#like....latching onto something and not engaging with the culture at all while feeling like your opinion is the only right one online. UGH

[sibelin]

I just read that post about people harassing Skuppy online and I just....so fucking disrespectful. And WEIRD! AND HORRIBLE!! I hate how the internet has granted people like that unfettered access to musicians, especially smaller groups that can see the shit you post online about them. Ughghghhhh makes me so mad!!!

i totally agree! it's disrespectful to say the least :(

there's a huge problem with how people interact with artists nowadays and i think it's linked to the slow disappearance of communities in profit of a more self-centred approach of art. i've seen it here and on other plateforms alike: when people latch onto a band, they really don't care about what they PUBLICLY say. afterall it's all about them! not about the band or the art! which leads to people not having boundaries because why would they care. you can @ anyone on twitter, you can say whatever comes to your mind. look what happens to actors that get harassed on twitter because people find them hot. it's like the artists are there to serve their fans. which is wrong in so many way.

as someone who's always been involved in music (i've been a volunteer in festivals, music venues and i've been around bands and technical staff since i was a tiny baby), i never felt like the word "fandom" was right for whatever you call yourself as a fan of a band. actually i never heard it used for bands before making this tumblr..... ultimately, everyone can think and write whatever they want but sometimes it's good to go out and just experience how the scene is outside of whatever is happening on internet. which never happens because people refuse to go see smaller concerts and newer bands. (and when they do, they look at their phones during the opening band until their favourite guy comes up. i've seen it and it SUCKS.)

anyway, Char said everything wayyy better than what i'm trying to say but it's been bugging me for a long time so i wanted to let it out ;)

[wild-at-mind]

Hacking my brain on depression: one of my favourite things to do when depressed is convince myself that me feeling like shit is actually good, because it's an appropriate reaction to all the horrible things happening in the world.

The way tumblr social justice culture used to be structured was very based on 'bad feelings in a privileged person=something good is happening'. This came from the idea that people in privileged groups often feel very defensive when introduced to new ideas about how the world is structured in their favour. Their negative feelings about learning this eventually (in theory) translate into learning more and understanding more about the reality of marginilised people.

This is a real thing but it's not all there is. It's actually really weird now I come to think of it that the tumblr social justice sphere (and later the twitter version of same) latched onto this so hard. There are many other ways to come across information that makes you seriously change your worldview about privilege. There are also many things that can make you feel awful without any kind of productive thought and no benefit to anyone else or to yourself. Feeling like shit in reality usually doesn't translate to doing anything productive. (I'm not convinced it works in most social justice contexts except someone discovering a new idea for the first time, actually.)

So occassionally you still run into the kind of stuff like above on here, and it's really bad for my brain, personally. I actually use it as a kind of emotional self harm during the depression spirals. (This is probably obvious if you read my blog.) I get so I can't even contemplate trying to access outside help with my illness, or the simplest internal coping mechanisms that would help (e.g. if reading horrible tumblr blogs makes you feel worse, stop!). So I try and hack my brain by telling it- actually it's really important that you stop this because otherwise you will actually be worse at social justice stuff- if you can't engage with anything without shutting down how is that a good thing for any kind of cause? And I try and use that to get myself out of a spiral. How well it works will be seen- if I write 20 tumblr posts in the next few hours: it didn't work. If I'm not seen agian for a while: it worked.

[i-make-fun-of-spn-characters]

i actually did think you didn't like sam and cas for the longest time, but it's more than your bias for dean is evident. it took awhile to see through that and understand you are coming at sam and cas out of love and in a fun way and just happen to like dean more. there are a lot of other blogs that make digs at characters (esp sam and cas) in a NOT fun way, but pretend they "love all of TFW" and that's on me for lumping you in with them.

.

You know Anon, back when I used to post absolutely NOTHING except for memes, and also had a Sam banner and icon, someone asked me who my favorite character was, and I made it a poll because I was curious how good of a job I was doing keeping my content even. Lo and behold—they chose in order by vote percentage:

Sam

Cas

Dean

Jack

Then as the poll has stayed up ever since, I think Dean and Cas have traded places in the voting (but by now everyone knows Dean is my favorite). But a very large percentage of people did not know Dean was my favorite starting out. I was surprised, because I do indeed love Dean very VERY much. It isn't that I don't like Sam and Cas—but to me, Dean is possibly one of the greatest characters of all time. I could not possibly put into words how much I enjoy his character and all of the reasons why he's touched my heart. There is just no one out there quite like him in my mind. I think my bias for Dean has come through more in recent times—especially since the finale, because I miss him very much and his shitty death gutted (DON'T) me.

I think watching the show, when you look at the story only through one characters' lens, it's very easy to resent the others for not being perfect friends/family/brothers. I have even seen someone voice the sentiment before, "To some degree, to love Sam is to hate Dean, and to hate Dean is to love Sam" (paraphrasing). The thing is, when you genuinely look at your favorite (whether that's Dean or Sam or Cas) and look at their motivations and feelings and actions, it's clear that they love each other very much. That's an unavoidable fact in my mind. Both the best and worst things they've done have been at least partially motivated by the love they have for one another. I cannot, ultimately, dislike Sam or Cas knowing how much Dean loves them. To hate them would be to hate a part of Dean that is innate to who he is—his love for his family—and the choices and sacrifices he has made due to that love. It would be to say that there is something broken inside him that makes him unable to make the right choices about who should and should not be in his life. It would be to say that the foundation of the show, at the center of which is Dean's heart and how people around him are pulled inside of its orbit, is something tainted and unworthy.

It would also be to say that Dean's mistakes are okay and theirs are not, because you will find countless parallel events and threads tying their different actions together in ways that are different but also are often very much the same, if you get their motivations.

I think, for every stan out there of any main character... it would be a good idea to watch through the show trying to see it through a lens besides that of your favorite. I did this with Sam, and I am currently doing a rewatch where one of the goals is to focus on Cas's point of view more. Nothing can give you greater compassion and understanding than trying to step inside someone else's shoes, and having done this is one of the primary reasons I can't bring myself to follow many SPN accounts I have come across on Tumblr, because resentment runs rampant in many places, over characters or ships, and I don't care for that negativity. It's also the primary reason I started this blog to begin with. I wanted to carve out a positive space, where I didn't completely refuse to engage with the characters flaws (god knows fandom won't shut up about them anyway), but a place where I pointed out their flaws only to say those flaws are okay, don't make any one of them more unworthy of love than any of the others. Those flaws (at least—the ones I agree exist... there's a lot of flaws attributed to Sam, Dean, and Cas that I don't agree with at all) are what makes them human (err... or angel, respectively). I am not interested in Mary Sues (and I am definitely not interested in fans who sand down characters into Mary Sues to escape any semblance of their favorite being "problematic"). Just show me why they make the choices they do, even when those choices are broken, and I'm compassionate and I'm fascinated. I dare anyone to do better than the characters did with the cards they were dealt—with the lives they lived.

I can't say I've had the same experience on Tumblr as you with blogs pretending to like Sam and Cas while having a clear bias for Dean... I've tended to see quite a lot more of the opposite or worse. There are, after all, several blogs dedicated to absolutely nothing except trying to spread outright hate for Dean, and there was a time not long ago that you could not even go in the Dean tag without seeing countless ugly posts spewing vitriol about him (that has faded significantly since the show ended). But I think we're all bound to be most wise to the bias against our favorites (hell—I have picked up on someone's dislike of Dean from a gif blog before... and it was later confirmed that I was right). This is also part of what feeds the culture of anti-ism in the fanbase. People watched these characters for 12-15 years, and they latched onto one of them, and they know that character, and in many cases find identity and comfort with that character, and they see that character accused of terrible things that really aren't accurate at all, and the kind of innate human response to that is to want to do the opposite—hate their favorite because they hate yours. I think it's clear that that isn't what we're really supposed to get out of SPN. I don't think the intended narrative is that Dean hates Cas or Sam or that Sam hates Dean or that any one of them is unworthy of love and acceptance or is perfect or is too flawed. People can choose the narratives they want, but I'll continue vehemently disagreeing with them and making fun of them with the tag #don't feed the stans after midnight.

[wisteria-lodge]

snake primary + snake secondary (bird model)

Hello! I recently discovered your blog and really love the thought you’ve put into the nuances of the SHC system. I’m super into these kinds of personality analysis systems (I’ve probably been through them all at this point) because I think it’s interesting to know how people tick - I also think self-awareness is important so that you know why you do what you do, essentially. I took the SHC quiz and it told me I was a Snake Primary with a Bird Model, and a Bird Secondary with a Snake Model. I agree that I’m probably a (somewhat petrified) Snake Primary with a strong Bird Model, but I’m not sure which is my true secondary and which is the model. Maybe you can help?

I can sure try :)

Some things about me: I’m an oldest daughter, and I’m almost 100% sure my dad is a Bird Snake and I *idolized* him as a child - I thought he had it all figured out. He was the Zeus to my Athena in my child’s eyes, and I think I got my Bird primary model very early from copying him.

I mean, I know what you mean in a “sole creator” sense, but there is no *way* Athena thought Zeus had it all figured out.

My two younger brothers are a Lion Snake and a Lion Badger, and my mother is possibly a Double Badger, though I’m not as sure about her - maybe she just thinks that she *should* be a Double Badger. I think all that is important to help illustrate that I didn’t really feel *at home* when I was with my family, though I loved them, since I was the only Snake. My parents also had a terrible relationship and are now divorced, so there’s that as well. I think the only time I have ever been truly morally outraged was the revelation that my dad had engaged in infidelity against my mom, and then again when he started dragging his feet over a promise the he had made my youngest brother. We didn’t speak for a long time after that incident, but I was really cut up over dropping him.

Oh yeah. That’s very Snake primary. Morally outraged because your People are getting hurt.

We eventually started to reconcile, and the only reason we did was because he called and said he was driving through my city one day, and even after all of that, I said yes to meeting up because I felt sad that I had dropped him. I think this family dynamic, plus some other childhood stuff, led to me sort of “checking out” and petrifying pretty early.

Just a theory - I think it’s possible that this hit your secondary more than it hit your primary. You seem pretty strong and confident in your Snake primary so far. Even the fact that you can identify it coming from such a non-Snake environment, and don’t feel guilty about it, is big.

I had a lot of trouble making friends in school.

I’m thinking this might be more of a secondary thing.

and generally ended up with like one friend who was the other weird girl, and who I always sort of kept at arm’s length emotionally. I moved schools several times as a kid and after the first best friend (who was the daughter of my mom’s best friend and was like a sister to me until she moved away), I really didn’t try too hard to make new “best” friends.

Hmm. See, this reads like a *default* friend to me, not a friend of choice. The other weird girl. The daughter of your mom’s friend. That’s an easy friend to have… and not one that you necessarily sought out. I’m not surprised that your primary didn’t latch onto her with that Snake intensity.

Even now, though I definitely have concentric circles of loyalty and a significant other who is my “top person”, I’m not sure I have that blind Snake I-would-literally-die-for-you loyalty toward anyone - I’d kill or hide a body for my top circles

That *is* Snake loyalty. Snakes aren’t going to die for someone else, are you kidding? That’s a sucker’s game. They value themselves too much.

I would give up a lot of my own comfort for my significant other. Maybe I’m just afraid to let myself feel that unquestioning loyalty, though I want to feel it, or maybe I’m really a Bird and just want to be a Snake because that would mean I could be un-broken eventually.

Let’s talk about your secondary, I want to hear about how you think you’re broken, because so far you seem fine. Congrats on the SO!

I don’t think I’m an Idealist though - I’m surrounded by them and I know I don’t care about “principles” the way they do. Then again, maybe I’m a Bird whose truth is that moral relativism is the truth lol. Anyway, I think for my primary, I’m probably a petrified Snake with a Bird model unless I’m totally wrong about myself.

I think you’re just a Snake who… is a Snake.

(you’ve got that Birdy influence though, from your dad, and they do like to complicate things.)

As for my secondary, I loved to read (everything - all kinds of fiction, especially sci-fi/fantasy/mystery and, like, Victorian sci-fi/horror adventures, nature books, medical texts, etc. Wikipedia was a revelation when it came out), and I was smart and good at taking tests and knowing the answers in school, so at a certain point I think I just defaulted to being “the smart one” and used that as armor to help keep people from getting too close.

yep yep yep, welcome to the ‘fun Bird model’ club, we have snacks

I do genuinely love to learn, and I’ve always been known among friends and family as the one who either knows the answer or will look it up. I love pop culture trivia and nature facts. I also love and am good at debate, but not really when real feelings are involved - I more love the “battle of wits” aspect, where I can match up against a person to see if my knowledge and ability to adapt my argument on the fly can stump them. 

I also would argue the unpopular point, or the point I didn’t agree with, just for sport. Fun Bird secondary model.

I developed terrible anxiety and probably some depression as well in high school.

Okay, now I’m seeing the problem.

and now that I’m older, I suspect that I may have ADHD, though I haven’t been officially assessed. I didn’t discover my executive function issues really until college, when suddenly being smart and being able to figure out the test answers through context clues and what I remembered from lectures and readings + whatever trivia I had gathered about the topic wasn’t enough anymore.

I suspect you’re right about being ADHD. Or at least being neruodivergent.

I am horrible at studying! I would plan out my study sessions and make these nice little cheat sheets (these were allowed on exams) and they didn’t work at all! I did very well in my literature minor though, because all the graded assignments were papers rather than open-answer tests, and I could get my thoughts out better and with more resources at my disposal if I forgot something and needed to go back to the book to check.

