#idk if i should have one predominate the other at all but if i decide it should happen then lucifer is gonna die

[notwhatyoucameherefor]

I love treating the bible like a scifi novel. This is still about fancherbs btw

[writingwithcolor]

What Does Our "Motivations” PSA Mean?

@luminalalumini said:

I've been on your blog a lot and it has a lot of really insightful information, but I notice a theme with some of your answers where you ask the writer reaching out what their 'motivation for making a character a certain [race/religion/ethnicity/nationality] is' and it's discouraging to see, because it seems like you're automatically assigning the writer some sort of ulterior motive that must be sniffed out and identified before the writer can get any tips or guidance for their question. Can't the 'motive' simply be having/wanting to have diversity in one's work? Must there be an 'ulterior motive'? I can understand that there's a lot of stigma and stereotypes and bad influence that might lead to someone trynna add marginalized groups into their stories for wrong reasons, but people that have those bad intentions certainly won't be asking for advice on how to write good representation in the first place. Idk its just been something that seemed really discouraging to me to reach out myself, knowing i'll automatically be assigned ulterior motives that i don't have and will probably have to justify why i want to add diversity to my story as if i'm comitting some sort of crime. I don't expect you guys to change your blog or respond to this or even care all that much, I'm probably just ranting into a void. I'm just curious if theres any reason to this that I haven't realized exists I suppose. I don't want y'all to take this the wrong way because I do actually love and enjoy your blog's advice in spite of my dumb griping. Cheers :))

We assume this is in reference to the following PSA:

PSA to all of our users - Motivation Matters: This lack of clarity w/r to intent has been a general issue with many recent questions. Please remember that if you don’t explain your motivations and what you intend to communicate to your audience with your plot choices, character attributes, world-building etc., we cannot effectively advise you beyond the information you provide. We Are Not Mind Readers. If, when drafting these questions, you realize you can’t explain your motivations, that is likely a hint that you need to think more on the rationales for your narrative decisions. My recommendation is to read our archives and articles on similar topics for inspiration while you think. I will be attaching this PSA to all asks with similar issues until the volume of such questions declines. 

We have answered this in three parts.

1. Of Paved Roads and Good Intentions

Allow me to give you a personal story, in solidarity towards your feelings:

When I began writing in South Asia as an outsider, specifically in the Kashmir and Lahore areas, I was doing it out of respect for the cultures I had grown up around. I did kathak dance, I grew up on immigrant-cooked North Indian food, my babysitters were Indian. I loved Mughal society, and every detail of learning about it just made me want more. The minute you told me fantasy could be outside of Europe, I hopped into the Mughal world with two feet. I was 13. I am now 28.

And had you asked me, as a teenager, what my motives were in giving my characters’ love interests blue or green eyes, one of them blond hair, my MC having red-tinted brown hair that was very emphasized, and a whole bunch of paler skinned people, I would have told you my motives were “to represent the diversity of the region.” 

I’m sure readers of the blog will spot the really, really toxic and colourist tropes present in my choices. If you’re new here, then the summary is: giving brown people “unique” coloured eyes and hair that lines up with Eurocentric beauty standards is an orientalist trope that needs to be interrogated in your writing. And favouring pale skinned people is colourist, full stop.

Did that make me a bad person with super sneaky ulterior motives who wanted to write bad representation? No.

It made me an ignorant kid from the mostly-white suburbs who grew up with media that said brown people had to “look unique” (read: look as European as possible) to be considered valuable.

And this is where it is important to remember that motives can be pure as you want, but you were still taught all of the terrible stuff that is present in society. Which means you’re going to perpetuate it unless you stop and actually question what is under your conscious motive, and work to unlearn it. Work that will never be complete.

I know it sounds scary and judgemental (and it’s one of the reasons we allow people to ask to be anonymous, for people who are afraid). Honestly, I would’ve reacted much the same as a younger writer, had you told me I was perpetuating bad things. I was trying to do good and my motives were pure, after all! But after a few years, I realized that I had fallen short, and I had a lot more to learn in order for my motives to match my impact. Part of our job at WWC is to attempt to close that gap.

We aren’t giving judgement, when we ask questions about why you want to do certain things. We are asking you to look at the structural underpinnings of your mind and question why those traits felt natural together, and, more specifically, why those traits felt natural to give to a protagonist or other major character.

I still have blond, blue-eyed characters with sandy coloured skin. I still have green-eyed characters. Because teenage me was right, that is part of the region. But by interrogating my motive, I was able to devalue those traits within the narrative, and I stopped making those traits shorthand for “this is the person you should root for.” 

It opened up room for me to be messier with my characters of colour, even the ones who my teenage self would have deemed “extra special.” Because the European-associated traits (pale hair, not-brown-eyes) stopped being special. After years of questioning, they started lining up with my motive of just being part of the diversity of the region.

Motive is important, both in the conscious and the subconscious. It’s not a judgement and it’s not assumed to be evil. It’s simply assumed to be unquestioned, so we ask that you question it and really examine your own biases.

~Mod Lesya

2. Motivations Aren't Always "Ulterior"

You can have a positive motivation or a neutral one or a negative one. Just wanting to have diversity only means your characters aren't all white and straight and cis and able-bodied -- it doesn't explain why you decided to make this specific character specifically bi and specifically Jewish (it me). Yes, sometimes it might be completely random! But it also might be "well, my crush is Costa Rican, so I gave the love interest the same background", or "I set it in X City where the predominant marginalized ethnicity is Y, so they are Y". Neither of these count as ulterior motives. But let's say for a second that you did accidentally catch yourself doing an "ulterior." Isn't that the point of the blog, to help you find those spots and clean them up?

Try thinking of it as “finding things that need adjusting” rather than “things that are bad” and it might get less scary to realize that we all do them, subconsciously. Representation that could use some work is often the product of subconscious bias, not deliberate misrepresentation, so there's every possibility that someone who wants to improve and do better didn't do it perfectly the first time. 

--Shira

3. Dress-Making as a Metaphor

I want to echo Lesya’s sentiments here but also provide a more logistical perspective. If you check the rubber stamp guide here and the “Motivation matters” PSA above, you’ll notice that concerns with respect to asker motivation are for the purposes of providing the most relevant answer possible.

It is a lot like if someone walks into a dressmaker’s shop and asks for a blue dress/ suit (Back when getting custom-made clothes was more of a thing) . The seamstress/ tailor is likely to ask a wide variety of questions:

What material do you want the outfit to be made of?

Where do you plan to wear it?

What do you want to highlight?

How do you want to feel when you wear it?

Let’s say our theoretical customer is in England during the 1920s. A tartan walking dress/ flannel suit for the winter is not the same as a periwinkle, beaded, organza ensemble/ navy pinstripe for formal dress in the summer. When we ask for motivations, we are often asking for exactly that: the specific reasons for your inquiry so we may pinpoint the most pertinent information.

The consistent problem for many of the askers who receive the PSA is they haven’t even done the level of research necessary to know what they want to ask of us. It would be like if our English customer in the 1920s responded, “IDK, some kind of blue thing.” Even worse,  WWC doesn’t have the luxury of the back-and-forth between a dressmaker and their clientele. If our asker doesn’t communicate all the information they need in mind at the time of submission, we can only say, “Well, I’m not sure if this is right, but here’s something. I hope it works, but if you had told us more, we could have done a more thorough job.”

Answering questions without context is hard, and asking for motivations, by which I mean the narratives, themes, character arcs and other literary devices that you are looking to incorporate, is the best way for us to help you, while also helping you to determine if your understanding of the problem will benefit from outside input. Because these asks are published with the goal of helping individuals with similar questions, the PSA also serves to prompt other users.

I note that asking questions is a skill, and we all start by asking the most basic questions (Not stupid questions, because to quote a dear professor, “There are no stupid questions.”). Unfortunately, WWC is not suited for the most basic questions. To this effect, we have a very helpful FAQ and archive as a starting point. Once you have used our website to answer the more basic questions, you are more ready to approach writing with diversity and decide when we can actually be of service. This is why we are so adamant that people read the FAQ. Yes, it helps us, but it also is there to save you time and spare you the ambiguity of not even knowing where to start.

The anxiety in your ask conveys to me a fear of being judged for asking questions. That fear is not something we can help you with, other than to wholeheartedly reassure you that we do not spend our unpaid, free time answering these questions in order to assume motives we can’t confirm or sit in judgment of our users who, as you say, are just trying to do better.

Yes, I am often frustrated when an asker’s question makes it clear they haven’t read the FAQ or archives. I’ve also been upset when uncivil commenters have indicated that my efforts and contributions are not worth their consideration. However, even the most tactless question has never made me think, “Ooh this person is such a naughty racist. Let me laugh at them for being a naughty racist. Let me shame them for being a naughty racist. Mwahaha.”

