#especially problematic/autonomous chapters

[funeralprocessor]

I feel like the Primaris should have been the catalyst for like, an imperial civil war. At the very least, much unrest in the house of Guilliman. Their existence, let alone rollout/integration, should have had many chapters absolutely rioting. It should be beyond the pale by several orders of magnitude and be seen as an enormous overreach by the more autonomy loving chapters, a blasphemy by the more orthodox chapters, and an existential threat to chapters with geneseed quirks. Plus anyone with any awareness of the thunder warriors should take one look at them and recognize the writing on the wall. Guilliman should absolutely recognize what they represent, what they imply. Like they're the leading wave of a paradigm shift that doesn't bode well for what came before. And I say this as someone who's not averse to Primaris, I just think they could've, should've, been a waaaay bigger deal. I know they loathe changing the status quo and we're never getting rid of the posterboys but I think we missed out on something interesting.

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS | 10

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: EXPLICIT. 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: March 17th, 2025.

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents, virgin!reader.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Full demonstrations of medical knowledge, thorough anatomy lessons, counting exercises that get out of hand, precision training with devastating results, and empirical proof that some experiments require multiple trials. | endurance training, multiple orgasms, squirting, fingering (f), oral (f), humiliation and praise kink, medical expertise, power dynamics, dominance and submission, stamina building, oral fixation, manual dexterity, cruel + soft words, punishment, slight spanking, overstimulation, pill aid.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 6,6k

→ MINI SERIES: PREVIOUS | NEXT

→ A/N: So um… this happened. Started writing a simple punishment scene and somehow ended up researching autonomic nervous system responses at 6 AM. Sorry to my FBI agent—those Google searches probably looked concerning. Now before anyone comes for me or realism because ‘kiki no women can actually—' SHUT UP. SHUTUP SHUT UP SHUTUP YES THEY CAN. You know what I haven’t seen enough of? Multiorgasmic queens. NONE. Nada. I know it’s not super common and not every woman out there is blessed with that anatomy, but point is—Chip is. And that’s what I wanted to show in my narration, which is why she states at the beginning she’s managed to get to 5 on her own. Because she knows she can chain up orgasms—and that’s a characteristic of being multiorgasmic. So if I hear anybody complain about it being unrealistic, I’ll grab you by the throat. Anyway yeah, of course king Hoseok already knew that because mf is so attentive it’s borderline scary (and hot). ALSO before somebody also comes to scream about consent or the usage of the pill being toxic or whatever—LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW. The pill thing is because Y/N implies she doesn’t think she can get to 15, so that’s why he gives her the tablet. It’s NOT an aphrodisiac or something to make her pliant or submissive or whatever weird porn bullshit you better not dare accuse me of—it’s AN ENHANCER. As he helpfully supplies in dialogue, it simply enhances her multiorgasmic capabilities. THAT’s IT. She TRUSTS him and I explicitly mention that at some point by the end. THIS IS ALL consensual sexual activities between two grown adults. *drops the mic* Okay now I’m gonna apologize to my couch. My neighbors. And probably God or whoever high being has observed me writing this filth.

Edit: since, of course, someone still tried to pin me as problematic and whine about themes in this chapter, I encourage you to read the reply before making a fool of yourself and sending a baseless ask.

PLAYLIST

The elevator doors slide shut with a soft ding, sealing you in mirrored walls and the scent of his rage. 

Hoseok doesn’t set you down. Doesn’t even look at you. Just adjusts his grip, surgical fingers digging into your thigh as he smashes the penthouse button. 

Your pulse stumbles. 

“Hobi—” 

“Dr. Jung.” His voice is so sharp it cuts through the alcohol haze in your skull. “You lost the right to call me that when you decided to act like a reckless fucking brat.” 

A shiver licks down your spine. He never swears like that. Not at you. 

But he isn’t done. 

“Was he fun?” His free hand slides up your bare leg, calluses catching on sensitive skin. “That intern? Mike?” The name drips with venom. “Tell me, Chip—was he worth it?” 

Your throat locks. 

“Was he worth my fucking patience?” 

A sharp rip punctuates the question, and—oh God—the air hits your exposed heat before your brain catches up. 

He tore them. He tore them.

"Hoseok!" You squirm, face blazing hot, but he just dangles the ruined lace in front of you. 

"Shhh." The saccharine sweetness of his smile makes your stomach turn. He tucks them into his pocket, like a trophy. “Disobedient brats don’t deserve coverage.” 

His hand returns to your exposed slit, fingers parting you with clinical precision. His touch is colder than usual—calculated, impersonal. Like a scalpel sliding over flesh. 

"Elevated heart rate. Dilated pupils. Excess lubrication." His nail scrapes over your clit and you gasp. "Diagnosis: pathological need for attention.” 

Your hips jerk. “Fuck you—” 

"Precisely what you're angling for, isn't it?" His voice drops, low and lethal. "Parading around in this gorgeous dress. Looking devastating. Letting somebody else’s hands touch what’s mine." 

The floor numbers climb. 

"Prescription,” he murmurs against your ear, “intensive correction.” 

His fingers plunge inside you without warning, and you choke on your own breath. 

"Count the floors, Chip." The heel of his palm grinds against your clit, unrelenting. "That’s how many times you’ll cum before you take my cock.” 

Your stomach plummets. “You’re insane—” 

"Three." 

His fingers curl, precise and punishing. 

"Four." 

Another brutal thrust.

"Five." 

Your nails dig into his back as your vision blurs. 

"Six." 

Another stretch—his middle and ring finger, scissoring wide. 

"Seven." 

The mirrored walls reflect your debauchery—legs spread over his shoulder, dress pooled at your waist, face contorted in pleasure-pain. 

Your pulse is a frantic, fluttering thing. 

“Eight.” 

His knuckles press deep, unyielding. 

“Nine.” 

You come with a sharp, broken cry, back arching off his shoulder. 

Because it’s been too long. Because you’ve been riled up the whole night. Because he’s finally here and he’s swearing, and relentless and—

He doesn’t stop. 

“Ten.” 

His thumb replaces his fingers, circling ruthlessly. 

“Eleven.” 

"Please—" You're sobbing now, oversensitive and raw. 

“Fifteen.” 

The doors ding open. 

His fingers withdraw abruptly, and your wrecked body convulses at the loss. He licks your slick from his fingers with a detached hum, gaze sweeping over you clinically. 

You barely register him moving through the hallway. The scent of antiseptic and expensive cologne drifts through the air. His grip around your thighs is bruising. His steps are steady. Unhurried. 

The keys jingle. The door clicks open. 

Then— 

You’re airborne. 

Your stomach flips as he throws you over the leather sofa. The impact knocks the air from your lungs. 

The creak of leather. The bite of cold air against your exposed flesh. The press of his palm between your shoulder blades, flattening you into the cushions. 

His sigh floats above you, disappointed. 

"Welcome home, Chip.” 

The belt jingles. 

“Let’s begin your remedial education." 

The leather cushions are cold beneath your cheek. The air conditioning hums low, steady. The only sound between it—between you—is the slow, deliberate slide of silk as Hoseok loosens his tie. 

You can’t see him properly. 

Not like this, facedown, spine arched obscenely, ass raised like some offering. 

But you feel him. Feel his presence behind you, feel the heavy drag of each movement—tie slipping free, glasses clinking on the table, dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, the roll of his sleeves exposing forearms you already know are capable of making you crumble. 

You inhale, too shallow, too fast. 

His watch ticks. 

You twist, craning to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder, but the instant you do— 

"Face down, ass up.” 

The command snaps like a whip. 

Your body locks. 

His fingers press against your nape, firm but not forceful. Just… insistent. A nonverbal correction. The heat of his palm brands your skin. 

“Better get used to that position, Chip.” The rasp in his voice sends something hot and humiliating curling low in your stomach. “You’ll be like this for a while.” 

A whimper escapes before you can swallow it down. 

Hoseok laughs under his breath, and—fuck, that sound. Dark amusement, unshaken control. Like he already knows exactly how this night ends. 

Like he planned for it. 

Your heartbeat stumbles. 

The rustle of fabric shifts further away. His footsteps—measured, even—carry him across the room, the click of a drawer pulling open sending another shudder through you. 

He’s retrieving something. 

You wet your lips, pulse spiking as you hear the clink of glass vials, the quiet tap tap of fingers against a container. His tone is almost casual when he speaks. 

“How many floors, Chip?” 

Your stomach plummets. 

You knew this was coming. 

Your fingers curl into the couch cushion, nails pressing deep. 

Fifteen. 

You know it was fifteen. Because he counted them out loud, each number spoken with unshaken authority, each one branded into your skull between thrusts of his fingers. 

But fifteen— 

Fifteen is impossible.

Your highest was five. Alone, desperate, overstimulated and aching but still your own control. And now he’s— 

Your throat bobs. 

“Ten.” The lie slips out fast. Too fast. 

The air shifts. 

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just lets the silence stretch too long, so thick it suffocates. Your chest rises unevenly against the cushions, fingers trembling where they grip the leather. 

Then, slow—too slow— 

"Ah." 

You flinch. 

"So lying, too, now?" 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

The footsteps return, unhurried. You squeeze your eyes shut. The sound of a cap twisting open, a faint rustle of packaging. 

“You disappoint me, Chip.” 

His voice is soft. Almost gentle. 

It terrifies you. 

The footsteps stop. 

You hold your breath. 

Then— 

Click.

Something small lands on the cushion in front of your face. You blink, vision hazy, and focus on— 

A pill. 

Round, pale. A delicate thing. 

But its weight feels unbearable. 

Behind you, Hoseok hums, shifting closer, the heat of his body radiating against your back.

"Fascinating," he murmurs, voice smooth, composed. "You knew the number, didn’t you?" 

Your pulse thunders. 

“Answer me, Chip.” 

The threat in his tone is quiet. Unrushed. 

Your breath wavers. 

"Yes." The admission is barely a whisper. 

He hums again, almost pleased. "And yet, you lied.” 

You whimper. 

"Curious," he continues, like he's cataloging your reaction, filing it away into that clinical, calculating mind of his. "You understood the assignment perfectly. You knew the floors equaled your orgasms. You knew exactly what I expected of you." 

A pause. 

"Yet you still lied." 

The realization makes your stomach drop. 

"You don't think you can do it." 

The words aren’t a question. 

They're an observation. 

Your nails bite into the leather. Because he’s right. Because fifteen—fifteen times, fifteen orgasms, fifteen waves of unbearable pleasure before he even thinks about giving you his cock— 

It’s— 

"It's impossible," you rasp. 

Silence. 

Then— 

Hoseok chuckles. 

Your entire body goes rigid. 

"Impossible?" He repeats, and—fuck, fuck, you shouldn’t have said that, you should not have said that—because his amusement is not the warm, teasing thing you're used to.

No.

This is something colder. Something sharper. 

Something dangerous. 

A hand brushes over your ass, slow, possessive. 

Then—crack. 

A sharp smack lands against your skin, and you yelp, jerking forward. The burn seeps deep, stealing your breath. 

“Incorrect.” His voice is steady, unaffected. 

Your stomach clenches. 

Another smack, harder this time. Your legs twitch, body instinctively trying to pull away, but his free hand presses against your lower back, pinning you down. 

“Shall I explain why?” 

You swallow hard. 

He leans in, breath warm against your nape. 

“Because I know you.” 

Your throat locks. 

His palm soothes over the burning skin, fingers pressing possessively into the tender flesh. 

"No," he corrects himself, tone contemplative. "That’s imprecise." 

He drags his fingers through your slick, spreading the wetness, slow and deliberate. Mocking you.

“Empirical data,” he muses, almost to himself. “Your clitoral network has approximately eight thousand nerve endings. Your vaginal walls contain—” 

A finger sinks knuckle-deep, curling upward. 

“Ah, pay attention.” 

You bite the cushion to muffle a whine. 

“Concentrated stimulation of the anterior fornix—” Another finger joins the first, stretching you brutally. “—combined with sustained G-spot pressure—” His thumb finds your clit, rubbing precisely. “—induces serial orgasms in seventy-three percent of subjects.” 

The statistics shouldn’t arouse you. 

The clinical detachment shouldn’t make your hips roll back against his hand. 

But here you are. Dripping onto his imported leather as he lectures like this is a fucking TED Talk. 

“I’ve observed your responses.” His tone is calm, measured. “Your refractory period is negligible. Your nerve sensitivity is well above average. Your arousal duration is…” His fingers spread inside you, mapping you out, committing every reaction to memory. “…exceptional.” 

His thumb drags over your clit. 

“You’re multiorgasmic, Chip.” 

A strangled noise rips from your throat. 

“Fifteen orgasms isn’t a punishment.” He withdraws his fingers and smears your wetness over your swollen folds. “It’s preparation.” 

Your whole body shudders. 

Hoseok tuts. 