Oh ouch. Yeah, I’m not even relating this back to a secondary, because I’m reading this as a working memory thing? Like ugh tests are such a terrible way access knowledge. What is even the *point* of memorization anymore? You should have been able to have a college career that was completely writing papers, like I did.

I was at one point very jealous of my Lion Snake brother, who I felt could do “whatever he wanted” with minimal consequences, while I always felt constrained by being “good” and not rocking the boat too much with my family.

Yep. That’s being an oldest daughter.

I couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem to care about being considerate to everyone else in the household (especially my chronically overworked, can’t-say-no Badger mom lol).

It’s because he’s the youngest. Mine’s the same.

This attitude was definitely influenced by my anxiety issues at that time, since I had (and still have) a lot of trouble asking for anything - help, permission, whatever. I’d rather do things and explore on my own, without anyone watching, so I don’t have to ask and don’t have to explain.

Did you low-key raise your younger siblings? Because it sounds like you raised your siblings.

I feel better with a little bit of distance, and definitely wear masks in most situations. I’d say my masks are half conscious and half reactive - I do have some idea of how I’d like to be perceived, but it’s only kind of systematic.

That makes me think Snake or Badger secondary.

I have a few “characters” that I use as touchpoints when I’m going into a new situation, but once I’m there I mostly just act nice and funny and see what happens.

So far I’m going with Badger secondary (be nice and and assume it’ll be fine is very badger) with a fun Bird secondary model, that you can do an Actor Bird thing with. Although liking to “just see what happens” is pretty snake.

The characters are really just costumes I use to give off a certain first impression, although I do really like the costumes and find them fun. I love clothes, makeup, and perfume too, because I enjoy the idea of making multidimensional costumes for different settings. I actually enjoy the mask a lot of the time - I have tattoos that are purposefully in places that I can cover easily, because I enjoy the idea that there’s something under the professional mask that people only know about if I show them. I’m a bit socially awkward I think (I repeat myself and talk a lot), but most people tend to either like me or tolerate me, and I don’t get into a lot of interpersonal conflicts. 

Hm. Either Courtier Badger or Snake secondary, fun Bird secondary model. However. Especially after talking about your Actor Bird in such fun, positive, happy language… I am going to call you out for “socially awkward” and “people tolerate me.” Which tells me you don’t have as much faith in your social skill set, and it’s *maybe* a little burnt.

(Also, not to get too armchair psychologist tell-me-about-your-mother, but if your mom has a  “chronically overworked, can’t-say-no” Badger secondary… that’s going to affect how you see Badger secondaries.)

Right now I work in a very Badger/Bird workplace, and it’s really a terrible fit, even though I can squeak by enough to fool my superiors into thinking I’m doing a good job. 

oh we’ve got some imposter syndrome, that can also be a burnt secondary thing.

It’s all long-term planning and daily maintenance tasks, and I really don’t like it. I change most of my plans partway through, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m really an improvisational secondary at heart, or if I’m truly a Bird that’s just bad at planning for all of the variables.

I’m going to say you’re not a Bird. Making cheat-sheets (which is a very Bird secondary strategy) also did not work, and you feel confined by, not comforted by plans. You’re not a Lion, you enjoy keeping your true self to yourself too much. You could be either a Badger or Snake. And if you really hate daily maintenance tasks… that could be coming from a few places, but it makes me lean Snake. 

I love being in situations where I can iterate on a plan, or make a new plan on the fly. I love escape rooms and am pretty good at them; I still get stumped and need hints sometimes, but when I *get* a puzzle, it sort of just clicks for me? I don’t think in a very linear way and am not a good chess player, but I also have never studied chess so perhaps I just am at a knowledge disadvantage in that game. 

This is also you using Bird to have fun, and we know you *love* using Bird to have fun.

One of my proudest moments

okay this is definitely going to be helpful

was when I was on a day trip with my significant other, and we needed to find a place to buy food quickly so we wouldn’t miss a specific ferry and then a specific bus - we were on an island, and near the ferry station the restaurants were all too expensive and we were worried they would take too long anyway. He was starting to get frazzled, but I was able to think on my feet, and we just grabbed a calming beer (lol) at a creepy neighborhood bar, then got on the ferry and bought microwave meals at a 7-Eleven by the bus station. It was awesome and I was very proud of myself for staying calm and looking around myself for options.

Well that is VERY Snake secondary.

I generally take a long time making decisions when it’s not a crisis situation, because I have to *weigh all the options*, but I often end up in analysis paralysis. Crunch time is where I really shine as a decision-maker.

Snake again. From what I’m seeing, your Bird is a fantastic toy, but actually kind of makes you miserable when you have to depend on it for the important stuff. (studying, your job, making important decisions)

All of this long post is to say, I’m not sure whether my Bird secondary is a fun model that got repurposed into an executive dysfunction compensation tool and anxiety/depression soother to supplement my Snake secondary

I think you hit the nail straight on the head right there. 

 or if Bird is my true secondary and Snake is a model that I learned from my dad and brother + characters I admire in media 

oh your favorite characters are Snake secondaries are they? That’s a big tell.

and that I use when I fail to plan adequately given my executive dysfunction. 

Executive dysfunction is a whole thing, but you don’t have to “”plan adequately”” for everything.

I find both fun and both useful, but I’m not sure which is innate and which is the model! 

My money is on snake secondary, Bird secondary model. 

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Pasaana Festival

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Inspiration: This scene from Star Wars – The Rise of Skywalker

Warnings: None – only mischief and love.

Summary: You all arrived at Pasaana together. Poe laid out the plan to find the Wayfinder but you stray with an idea of your own – much to his annoyance.

You knew that it was a serious mission and that the fate of the entire galaxy depended on their little team, but you were sure as hell glad that they landed on Pasaana that day.

The air was arid and sandy which brought out a bothered growl by Chewbacca and yet, his complaints did nothing to drown out the music of the Festival of the Ancestors or the smile that grew on your face. Poe groaned at their misfortune of a large crowd and glanced back at the group only to see your expression of excitement – looking like you were going to bolt at any given chance.

“What have I done to deserve this?” Poe sighed to himself. Shaking his head briefly, he placed a hand on his hip and laid down the plan once more. “Stick together and look for clues that will lead us to the Wayfinder. Got it?”

There were nods from all, even BB-8 whirred with agreement. You stepped forward and latched onto his arm, your eyes fixed on the colourful clothes and smoke across the plain. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to see it. We’re actually going to be part of the festival.” You said with complete awe.

The rest of the team began their descent to the dancing people while Poe was momentarily held back. He tapped your hand lightly and squinted.

“Can you please remember that we’re here for a mission?” His request finally snapped you back to reality and you cleared your throat, pushing down the excitement while releasing him from your hold.

You both joined up with Finn, Rey, Chewbacca and the droids at the base of the sand hill before walking a few feet forward into the crowd. Ray absorbed the culture with her grin and wide eyes, remarking that it wasn’t something that she’d ever seen before. Poe commented dryly on the lack of obtaining their target, clearly exhausted from the heat which made you smile with a taunt sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

“You know we’re witnessing history right, Poe?” You called above the noise from where you trailed at the back of the group. 

“Well, history is in flux at the moment. If we don’t achieve our goal then this festival might not happen in the next 42 years. What do you think about that?”

Poe glanced back at you to see your reaction and felt his heart leap into his throat. 

“Oh, great!” He groaned loudly, looking around frantically – you weren’t with them anymore. “This is just like the Gungan’s Casino on Canto Bight.”

Finn frowned at his friend as Poe rushed past him. 

“What happened on...?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need you guys to keep going while I fetch (Y/n).” He bolted through the crowd, trying to be discreet as he looked for where you were bound to be lightsaber deep in festivities.

The drums beat heavy and sent vibrations through the sand as the locals performed their traditional dance. Poe grew frustrated unable to locate you until your hair stuck out from the dancing crowd. He wasn’t too far away and as he made his way over, he was able to see glimpses of the way you mirrored their dance style effortlessly swaying from left to right.

Unfortunately, before he could reach you, his path was blocked by a handful of Aki-Aki hauling baskets of kites and fireworks. The colourful smoke blocking his sight and filling his nostrils with the smell of sand and chalk. Poe mistakenly took in a deep breath of frustration and launched into a coughing fit when he inhaled the dry powder.

The pilot frowned and quickly sought to go around the locals and when he succeeded in claiming clear air, he found that you were no longer dancing in his sights. It was almost as if you enjoyed doing this to him. Cursing his luck once again, Poe waded through the dancers until he reached a clearing of stalls that were, as he expected, bustling with Aki-Aki.

Looking for his needle in the local haystack, Poe stayed away from smaller Stormtrooper patrols while he scanned across the market and paused on a figure wearing a yellow festival robe who was suspiciously taller than the rest. Feeling the heaviness in his chest lift, Poe followed his instinct and approached. He was going to reprimand you but quickly realised that you weren’t alone.

You were in deep conversation with an Elder of the Aki-Aki and pleasantly surprised Poe with your knowledge of communicating with them. Forcing a smile, Poe slid himself into the conversation leaning on the stall bench with his elbow, body facing you.

“I thought you said you’d focus?” He wondered. You smiled at the Elder as the small Aki-Aki stooped down to retrieve something.

“I’m focused. I’m just pursuing a different angle.”

“Why?” Poe pressed. “We have a plan. Is it really so difficult for you to stick to it?”

You turned to him and Poe felt his heart hammer in his chest, mind going foggy. Your lips were moving with an explanation but the Resistance pilot struggled to hear anything. He was captivated by the way the sun had illuminated your face, the fabric of the yellow hood moving with the warm breeze.

“... so after that nightmare why would I logically go with your plan?” You asked not realising that he had only caught the end of the question.

“If you follow my lead, I’ll marry you.”

You arched a brow with an unamused expression. “Try again.”

Poe stammered nervously when his brain caught up with what flew out of his mouth, trying to think of something else to persuade you but found himself distracted again and watched as the elderly Aki-Aki placed a bracelet of earth-toned beads around your wrist. The elder then focused on Poe and scowled while speaking in her native tongue.

“What’s-?” 

Your mood lifted at the series of curses that were being presented to the captain and you bumped against his shoulder lightly. 

“Give her your hand.” The gentle nudge prompted Poe to follow the request with bated breath as you smiled by his side. 

“No matter what mission that we’re on, it’s crucial that we make connections with the planets inhabitants. We can only make allies if we multitask and open ourselves up.”

“But right now?” Poe asked, holding up his wrist and shaking the identical bracelet. “With this?”

Sighing at his inability to cooperate or understand your methods, you thanked the Elder and walked in the direction of Chewbacca’s head poking out atop the Aki-Aki heads paying so heed to Poe chasing after you in the sand.

“That’s a traditional Aki-Aki engagement bracelet by the way.” You informed.

Poe’s eyes went wide, lifting his wrist to look at the beads – then he smiled. Maybe it was for the best since his intended engagement ring for you was rolling around in BB-8’s circuits.

Masterlist here

[hopefullystillatheatrestudent]

okay so i’ve been going crazy these past few days. all about cockles/jensmish and obsessively watching their panels or reading the transcripts BECAUSE. THEY ARE LOUD. LIKE. i saw some fancams on twt and i thought people were just exaggerating but noooooooooo!!!???? so, getting to the point. you said that how do we know that jensen is performing masculinity? because jared isn’t and THAT IS A BIG BRAIN MOMENT. ON POINT. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. a particular moment from gag reel that jumps out (which you’ve talked about) when jensen goes ‘cas, you are my baby daddy’ and misha goes, ‘i know i love you too’ and jensen goes, ‘i didn’t say i love you’ and misha goes, ‘i know you wanted to’ and jensen says, ‘i love you’ WHAT THE FUCK! that was NOT a joke. yes, people took it as a joke and had a good laugh BUT I HAVE WATCHED IT TOO MANY TIMES AND IT LIVES IN MY MIND RENT FREE BECAUSE IT WAS NOT A PERFORMANCE. THAT WAS JENSEN. THAT WAS MISHA. jensen has a had trouble with the pda and being all touch feely (the breakup theory) and he gradually grew into it, accepted it and misha was right there all along, never pushed it. it was like a deancas au but tbh, 99% of destiel is because of cockles and we all know it. i just. jensen has latched onto dean as an emotional support because he tunes with it. understands it. projects on to it. yeah, i just had to say it and get it off my chest. (and what about those poetry pages on instagram? alma? what is your opinion?) btw, you have a lovely blog and your analysis are right on target.

so there is a LOT i’m going to address here(how dare you bring up [gunshot] i HAVE to talk about it now) so again!!!! under a cut it goes but i hope you appreciate my rambles anon it seems like you do :,)

1. jared vs. jensen and performing masculinity. hell yeah man. jared and jensen are both just ‘guys from texas’ but they are still so vastly different. today i actually had a revelation that i’m pretty sure has to do with me being bi. and it’s that i have a group of straight friends(that i love dearly but they care too much about hockey and pitbull imo could not be me) and i have a group of queer friends(who are also batshit[affectionate]). and it’s like whichever group i hang out with a different side of me emerges? they’re both me, it’s just that certain aspects of who i am as a person only surface depending on who i am around. however, i will say i feel like i watch what i say around my straight friends more. i see that very clearly in jensen as well. around jared during panels and on set, he’s definitely putting on an air of machismo and engages in typical guy talk. i do think an element of it is performative, because he wants validation from jared that they’re still just two dudes from texas taking on the world together despite his sexual identity. does that make any sense??? i hope so. but when he’s with misha he is an entirely different person and his sense of humour becomes wildly different. the machismo fades away, he’s way less caught up in what people think about him, lets his guard down, etc. to go back to my original point which is how j2 are different in that regard....jared does not do this. he is a constant. he does not flip a switch between ‘performing masculinity’ and ‘not’ because he isn’t performing any part of who he is. he just IS. so yeah these two are similar in many regards but there’s somewhat of a dissonance between them when it comes to how they perform masculinity because one of them is putting on a show and the other is merely being.

