#like wow i ACTUALLY WANT TO MAKE FRIENDS IN THIS COMMUNITY! SHOCKER! WOW! WHAT!

[tuningknight]

fuck vocaloid music scene

touhou music scene is my new friend

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Bex I did it. I wrote my first smut fic. It’s Mickey x Reader (obvi) and I just wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your advice the other day. It really helped me out a lot so thank you a whole bunch!!! - CJ <3

I ran to read it as soon as I got this ask! So obviously I gotta talk about it! So I love small details that communicate movement in fics, esp when establishing, so opening your fic with, "You sat on the couch, your fingers lightly tracing the ridges of the red solo cup in your hand as you listened to a drunken Randy babbling on about what movie to put into the VCR."

Was so fucking great. Starting strong is important and you deff did! Making the reader a Woodsboro survivor and a friend of Sid and Randy is a staple and a total classic, works here, and knowing what we know about Scream 2 and Mickey, makes this dynamic all the more interesting! Makes me think of how this would go down the line, you know? It gives intrigue! The pair of them interacting feels natural, I loved the line, “Yeah. Sidney’s got Derek and I’m sure he keeps her very distracted,”

Amazing.

The reader not being over the events of the first movie, solid! Love that kinda thing, esp when it leads into the reason for the smut! There are a million reasons to have sex and thus, a million reasons for smut to occur, and a distraction from grief, trauma and stress? Perfection. What better outlet than Mickey? What a good guy to help the reader out!

Okay, now we are at the goods, and I gotta say, the rushed nature of it hits hard. Also fucking in the bathroom at a party! Classic, even though I don't think I have written it myself yet, actually! Bathroom sex, yes, sex at a party, also yes, but sex in a bathroom AT a party? No! Shocker, I know. But future project, who knows.

I like the back and forth, love the development and as you know, I looove denial, and raw sex, condom? Who needs condoms?

I love some of your word choices here but let me focus on my fave moment of this whole thing. Mickey being a dick, denying her the whole time, fantastic, but when it gets to this moment,

“Please let me, please let me.” You began chanting those three words like a prayer and you felt his thrusts begin to stutter a little. You felt tears from the overstimulation begin to form in your eyes as you were all but sobbing and begging him to let you cum.

Okay. So. Wow, hot, very hot. As a person who reads almost exclusively denial based smut to get off, this is like top tier, this is what I am talking about! Something about the "please let me" over and over again is like stellar, a true standout.

So! I gotta say, for your first smut? Really fucking good job! Loved the ending too, very good point to finish off on, like you clearly got some skills, you keep on writing, keep on reading and no doubt you are gonna keep improving! I am excited to see what else you are going to do! Seriously dude, you got great bones and already some hot as fuck moments, I have no doubt if you stick with this you are going to only go up from here!

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary22

9/26-27/2023

i did see a movie today,

i got to go watch fallen angels, about halfway through the movie i was always at tears, even the funny stuff made me want to cry. it's insane how that movie gets you into every character's head, the extremity of how it presents itself is just a kind of expressionism made to communicate/connect to that speed of life and distance between oneself and others, and the yearning to close the gap always, the long shots of the movie are really incredible too. i need to see his other movies, i think.

i also met someone new, someone my gf talks about a lot, a new person at school/work, they're nice but i basically know nothing about them still. they're flirting with a friend of ours though, which is funny.

anyways, my friend got back to me about the idea i had, he said it'd be cool to try out, so we're gonna do that. i need to go ahead and export a bunch of guitar tracks w/o any (or maybe only a few) effects on them to get that to work well. and then, i think i'm gonna have him listen to what i've got and get opinions on what sounds good and what doesn't.

i just listened to a bunch of my music and shocker: i like it a lot more now. wow!! crazy what taking a break can do. only 3 songs where i think i've really failed to get the guitars right, and one where there's one part that's way off but the guitars work in literally every other part. curious and difficult. hopefully these new sounds i have can really help out here.

i did work on a new guitar tone today, i'm really excited about maybe actually writing new stuff soon. short grindy shit, i need to get some shit going. just fucked up spastic songs, i want to go crazyyyy soon.

with the 4 songs that i think are way fucked, i at least know where to start w/ what riffs to export out. and there's another i know i might want some real distortion on a riff. so there's 5 things that are for sure.

tomorrow i need to get them exported, and i need to get all the bpms down for these songs so i can do them in ableton right.

and that's about all i can put about my day and my future here.

i guess now i'm going to make a fucked up short song because i want to use this one guitar i made and see if it works in songwriting.

it does, that's fun. it sounds good too i think.

i keep thinking about how my friend told me when he saw fallen angels he thought it was set in korea.

i still need to get a more perfect low guitar tone. something that actually sits in the register like, the low e string hits. or is convincingly situated around there. it's been the hardest thing i think to nail.

my friend told me about these other friends of his thinking about making an irc. something about that is so lame to me, when people are like, let's bring back something old because it's actually better than what we have now (ignore me posting on my tumblr blog again (please (lol))). it's just such a thing people do, especially with internet stuff. like, let's simulate a bbs, let's do another imageboard, let's do things and act like they're for security but really it's about giving ourselves the illusion of community/a scene when there is really nothing at all, surely if we put the work in to hallucinate it, it'll really be there. #snore.

there's such strange complaints i see people come up with for new chat platforms, outside of complaints that this stuff ends up as bloatware and it is often the case that huge communities are totally awful which are normal and make sense, i've seen people talk about how avatars and various other personalized features invite a kind of narcissism and self obsession, and other psycho stuff.

anyways here's the song i'm listening to right now:

i love this record a ton, the organs/synths are so so cool.

anyways, byebye!!

[m143ui]

A MESSAGE TO THE PJO FANDOM

so hello friends on the other side

I understand some of the major concerns regarding characters like piper and the feather and hazels description but when you bring Leo and Reyna into the fucking conversation I have lost all respect.

ANYONE CAN BE ABUSED, ETHNICITY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT

LATINO CHARACTERS

Reyna is not a negative stereotype, she isn't defined by being latina and neither is Leo, he isn't a stereotype simply because he’s latino and was abused. also him being called an elf was because he was short, which had nothing to do with him being latino. also the mamacita comment like y'all hide under the label “progressive” but ignore that mamacita has been a thing in Latin American communities for a fucking while. its not an insult dammit. its something that happens in our communities!!! its like saying muchacho y'all don't see men bitching about that.

also shocker I read the mamacita comment and I can proudly say I didn't go

“RICK YOU RACIST BITCH”

things that actually happen in communities aren't racist

and before any of y'all come at me with the usual you’re white excuse, hello friends im Peruvian and Paraguayan.

I don't think he’s perfect but bitching about characters like Leo which gave many of my Latin American friends hope for similar characters destroys your “listening to minorities” argument

also the lol “hes Mexican taco bad” argument like I live in Mexico we eat tacos like every fucking day. its literally a fact. and Leo isn't just defined as taco man.

believe it or not us latinos respect rick because he gave us role models and characters like us. we don't define a character by one line and instantly call discrimination. like yes a asian character can be snobby it has nothing to do with ethnicity. y'all are making this about ethnicity. an asian character can be anything, just like a white character or a black character or a gay character. people are not simply defined by their labels like ya’ll think. y'all are just a bunch of easily triggered snowflakes that can't live with that. they can be influenced but in the end labels are labels we are all human and should be treated as such.

LGBT REPRESENTATION

another thing Reyna was never officially a lesbian that was YOUR interpretation not riordans. IF HE DIDNT STATE IT , SORRY HONEY IT ISN’T CANON! I don't care about how she was “lesbian coded” if he didn't state it it isn't canon. 

I am so sick, as a lesbian, to see people use ALL QUEER DEATHS as a bury your gay tropes, what happened to seeing us as humans? why can't we be treated like any other character? if we die we die, it isn't always “haha gay evil boom death”. sometimes fully fledged characters have to die friends.

Nico isn't a bad gay character, he’s just a normal character who happens to be gay and has suffered major trauma. HIS TRAUMA WAS CAUSED BY HIS UPBRINGING, Nico isn't a 2000′s character, he’s from the 30′s, so obviously he woudn’t be perfect with his sexuality for gods sake it was the 30′s. the exact same thing happens with hazel, she isn't a modern black woman, she's a 30′s black woman. Nico’s coming out isn't him as a 21st century teen its from the time when the GOVERNMENT KILLED YOU FOR BEING GAY

also saying there are no lesbian characters? like wow look emmie and jo don't exist. Lavinia doesn't exist. poison doesn't exist. thanks fam you really make yourselves look smart here. simply because rick never said the word gay doesn't mean the gay characters don't exist friends. they are just labeled as what gay characters should be labeled as.... human.

LESBOPHOBIA & RACISM

im not educated in muslim or black culture so I won't mention characters like sam and hazel and piper because I respect and I am highly critical of what rick put in his books to describe these specific minorities.

HOWEVER saying rick is a lesbophobe, a homophobe, a racist a sexist cis guy is like do y’all wanna be taken seriously? use arguments don't hide behind words.

rick isn't a perfect writer but y'all really don't know how to criticise, y'all just hide behind big boy words and back it up with no evidence, just opinions.

rick doesn’t have the best minority rep out there but he is damn well trying and I respect that unlike all you fucking idiots.

SHIPS

now onto ships.... yay

frazel: im not gonna censor it like you pussies, believe it or not 13&16 year old relationships exist. they might not always be healthy but they exist. to deny this is to be stupid

solangelo:  another ship that is censored..the main argument I've seen is that it isn't developed and will isn't even a character... he was in last olympian and lost hero not my fault y'all have fish brains. I don't care if you dislike it but don't be like “ANYONE WHO SHIPS THIS IS AN ABUSIVE WHORE” like wow you always preach about accepting all ships and then throw this? also if you hate solangelo because of the “abuse” but ship percico like hi friends Nico is 4 years younger than Percy.. if y'all hate frazel because of the 3 year age difference y'all should hate this too.

CONCLUSIONS AND SHIT

not every character minority or otherwise is gonna be the way you want them to be, believe it or not any character can be anything, black characters can be loud, white characters can be loud. if they're only loud because “haha black” then THATS an issue not the simple existence of a loud black woman who has a loud personality.

y'all be here bitching about drew and I've never heard the asian perspective of this? just a bunch of black and white people telling asians they should be offended. was that just an uno reverse?

also last point stereotypes aren't always a negative thing and y'all need to get that in your heads.

anyway stay mad hoes <3

from a sane Peruvian <3

EDIT

I saw this beauty and had to comment on it

“having LGBT characters experience abuse and violence. nicos forceful outing rubs me the wrong way, especially because hes called a coward for being in the closet. its violent and kind of disturbing to make your gay character come out of the closet by force. maybe write better. additionally, alex's abusive father and subsequent homelessness because of her being trans is badly written.”

oh noooo gay characters can't deal with homophobia anymore ! like I can tell you have never been punched for being gay. is it bad to showcase how trans and gay ppl are 40% of homeless youth? or is even mentioning that discrimination? believe it or not some of us live in countries where people try to kill us. you have an advantage and it shows. about the coward thing... 

was FUCKING CUPID A GOOD CHARACTER? NO? I REST MY CASE. CUPID IS NOT SEEN AS A GOOD PERSON THEREFORE HE IS NOT A GOOD PERSON GET THAT IN YOUR THICK SKULLS.

 YOU HEARD IT HERE FOLKS LGBT FOLKS DONT GET FORCED OUT OF THE CLOSET 

#NEVER HAPPENS IN REALITY. 

JUST BECAUSE YOU WERENT FORCED OUT OF THE CLOSET DOESNT MEAN OTHER PEOPLE HAVE THAT SAME LUXURY. 

maybe stop spewing bullshit <3

(so I get that this scene can remind people of being outed and it can hurt them however this scene was never intended to be a good thing it literally says Nico is scared of facing his emotions)

EDIT NUMBER 2

oh boy rick really pissed off the snowflakes that I share a fandom with

“give Nico to the gays” no? he would be a femboy and they would yeet his trauma like ssrsly?

also hate rick? bitch no one is forcing you to read his tweets.

death of the author is such a toxic thing like the mans is alive boo he aint going nowhere..like What the fuck 

EDIT NUMBER 3

anyway final thoughts on this :

nico insn’t Uwu gay and its an insult to his character

Reyna is not a lesbian canonically (neither is Thalia)

Leo and Reyna are not racist

none of ricks characters are  written as insults to their communities

and if I see one more “but ....phobia/ ...ism I will do very illegal things

peace lol

RICK RIORDAN UPDATE:

congratulations rick antis! you have successfully harassed a  56 year old man into leaving social media! wow so progressive!!!! this totally won't backfire or anything!!!

all jokes aside all of you who harassed rick to the point of someone else taking over his social media should feel ashamed

[xxrat--punkxx]

JUMPING ON THIS BAND WAGGON

Ok here’s my 2020, tw//mentions of suicide and abuse

(Strong start lmao) 2020 sucked ass lemmi tell ya. This year was a fucking train wreck from the start, ur hay I got character development so who cares. Well let’s start with a review, bad things first.

Yall remember when everyone was scared shields of COVID?. Lol. But that’s stating the obvious. When we went into lockdown I was first like fuck yeah summer lol, but then the threat of ‘staying home for the rest of the year’ set in, bing in my first year of sixth form I really understand the stakes of exams next year. So having to stay home for the rest of the year freaked me the fuck out. I literally couldent cope, having to do all classes online was fucking hell, they were never zoom classes either, just ‘lmao do the work and hand it in’ which was near impossible for me. I was also in the constant ‘oh no I’m so stressed but I will do NOTHING about this lmao~’. As the days turned to weeks and inevitably MONTHS, my mental health said buckle up bitches. Days were spent sitting in my room on my phone doing NOTHING, meanwhile this perpetual notion of stress played in my head yet there I sat not having the will or motion to move.

Then my parents got involved. Now THATS when shit went from pretty crummy to awful, now I was living with them constantly I was able to see who they really were with no real filter. And oh god do I have issues, I didn’t even fucking know. Every day was an argument, my mom was the worst, the MANIPULATION, the constant ‘you're tearing this family apart’ or ‘so I’m the problem?’ Or the fucking indecent playing the victim. And I all only just realised, that they have been doing this ALL MY LIFE. Dad got involved but he was just physically violent, only twice tho. The worst part was my work, admittedly yes, I didn’t do everything I was given, but I tried, I really did with what little motivation I had. But with just one ‘oh your daughter hasn’t handed in this work’ I was a ‘lazy, good for nothing failure’ to quote ‘who will never go anywhere in life’ so I’d spend the rest of the day crying while they play the victim bury saupying I was abusing their love and just using them for money. But the next day be like ‘oh I’m so proud of you you're doing so well’ having that statement being completely unrelated to the previous events. This was constant. So that’s that story. I won’t talk much about Black Lives Matter because we all know about how that went. But it really affected me, I found myself crying over the victims multiple times. And the lack of support for the movement my peers or family showed made it fucking worse. Crying was a common occurrence for me now, mental health really taking a nosedive, being too scared to call myself ‘depressed’ or ‘mentally ill’ to any extent because I know I’m faking it and just want validation. That was also constant. Fun times huh.