“Do you really think I’d feed you eight inches without ensuring you were properly conditioned? Slippery, dripping, pliable?” His voice drops lower, smooth like sugar lapping at your core. “Without making sure you’d take me without pain?” 

Your heart flutters. 

His breath brushes against your nape. “You thought this was cruel?” 

A hand slides between your thighs, forcing them wider. 

“This is mercy.” 

The words barely register before his fingers tap against your lips.

You flinch. The touch is light, impersonal—barely there. But when you glance down, something small rests against his fingertips.

The pill.

You blink, still dazed, vision blurry from arousal and exertion.

“What—”

“Open.”

Your stomach tightens.

His voice is calm. Detached. Like he’s instructing a patient instead of pressing a pill to your lips.

You hesitate.

He hums, amused. “Sublingual Sildenafil. Accelerates clitoral engorgement. Ensures optimal conditions for multiple orgasms. It will simply enhance your own multiorgasmic capabilities.”

Your thighs twitch instinctively, trying to press together, but his knee is still between them, holding you open.

“Ah.” A quiet, disappointed sigh. “Non-compliant patient.”

Your stomach plummets.

Then—a nudge. Parting your legs wider.

“You do understand,” he murmurs, almost amused, “there are other forms of absorption.”

Your throat locks.

Your breath stutters.

“What?”

A slow hum. A contemplative pause.

“Oral is most effective.” His free hand smooths over your ass, light and detached, like he’s just considering his options. “But mucosal absorption is still viable.”

You inhale.

“Rectal administration,” he continues, tone casual. Clinical. “Less efficient, but still sufficient. The lower absorption rate means you’d take longer to reach full saturation, but…”

His fingers trace the curve of your hip.

“If you’re unwilling to comply…”

His knee shifts—just enough to remind you how vulnerable you are.

“Spread yourself wider.” His voice is smooth, patient. “Hold yourself open for the administration.”

A wave of heat slams into you. Something between terror and arousal. Your hands fly up instinctively—gripping his wrist, nails pressing into his skin.

“N-No—” The words tumble out too fast, breathless, desperate. “I’ll—I’ll take it. Mouth.”

A pause.

Then—

A smile. Slow. Knowing.

“That’s what I thought.”

The pill presses against your tongue, and your mouth clamps shut around it before you can even think to resist.

His watch beeps.

“Ninety seconds.”

Your stomach lurches.

His fingers tap against your lips again—light, satisfied.

“Good girl.”

The pill tingles beneath your tongue.  

Hoseok straightens, rolling his sleeves up his forearms, unhurried.  

Then—  

His hands go for his belt.  

The buckle clicks. 

A slow, methodical tug pulls the leather free, the sound thick in the quiet. 

You whimper, pressing your cheek against the couch, pulse pounding. 

"Proper experimentation requires..." His voice is a slow drawl, calm, unaffected. The belt falls to the floor.  "…controlled variables." 

He takes the rest of your dress off. Bra follows. 

Then his fingers press into your dripping heat. 

"Let's begin."

The first tingle blooms beneath your skin, warmth trickling down your spine like the first sip of whiskey.

Hoseok watches.

Of course he does.

You can feel his gaze, heavy, assessing, as the effects take hold. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, watch gleaming on his wrist, fingers flexing idly like he’s already calculating his next move.

You squeeze your thighs together instinctively.

It’s a mistake.

The friction—just the barest shift—sends a pulse of heat straight to your clit, so sudden and sharp that you gasp.

Hoseok hums. “There it is.”

Your stomach lurches.

His palm smooths over your lower back, warm and firm, the weight of it keeping you pinned. You don’t know what’s worse—that he expected it, or that you reacted exactly the way he predicted.

Your breathing stutters.

“It’s working faster than anticipated,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “Good. I’d hate for this to take all night.”

He’s lying.

You know he is.

He wants it to take all night.

Your thighs tremble. The buzzing under your skin intensifies, a slow, creeping build, pooling low in your belly. The ache is growing—not unbearable, not yet, but constant. Like an itch too deep to scratch.

Hoseok’s fingers trace down your spine, featherlight. “Tell me what you feel.”

Your lips part—then press shut.

He waits.

You breathe in, shallow, unsteady. “Warm,” you admit. “Tingling.”

His fingertips ghost over your hip. “Where?”

You swallow. “Everywhere.”

“More specific.”

Your fingers tighten against the leather. “My—” Your face burns. “My clit.”

His hand stills.

For a moment, there’s nothing. No sound, no shift, just his steady, patient silence.

Then—

“Show me.”

The command is quiet.

It’s not a request.

Your stomach tightens.

Slowly, shakily, you obey—your fingers creeping between your own legs, breath hitching as they meet wet. The slickness is obscene, spilling over your thighs, making your own touch slippery, electric.

Hoseok exhales through his nose. “Good girl.”

A fresh wave of heat floods through you.

It’s humiliating, how much those words affect you. How easy he makes it seem—like compliance is inevitable, like your body is designed for this.

Like he already knows what you’ll do before you do it.

Your fingers move clumsily against your clit, the sensitivity almost unbearable. You’re too wet, too warm, the pleasure mounting too fast.

Hoseok watches for a moment—silent, clinical—then, without warning, his hand covers yours.

Your entire body jerks.

“Slower,” he instructs, voice low, controlled. “Focus on the pressure.”

You whimper.

His fingers guide yours, pressing down, rolling slow, steady circles. The change is immediate—the pleasure sharpening into something more potent, more targeted, the kind that makes your thighs tremble and your stomach clench.

Your hips rock.

Hoseok hums approvingly. “Better.”

His hand is warm, steady over yours, dictating the rhythm, making you follow it.

And that’s the worst part—you do.

You let him lead. Let him train you, let him control the pace, let him show you how to touch yourself properly.

A moan tears from your throat.

Hoseok exhales through his nose, satisfied. “Tell me when you’re close.”

You’re already close.

The words stick in your throat, but he knows. His fingers press down, a fraction harder, a fraction slower, dragging it out, prolonging it—

Your back arches. “Hoseok—”

“Dr. Jung.”

Your breath shatters.

His fingers disappear.

The loss makes you sob.

Hoseok smiles. “One.”

Dread and lust conquer your soul.

Your chest heaves against the leather, heart slamming against your ribs.

He’s counting. He’s counting them out loud, marking them like he did in the elevator.

There’s fourteen more.

You whimper, legs trembling.

Hoseok tuts. “Already sensitive?”

Your response is a choked little sound, barely coherent.

He laughs softly, dragging his fingers through your slick again, coating them in your arousal. 

“It’ll only get worse.”

Your whole body shudders.

He shifts behind you, and then—

A wet press against your clit.

You gasp.

It’s his tongue.

The sensation is too much, hot and soft and lethal, wrapping around your swollen bud with precise, devastating pressure. Your spine curves off the couch, legs twitching, a wrecked little sound spilling from your lips—

Hoseok’s hands clamp down on your hips, pinning you still.

“Stay put.”

Your vision blurs.

Then—suction.

Your moan is shattered.

The pleasure slams through you, instant and overwhelming. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t ease you into it, just takes—his mouth tight, his tongue pressing against your clit like he’s studying it, like he’s testing responses and cataloging results.

Your whole body is shaking.

“Dr. Jung—”

The title is barely a gasp.

Hoseok hums against you—approving—and the vibration sends you spiraling.

The orgasm detonates before you can brace for it.

You wail.

Your body locks, every nerve seizing, pleasure white-hot and unbearable. You can feel the aftershocks, each ripple making your thighs twitch, your lungs shudder.

Hoseok doesn’t move.

He doesn’t pull away.

Just stays there, mouth locked around your clit, tongue lapping at the oversensitive flesh, drinking in the aftershocks, making them last, making you suffer.

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes.

Your whimper is broken. “Hoseok—”

A sharp smack lands against your ass.

"Two."

You sob.

He chuckles. “Oh, Chip.”

A slow drag of his tongue makes you quake.

“You’ve got thirteen more.”

Your thighs twitch violently, your body trying to escape the onslaught of his mouth, but Hoseok’s grip is ironclad.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, lips brushing wet against your clit, and you sob because you can’t.

Your entire body is humming, nerve endings screaming—but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you breathe, doesn’t give you a second to recover before his tongue presses against you again.

“No, no, no—” 

Your hands scrabble against the couch, trying to find purchase, trying to ground yourself, but it’s useless, because the pleasure is already mounting again, rushing up your spine, curling hot and unbearable beneath your ribs—

“Already?”

His voice is drenched in satisfaction.

Your walls clench down on nothing.

He laughs, and you can’t discern whether it’s mocking or fond.

“You were made for this, Chip.” His lips brush against your slick heat, the tip of his nose nudging your entrance. “So desperate. So pliable.” A slow, teasing kiss over your clit. “Tell me—” His voice drops lower, lips just barely grazing you. “Are you going to give me number three?”

Your moan is wrecked.

His hands tighten on your hips, forcing you down, pressing you flush against his mouth.

The pressure is devastating.

His tongue flicks against your swollen bud—once, twice, again—the motion too light, too perfect, just enough to make your body ache for more, to make you chase it, to make you rock back against his mouth—

“That’s it,” he murmurs, like you’ve done something right.

The praise shoves you over the edge.

You scream.

Your whole body locks, your toes curling, your back arching off the couch as the orgasm rips through you—hot and sharp and overwhelming, pleasure blooming outward in a wave so intense it hurts.

Hoseok doesn’t move.

Doesn’t let you go.

Just stays there, tongue pressing slow, devastating circles into your clit as you shake, your release gushing over his chin, his cheeks—

But he doesn’t care.

He just licks you clean.

“Three,” he breathes, satisfaction curling around the word like smoke.

You wail.

He hums, amused.

Then—

He flattens his tongue against your clit, lips sealing over the aching bud, and sucks.

Your scream is immediate.

Too much, too fast, too soon, the overstimulation like a live current dragging you under—

“No, no—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he says smoothly, and then—

His fingers push inside.

You sob.

It’s instant—the unbearable stretch, the precise, practiced curl against that devastating spot, the obscene squelch of your own arousal as he fucks into you, his tongue relentless, his fingers ruthless.

The orgasm slams into you before you can fight it.

Your vision whites out.

Your whole body seizes, your breath stalling in your throat as you clench down on his fingers, every muscle locking tight, pleasure ripping through you so violently you almost black out.

His mouth never leaves you.

“Four,” he says against your skin, barely pulling away before his lips wrap around you again.

The suction is brutal.

You jerk, shrieking, your walls still spasming around his fingers, your nerves already fried—

But it doesn’t matter.

Because the next one is already building.

Your body is chained to it now, helpless against the tidal wave of sensation, every cell in your body primed to keep going.

He knows.

Hoseok knows.

“That’s it, Chip,” he murmurs, almost proud. 

His fingers stroke inside you, his mouth working your clit with calculated, rhythmic flicks, forcing you to stay on the edge, forcing your body to keep trembling under his hands, forcing you into a state of constant, inescapable pleasure—

“You’re learning.”

Your scream splinters into another orgasm.

“Five,” he purrs.

You’re crying.

Because you’re still coming.

Still coming when the next one starts, the two colliding, blurring into each other, your body locked in an endless cycle of pleasure, every sensation rolling into the next and the overstimulation is hellish, a wildfire under your skin, your walls still fluttering, still convulsing around his fingers, still unable to stop, still being dragged under—

He doesn’t let go.

Your legs are twitching, muscles seizing, your mouth falling open in a silent, wrecked moan—

“Six,” he breathes.

Your vision goes fuzzy.

Your body collapses against the couch, limbs trembling, sweat slick on your skin, pleasure roaring in your veins—

“Seven.”

Your breath shatters.

It doesn’t stop.

It won’t stop.

Hoseok’s voice is quiet, distant, a soft rasp in your ringing ears.

“You’re remarkable.”

Your body is still shaking. Your brain is gone.

And then—

The first real pause.

A moment to breathe.

You gasp, chest heaving, legs twitching. Your entire body feels wrecked, like you’ve been torn apart and remade.

You can’t move.

You couldn’t if you tried.

Hoseok chuckles darkly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, fingers sliding against his soaked lips.

He’s drenched.

Jaw wet, chin slick with your release.

He looks fucking filthy.

He looks fucking hot.

And so goddamn pleased with himself.

Your mind is floating, but your body is trembling. Your breath still hasn’t evened out. Your skin is burning, your clit pulsing, your thighs still shaking.

He smirks.

“Look at you.”

A warm hand spreads over your ass, massaging the flushed, tender skin.

"You’ve given me seven, Chip." His tone is almost soothing, like he's pleased. Like he's proud of you.

The heat in your belly tightens.

His fingers drag through your soaked folds, slow, teasing.

You whimper.

He hums.

"One more."

Your stomach drops.

Your eyes fly open, panic surging in your chest—

But Hoseok just laughs.

His fingers slip inside.

The stretch is devastating.

He leans in, voice a whisper against your ear—

"Let’s finish the first half, shall we?"

