson 

Yeah, yeah sure...I - I just saw this guy who has been like chasing me. It’s definitely him! 

Zahra

Chasing you?

John 

Well not exactly chasing but like pursuing? 

Hey sir, can you help me take this desk into that toilet?

Yeah that toilet there. 

Hey Zainab, sorry I need to hide. Why don’t you just finish out the tutorial by listening to this extract. 

Zahra 

It’s actually Zahra--

Extract 

In 1975, while I was teaching at the University of Hull, I learned that my mother had advanced cancer. I decided to go to Saudi Arabia and stayed with her there until she died a year later. The political atmosphere and the social rigidity in a society awash with newfound wealth was very uncongenial, but the entire experience had a considerable impact on me and my ideas. I tried—unsuccessfully—to sort things out in my 1978 Malinowski Memorial Lecture (which I had been invited to give before my year in Saudi Arabia) in which I dealt with the definition of ideology, the classic Marxist theoretical term for false consciousness, as well as with the ‘authentic’ accounts of cultures studied by anthropologists. I tried to distinguish language in life from the language used by anthropologists about life, and to trace the slippery role of ‘meaning’ in anthropological accounts of other cultures. I tried to think in that presentation about matters that interested anthropologists of the time, as well as larger issues that had shaped my life up to that point.

Improbable though it may seem, my struggle to articulate my ideas and criticisms was largely prompted by my reflection on my mother's religious life. My father spoke and wrote impressively about the religion to which he had converted. My mother, by contrast, lived as a Muslim without expounding the doctrines of Islam, without defending it from attack or trying to persuade others of its superior virtue. My point is not simply that she was a pious woman—that she performed her prescribed prayers regularly, read portions of the Qur'an aloud early every morning, and fasted during the month of Ramadan. It is that I now realized I had thought of her life in terms of a lack instead of trying to understand it in her own terms, as she had lived it. I began to see that, like so many non-intellectuals, her religious practices were embodied, and that her embodied religion did not offer itself to hermeneutic methods—to the deciphering by observers of the real meaning of what she did—although it obviously ‘meant’ much to her.

In a very fundamental sense, these ‘religious’ activities had been no different from the mundane part of her life because they were mundane and integral to her everyday life. And while I had seen her act in this way as far back as I could remember, it was only after her death—when I turned in a sustained way to Wittgenstein for an understanding of religion (although he himself was not ‘religious’)—that I began to see her life differently. I saw it now not as an attempt to deepen and aestheticize her experience (as it is fashionable in some quarters to say), but as a way of being. My mother didn't intellectualize her religion, but by that I don't wish to say that she was ‘a blind follower’. Her prayers, recitations, and fasting were intended neither for other people to decode nor for enhancing her own experience; they were addressed to her God. During her married life she had not been always receptive to my father's enlightened arguments about changing some of her religious practices. Was this because she was irrational, incapable of responding to a rational argument, as I thought at the time? I have come to believe that I was wrong in thinking so: she didn't abandon particular practices because she felt that the change wouldn't fit easily into the entirety of her life as a Muslim. The idea that her feelings of fear, reverence, love, and so forth were to be understood as ‘emotions’ and therefore as ‘non-rational’ had for long seemed to me an unsatisfactory way of thinking about devoutness. This became clearer over time as I learned to think of embodiment not as mechanization but as the articulation of a particular encounter—in my mother's case, of her relationship to her God.

John

Okay, i’m safely in the bathroom, so sorry for any - (flushing) interruptions… 

I’ve been really struggling with my students. It’s like they want to challenge everything. What about theories that are good? Can’t we leave well enough alone? Do they think i’m like stupid or something? I just have respect for those that went before me. Even if I didn’t agree with EP, or Malinowski or Gellner, academic freedom is a thing you know? I’ll defend their right to say their theories to the death. Students be damned.

Zahra 

Umm Mr. Johnson - I’m still here. 

John 

Oh, hi Zahra, look I didn’t mean you. I’m sure you’re a very respectful - okay she hung up on me. Why is everyone doing that today? 

Gellner was trying to make an honest attempt to understand Islam. Objectively. Not with the bias of being a muslim. Isn’t that what we were criticising EP and Malinowski for? Their personal opinions affecting their theory? Sure maybe if you’re muslim you can have a more nuanced view and understand how it feels to be within that religion. 

And maybe people should have a say in how they are defined. Especially when those definitions can have a massive impact on your life. Like under colonialism. And maybe Gellner had a blindspot for Christianty, but so what? I like Gellner. His theories make the world simpler. Sometimes you need to use simple categories to clarify a complex world. Asad just complicates everything. And if Asad can see everything that’s wrong in Gellner, What’s his solution? 

Susan calls

What do you mean “a complaint”? 

The email? Oh my goodness I'm being silenced! I have complaints about them too like how they aren’t showing up to the tutorial. 

Well, yes the tutorial was a little short today but in my defence that guy is after me. And I had to run away. 

Well, You don’t have to believe me but it’s true. Do you think I usually take phone calls in a bathroom?

(flushing sound/bathroom sounds)

Yes I’m in a toilet. 

You know what, i’m sick of being told what to do and think by you and the students and my parents and my grandparents! I’m going to indonesia. And if you want to fire me then go ahead and talk to my grandfather, I believe he made a very generous donation that he would like back!

Ha! His time I hung up. Okay, I’m going to get a flight to Indonesia, hopefully that’ll shake this weirdo following me. 

Thank you for listening to notes from the field desk - this episode was written by Fatimah Ahktar and me. 

Lucy Hansen was supervisor Susan 

Our artwork was by Julie Karremans 

Our music was “dark side of my students” 

Asad, Talal The Kababish Arabs 1970

Asad, Talal Genealogies of Religion 1993

Asad, Talal Anthropology and the Colonial Encounter 1973

Asad Talal Autobiographical Reflections on Anthropology and Religion 2020

Gellner, Ernest Muslim Society 1981

Acclivity - Dubai Departures 

https://freesound.org/people/acclivity/sounds/49118/

Astounded - Christopher J Astbury Switzerland Airport departure lounge Zurich International

https://freesound.org/people/Astounded/sounds/481818/

Polymorpheva - London Heathrow Airport 

https://freesound.org/people/polymorpheva/sounds/104541/

Mario1298 - Waiting for passengers at the airport background. 

https://freesound.org/people/mario1298/sounds/155798/

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