BUT IT GETS WORSE 🥲, then I had to go back to school, awful to fucking abhorrent now. Year two of sixth form fun right? Sure, if u take away the ‘no free time period’ or the wanting to kill mystery for literally a whole 3 weeks. That was my lowest peak. Ever. I’ve never wanted to kill myself before then, don’t like that feeling. Shocker huh. That mixed with the constant anxiety of nothing is right anymore and also needing to succeed at school all made one healthy dose of ‘.exe has stopped working’ juice. Yet I played the fool, acting happy as if nothing had happened, or was happening at least, and venting by imagining scenes in my head with fictional characters lmao. Telling myself ’u can’t kill yourself because u don’t deserve too and ur just asking for attraction’. Then midterms happened blah blah blah, stress but I’m numb to it now that whole story.

But that’s not to say there wasn’t a silver lining.

Onto the good things finally, yes the year was probably one of the worst years I’ve been through in my life it did not go without its positives. For example early this year I got into borderlands properly, I finally explored the fandom and had a look at what it was like. Albeit a slow process considering I was still predominantly on Instagram at the time, and finding a community of a fandom on there is impossible. I started browsing Pinterest or the Internet for images that would link to my favourite characters, Who were to no ones surprise is the calypso twins. Pinterest led me to artworks and artworks led me to the infamous Lazulizard. Who I cherish all my being. Three weeks later after looking at her entire tumblr blog and stalking her of pretty much all her content (sorry for that by the way) I found border-spam. By this point I didn’t have tumblr and I had no intention of getting it seeing as an ongoing war I’ve had with myself since 2012, declaring I will be the bigger man and never get tumblr, which in hindsight was an awful mindset. Seeing as tumblr is probably one of my favourite places on Earth right now. But after also stalking border spams account, again sorry, and starving her of any content she’d ever posted. I was happy that this fandom although as niche as it is was actually getting content. At the time spam and lazu were absolute gods to me. Being the sole producer of a fandom I probably wasn’t even in properly, having both impeccable writing and impeccable art like good God. I would often think ‘wow wouldn’t it be incredible if I actually got to talk to them one day’, now look at me I’m doing commissions for both of them good God. And to be short joining tumblr felt like a fever dream and it’s probably the greatest thing I could’ve done this year, my parents are wrong, talking to strangers is amazing.

Something notable of mention this year as I actually got to figure out who I am as a person, I was able to find my own style and to find my interests, specifically in what I liked in terms of clothing. I thought I was LOL 2012 goth hipster but no apparently I’m manic Pixie dream girl. Going from pink is the ugliest colour in the world to having it be the only colour I will ever wear. I made some pretty big choices this year like cutting pretty much all of my hair off and dying it for the first time. Thanks strict parents for only letting me do that one now. But like I said I went to a character Ark and you know what I like it. I also played BioShock fallout and horizon zero dawn for the first time this year starting to really feel like a proper epic gamer, good lord kill me, and falling in love with all of them almost immediately. I also figured out on a plant mum and I’m into vulture culture although my parents have to disagree with that one. Asking to buy an Horse and fox skull somehow scared them a little bit can’t seem to figure out why lmao.

So a conclusion, Fuck you 2020 you made me miss two comic cons and I will never forgive you for that shit I am SO mad. But I will give you the benefit of the doubt you did make me meet some absolutely incredible people who I consider my friends, despite going against every single Internet safety law I was ever taught as a child. But you know what who gives a flying shit I love you guys. So that’s what I wanted to say. I want to say thank you to everyone on here and everyone is following me or even interacted me with on that matter. You mean the world to me and I really fucking mean it. Are you going to be nothing but amazing ever since I walked onto this fucking hell hole. And what I go through all of this bullshit again if it means I ended up here? You know what I think I just might. So again I thank you and I hope your year didn’t go as badly as mine, and fuck it bring on whatever the fucks next!

Honourable mention of this year was The time Elisa actually complimented me and I cried a little bit and had a panic attack but you know that’s for another day

🥺💕

[itsthejuggernautbitch]

cut + burn chapter 2

Pairing: Colossus/You -  Playlist

Summary: Wade decides that sixteen years of mutual pining is long enough. He’s appointed himself your new wingman, and he’s the best in town (or so he likes to think). Or, how the compound effort of Wade Wilson and total romantic frustration gave way to getting exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

Chapter 2: To Be Alone

Part 1

Author’s Note: From here on out, it’s smut and good feelings and a little bit of angst from here on out. But really, if you’re reading this, you already know. 

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection  @emma-frxst  @this-that-and-every-thing-else  @ptite-shit  @lesbianyondu  @chromecutie  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @hazilyimagine  @lenavonschweetz  @nu-tt  @rovvboat  @i-write-fanfic-not-essays  @giruvega  @multi-blogs

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

The world turned upside down as you stumbled up to your room. You’d talked to Wade for far too long, letting him slip you drink after drink as the party dragged on around you. You suspected he’d done it to see if he could talk you into drunkenly propositioning Colossus. 

While you had a tendency to get rowdy after a few drinks, you weren’t a flirty drunk. At least, you didn’t think you were. You’d never been a flirty drunk before, but then, you’d always known Colossus would turn you down. Now, weren’t you quite so sure he would. 

The entire night was already fading into a rosy blur. You’d spoken to Colossus at the party, that much you remembered. You might have hugged him, lingering just a little too long with your arms around his neck, but you had no clear idea what had transpired. If you’d said anything risque or out of the way, Wade would almost certainly tell you.

You staggered into your room and slammed the door before falling face-first onto your bed. Fuck, it was so soft - had it always been this comfortable? Probably not - your mattress was older than you. Still, it was wonderful to be laying down with the world not spinning. You gathered up the comforter and bundled up in it, not bothering to strip down. Your shoes hung haphazardly off your feet, loosely dangling off the edge of the bed.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes when your head hit the pillow, brain fuzzy. Wade would meet his untimely end, you decided, for talking you into this.

What had you said to Colossus? You dug your knuckles into your eye sockets, racking your brain. He'd been alone when you spoke to him, you were pretty certain. Had you cornered him? (Very likely yes.) But what had you said? And what did he say back? Wade had pulled you away to take another shot with him as soon as the words left your mouth.

Whatever, it probably didn’t matter anyway. You were sure it was something embarrassing. Come to think of it, maybe you had propositioned him. You’d never done that before - you could usually keep yourself in check, even drunk. But then, no one had ever been whispering in your ear that it would be a good idea to ask.

You resolved to worry about it tomorrow. Now, you were wrapped up in your blankets, cozy and pleasantly warm, dizzy and drunk, and for the first time that day, pleased to be home. Home was good, your drunk brain decided. (Whether your sober brain would agree was a different matter, but drunk brain held the reigns right now.) Home was a warm bed in a clean room, with a bathroom and a hot shower. Home was a fully-stocked kitchen and friends you weren’t in charge of just down the hall. Home was workouts with Colossus, and breakfast with Colossus, and walks around the gardens at night with Colossus. Your drunk brain was positively giddy.

If you trusted your feet, you could walk over and see if he’d gone to bed yet. His room was just down the hall - it wouldn’t be much of a walk… It had been a long time since you’d been in his room, but it probably hadn’t changed. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d run to his door drunk, either. He usually just let you take the bed and he slept on the couch, or he would gently transport you back to your own room.

You sighed again, wishing the party hadn’t ended with you lolling drunkenly in your bed. If you’d stayed sober and just taken a chance, maybe he would have agreed to come upstairs with you. But no, once again, your poor choices left you huffing and sighing and wishing and wanting. 

Maybe if you’d made good choices for once, you’d be getting dicked down by Piotr Rasputin right now. You’d certainly thought about it before on nights like this one. That particular fantasy had been a weekly occurrence, at the very least, for the past sixteen years. 

You squirmed at the thought of Colossus between your thighs, filling you up and expertly tearing you apart. His hands cradling your head, his mouth biting and pulling at your nipples, your legs around his waist, his cock splitting you open - this was your idealistic, frustrated fantasy. 

No point fretting now. You pressed the heel of your hand between your thighs and tried to ignore the sludgy, heated pool in your stomach. Finally, you drifted off into an off-kilter, restless after-party sleep.

But, unfortunately for you, you were abruptly woken far, far too early by a fist slamming against your door. For a hot second, you tensed up, ready to roll out of bed and hit the ground running. But you were in your bed, not on a cot in the X-Jet, and you were spectacularly hungover. 

Crust cracked in the corner of your eyes as you rubbed the sleep away. Your head pounded with a dense, dull ache, the world still spinning. It was likely that you were still a little drunk, and that this bullet in your brain was the precursor to the real hangover yet to come. You called out to whoever was at the door to go away, come back later, please-stop-yelling. 

Instead of heeding your request, Wade - of course - threw the door open, flooding the room with manufactured fluorescent yellow light. He held two mugs of coffee, bless him, and wore a shit-eating grin so wide, you could see the flash of teeth even through the blur of the universe around you. He slammed the door behind him, set the mugs on your bedside table, and tossed you a bottle of aspirin.

“You can thank me later,” Wade said, hopping onto your bed. He sat crossed-legged next to your side, bright-eyed, as if he hadn’t had a single thing to drink the night before.

“I kind of hate you right now,” you replied, reaching out weakly to grab at the mug of blessed coffee. You sat up, hunched over your mug like a ghoul.

“Oh, you won’t hate me for long,” he sing-songed. He cracked open the bottle of aspirin and shook two of them out, which he handed to you.

“Why?”

“It’s my first day as your wingman, and I have a plan!” Wade replied sweetly. You could smell a plot simmering in the air. “I tried last night, but you were balls to the wall fucked up.”

“Which was entirely your fault.”

“Hey, I just put the drinks in your hand. You didn’t have to throw ‘em back.”

“With you shouting ‘Shots, shots, shots!’ after every sentence? Right...”

Wade stretched out across the foot of your bed, mug teetering precariously on his chest. Because that was obviously the best place to put it. “Well, I think it’s going to help you in the long run.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Oh, you’ll find out!”

You had a mild suspicion that he was talking about whatever you said last night, but he obviously wasn’t going to be forthcoming. Maybe he wasn’t talking about it because it wasn’t actually too embarrassing?

Wade rolled off the bed and went to leave, but you called out to him.

“Wade? What did I say to Colossus last night?”

“You’ll find out later!”

And he slammed the door behind him.

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

Wade took it upon himself to systematically hunt Colossus down and herd him into the nearest abandoned classroom out of sheer desire to just make them do the thing as soon as possible. Jeeze, two grown-ass adults - one would think they’d be able to communicate effectively about their feelings, yet it appeared that they were both too emotionally constipated to do so. Shocker.

He located his target and grabbed Colossus by the arm. He definitely tried to pull the big man into the classroom, but found that was literally not possible to do. Probably because Colossus is twice Wade’s size.

“Alright, I witnessed the most fucking awkward exchange I think I’ve ever seen,” Wade snapped as he shut the classroom door behind him. “Have you even been friends for twenty years?”

Colossus looked like a deer in headlights. “What are you talking about?”

Wade could have kicked him, but he would have broken his foot. Again. “Uh, the retirement party last night, Shiny Jesus.”

“What about it?”

“Why were you there,” Wade began, ignoring Colossus’s attempts to interrupt, “when you could have been getting cozy with your friend, who you are definitely in love with?”

“I - uh - do not know what you mean,” Colossus spluttered. As Wade raised an eyebrow, he finally conceded. “I did not realize it was that obvious.”

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d cave so fast,” Wade said. “Yeah, after about thirty minutes, most of the room was waiting for you to grab her and make a timely exit.”

“I suppose I… could have done that,” Colossus replied. “Before you had her taking shots.”

“You could have taken shots with us.”

“No.”

Wade clapped his hands together. “Well, what are you gonna do about it? Because she’s waiting and it looks like you are, too.”

Colossus sighed and relegated himself to the desk chair. “I don’t know.”

Wade parked himself on top of the desk, right in front of Colossus. No chance of escape now. “Maybe the better question is, what are you waiting for?”

“We have been at this point many times before,” Colossus replied. “She always... leaves on another mission.”

“And you don’t want to make your move when you think she’s going to run off again, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think you’re in luck this time. Looks like she plans to stick around.”

“The willingness to teach is a good sign. I just…”

“Need a kick in the ass?”

“Language, Wade.”

“Oh, whatever!” Wade paused. “Alright, here’s the deal. I’m gonna do the right thing and be your wingman. How’s that?”

“Do you have to?”

“Yep!”

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

Monday came and went, and before you knew it, you’d been been home for more than two weeks. 

You liked the middle-grades kids so far - they were still young enough to enjoy learning and old enough to understand what you expected from them. They were rowdy, yeah, and dealing with puberty-fueled mutants wasn’t a walk in the park, but you found that you enjoyed the challenge.

Colossus had done most of the work for you in developing lesson plans. In actuality, you’d taken his spot as the middle-grades teacher and just adapted his lesson plans to your teaching style. He’d placed you with the middle-grades so he could take an active role teaching the trainees who were about to graduate. He’d been pulling double-duty teaching both, and he seemed to be much more cheerful now that you’d taken part of his workload. 

At the end of the semester, you’d be swapped out with the professor teaching the younger kids, which was where Colossus wanted to place you from the beginning.

Colossus still came to check in during the day periodically, but you suspected he just wanted to stop by to talk rather than assess your teaching methods. Obviously, you were a-okay with that - any time you got to spend with him was time well spent. You’d taken to wandering into his classroom on your breaks to observe, and usually released your students for lunch at the same time he did.

Wade, it seemed, had been quietly doing his job as wingman. And by that, you suspected that he sometimes actively shoved Colossus into your classroom during the day. Whatever his methods were, they worked pretty well. 

When Colossus came by that day, he came without Wade shoving him into the room. Instead, he had one of the younger trainees with him, a tiny little thing with white-blonde hair and freckles. She had deep-set eyes raccoon-ringed by dark circles and the usual look of an angry teenager.

“This is your trainee,” Colossus said, obviously proud of his choice. The girl gave you a hard glance and looked down at her feet. Colossus did not notice. Instead, he introduced you. “Christina.”

You walked out from behind your desk and introduced yourself. “Colossus tells me we have similar abilities. What can you do?”

Christina looked up at Colossus, who nodded encouragingly. Clearly, she wasn’t good with people. You could sympathize - you’d had to learn that skill, too. “I can speed up decay. And set stuff on fire.”

“That’s cool,” you said. “I’ve got radioactive touch, too. I can’t set anything on fire, but I can electrocute it.”

“That’s cool,” she replied, finally looking up. The girl had dark green eyes that were nearly luminous, like a cat’s eyes after being shined with a flashlight in the dark. Must have been a side-effect.

“We will have a meeting later and you can get acquainted. I just thought I would bring her by for a moment.” Colossus, in his infinite teaching wisdom, finally sensed that things were a bit awkward. “Christina, you can go. I need to talk to your mentor.”

The girl skulked out of the room, obviously relieved to have an escape. You assumed she’d probably been with Colossus for most of the day. Despite your personal bias, you could see how it would be taxing for a teenager to be stuck trailing behind her teacher for hours. Once she’d scampered out of the room, Colossus turned his full attention on you.

“You needed to talk?” you asked, butt resting against the lip of the desk. You’d made this into a habit, despite your best attempts. Still, it was hard to be formal in front of a class full of awkward almost-teenagers.

The look on his face said technically no, but the words coming out of his mouth were a stuttering, awkward attempt at Official Business. “Yes. How did testing go? Any issues?”

You could have snorted, but you kept it in. What would they do with you in the room, watching them like a hawk? You’d noticed some wandering eyes, but nothing egregious. 

You told him as much. “Went off without a hitch.”

“Good, good…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

“I- uh, no,” Colossus said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Save me a seat.”