What kind of sad person has time for that?*

Racism is structural. It takes time to unlearn, especially if you’re in an environment that doesn’t facilitate that process to begin with. Our first priority is to help while also preserving our own boundaries and well-being. Though I am well aware of the levels of toxic gas-lighting and virtue signaling that can be found in various corners of online writing communities in the name of “progressivism*”, WWC is not that kind of space. This space is for discussions held in good faith: for us to understand each other better, rather than for one of us to “win” and another to “lose.”

Just as we have good faith that you are doing your best, we ask that you have faith that we are trying to do our best by you and the BIPOC communities we represent.

- Marika.

*If you are in any writing or social media circles that feed these anxieties or demonstrate these behaviors, I advise you to curtail your time with them and focus on your own growth. You will find, over time, that it is easier to think clearly when you are worrying less about trying to appease people who set the bar of approval so high just for the enjoyment of watching you jump. “Internet hygiene”, as I like to call it, begins with you and the boundaries you set with those you interact with online.

[glittercracker]

Kingkiller Crap

So, I’ve never really posted much here that involves my own thoughts. There are a number of reasons why, but whatever. I feel the need NOW to post some thoughts, and having no working independent blog (yet!) I suppose this is the place to dump them. PSA: none of this is about anime. None of this is frivolous or fun. TW for sexual abuse. You have been warned! So. I’ve been rereading the Kingkiller Chronicles. aka “Name of the Wind” and “The Wise Man’s Fear” and “That Other One That Shall Not Be Named.” This reread was, at the beginning, almost an afterthought. A way to keep my 13 yo happy on a 7 hour car ride. Except, he could not have cared less, and I got sucked back into the story (and okay, if that is how all our audiobook car rides go, meh? At least it keeps me sharp!) I raced through book one, and bought book 2 on audible with an eye to my upcoming surgery and recooperation. Book one was problematic in the places I remembered, but also as generally engaging as I remembered. And then book 2 happened, and surgery happened, and I have had weeks to lie in bed listening to this bloody interminable sequel, and I find myself lost in a morass of, “WTF was I ever THINKING?” Namely, how did I ever love this book enough to pine for the next? It’s been hard to put a finger on exactly what is making this time through book 2 both a slog and also vaguely, creepily uncomfortable, but if you’re interested, my rather stream-of-consciousness ramble of thoughts ensues. First, the male gaze that rears its head at times in book 1 predominates here. But while I don’t love the way Kvothe describes women, I also have 2 degrees in literature, and I’m beyond that being a reason not to read an otherwise engaging book. Second, Kvothe is a Gary Stu, for all of Rothfuss’s protestations to the contrary. Again, so far, so much traditional high fantasy. But while, say, Aragorn is content to just quietly be Awesome At Everything, Kvothe is a braggy little shit of a Gary Stu: the person you hated for announcing their perfect scores in that hs class you could never quite master. I could fill several pages with examples, but for some reason what really made me want to kick him in the head was not Felurian’s disbelief of his virginity (though really, jfc, REALLY?) Nope, it was the end of his time w the Ademrae (sp may be off, remember, I’m listening not reading!) when he crows about having learned the history of his sword 2 days earlier than expected. Why does this stick out? Oh, idk. Maybe bc he sucks so hard he can’t even get past the first obstacle in his practical final exam? Yet he still has to tell us how fucking awesome he is for remembering 6000 names of previous owners.

I know, I’m supposed to forgive his teenage idiocy. The internet sympathists (no pun intended!) keep telling me this. And I suppose that I would, IF this were a simple first-person narrative - but it isn’t. Let’s repeat that, and really think about it. This story is being narrated by an older and presumably wiser Kvothe who has lost everything - whose abilities have been expunged to the extent that he can’t open his own chest of Cool Stuff. He shows humility in his actions, mostly. And yet when discussing his 16 yo self, the humility evaporates, and he speaks with no kind of perspective or lens of accrued wisdom. He still compares women to instruments waiting for the “right” player (i.e. him) and defends this choice of words by saying, essentially, “You aren’t a musician, you don’t know!”

Interesting assumption for an innkeeper in a medieval-esque world. Interesting assumption if this is in fact authorial interjection, too, because I suspect the majority of this book’s audience *are* musicians to at least an extent, and I also suspect that the majority of us (yes, us - I own several beloved instruments, including a harp custom made for me as a wedding present from my husband) would not equate a human lover to even the most beloved of instruments.

But all of this is well-trodden critical ground. As far as I can tell, though, my third issue isn’t: although it’s perhaps the most glaringly tone-deaf example of all of Rothfuss’s excruciatingly tone-deaf portrayal of his world’s women. Namely, the two girls kidnapped and gang-raped by the fake Ruh.

Almost all of the criticism I’ve read on this section of TWMF concentrates on Kvothe’s treatment of the girls’ abusers. What’s interesting is that no one ever seems to write about Kvothe’s treatment of the girls themselves. Yes, he treats them kindly. He tends their wounds, he feeds them, he tries (and succeeds, of course) to draw Ellie out of her shocked stupor. 

Yet what he never once does, from the moment he takes control of the situation, is ask their opinions on any of this, including what their next step should be. He just decides to bring them back to their families - families who, in this type of society, might well disown them for being “ruined”. And the girls themselves, namely the intelligent and savvy Krin, seem to go blindly along with what he says. Why? Would Krin at least not question this, or object to his making decisions for her, when a group of men had so recently and brutally taken away all of her agency? Would she not question whether being brought back to her family is the best thing for the catatonic Ellie?

Okay, apparently not. So they return to their apparently very forgiving town. Kvothe stands up for the girls against the village shithead: thank you, Kvothe, bc I’m sure Krin could not have said those words herself. He assures the reader that they are with people who will love and care for them despite what has happened to them: thank you, Kvothe, though it’s stretching my credulity a bit that you would assume that no one will take issue with their deflowering. But then he “gifts” the girls the spoils of his slaughter: the horses, the valuables, the wagons. And I was about to give him a (grudging) pass for being decent about this, EXCEPT: he goes on to say that these goods are meant for the girls’ dowries. Specifically, to make them worth enough financially for potential husbands to overlook their loss of virginity. He even tells Krin not to settle for a less-than-lucrative marriage.

And suddenly, I was outraged. Why? Because a man who had witnessed the full extend of these women’s abuse brought them back to a backwater town believing that he was being magnanimous both in doing so, and in giving up whatever share he might have taken of the spoils of the debacle to make them financially lucrative marriage prospects. Because he never asked these traumatized girls if they might rather cut and run with the money than use it to make some man overlook their abuse in order to make them his property. He never even questions the idea that they will be grateful to submit to marriage contracts that will no doubt require them to have sex with their husbands, even though these women have been abused to the extent that they cannot sit a horse for *two days* after being rescued. And the worst part is that 20-something frame-story Kvothe doesn’t question this either; he just goes on to gloat about people singing songs about his daring rescue. Maybe I was just ready for a straw to break my benefit of the doubt. Or maybe this really is as outrageous as it feels. Either way, I can’t help being angry at Rothfuss. As a writer, I am very well aware that character and author are not the same thing; that authorial intent is not the same as authorial beliefs. But there are moments in some books when I have to wonder if that line is blurring, and this is one of them. Kvothe has literally JUST left a female-dominated country full of independent women happily doing their own thing. He has given these girls the means to find themselves a situation that will never require them to be beholden to a man again - even houses ffs, in the shape of those 2 wagons, should they want them. There are so many options beyond marriage: I can’t, for instance, think of a medieval society that didn’t have its version of a convent. Or, for Krin at least, why not the University? For that matter, why not marry her himself, and then set her free to do as she likes under the awning of a respectable marriage? 

Instead he returns them to their fathers, and likewise gives their fathers the means to marry them off with no argument. Who, after all, holds the reins of the horses at the end? Why does Kvothe assume that these families will actually use the wealth even in the dubious way that he recommends?

And in this, I think, I am justified in giving Rothfuss the stink-eye. This is one more instance for Kvothe to play the hero with no real attention given to the consequences. Kvothe himself, I think, would be appalled. He has suffered so much deprivation in his life, so often been marginalized, scapegoated, powerless, how on earth could he so easily consign others to that fate? How could he think, loving Denna as he does, having heard her words to the beaten girl in Severin, that buying these girls husbands who will “overlook” their abuse for the sake of wealth is anything but a wretched life sentence for them?

Sigh. There was a time when I desperate awaited book three. Now, given the other women’s lives at stake in this series, I’m not so sure I want to know.