You can still feel the last orgasm pulsing inside you.

Your muscles twitch with every aftershock, your thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around his fingers even as he slows his movements. Your breath is still ragged, uneven, your skin damp with sweat.

But you’re not done.

Neither is he.

Hoseok knows.

He’s watching—waiting—taking in every tremor, every unconscious clench, every microscopic shift in your overstimulated body.

“Pl—please—" you manage to croak out because there’s seriously no way you can keep cumming like this.

But your body clearly has different ideas.

So he hums, tilts his head. “You’re not coming down, are you?”

You can’t form a reply. But that’s okay. He already knows the answer.

The pleasure is still there, smoldering low in your belly, a slow, molten burn that refuses to fade.

Hoseok chuckles. 

“Good.”

Before you can brace—before you can breathe—

His fingers leave you.

You wail.

But then—

You're moving.

Your body is weightless for a second before the leather disappears beneath you. You yelp as he flips you effortlessly, dragging you onto your back, thighs draped over his arms, your entire body stretched out beneath him.

He’s still fully dressed.

White dress shirt clinging to his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his elbows, black dress pants still perfectly fitted against his waist.

And you—

You are bare.

Slick and flushed and open for him, laid out like some kind of experiment.

You don’t know why the comparison makes you wetter.

His hands slide under your knees, pressing them up toward your chest. The shift changes everything—the angle, the pressure, the way your swollen, aching clit is now completely exposed to the air.

You shudder.

He watches.

Hoseok’s eyes darken. “Let’s try something new.”

A new wave of arousal pulses through you.

Then—

His thumb presses against your perineum.

Your whole body jolts.

The pressure is light—just a warm, steady presence against that sensitive patch of skin, pressing upward, sending a strange, unfamiliar sensation curling through your core.

Your breath stutters. “What—”

“Relax.” His voice is low, measured. “Just feel.”

Then his mouth is back on your clit, and—

Fuck.

It’s different.

The dual stimulation—his lips wrapped around you, his tongue flicking over your swollen bud, his thumb applying that slow, torturous pressure beneath you—

Your vision whites out.

You scream.

The pleasure is deeper, like it’s coming from somewhere else entirely, like a direct tap into something raw and untouched inside you. 

The pressure beneath your entrance makes everything tighter, amplifying every sensation, making you ache in a way that feels utterly foreign.

Hoseok groans against you. “That’s it.”

Your thighs tremble.

The orgasm sneaks up on you—doesn’t build so much as it erupts, slamming into you before you even realize you’re close. Your whole body arches, the tension snapping, pleasure ripping through your core—

And then—

Another.

And another.

Your body is spiraling, the pleasure cascading, one peak slamming into the next with no time to recover, your hips jerking, your nails digging into his arms—

Your vision swims.

Your throat is raw from moaning.

Hoseok just smirks.

He pulls away, lips shining with your slick, his tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his mouth.

Your chest heaves.

"Eight," he murmurs.

Your stomach drops.

Because he isn’t stopping.

Hoseok tilts his head, dragging a single finger through your soaked folds.

"You’re still trembling," he notes, almost amused.

Your whimper is pitiful.

Your whole body is still twitching, still throbbing with the aftershocks. You feel the orgasms reverberating through your core, stretching out the pleasure, making it impossible to come down.

And he’s going to use it.

Hoseok’s fingers flex against your thighs. “Let’s see how many we can chain together.”

Fucking sadist.

Fucking masochist, you, for enjoying it.

You know what he’s doing.

He’s taking advantage of your body’s responsiveness. Pushing you through a continuous orgasm cycle, keeping your muscles engaged, forcing your body into a loop of release after release, making it impossible to stop—

A whimper breaks from your throat.

Hoseok smiles.

"See, how you can behave if you want to?"

Then—

His fingers sink back inside you, and—

The pleasure surges forward like a breaking wave.

Your body clenches, your walls fluttering around him as the next orgasm takes over before the last one even fades.

Your body can’t tell the difference anymore.

There’s no start or stop, no separation between each peak—just one long, continuous state of pleasure, your muscles locking tight, your mouth open in a silent scream, the overstimulation forcing you to the brink again and again and again—

"L-let m-me—"

“That's nine.”

Your thighs tremble.

The pleasure is never-ending.

Every time it ebbs, every time it flickers even slightly, Hoseok adjusts. He keeps you there, keeps you riding the high, his fingers curving deep, his palm grinding against your clit, his voice keeping you spiraling—

“Ten.”

Your stomach flips.

He’s doing it on purpose.

Drawing them out.

Tearing you apart.

Your whole body is dripping, slick everywhere, thighs shaking as another orgasm slams through you, your muscles clamping down around his fingers, his wrist soaked with your release.

Your moan is hoarse.

Hoseok just smirks.

“Eleven.”

Your vision blurs.

You don’t even know how many are left.

You don’t know how much time has passed.

Your body isn’t yours anymore—it's his, his to push, his to mold, his to fucking train.

A sob rips from your throat.

Hoseok groans, his fingers fucking into you harder, his mouth brushing your ear—

“You’re perfect for me, Chip.”

Your whole body locks up.

The next orgasm slams into you without warning.

It’s violent, a full-body seizure, your muscles spasming, your breath stuck in your throat—

Hoseok grins.

“Twelve.”

Your vision goes black.

And he still isn’t finished.

Your body is wrecked.

You can feel it—the deep, aching exhaustion settling in your muscles, the uncontrollable twitch in your thighs, the overstimulation thrumming through every raw, abused nerve ending.

And he isn’t stopping.

You’re still trembling, pleasure still echoing through your core, your cunt still clenching helplessly around nothing, searching for something to hold onto, something to pull you down from the endless, unbearable high—

But Hoseok won’t give it to you.

Instead—

He laughs.

Low and quiet. Amused.

Like he’s barely even bothered.

Like your suffering is entertainment.

Your whimper is wrecked. "No more—"

Hoseok hums, dragging his fingers through the absolute mess between your legs, spreading it slow, smearing the evidence of your undoing across your inner thighs.

"Poor thing." His voice is gentle. Mocking. "Already begging?"

You sob.

Your arms shake as you try to lift yourself up—just enough to see him, just enough to plead, but the movement makes you dizzy, makes your vision blur, makes the world tilt—

And then—

He presses against you.

A new heat. A new kind of pressure, one that makes your walls flutter with desperate, helpless need.

Because—

Oh, fuck.

His cock.

It’s thick, the outline unmistakable beneath his dress pants, hot and solid where it presses into your soaking slit, the warmth searing through the fabric.

Your whole body locks.

He just stays there.

Utterly still. Pressed against you. Completely unshaken.

Watching.

Waiting.

His head tilts. “You want it already?”

Your breath shatters. "Yes."

It comes out wrecked, a plea, a sob, a humiliating, desperate confession.

Hoseok exhales through his nose, disappointed.

"You were so eager to earn my cock before," he murmurs, rolling his hips—just barely, just enough to tease, to let you feel the size of him through his pants, to let you ache for it.

Your mewl.

"Now you just want me to give it to you?"

You nod frantically, tears spilling over your cheeks. "Please—"

He chuckles.

And then—

He grabs your chin.

The grip is firm, fingers pressing into your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb swipes over your wet cheek, smearing the tear tracks across your skin.

His smile is cruel.

“Three more, Chip.”

Your stomach plummets.

Three.

Your breath shudders. "No—"

"Three more." His grip tightens. "Then I’ll give this weeping cunt exactly what it needs."

Your whole body shudders.

The words land hot in your gut, twisting and humiliating and burning. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing, aching, soaked, still dripping for him.

You sob—pout—shaking your head, but he just laughs.

“Come now, Chip.” He releases your chin, exhaling through his nose as he leans back against the couch, rolling his sleeves up higher, the Rolex at his wrist gleaming in the low light.

Then—

His legs spread.

The black slacks stretch over thick, muscular thighs, and he pats one of them—calm, nonchalant.

A simple, silent command.

Your fingers dig into the leather beneath you, lungs fighting for air, because—

No.

No, no, no—

"You want my cock?" His voice is easy, like he's bored, like this is a waste of his time. "Then work for it."

Your vision blurs.

He won’t help.

He won’t help you.

He wants you to do it yourself.

You sob.

But you move.

Shaky, wobbly, exhausted—you crawl into his lap, straddling his thigh, knees pressing into the couch cushions, cunt slick and aching as it spreads over the firm muscle beneath you.

The heat of him—his body, his skin, his cock still impossibly hard beneath his slacks—

It’s too much.

Your whimper is humiliating.

"Go on," Hoseok murmurs, arms draped over the back of the couch, watching you passively, as if this isn’t even worth his effort.

Your exhale is rather needy.

Fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him, hating the way this makes you feel—needy, desperate, fucking pathetic.

But you grind.

The first drag of your clit against his thigh makes your whole body jolt.

It’s instant.

The friction—just enough to sting, to spark that unbearable ache again, to keep you there, to make your swollen bud throb with every roll of your hips—

Hoseok hums. “That’s it.”

Your whole body trembles.

You rock forward again, the slick mess between your legs smearing everywhere, soaking through the fabric of his pants, making each movement obscene.

"Pathetic," he murmurs, almost amused.

Your face burns.

But you don’t stop.

Your movements grow sloppier, thighs shaking, the pressure almost unbearable, every drag sending sharp, electric heat curling through your stomach, your breath coming faster, voice breaking on every exhale—

And then it’s there. It’s right there, once more.

Your orgasm tears through you.

Your vision goes white, your muscles locking up, hips stuttering against his thigh as the pleasure overwhelms you—

Hoseok clicks his tongue.

"You can do better."

Your sob shakes through your chest.

Before you can breathe, before you can stop trembling, before you can even begin to recover—

Strong hands grip your waist.

And move you.

Your body jerks as he shifts you into place—straddling his lap, pressed directly against his cock.

Your whole body locks.

You can feel it now, properly, not his thigh anymore, nothing to dull the reality of it—his cock is huge, solid and burning hot beneath his slacks, nestled perfectly between your soaked folds, the ridge of it pressing directly into your clit.

A broken sob tears from your throat.

Hoseok grins.

"That’s better."

You shake your head. "No more—"

"Two more," he corrects, fingers tracing down your sides, barely touching you, refusing to help. "You still want it, don’t you?"

You whine. "Yes—"

"Then move."

Knots form in your chest.

Because you do.

Because you have to.

Because you need it.

Even as the shame burns, even as the overstimulation shreds through you, even as your vision swims, even as you sob against his shoulder—

You grind.

And Hoseok just smirks.

"That’s my girl."

Your whole body is trembling.

Shaking with exhaustion, with pleasure, with ruin.

But Hoseok is not done with you.

Not yet.

Not until you give him two more.

So you continue grinding against him, thighs burning, chest heaving, your entire body stretched too thin. Your clit is aching, so overstimulated it feels like a volcano against the hard press of his cock.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

It’s everything at once.

You sob against his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for anything to hold onto—

And then—

Warm hands.

Hoseok’s hands.

They move.

Not fast. Not rough.

Just… slow.

Slipping from the couch rest behind him, dragging down the curve of your back, lingering at your waist. Large and steady, fingertips pressing into your hips with that familiar, unshaken control.

A slow inhale.

A pause.

And then—

He guides you.

His grip tightens, pressing your hips down against him, rolling them in slow, devastating circles over the thick length of his clothed cock.

A wrecked cry breaks from your throat.

“There we go.” His voice is soft, soothing, his breath warm against your temple. “Let me help, baby.”

Tears well up on you eyelids.

Nails clench into his shoulders as he moves you, pressing your soaked cunt over the stiff heat beneath his slacks, dragging your swollen clit over every ridge and vein.

The friction is perfect.

The pressure is blinding.

And then—

His lips find your throat.

Your breath catches.

Soft, wet kisses drag down your neck—lingering, teasing, maddening—before his mouth descends.

Lower.

Lower.

His tongue flicks over your nipple, warm and wet, before his lips wrap around the peak and—

Oh, fuck.

A sharp suck.

Your entire body jolts.

Your moan is shattered.

His tongue swirls over the hardened bud, lips moving slow and sweet, sucking like you’re dripping with sugar, like he can taste your ruin on his tongue.

Your hips jerk.

Your walls clench down on nothing.

You’re so close.

And Hoseok knows.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with something sweet, something warm. 

His hands squeeze at your waist, pressing you harder against him, making you feel him, making sure you grind yourself open for him properly.

"Like caramel stretched too thin.” His teeth scrape your nipple, making you cry out. “Glistening, golden, melting all over me."

Your stomach flutters.

The words shove you over the edge.

Your body locks up, the orgasm ripping through you like a flood, so sharp, so raw, that you nearly collapse. Your walls flutter helplessly, your thighs trembling, the pleasure surging through every raw, aching nerve.

Hoseok groans.