“Always.”

Colossus closed the door, and you huffed when you were sure he was out of earshot. Really, this was just ridiculous. You had no idea what Wade had been saying to him and still no idea what you’d said to him at the party. He’d been so twitchy when he was alone with you, you couldn’t keep him in the same room for long.

You could say something to him, sure. You could sit him down and talk about it and try to convince him that you weren’t running off to play hero anymore. But you’d shown him already that you were home with him - as a teacher, as a mentor, as a friend. But at this point, frustration was worming its way through your veins like fire. Finesse was wasn’t working - you might have to knock him over the head with a hammer.

Said hammer came in the form of Wade, who moseyed his way into your classroom like he had a grand secret. He sat on one of the student desks, swinging his legs like a kid. 

“What’s this about you being the best wingman around? Because it’s starting to sound like false advertising.”

Wade held up his hands. “Patience, patience! Let me work!”

“Your work ethic sucks.”

“Ah-ah, just give me time! You may not be saying that later tonight.”

“Oh, why is that?”

Wade waggles his non-existent eyebrows like a college frat boy. “Let’s just say, you may want to take a nap before dinner because you’re gonna be up all night.” 

You snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“No, seriously, I’ve got this handled. You’ll see!”

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

What a goober. 

Wade had been standing outside of your classroom door with Colossus for fifteen minutes, whisper-coaching him to go into your classroom and do what he came here to do.

What an absolute goofy fuck.

Colossus was currently in panic mode, which Wade had never had the privilege of seeing. The Man of Steel was panicking in the middle of the empty hallway because he didn’t know how to tell someone who liked him, who knew he liked him, that he liked them back. Wade was about thirty seconds from opening the door and announcing it to you himself. Or kicking him in his steel balls, although he refrained from doing so more for your benefit than anything else.

“Just go in there and tell her how you feel,” Wade snapped, voice hushed.

“What if she doesn’t actually feel the same way?” Colossus replied, voice equally hushed. Neither of them were quiet, per se, but they were trying to keep it down.

“Are you high? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Wade smacked his palm against his face. “Do you think you’ve been misreading the signals for sixteen years?”

“It’s possible!”

Holy Christ on a Cracker.

“No, it’s not!” Wade could shake him. He was just tall enough to wrap his hands around Colossus' throat and choke him out, although the success of said venture would be questionable. “You have actual balls of steel. Use them! Walk in there and say it or I’ll do it myself!”

“Fine, fine!” Colossus straightened up considerably and peered down at his stressed wingman. “I will tell her.”

“Just go.”

Throughout the spectacle outside, you sat on the edge of your desk, staring at the door. You’d been able to hear Wade and Colossus whisper-yelling at each other in the hallway for the past fifteen minutes. As entertaining as it was to hear Colossus agonizing, it took all of your self-control not to just go out into the hall yourself. The impatient streak in you screamed that all this would be much simpler if you did, but your sadistic streak told you to stay put. The sadistic streak won out, in the end.

Finally, finally, Colossus knocked on your classroom door. You called for him to enter and nearly laughed when he walked in. He skulked in, unsure of himself and downright bashful, like a puppy begging for a treat. If he’d been in human form, he’d have been bright red. 

“What can I do for you, Piotr?” you asked, smirk clear on your face.

Either he didn’t pick up on the fact that you’d heard him whisper-yelling at Wade outside, or he was too nervous to say anything other than his self-produced script. He scratched the back of his head. “I just - wanted to stop in and ask you about your day.”

“Ah, well, it was good,” you replied. It was fun watching him sweat. “No problems today.”

"That's - that's good," Colossus says, looking as though he'd rather melt into the floor than say another word. "And training is going well?"

"It's great," you said, swinging your legs. You've decided to sit on the desk and your feet don't quite touch the floor. "Definitely getting some muscle definition back."

“I- I can see that.”

You kept swinging your legs. “Oh, is that right? What do you see?”

“Your legs look nice.” This must have been his best attempt at being brazen. Colossus took a deep breath and made his best effort to appear confident. “You seem… happier than when you arrived.”

“That’s because I get to see you every day now,” you replied, staring him dead in the eye and smiling sweetly. 

He didn’t break eye contact for once. “Oh...”

“You know what the best part about being home is?”

You’d realized that he’d slowly been inching towards you. He’d been going so slowly, you hadn’t really noticed, but the sudden heat and mass of him standing directly before you caught you off guard. He’d changed out of his uniform - the civilian clothes worked well for him.

“What’s that?”

He was closer, nearly touching your knees. You still hadn’t figured out when exactly he’d edged forward, when he’d took the steps to close the gap. You needed him closer.

“You.”

He sighed, leaning in. “This is not how I planned-”

“Are you gonna keep standing there, or are you gonna kiss me?”

Colossus didn’t respond - instead, he did the sensible thing. He leaned in, took your face in his hands, and kissed you. He was clearly intending for this to be a sweet, tender first kiss - soft and lovely and all things good. That was nice, but sweet and tender could come later. You had other plans - thankfully, he went along with them.

The universe quantified down to your mouth on his, and you had the vague, idle thought that hopefully Wade would do his job and guard the door. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your level (he’s so fucking tall), tongue swiping against his bottom lip. He tipped your chin back with his thumb, one hand on your cheek, the other sliding down to your thigh. 

You’d always been a bit, well, forward - and you were never one to just let your partner take the lead. You were painfully aware that his knees were between your legs, that you were squeezing his thighs, that your skirts were rucked up a little too high for decency. You hooked your ankle around the back of his thigh and drew him closer, closer, until he was pressed up against you, bearing down on you, pushing your back against the desktop. You ached deep in your gut, and the noise he makes at the back of his throat as you slipped your tongue between his teeth only made the building pressure in your abdomen worse.

So you made the next sensible move: you took his hand and slid it up, up, up your thigh, up under your skirts, and left it resting at the top of your thigh. The groan he made, deep and vibrating in his chest, ripped straight through you. He slid his thumb under the band of your underwear, drawing circles in the soft skin.

He paused, hesitant, as if he had something to say. You grasped his shoulders, stroking down his chest, and palmed the front of his pants with a grin. His hips twitched, pressing into you, and you felt just how big he is.

“Wicked woman,” he grunted, pressing a kiss to your cheek, your neck, all the way down to your collarbone. He slid his thumb along the line of your underwear, slipping underneath the fabric to flick your clit. He dipped a finger in, spreading your wetness as he pressed a single digit in down to the knuckle. “There are better places to do this…”

You pressed your face into his neck to stifle the whimper spilling out of your mouth. “Such as?”

“My bed is bigger than this desk…”

“Race you there.”

[strawberryybird]

So whats your favorite thing about each of your fe3h favs? Anything you could just go on a long rant about for any of them? or interactions between them that you wish had happened or wanted to happen.

Waking up in the morning and going through all of the drunk blogging and “-thank-u-for-weathering-my-deep-need-to-be-liked-and-given-attention-off-main-I-guess” if this isn’t a whole mood on its own I don’t know what is. Anyways it sounds like you had fun and it was definetly fun reading everything. I hope you are feeling okay the day after everything. And to tack on a random question which fe3h character would you want to get drunk with if it was just the two of you?

Hi Hello!! thank u for enjoying my drunk blogging !!! and for the asks!!! (and the lovely comments on my fics actually hi there ur wonderful!!!) i’m currently cursing the damage i’ve done to my sleep schedule and suffering under my (truly deserved) hangover lmao ;p apologies u don’t get drunk me, only uncaffeinated hangover me, but we talk to the same degree and make the same spelling errors lol

ah yes.. im a fountain of moods (all of u still with me here are saints hhhh)

ok content time:

the second one first: i absolutely want to get drunk with ferdinand von aegir. the man’s a hop, skip and a vodka shot away from a mess. i love him. he’d be full of conversation and would buy the rounds every time as a true nobleman should !! he’d probably be really good at instigating drinking games but horrible at playing them.. i love party gay ferdie von aegir.

i’m going to LIMIT the faves i list because truly i love them all very much but i have to at least pretend i have some restraint and i don’t want to make this even More of a wall of text it’s going to become . SO 

edit: ok i started writing this at like. half ten pm. when the fuck did it become monday. 

edit edit: Disclaimer time: these are my conclusions and my conclusions alone. I’m not saying I’m objectively right or correct. I’m very much approaching this from an English Lit-ish point of view because that’s just how I look at a lot of media. I’m not asserting my opinions or conclusions as the only viable to interpret this media, and if anything I say offends you then I am sorry, it was not my intention but I acknowledge that I have hurt you. This is not the exhaustive list of my thoughts on the whole thing, there’s a lot more depth and detail I didn’t go in to.

My favourite thing about Edelgard is the Everything, but notably I really love her proud nature and how in VW it quite directly gets her *spoilered*, and in CF it’s integral to her success (bc it’s her own rigidity within herself that keeps her standing i think) and I Like Tragic Characters (and it’s very elinor dashwood). because it’s one of the qualities that can throw her character into a villainous light & it’s really interesting !! but at the same time.. it’s not quite ‘pride’ purely, and it’s kinda the wrong word. it’s some mixture of determined/stubbon, anger, self-reliance, and that really hard veneer of personality u develop when you’re around people who aren’t healthy for you to be around, and the very very critical need to be right about the choices you made because the weight of the  consequences would kinda ruin you if you weren’t. (the dean winchester effect huh) and wrap that up together with a big scoop of ‘i believe my way is right’ (’and my way Has to be right’) and then u get a lot of what i LOVE about Edelgard’s character

My favourite thing about Dorothea is really how she was the character that Hated the war. genuinely the contrast between white clouds dorothea & timeskip dorothea Breaks My Heart EVery Time I See Her !!!!! that and Spoilers!!! (her last words in AM unrecruited is edelgards name and i literally had to stop and cry about it for five minutes.) she’s one of the characters that post-war doesn’t have a Massive political stake in the war - like there’s her anger towards the current class system (another reason i bloody love her PLEASE give me angry feminine characters) but i think it’s her bonds with edie (or byleth&whoever if recruited) that keep her actually fighting in the war & it’s kinda different and i like that (actually i think she parallels/sends up/contrasts really really nicely with mercedes in that way)

my favourite thing about Marianne is just everything. how she finds worth within herself if you play VW (and the very very harrowing hc that she didn’t if you don’t), how she’s full of a quiet rage for the crest system but you eek it out of her as you play the game. how she’s still loved by the deers despite her appalling mental health (fight me on that canon) and the game essentially has her ‘save’ herself by finding worth and life within herself. i love her so much ok. (i also love her because she committed identity theft.. she and i share a name with the second dashwood sister oho (but i don’t use that name on the internet hhh) (also because my favourite shakespeare play is king lear (no really it is), my birthday is in red wolf moon too, i used to have very long hair i wore in a plait most days for school, little 11 and 17 year old me acted Exactly like white clouds marianne did & genuinely i love marianne von edmund to pieces but God it hurts to see her in game sometimes bc her journey mirrors a lot of mine & i love this character. so much.) WOW that was a lot. am i sure im not still drunk

so claude is not only one of my favourite characters in the whole damn game, but also shares the name of one of my favourite painters so i simply have to love him ;p however i can’t give a proper opinion on him yet because i haven’t finished playing deers yet :( but !! i love how (as is with all the lords) he has a veneer of personality to him, but in contrast to Edie where it’s quite seemless with her actual personality, Claude’s veneer of personality seems very opaque and plastered on. i may or may not just be wildly imagining things but he’s a very different personality in his lower supports with Lysithea than he is in his B support with Marianne, for instance. like, i love characters that are obviously a lot more socially intelligent than i could ever be, and claude is *chef kiss* BEAUTIFUL ON EVERY LEVEL.

i’d wax lyrical about Ingrid too but honestly there’s many better people out there with the good ingrid content than i could do. shortly, i love the New Take on the pegasus knight archetype she brings, and i really like her perspective on femininity !!! she’s such a good character & she brings so much to the game and to the pegasus knight character too!!!!! she’s such a bright personality and altho i wish so many of her supports weren’t centred around make-up (hhh dorogrid fans i pray for you), i think she’s really going to pave the way for whoever’s next in that character slot. (like, you can’t tell me she’s not an offshoot of Phila from awakening lmao)

no ok i’m adding in Hubert because i love this vampire man. i really really love the devoted servant archetype and we all know i love edelgard’s tragedy. and i love hubert. so much. the way he enables edelgard in pretty much everything is just so so interesting to think about, and i love his intensity about it. he’s like the ever present reminder that edelgard’s will kinda has to work otherwise the potential consequences of her being wrong are personified in hubert imo. it’s only touched on in VW in his letter but like. god i wish we got more but it’s a wonderful starting block. i love his comic relief as well, he’s such a fun character to have !!!! and also i have so many hubert fics in my bookmarks that just Get him. i love hubert. oh i love hubert.

i’m going to cut myself off there because . that’s just a LOT. 

as for characters i would sell a limb to have them talk to each other, honestly it’s Edelgard/Marianne. (and only 51% because of all the projection i have going on with those two ok don’t at me i  k n o w). that support chain would be too powerful and honestly i wish they had one becuauese it would have gone so Hard about what Edelgard was doing and what Marianne thought about it, and how they connected over it & they probably would have had their supports set over cups of tea or smth .. it would have been amazing. 

(but i’d rather have nothing than an awakening-level-content support where they talk about eating fucking bear meat instead of talking about how they grew to trust each other with and their ability to save the fate of the world HUH AWAKENING. (i’m salty about fredrobin forever)

also hilda/dorothea supports . we were robbed. they’re best friends and you can’t actually tell me otherwise. they run the disaster bi chat of garreg mach. honestly i just would Love a support chain for them that starts with them talking about self care routines and something really small like accessories or perfume and it goes into how self-esteem and how dorothea has to find the same worth in herself as hilda so easily can. (hilda’s the queen of self esteem she’s a babe) and in CF they could have dialogue and then we cry about it. and in SS they talk about how they both chose their place with Byleth and not at edie/claude’s side like i’m just free balling here it could be Anything and i’d love it. 

also big shocker .. dorothea/marianne supports . they both hate themselves in their profile CAN THEY PLEASE CHAT. 

also i accidentally fell in love with the claude/edelgard ship and i desperately need them to interact on the same level that edie and dimitri get to because.. aren’t there supposed to be three main characters huh intsys .. and like i get what the game goes for with two of the lords embroiled in a personal war against each other at the heart and the third actually finding something close to the truth because he’s not involved in age old grudge matches but at the same time That’s one of the things that really really falls flat for me in the game. dimitri’s villain is edie, edie’s villain is big dragon wife, claude’s villain is the lack of communication that everyone in fodlan suffers from apparently. lack of communication and lies. ymmv with what im saying rn but i would have preferred if all three lords had strong personal ties to each other and in Each Route it was brought up. or just snip dimitri’s dialogue out of CF because i have beef with how that WHOLE moment went down on so many accounts hhhh honestly it makes me angerey to think about lol

.. back on topic- can the lords pls talk to each other because it would be SO interesting in white clouds and i like seeing how their personality presentations clash

also . can i marry manuela yet. my crops are dying here.