[ditch-witches]

Insufferable (i) - George MacKay x reader

(PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4)

requested: yes/no (im so sorry this took so long holy scheisse, there are so many parts too)

Thank you so much to our first Instagram request! @/okay.l0z I had a lot of fun with this and had to channel Ryan and Hannah's angst to help me.

"Hi! I've been reading your fics and I love them so much bc there's hardly any around. I was wondering if you take insta requests and if so can you do one with George and the reader are like enemies to loves and they have really cute moments but then end up fighting all the time and then it escalates and they end up having sEx and then get together or something bc I will THRIVE IF YOU DO!" ... "Is it bad if I want it long ass?"

also I thought about this like,,, a lot,,,

pairing: George MacKay x reader

warnings: slow-burn introduction bAsIcalLy, I think there are swear words?

word count: 2,629

a/n: There are several things to be addressed...

accuracy to George's life is like 0/100 - scratch that, they have the same hair color

think of this as an AU because idk how else to explain it

it's a slow burn. if you need something that isn't, check the next imagine over and give it a reblog.

You put your chin in your hand and furrowed your brows as you listened to the actors in front of you. The bright stage lights kept you at a suffocatingly hot temperature, but at this point, you didn't mind. What your main concern for the scene was simple: your leading actor was George MacKay. You had spent constant, stressful hours trying to convince the director of the show that he was not the choice, yet when it came down to it, what he said went, and you had to deal with the cleaning up. Today was not like any other. An almost two-hour practice, script work, lighting, etc, were all thrown at the actors still attempting to memorize their lines.

But it was this part, in particular, that was becoming the most difficult. Maybe it was because you were the ghostwriter of the script and the director was trampling on all of your ideas and dreams with a man that you could one-hundred-percent deem an enemy. Your lead character, Charlie, had a soft side to him, despite having an overpowering sense of the dangers of the world and a body to match. George wasn't Charlie. George was one of the lost boys from Peter Pan and that's all you could see him as. He needed to grow up and be a pirate with only two motives: breaking the chains of the dystopian government regime keeping him away from his wife and captaining the deadly sea creature infested waters and getting back to his wife in one piece.

But George's motives seemed to be entirely set on getting into his co-star's pants.

His cocky attitude and facade of charm made you want to rip your hair out. Sure, he took his job seriously and had several esteemed colleagues of yours raving about him, but this role wasn't his. It didn't help that you knew him from primary school, of all places, and once he found out, that's all he could bring up around you.

George rolled his sleeves and dragged a hand through his thick, red hair, the veins in his arm becoming rather predominant as he did so. He was damn near playing footsie with the girl in front of him; their flirty gazes bouncing from each other to the crumpled scripts in their hands. You rolled your eyes, feeling as if your team could see the steam rolling off your shoulders. The director was doing nothing, merely smiling giddily at the two tearing the scene to shreds. "Stop," you took the reins, standing up from your position on stage and tossing your script down. You stepped over to the two and the director didn't move an inch. "What are you doing?" You nipped, crossing your arms and stepping between George and his co-star.

He towered over you by miles; you weren't sure if this made him feel the superiority he exuded, but you always made sure to square your shoulders when you talked to him. "What do you mean? We're practicing," he slyly stated, sending a wink over your head to the girl.

You took the script from his hands, flipping a few pages to the scene they were supposed to be working on. He smirked down at you, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you scan the page. His script was well-loved and worn as if it had been in his back pocket repeatedly, flipped through, folded, torn and taped, highlighted and annotated. You tried not to blush at the notes he had taken as if he had actually cared about his role. Notes such as movements and relative emotions were noted as if they were suggestions. You wet your lips, feeling George's easy-going gaze on you the whole time. "... Charlie, we have to get out of here..." You began, your eyes meeting his deep blue ones.

His face fell into a stern expression, his arms crossing heavily with a furrowed brow. "We've only just got here. I'm shipping out tomorrow. There's no way the Republic-" His Scottish accent was surprisingly thick and consistent. He was settling into Charlie.

"I don't care anymore. I'm tired of sitting idly by and watching you throw yourself away for a debt your brother can't repay." You swore you saw an actual feeling of hurt flash behind his eyes.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. "That debt is just as much mine as it is his. You're asking me to uproot and leave him, you know? I can't leave him."

"You'll die. You'll end up like the rest of the mariners haunting their wives for the rest of eternity. You're a slave." George took a few steps to stand in front of you, he was close enough that you could smell his cologne now: a sweet mix of sandalwood with hints of lavender. He smelled like a summer day spent at a cabin in the middle of a meadow. You hated it, but you wanted to bury yourself in his chest and bask in his scent for the remainder of your days.

He rested a hand on your neck, angling your face towards him as he whispered, "Look at me..." You attempted to ignore the beating of your heart in your ears and the sweat that began to spread across your back. "I'm free. I'm choosing this debt because, without it, he would die. He's the last piece of my father I have left."

You reached for his hand, covering it with your own. "What about me, Charlie? I'm here now. I'm flesh and blood in front of you. What about our child?"

"He'll be here when I get back." He pushed away from you, turning his back on you and settling his hands on his hips. "I'm not changing my mind." He looked over his shoulder at you. "Eden, I have to do this." You closed the script with a raised eyebrow, hiding how impressed you were that he actually knew his lines. The emotion he was conveying was nothing like how he had previously let on. You walked towards him and he turned back around. You pressed the script back into his hands and gave him a small glare.

"Practice how you play. I'm done with wasting time," you said more to the group than just him. The rest of the cast members weren't as proficient in hiding their amusement back as you were. The last thing George needed was another inflate to his ego. You went back to your spot, grabbing your clipboard and flipping over a few pages. The group began to gather around you slightly. "I need Eden and Charlie in with wardrobe now, the rest of you keep practicing your lines. I'll want to hear dialogue from Dane and Jack tomorrow. Give me another forty or so minutes and we'll call it?" The director nodded from the first row of seats. The crowd dispersed but George swam against the current of thespians, approaching you again.

He gave you one of his charming smiles. Be professional, you thought. "I was just wondering how that sounded to you?"

You thought for a moment, drawing the clipboard to your chest. "Yeah, it was good. Your accent's a bit dodgy, but the emotion is good. Why don't we see that during actual rehearsals?" You tilted your head at him and he looked at his shoes slightly, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Was he pretending to be humble?

"I don't know. I guess I like you more as Eden," he jeered, causing you to roll your eyes and he smiled wider.

"You're insufferable," you muttered, walking past him.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll grow on you."

You scoffed slightly. "Go get fitted for suspenders and leave me alone, MacKay."

The next few days were full of constant rehearsals both in costume and script memorization. You had to admit that for some reason this show had you wrapped in a bundle of tension and anxiety. George slowly tore away at your nerves, becoming his own mess of anger and frustration as he picked up more and more on the fact that you weren't going to take his shit. You were serious about this job and you were serious about this play. His humor had diminished as it had gotten closer and closer to opening night and you weren't surprised when he would snap back at you for making an adjustment to his tone or a note on the delivery of a line.

"Stop being such a bitch!" He groaned, tugging at his hair as you crossed your arms.

"Calm down, primadonna! All I'm saying is quit pacing! Charlie isn't pacing! Where in the script does it say he's pacing-"

"THAT'S RIDICULOUS. IT DOESN'T MATTER." He moved to stand in front of you, his teeth gritting slightly. This was what your discussion had grown into, one hissy fit flaring up the other.

"FUCK, YOU'RE RIGHT. I TOTALLY FORGOT YOU WERE THE ONE IN CHARGE, MR. MACKAY. SHOULD I JUST SUCK YOUR DICK RIGHT NOW SINCE WE'RE ALREADY ADDING IN UNNECESSARY ACTION," you would bite back causing him to glare up at the ceiling with his jaw clenching in a sarcastic smile. He wore your patience thinner than tulle. And you were hoping to be doing the same to him.

On the eve of opening night, a storm broke out over the city. You hadn't received word from your ride at all---a man you had been seeing on and off for a while, but still managed to keep him at enough distance that the two of you weren't official. You glared at your watch, deciding to say fuck it and just walk the five or so miles it was to your apartment. Your rain jacket was already soaked, your umbrella proving to be no help whatsoever. But you persevered knowing full-well that if your character, Eden, were in the situation, she wouldn't have batted an eye before dropping him and his lack of communication. As the water soaked into your boots and chilled you rather quickly, you bit your tongue, regretting not waiting for the bus. Cars past you at rushed paces, wanting to get home to their loved ones if the rain worsened---you figured.

Your heart began to pound as a car pulled up beside you, causing you to wrap your hand around the bottle of mace in your coat pocket. The window rolled down, but you kept walking. "Do you need a ride?" Hollered an almost too familiar voice.