“Fourteen,” he breathes, sucking hard at your nipple, letting your pleasure drip onto his slacks, soaking through the fabric, making you suffer in the overstimulation—

And then he flips you.

You gasp.

Your back hits the couch, thighs sprawled wide, and before you can even process it—

His hand is between your legs.

His fingers slide through your wrecked, swollen folds, pressing against your entrance, teasing, mocking, before thrusting deep—

Your scream catches in your throat.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice is so soft, so cruel, the pads of his fingers ruthless as they curl inside you, pressing against a spot so deep inside you that makes you convulse.

You sob, shaking your head, too much, too much, but he just shushes you, voice thick with mock sympathy.

"You've been holding out on me, haven't you?"

Spit catches in your throat. "W-what—"

Hoseok chuckles.

Deep, pleased, knowing.

"Don't worry, baby." A sharp thrust, his fingers spreading inside you. "I'll show you."

You whimper, legs kicking uselessly, body fighting something you don’t understand—

And then—

A firm press against your lower belly.

And then—

Another thrust.

The pleasure shifts.

It's new. It's deeper, sharper, something different curling at the base of your spine, something building too fast, something—

"Hoseok—"

"Shh," he soothes. "Just let go, baby."

Your stomach tightens.

The pressure is unbearable.

Your walls clench, your whole body shaking, something hot and unbearable coiling deep inside you, something you can't stop, something rushing to the surface, something—

"Oh—fuck—"

Your body takes over.

"Let it happen. Trust me."

Trust him.

You do. You absolutely trust him.

And maybe that’s the problem, or maybe that’s the solution.

Your thighs tremble, your spine arches, your vision blurs—

And then—

You gush.

Your whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through you in a violent surge, liquid spurting out of you, drenching his hand, his pants, the couch, your thighs—

You scream.

Your muscles lock, your walls fluttering helplessly, your release spurting in hot, wet pulses as Hoseok groans, watching you fall apart completely.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with awe.

Your body shakes.

Your mind spins.

Because—

Because—

What the fuck just happened?

Your whole body is trembling, gasping for air, blinking dazedly as the aftershocks pulse through you, as your thighs twitch, as the overwhelming humiliation of what just happened sinks in.

You whimper. "Hobi—"

He shushes you.

Soft. Gentle. Warm.

His hands move immediately—stroking down your sides, pressing into the muscles that are still twitching, still wreckedfrom the relentless overstimulation.

"You did so well," he murmurs, voice thick with something warm, something sweet. "So well for me, Chip."

His lips find your forehead, pressing a slow, lingering kiss there.

Your whole body melts.

His hands don’t stop moving—brushing over your ribs, tracing the curve of your waist, grounding you, reminding you that you’re safe, that you’re here, that he has you.

"Poor thing." His voice is low, gentle.

A kiss to your temple.

“So sweet when you cry for me."

A kiss to your cheek.

“Like honey dripping from the comb.”

A brush of lips against your jaw.

“You ready for your reward now, baby?"

Your whole body shudders.

You nod, desperate, a wrecked little whimper escaping your lips—

And Hoseok laughs, dark and pleased, as he finally moves to cradle you.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @hobis-sprite0218 @mcflurry-220 @mar-lo-pap

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[teaveetamer]

My Issues With TFioS (and Other Elements of John Green)

Alright I’m just going to preface this with two things.

It’s been about six years since I’ve read the entire thing through, so my points are probably not going to be as detailed or precise as they were when I first read it.

If you enjoyed the book, identify with the fanbase, or like John Green in any capacity... Great! You might want to skip this one. This is definitely not the post for you. I’m going to put all of my more controversial thoughts under the cut so if you don’t want to see them you can just move on.

I brought up the book in that other post because I felt it had relevance to the discussion of “authors using characters as a mouthpiece”, but that’s only a small part of my issue with the book itself. I suppose I could have used a fanfiction example, since there’s more than enough fodder there, but I brought up The Fault in our Stars specifically because I feel comfortable criticizing a book in a way that I don’t feel comfortable criticizing fan works. John Green is a public figure that produced a paid product, made money, and does this professionally, while most fanfic authors are amateurs that provide free entertainment and just do it for fun.

Now with that said, we move on to the meat of the post.

Some Background

Perhaps this is not a little known fact, but I absolutely adore love stories. I don’t have incredibly high standards for them by any means, and in fact I actively enjoy them even when they aren’t the deepest, most thought provoking pieces. Someone got me a copy of Red, White, and Royal Blue for my birthday this year and I read the entire thing cover to cover in a day (and I seriously recommend if you’re looking for a pretty easy read with a lot of gay).

The only thing I love more than love stories? Tragic love stories, of course. If anyone has followed my fanfiction or main blog for any amount of time then you know that I love a little bit of tragedy. Usually with a happy ending, but not always. So when one of my friends shoved (and I mean literally shoved) The Fault in Our Stars  into my hands and billed it as a “tragic but heartwarming love story” I thought it would be perfect for me.

I was sixteen at the time, the target age demographic, and I was always looking for books with smart, well written teen characters. At this point in my life I’d never heard of John Green or his fanbase before. I tell you this because I disliked the book as I read it, but I think John Green and his fanbase are a major factor in why I disliked it so much I’m willing to sit down and write a blog post about it six years later. Granted, that’s not all on the book, but it is a factor.

Needless to say, I was not all that impressed by it. At some points I was downright infuriated, really.

My Issues With the Book

In summary, it feels very meh and overly pretentious. After about two chapters I just wanted to put it down, and the only reason I pushed through is because my friend insisted that it got better. She said it was funny, relatable, and intelligent, but I found it to be none of these things.

The impression I got was that the author, whoever he was, fancied himself terribly clever and he wanted everyone to know it. You know the type, the kinds of people that go around and assure everyone of how smart they are? It feels like it was made for haughty teens to brag about how intelligent they were because they read a “deep” book.  The book itself, despite being a surface level of “witty”, didn’t really have anything to say. In the end it reads like a thirty-something year old man bragging about how smart he is and waxing philosophical about the nature of life (and... Breakfast food..?) and using a fictional teenage girl to do it.

That’s why I brought up the “mouthpiece” thing. I didn’t want to read a book about a thirty-something dressing up his thoughts as a teenage girl. I wanted to read a book about a teenage girl.

Speaking of Hazel Grace… I don’t know if this is a common experience, but can anyone else tell when a man writes a female character? I find that I usually can. Men have a particular voice when they write, and especially when they write women. Every single page hammered me over the head with the fact that this was a man who was trying (and, in my opinion, failing miserably) to write a relatable teenage girl. And, in my opinion, he parroted a lot of very upsetting, dangerous mentalities for young women.

There were quite a few “I’m not like other girls, and not just because of the cancer!” moments (a mentality that I find wholly problematic coming from other women, let alone a man writing for a woman) that just had me rolling my eyes straight out of their sockets. She doesn’t care about shoes, see! She reads books! Isn’t that awesome and unique? Because, apparently, women are not allowed to do both.

These problematic mentalities extend into the book’s romance plot, too. Augustus is, frankly, one of the creepiest motherfuckers I’ve ever had the displeasure to read about. Not only is his aggressive creepiness portrayed as romantic, but Hazel reacts exactly how men wish women would react to their advances. Unfortunately I don’t have a copy of the book in front of me so you won’t get much in the way of direct quotes, but some examples include:

He stares at her, completely unblinking, for the duration of their cancer kids support group meeting… before they’ve even so much as spoken a word to each other. Which also features this gem of a quote: "A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well." which just perpetuates the disgusting misconception that women are okay with being creeped on as long as a guy is attractive. Spoiler alert: We fucking aren’t.

He repeatedly refers to Hazel as “Hazel Grace”, despite her introducing herself as “Hazel” and asking him to just call her “Hazel”. And not only does he ask for her full name, he demands she give it to him. This rings all kinds of alarm bells for me, because you know who else does that kind of shit? Christian Grey. And it’s manipulative, disrespectful, and downright rude. It is essentially saying “I hear your desires, but I would prefer to address you how I want to address you, not how you would like to be addressed, because my ego is more important than your comfort”.

Hazel is perfectly fine with getting into a complete stranger’s car and spending time at his house mere minutes after meeting with him and after all of the questionable shit he just pulled.

Continuing this book’s litany of problems with women, let’s talk about Isaac’s (ex)girlfriend. The book treats their breakup as this massive betrayal, then even goes on to justify vandalizing her property because of it.

I’m sorry, but no.

You, as an autonomous human being, have the right to end a relationship with someone else whenever, wherever, and for whatever reasons you designate, regardless of previously expressed emotions or promises. How and when she did it was not the most ideal, but she’s an emotionally immature teenager, and there’s never going to be a good time to do something like this. What was she supposed to do, keep pity dating him because she felt sorry for him? Wait until someone invented technology to cure blindness? Assuming she did actually break up with him because of his disability… Are her reasons shitty? Sure. But she’s allowed to have them.

And you know what? He’s allowed to be mad about it. His anger might be completely understandable, if not totally justified. But you know what else? That does not give him the right to take revenge on her by vandalizing her property.

I would have no problem with this scene if it were honest about what it was: a bunch of teenagers with under-developed frontal lobes that are angry and feeling vindictive. But it’s not that. It’s depicted as not only completely justified, but heroic. I’m sorry, no. You are never heroic for harassing another human being.

And Augustus’s dumb little speech to her mom is such garbage. You really expect me to believe that a grown woman was so pwned by some jerk teenager’s super witty justification for destroying her property that she just went inside and, idk, watched TV? Didn’t call the police to report the crime that he and his friends were actively committing against her? Bullshit.

Speaking of bullshit, that scene is pretty egregious, but that doesn’t even begin to cover my issues with this book’s pretentious dialogue. If you told me that they ran every word in this book through Thesaurus.com then I would believe you without hesitation. The one hook, the draw, the thing that kept me reading was supposed to be the relatable characters, but they just aren’t relatable. They’re not realistic in the slightest. Seriously, go read any line of this book out loud and tell me how ridiculous you feel. I kept expecting Augustus to pull off his skinsuit and reveal that he was secretly a robot trying to imitate human speech the entire time.

I’m not sure how far I can go into this point without giving you direct quotes, but half the stuff that comes out of these characters mouths is pseudo-intellectual nonsense. “Put the killing thing between your teeth so it can’t kill you”?

It’s not a metaphor.

Putting an unlit cigarette in your mouth is still stupid. I guess it won’t give you lung cancer, but really? It’s still not a great idea.

Augustus has to go buy these cigarettes, which means he’s actively going out and giving money to an industry that has been funding pseudoscience and suppressing health initiatives that would prevent people from suffering what he did (i.e. fucking cancer).

Here’s a clue: Tobacco companies don’t actually care about what you do with the cigarettes. Their transaction stops as soon as you put the money in their hands. I could purchase a hundred packs and throw them in the garbage, and the only thing they know is that they got about $600 from me. Way to “stick it to the man”, asshole. You’re not clever.

With the exception of the Isaac’s-girlfriend thing, all of that is in chapters 1-4, by the way. This book turned me off so thoroughly that early.

So by the time the Amsterdam trip rolled around I was already not enjoying this book, but then this thing happened and it was just the final nail in the coffin for me. You probably know what I’m talking about already, but if you don’t… The Anne Frank Museum kiss.

I honestly cannot even articulate how incredibly tasteless and disrespectful I find the entire thing, and not only does that happen, but it’s followed by an r/ThatHappened “and then everybody stood up and clapped!” Seriously?

There are smarter, more well-versed people than me that have covered this topic, so I’ll leave the analysis for why that’s all kinds of wrong to them.

Those are really my big gripes, though there’s a few smaller ones (like Augustus throwing a pre-funeral like are you a psychopath? Why would you put the people you love through that???) that I’m not going to touch on because they weren’t all that instrumental in putting me off. Instead I’ll move on to the external factors.

The Fanbase

So I finished the book, a little miffed at having just wasted my time, and immediately told my friend that I didn’t like it much, and that I would be returning her copy the next day. Feeling pretty meh-to-slightly-negative about it, but whatever, it happens.

I was essentially met with “wow I can’t believe you didn’t get it.” and “Oh well maybe you’ll finally understand how deep it is when you’re older” from my friend. Which is really just one step away from the wow can’t you read?! BS that I’ve been seeing more and more frequently these days. So immediately I was pissed. All that aside, I was sixteen, the target age demographic? If I didn’t ‘get it’ then John Green was doing a pretty piss poor job of conveying what it is.

So I went online seeking something. Either validation that I wasn’t wrong and that I didn’t miss the point, the book just wasn’t great, or an explanation of what this it was that I’d missed. And let me tell you... Spotting a negative opinion of this book was like looking for a unicorn. There were a few, and many of them were met with the same kind of thing I had experienced. Vitriol, insistence that they were stupid or that they didn’t get it (again, with no explanation of what it was), and, apparently, a lot of harassment and threats.