.. im so sorry about this but it’s midnight and i’m too tired to edit so. have this. thank you so much for the questions!!!! very kind (and brave) of you to ask me!!!!! i had a lot of fun writing all of this & as always if anything you didn’t quite /get/ i’m happy to re-explain myself!! :)

[spoilersfm]

*   𝗽𝘂𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝗶𝗻 𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝗲   :    violence incited on his buddy boys at a denny’s parking lot? he's On His Way! from his lil cousin's bat mitzvah with a borrowed sword right now.     sound equipment bought on sweet ass deals, babey!       a bike only used to make a point.       that one vine that got you in detention for playing loud on accident in class.       a ride at a pier taken one too many times in a row;   bleary-eyed and reminiscing of a better time where he didn't straight up moan after that first bong hit.         the shocker of an earburn through a movie marathon that you can't say shit to because he's hosting.         "let's start a podcast."  "i will find your parents."       the mole you thought was cancer when you were twelve. .     ／        𝗝𝗢𝗘𝗟   𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟   𝗩𝗔𝗡  𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗘.   𝗘𝗦𝗧.   𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟴

named  joel mitchell van dyne.       his parents think they’re on some riverdale shite and named his older brother jason and their two dogs jack and jellybean.     their names? robert and goddamn barbara van dyne.       goes by  joel mainly bc fuck else is coming out of that.       jole the eternal gag and the one that will get your feelings hurt,   mole.

born in jersey city, new jersey.       once a minor threat like every other child in the community until he managed to slap on a ankle bracelet and be on house arrest for his fuckshit at sixteen   /   a feral youth. a juvenile idiot tracking down cars to vandalize right in front of god and everyone because the owner tried to ban him and his brother from a theater in a town nearby.         aged  twenty one,  turns twenty-two in rex manning day april 8.     id’s as a cismale with absolutely no rights!       bisexual with no preferences     /   every hole could be a goal.       romantically there but it’s usually these random bouts of fuck mode that cease into a solid period of i don’t exist to anyone, not even to myself but we’ll run mallrats about it in the bg of a dark room,  stoned and sometimes crying just to cry, in two-days old cum-crusted boxers or stark nude with our hair tied up looking like gollum with a sick bush editing vid essays for cash but it’s fine,  he’s fine.       studies  film at lockwood and is on his way into his third year.       wasn’t really his first choice because college wasn’t but he was persuaded  -  doesn’t regret that shit!       resides in peregrines for the sexy wifi situation and later the general comm of it.       community crew member     /     freelance editor for youtubers and local filmmakers.   u want ur shite edited or need the hookups around town,  he’s there, garbage-humored and broke pay him.    

has   somewhat of an unknown legacy online that summarizes his presence     /    made a viral vine that’s basically a 7-secs porn clip but had an audio of guns getting cocked and gunshots over the oh-so-musical sounds of skin and balls slapping and the eventual facial  -  no one knows he did it and he wasn’t high at the time but that post nut clarity sure was a #moment.      "talent" he very clearly misuses.         trust issues but don’t we all.       a knack for not shutting the fuck up throughout films and it worked for once     /     what started as ridiculous themed movie marathon parties hosted at the van dyne’s basement two years ago turned into a movie commentary channel on yt named van dyne and friends*  ( wc )     ━    think pretty much it type content but less quality;   all jokey,  lighthearted but passionate hate watches,  regular guests of close friends who either love or hate certain movies, genres, etc. hosted by joel and his brother and it’s a fully a hobby he refuses to stress over but managed to have it be a source of income thank god;  primary to his freelancing.         no actual reason as to why he picked tatiana   -   his personal onion on her doesn’t count even if it did influence the last decision so it does nvm  -   a dear friend of his ( wc oh wow look we’ve learned ) got screwed somehow and he was like oh word? say no more baby bitch.        a mishandled anxiety disorder if you couldn’t tell by now     /    been a problem he refused to acknowledge and then he was introduced to oui’d at fifteen ish and that worked until he realized how much he used it to regulate his day to the point where he couldn’t eat at all without getting zooted so it’s less of that now.          a liking for the horrific,  the horny and the artistically crackheaded and you’d be distraught as to what he personally categorizes as any of each.      a jersey accent he couldn’t mask if he tried.         a twitter account he barely uses other than to get recs for comm tracks and tweet dumb shit to delete an hour later for the fun of it but he’s fairly active on instagram.               

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗪.

is this chaos? u tell me. is everything actually written? of course not but it only took me a few days and my remaining four brain cells holding on for dear life and begging me to go the f*ck to sleep to get it out there + there’s always time 2 flesh out shite on the side! wcs are still a process for me to list down but i do have a bunch in mind  /  would love to bounce a few ideas back at ur muses to see what works ! like this post or hmu in the ims or hmu on disco @ clowncore claudia#5377 where i truly shine as a mess xx

[mtvswatches]

Crazy Ex Girlfriend 4x10 I Can Work With You

Stray thoughts

1) It’s amazing but the show actually accomplished it – I dig the new theme song. I’m actually singing along.

2) I repeat: Other Rebecca needs help.

3) Okay…

REBECCA: You're weird around her. It's like you can barely even look at her, because she reminds you of a very traumatic time in your life where you made some rash decisions and contributed to the existence of another person and maybe didn't fully think it through.

Even though this is incredibly introspective and it makes sense, it wasn’t the explanation I was expecting to get from Rebecca. Accepting to be Daryl’s baby’s surrogate mother was a rash decision, yes. And even though it rubbed me the wrong way how she showed no interest in the baby, it made sense, it was consistent with her behavior. She made the decision to carry the baby without giving it much thought. Likewise, she wasn’t giving the baby much thought.

I actually chalked it up to Rebecca being a self-centered dick. She might be making improvements as regards her mental health and introspection, but she’s still utterly self-centered and a dick.

4) I loved the Jersey Shore reference!

REBECCA: Snooki has a baby. She has two babies.

DARRYL: And look at what a great job she's doing with Lorenzo and Giovanna.

Yes, I love Jersey Shore. Occasionally, I love crap.

5) Shouldn’t Greg and his dad be attending different help groups? It kind of defeats the whole “anonymous” purpose…

But I like how we got to see Greg’s sponsor again and see how seriously Greg takes his advice.

6) I keep relating to Paula so much…

PAULA: Second, that is how I wanted to celebrate my birthday With you and some room-temp California rolls. It was perfect. No one stared at me and no one sang "Happy Birthday," so it was a big win.

I loathe celebrating my birthday.

7) It’s kind of a shocker that Mrs H sucks at charades, isn’t it?

8) Me, everytime Josh speaks:

9) Also, me:

Replace “Beverly Hills” with any TV show I binge-watch.

10) I relate to Rebecca so much because I’m so not a baby person either. I had a very similar experience the first time babysitting one of my best friend’s babies. I just don’t know what to do with babies. They are so fragile and unpredictable, an enigma. Toddlers and kids, that’s a whole other thing. Once I can actually communicate with them, they love me.

11) Oh, the game night is Paula’s graduation party! I can understand her not wanting to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t celebrate my graduation either! But I agree with Paula’s husband, though. Rebecca would’ve totally gone to the game night if she had known it was Paula’s graduation party.

12) The game sounds boring af, though. I think they wasted a great opportunity to come up with a nonsensical game that only the characters in the show understand and whose rules are super vague for the audience, a la “True American” from New Girl.

13) I really love it when Nathaniel violently claims he’s nice.

14) Valencia is going to mop the floor with Hector, isn’t she? Will learn why she is so mean to him, though?

15) I laughed so hard at this…

JOSH: Um, what happened to Marvin Gaye?

PAULA: Oh, his dad murdered him. Anyway…

JOSH: As an adult?

NATHANIEL: No, Josh, as a baby. Marvin Gaye was murdered as a baby. All the music that he made that you love, he made as a baby.

JOSH: Whoa.

16) “You left West Covina just to get away from me.” Again, this is a bit self-centered. Yes, Rebecca definitely played a huge part in Greg deciding to leave West Covina, but he also did it for very personal reasons related to his own desires, ambitions and mental health. What’s more, I just don’t understand how Rebecca doesn’t realize that in spite of all the crazy shit she’s done, her coming to West Covina put in motion a chain of events that affected everyone’s lives in a positive way. All of the characters are at a better place than they were before Rebecca arrived in town, Greg included! So yeah, she might be a whirlwind who usually fucks things up, but she’s served as the catalyst for everyone’s self-improvement as well.

17) Ummmmmmmm

In the words of Joshua Felix Chan…

I did not see that coming. I was expecting the writers to rekindle this relationship, but I didn’t see them getting involved so soon after meeting again? Like, there’s so much stuff they still have to work through, plus they have to get reacquainted with one another? Both of them have changed so much! Are they into the actual person in front of them or are they holding onto the idea of the person they used to be who made them feel a certain way?

Let’s just hope this is going in an interesting direction… (but I don’t know if “Settle for Me” playing in the background right before they kissed is a good omen…)

18) I really enjoyed this number…

And I really loved how their parents were playing the instruments and looked bitterly disappointed once they finished hahaha!

19) GOOD. GOOD!

Yeah, something feels weird. So, listen. You know me I'm usually the first person to impulsively throw myself into any really romantic moment, but I think I got to just take a beat and deal with the fact that right before you so sweetly kissed me, I was in the middle of a shame spiral. Which isn't just a me thing. That's a thing that happens with my disorder, BPD. Um, and basically, it's what you saw. I can spiral out about things, in this case oh, my fear that everyone hates me and that I'm a contagious plague in the form of a woman, even though intellectually I know that I'm not.

I really like what they’ve been doing this season with Rebecca’s disorder and the way she handles it. The fact that she got a diagnosis and she’s being treated doesn’t mean that she’s magically cured, so she’s bound to make some mistakes again and to act out because of her disorder. The difference now is that she understands where those impulses and crises come from and she’s better equipped to deal with them properly instead of continuing spiraling.

20) Oh, they’re still going at it…

And this shot reminds me of “Oh My God I think I Like You.”

21) Let me just say that I’m so fucking happy that Paula finally got her dream that made her feel like she deserves a dream, okay?

22) Ha!

No one here is a mind reader, except maybe Valencia. She's into that occult stuff.

Jokes aside, he makes a great point. You can’t fault people for not acting the way you expect them to if you haven’t communicated it properly, you know?

23) I actually enjoyed their bonding? Yes, I am surprised.

24) I liked how Hector and Valencia were able to bury the hatchet, but honestly, I was hoping for Valencia’s reason to bully Hector to be a bit juicier than “I hate you because everyone likes you.”

25) Girl really has no boundaries, she just had sex on Darryl’s carpet while babysitting his daughter…

26) Oh damn, they cut that Greg and Rebecca song too short! I was super digging it!

27) Oh, Nathaniel, you’re a softie…

28) I stand corrected. NO ONE HAS ANY BOUNDARIES IN THIS FUCKING SHOW.

29) Oh, lord, they did a “Hello, nice to meet you” reprise with the baby and I DIED! It’s the sweetest thing ever!!!

Hello, nice to meet you, we share chromosomes

Hello, nice to meet you, you're kind of… me

So, since you're both the future and kind of a mirror

I'll tell you right now that life doesn't get clearer

All I can say is have fun in the gray

Well, anyway

It's nice to meet you.

Not gonna lie, I teared up a little…

30) What a wholesome moment…

31) Poor Nathaniel…

32) Oh, wow, for a second there, I was afraid Rebecca was going to say “Greg makes me feel like glitter was exploding inside of me”…

It feels different, Paula. It's different this time. Greg makes me feel like I'm… like I'm okay because he's so much more okay now, you know? And like maybe we could be the best versions of ourselves if we're together.

33) Oh, Nathaniel 💔💔💔

34) I think Rebecca might have jinxed it by saying that she enjoys the Beverly Hills drama... some drama is headed to West Covina...

35)  Hope you enjoyed my recap, and, as usual, if you’ve got this far, thank you for reading! If you enjoy my recaps and my blog, please consider supporting it on ko-fi.Thanks!

[hockeyandstuff91]

I’m The Only One

Word Count: 1,828

Player: Taylor Hall

Warning: cussing, fighting

Authors note: This was an idea that I had last night while I was listening to music. The song “I’m The Only One” by Melissa Etheridge was playing and it gave me the idea for this story! Hope you all enjoy it! :)

Also thank you @inthebyf for helping me pick which player and help with how to start this! LOVE YOU GIRL <3

If you want to listen to the song here’s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCphbDRkZSo

"Taylor!"

"What?" He grumbled as he dropped his hockey bag on the floor of the living room and headed towards the bedroom.

"Why are you so mad?!" You asked as you followed after him.

"Because since I have gotten home its been nothing but passive aggressiveness from you," he said, turning around to look at you.

You raised your eyebrows at him and shook your head. "Wow."

"Well it has!"

"No you're right. I have been but its because you wont even listen to me."

He just looked at you, waiting for you to continue.

"Every time you get home from the away games you get mad at me for calling you."

"You know I'm busy! It's not like I'm with some girl or something."

"I'm highly aware of this Taylor. But we are in a relationship here," you said motioning between the two of you. "You don't just stop communication for a period of time because you are away from home. What am I suppose to think?!"

"You know my job Y/N! I'm with the guys, or practicing, or at the game, or media. It never ends and when I get back to the hotel I just want to sleep."

"I understand this. I'm busy too! I have my own business I run for fuck sakes but I still find time for you and all your games and everything!"

"I never asked you to clear your schedule for me Y/N."

"I never said that you did! I did it because I love you. I just can't stand that you wont talk to me at all while you are gone. I mean sometimes you are gone for weeks! You are really going to stand here and tell me you cant find a second to text me something! Anything!"

He just stood there staring at you, not saying anything because he knew you were right but didn't want to admit it. After a long moment of silence he finally spoke "You seriously need to talk to me all the time?"

"No! I just sometimes need to know you're fucking OKAY or maybe just NEED TO TALK TO YOU," your voice was raised and you were shaking at this point.

"Oh! And you also texted me while I was gone saying how it was really funny how I was liking some other 'bitches' Instagram posts," he added, remembering something you had texted him the day before he got home.

"WELL YEAH! I see that you have time to like someones fucking Instagram post but not text me?!"

"No you're just jealous obviously," he mumbled as he turned around.

"Excuse me?!"

"You heard me."

"You are damn right I did! Fuck you Taylor I'm not jealous of some fake barbie bitch on Instagram. I'm pissed off that you don't make time for me after your countless promises that you will. I'm sick of it!"

"Yeah well me too!" he said, turning around and walking over to you.

The two of you froze when you realized what was going to happen next. You swallowed hard and looked down, avoiding any and all eye contact with him.

"I'm going to go," he said, softer than you thought he was going to. All you could do was nod.

You stood there in that same spot, not moving or looking up as he walked around you, grabbing his stuff and shoving it into one of his duffel bags. He walked by you and out of the bedroom door, his footsteps disappearing behind you before you heard the door open and close.

That was when you finally let yourself go and you collapsed on the bed, crying.

It had been a month since the fight and everything was just.. quiet without him here. He had come by to pick up the rest of his stuff the next day while you were at work and you hadn't really seen him since then. Of course you saw him when he played during the games but you tried to focus your attention on someone else for the most part. A lot of your mutual friends would check on you, which you appreciated a lot. You were glad that even though you weren't still together you weren't going to lose everyone that you had gotten close with. A few of them even informed you when there was a new girl but always reassured you that she was lame, or just a puck bunny, and it wouldn't last. They would constantly remind you that you were the best thing that he had and he would eventually realize it. You weren't so sure, but it didn't matter right now.

You were sitting on the couch just watching some TV. The girls had decided to go to the bar tonight and had invited you but you really weren't in the mood tonight. You just wanted to curl up on the couch, have some pop corn, and watch a bunch of horror movies.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table at an intense part of the movie, causing you to jump. You groaned and leaned forward, grabbing it seeing that it was Brittney.