2. that crypt scene blooper(here just in case you need to see it again. do it. as a treat.) when i tell you i have easily seen this over thirty times??? since it first came out??? i mean it. it is such an overlooked(r*mantic) moment and it means so much more than people think it does. i’ve talked about the context behind it, and i think that’s why this blooper was so meaningful, so i’ll mention it again. jensen and misha had a LOT of trouble with this scene. the reason is that jensen couldn’t wrap his head around why dean would be saying these things, if i remember correctly, and both of them sat down and scoured over how they should play it for a while before filming(teamwork ;) teammates *ahem*). [to be honest we all know why jensen had a hard time with that scene and it is because it is blatantly romantic. rip to him but i would simply give in to it at that point but oh well] so anyway, their heads were scattered going into shooting, which is NEVER a good headspace to be in for a scene, ESPECIALLY not a pivotal one. but they had each other to help them through said weird energy on set that couldn’t possibly have invoked the best feelings, especially considering jensen STILL doesn’t think he played that correctly(but he praised misha on his performance :,) ). and with that context every single part of that video hits haRD 

-’stop pulling my face towards your crotch’ i think this is objectively hilarious because it really really looks like jensen is pulling HIMSELF towards misha’s crotch. again, you’re fooling no one, jensen. misha’s wheezing laugh and the way he wraps himself around jensen is also,,,sweet??? like i don’t know how else to describe how i see it but this moment really reads as jensen, in his weird ‘constructing elaborate rituals’ way is asking for security through a physical touch from misha and he happily obliges and gives jensen what he needs. because i mean...watch it again. jensen ‘fights back’, but not really at all, actually. pretty wimpy counterattack. he literally lets himself be smothered by misha, and i would literally describe what they end up doing as cuddling. 

-’i need you, cas. you’re my baby daddy’ i love having an actor’s perspective on things bc i think i can explain what’s going on here. jensen just delivered what was(in his own mind) a rotten take of the lines he’s most scared of delivering. so the scene was already messed up. therefore; ensuing fuckery is warranted to help him feel better. but there’s also for sure more than meets the eye for what he says here because of misha’s reaction after??? like he seemed genuinely touched. first of all, he’s saying ‘you’re my baby daddy’ as half-jensen, but not necessarily dean either(because he didn’t say the previous lines as true to his character...you get it), to misha, not cas. i think i’ve made this point before, but every single innuendo in the gag reels is to misha specifically, never once cas. therefore; logical conclusion: ‘you’re my baby daddy’ was for misha and it meant something deeper than we think because of what follows it

-this part. jensen’s giddy ass smile after he sees misha crack and then misha says ‘yeah, i know’ (can i just say his voice when he says this is so intimate???? like am i intruding guys??? sorry i’ll let myself out) also he is smiling SO BIG

- ‘i know’ ‘why are you laughing?’ ‘no i know i love you too’ this analysis is already so long but i still want to get into what THAT whole exchange means. ‘why are you laughing?’ to me sounds like jensen’s pretending to be affronted by misha laughing at something that is serious. and it’s serious because he quite literally meant ‘i love you’. he did. misha knows it. misha’s really REALLY good at cutting the bs and just getting to what people are actually trying to say. he has an innate sharpness to his sense of humour. so yes, misha is being 100% accurate when he says ‘i know, but you wanted to say it.’ misha isn’t lying here. jensen did want and mean to say ‘i love you’. and then he actually does say it(in a jokey way but not really). 

- so yeah. it is actually so romantic??? like in a weird way jensen was professing his love for misha here?????? and that’s why this clip will NEVER. ever. get old. 

3. jensen having trouble with pda and projecting onto dean: we can all call ourselves dean coded cas girls but NO one deserves that title more than jensen ackles himself. he is dean winchester but marginally less repressed because he actually did admit he was in love with his best friend and let himself be happy, and pretty early on too. one year and two months as opposed to twelve years. so. happy deancas au is correct. and yes about the pda thing: one day i want to write my own post about both of their body language when it comes to each other, but all i can tell is jensen, even in the early days, couldn’t help himself from flirting with misha, but if misha ever crossed a line, jensen would not be happy. clearly he’s come around, however. what i find sweet is that misha always follows jensen’s lead when it comes to how much affection they’re allowed to show each other onstage. it touches my soul

4. destiel is cockles fault. yeah. and the thing is everyone knows it, too. even non-cockles shippers will explain early destiel as entirely dependant on jensen and misha’s wild chemistry. and that chemistry is easily explained by the fact that misha and jensen are literally just wildly horny bisexuals who were crazily attracted to one another and were falling in love on screen before our very eyes. and when you have THAT insider info(which sounds cray doesn’t it!!!! the destiel actors are in love irl??? huh???) everything really does click into place. why destiel got SO popular when the show and actors never ever intended for it to happen.(i know some people think misha was playing cas as gay the whole time for shits and giggles, and i won’t deny that[especially considering he found out early on that destiel was why he was staying on the show], but i don’t think he really wanted it to amount to anything, nor did he care??? i mean he has the real thing with jensen, for one, so their characters aren’t really as important. for two, he loves joking about destiel because it’s a cultural phenomenon and it’s fascinating, and i’m sure he did ship it because he’s unhinged, but i don’t think it was vastly important to him either way.) destiel got popular because everyone was and is unintentionally reading into the real deal. i could pull up countless gifs that people have used as destiel proof that is actually just jensen and misha being messy. mainly jensen. if i’m being honest.  the symbiotic relationship between destiel and cockles is why i’ve stayed onboard the destielcule and shellerscape for three solid months now; because it is utterly fascinating to witness and kind of super beautiful, too. 

5. alma(and others). so. i do NOT want to really REALLY get into this in its entirety here and now so i will just give you my opinion on if i think alma is misha or not. also; i don’t want to mention the other poetry accounts here bc i feel like that’s a bigger breach in privacy, but a lot of people do know about alma now. way too many, actually. this is why we can’t have nice things. anyway-to answer your question-there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that yes, misha is running that alma poetry account. i am 100% certain. some people think it’s actually three people and they’re all connected to misha in some way but that is so needlessly complicated. as it goes in psychology; the easiest explanation is probably the right one. it’s just one person running that account, and it is misha collins. i don’t know why it’s so hard to believe KNOWN POET misha collins(who is known to spend most of his free time writing poetry anyway) would have created a secret poetry account to write about his intense secret relationship under an alias and also get legitimate feedback since no one used to know it was him. oh and the handwriting is identical??? you are blind if you do not see that i am sorry. and a million other things prove it’s misha too but yeah all you need to know is yes. it’s him. it would take a literal livestream from a random woman on that account to convince me otherwise. and honestly not even that because a random woman could technically still log in if misha asked her too. so. it would take a hell of a lot to convince me otherwise, clearly. that said DO NOTTTTTTTTTTTT GO ONTO THAT ACCOUNT WITH A SUPERNATURAL RELATED USERNAME AND COMMENT THINGS THAT ARE COCKLES RELATED. ARE YOU BRAIN DEAD WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT’S OKAY. sorry i got heated but god please just don’t be dumb so many people have already gone way too far 

6. thank you for your lovely compliment on my analyses!!! i love doing them but i don’t know if people actually like reading them so i really appreciate it

[deadinsidedressage]

Why Acti-Veg’s “Ethical Issues with Horse Riding” is Flawed

Militant vegans and animal right’s activists alike have determined that horse riding is an inherently unethical activity. Yet the criticism they dole out is inherently flawed itself. In a recent run-in with the vegan community a “source” provided to shame me about being an equestrian was a post by Acti-Veg. 

The following will be a look into the claims made in that post by myself, someone who has grown up around horses, ridden a variety of disciplines, witnessed the spectrum of how personal finances impact horse care, and currently work for a top level professional. 

To really delve into the flaws in the arguments made in Acti-Veg’s post we must first acknowledge one difficult truth: Abusive practices in horse riding, horse training, and horse management still exist, still are popular, and are extremely visible.  There’s a higher degree of accepted abusive practices the lower on the economic spectrum the culture of a given discipline, breed, or nation tends to be. The ugly truth about animal abuse and neglect is that it tends to occur because of a lack of education. A lack of education occurs because of poverty. The poverty cycle and the impacts it has on education is well-documented and something I am personally acquainted with as an educator in an under-serviced community. The way we break abusive practices in any animal husbandry starts with making education free and accessible.  Yet there’s the flaw with equestrianism--- it’s an extremely classist endeavor. There is a hard class division between the ability to be a truly ethical horse owner and as an unintentionally neglectful or outright abusive horse owner. The class issue in equestrian is two-fold; on the one hand there’s the lack of educational opportunities free from a paywall that could help erase abusive practices, on the other there’s the psychology of poverty and the creation of a “us versus them” mindset (often what I refer to as the “underdog mentality). There are limited opportunities for people to access affordable/free education to improve their horse care, handling, riding/training and when there is it is often meant with hostility.  The unfortunate fact is that people who are engaging in abusive and neglectful practices because of lack of education are also extremely defensive of having their practices questioned. They fall into an assumption that the party attempting to educate them is just an embodiment of the upper class and judgmental because of their privilege. In the US, this dichotomy is primarily seen in the split between Western and English disciplines. With Western often engaging in “old timey”,“cowboy” practices and English being dismissed as “snooty”, “spoiled” and so forth. Refusal to change and adjust to ethical practices is seen as a place of pride because the “cowboy method” is upheld against the assumed “spoiled princesses” who have “everything done for them”. These people believe themselves to be “do-it-yourselfers”, of succeeding despite “the system”, and of having “worked for what they have”.  Abuse and neglect is not exclusive to Western disciplines, but the vast majority of under-educated unintentional abusers, in my experience, come from Western disciplines. 

When I discuss counter-points to vegan talking points, I am speaking specifically of ethical equestrianism. Horse ownership, care, and training rooted in a belief in continuing education. A group that is self-aware of the flaws in the sport and who advocate for global changes toward ethical equestrianism. 

With that out of the way, the first point latched onto is the use of the term “breaking” when discussing the training of horses for riding: 

“... horses are forced to accept a rider against their will. A lack of resistance does not mean that a horse has consented to being ridden, it simply means a horse has figured out that it is in their best interests to allow it to happen. Even the term “breaking” implies an acknowledgement of the truth of this fact.”

Breaking is an antiquated term and while still used in the equine community to describe starting horses under saddle, when we are discussing ethical horse training it is simply a colloquialism. The post mentions still-existing though admittedly abusive practices such as laying down a horse (forcibly dropping a horse to force “submission”) and begrudgingly refers to currently accepted slow-start practices though insistent that that is still an inherently abusive practice.  The fact is, when discussing the practice of training a horse to be ridden as “unnatural” is only as true as the act of domestication is unnatural. Domesticated animals do not have the same instincts as their wild counterparts. They have had instincts bred out of them and the ability to enjoy co-habitation with humans bred into them. Do horses feel the need to be ridden? No. Neither do cats or dogs feel the need to live with us, but like these are all animals that have been bred to accept and enjoy human socialization. Riding is a form of socialization. Dependent on the breed and individual personality of the horse, not only is riding a fulfilling form of inter-species socialization but it’s a form of complex mental and physical stimulation they need for quality of life. Yes, just like there are dogs that have been so purpose bred they develop neurosis when kept “just as a pet” there are horses who have the same need for work. 

Another point the post tries to make is about growth plates and long-term impacts of riding prior to fusion:

However, studies demonstrate that the epiphyseal plates in the body of the lumbar vertebrae of thoroughbred horses is not fully developed until they are between 6 and 9 years old, and that riding them before this time can cause lasting injuries. Even after this age, damage to the spine resulting from riding is common. In one study, 91.5% of ridden horses studied were diagnosed with some kind of alteration of the spine after x-ray, even though they seemed perfectly healthy prior to the scan. 

The post sites two studies, one which is written by someone with their PhD in holistic medicine, a clear anti-riding bias, and a misunderstanding of kissing-spine as universal to all horses. The other is in German. Were the entire post in German and meant for German speakers I wouldn’t have an issue with sourcing a study in German... but as it’s directed toward an English-speaking audience and it’s in German... I mean that just reeks of twisting facts to suit your narrative while preventing people from fact-checking you. 

Here’s the thing about growth plates and horses, we also have studies that have shown that light age appropriate work helps with bone density, helps remedy some conformational flaws, and does not damage. The key word is appropriate.

Reining and racing are the two top sports that skew data sets toward showing detrimental impacts on the longevity of horses because they are sports that start horses too early and with too high of intensity for it not to result in damage. Ethically developed young horses are given long stretches of off time to accommodate growth phases and are worked lightly. A 4 year old is not worked with the intensity of a 14 year old. 

There’s also the issue of kissing spine which is still not fully understood. It’s most prevalent in Quarter Horses, Thoroughbred, and Warmbloods--- the three arguably most populous riding horse breeds. There is some debate as to what causes it or the extent of the genetic component, but kissing spine has been discovered in the remains of prehistoric, pre-domesticated horses. 