I discovered that John Green’s target audience had a tendency to be… A bit obsessive. Lots of young, impressionable teenagers that were willing to jump on an opposing opinion with zealous outrage. If I had any interest in pursuing any of John Green’s other works or John Green as an internet personality any further, then it died in that moment. Absolutely nothing turns me off like a rabid, spiteful fanbase.

Now by this point I was already in the rabbit hole, and I began encountering a lot of criticisms of John Green and the things he’s said and done in the past. I did not like what I found.

John Green Himself

To be extremely blunt, the guy put such a bad taste in my mouth that it retroactively soured my opinion of The Fault in Our Stars even more. Since this is a post about my opinions on the book, I’m only going to be discussing things that affected my view at the time I read it. These are all things that happened six years ago, and I have no idea what this man has been up to or what he’s said about any of these topics since.

Let’s just get this out of the way… John Green writes the same book over and over. There’s always a quirky, nerdy white boy that is invariably cisgendered, and almost always straight. He is always an outcast with only a few friends, though apparently never directly bullied. He always meets an edgy girl that he falls in love with the idea of. Usually there is a road trip somewhere in there too.

The Fault in our Stars admittedly doesn’t follow the exact same framework, but it’s close enough in a lot of ways. Instead of the Quirky, Too-Smart-For-His-Own-Good cisboi being the PoV character, it’s the love interest (Hazel also fits this description, albeit a female version). Hazel and Augustus are both still outcasts. Hazel is attracted to Augustus because he’s Deep and Edgy and A Little Larger Than Life. The road trip is a flight to Amsterdam.

Looking at the man... Yeah the entire premise starts to come off as some weird self-insert fanfiction. I can feel the “I was a quirky, bullied teen and I wish this is how my high school life had been!” energy coming through absolutely every pore and every molecule of ink. Every character reads like John Green. John Green has written book after book and the main character always appears to be John Green in a slightly different teenage skinsuit.

And that’s fine, I guess. A little lazy, but I guess it’s working for him since he’s making hella bank? It’s certainly not enough to put me off the guy, just not something I’m interested in reading, and not something I find compelling.

What put me off for good were some of his comments. Dude skeeves me the fuck out. I’ll just go over some of the highlights I found at the time, and why they upset me so much when I heard them.

“Nerd girls are the world's most underutilized romantic resource.”

As a nerdy girl that has been stalked and harassed by men because I’m “good girlfriend material” (aka I like video games and traditionally masculine stuff and I’m pretty! I must be a unicorn!), this statement is disgusting.

I don’t care if it was a joke. I don’t care if he wasn’t being serious. This is the kind of shit that men think is a compliment because they think it makes “quirky” girls feel “unique” and “special”, but that “complement” is also an insult. You know why? Because it makes female interests all about how men perceive their sexual or romantic viability.

John Green’s penchant for writing “special” and “unique” girls (while simultaneously shaming “typical” girls, but I’ll get to that in the next point) and depicting them as the ideal woman just reaffirms my feelings about this quote. I think, on some level, John Green has no idea why this is such a bad take. And that’s not even getting into the fact that he called human beings resources. Women are not objects that exist to be a plot device or for your gratification. Fuck right off with that shit.

“She was incredibly hot, in that popular-girl-with-bleached-teeth-and-anorexia kind of way, which was Colin’s least favourite way of being hot”

This is just one quote of many that shames people with eating disorders and weight problems (on both ends of the spectrum, “too fat” and “too skinny”. Another fun one being: “there’s the weird culturally-constructed definition of hot, which means ‘that individual is malnourished, and has probably had plastic bags inserted into her breasts.’")

Know what this line is? It’s called “negging”, and it’s a popular tactic of incels because it works. You make someone seek your approval by intentionally giving them backhanded compliments to undermine their self esteem. The idea is that the more you insult them, the harder they’ll work to try and impress you. It doesn’t work on everyone, but you know who it does tend to work on? Insecure younger people (usually girls). You know who John Green’s target audience is? Insecure teenage girls.

As for the actual substance of the quote… I hate it. He’s shaming a woman for the choices she makes over her appearance. Which are, fun fact, none of his damn business. Also the idea that “skinny” and “anorexic” somehow need to go hand in hand is just wrong, insulting women for a mental health disorder they have no control over is offensive, and using a serious mental health disorder (did you know that anorexia is the most deadly mental health condition?) as an insult is disgusting.

Coming back to my earlier point about shaming “normal” girls, this quote is just the tip of the iceberg. He repeatedly shames women in his books for looking or behaving “typically”, while quirky girls are lauded as the ideal. Quirky girls are “weird and interesting” and normal girls are “boring”. If this was intended as a compliment, it’s a shitty one. If you have to shame one group to make another feel better, it is not a compliment. You are lowering all women when you pull that shit. You teach them that in order to feel good about themselves another group has to be made to feel worse.

And hey, maybe the pretty girl likes her teeth bleached because it makes her feel confident? Why can’t bleached teeth girl and anime t-shirt girl both be beautiful and unique and confident in their own right? Why is it “powerful” for anime t-shirt girl to wear her nerdy clothes, but scorn-worthy for bleached teeth girl to like bleaching her teeth?

What John Green is doing is simply replacing one ideal (skinny pretty girl) with another (quirky cute girl), and then he pretends like his version is somehow “woke” because it’s not based on physical appearance (though all of the women in his books are also physically attractive. Hmmm. Guess “nerd girls” are only “viable resources” when they aren’t hard to look at?).

And trust me, I’ve been down this path. I’ve been taken in by guys who try to make me feel ~special~ by putting down other women, and it leads to absolutely nothing good. It doesn’t make you feel better. It just makes you feel angry and resentful, and that’s not a place you want to be in. In fact, this was a mentality I had recently escaped from around the time I picked up this book. Seeing someone with as much influence as John Green parroting this specific brand of toxic shit to exactly the audience that would be most likely to feed into it? I was never going to be able to like the guy, sorry.

I know some people are able to “separate the art from the artist”, and I might have been willing to do that had the book actually been good… but it wasn’t. So in the end the book just looked worse for all of the author’s shortcomings.

So yeah, in summary: The book was mediocre at best, the author pushed all of my angry feminist buttons, and elements of the fanbase were annoying, condescending, and spiteful. I didn’t like the book in the first place due to the myriad of problems plaguing it, but everything else just made it look so much worse in hindsight.

Anyways, this probably got kind of ranty, but it was cathartic and I did make this blog to vent about dumb stuff. I think this qualifies.

[etaeternum]

The War Room

Mother of Griffons 

Ch. 6 War Room. (find it on AO3!)

King Alistair meets the Inquisitor to discuss the use of his army. 

If you want to start from the beginning, you can find all the chapters on tumblr here. 

Her pink, luscious lips opened and closed, attempting to form words, but no sound came out. Her cheeks reddened as she stared at him. The ability for Caoilainn to form a complete sentence, let alone a thought, had been completely compromised by her state of shock. Her eyes were wide, like a deer caught in a snare.

The moment dragged on awkwardly and Alistair let it, at least until he was satisfied with his level of amusement. "Well, we'll just have to sort that all out later, won't we?" He dismounted his horse and handed it to an Inquisition scout. The scout bowed and walked the horse to the stables. "You should introduce me to this Inquisitor Alanna… Lavellan, is it? That's elven, yeah?"

Caoilainn nodded. "Uh huh," she stammered dumbly before attempting a smile that did not remotely hide the shame written across her face. "This way… darling." Damn it! Caoilainn cursed herself internally. She never called him darling; it was so rigid and proper.

Muscles stiff, she mechanically turned to walk toward Skyhold's great hall. But before she could take her first step, she heard a familiar male voice call from the gate. "Do you have any orders for me to give the Wardens, Commander?"

Caoilainn froze. Well, shit, she thought, before turning to face the source. Nathaniel stood at the gate with a mixed expression of concern and amusement. She deducted that his question was a last minute attempt at aiding her in her current predicament.

Caoilainn nodded blankly again, this time to Nathaniel, before walking over to the gate. Alistair's eyes followed but he did not interrupt. Patiently, expectantly, he waited with raised eyebrows.

Her voice professional and authoritative, Caoilainn gave orders to Nathaniel. "Yes, Lieutenant. Give the directions for training: I want the mages strengthened and I want extra attention on the new recruits." Then she lowered her voice and hissed, " …and leave me alone." Her hand formed a fist, then it rose to her chest to salute.

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a tight smile. "Yes ma'am," he forced out as he mirrored her motion. Then he coughed and hissed back lowly. "You two should decide who outranks who on your way in. Best to avoid awkward introductions."

Eyes large and face red with rage, Caoilainn took a deep breath to stay her anger. Nathaniel snorted, turned, and walked back to the Grey Warden camp to give her orders. Stunned by the insolence of her Warden, especially in these unique circumstances, she took another deep breath.

Chin up. Tits out. That's what Morrigan had taught her. Caoilainn shook her head to clear the jumble of incomplete thoughts that had collected and returned to Alistair to escort him to the War Room to meet Inquisitor Alanna.

Armor clinking with each step, King Alistair strode through Skyhold's great hall. It took effort to retain his grin as he watched the inhabitants scurry out of the way of their processional. Some people seemed to recognize him and bowed in awe as he passed, others just stared in confusion. Finding entertainment from these situations was all Alistair could do to make them bearable because in actuality, he was tired. Tired from traveling, tired from ruling- especially from doing so alone- but most of all, from all the attention. Celebrity was incredibly draining. The least he could do to save from loathing it was to find humor.

Caoilainn walked just ahead of him. She was distant, literally and figuratively, as she avoided his gaze. Alistair debated as they walked whether to throw her to the wolves or not. Ratting out her abuse of power to gain influence within Skyhold would certainly be a harsh slap of reality for Caoilainn, and it would do nothing to strengthen their relationship, nor would it represent the unity of the Ferelden crown in front of the other political figures.

The duo, followed by a collection of Ferelden guards and advisors, entered the War Room of Skyhold. Buzzing with activity, the Inquisitor was surrounded by her War Council, Inquisition members, and some ambassadors of allies aiding the movement. The room fell silent, and the small crowd parted, as Caoilainn and Alistair stepped toward the War Table.

The Inquisitor greeted them with a nod. "King Alistair?" Alanna asked with a hint of confusion. The petite elven woman looked strong and willful; magical energy vibrated off of her but she looked tired, he recognized, relating to the exhaustion within himself. Yet, Alanna appeared determined and as though she had an inner force to be reckoned with. "We were led to believe you would not be able to join us." Alanna's eyes darted to Caoilainn who stared back guiltily.

"Yes, well, that…" Alistair smiled charmingly and intervened the accusing eye contact. "I did not think I would have the opportunity to join this cause, but when my lovely Queen requested our troops, I just knew I had to uphold my duty to the Wardens and Ferelden." His subtle use of sarcasm with the words 'lovely queen' was barely noticeable. "I cancelled all of my meetings at once."

Alistair left out the fact that he was already on his way to Kirkwall for the summit meeting. That was until a concerned advisor, whom he had ordered give him notice immediately upon any word of his wife, sent a messenger to his convoy. Alistair turned the entire fleet around right away.

His eyes moved to Caoilainn as he spoke. He saw two things:

First, Caoilainn had moved from his side to stand along the ambassadors, finding a spot at the head of some other Grey Warden representatives.Predictable. He noticed that the lieutenant from the yard had stealthily found his way into the War Room and was standing behind her, looking smug and self-satisfied.

The second, in the back of the room, was someone he was not prepared to see. In fact, someone he had been told from the source he would never see again.

Morrigan.

She looked as annoyed as ever, an unamused eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for him to stop talking. Alistair's stomach twisted and he had to catch his breath before looking back to the Inquisitor. "So…," he added, regaining his center. "When shall we go kill the bad guys?"

Eyes narrowed while attempting to stifle a smile, Alanna wondered: Is this man joking in my War Room? Alanna had quickly deducted who he must be. The dashing, slightly cocky man, stood tall, emblazoned with royal regalia. He was quite kingly and had a horribly timed sense of humor. That in itself was amusing to Alanna. Insightful to a fault, and adept at reading the energy of others, Alanna could feel the tension between the King and Queen the moment they walked in the room. The flustered look on the Warden Commander's face, with a trace of anger and embarrassment contrasted Alistair's ruthless gaiety and wit. Alanna wondered what was going on between Caoilainn- who had written her, offering the largest donation of armed soldiers of any ally thus far- and the King, whom she had ensured would not be joining. It was ultimately irrelevant to the needs of the Inquisition, Alanna thought, shrugging off the couple's discourse. Though, she noted, the lack of communication could be problematic in the future. A humble smile found its way to her lips.

"Pleased to meet you, King Alistair. I am Alanna Lavellan." Her eyes shifted back to the War Table. "We were just looking at the map of Orlais to coordinate a mission in the Arbor Wilds." She glanced at Alistair to check his reaction.