Britt: Y/N hes down here tonight. With her

Y/N: Ok? why do I care?

Britt: Hes been begging her to go and sing all damn night but she wont.

Y/N: And?

Britt: Don't you get it! Your singing was his favorite thing ever. He always would say he could listen to you for hours. He's trying to replace that part too.

Y/N: Shocker.

Britt: She just got another drink and I think after this one hits her she might actually say yes. come watch this train wreck please!

Y/N: Ughhh FINE I’ll be down in 10.

Britt: Alright. We're at the usual table.

It didn't take long for you to get ready. You didn't plan on staying long so a regular t shirt and pair of jeans was good enough. It was a bar anyways so who cared. The drive was short, thankfully the apartment was close to pretty much everything and you didn't plan on drinking anyways so there was no reason to walk. When you got there she was just starting a song. You hung out by the door not wanting Taylor to see you.

You had to see this.

She wasn't the worst you had ever heard, and being plastered probably was making it even worse than if she was sober, but she wasn't good. Not even close. Most of the people were ignoring her, or trying to.

Britt saw you and waved you over, thankfully Taylor didn't know you were here yet. You sneaked over and sat next to her in the booth. She was trying so hard to laugh quietly.

"I told you this was going to be good," she laughed.

You just nodded and continued to watch her. You looked over and saw the look on his face, it was a mix of disappointment and trying to be supportive. You could tell he missed your singing and wanting this chick to be able to do what you could but you knew that she couldn't. Which made you feel good but also kind of bad for her at the same time.

After she had walked off the stage you stood up and Britt grabbed you arm.

"Where are you going?!"

You just pulled your arm away and walked up to the stage. Mark, the head of the band that played, recognized you and announced that you were here. A few regulars cheered, you had been singing here since you turned 21 and was let in. Singing had been a passion of yours for as long as you could remember. You had sang with your mom when you were little and all throughout school. The bar had been the next stage for you after high school was over with, since you never really wanted to pursue a career in music.

"What song sweetie?" Mark asked you.

"Melissa Etheridge - I'm The Only One"

"Sounds good!" he said and turned to his band to let them know what song to start playing.

You nodded and turned around, looking out into the crowd and saw that Taylor’s mouth was wide open, eyes bulging. He was about to be in even more shock with the song choice you picked if he listened to the lyrics well enough at least. This should be good..

You listened to the intro play waiting for your cue. You took a deep breath and started singing.

"Please baby can't you see my mind's a burnin' hell I got razors a rippin' and tearin' and strippin' my heart apart as well,"

You looked out into the crowd as you sang, looking over at Britt and the rest of the girls who were smiling big, realizing what song this was. By the second verse they had gotten up and started dancing to the music which made you smile. You had yet to look over to see Taylor's face until you sang that one part of the song..

"Go on and hold her till the screaming is gone. Go on believe her when she tells you Nothing's wrong..." You took a deep breath before singing the next line. "But I'm the only one who'll walk across the fire for you And I'm the only one who'll drown in my desire for you. It's only fear that makes you run The demons that you're hiding from when all your promises are gone I'm the only oooooone" you belted out, watching his face. You could tell he was paying attention this time.

You sang the chorus a couple more times with the song before it ended. Everyone in the bar started clapping and you shakily set the mic back into the microphone stand. You smiled and waved at everyone.

Mark walked over to you, placing his hand on your back, noticing that you were a little shaky. He smiled "Wanna do another?"

"No that was good for now. Thanks guys," you smiled and waved to the band. You turned and started walking down the steps, Britt ran over and grabbed your arm to make sure you didn't fall.

"That. Was. Amazing. You saw his face right?!" She whispered as you walked back to their table and you just nodded your head.

You could feel Taylor's eyes on you the whole time that you walked to the table. You chanced a look over at him, seeing that the girl that he was with was getting mad and yelling at him for clearly paying more attention to you than her. He was completely ignoring the fact that she was even there and was just looking at you, his mouth opened a bit and his eyes filled with sadness.

That was the moment when you realized that your mutual friends were right.. He did actually realize that he lost out on the best thing that he ever had.

[magalarajoonideprohvetid]

blackouts [transgressive anthropology]

«Wow! I thought the lights went out!» (sudden exclamation by prof. Carlo Cubero at Debates in Anthropology lecture on the 15th of March 2018)

This moment is embedded in my memory, an ultimate manifestation of honesty, said out loud with no restraints, the peak of the lecture, the peak of the whole course – a sudden darkness. I do not know about you but I have on several occasions felt a sudden blackout, like the blink of an eye and I am not sure – did I just blink, did the lights go out for a micro-second, did my brain shutdown for a second, did I have a stroke, did only I (not) see it? Usually I have had others around me to calm me down, «Yes, we saw it also, I think the electricity flickered for a moment.» Is it you, Niko, sending us inter-dimensional messages through your most known invention, chthonic news through alternative current? If there would not be electricity in our households, would I even be writing about this phenomena, is momentary blackout a ‘thing’ without the light bulb? Or am I writing about something completely different, the blackout our unconsciousness creates when our consciousness is not ready for the incoming message?

writing culture

If there are any dogmas in anthropology, it is the inclusion of fieldwork into the methodological frame - for it to count as anthropology, a researcher needs to step out of academia and come back with outsourced data. Yes, it is extremely valuable that there is something new added to the usual academics circular referencing, agency has been given to the unheard and original voices. But in the same time questions arises - what is and when is anthropology? Is it students reading the theories? Or is it anthropologist on the fieldsite? James Clifford analyzes the cover picture of Writing Culture, where Stephen Tyler is writing during his fieldwork:

«In this image the ethnographer hovers at the edge of the frame—faceless, almost extraterrestrial, a hand that writes. It is not the usual portrait of anthropological fieldwork. We are more accustomed to pictures of Margaret Mead exuberantly playing with children in Manus or questioning villagers in Bali. Participant observation, the classic formula for ethnographic work, leaves little room for texts.» (Clifford, 1)

This picture gives the impression than an anthropologist does everything in the field, he participates, observes and simultaneously writes. In reality the ‘real’ writing happens retrospectively, and that might be one of the biggest problems of anthropology – there is no anthropology of the present, the reproducible anthropology is classically done in the post-fieldwork stage. This is valid for both ethnographic writing and film, as both ‘texts’ are produced afterwards. Doing currently auto-fieldwork, being on ‘ramadan-mode’, I am deeply stressed as I cannot do much writing, my notes are scribbles bearing no great weight, I am too heavily influenced and too stuck in the actual experience to do any reflective writing. Vincent Crapanzano says similar things about Goethe’s experience of the carnival:

«A conventional Ash Wednesday meditation, perhaps, Goethe's conclusion marks are turn to contemplation, introspection, and concern for the meaning of what we do. His “return” parallels a return in the ceremony he describes. During the carnival there is no reflection, just play, masquerading, and, as we say nowadays, acting out. With Ash Wednesday begins a period of penitence, and, we must presume, a return to introspection, order, and individuality.» (Crapanzano, 68)

After the experience thou, the author becomes active and starts to describe the lived experiences; how the description is done, how it is reflected and to whom it is directed, that depends on the author. Crapanzano describes the ethnographic encounters of George Caitlin with the Mandan tribe in North America and their initiation rituals of O-Kee-Pa:

«Here Catlin moves from his (objectifying) metaphorical perspective to that of the tortured; despite this move, his intention is not phenomenological, but rhetorical: He does not describe either the Indian's or his own experience of the torture. The «imps and demons as they appear» (to whom? to Catlin? to the Mandan?) is stylistically equivalent to «there is no hope of escape from it.» They are directed to the reader, and it is the reader's reaction that will guarantee Catlin's perceptions.» (Crapanzano, 57)

So Caitlin’s intention was to captivate the reader, to tell the story in a way that it works specifically on the reader, it is not him nor Native Americans in the story he has written, it is the reader he is trying to drag into the story. In Caitlin’s case, the author is playing around with the reader’s morality and the reader’s possible endeavor toward morality. Crapanzano gives another example, where the author is more inclined to play on the ‘dirty’ thoughts of the reader by using contemporary puns:

«The title of Clifford Geertz’s essay «Deep Play: Notes on a Balinese Cockfight,» written about the time the film Deep Throat was all the rage, announces a series of erotic puns—puns, Geertz maintains, the Balinese themselves would understand—used throughout his essay. Puns are frequent in ethnography. They position the ethnographer between his world of primary orientation, his reader's world, and the world of those others, the people he has studied, whom at some level, I believe, he is also addressing (Crapanzano 1977a). Through the pun he appeals collusively to the members of one or the other world, usually the world of his readership, there by creating a hierarchical relationship between them. He himself, the punster, mediates between these worlds.» (Crapanzano, 68-69)

Crapanzano’s general theme for the article in Writing Culture is anthropologist/ethnographer as god Hermes, someone who is always bringing messages, someone who is a translator between ‘gods’ and ‘humans’, but whose messages might not contain the whole truth, they (singular!) might be lying for the sake of themself, the informants or for the sake of the readers, they needs to make a convincing case (Ibid, 52).

transgressive fiction

If I have to name three books from high school that really influenced me (both literally and literary), then these books were not and most probably will not be in the obligatory reading list. Two of them were loaned to me by friends, they had read them and suggested that I would be interested – Dead Babies by Amis Martin and The Beach by Alex Garland. Both stories travel in closed communities where sex and drug usage is common among the characters, where atrocities happen to them, and in general the environment of the book, its locus is a degenerate one. If one is to make charts, then Dead Babies is in my opinion a few grades more on the transgressive fiction side than The Beach. Now the third book was Check-out by Estonian author Kaur Kender, the first and last book in Estonia that has had «PARENTAL ADVISORY EXPLICIT CONTENT» sticker on it (only for advertisement reasons, there has not yet been such restrictions in the literary scene). The protagonist of this book is a filthy rich business-man, whose main efforts in life revolve around fornication and intoxication, both fueled by boredom and leading to the humiliation of others as he is capable to do whatever he wants with other people, it is self-destruction and liberation, mirroring society back at itself. Having grown up watching movies like Pulp Fiction and Dobermann, where protagonists are the ‘baddest’ on the conventional moral and ethical paradigm but in the same time there is something likable about them, they stand on the right side of life whilst doing bad things, Check-out did come as a shocker because there was nothing good about the main character, he was utterly bad, none of that misunderstood Robin Hood type of ‘badness’. For the first time I had been transgressed by the author, and I transgressed into the character. In retrospective Kender has said (heard it on a public event of the re-release of the Check-out in 2016), that the character was based on the stories he had witnessed and heard of local businessmen, and of his own alcohol and drug addictions (especially the ending of the book, where the protagonist starts using heroin). His book was based on participant observations and autoethnographical method.

Chuck Palahniuk is most known for his novel Fight Club, made famous by movie adaption and Brad Pitts’ six-packs’. I have not read that novel but I have read Haunted by Palahniuk (that one also has a PARENTAL ADVISORY sticker on the cover, Kender’s book was released almost a decade earlier). It tells the story of a group of people who apply for an experimental creative writing course and are then locked up in an abandoned art-house cinema. Every chapter consists of a poem about the main character of that chapter, a story of her/his origin, and a part of the main narrative with her/him as the leading character in it. The first chapter tells the story of a character named Saint Gut-Free, it consists of three different stories about ‘masturbation gone wrong’, onanism that might have killed the onanists. On page 17 of this 400 page modern horror story I have a blackout, the story becomes so disturbing, so real in my head, every word brings me closer to the conclusion of the story, and in my mind I already know where it is leading, Palahniuk has given enough hints, there is no happy ending, and every word brings it closer and my heart is rushing and I feel noxious… I blackout, I skip a paragraph (of course I read it later), I calm myself and continue reading. Palahniuk writes in the afterword a longer explanation how this story came to life, and how the reception has been so far. We tend to hope that the craziest stories are not the ones taken from real life, that these are made up, the fruit of fantasy. Palahniuk ruins the illusion the same way Kender did:

«No, this week, my writer friends just laughed, and I told them how the three-act story of ‘Guts’ was based on three true anecdotes. Two had happened to friends, and the last had happened to a man I’d met while attending sex addict support groups to research my fourth novel. They were three funny, gradually more upsetting true stories about experiments with masturbation gone wrong. Horribly wrong. Nightmarishly wrong.» (Palahniuk, 407)

Without mudding the water, I say out that in my opinion he was performing a participant observation, he, as many other writers, are ethnographers without the academia and without theory. Palahniuk’s emphasis is not on the credibility, it is on style and on affect:

«Reading ‘Guts’ takes a full head of steam. You don’t get many moments to look up from the page. But when I did, the faces in the front row looked a little gray. Beyond that were questions and answers. The book signing. The End.

It wasn’t until I’d signed the last book that a clerk said two people had fainted. Two young men. They’d both dropped to the concrete floor during ‘Guts’ but they were fine now, with no memory of anything between standing, listening, and waking up surrounded by people’s feet.» (Ibid, 408)

I could have been one of these two fainters, or at least fluctuating between consciousness and blackout. The main question for me is in the affect of the text, how something that is usually considered ‘unreal’ can make us feel physically sick?

transgressive ethnography

In a way, ethnographers have always written transgressive texts, most of the texts describe social norms and activities very different from the one of the audience of these texts. One of the dogmas for transgressive fiction is that the protagonist emerges through the violations of norms as a free(er) individual. One way of describing anthropologist is that they are like translators, who translate different cultures to an understandable format (as a colonialist discipline it used to be for the Europeans but things should have changed?). Another way of describing anthropologists is not so much as an interpreter but an inventor, s/he invents a culture, dogmatizes its principles into an ethnographic ‘holy book’, how this culture should be, has been, and will be, not understanding that it is not how it used to be, that is not how every single person inside that environment and/or space relates to that culture, and people do not have to spend their lives fulfilling the dogmas set in the ethnographer’s ‘holy scripture’ (most probably half a year later there will be a missionary there and everyone is wearing pants and singing songs of our Saviour Jesus). Vincent Crapanzano unites these two description into one:

«Like translation, ethnography is also a somewhat provisional way of coming to terms with the foreignness of languages – of cultures and societies. The ethnographer does not, however, translate texts the way translator does. He must first produce them.» (Crapanzano, 51)

Lets take for instance the infamous case of Margaret Mead and the Samoans. As we know by now, Margaret Mead went to do fieldwork with Samoan, came back and wrote an awesome ethnography on how Samoan teenage girls are sexually liberated. Derek Freeman waits a few years after Margaret Mead’s death, publishes a book on how she was wrong and that Samoans have actually very strict rules for sexual conduct. Now, there are several interpretations for this controversy, and explanations, some of them, like Paul Shankman’s The History of Samoan Sexual Conduct and the Mead-Freeman Controversy gives more ambivalent interpretation to the sexual norms and behaviors in Samoa (Shankman 1996). It could be possible that both Mead and Freeman just saw different sides of the same society, if there only would not be this moment when one of Mead’s informants tells a retrospective view of the incident:

«Yes she asked us what we did after dark. We girls would pinch each other and tell her that we were out with the boys. We were only joking but she took it seriously. As you know Samoan girls are terrific liars and love making fun of people but Margaret thought it was all true.» (Heimans 1988, 3:36)

So what did she do – ‘translate’ the culture in the wrong way, had wrong data, or maybe she was in a way creating something the readers wanted to hear? Looking at both Mead and Palahniuk I must come to the following conclusions: Samoans lied and we were happy, Palahniuk presumably told the truth and it is disgusting. We as readers, we like to read about ‘sexually liberated’ women, and Samoan girls played that role in Mead’s ethnography really well. In a way, Mead’s ethnography tells more about her own society and herself than about the Samoans, she was giving liberation to the Western world and to herself.