I would also argue that depending on the age demographic of the “91.5%” study that there’s also just the nature of wear and tear on bodies. Within the equestrian community it’s known that no horse is going to vet entirely clean because that’s not how being a living creature works. Life has impact on the body and even humans who’ve never engaged in sports activities will develop conditions like arthritis as they age. Especially when we consider that medical advancements have surpasses ours and our domesticated friends’ evolutionary lifespans. Simply put, ours’ and theirs’ bodies will begin to breakdown long before there are no longer care options to prolong life. 

A point that is barely worth mentioning because of the seeming refusal of the author’s post to do any research in order to attempt an educated opinion is on the use of training equipment and aids: 

On top of the process of riding, many riders inflict additional harm on their horses using instruments like harnesses, bits and whips; even saddles can restrict blood flow and cause chafing, this is not including general injuries sustained by horses which are part and parcel of being ridden. Bits are particularly harmful, as they damage horse’s sensitive nerves, their teeth, tongue and palate.

None of this equipment is inherently harmful. An ill-fitting saddle or an incorrectly used bit and the damage they can cause are not equatable to a properly fitting saddle and a correctly used bit. They don’t even give me something to counter here other than saying “no, that’s wrong” because they have so little understanding of the use of tools in training and riding horses. Saddles can cause chafing--- hmm, does that reason that a vegan would then prefer if I “had” to ride I did so bareback? What about the studies I can pull up showing that bareback riding is detrimental to spine health...  The “not including general injuries sustained by horses which are part and parcel of being ridden” portion of this is a little hilarious as someone who has always been around horses. Yes, it’s not out of the question for a horse to sustain small injuries through the course of being ridden just as it’s not out of the question for a human person engaging in any physical activity to sustain small injuries. What about potentially “career ending” injuries though? Anecdotally, I know of few horses with injuries that lead to retirement from riding that actually occurred while being ridden. Horses are an evolutionary shitshow and much of that is evident in their tendency to injure their legs in somewhat miraculous ways.  Additionally, injuries that could occur from work are also mostly preventable and this is where the class/educational barrier raises it’s ugly head again. A top tier dressage horse is likely to have more overall stress on their body than the average 4H horse. However, the dressage horse is also going to be exposed to preventative and aftercare measure such as boots/polos, icing, poultice, theraplating, PEMF, laser therapy, nutritional support, structured warm-up/cool-down, etc. The 4H horse is usually lucky if someone notices they’ve bowed a tendon or developed a bone spur. There is so much that education can do in prevention of injury and wear. 

The supposed “gotcha” moment of this post comes when talking about euthanasia, making bold claims about horses being disposed of when they outlive usefulness: 

One in particular, an owner of a horse equipment shop, explained the reasoning: “I really love horses. But when they’re no good to me, what are you going to do with them? We don’t want to take ‘em out back and shoot ‘em. They may just as well be slaughtered, and get some use out of them.” Another commented that: “Chickens for eggs, lambs for wool, cows for milk, horses for work, and when their useful, productive life has passed, then you turn them into meat.”

Part of me honestly doesn’t really believe this is a real quote by a real person, but these people also do exist. There also is the unfortunate reality of the “slaughter pipeline” in the US in which horses who are sent to auction often end up in the hands of kill buyers who ship them over the boarder to sell for meat. 

As far as should a horse be killed when it surpasses “usefulness”? Absolutely not. Ethical equestrians don’t view horses this way and recognize that an animal which has offered so much by way of partnership deserves a soft retirement and a loving home until they die. However, the post tries to take an anti-euthanasia stance period:

“..most owner’s prefer to euthanize animals when they become too old or sick to walk or ride”

If you’re not catching the problematic part of that sentence, there’s the suggestion that it’s wrong to euthanize an animal that can’t walk. The inability to conceptualize quality of life over quantity of life seems to be a recurring theme with vegans. An animal that is evolutionarily designed to roam miles in a day, essentially need movement to help with digestion, and can’t communicate pain isn’t an animal that can be ethically kept alive when it loses the ability to be comfortably mobile. It is better to euthanize any animal in order to prevent suffering that is to force them to live through it. Animals cannot conceptualize pain the way a human being can. A horse does not wake up in pain and think “well, thank god I’ve lived through another day!”. It wakes up, feels itself in pain, and suffers. 

Now, to indulge myself in my own controversial opinions... I think horse slaughter should be legalized in the United States and regulated in order to make sure it is done in an ethical manner. There is simply too high an over-populous of unethically bred horses that are not going to be placed in homes to justify the horrors involved in the shipment of horses to slaughter. Horses currently going through the slaughter pipeline due to being undesired go through horrific non-stop truck journeys in which they are crowded, starved, dehydrated, extremely stressed, and sometimes even die in the process of the trip. It’s a cruel end to the horse.  Horses are also extremely expensive animals that require a high degree of care in order for their needs to truly be met. This post referenced horse owners as spending an average of roughly $3,500 a year on their horse. That is a shockingly low number and indicative of how normalized neglectful care is. Prices of care certainly change based on location, but personally keeping my horse at an absolute basic level of care while assuming no vet emergencies are taking place and without factoring any of the expenses keeping her in work would entail.. I am at nearly $10k a year and that’s with doing the absolute minimum with zero preventative care.  I also have no issue with the sentiment of horse owners who’d like to see some “usefulness” out of the death of their horse. The practice of either taking the meat from your deceased horse for you family or to be given to the needy in the community is standard in Norway. It isn’t a taboo, it’s a sensible way to dispose of the corpse of a large animal in a way that doesn’t negatively impact the environment and honors the horse. I know people who have donated their horses’s corpses to wildlife sanctuaries to feed animals. For some people being able to ascribe some meaning pr purpose to the death of their animal is needed for coping. 

The major thing with this post is that it lacks the understanding of nuance. It condemns riding as a whole based off an awareness of abusive practices that activists within the community are trying to change. Arguments made are made without the education to back up the points being attempted and when all else fails it’s reliant on the classic militant vegan rhetoric about interaction with animals being exploitative. Ultimately while not as egregious as PETA thinking sheering sheep involves skinning them, this is the horse version of utterly misunderstanding the subject of the argument.

[myaekingheart]

As I approach a very raw and emotional arc in the story that I’m writing, I’ve been thinking a lot about comfort characters, coping mechanisms, and fandom. Specifically in the lens of curating your own fandom experience and trying to navigate other people’s perceptions of your comfort characters. 

Like, one of my favorite things about fandom is the fact that we have this tendency to so often latch onto characters that mean something to us or that we see parts of ourselves in. We get really, really attached to characters and fall in love with them and even create these fabricated narratives (that are sometimes also romances, self-insert or not) as a way to feel some sort of bond with these characters. We feel like we know them and end up feeling like we share some sort of fictional relationship with them and it can be extremely comforting. It can be extremely comforting using that fictional relationship and the stories we weave as a way to cope with things we’re dealing with in our lives, to work through these complex and raw thoughts and emotions in a way that foregoes more dangerous routes. The intrinsic value of hurt/comfort and even whump in transformative works in terms of coping with mental, physical, and emotional pain cannot be ignored. And this is great! The right to take a comfort character and use them as your own personal coping mechanism is truly one of the most wonderful things about fan culture. 

If this was all there was to it, then that would be fine. And if you’re kind of solitary in your fandom endeavors, then that’s likely all there is to it. When you start engaging in fandom and with other people, though, I feel like that’s when things can so easily go awry. Chances are, you are not the only person who takes comfort in a specific character. And you are not the only person who uses that character to cope and process through transformative works. It’s an amazing feeling to find someone who shares the same love for a character that you do, and who is on a similar wavelength as you in terms of using that character as a way to cope, and the things that you each use that character to cope with. But then there’s the darker side, when people use your comfort character to cope with things that make you uncomfortable. Or even just use them as a player in a story that makes you uncomfortable. It can be extremely difficult to be so deeply attached to a character and your own personal solitude in them, the idea of them protecting you from something bigger than yourself, and then so suddenly find someone else using that very character to create stories heavily focused on the very thing you’re trying to combat. The most common reactions, I feel, are typically anger, fear, confusion, hurt, distrust, disgust. A part of you might even begin questioning how well you even know this character to begin with, or if everything you’ve thought you understood about them was way off the mark and you’ve been fabricating this false, out-of-character idea of them. But more than anything, you begin to feel like the one character in which you sought comfort has been turned around to hurt you. And that can be an extremely distressing thing to try to manage. 

It can be even more difficult when the version of this character that is so heavily focused on something that’s harmed you is widely accepted or at least presented in a fandom space. It can feel isolating, like you constantly have to watch your step and vet everyone that reaches out to you or follows you. It can be tiring. It can leave you feeling like you just want to remove yourself from fandom spaces entirely. A personal example: one of my favorite characters is very commonly presented in fandom in a way that feels very close to an incident from when I was younger that traumatized me. And seeing this character presented in this way can be incredibly distressing, disturbing, and disgusting. More often than not, I end up having this very visceral reaction that leaves me nauseous, angry, and self-conscious. Because seeing a character I love occupying a space reminiscent of someone who hurt me is unsettling, and even moreso when it’s so much harder to avoid. 

So that begs the question of what to even do about this, because I’m sure that this experience is universal to anyone engaging in fandom in one capacity or another. There are plenty of options. There is leaving fandom entirely, whether that means detaching yourself from your entire fandom experience or resorting to enjoy fandom quietly, silently, alone. This is an easy and safe option. This is like the abstinence of options. You can’t put yourself in the line of fire if you never engage in the first place, right? But it’s also incredibly isolating. It’s cutting yourself off of the positive experiences in fandom because the negatives seem to outweigh them. It’s throwing the whole thing in the garbage because one piece broke off. Another option is policing other people. This is considered in poor form. This is unhinged and unempathetic. This is the angry child stomping in the grocery store insisting that if you can’t have a piece of candy, then no one can. Because people are going to continue to write and create whatever content they want regardless of whether or not it makes someone else uncomfortable. Sometimes especially if it makes someone else uncomfortable, because that is the point that they are trying to make in their art. But also because so often the very things that make you uncomfortable are the very things are bringing comfort to someone else. It’s their way of coping, just in the exact opposite way as you. And policing them would make them feel the same way as someone policing you. It feels restrictive and hurtful and, again, isolating. So if you can’t stop other people from creating what you don’t want to see, and you can’t bring yourself to remove yourself from the situation, what other options do we have left? 

Managing your fandom experience is like a balancing act. It requires not censorship, necessarily, but well-intentioned warnings. Tagging and unfollowing and blocking and blacklisting. The only reliance this has on other people is for them to maintain courtesy by listing the contents on the front page like the ingredients on a package of food. Not everyone does this, which is another problem entirely, but the ones that do are doing all that’s required of them. The rest is up to you. The rest relies solely on your ability to blacklist your triggers, unfollow people who do share content that triggers you without tagging (which can be difficult when something that triggers you is very niche and vague, like a specific perfume or a woman with blue hair). Block people who follow you that share triggering content, even if you’re not following them, because we know that even them just appearing in your notifications and the temptation of looking at their content can be unnerving--despite how much we all certainly like to believe we have some semblance of self control. Blacklist the tags that bother you so that you can continue engaging with a friend’s content even if they share things that you don’t enjoy or want to see. Tumblr makes this easy with options like Xkit and Tumblr Savior. 

But what about other places? What about on Twitter and Discord and AO3 and deviantART? What about when you run into uncomfortable content that you can’t avoid? When all other options have been exhausted but you still just can’t escape it? What do you do then? I’m still trying to figure that out myself. I’m still trying to find a way to navigate certain unsettling waters in the most balanced and respectful way, while also respecting my own triggers and mental health. And sometimes it’s really fucking hard. Sometimes there’s more to it than just blocking and blacklisting. And I wish I had answers for what to do in those situations, but I don’t. Not yet. And I hope one day I will. 

All of this is just to say: fandom can be a murky and dizzying experience and sometimes you’re bound to run into things that make you uncomfortable, or things that don’t sit well with you. Sometimes you’re bound to run into interpretations of your comfort character that make you sick to your stomach and want to punch a hole in the wall and delete everything you’ve ever written and shot out into the world for reasons you don’t even quite understand. And sometimes all of that can feel really isolating, or like you’re just overexaggerating and being a wimp, or like you’re being a bad participant in fandom spaces. Sometimes it can be really hard to want to stay involved in fandom when curating that experience can feel like so much work. And because as much as you can tag and blacklist and block and unfollow, that doesn’t always completely erase the feelings that running into that triggering content comes with. You can do all of these things and still feel nauseous and angry and uncomfortable and like you desperately need to reach for the eye bleach. And that can be really hard to navigate, especially when seeing that content makes you feel separated from the one character you would turn to to actually cope with this. Sometimes it can begin to feel like the way you see this character or feel about this character has been irrevocably changed for you now, because all you see attached to them now is your trigger, and that really hurts. I wish I had answers for how to manage those feelings, or how to rewire the circuits in your brain and load an old save up, to cut out the moldy part of the cheese and enjoy the rest that hasn’t yet been spoiled in your mind. I wish I had answers for how to cope with those sorts of things, but I don’t. I just hope one day I will. 

[vee-angel]

First Day of School (Part of the Sodom Virus Chronicles), part 2

Second Subject: Gym Class

Ricki had tried to meditate for the first time in an attempt to calm her nerves. She didn’t exactly know how it was done, but she knew that the likelihood of some magical deus ex machina swooping in to rescue her was close to nil. She was going to have to learn to live in this world whether she liked it or not. Besides, it’s not as if the other girls seemed like they were particularly unhappy. 