Alistair had written to the Inquisition when they were little more than a ragtag band of survivors from Haven, offering condolences to their purpose and asking for a favor regarding communications with Orlais. The rigid neutrality of the Inquisition could easily conflict with the history between the two countries.

Now, the King's offer to help would require him to step foot in the mask-wearing rival's land. It would be a test of allegiance and commitment.

Lovely, Alistair thought to himself sarcastically… Orlais.

Apolitical and allied with no crown, the Inquisition had freedom to move through the borders of both Ferelden and Orlais without limitations. A large band of Ferelden soldiers, on the other hand, may receive some pushback. The Grey Wardens had more leeway as they had no political affiliation, though the different chapters of Wardens were mostly autonomous. They all served the First Warden in Weisshaupt; their only purpose to destroy darkspawn and other demony-type things. Alistair missed his days as a Warden and it hurt when he recalled how this whole mess started. If he could have guessed when he met Caoilainn, he would have predicted himself as the future Warden Commander, not her. A tinge of jealousy burned within him.

"Alright then," he said in reluctant agreement. "Though I doubt the Orlesians will be thrilled by a fleet of Fereldens marching right through their empire, if we are under the Inquisition banner, I suppose we will manage." His statement was made with a shrug and air of defeat but he bounced back quickly with a smile. "I can assure that myself and my men will be on our best behavior while in service to yourself and the Inquisition," Alistair winked.

Caoilainn stared hard at him while he communicated with Alanna, praying to the Maker and Her Beloved Andraste that he did not say something stupid in the process. Having held her breath through his response, she exhaled when he finished talking, relieved by Alistair's tamed playfulness and nearly adequate tact. Such a flirt, she thought with annoyance.

[piercepenniless]

On Assembly

On Friday I was joined by Michael Hardt on Novara to talk about his new book - co-authored with Toni Negri - Assembly. It’s a follow-up to the Empire trilogy and a serious and ambitious intervention. Empire is one of those books which I think suffered from its success; its theses were often broadened out and vulgarised. That’s the fate of any successful book (how Benedict Anderson must have come to hate the phrase ‘imagined communities’) but I think it was especially bad here. I imagine the same will happen here, but the book is very much worth reading, and even though I have some substantial disagreements with parts of it, I was struck by how much I had missed its ambition and brio – it is an attempt to think the current political moment in its totality, from the practical activity of the ‘movement’ (especially, for H&N, the arc of protests and struggles extending from Tunisia to 15M to Occupy, though not exclusively) to the current form of capitalism and emergent forms of cooperation and solidarity. Their ambition is to operate beyond the political per se and enter the ‘hidden abode’ of economic and social need which is its matrix. It’s a good ambition and the book repays careful reading.

It is a less politically theoretical book than the previous work: there is no lengthy digression on Spinozist ‘multitude’, or careful genealogy of the concept of sovereignty. That’s partly because the book rests on the earlier theoretical work, but also because of the different historical moments in which they have been written: Empire, especially, was written as a way of seeking a theoretical articulation of a global political ‘moment’ in its crescendo; the situation now is decidedly more mixed. The theoretical slant of the book is a tussle with Rousseau, especially, although it’s only carried out obliquely, save in chapter 3; I’d have liked to see it pursued a bit more.

But it struck me while reading how different the fruits of ‘Western Marxism’ – which they defend, correctly I think, in a late section of the book – are between intellectual traditions. Their two preferred figures are a little strange –Lukács and the later Merleau-Ponty – but it allowed me to understand their project as part of a line of work which blends Marxism primarily with philosophy, which allows for their systemic ambition, but only briefly dallies with history. This is quite different from another Western Marxism, one strain of which is Anglophone, which blends Marxism with history: think EP Thompson, Hobsbawm, Perry Anderson, or even Peter Linebaugh (the line is certainly heterogeneous). It might have been fruitful to grapple with Anderson’s insight that the secret signature of all Western Marxism is failure, and operate from there. That kind of thinking might have been especially useful in suggesting that H&N proceed from the specific problems of particular moments of struggle (what did people think they were doing? what did they want? what future did they see? what were they struggling against?) rather than allowing them to appear just as examples of broader, overarching arguments. But then that would have been a different book.

There are two specific things I find awkward in the book:

The first is the idea of ‘nonsovereignty’, which I don’t think is ever fully articulated. I suspect H&N have painted themselves into a philosophical corner here. In brief, nonsovereignty is a conceptual polemic against all political conceptions framed around sovereignty, which they see as inevitably (re)producing relations of domination – against this they propose a somewhat murky idea of ‘nonsovereign’ institutions which emerge from the matrix of pre-existing co-operation and sociality coming into self-consciousness. But here things get problematic. Not only does this skirt the historical question – why do so many contemporary movements, right and left, articulate themselves in terms of sovereignty? – but it seems to smuggle in sovereignty under the rubric of nonsovereignty. In other words, nonsovereign institutions are sovereign institutions (i.e., fully autonomous ones which set their own rules, determine their own nature and limits etc) but with sovereignty used for other, non-dominating ends. I think that’s good! I just don’t see the need for the term.

But I understand where it comes from: not only a generalised suspicion of the ‘political’ per se – hence the polemic against the ‘autonomy of the political’ which we argue about a little in the show – but a long commitment to the idea that capitalism produces new, resistant subjects, with resources which surpass capital’s attempts to exploit them. That is what Negri was doing with the baroque figure of the ‘operaio sociale’ decades ago, and it’s the same here. But the theoretical consequences of this orientation cuts off any consideration that political concepts are themselves sites of struggle for meaning – and therefore politics is only conceived of as their total negation.

The second matter I struggle with is related – it is about a ‘resistant subject’ and also about political concepts. In a way it is a minor thing, but also an indicative one. H&N write:

“Migrants, for example, who play such a fundamental role in shaping the contemporary world, who cross borders and nations, deserts and seas, who are forced to live precariously in ghettos and take the most humiliating work in order to survive, who risk the violence of police and anti-immigrant mobs, demonstrate the central connections between the processes of translation and the experience of “commoning”: multitudes of strangers, in transit and staying put, invent new means of communicating with others, new modes of acting together, new sites of encounter and assembly—in short, they constitute a new common without ever losing their singularities.Through processes of translation, the singularities together form a multitude. Migrants are a coming community, poor but rich in languages, pushed down by fatigue but open to physical, linguistic, and social cooperation. Any political subjectivities seeking to take the word with legitimacy today must learn how to speak (and to act, live, and create) like migrants.” (pp.152-3)

Now, on one level, I can appreciate the transvaluation going on here – instead of conceiving of migrants as absolutely wretched, objects of pity at best and hatred at worst, H&N are trying to conceive the migrant as subject, and follow the arc of political potential which therefore emerges. I think that’s valuable as far as it goes, and actually in its own terms, as a gesture against much of predominant discourse, I think it’s fine. It’s also a common move among those influenced by Negri and working on migration, especially Sandro Mezzadra. But there’s something missing here. Most migrants don’t want to be migrants: either they don’t want to have migrated at all, or they want something quite at odds with the way H&N conceive of them here – stability and citizenship. For many, the most fervent hope is that ‘migrant’ is a temporary position. One of the things that’s awkward about the polemical dismissal of the body of concepts emanating from the republican tradition is that H&N lose the ability to operate in this conceptual realm, the realm which frames most political desires articulated by their resistant subjects. It seems to me a more difficult, but more rewarding thing to attempt to think through and beyond those terms, as especially ‘sovereignty’ and ‘citizenship’ are two of the key sites of struggle for the next few decades.

Anyway –– listen to the interview! Read the book!

[ethn115-lb]

Week 6 Blogpost

Both of the readings for this week discussed Palestine and the horrors that occurred/are still occurring there. The reading “Infiltrated Intimacies: The Case of Palestinian Returnees” by Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian discusses the gradual shift in Israeli policies to begin criminalizing displaced Palestinians through policy. In the excerpt from Lisa Parks’s novel, entitled “Targeting: Mediating US Drone Wars”, they discuss the haunted power dynamics that drone strikes play — a dynamic she dubs as “vertical mediation”.

Both of these readings — especially Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s — illustrate the idea of haunted power dynamics (via race re: Zionism), and how gradual institutionalization can lead to the creation of orphaned beginnings for future Palestinian generations to come. As Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian writes, “by criminalizing Palestinian re-entry, and effectively the very existence of Palestinians within or nearby Israeli borders, the Israeli state was able to actualize its political strategy of Palestinian erasure” (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 8). These measures of criminalization were done as “emergency ordinances” (8), which hearkens back to the Shock Doctrine discussed last week.

Lisa Parks’s chapter from Rethinking Media Coverage: Vertical Mediation and the War on Terror defines “vertical mediation” as how “audiovisual cultures enact and infer power relations far beyond the screen”. Due to the distant nature of drones, she writes, “the drone crash ad the documentations of and responses to [the drone crash] are crucial aspects of vertical mediation" (Parks 176). Beyond the obvious correlation between drone strikes and premature death of people, Parks notes that some see drone attacks “as a technology of 'humane warfare’" (178), which is problematic, as it strips victims of humanity.

The publishing and documentation of drone crashes, in a way, is an example of a just future, as the “crash scene documentation serves a vital function, as it puts material traces of these operations into mediated forms that can catalyze public inquiry and responses” (176). She writes:

They are important for multiple reasons. First, they expose the kinds of drones being operated and where they are being operated. Second, they highlight drone materialities, reminding viewers that un - manned and autonomous technologies are still subject to the laws of gravity, software glitches, and bad weather, and they also have enemies. Finally, given that drone strike photos and assessments in the Horn of Africa do not circulate and there is limited reporting at such sites, the drone crash scene stands in as a symbolic reminder of these concealed sites as well as the injured or dead bodies that remain invisible or uncounted and have been subjected to a strategy of dis - appearance. (176)

Ultimately, what we may take from this is that settler-colonialism and the premature deaths of people have deep ties to institutionalized power structures of the Western world. These acts of institutionalization happen gradually as minor shifts — shifts that, in the case of Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s case study, are used to move “a refugee crisis into a threat to national security”, which, for Israel “integrally supported the goals of its settler-colonial state” (8).

Glossary Addition

Ordinances

Gradual shifts to either the right direction, or — in the case of the horrors covered here — the wrong direction. Problematic ordinances essentially erode the rights of the people it targets — slowly and gradually, until it's too late.

[fastmusclecar123]

New Post has been published on http://fastmusclecar.com/best-muscle-cars/evolution-american-auto-manufacturing/

The Evolution of American Auto Manufacturing

by Josh Joubert

From Henry Ford’s Model T to the development of driverless vehicles, the auto manufacturing industry is constantly evolving to meet the needs of Americans. The automobile industry has had a significant societal and economic impact on the U.S. and continues to shape American influence in the global economy. Let’s trace American auto manufacturing from its humble beginnings to the booming industry it is today.

From Bicycles and Carriages to Gas-Powered Engines

The first American automobile was born in a Massachusetts bicycle shop. Mechanics J. Frank and Charles Duryea are credited with the creation of America’s first gas-powered carriage in 1893.  By 1895, they had entered and won America’s first automobile race and began selling their vehicles within the year. Automobile production and sales caught on quickly in the United States, and, by 1899, over 2,000 automobile vehicles had been sold, with hundreds more vehicle manufacturers joining production over the next decade.

The American Auto Advantage

Even though the auto industry was also experiencing market creation in European countries, several factors made the U.S. one of the leading manufacturers of automobiles in the early 20th century.  The first was demand. The vast size of the U.S. with a large distance between cities necessitated a method of relatively fast transportation essential for the developing economy.

Also, the growing wealth of Americans and a more equitable income distribution made for a larger automobile consumer base. Finally, the lack of extra taxes and relative inexpensiveness of raw materials for manufacturing made America the ideal setting for the fledgling automobile industry.

A “Car for the Great Multitude”

Perhaps the most influential development in the early years of the automobile industry was the mass production innovations made by Henry Ford. Using belt-based manufacturing that streamlined the production process, Ford’s company could produce cars more quickly and at a lower cost than his competitors.

Before Henry Ford’s revolutionary manufacturing techniques, the gasoline-powered vehicle, or horseless carriage, as it was often referred to, was only accessible to the very wealthy. The innovative manufacturing techniques that led to the creation of the Model T made the automobile something the common man could afford. Created in 1908, the Model T was easy to drive, easy to repair, and easy to use over bumpy terrain, which made it ideal for American farmers and rural workers.

Other auto manufacturers adopted the techniques developed by Ford, shaping the way cars were created across the United States and giving rise to some of America’s most profitable companies.

How the Car Changed American Society

The impact of the affordable automobile reverberated throughout American society. The mass production of cars created tens of thousands of new jobs for Americans, both in automobile production factories, as well as in the production of raw materials needed to produce the cars. With cars also came the need for insurance policies, which greatly expanded the insurance industry. Americans also saw a need for reliable services for car maintenance, repair and supplies.