In a discussion about transgressive fiction, we cannot continue without talking about Untitled 12, a modern horror story by Kaur Kender, where the first person protagonist is a pedophile (and sadistic sexual pervert in general). I read the whole story on Nihilist.fm on the night it came out and it was a devastating experience, I skipped parts of it as I was not capable to read even the obviously exaggerated and absurd descriptions of sexual violence, I felt hollowed after that experience, and that was something he wished to accomplish (Kender 2015). What happened was that someone reported to the police, that it might be child pornography (Estonian laws include a very wide range of material from pictures and videos to written text as it might depict underage children in pornographic situations), and police went after it. It was taken to court and got media coverage even outside of Estonia (as it is not usual any longer in Western societies that known writers have been taken to court for these specific charges) (ERR 2017). In the end he was declared innocent by two levels of court, and has since then left Estonia with a promise to never write in Estonian again. But what was very interesting with this case was the possibilities for alternative situations and how would they have been perceived. For instance, if it would have been someone’s personal experiences, someone who had been raped as a child and if that someone writes about this experience with graphic details, could that be also considered child pornography? Or if someone describes their sexual experience as a minor (depending on the explanation of the Penal Code it could be either under 14 or 18 years old), could that be considered child pornography? As a reader, was I consuming unknowingly child pornography if Kender would have been found quilty? These may sound as hypothetical questions, but if one is active in literary world (both as producer and consumer) then these questions become rather substantial.

Untitled 12 is made up, it is fictional, and from this fictional world it became very realistic, I was in court during a few of the open hearings and those benches, the jury and the prosecutor, they were all very real. But how is this all connected to anthropology? In some cases anthropologist are not the good guys, friendly scientist, who participate with respect and observe with sincerity. For instance José Padilha’s documentary Secrets of the Tribe deals with several controversial incidents what different anthropologist researching Yanomami tribe had caused. One of these anthropologist was Jacques Lizot, who according to his victims had raped and sexually abused several young Yanomami boys (Padilha, 42:44-55:08). This was known by other anthropologist and researchers, but it was overlooked for many years and until today there has been no court cases nor other serious consequences for his real transgressions. He transgressed in real life, not in a fictional world, his victims are real human beings and not made up characters. His contribution to anthropology? Yanomami dictionary, with specific terms for sexual activities like masturbation etc.

Lizot case is a real pedophilia case, this kind of behavior is not accepted in the current Western society nor in Yanomami society, it is a taboo. Gilbert Herdt’s case is a little bit different, but the similarities reside in the transgression, in his case it is the witnessing and writing part what matters. Herdt has done fieldwork with the ‘Sambia’ tribe (pseudoneum he created for the tribe) in Papua New Guinea and has published several articles on them and a collection of these articles Sambia Sexual Culture: Essays From the Field (Herdt, 1999). The Sambia tribe used to have a rather controversial initiation rituals for young boys (current situation with these rituals is unknown for me) – they were taken from their mothers at age 9, put through painful purification ritual of bloodletting from the nose, and then forced to perform oral sex on older boys. Later on they become the boys who receive oral sex, and after that they become adult man who will marry a woman and presumably only participate in heterosexual activity. Reasoning behind the ritual is that the bloodletting will purify them from the attachment to their mother (and women in general), and that men are born without semen and to have semen one has to digest semen. Herdt seems to view these rituals from a less negative stance, as a form of bisexuality and gives agency to free sexual desires. James Giles, who has written a review of Herdt’s book, is less enthusiastic about it and clearly questions the rituals as in his opinion they are not connected to desire at all:

«… sexual behavior can be engaged in for numerous reasons, many of which have nothing to do with sexual desire (Giles, 2004). This fact is especially important to be aware of when one is studying the sexual desires of people from a sexually nonpermissive and prescriptive culture like that of the Sambia.» (Giles, 2004, 414)

Now my point is neither condemning of Sambian rituals nor Herdt’s presentation and analyze of them, my point lies much more in the product, in the ethnography. If an anthropologist writes on a similar topic, something that is in generally considered a taboo topic, that s/he describes with graphic details, then there is a chance, at least in Estonia, that someone might complain to the police, as was the case with Kender’s book. Police will then forward it to the “Porn-committee”, expert committee in Ministry of Culture, who will then decide if it is pornographic or not. We might say “But this is science and it is protected by the constitution”, but this was also the case with Kender – both are protected by the constitution:

«§ 38. Science and art and their teachings are free. Universities and research institutions are autonomous within the limits prescribed by the law.» (The Constitution of the Republic of Estonia)

What is problematic, is the Penal Code, definition of child pornography is rather broad and thus it can include different forms of it:

Ǥ 178. Manufacture of works involving child pornography or making child pornography available

(1) Manufacture, acquisition or storing, handing over, displaying or making available to another person in any other manner of pictures, writings or other works or reproductions of works depicting a person of less than eighteen years of age in a pornographic situation, or a person of less than fourteen years of age in a pornographic or erotic situation, is punishable by a pecuniary punishment or up to three years’ imprisonment.» (Penal Code)

I have been so far talking only in the context of written text, most probably the situation becomes more difficult if the text includes pictures, Allah forbid if it is not text but a film. In case it includes pictures, or if it is a film, then we have a serious ethical and moral problem, and that is not even connected to the child pornography laws. It is a question for us anthropologist, can we and should we show visual data to others, are we abusing the right for privacy, are we exploiting our informants? A great friend of mine had a self-made zine which he called National Pornographic, he had taken old National Geographic editions, cut out all pictures of naked ‘indigenous’ people and glued them together with added sensual texts. He did it purposely to show how Western society has sexualized the ‘natives’, how their breasts and nipples can be shown without censoring, as if the same rules do not apply to ‘them’ as do to ‘us’. National Geographic is a safe haven for monsters like Lizot.

[non]clusion

There are occasions when anthropologists truly transgress. And there are occasions when anthropologists write truly transgressive ethnographies. Unfortunately it usually happens after they themselves have been transgressed. Such is the case when reading Eva Moreno’s chapter Rape in the field in collection Taboo: Sex, Identity, and Erotic Subjectivity in Anthropological Fieldwork (Moreno 1995). First, and basically the foremost, she builds the story (ibid. 219-232), like the rapist built the assault on her, she builds it the same way as Palahniuk built his story, the reader is obviously hinted from the title that there will be rape but she is calmly leading the reader toward the rape, adding with the suspension until one fatal page she hits us with it. And I do blackout again, skipping paragraphs ashamed as I have a privilege to do it, she did not have a chance to skip it. The reflection part of the chapter (Ibid, 236-248) adds other layers, it elongates the rape but in a weird way calms the reader as you will see the surviving after the rape. I do not know her feelings about the chapter and writing it, but it does feel as if she has done something that is more on the positive side than on the negative one, that this text has been written with traumatic emancipation.

What seems to be essential in this inner discussion is the role of the author. These texts (both literary and audiovisual ones) would not exist without the author, people and culture and practices and incidents would abide in their own realm as they are, but these texts need the author. And as much as these texts need the author, so does the author need the texts, it is a validation of their experience. Having just finished Michael Muhammad Knight’s Osama Van Halen, sequel for his debut novel Taqwacores, I feel compelled to do something with the author. Knight’s take on the author was that he included himself as character into a fictional story, as Michael Muhammad Knight and as ‘the author’, he tossed himself around in the novel until he is beheaded by one of the main characters, by ‘burqa wearing riot grrrl’ Rabeya (Knight 2009, 207). Is the symbolical beheading of the discipline, the removal of the ‘mind’ and revival of the body, is that something that I am after as an author? Sometimes we need to blackout to flashin.

«Sun set a few hours ago, and moon is not around. Sky is striped with clouds, stratocumulus and stratus clouds, altocumulus and altostratus clouds, they are all there. Midnight prayer was already 2 hours ago and I look on horizon as the rays of dawn shine there. Smoke diffuses and the bud drops in the ashtray, I recede to lay on my bed and to watch the first season of Narcos. As the violence on screen escalates, I have doubts in my sanity, I think I am hallucinating as I continuously see flashes of lightning outside of my window. Delusions were happening already on the first week of Ramadan, I saw glimpses of movement, small swirls of energy in midair, flashes of something from the corner of my eye. Today there is lightning I see from the corner of my eye, moments of flash/ins instead of black/outs. It’s not raining and the clouds are not dark, air doesn’t feel as it has been electrified to that extent. Kristi is sleeping and I can’t get verification from anyone. After the first flash I think maybe it was some kind of trick my mind played on me, after second one I think maybe it was a reflection from TV, after the third one I assume it was an ambulance car light (I live next to a hospital). After the fourth and final flash I am afraid to look out from the window, instead I drink my last glass of water and pray dawn prayer. 17th day of Ramadan has a weird start. As I fall to sleep, I hear the rain arriving, it sooths my fears of going insane. I saw the lightning and heard the rain, but I didn’t hear the thunder nor see the drops.» (Fieldwork notes; 17th of Ramadan, 1439 / 2nd of June, 2018)

References

Clifford, James. 1986. Introduction: Partial Truths. In James Clifford & George E. Marcus (Eds.), Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography ( 1 – 27 ). Berkeley, California and London, England: University of California Press.

The Constitution of the Republic of Estonia.

Retrieved June 5, 2018 from

https://www.riigiteataja.ee/en/eli/530102013003/consolide

Crapanzano, Vincent. 1986. Hermes’ Dilemma: The Masking of Subversion in Ethnographic Description. In James Clifford & George E. Marcus (Eds.), Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography (pages of chapter). Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press.

ERR. 2016. Finnish PEN club: Kender’s ‘U12’ is a ‘grotesque thriller’, not child porn. Eesti Rahvusringhääling (ERR). Retrieved June 5, 2018 from https://news.err.ee/118569/finnish-pen-club-kender-s-u12-is-a-grotesque-thriller-not-child-porn

Garland, Alex. 1999. Rand [The Beach] (Turu, Rein, Trans.). Tallinn, Estonia: Varrak.

Giles, James. 2004. Book Reviews: Sambia Sexual Culture: Essays From the Field. Archives of Sexual Behavior, 33(4), 413–417.

Heimans, Frank (Director). 1988. Margaret Mead and Samoa [Documentary]. Cremorne, New South Wales: Cinetel Productions. Retrieved June 5, 2018 from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8puR-AaSrg

Herdt, Gilbert. 1999. Sambia Sexual Culture: Essays From the Field. Illinois: University of Chicago Press.

Kender, Kaur. 2001. Check out. Tallinn, Estonia: Pegasus.

Kender, Kaur. 2015, January 14. Mõned sõnad Untitled 12 kohta [Few words about Untitled 12] [Web log post]. Retrieved June 5, 2018 from http://nihilist.fm/moned-sonad-untitled-12-kohta/

Kender, Kaur. 2014. Untitled 12. Nihilist.Fm : ZA/UM

Knight, Michael Muhammad. 2009. Osama Van Halen. Brooklyn, New York: Soft Skull Press

Martin, Amis. 2000. Surnud lapsed [Dead Babies] (Metsaots, Kati, Trans.). Tallinn, Estonia: Olion.

Moreno, Eva. 1995. Rape in the field. In Don Kulick & Margaret Willson (Eds.), Taboo: Sex, identity, and erotic subjectivity in anthropological fieldwork. London, England: Routledge.

Padilha, José (Director). 2010. Secrets of the Tribe [Documentary]. Brazil: Avenue B Productions Zazen Produções. Retrieved June 5, 2018 from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zd7SXbsn0hU

Palahniuk, Chuck. 2006. Haunted. London, England: Vintage Books.

Penal Code of the Republic of Estonia. Retrieved June 5, 2018 from https://www.riigiteataja.ee/en/eli/522012015002/consolide

Shankman, Paul. 1996. The History of Samoan Sexual Conduct and the Mead-Freeman Controversy. American Anthropologist, 98(3), 555-567.

[tendercoretroglodyke]

I saw your post about asks so:

I’m a freshmen in college with no friends anymore (shocker I know) any advice on making friends? I don’t live in the dorms but I do live just off campus so I’m close at least. I know it’s difficult to meet new people right now but with everyone on campus getting vaccinated right now I’m hoping it gives me more opportunities?

hi anon! yes I do have some advice for u :)

uh this got long sorry lmao like I said I'm feeling talkative! under the cut:

First I just wanna say (in case this is smth you're struggling with) it's totally normal to find yourself without friends at certain stages in your life, ESPECIALLY around major times of transition like starting college. It sounds like you already know that, but I just wanted to double down on that cos when I found myself friendless in early college it felt incredibly isolating and just like... really shameful? Like I thought there must be something wrong with me if I couldn't make/keep friends. But that's not true at all! It's just really hard to meet people, find people you click with, AND then spend enough time with those people that you can develop the friendship past the idle small-talk stage. And holy SHIT I can't imagine trying to make new college friends when your only connection to classmates is through zoom classes and slack!! But I do have some advice for when you're able to be safely back in person for some things.

So, living off campus might put you at a slight disadvantage; I know a lot of people made good friends with people in their dorms in the first year or two of college, but for me those were NOT the friends who stuck. Also living in dorms just kinda sucks in general so I say you're better off tbh lmao. But! Living near campus means you can still get to events n such on campus, or meet up with friends who are living on campus, so that's good!

First piece of advice: don't underestimate the potential of class-friends! Unfortunately with zoom classes, you don't have a lot of chances to have side convos with classmates before and after class, so this is more advice for when you're back in person. But when I started my masters a couple years ago my main source of socializing was just by showing up a few minutes early to class, getting a nice seat, and chatting with the other early classmates. They were really friendly and I was surprised to find myself looking forward to classes just so I could talk to them! Then that turned into commuting to class together which then turned into regular study dates. I never made any BEST friends from class, but still friends who were fun to talk to.

Second piece of advice is one I'm SURE you've heard before, and can def have mixed results, but: join a club! Preferably a school club about something you're really excited/passionate about, so you'll meet people with similar interests and/or values. Not only will you have a built-in topic of conversation, you'll (hopefully) have regularly scheduled meet-up times which gives you an opportunity to get comfortable around them. Like I said, tho, you mileage may vary on this. For ex/ I joined a doctor who club in college (it was 2014 😤) and I didn't end up making any friends there, but I did have a reason to get together w some people and watch a show I liked, so still a net positive I guess!

Now, this one's kinda out there and obviously not for everyone, but you could do what I did to make friends in college: join a fraternity. A "professional" co-ed fraternity I mean, not like a typical social fraternity/sorority (I actually highly recommend NOT joining those...). Obviously, this is a MUCH bigger obligation than a club, and you def wanna do your research and weigh the pros and cons before you decide whether to go for it. But professional fraternities can look good on resumes/applications (esp if you take on a leadership role in them) and generally have MUCH smaller membership fees than social frats/sororities. Idk all the options for these, but I know there's a community service-themed frat (Alpha Phi Omega, the one I joined), an academic-themed frat (they do like a lot of tutoring I think and you might have to meet a certain gpa??), and there are ones for certain disciplines like law or medicine or business etc. Again, obviously a much bigger commitment, and yes a lot of the "pledging" and "bigs/littles" and "brotherhood" stuff can get pretty hokey, but for me it really did feel like a smaller & more closely-knit community within my college. I could go into more detail on this but I've talked a lot already so I'll just link this article talking about the pros and cons of professional fraternities, and if you end up having any interest in it feel free to ask me for more details and/or my own experience with it.