You crossed your arms and continued to walk. "No!" You called back.

The car rolled forward and you heard the driver door open. George stepped out slightly, drawing his jacket up to fight against the biting wind. "Come on! Look at this weather!"

"I'm good! Go home, George!"

He tilted his head at you with a deadpan expression. "Don't make me throw you over my shoulder." You furrowed your brows and rolled your eyes, sliding into the passenger seat of his car and taking down your hood. George watched as you did this. He slipped off his jacket. "Here." He pulled his hoodie over his head. "Take your shirt off. You'll get hypothermia."

"Excuse me?" You nipped.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I won't look. You're soaked. Take my damn hoodie." You looked out the front window and then let out a huff. You peeled off your upper layer, no longer giving a fuck if George saw you in your bra. You looked over to him while he leaned his arm against his door, his cheek resting against his fist as he held his hoodie out to you. You pulled the garment over your head and couldn't help but snuggle into it. It was oversized and warm, smelling just like George. Your cold skin seemed to sigh against the soft material and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes at how content you were. George put the car into drive after he had made sure you were taken care of. You slipped your hands into the long sleeves and fought not to dig your nose into the neckline to breathe him in. His scent was like kryptonite to you and you hated it. "Are you hungry?" He asked, looking at you briefly and flipping the heat more to your side. He smiled almost proudly to himself at the sight of you enjoying his hoodie and the safety of his car.

You quickly braided your hair, attempting to combat the wet feeling of it against your neck. "No, I'm fine thanks."

"Come on. My treat? I've been a dick to you all week."

"Fine..." You mumbled. He found a nook of a restaurant jabbed into a part of London you had yet to explore. The rain had finally let up to a drizzle as the two of you made your way inside the softly lit eatery. The two of you tucked into a booth and ordered almost instantly, you now realizing just how hungry you actually were. "What were you doing in that part of town so late?" You finally asked after they brought out a hot tea for him and topped off your coffee. His large hands cradled the steaming mug in front of him, his nose slightly red from the chilly weather outside.

He chuckled slightly. "I forgot my script in the theatre and---for some reason---couldn't stop thinking about it." You nodded hesitantly. "Why were you walking home?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "Such beautiful weather we're having. Thought I would take an evening stroll," you joked, causing him to chuckle lightly. George's face seemed to glow slightly under the cozy lights of the restaurant, his hair slightly disheveled and damp from the rain. You now got a full sight of the t-shirt he was wearing that commemorated a football team from the graduating year ahead of yours.

There was a beat of silence between you two. "Why..." George tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, attempting to find the right words. You furrowed your brows. "Why do you hate me so much?" If you weren't looking at him, you would have sworn he was smiling behind his question.

"Seriously?"

He nodded. "Seriously."

"You dated my best friend, Sophie, and broke her heart," you answered bluntly.

George sent you a puzzled expression for half a second before grinning slightly. "Yeah, but I was ten."

"Yeah, but now she's twenty-one and we still talk about it," you quipped, taking a sip of your coffee.

He exhaled. "I was... I was ten..." He furrowed his brows. "She was pretty. Hasn't some other guy broken up with her since me?"

You shrugged again. "No, she has this mindset where if she starts getting the feeling that things aren't working, she cuts out."

"She's been dwelling over me for how many years?" He couldn't fight the grin threatening to creep across his face.

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought. "I guess that would be twelve years." He whistled. "We're good at keeping grudges."

"Well, if I ever run into her, I'll apologize." He added a lump of sugar to his tea. "Is that the only reason?"

You debated ripping him a new one, but the tiredness you felt reflected in his eyes. "It's the kick-off point. Why? Do you wanna be buddies now?" You joked, sticking your spoon in your mouth.

He rested his hand in his chin. "Nah," he pursed his lips in thought. You furrowed your eyebrows at his answer, letting a titter escape your lips. "You're too young for me." You laughed a bit harder.

"Age is just a number, baby," you hummed and he smirked at you, a sparkle in his eye.

Comment if you would like to be tagged in the next part! Let us know what you think!

[diguerra-moved]

Nfjdjdjd very random question. So developers once said that Tyrande has different colours of hair bc she sinply dyes them because she is a women. Your thoughts on this? Does she likes to simply dys hair? Does environment affect it? T e l l me abt our Queen and Lady.

UNPROMPTED ASKS // always accepting.

OKAY SO AKSNJDFJKA I’LL BEGIN BY SAYING I HAD NO IDEA AND ALWAYS JUST ASSUMED IT WAS AN INCONSISTENCY MEANT TO BE OVERLOOKED

she dyes her hair is such a weak excuse tbh when there’s literally no other character that just so happens to dye their hair bc they feel like it AND the way they made it sound it was bc she’s a woman? idk friends men can dye their hair too you know aksjdnfajksd anYWAYS

So! Now that this was brought to my attention and I’ve read what the devs said. I actually can see Tyrande as someone who would dye her hair simply because she feels like it, and because she likes to change. Considering she’s several thousands of years old, even more so. That said, I also see Tyrande as someone who really prefer to keep things practical and simple, and maintenance of dyed hair isn’t really practical. I assume magical means could be used in universe, but I don’t think Tyrande would recur to those, considering her stance has always been Nature over Magic. So. I could see her dying it on occasion, and using natural means to do so, but only on occasion.

I think it would be more likely that the environment affected it than anything else, tbh, specially when we know magic sources can influence the elves’ appearance (hair color, specifically: Thalyssra’s hair was a dark blue-green if I remember correctly, and it turned white because of the influence of the Nightwell; High Elves, using a different power source and adapting to daylight, also ended up with different hair colors etc). For instance, on Tyrande’s own case: when she was young, she was part of a society where arcane magic was predominant. Even if she didn’t use it herself, it was all around her. If we say back then she had her natural hair color, the one she was born with (which the devs stated to be dark blue), then later a lighter blue/teal/to currently being actual green. It was very much a transition, if you look at the colors, which I think is all the more reason to see it as a result of the environment rather than of her dying her hair. The timeline ofc doesn’t really support that, but I still think it is what makes the most sense (and that if Tyrande purposefully did it for The Aesthetic™, as the Night Warrior she’d go back to her dark blue hair). 

So, my take on the changing hair color would be that her leaving a predominantly arcane-filled environment, first by personally fostering a closer connection to a different power source with Elune, then with the Kaldorei empire crumbling and it’s rebuilding making it more focused on druidic magic, making it the predominant magic source around her, Tyrande’s hair going from dark blue to light blue to teal to green is a reflection of that.

It surely could be argued that if this happens to her it should have happened to others, but considering it would be an effect of the environment, it could affect people differently, some more than others, some not at all, with Tyrande just being one case of someone more susceptible to it, perhaps. 

I hope I answered your question in a satisfactory manner Lully because I honestly had no idea of this before and just went with blizzard can’t decide on what color her hair should be so I’ll say it’s teal shrug emoji

[joshpup]

To Love or Not to Love // Pt. 10

Intro // Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt. 4 // Pt. 5 // Pt. 6 // Pt. 7 // Pt. 8 // Pt. 9 // Pt. 10 // Pt. 11 // Pt. 12 // Pt. 13 // Pt. 14 // Pt. 15 // Pt. 16 // Pt. 17 Word Count: 2,374 Genre: Svt Mafia Au Member: Mingyu TW:  Angst, Violence, mention of blood, eventually fluff. idk about tw if there is one i should add pls let me know im bad at them

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on boss!” Mingyu whined, giving Seungcheol the biggest puppy eyes he could muster.

“It’s only going to cause more issues.” Seungcheol sighed, twisting a pen in his hand as he stared blankly at the papers that sat in front of him.

“What would be the issue? Everyone is like us, it’s not like we’d be with the general public…” Mingyu commented. Seungcheol gave him a look that would have caused any normal person to drop the subject.

“Oh, come on Cheol, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jeonghan added in. You’d never heard anyone call Seungcheol by his actual name, let alone a pet name like Jeonghan did. You guessed that was just a sign of how close they truly were. Seungcheol muttered something under his breath and shot a glare in Jeonghan’s direction.

“There may be issues with the other gangs though.” Seungcheol pointed out.

“Yah, but Joshua’s been to these balls before, and Exo is there. We’ve never had an issue…” Jeonghan said back, “I bet he’d go this year too.”

You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. If you being able to go outside would mean that Joshua would have to see the group that did all those terrible things to him, you didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Mingyu seemed to sense that feeling from you.

“Even if Josh doesn’t go this year, there’s not any predominate issues if (y/n) went outside. She can’t stay locked up in here forever you know.” Mingyu said.

“Unless there is an issue, and you aren’t telling us…” Jeonghan added, staring skeptically at Seungcheol.