She stayed away from the window, but some of the girls crawled out to meet with other girls or boys. Best she could tell, aggressively kissing one another is how girls greeted each other. While they addressed males by sort of facing them with downcast eyes for an expectant moment. Sometimes the men engaged them in conversation, some groped them, while others snapped their fingers to command the girl onto her knees or into other positions. It seemed that there were some universally understood hand-gestures that directed girls into one position or the other. Ricki tried to appreciate the opportunity to be a part of this new culture, but she couldn’t fully dismiss her anxieties as she watched Sharaje being anally hate-fucked by two guys in a row. They both used her mouth afterward. 

After a few minutes, there was a tone that seemed to signal that they should make their way to the next class. Ricki had managed to make it all the way to second period with her virginity intact, but she had a feeling she may not make it to the end of the day. 

Sharaje quickly retrieved a mirror and some wet-wipes from her bag to clean her anus; she angled the mirror to check that her rear-entrance was picture perfect before fixing her hair and lipstick with expert speed. She then bounded happily up to Ricki and took her hand, “Sorry for making you wait, stupid. My asshole is a really popular place for men to cum.” 

The pair of them walked hand-in-hand down the hall, “Do you know where we’re going, or are you too much of a retarded fuckhole?” Sharaje asked. 

Ricki wasn’t sure where they were going, she hadn’t been given much information, other than where her first class was; she was led to believe that Sharaje would get her up to speed from there. “Umm, no, the man in the front office didn’t tell me much.” 

Sharaje stopped short and her expression went stern. She gave Ricki a firm, corrective slap in the face. “Ricki! I know you’re new to the outside world, but it’s never okay to blame your failures on a man! I’ve been assigned to take care of you, and if you get declared a feminist within a certain period of time, I’m going to be punished. So let’s try this again, why don’t you know what class is next?” 

“Because I’m a retarded fuckhole.” Ricki spoke with the tone of a girl broken. 

“Again.” Sharaje demanded. 

“I’m a retarded fuckhole.” She repeated in a lackluster tone. 

“Don’t act like you’re being forced, shit-lips.” 

That particular insult made Ricki cringe. She knew it was a reference to her dark labia that had been mercilessly mocked by the class a few minutes before. She decided to use the hurt to speak decisively, “I’m a retarded fuckhole!” She spoke loud enough that a few other students passing by in the hall snickered at her. 

“That’s a good cunt.” Sharaje said as she rubbed the side of her head as if petting an animal, which Ricki supposed was the best way women could be regarded here. Her mind latched onto something her “friend” had said. If she failed to assimilate and got sent to one of the feminist “repositories,” Sharaje would get punished? Was she only being mean to try to get Ricki accustomed to this society as quickly as possible? Because something really bad might happen to her if she failed?

Maybe the two of them really could be friends. Maybe Ricki was actually lucky in a way. After all, it seemed like Sharaje was thriving in this world, maybe she could learn how to thrive, too.  

The two girls continued walking together to someplace that Sharaje either forgot to or intentionally neglected to tell her. She noticed that all of the female students and many of the male students seemed to be heading in the same direction. Eventually, they made their way out through the large double doors that opened upon what appeared to be a large athletics field. Just beyond that was a waist-high fence and then a busy street. It seemed like every girl in the school was out here. 

She got lost briefly trying to figure out what was going on when Sharaje gave her a firm, yet somehow friendly slap between the legs. “Over here.” She pointed to several rows of square lockers. Ricki followed as she made her way to a particular one. “We can share mine until you get your own.” As she spoke, she hooked her fingers under the bottom of her shirt and flipped it off in one swift motion. She opened the locker, folded the garment neatly, and placed it inside. 

Ricki was stunned. She knew by now that she shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it. This wasn’t a locker room or a changing room. It wasn’t a room at all! It was just rows of lockers on an exterior wall. She could see lines of cars going past just a few dozen feet away. Along with pedestrians of various ages. Some of whom stopped to watch as a few hundred teen girls all stripped publicly naked in unison. 

She knew that resistance was hopeless. At least this time, she wouldn’t be the only one exposed. She began to undress and placed her shirt and bra timidly in the locker next to Sharaje’s things. Sharaje, meanwhile, had produced a small bottle of solvent from her bag and was painting it onto her butt to dissolve the glue that ensured the spreader-jeans kept her holes perpetually exposed. It was an irony that taking her pants off would actually allow more modesty in her case. 

The two girls had just finished undressing when Ricki noticed a girl emerge from the double doors. She had apparently taken her time on account of the fact that she was already naked as the day she was born. She also looked strong… really strong. She had this vibe like a bad-ass lady superhero from old comic books. Except a more teen-aged version. 

Her and Sharaje exchanged a grin that wasn’t entirely friendly and the new girl walked over. Sharaje spoke first, “Hey Loose Caboose, ready to tongue kiss the tightest asshole in the school?” She turned her hips to spread her ass in the muscular girl’s general direction. 

“Well, I would kiss the tightest one in the school, but I’m not flexible enough to reach my own yet.” The tone suggested a friendly rivalry, but in Ricki’s mind, she had to process for a moment. Their rivalry was about who had the tighter anus?? She had a brief sinking feeling; is that what all the girls were going to be doing today? Testing how tight their buttholes were??? 

She’d tried to hold her tongue for fear of saying something wrong, but she had to ask this time. “Umm, excuse me, cunt?” she tried to speak to other women disrespectfully, but it still felt awkward, and she was certain it sounded as such, too. “What are you talking about? What’s happening today?” 

Both girls stared at her, but thankfully Sharaje didn’t let the silence linger too long. “Oh, this is Dephile. She’s a rapist!” 

“I’m not just a rapist. I’m the best rapist in the state.” Dephile declared proudly. 

“Only for high school.” Sharaje shot back derisively. 

“Choke on a dick, you fat slunt, I have scouts for college rape teams all over me.” 

Ricki was confused. “Wait, what do you mean she’s a rapist?” The question was addressed at Sharaje. 

“Wow, your stupid cult didn’t even let you watch tv?? Rape has become pretty much the biggest sport over the last, like, ten or fifteen years. Two sluts get into a ring and try to win points by penetrating each other’s holes. There’s like a different number of points for-” 

Sharaje was interrupted when Dephile slammed her forcefully against the lockers and leveraged her arm against her back. “Maybe you should let an athlete explain it, soft-bodied whore.” 

Dephile’s body was extraordinary, watching her exert herself to hold a struggling Sharaje in place allowed Ricki to see the smooth, defined muscles writhe beneath her skin. She continued her explanation. “A rapist wins point by violating the holes of her opponent. That can be done through penetration, like the stupid skank here said,” Dephile then demonstrated by jamming two fingers dry up Sharaje’s asshole. It was clear that she was clenching hard to resist, her body thrashed but Dephile’s strong grip kept her pinned against the lockers, the powerful fingers dry-forcing their way inside. “Or she can win points by defilement, like so.” 

Dephile performed a maneuver so quickly that Ricki wouldn’t even begin to be able to describe it, but it ended with Sharaje bent back on her knees and her face clamped between Dephile’s legs. Her mouth was pressed firmly against the strong woman’s cunt as she began to piss, with impressive accuracy, straight up Sharaje’s nostrils. She began to choke and cough, but Dephile was using her smooth cunt to gag her, ensuring that there was no way to get air without sucking urine through her nose. 

When she’d finally emptied her bladder onto Sharaje’s face, ensuring that a decent amount ended up in her lungs, she finally released her face from the death-grip of her thighs. She went to stand up, but Dephile apparently wasn’t done with her, yet. After a sweep of the legs, Sharaje was face down with Dephile kneeling on the small of her back. “Of course, double points are awarded any time a rapist can force a self-violation.” She demonstrated this by gripping Sharaje’s hand tightly and wrenching her arm back so that she could sodomize the girl with her own fingers.” 

Finally, she released the thrashing Sharaje and took a step backward to allow her room to stand. “I have a match after school today. You cunts should come cheer for me!” 

Sharaje stood and wiped the piss and snot and tears from her flawless arabian features. “Gee, thanks for explaining, Dephile.” Her words oozed with sarcasm, “Say ‘thank you,’ Ricki.” 

“Umm, thank you!” Ricki said, seeming almost surprised by her own words. 

It was about this time that all three girls noticed that nearly everyone else in the class had lined up near the fence of the school. By this point, Ricki was able to deduce that the purpose was to place the girls as close to the public as possible to maximize their humiliation. 

A group of middle-school aged boys leaned on the fence casually a few feet away and just admired the wall of naked teen girl-flesh as they chatted amongst themselves. 

There were a few women who looked old enough to be teachers standing in front of the line facing the girls. But it seemed that most of the instructors were simply athletic students. Dephile had a group a bit farther down. Once all the girls were in position, the naked girls acting as instructors prompted them all to go through a course of basic calisthenics. 

Ricki was sweating and out of breath after the first few exercises. She looked around to see that she was seemingly the only one. While not all the other students had particularly athletic-looking physiques, they were apparently all unquestionably in-shape. The exercises continued. The line of naked sluts extended, flexed, bent, and twisted in enough different directions to ensure that every muscle in their bodies was lithe and supple. The others made it look easy, but Ricki was actually getting light-headed by the time they were told to go for a jog around the perimeter of the school. 

Ricki was the last one of the group to make it back to her position, having spent the last ten minutes staring out over a sea of slick, jiggling asses moving progressively farther from her. It took all her strength not to collapse on the spot. She was dripping with sweat and wheezing. Sharaje and the others, she noticed, had nearly caught their breath by the time she returned, and their skin had a healthy glow of faint perspiration. Ricki thought she must be more out of shape than she realized, and hoped that there would be a break soon. 

Thankfully, the next segment of class seemed to center around stretching. It was a chance to get her heart-rate under control. Although her profound lack of proficiency soon became apparent. Ricki never thought of herself as stiff, but these other girls had a level of limberness that seemed more appropriate to dancers or gymnasts. While Ricki could touch her toes, most of the other students had their large fleshy tits bulging out as they pressed their chests against their knees. When they were instructed to lay on their backs for a groin stretch, Ricki seemed to be the only girl she could see not doing a full split. Sharaje actually had her feet pressed to the ground roughly in line with her shoulders, legs spread well past a hundred-eighty degrees. 

Ricki had caught her breath, but the lightheadedness still hadn’t totally faded. She did, however, have to admit that this society certainly promoted a much higher level of fitness than the Compound ever did. Maybe that’s why all the girls seemed so happy in spite of everything that was going on? She remembered reading about how stretching can stimulate happy chemicals in the brain, and these girls certainly seem to do a lot of it. 

She was shaken back to attention by the P.E. teacher explaining something about testing and ranking their holes? A part of her really hoped that wouldn’t be a horrible, humiliating, degrading experience, but she expected that it probably would be. 

The teacher led them all to a different section of the field. The first thing she noticed was a bunch of rectangular blocks about knee high and roughly four feet long. The second thing she noticed was the very prominent scoreboard that spanned one of the school's higher walls. On it seemed to be the name of every girl in the school. Actually, she noticed, every girl’s name was on it twice. The left section was labelled “Anal” and the right section was labelled “Vaginal.” From top to bottom had a smaller label that read “tightest” at the top and “loosest” at the bottom. 

Was this really happening?? Was this school really going to test how tight her asshole and pussy were? And then post them up on a scoreboard for…. not just the whole school, but also anyone who happened to pass by?!? The thing that made her most sick to her stomach was the knowledge that if she performed as badly on this as she did on everything else, she’d almost certainly rank at the bottom. Her eyes darted to the very top of the board. The anal side had two names she knew. In first place Sharaje, just beneath her, Dephile. The vaginal scoreboard was reversed, with Dephile seeming to have the tightest cunt and Sharaje coming in second. Then she noticed Sharaje’s name again, in what appeared to be a place of honor above both lists. “Tightest hole: Sharaje’s anus” That must have been what the two of them were teasing each other about earlier. Sharaje’s taunt of “Loose Caboose” made more sense now. Ricki inwardly giggled at the immature wordplay. 

Still the prospect made her feel a bit lightheaded. Each of the teachers read off a pair of names from a list, and two girls approached them. They each took their place on the wooden platforms on their hands and knees facing away from one another. 

The instructor pulled a few supplies that seemed to have been stored inside the base of the platform. A peculiar rope, a bucket, and sturdy looking box. She grabbed the thin rope, it had a two-inch metal ball on each end. She roughly shoved the ball on one end into one of the girls vaginas and then did the same to the other, so that the rope hung between them, suspended by their cunts. 

She then hooked the bucket over the midpoint of the rope, which was indicated by a red line. From the sturdy box, she pulled a small metal brick, about the size of a brownie and dropped it in the bucket. 

As nervous as Ricki felt, she was still fascinated as she came to understand the process. A rope was held up by each girl’s hole, and weight was added to the midpoint. The first girl to release the rope was the loser. Furthermore, one could approximately rank tightness by knowing how much weight caused each girl to fail. Ricki guessed that the list of match-ups was determined by previous testing so that girls were going up against competitors of similar tightness. 