So yeah that's a much bigger commitment but I joined APO (mostly cos I wanted to make friends tbh 😔) in my junior year and I kinda wish I'd done it sooner, cos I didn't really make any GOOD friends in college until then! I might be biased cos I ended up moving into a house with some APO members on a whim and really bonded with a few of them. Me and one of my housemates both took on a Little (meaning we both introduced/mentored/befriended a new member of the frat) the same semester, so for Big/Little Week we just did a TON of arts & crafts together and bonded and now like 5ish years later we're still best friends!!

wow that was a lot of talking I just did. anyways. I hope something in there was helpful dnsjdbdh 😅 good luck!!

[the-miss-mousie]

a Dragon Klance au

This is just something that has been sitting in my writing folder for a while, its not complete and i have no idea where to go with it, but whatever. Maybe i figure something out.

It’s been about a month—or at least that’s how long Lance feels like its been. He can’t tell since there’s no way to tell the time in this cave. He hasn’t seen sunlight in days, that’s for sure. The only light he ever sees is the almost constant flicker of the fire pit in the center of this rocky prison and the weird, orange, glowing rocks stuck in parts of the cave walls. The glowing rocks a pretty and the fire pit keeps him from freezing death, but the worry of it burning away all the air lurks in the back of his mind. He would appreciate a rather sudden death instead of one by suffocation. But the guy responsible for his captivity doesn’t plan on killing him anytime soon. Which is a shocker since Lance did try his best to become the biggest thorn in his side.

Lance’s kidnapper was no ordinary man; he wasn’t even a man most of the time. He was a dragon-shifter, or was it called dragon-mimicker? He wasn’t well educated in his knowledge of dragons. Who could blame him? He had been nothing more than a baker before this. He didn’t need to know what kinds of dragons existed and what powers they held. He just needed to know how to make bread and money.

Maybe he should have followed Hunk and became a blacksmith with him. Maybe then he would know a little more about dragons. It would be helpful too, considering his situation.

Although, if was Lance was being honest, it wasn’t really that bad. You know, being kidnapped and get prisoner by a dragon.

Thinking back, Lance still has no idea how he ended up here. Just before it happened, he was actually heading over to the Blacksmith’s shop to meet up with Hunk. Hunk’s boss had ordered some bread and it had been Lance’s job to deliver it. He had made half way about when he heard screaming. He didn’t even get a chance to turn around and see what was the fuss when he had been lifted into the air. The large claws that were wrapped around his body told him enough of what was going on then.

It’s not often for dragons to just swoop down to a villager and just pick some unsuspecting baker. Yet, it happened and Lance still has no clue why.

The dragon had taken Lance to this cave, where he was expecting to be eaten. Except, that didn’t happen and, once again, he’s not sure why. It took about a week of being kept here for the dragon-mimicker to finally shed off those scales to reveal a human man. A handsome, naked, human man at that. His irises stayed the same violet-grey that they were when he was a dragon. He had even told Lance what his name was, the first words he ever said since he was kidnapped.

“My name is Keith.” His voice had been low, and sounded like he hadn’t spoken in a while. He probably hadn’t. Dragons are able to communicate telepathically (one thing Lance knew about dragons). Even though that was possible, Keith hadn’t said a word to him via telepathically during the first week. After that introduction, he actually started talking to Lance, but never gave him the answers he wanted.

For example, “Why the hell did you kidnap me?” was something that Keith never answered. At this point, Lance was sure that even Keith didn’t know why. Maybe it was some strange dragon instinct to just capture some damsel in distress or grab the nearest thing and keep it in it’s hoard. That last one would actually explain it all. Dragon’s are very protective of their hoard’s and will do anything to keep it away from others. If Keith considered Lance part of his hoard, then it would explain why he isn’t allowed to leave.

It still would be nice to actually see the sun, breath fresh air, and maybe see his family and friends again. Maybe if he could bribe Keith… Ha yeah, bribe a dragon, Lance, that’ll work.

Keith should be back any minute now with food, probably a sheep again. It’d be nice if he could have something like bread to eat. Wow, he never thought he would miss bread. Being around it so often made him sick of it, but now he misses the comforting smell a fresh baked goods. He is still surprised at how he used wish he could afford meat, yet now he eats it every day like he was a rich man.

At least he isn’t starving anymore. One of the upsides to being kidnapped, he guesses. No more hunger, no more working hard and earning so little, no more wishing he could do more for his family, no more pick-pocketing and sneaking jewels from people.

Actually, he did enjoy pick-pocketing, it was like a game to him and his siblings. He always won too. Best pocket picker in town was Lance McClain… okay second best, he could never beat Pidge. But she was expertly skilled, and had the advantages. Nobody would expect her to be such a stealthy thief. Also, she was short so she was able to sneak around without being noticed.

The sound of grounding rocks echoes through the cave. Light enters the cave through the now opened entrance, and Lance steals a glance of the outside world. Looks like the midday with a clear blue sky. Then the world outside is taken from him as a large bolder rolls back into place at the cave entrance. Keith is back.

Lance huffs as he sees the large, black dragon saunter further into the cave, a dead sheep locked in its jaw. He rolls his eyes. Predictable.

The dragon places his kill in a bloodied corner that Lance has dubbed the ‘murder corner’ as that was where he was sure he’d be ripped apart to shreds when he first saw it. Luckily, he wasn’t murdered—yet—and so far that corner has only been used to prepare meat from sheep.

From where he sits on the other side of the cave, as far away from the murder corner as possible, Lance turns away from the dragon and faces the cave wall instead. Yes, Lance, give the dragon with teeth as big as your arm the cold shoulder. That’s smart.

The dragon makes a noise, almost like a snort, and shuffles a bit. Each step was accompanied with the clinking of gold and silver under its feet.

Keith’s hoard, if Lance could call it that, wasn’t what most people would except a dragon to have. Most people except large hills of gold and jewels from a dragon. Caves full of riches and wealth. This came from the idea that dragons desire hoards big enough for them to sleep in. Now, Keith was a fairly big dragon, so a large hoard was expected. Except, there really wasn’t much here.

Sure, the amount of gold and treasure in this cave is the most that Lance has ever seen in his life. But Lance is also a poor person who hasn’t seen much to begin with. Human kings have probably seen more gold in their own room than what was in the cave.

It was really just a thin layer of gold coins and trinkets (not all gold) the covered the cave floor. He wants to guess that the layer is about a foot deep, as he had dug through it to see.

He’s not sure why Keith doesn’t have a larger hoard. In fact, in all his time being in this cave, he hasn’t seen Keith bring in anything shiny to add to his hoard. He only brings in dead animals that he plans on eating.

Of course, Lance would have to be an exception—unless he’s on borrowed time.

Honestly, he’s just tired of waiting for the inevitable. It will happen eventually. He’s completely sure that Keith’s plan is to fatten him up and eat him. No one wants to eat someone who could be used as a toothpick, which is how think Lance was prior to being kidnapped.

The clinking of coins suddenly stops, or rather becomes incredibly minuscule which can only mean that Keith dropped the dragon form. Lance glances over his shoulder and, sure enough, human Keith stands at the other end of the cave, butt-naked as always. He’s also got a large, butcher knife in hand. Lance adverts his eyes which may or may not had been settled on a particular part of Keith’s body that he will deny ever looking at.

His ass. He was looking at Keith’s ass.

Anyway, he’d rather continue giving Keith the cold-shoulder.

[lusciouslunabunny-blog]

Gender Pronouns-Stop.

OK so this is a random rant because I’m so sick of this pronoun SJW bull shit. 

If you disagree with me that’s fine I’m all ears, and open to different opinions, but please talk to me respectfully, and do actually read the whole thing first or I’ll just assume you’re a troll and ignore it.

Important things to note: • My “Blog” is really just a personal journal, so this isn’t being posted as a PSA it’s really just a personal rant to get off my chest. •I’m pan-sexual. •I have been a proud and supporting member of GSA (Gay Straight Alliance) since I was in school. (I have since graduated and moved on to adulthood) •I support activist for feminism, LGBTQ, black lives matter, etc. (basically I think every one is equal and should be fucking treated as such) BUT. There are always extremists and I can’t fuck with that. There’s always the group of “feminists” who hate men. No boo boo.. not how this works. And there’s always the few BLM members who hate white people.. again not what your group stands for but you do you.         And I’m sure in me saying this things it’s about as effective as saying, “I’m not racist I have a black friend.” I don’t mean for it to sound as ignorant as that, I just want it to be known that I’m respectful of peoples rights, feelings, and opinions- I just think situations and topics can be handled differently. Just my opinion. •The YouTuber of which I’ll be talking about, I had never watched one of their videos before, nothing in the description or the video said anything about their gender, and the voice was that of an obvious deep males.    With that being said- let me get to the point. There was recently a video posted to YouTube about how to draw black people without being racist. And it was what should have been basic information and the YouTuber covered it well and even stated, “Don’t draw them dramatically black with these traits however there are darker skin tones and that’s fine and beautiful but you have to be respectful.”      Someone ignorantly commented about how they were the ones who were racist because there are darker complexions blah blah blah. I replied with, “Well if you watch the whole video, he actually did go on further to talk about that.” The person replied back with, “Yea I didn’t watch the whole thing came back to watch it later and felt pretty dumb.”     I thought that was the end of it. Oh boy, was I wrong. Some, well we’ll just say person, @ me stating, “Um actually *YouTuber* is a Trans girl but we all make mistakes.” ..........  I comment back stating that I was unaware of the gender of said YouTuber because it’s not exactly posted clearly for the world to see and that their gender shouldn’t matter only their content does to me and it really had nothing to do with the topic. I had then scrolled down and saw that this.. this person.. omg.. They took the time to reply to EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. Who called this YouTuber male, @ them, and correct them with the exact same “Oh but we all make mistakes attitude.”      So, I get a little upset at this point, scroll back up and post another comment to her again reiterating that only content matters and that their gender or chosen gender didn’t, and that they shouldn’t be such a rude over obsessive super fan.     THEN. The YouTuber themselves replies back to me and says, “I think you need to cool off and be respectful of the Trans community all she (yes they used she and it was a cartoon picture generic username ) did was correct you in stating that I am in fact female.      Okay, first of all. I wasn’t disrespecting the Trans Community at all. I stated a fact that that A. Your Pronoun doesn’t matter to me & B. How was I to know.  If you want me to call you he, she, they/them, xhe,xshe, Overlord of The Tennis Court- I don’t fucking care just tell me and I will correct myself. But as I stated before, I had just come across this channel and nothing was stated about their personal choice. Don’t be one of those overly sensitive ass, “Oh my god I’m triggered how dare you assume my gender” bitches. Especially when YOU just assumed someone else’s fucking gender.       *Quick Edit Before Someone Says This To Me: Your Pronouns are valid to me, and I understand that yes I could have simply just said, “they” or stated their username. BUT some non-binary people don’t like “they” either. I’d also like to note that as someone who has grown up in this world like everyone else, you should know it’s a habit to label people as he/she based on appearance. Do I think that’s wrong, yes, and I’m glad that it’s changing. But I also think Non-Binary people should be respectful to Binary people and Understand that while the world is changing we can’t just be trained over night and we’re bound to slip up now and then. Respect is the key though you can’t go super sayian hypocrite every-time someone mislabels you and go on a CIS White Male tirade (Obviously an exaggeration but it does happen and its not helping the cause you’re fighting for) Again, this isn’t meant for an offensive PSA. Just a  personal rant. I’m all for equality but being a feminist doesn’t mean you hate men. Being a part of BLM doesn’t mean you hate whites. Being a part of LGBTQ doesn’t mean you ask pronouns before having a conversation with people. We’re human beings we all make mistakes. If you have an issue it’s as simple as saying, “Yo could you not say/do that. I kinda prefer this.” Last time I checked I’m not a mind reader and in my 21 years of living I’ve never ran into an issue like that. I mean there was this girl at my high school who senior year decided, “Hey can you not call me Maddie anymore and refer to me as Mat/He.” Guess what? Problem RESOLVED. Without anyone being offended or feeling targeted. Wow fucking shocker right?

[alivingbean-blog]

this isn't something talked about much in the spoonie community so i wanted to bring it up. i am always called: over-dramatic. i never actually knew that was what i had been labeled by people. i thought it was labeled sick, as if that wasn't bad enough. i'm over-dramatic. this recently came to light when my father was joking around and he said "the over-dramatic thirteen year old." i felt like i was hit by a bullet for a second. then i said "one, i am fourteen. two, what?" but he never said anything back. that was strange but i just walled away. then everything hit me. whenever my mother and i talk about any type of feelings it turns into an emotional fight. she always says i'm making a big deal out of nothing. i just realized she thinks of me as dramatic. she will never recognize any of my mental illnesses or listen to the symptoms and if i ever bring them up she tells me "you need to stop googling things. you're not google so stop." any of my true feelings to her are marked as over-dramatic. even if i brought this up i bet it would be "over-dramatic". my father hurt me accidentally but trying to grab my hair with both of his hands in a fist. i thought he was going to hit me, so my reflexes came abound and i knocked his hands away but using my wrists to hit his arms. he accidentally grabbed both of my ears and it hurt like hell. he told me i was being over-dramatic. and that was when everything fell into place. no one believes that my pain isn't actually there. everyone believes i'm being over-dramatic or i'm using it as an excuse. and that anything mental is just me being over-dramatic. if i ever brought this up, it would just prove the point to them that i am over-dramatic. this realization really hurt me. and i know that this is more or less labeled over-dramatic because i'm fourteen. but i have been dealing with this physical pain and built up emotional trauma since i was six years old. i mean, i got the nickname smiley in second grade because smiling was the only thing that got me to stop the tears from falling down my face. back then, i wanted my parents. because they seemed like they understood and cared at the time. they wanted to know how i was feeling. now it's the exact opposite. they seem like the last people who could ever understand this. i hide in my room whether i'm sick or not because if i could ever risk true emotion coming out, i know it'll get me into a fight. it always has. when you become a teenager, you are already labeled as over-dramatic because of hormonal things, teenage first relationships and shit like that. i obviously get my fucking period but i'm not going through anything normal and i'm still labeled over-dramatic because i have mental illness and trauma with physical pain and no friends to talk about it with. and i just think that's so stupid. my feelings are belittled because i'm fourteen and apparently i'm over-dramatic because i have feelings. wow, such a shocker. i am capable of human emotions!! people don't look at my feelings as feelings. people look at my feelings as fourteen year old thoughts. not a person who has been disabled since she was six years old and has encountered so much emotional trauma and physical pain. i feel like being over-dramatic isn't something that is talked about a lot. but it's the first thing on my mind right now. so i'm trying to beat over-dramatic.

[winchestersplusone]

Chapter 93: Our Poor Choices

Summary: Bela has made some bad choices. And probably Dean too. But then… Ellie doesn’t always make the right call, either.

Wordcount: 3382

Warnings: None. Except angst, I guess…

A/N: WHAT?! She’s back, y’all!!! Thank god I went to All Hell Breaks Loose because I fell back down the deep deep rabbit hole of living and breathing SPN!!!

(Also, Jared Padalecki hugged me and called me “sweetie”, but that’s obviously not important at all it’s only been 3 days I can’t expect my heart rate to have gone down yet, right?)