“There aren’t any issues.” He snapped back, almost to aggressively.

“So, I don’t see why she can’t go.” Jeonghan stated, shrugging his shoulders.

“Fine, fine she can go, but if anything happens it’s on you two.” You couldn’t help but smile. You tried to force it down until you at least got away from Seungcheol but your excitement and joy was just too much to contain. You and Mingyu thanked him before walking out of the room, leaving Seungcheol and Jeonghan to themselves. As soon as you were out of ears range, Mingyu gave you the strongest high-five of your life. It left you hand stinging for at least an hour.

It was already a bit past breakfast, and most of the guys had headed off to their respective places in the house to do a bit of work. Jihoon took his place in the computer room, no doubt trying to hack into something or plan their next big mission along with Soonyoung. Seungcheol had stepped out with Jun and Minghao again, doing god knows what. Mingyu and Wonwoo had also stepped out for the day. When you asked Mingyu were he was going, he only offered you a small smile and said they needed to meet with someone Wonwoo knew, and left it at that. If he wasn’t going to give you any more information than that, you figured it was best not to pry.

You found yourself wandering over to where Seungkwan and Chan had planted themselves, staring down at a huge blueprint they had spread across the floor. While marking down little things here and there and examining the long twisting hallways you pestered them with question, bored out of your mind.

“You really need to find a hobby (y/n).” Chan sighed after you asked about the blueprints for the fifteenth time.

“It’s a bit hard since I’m trapped in here.” You replied, shrugging your shoulders, still waiting for an answer about the blueprints.

“If you really want to know, this is to the building of one of the members parents base. Except it’s a pretty well-known building in the city with extreme security.” Seungkwan answered, scribbling down another thing in his notebook.

“What are you guys trying to get?” you asked.

“That’s confidential.” Seungkwan stated.

“Well then, which member’s parents are they? Or is that confidential too?” you questioned, looking from Seungkwan to Chan as they exchanged glances with each other, having a silent conversation about whether they should say or not.

“Wonwoo’s parents.” Chan finally said.

“Ah, so that’s where Mingyu and Wonwoo went…” you mused. Chan glanced at Seungkwan, still wondering if he should have said that, but soon returned back to the blueprints in front of him.

“So, are Wonwoo’s parents super rich or something?” you asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Yah, they own one of the biggest cellphone companies in Korea. Bet you didn’t know they’re apart of the mafia, did you?” Seungkwan chuckled.

“Wow that’s crazy. Are there a lot of people like that?” Chan thought for a minute.

“There’s more than you think for sure. But most of our parents aren’t like the Jeons. Wonwoo’s not on very good terms with them anyways…”

“I feel like you shouldn’t be messing with such a big group then.” You said with a frown. Seungkwan laughed.

“Look at you! Trust me, we know what we are doing. Everything we do is a risk. That’s just being in the Mafia.” You rolled your eyes as Seungkwan continued to laugh, shaking his head.

“Whatever, I just don’t want you guys to all get hurt and I get left trapped in here or like, they come find this base and I get kidnapped again. I’m guessing not all groups are as nice as you.”

“You guessed right. The Pledis Mafia is probably one of the more ‘soft’ groups out of the majority of them. Sometimes even Monsta X’s main, Starship mafia can be a bit much at times.” Chan explained.

“Well, I guessed if I had to be kidnapped by anyone then I’d want it to be you guys then… I can’t believe I just said that.” You said, throwing your head back and laughing. Seungkwan and Chan chuckled a bit too, surprised you had become so much more chill about the whole situation.

“Being allowed to go to this ball sure has put you in a good mood hasn’t it?” Seungkwan asked.

“Yah! I’m just excited to get out of this house. It’s a nice house, but after what, a few months, I need to get out and see some different things. I’m going crazy stuck in here. Why don’t you guys at least have a backyard of something?”

“Have you looked out the window? We’re in the middle of the woods, everything around here could serve as a backyard.” Chan pointed out.

“Well, build a fence around it so Seungcheol doesn’t have a cow every time I try and go outside.” You whined. Chan rolled his eyes, and turned back to his blueprints for the nth time, getting nothing done at all.

“What are you going to wear to the ball?” Seungkwan suddenly questioned. You were about to answer, but soon caught yourself. It’s not like you had any of your clothes from home, all you had here were some of the clothes the Pristin members had brought for you, and then a few of Mingyu and Joshua’s pajamas. You didn’t feel the need to ever look nice since you were always stuck at the base, so you tended to just stay in their oversized shirts and sweatpants for the majority of the time. There was no chance of you having any sort of fancy piece of clothing at all. You jaw dropped as you realized you had nothing.

“Seungkwan, what am I going to do now? If I can’t go because I don’t have a stupid dress I’ll rip down those curtains and make myself something if I have too!” you exclaimed.

“Do you even know how?” Chan questioned.

“No! But I don’t do anything all day long, I’ll just sneak onto a computer and look up how to do it or something!” you exclaimed, getting heated.

“Yah, that’ll really fly with Jihoon. He’d probably break your fingers off if you so much as touched his computers. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Seungkwan sighed.

“Are you sure you don’t have anything at all? None of the members have hooked up with anyone and they left a dress behind or something? A few of you guys seem like players I wouldn’t be surprised…” you said, grasping at straws, hoping by some amazing luck the boys had a spear dress lying around.

“First of all,” Seungkwan began, looking a little offended, “sure, some of the members might come off as players, but they would never! And even if they did, they would NOT bring someone back here unless they wanted to both die.” Seungkwan said, glaring a bit at you. You put your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but really you guys don’t have any way to get a dress? Please think of something I can’t be stuck here and have to wait for another event to come up like this. I’ll seriously go insane.” Both Seungkwan and Chan sat and thought for a bit.

“We could probably just call Pristin and see if they have anything…” Chan said.

“If not them I’m sure the After School gang would have something.” Seungkwan added. Almost instantly the large weight that had suddenly placed itself upon yours shoulders was lifted.

You had almost entirely forgotten about the fact that you had yet to obtain anything to wear to the ball until Nana showed up at the Seventeen house, a grin from ear to ear. Clutched in her arms was a big bag full of dresses. Trying on each different, flawless dress was one of the most fun things you had done in a long time. Nana was the sweetest person and always had amazing comments for you when you came out in a new dress. Eventually the two of you decided on a pretty black ball gown that was laced with a few sparkles here and there. It was elegant but nothing flashy, so you wouldn’t draw the attention of most people (which is how you preferred it). After the two of you had settled on a dress, Nana brought out a pretty pair of shoes and a few accessories, and even promised to come help you with your hair the day of the ball. The two of you talked about the ball for a long time. Nana took it upon herself to explain how these types of balls worked, and even mentioned some groups and certain people to make sure to steer clear of. Before you knew it, Nana had to head out, and your heart hurt to see her leave. It was nice having a girl in the house after constantly being surrounded by thirteen guys.

After Nana had left you excitedly showed Chan and Seungkwan the dress you had picked out, thanking them profusely for helping you out. Naturally Mingyu wanted to see the dress, but you told him that he would have to wait until the day of the ball because it would be no fun if no one was surprised, even if the dress was on the more plane end of ball gowns. You happily helped the others cook dinner that night, brimming with excitement for the upcoming ball. As you laid down in your bed the night before the ball, you couldn’t help but remind yourself that even though you were going to be able to go outside, not only were you still being held captive, but you were pretty much putting yourself, and the rest of seventeen for that matter, in a decent amount of danger. Even if Mingyu had assured you there would be no danger at all, you couldn’t help but think he was lying. After all, there had to be a reason Seungcheol was so opposed to you going to this ball.

As expected, after the gang had finished breakfast, Nana showed up at the door, smiling just has happily as before. As you raced to greet Nana at the front entrance, Mingyu couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to see you smiling and giggling, to see you talking with someone without having that sadness still lingering in your eyes. He didn’t know how or why talking with Nana took that away, but the more he thought about it the more he realized it was just Nana, but multiple other things all combined. This event really meant something to you, were as for the rest of Seventeen, this ball was just another part of the job, a place where they have to show up and look presentable and represent their head well. To the gang, it was just business, but to you it was an adventure waiting to happen.

Nana helped you with your hair, then departed, saying that she had to help her other members and do a few other important things before heading to the ball, so you say on the couch, full hair and make-up in your oversized sweatpants from Wonwoo and anime t-shirt from Joshua. You earned a few strange glances from the others. Jihoon even did a double take when he walked past you but most of everyone Seungcheol was acting the weirdest.

“Are you sure you should have your hair out of your face like that? Maybe you should wear it down in case someone recognizes you.” Seungcheol declared walking into the living room.