“You’re gonna be at the bottom, loser.” Sharaje’s voice came from behind her, confirming her fears. The statuesque goddess followed up by grabbing Ricki’s pussy and roughly shoving a few fingers inside of her. She mockingly jerked the fingers side to side, causing a humiliatingly loud, wet noise with her genitals. A few of the girls nearby looked at her and laughed, some mocking how wet she was at the prospect of the whole school knowing that she was a used up slut with a sloppy cunt. She wasn’t actually wet at all, it seemed that Sharaje just had a certain expertise when it came to embarrassing other girls. “Yup, definitely last place,” Sharaje concluded as she used Ricki’s hair to wipe off her fingers. 

Ricki tried to push her anxieties to the back of her mind and observe the bizarre challenge. Pairs of girls competed against each other to see who had the tightest cunt and asshole. Sometimes the winner would aggressively mock the girl she’d beaten, other times she’d boast and be congratulated by her friends on the victory while the loser was ignored. 

Eventually she heard one of the teachers call a pair of names that prompted everyone to silence. “Dephile and Sharaje, you’re up!” 

Sharaje bounded up girlishly, her perfect fake tits bouncing as she went, she faced her opponent with the typical arrogant “mean girl” smile. Dephile marched forward, her bare feet slapping the asphalt as her dense, muscular form took her place. She glared back with humorless menace. 

The teacher commanded them to their places on the wooden platforms. The rest of the girls quieted down and crowded around to watch the top two girls compete. The two naked forms struck a perfect quadrupedal pose, backs arched to spread their asses; ensuring their holes were proudly displayed. 

Their cunts were first to be tested. Each metal sphere was pushed into their perfect pink holes. Dephile’s puffy labia seemed to be just about the only part of her body that displayed any softness; even her artificially enhanced tits were taut. 

Both girls had an expression of focused cockiness as the instructor hung the bucket from the midpoint between them. The dykey looking naked P.E. teacher didn’t waste time at the beginning; she tossed the iron blocks in as quickly as she could count them for the first twenty or so. After that she started slowing down a bit, adding one more before pausing for a count of five, then adding another. The time was to give them a chance to fail each time another weight was added. This went on for more than a minute; eventually the bucket was close to overflowing and the dyke twenty-something needed to quickly grab a second bucket that she hooked onto the rim of the first. 

Ricki had to admit that she was kinda impressed. A few of the other girls had managed to get their bucket almost full before they failed, but these two were obviously way ahead of the other girls, and neither seemed like they were about the crack. Another full minute passed with the second bucket being almost half full and then it happened! 

There was a loud sound of spilling iron as the bucket tumbled to the ground. “NOO!” It was the slightly butch voice of Dephile, who’d released first. Sharaje hopped to her feet and threw her hands in the air triumphantly, the rope still hanging from between her legs. After striking a victory pose for her classmates, she pulled the ball from her orifice and rubbed the cunt-juice saturated piece of metal on Dephile’s face mockingly. The muscular woman was clenching her teeth so hard it’s a wonder she didn’t crack one; Ricki could tell that it was taking everything she had not to beat Sharaje to within an inch of her life. 

Ricki studied the encounter, it seemed almost as if there were unwritten social rules regarding when women could behave abusively toward one another. In this particular circumstance, Dephile needed to behave with deference. Was it because Sharaje had proven superiority? Did females in this society have complex rules of a perpetually shifting hierarchy? That seemed consistent with a lot of what she’d seen so far. 

The teacher declared that they’d have a two minute rest before “testing your backdoor strength” as she put it. The sporty instructor seemed to be good-natured, and seemed to have a tattoo on her lower back that Ricki had been trying to make out. As she was re-setting some of the iron blocks from the buckets, she was finally able to make out that it said “Dyke 4 Dick” in a beautifully symmetrical script that framed her perky little ass. 

There was a bit of a murmur from around Ricki. It seemed they were wondering if the rankings would be reversed this month, since Sharaje apparently had the tighter cunt for the first time. Ricki got the impression that Dephile had held that title as long as anyone remembered. 

The two minutes were up and the cute lesbian whisled at the girls to resume their places while the rest of the girls watched. There had been a couple other pairs of girls being tested during their first round, but it seemed that the teachers and student-teachers respected that this was a big deal. So at the moment, all eyes were on the two naked sluts as the two-inch metal balls were shoved into their asses. 

Dephile’s confidence seemed to be wavering, based on the scoreboard, her shitter had lost to Sharaje’s in the past. After all, it was the body part Sharaje was known for; hell, she was even named after her anus. 

The teacher elected not to start from scratch, but simply hung the first full bucket from the mid-point in the rope. Neither girl seemed to have much of a problem. The second bucket was hooked to the rim as it had been the first time and she began counting in weights. 

Both girls' assholes were tightly clenched around their respective ends of the apparatus, they seemed to have a deep sense of determination as the second bucket slowly filled up over the course of the next couple of minutes. When no more could fit in the second bucket, the dyke teacher looked back and forth between the two girls with the iron assholes. They both seemed to be showing signs of exertion, with Sharaje having a slightly greater sheen of perspiration. She waited a few moments to see if either of them would fail, but neither let go. She quickly rushed to get a third bucket, something she seemed utterly unprepared to need. 

She returned and was preparing to attach the third bucket. Ricki found herself honestly rooting for Sharaje to win. She may have been a bully, but she was the closest thing Ricki had to a friend. Her heart sunk as she saw the arabian beauty’s face contort in exertion, she was reaching her limit. Then there was the loud clang of spilling metal that almost made her ears ring. 

“Winner! Sharaje!” the teacher declared. Ricki looked to see Dephile with the ball having dropped out of her anus. She angrily punched the platform hard enough to draw blood on her knuckles. Sharaje sprung up from the platform, still breathing heavily from the exertion and let out this giggle-scream of triumph. She hopped over to Dephile, who had just reluctantly stood up, wound her arm back as far as it would go, and slapped the muscle-bound bitch hard across the face. 

“Get ready to spend the next month kissing my asshole, you fucking loser!” Sharaje punctuated the sentence by grabbing a handful of Dephile’s hair and spitting in her face. Dephile looked broken, a combination of anger and shame washed across her face and threatened to flood out of her eyes in the form of tears. “You know, actually? You’re such an ugly jock loser that you don’t even deserve to kiss my asshole yet. I’m gonna have you beg to kiss every other girl’s asshole and tell them how much better they are then yours. Then, maybe when you’ve had some practice I’ll allow you the honor of pressing your lips against my perfect, superior hole.” 

Sharaje seemed absolutely prepared to spend the remainder of the class period publicly humiliating Dephile, but the teacher stepped in and dismissed them back to their places so that the rest of the students could be tested. 

For a moment, Ricki almost forgot that she would eventually have to be subjected to this same violation and humiliation. But she noticed a pit in the bottom of her stomach and her knees felt weak. She also became distinctly aware of the fact that the dizziness she experienced after the jog still hadn’t subsided. She wasn’t sure if she was really just that out of shape or if the stress of the day was really having that much of an impact. She elected to try to put her worries out of her mind and just focus on her breathing for a little while in the hopes that she’d be in better shape by the time her name was called.

She wasn’t. 

Her heart was racing even before the dyke teacher called her name. It’s just nerves, she told herself, everyone else here is doing this and they’re all fine. This is normal here, it’ll just take some getting used to. 

Ricki’s knees almost buckled when she took a step forward, but she managed to catch herself. She was paired off against the asian girl who was dressed like a slutty anime character in first period; the outfit was gone, but the hair and make-up still made her memorable. 

After a few tries, Ricky managed to climb up onto the platform and assume the position. Though she nearly fell when she lifted a hand to wipe some of the sweat from her face. I’m still sweating? She didn’t feel hot, in fact the air on her naked skin was beginning to give her a bit of a chill. 

She felt the metal ball pressing into her vagina, it took a bit of force for the teacher to get it in. After all, Ricki had never had anything bigger than her fingers inside herself, so maybe that’d work to her advantage, she thought. The metal ball wasn’t particularly big, but it’s bulk was still enough to cause a bit of pain when it was forced in. The teacher behind her hooked the bucket onto the midpoint of the rope, and Ricki immediately felt the cold metal mass withdraw from her and hit the ground. 

There was a smattering of laughter from the other girls. “She’s so loose, she couldn’t even hold the empty bucket!!!” One of the girls shouted. Ricki turned her head to see who spoke but all she could see was a blurry mass of pink and brown flesh. 

She felt the teacher’s hand gently on her bare shoulder, “I know this is your first time, fuckpet, but you need to clench a little bit at the beginning and then go harder as I add the weights, okay? Do you understand?” She sounded legitimately kind and encouraging. 

“I understand. I… I’ll try better,” Ricki replied. She sensed the teacher moving behind her again, and felt the cold metal once again penetrate her. It fell out again almost immediately. She heard the other students taunting her again but they were starting to sound really distant. Her dizziness was getting worse by the second. She had a vague sense of the teacher at her side speaking to her again, but there was an encroaching blackness at the edges of her vision. 

This wasn’t just nerves, something was wrong. Ricki was feeling really bad. She decided to try saying something to the teacher. She took a deep breath and as she tried to speak, everything went black… 

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

Villain/Heroine can be subversive, but it isn’t really THAT subversive.

Bear with me here, I know that sounds weird coming from me, but hear me out. I think a lot of us have had to deal with a lot of bullshit lately about this subject. Emotions are high.

I’m speaking from the perspective of having had this conversation a million times in a million different ways. I’ve fucked up, I’ve been ignorant, I’ve been an ass about it. I still have a lot of trouble navigating this conversation in a way that doesn’t somehow step on the toes of people who I care about. I feel caught in the middle. Sometimes I feel upset with my friends. Sometimes I feel upset with myself. But I’m going to keep trying, because I feel like it’s important, and I feel like we can do better. I want to do better.

So, for me, Villain/Heroine tropes have often been about self-expression and speaking truth to the lies I was fed about what “good” manhood looks like. To me, the fantasy of romance and emotional understanding and solidarity with a male character who exists outside of the cultural narrative about male protagonists and heroes helps me unpack the trauma I have re: abusive, misogynistic men who think of themselves as good. This allows me a safe place to have my feelings about the men in my life recognized and validated within a narrative structure.

Whatever Villain/heroine is for you, it can indeed be feminist and subversive.

That said, it’s not like, automatically the most profound and radical shit in fandom. I’ve seen a few too many very poor attempts by mainstream creators/producers to cater to my particular demographic, and I’ve seen fandom latch onto those examples with fervor (Hook/Emma, I’m looking at you. Sorry shippers). Sure you could make a fantastic and deep story that does hit high notes, but like I said, on it’s own it’s not that subversive, and depending on how it’s handled, can sometimes get frustrating and upsetting. Sometimes, it’s not even the couple on their own that’s the problem, but the way they fit into the rest of the narrative and impact the rest of the cast, or the way fandom behavior has impacted others. Often, it’s the same old “pretty,” skinny, white het couple presented in almost the exact same ways. But I digress.

Villain/Heroine is actually pretty normal. It has been pretty standard feminist fandom faire for decades. And in all honesty, that’s what I want to have back. The relative normalcy of this type of self expression. The “mundanity.” I don’t need to “win” anything. I don’t need to prove my right to exist. I don’t want to write (or read another) thesis presenting my shit as fantastically radical in order to justify my existence. 

I don’t need it to be this controversial of a conversation. I don’t want the petty purity viciousness, or self-centered defensiveness, or the overall knee-jerk reactionary bullshit from everybody. I just want people to be able to talk without having meltdowns. I want to not be faced with the purity assholes who co-opt the voices of people who want this conversation to fucking evolve. I want us to make room for smarter, more mature and inclusive conversations about villain/heroine content, and I want that content to exist and grow beyond my personal context for it. I want us to start acting and speaking as adults who care about the right for people to be heard, and who care about more than just our own needs, desires, and experiences.

I want us to stop letting our first and most intense emotional response to something define everything for us. I think we need to start sitting with our own feelings for a while before speaking, and yes, I mean that even is somebody is in the wrong in some way. Because sometimes it’s possible to express something that is very valid and real, and do so in a way that is imperfect. And I feel like we need to make room for imperfect conversations, because conversations can’t evolve when we’re shutting each other down at the word go.

Just because I personally find something cathartic, meaningful and “empowering” (not the right word for me, but w/e) doesn’t mean that my experience needs to define and usurp every conversation about this particular thing. I don’t like it when purity fandom tries to invalidate and shame my experience, but that is not the same thing as being asked to examine how I participate in content from the perspectives of people who are not me. 

In the same way that we argue that villain/heroine fandom shouldn’t be treated on par with alt-right fanboys, we should be acknowledging that black women are ALSO not on par with alt-right fanboys. Criticism from black women is not the same thing as alt-right fanboy bullshit dominating the conversation. They do not have that kind of power. Our responses to either should not look the same. Even if somebody hurts our feelings or says something that pushes old buttons.

At the end of the day, no matter how you feel about somebody’s opinion, sometimes it’s prudent to stop yourself and examine the source of your feelings and your potential actions thoroughly. Who you are responding to is relevant. What kind of harm are we capable of when responding to opinions we don’t like?

What better ways can we engage in these kinds of conversations that don’t result in larger, more caustic emotional rifts? Because when there is a rift in a space that is largely split by race, then you absolutely have a very real problem, and it’s not going to get better by pretending it doesn’t exist. So how are we going to fix that? Because the way we’ve been approaching it certainly has not been working.

[kendrixtermina]

On the Three Lords’ Leadership Styles

I seem to have made another rambly meta post

One underappreciated but very consistent Detail throughout all routes is that Edelgard’s followers are invariably shown to be very dedicated, it’s kinda one of the main hints that she’s not actually evil even on the AM and SS routes where you don’t explicitly find out about that.