Episode Guide: This chapter takes place during and just after 3x15.

Chapter 93: Our Poor Choices

On our way back to the motel, Dean explained what happened with Rufus. He’d given Dean the address for Bela, along with several pages of relevant documents about her past. Apparently there’s a thing you can do with IDing a person from their ear. So a friend of Rufus’ in England had a whole lot of background.

Dean had already gone through it, of course. Her real name was Abby. Her parents died when she was fourteen, and in suspicious circumstances. Their car crashed, and Police suspected the brake line had been cut, but weren’t able to prove it. And little Abby got their money. A whole lot of money.

That explained why that vengeful spirit had gone after her in Massachusetts. It targeted people who had killed a member of their own family.

“Shoulda let that spirit take her out,” Dean said, as he finished explaining.

“Cutting her parents’ brakes at fourteen,” Sam repeated. “Wow. That’s… That’s cold.”

“She didn’t cut ‘em,” Dean went on. “I noticed something in her room. Devil’s shoestring.”

“Like for warding off Hellhounds?” asked Sam. Man had a botanical encyclopaedia in his head. He was always identifying plants from name or sight alone.

“Exactly like,” Dean said. “And guess when mommy and daddy died?”

Shit. Bela had done a deal with a Crossroads demon. “Ten years ago?”

“To the day,” Dean said. “Her time’s up.”

Sam turned in his seat to look back at me. I was in the middle, again, leaning forward to perch my head between theirs. I didn’t know what Sam’s face meant. He slightly raised one eyebrow. But maybe he was looking at my expression for some reason, rather than trying to communicate anything.

“Did she tell you why?” he asked, turning back to his brother.

“Didn’t ask. We’re talking millions, Sam. Why else?”

Maybe that’s what Sam had been trying to ask me, without words. Something about this story seemed… odd. It takes a special kind of ruthlessness to murder your parents for money before you’re even out of high school. Bela was definitely cold and hard, but she didn’t seem greedy. She was incredibly shady and she sold stolen goods. She didn’t care what was done with the dangerous occult stuff she hocked. Yes, she’d shot Sam, which I’d never forgive. But she also paid us for rescuing her from that ghost ship curse. Paid us a lot.

She liked being rich, but I wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile a teenager so greedy she’d murder her parents in cold blood with a woman who casually threw twenty grand at us like it was nothing.

“Mighta been some other reason too,” I said. “I hate her, but I dunno… something just doesn’t seem right about that.”

“Okay, Shortcake,” said Dean, his tone like like a gentle, patronising pat on the head. “Bela’s just misunderstood and there’s a soft squishy marshmallow inside everyone.”

“Except you, asshole,” I said, throwing a heavy kick to the back of his seat.

“You said she didn’t have the Colt,” Sam cut in, carefully scooching the subject back on track before I tried to strangle Dean while he was driving. “So what happened?”

“Didn’t find the Colt, so I left. But she stole the motel receipt from my pocket.”

“Huh,” mumbled Sam. “So… she’s looking for us?”

“Or someone else is,” said Dean. “Either way, I’m thinking decoys in our beds tonight.”

Sam and I agreed with that, no question. Whether Bela bumped her parents off for money or not was irrelevant to our own situation. When someone pickpockets you to find out where you’re sleeping, best thing to do is not sleep there.

It was on the way back to the motel that Sam spotted a sex shop. Dean was all ready to joke about his little brother growing up or imply Sam had some weird fetish. But Sam pointed out that the place sold sex dolls, forcing Dean to agree that actually, that was a really great idea.

Two guys and a girl go into a shop and buy three sex dolls. I don’t know how that joke ends, but it sounds like a good start. At least, the man working the counter was amused.

It was dark by the time we got back to the motel. Dean had been in Canaan, so it was only Sam and I that needed to gather all our shit together. It was hard to make my decoy doll look right, lying on the floor, but we managed it. Without knowing whether it’d be Bela coming or someone else, and what they intended to do, we just had to take our best guess.

Dean was pretty convinced Bela was intending to kill us. She was trying to hold Hellhounds at bay, but rather than ask for help, she’d stolen the receipt to get our location. Sam and I agreed that it sure seemed like she was trying to cut some sort of deal. I wasn’t sure about killing us, though. Maybe her intention was just to give us up.

In any case, she probably wasn’t interested in killing me. I was merely a sidekick. A badass, super competent (and totally hilarious) sidekick. But not likely to be included in any plot against the Winchesters. Although, she hated my guts, so maybe she’d just see killing me as a bonus. Either way, I wasn’t waiting around to find out.

So we skipped, leaving the key in the room, and without telling reception. We didn’t need Bela inquiring at the desk and finding we’d checked out. With any luck, she wouldn’t turn up until very late, long after we were gone.

“Where are we going, though?” I asked, hauling my duffle into the back seat.

“As far as possible,” Dean said. “Pick a direction.”

I hesitated. Dean had three weeks left and he actually seemed willing, at this point, to talk about it. It seemed to me that this was an opportunity to go where the best resources were. We still had time to save him.

“Why don’t we go home?” I suggested. “I still think Dad’s got books I could…” I stopped, not wanting to tell Dean about my plan to ty and bring him back after death. I didn’t want him to get his hopes up. What if I couldn’t? Much better to keep looking for a better idea.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. You miss your Dad, right? I guess we can take a little trip, make you less homesick, whatta you say, Sammy?”

Sam smiled as he shut the back door on me. It wasn’t a cheerful smile, but it was genuine. Just the slightest hint of his dimples formed.

“If that’s… if it’s what Ellie needs, sure.”

And so, we were able to agree on going home to Sioux Falls, with all of us pretending it wasn’t to make a last ditch effort to save Dean before the hounds came to take him down to Hell.

We made several attempts to call our abandoned motel room from the road. Dean wanted to gloat at Bela. I was still sure there was something we didn’t know about her, but I kept my mouth shut. At least until I knew whether or not she was planning to murder us.

But it’d be nice to know whether she was the one planning to come into our room, or someone else. Maybe, if someone answered the phone, we could get some idea of what was happening.

Nearing midnight, we were somewhere in Ohio. Dean decided to have another try, and this time, he didn’t put the phone down in frustration.

“Hiya, Bela. Here’s a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt.”

There was only the very briefest of pauses, obviously while she said something.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I understand perfectly. See, I noticed something interesting in your hotel room. Something tucked above the door. A herb. Devil’s shoestring? There’s only one use for that: holding hellhounds at bay. So you know what I did? I went back and took another look at your folks’ obit. Turns out they died ten years ago today. You didn’t kill them. A demon did your dirty work. You made a deal, didn’t you Bela? And it’s come due. Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal, our gun for your soul?”

His sentences had mostly rolled into one another, so I guessed he’d either been interrupting her attempts to respond, or she hadn’t tried and he was just delivering a monologue. After he was done, he did leave a brief pause, during which she presumably answered.

“But stealing the Colt wasn’t quite enough, I’m guessing,” he said.

Sam looked back at me while Dean listened to Bela’s reply. It was hard to see him that well in the dark car, but I was guessing his eyes were that deep concerned brown that looked bottomless.

“Really!” Dean said. “Wow, demons untrustworthy? Shocker! That’s uh… kind of a tight deadline too. What time is it? Well, look at that, almost midnight.” Another pause. “Sweetheart, we are weeks past help.” And then again.

Was she begging him for help? After what she’d done?

“You know what, you’re right, you don’t,” said Dean. “But you know what the bitch of the bunch is? If you would have just come to us sooner and asked for help we probably could have taken the Colt and saved you.”

We would have tried, at the very least. And a promise to try from the Winchesters had to be worth more than any demon’s offer to renegotiate a contract.

Even though she’d taken the Colt, and even though she’d lied and deceived us… Even though she shot Sam, I still didn’t think Bela deserved to die. And especially not so horribly, being doomed to eternity in Hell itself.

Yeah, so she supposedly did a deal to kill her parents, but that still didn’t quite tally up to me. Stealing and lying and being ruthless were definitely connected with Bela being capable of wishing her family dead. But why? Their deaths made her incredibly rich, yet she’d still started dealing in stolen occult items. She continued to make vast sums, despite not needing it. And then she paid us a fortune when we hadn’t asked her for anything.

Greedy people don’t throw money around. So why give away her soul just to off her parents and get the cash?

I wished Dean would put her on speaker, or let me talk to her. It was too late to do anything, but I wanted to know why. It was too late to help her. But I thought she should at least get the chance to explain her motives before the hounds came.

“And who told you that?” Dean asked her. Then he questioned her further. “She? Lilith? Why should I believe you? This can’t help you, Bela, not now. Why you telling me this?”

Whatever reason she gave, Dean was done with her. “I’ll see you in Hell,” he said, hanging up, putting the phone down and getting his right hand back on the wheel.

See you in Hell, he said. And I was one hundred percent sure he meant it literally.

We drove all night, and into the next day. We took turns, one driving, one keeping them awake and one sleeping in the back. With a couple of meal stops, we made it back home to Sioux Falls in just over fourteen hours. Dean was someone who believed that speed limits are just a suggestion.

It was a little after nine o’clock when we pulled into the yard. Still early enough for some breakfast.

The super subtle roar of the Impala’s engine alerted Dad before we’d even stopped, and he was waiting on the porch for us. I was in the front, taking my turn and keeping Dean company for the last leg. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, I was out before Dean had time to put it in park.

Shut up. I loved my Dad, okay.

He retained his grumpy demeanour as I ran up the steps and launched myself at him. But his grip on me when I hugged him betrayed his real feelings.

After a couple of seconds, he let go and put his hands on my shoulders, holding me a little apart from him, so he could examine my face. He peered at me, taking in the huge bruise on my forehead.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Your head…”

I knew he was worried about my previous head wound, and I couldn’t blame him for that. I was smart enough to be cautious about bumps to the head. It was well over a year, but a cracked skull isn’t something you should be casual about. Both Sam and Dean were agreed, and always made sure to check very carefully for a concussion or other signs of damage.

Hunters tend to be reckless and live dangerously, but we’re not freakin’ stupid.

“I’m okay,” I told Dad. “I got knocked out, but it feels mostly fine now. Just a bit sore.”

“Follow my finger,” he said, and I did, as he moved it left, right, up and down in front of my eyes. Quicker and easier to just do it than argue about how I wasn’t concussed and knew what I was doing.

Sam was sitting with the back door open, yawning. He’d only woken up just as we arrived. Dean came up the stairs to stand beside Dad and me.

“She got hit with a shovel,” he said. “You wanna tell him why, Princess?”

“I was being a diversion,” I said defensively. “So Sam could get the victim out the window.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said. “Bobby, you ever seen your daughter’s diversions?”

“Dean…” I moaned.

“I usually got her on backup,” Dad said, and with what looked almost like a smile. Maybe Dean’s dobbing wouldn’t lead to an argument…

“She’s freakin’ insane,” Dean said, and I could see the proud little smile he tried to hide. “Dunno what we’d do without her, right Sammy?”

“Right,” Sam said, coming up behind me. “No one in the world as distracting as Ellie.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant it as a compliment or not, but Sam wasn’t usually inclined to insult me. “It’s a gift,” I said.

We all got straight to work. I headed to the library, with some books already in mind. Some stuff I hadn’t scanned yet, but I knew from my database that there might be something in them.

Dad had found something he wanted to show us, so he and Sam talked through that. Dean left the house again pretty much right away. There wasn’t enough beer, and going to get more was definitely a top priority.

We worked all day, stopping briefly for lunch. Then there was an afternoon of frantically rifling through books. While the others were still focusing on ways to break the contract, I focused on my own idea. Bela had revealed this demon, Lilith, was the one who held Dean’s contract, but Dad had read something different. Either way, I was still sure my back-up plan was worth pursuing.

Even if we figured out whether it was Lilith who had the contract (and why would Bela bother to lie at that point?), we still had to find her. And figure out how to get Dean free from the deal. Without triggering the clause that would end in Sam dying too.

I flipped through page after page, speed reading and searching for keywords. By the time it got dark out, it was hard to tell when my eyes were watering from strain, and when I was just crying from frustration. They’d sort of merged into one.

I gave up for the night and got up to make dinner. I decided to roast some actual vegetables, which always made Sam’s day. And Dean didn’t mind a good roast dinner either. It appealed to his secret domestic desires.

Sam thought something Dad had found might have some real potential. It was a reference to someone called the “King of the Crossroads”. After dinner, Dad sat Dean down to show him, while Sam and I did the dishes.

“Thanks,” he said, as I rolled up my sleeves to get washing.

“Thank you,” I replied. “Usually I do this on my own.”

“No, for yesterday,” he said. “With Benton. You were right.”

The whole Doc Benton scenario seemed weeks away. Had it really only been twenty-four hours since we threw him into a fridge and buried him deep as we could dig?

“Well, your heart was in the right place,” I said. “We’re all getting desperate.”

Sam took a heavy tray from me. His huge hands made it seem so much smaller and with his strength it seemed to weigh nothing at all.

“It’s my fault,” he said. “And the closer we get, the clearer that is to me. I’ve gotta…”

“Uh uh!” I scolded him, scrubbing at a plate with added vigour. “This is not your fault, Sam. Not yours, or mine, or Dad’s!”

It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to mention it. It never seemed appropriate, even quietly to myself, in the dark. But the truth was, Dean had made a choice. He was grieving and desperate and not thinking properly when he did it, but the dark, terrible circumstances behind it didn’t make it any less true. In fact, he’d made more than one choice.

He’d driven Dad and I away so we couldn’t stop him. He’d put together what he needed to make a deal. He’d driven to the crossroads. He’d summoned a demon, made a deal with her and accepted her unusually harsh terms. He’d been offered only one year and he took it.

There was a whole lot of backstory to who Dean was and why he’d made his choices. His feelings of intense protectiveness towards Sam were far more complex than my single college psychology elective could ever qualify me to comment on. Was Dean to blame for his decisions? Was he in a fit mental state to make that kind of deal? Would a desperate crossroads deal hold up in a human court of law? Surely diminished responsibility is a thing.

No. I don’t think we can ever say if Dean is to blame for what he did that terrible night. But one thing I did know.

No one else made that decision for him.

“There’s a way out of this, Ellie,” Sam said. “I know there is. And if I haven’t found it…”

“It’s not because you haven’t tried,” I reminded him. “Not knowing the solution to a problem isn’t the same as being the cause of the problem.”

He sighed, gently taking a plate from me. There was some danger of me agitatedly slamming it down in front of him. Maybe it wasn’t fair for me to get mad, but I couldn’t bear that he was putting the blame on himself.

“I know, but…”

“But nothing,” I scolded. “If a werewolf kills a man in Texas tonight, is it my fault?”

“Of course not…”

“No. Because I’m fucking miles away. You were dead Sam. And that’s a shitload further than Texas. You weren’t there when Dean made his deal, so it’s not your fault.”

“Okay,” he said.

But I could tell from his tone that I hadn’t convinced him of a damn thing. I’d just bullied him into agreeing with me to my face. I’d done nothing to heal his breaking heart, nothing to ease the suffering within.

My stupid temper. Rather than helping Sam, I’d just made him feel like I didn’t understand and that he couldn’t confide in me. And by the time we’d finished washing up, I still hadn’t figured out how to apologise for it. Then he was gone, to talk to Dad and Dean about this Crossroad King guy.

I joined them, but it was all business, and I couldn’t get Sam alone again before he went to bed.

I went up too, but I didn’t sleep at all. But then, did I really deserve to?