“No, Nana said this looks the best, besides what are the others gonna do, kidnap me from you original kidnappers?” you questioned, a bit of malice laced in your voice. Seungcheol bit his cheek and looked at you for a few seconds before turning on his heel and walked out of the room just as quickly as he had arrived. You looked over at Hansol who was sitting on the opposite end of the couch watching something on his iPad. He looked up almost at once, easily getting the feeling that someone his looking at him. You gave him a questioning look in regards to Seungcheol but he only shrugged his shoulders before returning to his screen. You huffed a bit, not satisfied with Hansol’s reaction but didn’t press anymore and headed upstairs to change into your outfit, seeing as how almost everyone else had changed or was changing. Hopefully the night wouldn’t be a disaster.

Next...

[fuck-customers]

Abrasive Lady

I work at a grocery store gas station and have a semi-regular customer who always rubs me the wrong way. She's aggressive and tightly wound, so even if she's not necessarily trying to be rude or anything, she still comes off as abrasive. I mainly started disliking her when she began asking probing questions about my department head. Usually my DH does opening shifts, except two days a week when I open or when she needs to call out and I cover her. If Abrasive Lady comes in the morning and finds me in the booth instead of my DH she'll ask where DH is, if she has off, if she's on vacation, when she gets back, etc.

I've asked DH about her and she's not friends with her (and she made no attempt to hide the fact that she finds this woman exasperating), so there's really no excuse for her being this weirdly intrusive about DH's schedule. Then Abrasive Lady began trying to hawk her stupid magical magnetic healing jewelry to DH, forcing me to relay messages to her about it and take her business cards and crap. And because of the vibe she gives off I've always been kind of scared to say or do anything that might set her off, because she definitely seems like the kind of person who'd flip out if even slightly offended.

So one day she comes to get gas in the morning and I'm there. Cue the questions about DH, which I deflect as politely as possible, and I deal with her stupid business card and request to pass information along about a bracelet she's apparently conned DH into commissioning (DH is probably only paying for it in an attempt to get this woman to leave her the hell alone). As I was processing her cash prepay I scanned her rewards card for her gas points discount and got a really weird message on my screen. I'd never seen it before and didn't know what it meant, it said something about a coupon and had weird technobabble? We don't use coupons in the gas station but for all I know the registers process scanning rewards cards the same way they do coupons and there isn't a separate error message for the gas points? idk.

So I let Abrasive Lady know that I'd gotten a weird popup and to double check when she got to the pump that her discount had come off (we're not able to verify that on the register, one of the many things overlooked when the program we use was designed). There are digital displays on the fuel grade buttons at the pumps that let customers know how much they're paying per gallon of gas, adjusted if they redeemed gas points. She went and started pumping her gas and didn't say anything, so naturally I assumed all was well.

But you know what they say about making assumptions! She pumped a couple gallons then stopped and came storming over, yelling that she hadn't gotten her discount. I sighed internally, because I had clearly and specifically asked her to double check if the points had been applied and she hadn't bothered to listen to me. So I had her hang up the nozzle and we started over, and the second time around her points were successfully applied and she got her discounted price.

While I was putting the second transaction through she really aggressively/accusatorily asked me if our store was doing any fundraising for Hurricane Harvey or donating itself (this happened back in August or September, after the hurricane had hit Texas). I honestly didn't know, because I predominately do only gas station and I'm not kept up to speed on what the main store does. I let her know that I wasn't sure and she was condescendingly like, "WALMART is donating a bunch of money." I pointed out to her that was possibly because Walmart has stores in Texas, whereas my chain is only located in the Northeast. Not that Northeastern stores can't donate to other parts of the country, but Walmart obviously has more connection with Texas than my store (not to mention Walmart is a HUGE international company).

She finished fueling and came back all like, "So are you going to give me my $3?" I didn't know what she meant at first but she clarified that she was talking about the ~3 gallons she'd pumped the first time, when her discount hadn't come off (because she hadn't listened to me about checking before pumping). Interacting with her unsettles me so much that at the time it didn't occur to me that $3 was a really random and inaccurate figure. Her points had earned her 10 CENTS off a gallon, so all she was really "owed" was 30 cents. I apologized and explained that I was unable to pay out refunds or do adjustments or anything like that and that she'd have to go into the store to the service desk with her receipt, where they could give her the money off in cash that she would have gotten, had she successfully redeemed her points for the first ~3 gallons of gas she'd pumped.

She kind of scoffed and decided to be the "bigger person" and was like, "You know what? How about later you go get the $3 (30 cents, lol) and donate it to Texas." I was like "Uhh, yeah, I'll see if I can do that..." Fully 100% not going to even try, not only because I didn't know if our store was even doing any fundraising but also because there's no way the service desk would hand over money to me that should rightfully be going to a customer. Like, I don't get to just bring in random receipts and tell them to give me money owed to customers. That's not how shit works. And even if any of that WAS possible, this was 30 cents we're talking about here.

God, I hate this woman. She's so needlessly hostile and weird about everything. And it turned out that my store was donating to Texas and doing fundraising, so while this woman was judging us and comparing us to Walmart, we actually were helping. Eat a dick, lady!

[dystovian]

hi! can i uhh request maybe fluff where like the s/o teaches them their native language idk thank u tho 🌸✨

I just realized I forgot pidge sob

[Shiro:]

•didn’t hear you first speak it until the coalition reached more suburban alien places•turns out, a predominant amount of people spoke your language, some words were a bit different from each other, but you understood each other, and even volunteered to be more involved with their group—shiro had walked in on you teaching a small group of children, parents and guardians included, the words that were different compared to theirs–––he thought that it was so cool and when you walked out he stopped you and just——“that was so goddamn cool” breathlessly

•eventually realized that you enjoy spending time with the people, and when you had even taken breaks from the team just to visit and speak with them he grew plenty interested —you might as well be a teacher there, you’re teaching them English as well and it’s proving to be quite helpful, as it’s now plenty easier to communicate with them—–considering they could be used at any moment in battle, you’ve also created armor for them.

•whenever you came back you’d talk with Shiro until he passed out beside you. You’d tell him what it’s like there and how the people are, just until he’s made up his mind that he likes it as much as you do—eventually asks you to teach him and you tear up and hug him

•lets just say he barely really learns anything from you because he keeps getting distracted by how nice and attractive you are and he just thinks you’re so wonderful and pretty and he just……wants to marry you pls get married pls—eventually with time he learns just enough of the language to communicate with the people almost as well as you do

[Keith:]•Team Voltron decided on a break in a nice city that looked like a futuristic version of NYC, you all went to a small restaurant and were greeted by both staff and guests alike. —there was one guest though, one that struggled to communicate with the waiters there, but you somehow understood them perfectly.—–the whole team was amazed at how quickly you sprung into action, a beautifully spun web of words flowing past your lips. Switching between English and the other in order to communicate with both staff and customer.

•keith was shocked honestly, he didn’t know that fact about you and it made him very happy. his crush on you just grew tenfold, but he was very confused, how come he never knew? Perhaps it’s because he didnt hang out with you a lot, or maybe he never asked, he had not been around your family before either.—as soon as you sit back down and answer the questions asked by the rest of the team, keith taps your shoulder—–He was quiet, his head tilted down and his eyes remaining on his food as he played with it a bit with his silver fork. “Do you..do you think you could teach me some of that?” He had no explanation as to why he wanted to know.

•you immediately nodded and rubbed his forearm in affection, eyes closing as you grinned with honor. Of course you’d teach him! —it made you happy to share things about yourself, especially something so dear as a language

•you taught the basics first- colors, objects, numbers, areas. Then you taught phrases, like please and thank you, or sorry.—he decided maybe he should confess to you with his knowledge of the language so far, but he had no idea how to ask you what “I love you” meant. he asked Lance to ask, who only teased him, Pidge basically growled at him as soon as he uttered the word ‘favor’. Allura and Coran would be busy, along with Hunk, and Shiro would try and make him do it on his own. –—so, He was stuck doing it on his own, asking you while pouring sweat and about to piss himself, he asked, got his answer, and then waited a week to confess

•you both had known each other since you were young and Keith only realized he was in love with you the day he had almost lost you, it was a simple car accident and it killed him to know that he wasn’t there for you until you had almost completely recovered. the smile you gave him despite him abandoning you was what made him really understand.—you probably had asked him to make a sentence or two out of what he’s learned so far, and as soon as he said it and it was a little bit stumbly, you laughed loudly with tears of happiness and hugged him /i>

•this was so much different than I thought it would be I got so carried away I’m so sorry

[Hunk]

•you had taught him the language before Voltron, having invited him over once to your house he heard you and your mother communicating. And he no doubt knew it was about him with the way your mom chuckled, pointed and eyed him. You grew embarrassed and told her to stop repeatedly—EXTREMELY curious after that and practically forced you to teach him it

•you were afraid to, of course, but as long as he stayed away from your mother then it would all be good—hunks a quick learner, and even a little independent, so if you were ever unable to teach him, he’d text you asking what you would’ve taught him that day, and then look it upon himself and made some flash cards–—it made your heart flutter at how determined he was to know——but you kind of felt neglected in a way, thinking he would only hang with you to learn the language but not learn much more about you anymore

•you realized how dedicated he really was when he understood you completely one day, about 8 months since he started.—you had just been stood up by a boy, something that you believed happen a bit too often to be accidental. You were a mess, crying in the booth of some Italian restaurant in the back. –—you had texted your mother to pick you up, but your mother had called Hunk instead, sending him straight to you. You’d been giving him the silent treatment for a while now so as soon as u saw him you grabbed your things and angrily left.