This is mostly shown through engage and death quotes instead of outright cutscenes (though you get Seteth observing how the imperial troops fought to the last and clearly weren’t forced to be there, since you napped most of her would-be underlings thanks to Byleth’s own considerable heroic charisma) 

One memorable moment is the Arianrhod Paralogue in AM where Manuela and Hanneman show up as empire-aligned enemies if you didn’t recruit them.  Hanneman even goes down saying that he doesn’t mind dying for this new, reformed empire (and given his backstory it makes all the sense)

Then there’s her random generals Randolph and Ladislava - in the empire route you find out that they were some of her first meritocratic appointments and super popular with both the armed forces and the general populace. I don’t think it’s ever outright stated that Ladislava’s a commoner but she sure doesn’t mention any title. And of course Edelgard gives this speech to her classmates about how they can totally leave if they want and how ppl like them are the true face of the empire not the corrupt elite from the last generation that they’re about to sweep aside.

It’s not for nothing that she’s got the highest charm stat and growth in the cast, we’re supposed to understand that she’s one heck of a compelling leader.  

Of course this isn’t blanket likeability... she’s authoritative, inspirational even, in a lot of her supports she doles out pep talks or accommodates ppl’s quirks so that they can excell on their own terms, but she markedly comes off as the taskmaster/ with a student-council-president sorta vibe in most of them whereas we see plenty of Claude and Dimitri just goofin’ around with their buds. She’s kinda resigned herself to being unable to rely on anyone and never being understood - Even people who know her enough to have some in-depht understanding of her (such as Hubert or Ladislava) speak of her with a sort of awe

This is markedly not something she wants or likes, she makes a point of speaking about teamwork and togetherness and doing chores just like everyone else, but due to a mix of her natural personality, her position as the soon to be most powerful person on the continent and her backstory she just genuinely finds it hard to step out of Business Mode. (that’s a big part of why she latches onto Byleth the way she does. They’re pretty unphased and flippant, they were raised away from politics and got their own fearsome reputation/ crazy power, so they approach her on a more even basis like its no big deal.)

It’s the tragedy and contradiction of someone who has sworn themselves to creating a world where she could never have existed. She’s playing by the unfair rules of a rigged game so that she may un-rig it if she wins.

Actually all three just want the others to treat em like a normal person because they’re ultimately all good humble people but Claude, being the one with the most social skills, is the only one who actually gets the others to do it.... though one also has to consider that the Alliance is less centralized/ more participatory to begin with, he has only somewhat more power than, say, Lorenz or Hilda.  Though it’d say that Dimitri’s the one who comes the closest to being just one of the group, for all that his friends won’t drop the honorifics, they are emphatically his friends. Though it must be noted that only Bernadetta and Hubert give Edelgard the ‘lady’ treatment and the whole bunch feels pretty comfortable complaining at her (and she generally takes the criticism to heart), though to be fair the Black Eagles all just kinda have sorta quirky and/or irreverent personalities (and that is a huge part of why I love them so)

Due to her exceeding pragmatism she’s not completely above cloak-and dagger tactics or deception (see when she pins the nuke on the church and much pertaining to the faustian bargain) but by and large her underlings know what they’re fighting for and why, and she prefers to fight enemies head on and give them a fair chance to surrender as long as she can do so without jeopardizing the end result. (Evidenced by many dialogue options, cutscenes and even some of her lecture questions)

It’s also a marked contrast to Claude who also has lofty idealistic goals, but doesn’t tell a soul until he’s already winning and knows ppl will likely follow him no matter what. This also ties into his arc of becoming more open and less jaded under Byleth’s influence, but it’s also a genuine difference in their leadership styles. If you show your hand and show what you stand for, people will also know what you stand against and you’ll have enemies. That’s part of why he didn’t join with her right away though he agrees with her goals, he says she’s antagonizing everyone and that that will be “hard for the people to get behind”. 

Meanwhile Claude remains elusive so he can promise everyone whatever they want (on full display with the Knights of Seiros but also with the random Alliance merchants), though this also makes ppl distrust him just due to his secretiveness alone. As Hilda points out he’s not just waaay less untrustworthy than he seems, but actually pretty reliable. His big secret ambition is as benign as world peace and his big secret as simple as that he grew up in another country... not sinister at all. 

As a leader he appeals to ppl’s self interest, trying to figure out their deal and give them what they want, and explicitly tells them all to run if things get tough. He’s surprised when people don’t (see the sad sad scene that happens if Hilda dies) and has a lot more reluctance with asking ppl to put themselves in danger than the other two, perhaps because he’s less invested himself; Leading the Alliance is his side gig,  a means to an end, not the end all be all cause of his life, he’d escape if given the chance so why shouldn’t his allies? Edelgard is likewise consistent - her allies gave it their all so how could she surrender and escape? 

In Dimitri’s case, people follow him largely out of personal loyalty, both because Faerghus culture is just big on honor and fealty, because they’re close friends of himself and his father, and also because they like him for his own virtues.

The most extreme case would be Dedue who for the most understandable of reasons doesn’t care about Faerghus at all, his loyalty is to Dimitri and Dimitri alone.

In AM their faith eventually pays off, otherwise they kinda follow him to their deaths because he stubbornly continues without thinking of negotiation surrender or even damage control. To be fair to him tho, he never actually asks anyone to follow him on his kamikaze mission nor does he hide his intentions, but the others kind of build their hopes on him anyways. 

But we can’t really judge him solely by his worst moments; In general he’s a honorable guy with more empathy than is good for him and he really makes a point of making other people’s suffering his business, most apparent with how he’s promised to improve the standing of Dedue’s people (after his return in part 2, Dedue explicitly says that the empathy is why he follows him and that as he ses it even Dimitri’s vindictiveness comes from a place of empathy for the victims of evil) or how he’s ready to swear a blood oath when Byleth’s father gets killed and just gets very emotional on their behalf - it’s easy to see how that would attract people. For better or for worse he’s more a heroic figure than a politician per se. 

He feels alot on behalf of other people and he’s got a real service mentality. If he weren’t the prince he’d probably go into public service anyways, or charity maybe, he’s constantly doing stuff like rescuing passers-by and taking in random orphans.  He’s also markedly the one of the three who always stays the ruler until his death. Part of it is from his sense of duty and later on, wanting to atone for his past sins, but he’s a genuine chronic do-gooder, and he strives to resolve conflict while making all sides happy even if it means taking a risk to builde a bridge (quite notable when he helps out Claude after their last encounter was anything but friendly)

He clearly and transparently cares a lot so ppl believe things will be better if they get him on the throne (and as per his ending narration he does a lot to help the poor and downtrodden is he does get it)

So really all three have a lot of appeal to potential followers in different ways, depending on what those followers would value in a leader. 

[ganymedesclock]

Very great analysis on how bleak the cycle can be. What’s your take on how the cycle works regarding other villains, like Vaati, or Majora?

So I know you asked about the cycle in-universe, led here I would guess from this post, but there’s a noteworthy followup I made in that vein here, and that’s important context to how I feel about a lot of the Zelda rogues’ gallery.

Because the thing is, if you go looking for qualities to hate, you’ll always find them.

Ghirahim invades Link’s space in a way that feels- to me- very gay panic. He talks in luscious detail about wanting to do violence onto Link’s person. He threatens to run through his subordinates.

Zant creeps on Midna at a major part. And, Zant’s very easy for me to relate to and want to defend, because the big other thing used to make Zant seem “scary and off-putting” is his literal autistic meltdowns. They may not be called that by name, but Zant thrashing, bending weirdly, the noises he makes and slamming his head on the floor when frustrated and overwhelmed, as an autistic person, I recognize intimately. I can’t even say it’s that much of a caricature of stimming and meltdowns.

Vaati kidnaps “beautiful maidens”. We’re given plenty of reasons to hate them.

My beef is, a lot of these issues feel petty- not in their in-universe damage done, but petty in a writing sense. 

Hearing that Ghirahim controls the bokoblins through threat of force is basically meaningless. We can’t really be all up in arms that Ghirahim is threatening to stab bokoblins because in that cutscene alone we tear them apart en masse ourselves. We can have the excuse that they’re our Enemies, but they’re Ghirahim’s subordinates, but really, how much of an excuse is that? Yes, there’s a difference between stabbing enemies and stabbing allies, but The Legend of Zelda is not a work that has any kind of moral high ground to point fingers about dehumanizing people. We’re not even dignified a response from the Bokoblins. You could omit Ghirahim’s threat entirely and nothing about that scene’s weight or context would change.

Zant getting uncomfortably up in Midna’s space is just supposed to be a cruelty that make us feel more justified when Zant dies in a comparatively graphic and painful-looking manner. They are not used as meaningful characterizing moments. It doesn’t illustrate that Zant wields cultural power over Midna, because in their dynamic, both make clear that Midna was the favored one- she was chosen to rule- while criticizing Zelda, she alludes to having a life of luxury herself (since she’s projecting her own issues onto Zelda in that scene) while Zant at least perceives himself as having lived a tortured life and Midna doesn’t contradict him or call him a liar, merely insists that he was power hungry and that’s why “everyone” felt justified turning away from him.

It doesn’t indicate Zant really wants Midna because it seems to just exist as an opportunity to set up Zant attacking her for siding with the light world. It doesn’t even really indicate Midna’s character growth because she doesn’t seem to seriously consider Zant’s words and she never suggests in the past she might’ve gone along with him.

The thing about The Cycle and it’s cruelty is that it’s something that exists halfway in and halfway out of the fourth wall. Hyrule can’t stay at peace. It can’t be stable and happy. It has to be imperiled because they want to keep making games.

The villains in the Zelda series are created to fill a role. They’re boss fights. In that sense, they’re trophy bucks to be hunted down for our entertainment. You could arguably say the same thing about any video game boss, but, I would argue, a well-written game gives you reasons to find opposing this character meaningful.

The Zelda series does not do this.

The Zelda series mostly gives you some cheap heat excuses and a lot of vague words about how someone is Evil or Diabolical. Next time you fire up a Zelda game, just, stop and pay attention to the cutscenes and look at just how much of a given character’s crimes are: 1. vague, 2. only ever stated by other characters who already hate that character, 3. make no sense as a strategic move unless you intuit or assume a lot of information the game never tells you.

It’s really easy to assume in the average game that Ganondorf- or Vaati, or Skull Kid, or Zant, or Ghirahim- is running wild killing people and burning the countryside. But if you actually look at it, there doesn’t seem to be a clear thesis to who’s hurt and who isn’t.

Why do the Zora get frozen? Why is Valoo’s tail attacked? Why does Zant attack Hyrule’s light spirits but doesn’t seem to spread the twilight to Snowpeak or the Gerudo Desert when they’re seemingly unprotected?

So the end result is you get split one of two ways. You either trust the Experience of the game- that tells you the entire countryside is suffering because of Vaati- and thus, you come up with explanations and cruel attitudes Vaati has that clearly explain all of his behavior- or you don’t, and then you sit there going “man Ezlo I know you’re salty over being turned into a hat and all, but isn’t it a little fucked up that you’re this willing to talk about your underage orphan apprentice like maybe it was an inevitability he’d go mad with power and there’s nothing to do but forge a sword and kill him?”

The game wants you to assume there’s no way to talk down or negotiate with any of these people. It tells you that there will be Dire Consequences if this person’s actions are not stopped.

But Vaati’s a child who wants power and doesn’t even seem to have a clear thesis of what he’s doing with it besides that he just vaguely wants to be ‘in charge’. 

But Ghirahim seems to have never thought of himself as anything but an instrument and his parting comments to Link suggest that he is only, just, starting to actually feel any real standout emotion towards him beyond annoyance, and that emotion is not rage or revulsion but curiosity. He only really acts out of loyalty to an entity that on-screen, hurts him and literally dehumanizes him- turns him into an immobile object. Something we’re told is a tragedy when it happens to Fi.

But Zant talks at great length about how miserable he was, and Midna insinuates “everyone” hated him and thought he was shifty and untrustworthy, and in his own memories, he was sobbing alone and immediately latched onto and literally worshiped Ganondorf, for... telling him he was important and offering to give him power.

Much is made of Skull Kid’s loneliness and ultimately they’re just a kid, go easy on them, they were tempted by Majora- but we have no idea what Majora itself is, besides that they’re a mask, and in the entirety of Majora’s Mask, many discussions are made about how masks are the product of spirits filled with regret, and one must work with them to bring them peace- and Majora itself speaks in a childish manner.

Chancellor Cole, you can argue, even looks more like a “real evil” in that he’s a scheming bureaucrat who uses his position as a respected adult to talk over and endanger Zelda and Link, and even he’s thrown away by Malladus when the latter needs a free body.

The most in-universe explanation, going by just what Nintendo’s official lore tells us, is that Demise’s hatred seeks a suitable vessel, and Ganondorf is just its ‘favorite’, and it’ll happily latch onto anybody else in a position to screw over the heroes. But that raises a lot of questions and leaves a lot of things unaddressed.

So it comes down to a question of, what do we decide here that we trust? How many of these guys would stay enemies if we had any capacity to talk to them and understand their problems? So many of these guys feel like they’re trapped or hurting or miserable or just had a completely unspecified “hunger for power” because that sounds threatening, but the people who desperately want to feel strong are usually people who, for some reason or another, feel denied, repressed, or looked down on.