The car allowed rural societies to become more connected with the urban and brought improvements to previously isolated settlements. This gave rise to American suburbs, which greatly impacted the way Americans worked and lived. With the car came a new chapter in American society.

Cars and the Economy

Like any industry, the automobile producers were subject to and shaped by the evolving economy of the U.S. and the rest of the world.  Car production took a hit during the Great Depression, along with many other manufacturers, although, despite declining economic times, over half of all American families owned cars during this time.

Nevertheless, innovation in the automobile industry was slow-paced after the invention of the Model T. Automotive technology, such as a self-starter, high-compression engine, and automatic transmission, stayed relatively the same from the 1920s to the 1950s.

Wartime also affected the development of cars, with American manufacturers limited to producing vehicles that were more heavy-duty, such as jeeps, tanks, and trucks. The production of the wartime vehicles helped to revive the industry, but the U.S. also began to see competition from Japanese manufacturers that were producing smaller passenger vehicles.

The Big Three and the Decline of the American Auto Industry

“The Big Three” is the name given to the American auto manufacturers who rose to dominate the American market after the standardization of production techniques.  Detroit-based companies Ford Motor Company, General Motors, and Chrysler became America’s top manufacturers, cornering the market for both the affluent and the middle class.

But the mass production of cars during the prominence of the Big Three would lead to some problems. Large vehicles with a new variety of amenities raised the cost of these vehicles, as well as their polluting emissions. This would become especially problematic with the drastic increases in fuel prices.  With the Japanese manufacturers producing cars at lower costs and lower emissions, the U.S. auto industry saw a decline in the early 1980s.

      Revamping the Industry to Meet the Needs of Modern America

Rather than accepting an inconsequential place in the global automobile market, American companies adapted and changed to the demands of the times to remain competitive. Focusing on product quality and employee satisfaction rather than aesthetics, American companies began to create cars that were safer and more fuel efficient. These efforts for revitalization helped to restore the U.S. as a world leader in automobile manufacturing.

Innovations in American Cars Today

Today, new technologies are making cars safer and more efficient than ever before. They include safety features that alert drivers to road concerns, helping to eliminate the possibility of accidents caused by driver error. Many modern cars are now providing ways to connect to technology like phones and tablets.

Americans might soon see driverless cars that brake, navigate, and park without driver intervention. Autonomous features on cars are quickly being introduced in American markets, making a fully driverless car a possibility for the future.  Not only would this eradicate human driver error, but it would also revolutionize the way we travel.

Final Thoughts

American auto manufacturing has shaped the United States, just as the evolving needs of its citizens have shaped the industry. The history of American auto manufacturing contains both great success and great failures, but, ultimately, the industry has evolved to be a significant world player in the production of cars. As technology continues to be created, we can count on American manufacturers to be leaders in the development of cutting-edge technology that will create safer roadways and a healthier environment.

  Image links

Image 1: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e3-3be7-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 2: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47d9-3da3-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 3: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2014/10/09/23/35/car-482683_1280.jpg

Image 4: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6c/Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg/1920px-Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg

Image 5: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/08/31/22/34/auto-1634815_1280.jpg

[fastmusclecar123]

New Post has been published on http://fastmusclecar.com/best-muscle-cars/evolution-american-auto-manufacturing/

The Evolution of American Auto Manufacturing

by Josh Joubert

From Henry Ford’s Model T to the development of driverless vehicles, the auto manufacturing industry is constantly evolving to meet the needs of Americans. The automobile industry has had a significant societal and economic impact on the U.S. and continues to shape American influence in the global economy. Let’s trace American auto manufacturing from its humble beginnings to the booming industry it is today.

From Bicycles and Carriages to Gas-Powered Engines

The first American automobile was born in a Massachusetts bicycle shop. Mechanics J. Frank and Charles Duryea are credited with the creation of America’s first gas-powered carriage in 1893.  By 1895, they had entered and won America’s first automobile race and began selling their vehicles within the year. Automobile production and sales caught on quickly in the United States, and, by 1899, over 2,000 automobile vehicles had been sold, with hundreds more vehicle manufacturers joining production over the next decade.

The American Auto Advantage

Even though the auto industry was also experiencing market creation in European countries, several factors made the U.S. one of the leading manufacturers of automobiles in the early 20th century.  The first was demand. The vast size of the U.S. with a large distance between cities necessitated a method of relatively fast transportation essential for the developing economy.

Also, the growing wealth of Americans and a more equitable income distribution made for a larger automobile consumer base. Finally, the lack of extra taxes and relative inexpensiveness of raw materials for manufacturing made America the ideal setting for the fledgling automobile industry.

A “Car for the Great Multitude”

Perhaps the most influential development in the early years of the automobile industry was the mass production innovations made by Henry Ford. Using belt-based manufacturing that streamlined the production process, Ford’s company could produce cars more quickly and at a lower cost than his competitors.

Before Henry Ford’s revolutionary manufacturing techniques, the gasoline-powered vehicle, or horseless carriage, as it was often referred to, was only accessible to the very wealthy. The innovative manufacturing techniques that led to the creation of the Model T made the automobile something the common man could afford. Created in 1908, the Model T was easy to drive, easy to repair, and easy to use over bumpy terrain, which made it ideal for American farmers and rural workers.

Other auto manufacturers adopted the techniques developed by Ford, shaping the way cars were created across the United States and giving rise to some of America’s most profitable companies.

How the Car Changed American Society

The impact of the affordable automobile reverberated throughout American society. The mass production of cars created tens of thousands of new jobs for Americans, both in automobile production factories, as well as in the production of raw materials needed to produce the cars. With cars also came the need for insurance policies, which greatly expanded the insurance industry. Americans also saw a need for reliable services for car maintenance, repair and supplies.

The car allowed rural societies to become more connected with the urban and brought improvements to previously isolated settlements. This gave rise to American suburbs, which greatly impacted the way Americans worked and lived. With the car came a new chapter in American society.

Cars and the Economy

Like any industry, the automobile producers were subject to and shaped by the evolving economy of the U.S. and the rest of the world.  Car production took a hit during the Great Depression, along with many other manufacturers, although, despite declining economic times, over half of all American families owned cars during this time.

Nevertheless, innovation in the automobile industry was slow-paced after the invention of the Model T. Automotive technology, such as a self-starter, high-compression engine, and automatic transmission, stayed relatively the same from the 1920s to the 1950s.

Wartime also affected the development of cars, with American manufacturers limited to producing vehicles that were more heavy-duty, such as jeeps, tanks, and trucks. The production of the wartime vehicles helped to revive the industry, but the U.S. also began to see competition from Japanese manufacturers that were producing smaller passenger vehicles.

The Big Three and the Decline of the American Auto Industry

“The Big Three” is the name given to the American auto manufacturers who rose to dominate the American market after the standardization of production techniques.  Detroit-based companies Ford Motor Company, General Motors, and Chrysler became America’s top manufacturers, cornering the market for both the affluent and the middle class.

But the mass production of cars during the prominence of the Big Three would lead to some problems. Large vehicles with a new variety of amenities raised the cost of these vehicles, as well as their polluting emissions. This would become especially problematic with the drastic increases in fuel prices.  With the Japanese manufacturers producing cars at lower costs and lower emissions, the U.S. auto industry saw a decline in the early 1980s.

      Revamping the Industry to Meet the Needs of Modern America

Rather than accepting an inconsequential place in the global automobile market, American companies adapted and changed to the demands of the times to remain competitive. Focusing on product quality and employee satisfaction rather than aesthetics, American companies began to create cars that were safer and more fuel efficient. These efforts for revitalization helped to restore the U.S. as a world leader in automobile manufacturing.

Innovations in American Cars Today

Today, new technologies are making cars safer and more efficient than ever before. They include safety features that alert drivers to road concerns, helping to eliminate the possibility of accidents caused by driver error. Many modern cars are now providing ways to connect to technology like phones and tablets.

Americans might soon see driverless cars that brake, navigate, and park without driver intervention. Autonomous features on cars are quickly being introduced in American markets, making a fully driverless car a possibility for the future.  Not only would this eradicate human driver error, but it would also revolutionize the way we travel.

Final Thoughts

American auto manufacturing has shaped the United States, just as the evolving needs of its citizens have shaped the industry. The history of American auto manufacturing contains both great success and great failures, but, ultimately, the industry has evolved to be a significant world player in the production of cars. As technology continues to be created, we can count on American manufacturers to be leaders in the development of cutting-edge technology that will create safer roadways and a healthier environment.

  Image links

Image 1: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e3-3be7-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 2: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47d9-3da3-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 3: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2014/10/09/23/35/car-482683_1280.jpg

Image 4: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6c/Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg/1920px-Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg

Image 5: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/08/31/22/34/auto-1634815_1280.jpg

[fastmusclecar123]

New Post has been published on http://fastmusclecar.com/best-muscle-cars/evolution-american-auto-manufacturing/

The Evolution of American Auto Manufacturing

by Josh Joubert

From Henry Ford’s Model T to the development of driverless vehicles, the auto manufacturing industry is constantly evolving to meet the needs of Americans. The automobile industry has had a significant societal and economic impact on the U.S. and continues to shape American influence in the global economy. Let’s trace American auto manufacturing from its humble beginnings to the booming industry it is today.

From Bicycles and Carriages to Gas-Powered Engines

The first American automobile was born in a Massachusetts bicycle shop. Mechanics J. Frank and Charles Duryea are credited with the creation of America’s first gas-powered carriage in 1893.  By 1895, they had entered and won America’s first automobile race and began selling their vehicles within the year. Automobile production and sales caught on quickly in the United States, and, by 1899, over 2,000 automobile vehicles had been sold, with hundreds more vehicle manufacturers joining production over the next decade.

The American Auto Advantage

Even though the auto industry was also experiencing market creation in European countries, several factors made the U.S. one of the leading manufacturers of automobiles in the early 20th century.  The first was demand. The vast size of the U.S. with a large distance between cities necessitated a method of relatively fast transportation essential for the developing economy.

Also, the growing wealth of Americans and a more equitable income distribution made for a larger automobile consumer base. Finally, the lack of extra taxes and relative inexpensiveness of raw materials for manufacturing made America the ideal setting for the fledgling automobile industry.

A “Car for the Great Multitude”

Perhaps the most influential development in the early years of the automobile industry was the mass production innovations made by Henry Ford. Using belt-based manufacturing that streamlined the production process, Ford’s company could produce cars more quickly and at a lower cost than his competitors.

Before Henry Ford’s revolutionary manufacturing techniques, the gasoline-powered vehicle, or horseless carriage, as it was often referred to, was only accessible to the very wealthy. The innovative manufacturing techniques that led to the creation of the Model T made the automobile something the common man could afford. Created in 1908, the Model T was easy to drive, easy to repair, and easy to use over bumpy terrain, which made it ideal for American farmers and rural workers.

Other auto manufacturers adopted the techniques developed by Ford, shaping the way cars were created across the United States and giving rise to some of America’s most profitable companies.

How the Car Changed American Society

The impact of the affordable automobile reverberated throughout American society. The mass production of cars created tens of thousands of new jobs for Americans, both in automobile production factories, as well as in the production of raw materials needed to produce the cars. With cars also came the need for insurance policies, which greatly expanded the insurance industry. Americans also saw a need for reliable services for car maintenance, repair and supplies.

The car allowed rural societies to become more connected with the urban and brought improvements to previously isolated settlements. This gave rise to American suburbs, which greatly impacted the way Americans worked and lived. With the car came a new chapter in American society.

Cars and the Economy

Like any industry, the automobile producers were subject to and shaped by the evolving economy of the U.S. and the rest of the world.  Car production took a hit during the Great Depression, along with many other manufacturers, although, despite declining economic times, over half of all American families owned cars during this time.

Nevertheless, innovation in the automobile industry was slow-paced after the invention of the Model T. Automotive technology, such as a self-starter, high-compression engine, and automatic transmission, stayed relatively the same from the 1920s to the 1950s.

Wartime also affected the development of cars, with American manufacturers limited to producing vehicles that were more heavy-duty, such as jeeps, tanks, and trucks. The production of the wartime vehicles helped to revive the industry, but the U.S. also began to see competition from Japanese manufacturers that were producing smaller passenger vehicles.

The Big Three and the Decline of the American Auto Industry

“The Big Three” is the name given to the American auto manufacturers who rose to dominate the American market after the standardization of production techniques.  Detroit-based companies Ford Motor Company, General Motors, and Chrysler became America’s top manufacturers, cornering the market for both the affluent and the middle class.

But the mass production of cars during the prominence of the Big Three would lead to some problems. Large vehicles with a new variety of amenities raised the cost of these vehicles, as well as their polluting emissions. This would become especially problematic with the drastic increases in fuel prices.  With the Japanese manufacturers producing cars at lower costs and lower emissions, the U.S. auto industry saw a decline in the early 1980s.