•He was confused…very very confused. He still didn’t know why you were ignoring him.—he went after you and tried to grab your arm but you only yelled at him, the foreign language coming past your lips and practically smacking him in the face. —you ran to his car and slammed the door and he followed. answering you and saying that he wasn’t purposely trying to neglect you, he was only interested in your language because it was apart of you and your life. and because he wanted to know what your mother would murmur to you whenever he came by, that would make you blush.

•you chuckled like WILD tbh and just told him everything and then you went back inside and ordered some food and now your mom won’t shut up because she had kept telling to just marry him already —I got carried away again LFMDMM also this is so cliche and dramatic in some way IDK OK

[Lance:]

•personally I don’t think he’d really be the one to just find out, he’d probably ask you because he realized you had an accent—was the first person in the Garrison to actually notice and ask, you were a new student too, so it made you happy to know someone was curious–—you could tell exactly how curious he was, and for some reason, every time he spoke with you he’d be insanely serious——people would be confused, and then asked you your ‘secret’ on getting lance to actually act mature for once, you’d be confused, you’d never really seen him act immature. They thought that was weird and would ask you if he ever flirted, you’d say no, and they’d stare at you like you had 6 heads

•you’d bring it up to him and he’d probably get nervous, he wanted someone to like him and he knew that immature side of him would probably annoy you. —he’d chuckle and change the topic of the conversation, delving back into the makeshift quiz you had given him to learn the colors.

•you bring it up again a few months later since it was bothering you and then he finally explains what he’s like in his other classes, and not the study he’s in with you, and not the times he’s with you out of classes.—you’re not that shocked really, but it makes you feel sad that he was so scared to show a side of himself, something that made him who he was–—you explained that to him and he grabbed your face and smacked his lips on your forehead making the both of you chuckle

•you end up going to his house a couple times over the summer to really reach him, and even let his siblings and nieces/nephews watch—don’t be surprised though when you fall asleep on each other and wake up to family members taking pictures—–eventually he confesses one day, right after a cousin of his was flirting with you and making you uncomfortable, and him jealous——you confess back in your language and are glad to see that he understood it

[life-astudyofhypotheticals]

Rant #1 - Religion and Ethnicity: THEY ARE NOT DEPENDENT UPON EACH OTHER!

Identity has been a difficult concept for me, mostly because others have told me what I can and cannot be. 

My third grade teacher once asked me which one of my parents was Muslim and which one of my parents was Indian. According to her, I could not be completely Muslim and be completely Indian at the same time. 

Here’s the thing y’all,

ETHNICITY (OR RACIAL BACKGROUND) AND RELIGION ARE TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS!!! THEY DO NOT AND SHOULD NOT BE ATTRIBUTED TO ONE ANOTHER!!!

So this apparently is a very difficult concept for people to understand. 

And that’s okay, if you don’t get it. Please let me explain it to you.

I’m going to use my personal examples as reference just to make it a little easier to explain. 

So I’m of South Indian descent and I’m Muslim. Let me tell you why these are two different things. 

My racial background is something that I cannot control. I was born to two South Indian people. As a result, I also have their same ethnicity. 

Religion is a little difficult. We’ve started to associate certain religions with certain regions in the world. 

I’m going to go with the most obvious (and relevant to me) example. 

Middle East = Islam. 

Here’s what wrong with the above statement. Yes, there are Islamic countries in the Middle East, but many Middle Eastern people are NOT Muslim. 

Religion is a choice. I understand that people think that it is something that is passed down to them. You can be culturally Christian, culturally Muslim, or culturally Hindu; this means that you were raised in religious family or celebrated religious holidays in a cultural sense. 

For example, I’m American. I live in a country where we celebrate predominantly Christian holidays. How many people who celebrate Christmas actually go to church? I’m Muslim and I celebrate Christmas, for heaven’s sake! I exchange presents with family friends and love singing “All I Want for Christmas.” It’s cultural! I don’t believe in the religious parts of Christmas but the cultural holiday stuff? Sign me up!

There’s a difference between being a culturally Muslim (or Christian, Hindu, Jew, etc) and a practicing Muslim (or Christian, etc you know what I mean). This means that I am in touch with the religious aspects of my religion and have chosen to practice said religion. This will mean different things to different people but ultimately, it means that you have now chosen to identify and actively practice your beliefs. 

So what does that mean in terms of defining ethnicity and religion?

Ethnicity is out of your control. Religion is up to you. 

This means that literally anyone can wake up one day and say “You know what? I want to be Muslim!” (or Christian, or Aethiest, idk up to you!!)

They have made that choice and it will literally have nothing to do with their ethnicity. 

You could argue that certain racial groups tend to deviate toward a certain religion. For example, going back to the Muslims being predominately Middle Eastern argument, did you know that the country with the largest Muslim population is Indonesia? Like guys, Indonesia literally has 12.7% of the 1.6 billion Muslims around the world. That’s a lot of people! So yeah, you have a great chance of being Muslim if you were born in Indonesia, but that’s literally just because you were exposed to it. You could always change your mind  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

So please, please stop assuming that a certain person needs to be of a certain ethnicity to believe in the things that they have decided to believe. It’s up to them. Let’s respect that and learn about each other’s beliefs instead.

[the-kings-tail-fin]

First of all, I just love your writing and the Jackson storm Cruz drunk fan fic was amazing! I was wondering if you could do a fan fic of Jackson hanging out with Cruz (non romantic or romantic, I have no preference)

Thank ya :) I started that fic with a certain plot in mind and about ten minutes into writing it, it was taking on a direction all it’s own. IDK what happened man, but I’m glad you liked it!

“Why? Why her?”

“Because you’re both famous and cars are gonna line up out the wazoo to meet you. It’s marketing. Gotta put on a good show and act friendly. Make us and yourself look good.”

“But-”

Ray cut him off before he could complain any more. Jackson scowled and looked over at the booth he was assigned to. Meet and greets weren’t anything new. Meet and greets at a shared booth, now that was new, and he didn’t like it. Curse this venue for being so cramped!

Why couldn’t IGNTR have been paired up with another sponsor? Not only did Dinoco dwarf his sponsor in sheer size and reputation, but they also had the most recognizable racer, apart from himself of course. Anything would be better than sharing a booth with Cruz. Heck, he’d even tolerate that Treadless guy to get away from her.

Cruz was already at the booth, and he could feel her bubbly personality from a hundred yards away. He did not have the patience to deal with her that day, however his contract said he’d better suck it up if he wanted to keep his job. He groaned and glided over, taking a spot next to her and looking at the photographs of himself on the table.

“Oh, hey Storm!” Cruz greeted him.

“Sup.” he didn’t even glance at her. Instead he picked up the silver marker he’d be using to sign predominately black merchandise and fiddled with it.

“Beautiful day isn’t it?” she gestured to the clear blue sky above them. “I love these events, meeting the fans and all.”

“Yeah, yeah sure.” he agreed, praying that someone was taking notes of his efforts to be nice.

Cruz continued to babble on until the fans started to approach them, forming lines, much like what Ray had said, longer than Jackson had ever personally seen. For some reason beyond his understanding though, there was only one queue for their booth. There should have been two, he argued to himself. Not everyone wants to see both of them at the same time.

At first there were several awkward moments where the fans didn’t know what to do upon approaching them. Did they acknowledge Cruz? Or Storm? Or both? It was uncomfortable for one racer to get 100% of a fan’s attention while the other sat there, but they managed. Whoever designed this venue was definitely going to be receiving some constructive criticism afterwards.

Jackson watched as Cruz handled more than half of the attention at the booth, and tried to figure out why everyone loved her so much. Every young girl in line came up to her and told her how inspirational she was, and how they all wanted to be like her. Cruz always responded in the most positive, encouraging manner, trying to motivate them to be their best. Maybe it was her experience as a trainer that set her apart at these events. All Jackson knew how to do was sign his name and smile for a picture.

Try to make it a competition. See if you can’t outdo her. Yes. That was it. That was the motivation he needed. Ray wanted him to make them all look good? Now he had some references to use in order to do so.

A teenage boy, a little timid, but clearly excited, approached the booth and turned towards Jackson’s side. Storm tried to soften his normally steely look with a smile, and waved the kid over to him.

“Hey there, man.” Jackson greeted him.

“Hi Mr. Storm. I, uh, I just wanted to say how awesome I thought it was that you won a Piston Cup your rookie year. How did that feel?” the undersized pickup truck struggled to maintain eye contact, but Jackson had seen worse. The kid was just nervous.

“It was rewarding, I tell you what.” Jackson answered, turning his answer into something he thought Cruz would say, but also staying truthful. “It made all that time I spent training and working really hard worth it. It made me believe I could do anything I set my mind to.”

The kid stared up at him like he’d just heard angels singing. “You had to work hard to get this good?”

“Yeah, nothing worth having comes easily, my man. You gotta decide what you want and then do everything you can to go get it.”

“Awesome.” he hesitated, letting it sink in. “Can I get an autograph?”

“Sure thing. Who should I make it out to?”

The truck left with a big smile on his face, and Jackson felt a strange sense of accomplishment. The kid seemed to have really taken what he’d said to heart. Was this what it was like to make a difference?

“That was sweet of you.” Cruz complimented him before the next fan approached. “You’re so good at this.”

“Only as good as the next car.” Jackson shrugged, letting the compliment slip.

Cruz smiled and turned her attention from him to the next fan that approached them. It was an older RV that had clearly seen better days.

“Miss Ramirez, what a pleasure.” he greeted her.

“Well, thanks, I- “

“Do you mind if I just get a picture ‘n autograph from ya?”

“Uh, sure thing.”

Cruz smiled for the camera as the RV turned himself around to face the same direction. It was over in a flash, and Cruz hurriedly grabbed a photo, signed it, and gave it to him. She had a slight twinge of discomfort as the fan hesitated to leave her side.

“I also just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are, and how you look when you’re out there on the track, I can’t help but- “

Jackson knew how the male mind worked, and he saw this guy’s move coming from a mile away. The second he saw the RV’s front tire shift toward Cruz’s fender, he revved his engine to make a scene.

“Hey, buddy!” he yelled. “Rules say no uninitiated touching. Move along.”

“Right, right, sorry. Thanks, Miss Ramirez.” the motor-home scurried away, embarrassed. 

Cruz looked relieved. Confused, but relieved.

“Uh, thanks, Jackson. You didn’t have to do that.” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. Dude was givin’ me the creeps.” he explained shortly.

The front of the line of fans waiting to meet them had seen the whole thing. A day later, video evidence had surfaced of Storm standing up for Cruz, and it went viral. Everyone suddenly saw the champion in a different light.

At the next meet and greet event, Jackson had a booth all to himself once again, much to his relief. But now, his queue was even longer than normal. Now there were cars wanting to thank him for what he did for Cruz, on top of the fans that had already admired him.

“It’s crazy what a single act of kindness can do” Gale later told him. “Just think about what a few more could do.”

[missfay49]

Maybe the eyeball on Remus's outfit is the orange side's as some people think he will wear an eyepatch?

Nonnie I literally love you for giving me this opportunity to theorize.  I assume this is in response to my Where Remus got that Eye theory and this orange side theory posed on E’s blog. 

You’re definitely on to something, I wasn’t very keyed in to there being another side being introduced back then.  But I have learned so much from the fanders and game theorists since last year...

First, let’s color swatch the eye, just to be sure.

[Image Description: screenshot of an editing program color gradient / swatch.]

Brown, with a red hue.  Makes sense, everyone’s eyes are brown in the show except Janus’ snake eye (all the puppets notwithstanding).  But maybe there’s a hidden color?  So I checked the 6 hues to see what pops.

[Image Description: a series of 6 screenshots of the applique flower on Remus’ right shoulder, using different hue saturations - blue, magenta, red, yellow, cyan, and green.]

Red is by far the predominant color with yellow in second, but turning on the pair together just makes brown again.  Then, I thought maybe flower theory would have something for is, given the 7 flowers on the shirt that came out last year.

But, while I did find the exact flower applique they used (discontinued), as far as I can tell, it’s not based on any real flower.

[Image Description: a black applique flower with beads and sequins.  There are ten petals overlapping evenly in 2 layers, with 4 large black beads in the center, a few small beaded tassels in the center and a couple dozen long beaded tassels hanging off one side.]

Except perhaps the semi-double hose-in-hose azalea!-

[Image Description: picture of a pink flower with ten petals overlapping evenly in 2 layers, with stamen and smaller petals in the middle.]

-although they don’t come in pure black, they are poisonous!  What a great flower for Remus, that has nothing at all to do with Orange.  Another dead end.

Eyepatches are definitely a trope you can read about here, and the dark sides all seem to have special focus brought on their eyes via makeup.  I find it funny that two of the light sides need glasses, but so far none of the dark sides do.  Unless someone is secretly going without a much needed pair, it implies that the dark sides are able to see things that the light sides are blind to.  This would be in line with C!Thomas hiding things from himself that the dark sides reveal.  Or it’s all meaningless, idk.

Maybe mythology is the key.  Janus, Virgil, Roman, and Remus all have established ties to Roman mythology.  Pathos and logos are modes of persuasion derived from the Greek “pisteis”.  I have previously suggested that the orange side will be named Achilleus in my Who is Orange? wrath theory, based on Greek mythology.  Vergilius even writes about Achilles’ son in Book 2 of the Aeneid

However.  If we factor in an unusual eye, the better fit is Aristodemus.

It’s a dark story so from this point on TW: for disease, death, and suicide.

Aristodemus: the only survivor of the Battle of Thermopylae, a warrior who is blinded by disease, deemed a coward for following orders, shunned and desperate to prove himself.  

By all rights, Aristodemus should have been 1 of 3 survivors, but another soldier, Eurytus, who was sent back at the same time as Aristodemus for also having eye disease, decided to go back to the battle, fought despite being effectively blind, and died.  A third soldier, Pantites, was not present for the battle because he had been sent to deliver a message to Thessaly but, upon discovering the outcome of the battle and being humiliated when he returned to Sparta, promptly killed himself out of shame.  

(Eye disease was surprisingly common in ancient Rome, covering a whole host of possible eye issues and, given that Aristodemus fought in another battle only a year later, it seems the disease was either temporary or only affected one eye permanently.  It was probably an infection, like conjunctivitis.)

It is suggested that Aristodemus fought so recklessly in the second battle as to be near suicidal himself.  This is a common reaction in people experiencing survivor’s guilt, and he would almost certainly have been struggling with that a lot since he was basically ostracized by the people of Sparta for cowardice.  

I think people forget sometimes that guilt also produces a lot of anger, at yourself.  Anger that you didn’t help, that you should have known, that you failed somehow.  Even though he was deemed a liability for being partially blind and was following orders to go home, he is compared to Eurytus who disobeyed orders and died a hero, then compared to Pantites who at least had the decency (sarcasm) to kill himself rather than live as a coward.  

In such a setting, Aristodemus is considered a coward not just for surviving the battle, but also for not choosing to kill himself.  Then he is shamed again for being too reckless in the second battle a year later.  This pattern of trying to do what’s expected and still failing is very similar to Roman’s arc.  And I think that comparison is important.

I predict that the Orange Side will try to use Roman, the way Janus used him.  Manipulating his intentions.  Right now Roman is very angry about doing everything right and still being wrong.  Orange will have a tragic backstory that will get Roman on his side.  Orange will propose a course of action based in anger, that the others will oppose on the basis of him being “evil”.  And Roman will have to choose between three options: 1. following his baser instincts where his anger and pain make the decision for him, 2. doing what he’s told, again, or 3. recognizing that he is in control of himself and can determine for himself what the right thing is, without Patton, without Janus.  Without anger or guilt.  

But back to the question at hand - is that Orange’s eye on Remus’ shirt?

[Image Description: screenshot of Remus covered in feces and trash, shrugging.]

Does this look like the kinda guy who washes his hands?  If you ever came into contact with him, how likely are you to walk away with an infection of some kind?  Maybe an eye infection?  Hm?  It’s a wonder any of the dark sides are healthy, and if anyone is gonna lay hands on Remus, it would be wrath.  Like fighting a porcupine, you’re as likely to injure yourself as the creature you’re wrestling.

Thanks again for the prompt.

much love, bun