      Revamping the Industry to Meet the Needs of Modern America

Rather than accepting an inconsequential place in the global automobile market, American companies adapted and changed to the demands of the times to remain competitive. Focusing on product quality and employee satisfaction rather than aesthetics, American companies began to create cars that were safer and more fuel efficient. These efforts for revitalization helped to restore the U.S. as a world leader in automobile manufacturing.

Innovations in American Cars Today

Today, new technologies are making cars safer and more efficient than ever before. They include safety features that alert drivers to road concerns, helping to eliminate the possibility of accidents caused by driver error. Many modern cars are now providing ways to connect to technology like phones and tablets.

Americans might soon see driverless cars that brake, navigate, and park without driver intervention. Autonomous features on cars are quickly being introduced in American markets, making a fully driverless car a possibility for the future.  Not only would this eradicate human driver error, but it would also revolutionize the way we travel.

Final Thoughts

American auto manufacturing has shaped the United States, just as the evolving needs of its citizens have shaped the industry. The history of American auto manufacturing contains both great success and great failures, but, ultimately, the industry has evolved to be a significant world player in the production of cars. As technology continues to be created, we can count on American manufacturers to be leaders in the development of cutting-edge technology that will create safer roadways and a healthier environment.

  Image links

Image 1: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e3-3be7-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 2: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47d9-3da3-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 3: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2014/10/09/23/35/car-482683_1280.jpg

Image 4: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6c/Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg/1920px-Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg

Image 5: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/08/31/22/34/auto-1634815_1280.jpg

[fastmusclecar123]

New Post has been published on http://fastmusclecar.com/best-muscle-cars/evolution-american-auto-manufacturing/

The Evolution of American Auto Manufacturing

by Josh Joubert

From Henry Ford’s Model T to the development of driverless vehicles, the auto manufacturing industry is constantly evolving to meet the needs of Americans. The automobile industry has had a significant societal and economic impact on the U.S. and continues to shape American influence in the global economy. Let’s trace American auto manufacturing from its humble beginnings to the booming industry it is today.

From Bicycles and Carriages to Gas-Powered Engines

The first American automobile was born in a Massachusetts bicycle shop. Mechanics J. Frank and Charles Duryea are credited with the creation of America’s first gas-powered carriage in 1893.  By 1895, they had entered and won America’s first automobile race and began selling their vehicles within the year. Automobile production and sales caught on quickly in the United States, and, by 1899, over 2,000 automobile vehicles had been sold, with hundreds more vehicle manufacturers joining production over the next decade.

The American Auto Advantage

Even though the auto industry was also experiencing market creation in European countries, several factors made the U.S. one of the leading manufacturers of automobiles in the early 20th century.  The first was demand. The vast size of the U.S. with a large distance between cities necessitated a method of relatively fast transportation essential for the developing economy.

Also, the growing wealth of Americans and a more equitable income distribution made for a larger automobile consumer base. Finally, the lack of extra taxes and relative inexpensiveness of raw materials for manufacturing made America the ideal setting for the fledgling automobile industry.

A “Car for the Great Multitude”

Perhaps the most influential development in the early years of the automobile industry was the mass production innovations made by Henry Ford. Using belt-based manufacturing that streamlined the production process, Ford’s company could produce cars more quickly and at a lower cost than his competitors.

Before Henry Ford’s revolutionary manufacturing techniques, the gasoline-powered vehicle, or horseless carriage, as it was often referred to, was only accessible to the very wealthy. The innovative manufacturing techniques that led to the creation of the Model T made the automobile something the common man could afford. Created in 1908, the Model T was easy to drive, easy to repair, and easy to use over bumpy terrain, which made it ideal for American farmers and rural workers.

Other auto manufacturers adopted the techniques developed by Ford, shaping the way cars were created across the United States and giving rise to some of America’s most profitable companies.

How the Car Changed American Society

The impact of the affordable automobile reverberated throughout American society. The mass production of cars created tens of thousands of new jobs for Americans, both in automobile production factories, as well as in the production of raw materials needed to produce the cars. With cars also came the need for insurance policies, which greatly expanded the insurance industry. Americans also saw a need for reliable services for car maintenance, repair and supplies.

The car allowed rural societies to become more connected with the urban and brought improvements to previously isolated settlements. This gave rise to American suburbs, which greatly impacted the way Americans worked and lived. With the car came a new chapter in American society.

Cars and the Economy

Like any industry, the automobile producers were subject to and shaped by the evolving economy of the U.S. and the rest of the world.  Car production took a hit during the Great Depression, along with many other manufacturers, although, despite declining economic times, over half of all American families owned cars during this time.

Nevertheless, innovation in the automobile industry was slow-paced after the invention of the Model T. Automotive technology, such as a self-starter, high-compression engine, and automatic transmission, stayed relatively the same from the 1920s to the 1950s.

Wartime also affected the development of cars, with American manufacturers limited to producing vehicles that were more heavy-duty, such as jeeps, tanks, and trucks. The production of the wartime vehicles helped to revive the industry, but the U.S. also began to see competition from Japanese manufacturers that were producing smaller passenger vehicles.

The Big Three and the Decline of the American Auto Industry

“The Big Three” is the name given to the American auto manufacturers who rose to dominate the American market after the standardization of production techniques.  Detroit-based companies Ford Motor Company, General Motors, and Chrysler became America’s top manufacturers, cornering the market for both the affluent and the middle class.

But the mass production of cars during the prominence of the Big Three would lead to some problems. Large vehicles with a new variety of amenities raised the cost of these vehicles, as well as their polluting emissions. This would become especially problematic with the drastic increases in fuel prices.  With the Japanese manufacturers producing cars at lower costs and lower emissions, the U.S. auto industry saw a decline in the early 1980s.

      Revamping the Industry to Meet the Needs of Modern America

Rather than accepting an inconsequential place in the global automobile market, American companies adapted and changed to the demands of the times to remain competitive. Focusing on product quality and employee satisfaction rather than aesthetics, American companies began to create cars that were safer and more fuel efficient. These efforts for revitalization helped to restore the U.S. as a world leader in automobile manufacturing.

Innovations in American Cars Today

Today, new technologies are making cars safer and more efficient than ever before. They include safety features that alert drivers to road concerns, helping to eliminate the possibility of accidents caused by driver error. Many modern cars are now providing ways to connect to technology like phones and tablets.

Americans might soon see driverless cars that brake, navigate, and park without driver intervention. Autonomous features on cars are quickly being introduced in American markets, making a fully driverless car a possibility for the future.  Not only would this eradicate human driver error, but it would also revolutionize the way we travel.

Final Thoughts

American auto manufacturing has shaped the United States, just as the evolving needs of its citizens have shaped the industry. The history of American auto manufacturing contains both great success and great failures, but, ultimately, the industry has evolved to be a significant world player in the production of cars. As technology continues to be created, we can count on American manufacturers to be leaders in the development of cutting-edge technology that will create safer roadways and a healthier environment.

  Image links

Image 1: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e3-3be7-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 2: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47d9-3da3-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 3: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2014/10/09/23/35/car-482683_1280.jpg

Image 4: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6c/Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg/1920px-Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg

Image 5: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/08/31/22/34/auto-1634815_1280.jpg

[fastmusclecar123]

New Post has been published on http://fastmusclecar.com/best-muscle-cars/evolution-american-auto-manufacturing/

The Evolution of American Auto Manufacturing

by Josh Joubert

From Henry Ford’s Model T to the development of driverless vehicles, the auto manufacturing industry is constantly evolving to meet the needs of Americans. The automobile industry has had a significant societal and economic impact on the U.S. and continues to shape American influence in the global economy. Let’s trace American auto manufacturing from its humble beginnings to the booming industry it is today.

From Bicycles and Carriages to Gas-Powered Engines

The first American automobile was born in a Massachusetts bicycle shop. Mechanics J. Frank and Charles Duryea are credited with the creation of America’s first gas-powered carriage in 1893.  By 1895, they had entered and won America’s first automobile race and began selling their vehicles within the year. Automobile production and sales caught on quickly in the United States, and, by 1899, over 2,000 automobile vehicles had been sold, with hundreds more vehicle manufacturers joining production over the next decade.

The American Auto Advantage

Even though the auto industry was also experiencing market creation in European countries, several factors made the U.S. one of the leading manufacturers of automobiles in the early 20th century.  The first was demand. The vast size of the U.S. with a large distance between cities necessitated a method of relatively fast transportation essential for the developing economy.

Also, the growing wealth of Americans and a more equitable income distribution made for a larger automobile consumer base. Finally, the lack of extra taxes and relative inexpensiveness of raw materials for manufacturing made America the ideal setting for the fledgling automobile industry.

A “Car for the Great Multitude”

Perhaps the most influential development in the early years of the automobile industry was the mass production innovations made by Henry Ford. Using belt-based manufacturing that streamlined the production process, Ford’s company could produce cars more quickly and at a lower cost than his competitors.

Before Henry Ford’s revolutionary manufacturing techniques, the gasoline-powered vehicle, or horseless carriage, as it was often referred to, was only accessible to the very wealthy. The innovative manufacturing techniques that led to the creation of the Model T made the automobile something the common man could afford. Created in 1908, the Model T was easy to drive, easy to repair, and easy to use over bumpy terrain, which made it ideal for American farmers and rural workers.

Other auto manufacturers adopted the techniques developed by Ford, shaping the way cars were created across the United States and giving rise to some of America’s most profitable companies.

How the Car Changed American Society

The impact of the affordable automobile reverberated throughout American society. The mass production of cars created tens of thousands of new jobs for Americans, both in automobile production factories, as well as in the production of raw materials needed to produce the cars. With cars also came the need for insurance policies, which greatly expanded the insurance industry. Americans also saw a need for reliable services for car maintenance, repair and supplies.

The car allowed rural societies to become more connected with the urban and brought improvements to previously isolated settlements. This gave rise to American suburbs, which greatly impacted the way Americans worked and lived. With the car came a new chapter in American society.

Cars and the Economy

Like any industry, the automobile producers were subject to and shaped by the evolving economy of the U.S. and the rest of the world.  Car production took a hit during the Great Depression, along with many other manufacturers, although, despite declining economic times, over half of all American families owned cars during this time.

Nevertheless, innovation in the automobile industry was slow-paced after the invention of the Model T. Automotive technology, such as a self-starter, high-compression engine, and automatic transmission, stayed relatively the same from the 1920s to the 1950s.

Wartime also affected the development of cars, with American manufacturers limited to producing vehicles that were more heavy-duty, such as jeeps, tanks, and trucks. The production of the wartime vehicles helped to revive the industry, but the U.S. also began to see competition from Japanese manufacturers that were producing smaller passenger vehicles.

The Big Three and the Decline of the American Auto Industry

“The Big Three” is the name given to the American auto manufacturers who rose to dominate the American market after the standardization of production techniques.  Detroit-based companies Ford Motor Company, General Motors, and Chrysler became America’s top manufacturers, cornering the market for both the affluent and the middle class.

But the mass production of cars during the prominence of the Big Three would lead to some problems. Large vehicles with a new variety of amenities raised the cost of these vehicles, as well as their polluting emissions. This would become especially problematic with the drastic increases in fuel prices.  With the Japanese manufacturers producing cars at lower costs and lower emissions, the U.S. auto industry saw a decline in the early 1980s.

      Revamping the Industry to Meet the Needs of Modern America

Rather than accepting an inconsequential place in the global automobile market, American companies adapted and changed to the demands of the times to remain competitive. Focusing on product quality and employee satisfaction rather than aesthetics, American companies began to create cars that were safer and more fuel efficient. These efforts for revitalization helped to restore the U.S. as a world leader in automobile manufacturing.

Innovations in American Cars Today

Today, new technologies are making cars safer and more efficient than ever before. They include safety features that alert drivers to road concerns, helping to eliminate the possibility of accidents caused by driver error. Many modern cars are now providing ways to connect to technology like phones and tablets.

Americans might soon see driverless cars that brake, navigate, and park without driver intervention. Autonomous features on cars are quickly being introduced in American markets, making a fully driverless car a possibility for the future.  Not only would this eradicate human driver error, but it would also revolutionize the way we travel.

Final Thoughts

American auto manufacturing has shaped the United States, just as the evolving needs of its citizens have shaped the industry. The history of American auto manufacturing contains both great success and great failures, but, ultimately, the industry has evolved to be a significant world player in the production of cars. As technology continues to be created, we can count on American manufacturers to be leaders in the development of cutting-edge technology that will create safer roadways and a healthier environment.

  Image links

Image 1: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e3-3be7-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 2: https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47d9-3da3-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

Image 3: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2014/10/09/23/35/car-482683_1280.jpg

Image 4: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6c/Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg/1920px-Unemployed_men_queued_outside_a_depression_soup_kitchen_opened_in_Chicago_by_Al_Capone%2C_02-1931_-_NARA_-_541927.jpg

Image 5: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/08/31/22/34/auto-1634815_1280.jpg