Basically, the characterization is vague, and mostly, we’re assured they’re evil by other people in the game. To me, this comes across untrustworthy, especially when, in effect, a lot of these characters talk or act like they were (or are shown to be) wronged somehow, and when the game seems to act as if your only options are “let them do whatever they want” and “kill them where they stand” with a clear insinuation that the murder is the right and proper choice.

Which is kinda the whole problem. The average Zelda game spends however much time it dedicates to the main villain, trying to tell you to kill them. This is at odds with Link as someone who engages with and helps a lot of people. And often “however much time it dedicates to the main villain” is not that much time at all! You’re often just, like. having a fun little happy adventure with a scattered handful of interjections of “so everything is the fault of this one guy, and, uh, you should stab them.”

[theyoutubedork]

I’m not a wizard: part 3

tag list: @strangemaximoff

You stand with Peter, casually chatting while the ship hurtles through space. He keeps asking you questions.

“So you live in New York?” He asks.

“In the New York Sanctum,”

“Where’s that?”

“Near the park we were fighting at,”

Peter asked you questions with an adorable curiosity. His eyes widened whenever you spoke, making your heart race from his attention towards you.

“So how do you do all that manic stuff?” He asks. You show him your sling ring.

“We channel it through what we call a sling ring. It lets me do stuff like this,” you explain, creating rings around your arms while you create a golden string of light. Golden sparks fall on the floor.

“So that’s what helps you use your legs?” He asks, pointing to the ring. You nod your head.

“Why do you have to do that? What happened?” He asks. You sigh.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he mumbles, retracting his question.

“No it’s fine, I’m just thinking. You see, I used to be a dancer, a ballerina specifically, I was late for a show one day when a car crashed into me when I was on my bike. I lost the ability to feel from the waist down since a fractured a ton of bones. For over a year I wasn’t able to recover fully, so I was able to find Dr. Strange since I’ve heard of paraplegics like me fully recovering. I learned to use inter dimensional energy to keep myself upright.” You say.

“So you’re constantly channeling that?” Peter says. You nod.

“Doesn’t that get tiring?”

“Not anymore, it’s just like a little hum in my bones. But I guess when I got super angry earlier I must’ve just stopped doing it. That’s why I fell.” You say.

“Oooh, that makes more sense I guess,” he realizes. You laugh at the large o he forms with his mouth, finding his face really pretty.

Suddenly the ship begins to close in on a planet.

“Hey what’s going on?” Peter asked.

“I think we’re here,” said Doc.

I don’t think this rig has a self park function. Get your hand inside the steering gimbal. Close those around it” Tony instructed Peter.

“This is meant for one big guy so we gotta move at the same time.”

The ship starts sailing towards some wreckage.

“Turn turn turn!” Peter yells. The ship crashes through it sideways, making the ship hurtle forward. You run forward to Dr. strange who conjures up a shield around you. You try to reinforce it, adding extra layers of strength around it. You crouch right next to Peter, ready to protect him if needed. The ship skids on the ground. You all stumble slightly and you latch your arms to Peter as you keep up your shield. You plant your feet to the ground, keeping you both steady. His suit releases the spider tendrils, latching to the floor of the ship. When the ship finally stops you let go of Peter taking a breath, Strange drops his shield, as do you.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. That was close. I owe you one.” Tony says. You look over to see Peter hanging upside down. “Let me just say if wind up implanting things in my chest or something and I eat one of you I’m sorry,” He says. You roll your eyes, smiling.

“I do not want another single pop culture reference out of you for the rest of the trip. You understand?”

“I’m trying to say that something is coming,”

Suddenly you feel an explosion throwing you backwards into the wreckage. A group of people march inside and a man throws something at Strange, who block it, sending the cloak to him. A figure shoots at iron man. You stumble up to see an alien walking towards Peter who starts frantically shooting webs. You run over to save him.

“Whoa whoa whoa! Please don’t put your eggs in me!” She gets tied in webs before the man kicks Peter in the face. Peter runs away and you go over to the alien woman wrapping her with a golden whip, restraining her against your chest. The group is at a standoff, and you fearfully look at Peter with worry, who was in the arms of a blonde man who unveils his mask.

“Everybody stay where you are Chill the eff out!” The man yells, “I’m going to ask you this one time, where is gamora?”

“Yeah I’ll do you one better, who is Gamora?” Tony says. The man under his boot challenges him,

“I’ll do you one better. WHY IS GAMORA?” He yells.

“Tell me where the girl is or I swear to you I’m gonna French fry this little freak.”

“Let’s do it. You shoot my guy and I’ll blast him let’s go!”

“Do it Quill! I can take it.”

The bug lady struggles against you,

“No he can’t take it!”

“She’s right you can’t.” Strange says.

“Oh yeah? You don’t wanna tell me where she is? That’s fine. I’ll kill all four of you and I’ll beat it out of Thanks myself. Starting with you!” He says, pointing the gun at Peter.

“Thanos?” You ask.

“Wait What Thanos? All right let me ask you this one time. What master do you serve?” Strange asks.

“What master do I serve? What am I supposed to say, Jesus?”

“You’re from Earth,”

“I’m not from earth I’m from Missouri.” Quill says. You scoff.

“That’s on earth dipshit,” both you and Tony say in unison.

“What are you hassling is for?” Tony asked.

“So you’re not with Thanos?” Says Peter.

“With Thanos? No, I’m her to kill Thanos. He took my girl. Wait, who are you?” Quill asks.

Peter reveals his face,

“We’re the avengers, man.”

“Oh,” Quill says, letting them go.

“You’re the ones Thor told us about!” Says the alien girl.

“You know Thor?”

“Yeah, tall guy, not that good looking,” both you and Peter furrow your eyebrows in confusion at this, “needed saving”

“Not that good looking?” You echo in protest, but Strange interrupts you.

“Where is he now?”

“We don’t really know,”

All of you were in position, waiting for Strange’s signal. You had time to kill before Thanos appeared.

You are sat right next to Peter, ready for him to swing you both into action.

“This is so crazy Peter,” you say under your breath. He unveils his mask, looking at you as his hair waved slightly.

“It’s gonna be ok Y/N. We got this. Besides, aren’t you and Dr. Strange masters of the mystic arts?” He says, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Well he certainly is, I dunno about me though,”

“Aww, don’t say that! You protected me when the ship was coming down! You also helped me with that big alien guy with your portal! You just have to do the same this so I can kick Thanks around. No biggie!” He says enthusiastically. You grin.

“At least I get to help beat Thanks with one of the coolest people in New York.” You gush. You see him blush.

“I could say the same thing about you. You’re pretty awesome too,” Peter mumbles. You give his a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks Pete.” You say, turning back to the ground, seeing Thanos appear from a portal. He and Strange start talking. You and Peter creep closer. You fiddle with the sling ring on your fingers in anticipation.

“I think you’ll find our will equal to yours” says strange, summoning his rings. Tony slams the ship onto him, the rest of the crew jumping into action. You throw space shards at Thanos, helping Peter land blow after blow on him. Strange summons his sword as you summon your flail staff, whipping it at his face, making him yell out. You stand back, helping create shields for Quill to step upon, creating a portal for him to jump through when planting a bomb. You create sling rings for Peter, who yells phrases as he kick the purple freak.

“Magic! More magic! Magic with a kick! magic with a—“ Thanks grabs Peter and you yell and he’s slammed into the ground throwing him, you shove strange out of the way, letting Peter fall into you. Both of you hitting the ground hard. You all keep landing small hit on Thanos, being there to protect your friends as much as you can. Creating shields or catching them when their thrown to the side.

Another girl jumps in, arguing with him. Everyone begins to restrain Thanos, including you, using the same bright red vines as Strange to jerk his other arm to the side. Tony begins to help you with the gauntlet, as you pull the hot strings backwards with every bit of strength you have. Thanks screams as Mantis tries to get him to sleep.

“Parker get over here”

Peter comes to help.

Quill walks over beginning to faint Thanos. After Gamora is revealed to have been killed tony talks to Quill.

“Ok Quill, you gotta cool it right now. You understand? Don’t don’t don’t engage! We almost got this thing off!” Tony yells. Peter begins to hit Thanos, Mantis losing her grip. Tony reaches for Quill.

“Stop!” Thanos breaks from everyone’s grip, sending Mantis flying.

“Oh god,” says Peter, swinging to save her. You see Thanos take the moon and send it flying towards you all. . You scream as you run towards Peter.

“Peter grab everyone!” You yell as you try to flying over to Strange. Strange duplicates himself. You create shields to direct them directly towards Thanos. He takes one of the boulders and throws it, before Strange tangles him with whips. You quickly break the rock with your shield. Strange is grabbed by the titan, and before he reaches him he teleports the time stone to you. You grab it, quickly unleashing it. You plant your feet on the ground, conjuring a time spell. You begin to turn back the clock, the debris from the moon going back up, you scream as you try to go back to when you all had him in your hold. You see thanks physically struggling against your spell, and you quickly bring Strange into your spell. He looks at you,

“Get the gauntlet!” You yell. He looks at you, but is suddenly subdued by Thanos, who was able to break through your spell. You quickly drop the spell, focusing all your attention to Thanos. You try to duplicate yourself like strange, by Thanks is able to eliminate them just like with Strange. He bounds towards you punching you into the ground. You try to conjure shields but he just breaks them. He punches you with such force you feel your legs give out, making you slam onto the ground, unable to run away. You see a sling ring open, and strange grabs the time stone before Thanos could. Thanks cries out in frustration, punching you repeatedly into the ground. Blow after blow, you feel entire body crumple into itself. Thanks than runs, fighting with Tony. You hear someone call out your name as your feel blood drip and soak almost all of your clothes. You scream in pain. You feel all your senses numb as your world turns to black.

You wake up feeling ice cold liquid spray on your body. You open your eyes and see three faces.

“Hey guys! Did we win!” You cough. Peter, Tony, and Strange all give each other a look. Your face drops.

“I-I gave up the stone Y/N,” Strange admits. Blood boils throughout your system.

“You...what?” You growl.

“Y/N it’s ok, Mr. Strange said he did it for a reason.” Peter said, trying to calm you down. You try to stand, but your legs completely give out.

“WHY DID YOU GIVE UP THE STONE?!” You scream. Peter hold you back, holding you in his chest.

“It was the only way,” said Strange, giving you a knowing look. You sigh, in realization.

“Goddammit, we’re all gonna die aren’t we?” You sob, latching on to Peter. He hugs you back, placing his head in your neck.

“I don’t wanna die Peter,” you cry, feeling your composure slipping away.

“It’s going to be ok, it’s going to be ok, I promise.” He says, you both stand, you leaning on your quarterstaff. Everyone assembled together. You all take in your surroundings when you feel your stomach turn.

“Somethings happening,” Says Mantis. You see her disintegrate before your eyes. Dead disappears right after. Then Quill. You look at Strange. He looks at you and Tony. “Tony. This was no other way,” he says. Before your eyes he disappears before you. Tears stream down your face. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good,”

You turn and see Peter latching onto Tony,

“I don’t know what happening. I don’t know...I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, sir please,” he pleads. You cry in anguish as you rush over.

“Please I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.” He sobs. You kneel right beside him, next to Tony. He lays there, you go down and kiss him on his cheek, which almost falls under your touch.

“No..Peter please don’t leave,” you cry. He looks at you, then Tony.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He drifts away in the wind. Tony struggle to sit as he looks at you. The clutch in your stomach begins to increase. Not you too. You look at Tony.

“Tony, please, this can be undone, save us T-“ you explain before you feel your body release its self, and you no longer feel any physical pain.

[differentworlds-fiction]

30 (Part II)

TARIN

While shrouded in darkness, my lips went in search of his.

Contentment coursed through me when the smooth, plump flesh of his lips pressed to mine. The corners of my mouth hiked up, producing a meager grin as Hill nibbled and sucked on the fullness of my bottom lip. In an instant, I was rendered breathless, while, internally minimizing the dreaded moment Hill pulled away to rest back onto the herd of pillows, all at the same time.

In an effort to lessen the bit of space between us, I settled against him.

Words were failed to be exchanged as we delighted in the quelling silence pervading the suite. Nothing but the barest hints of his even breaths sweeping past his lips were heard when he pulled me close and sluggishly guided my head onto his damp chest. As our bodies remained sparingly covered by the wrinkled sheets Hill had enveloped us both in subsequent to his return from the ensuite, our fervent hands set into motion, exploring depths we’d just previously worked up the courage to touch; areas in which I hadn’t had the gall to roam on another individual in years.

Hill’s calloused hand moved toward my navel, inciting me to release a hollow noise that sounded more like a timid moan than a muffled breath.

The roughness of his fingertips teased me throughout the instinctive parting of my weakened limbs.

“You were my first,” my confession came out in a dreary sputter, “...in a really long time.”

Upon hearing my admission, his eager hand ceased from moving another inch; the pad of his fingers halted at the junction between my thighs.

“How long?” He prodded.

I gulped, and he snickered when hearing my long, audible swallow.

“Damn, Tarin. That long?”

“Before you, I used to dodge men like the plague.” I divulged, nibbling on the corner of my bottom lip. “It would be easier to base my actions solely on the fact that I’m a parent who has to be super critical of the people I engage with. And while that may be true, I had no desire to involve myself with anyone. Not sexually. Not emotionally, either. Up until recently, I realized my kid wasn’t the reason for me not wanting to date or to allow myself to get to know someone. I was.”

“Why?” Hill queried.

He shifted and maneuvered my frame on top of his.

“My heart still belonged to someone else, Hill.”

For a moment nothing but the sound of his breaths sweeping past his parted lips were heard.

“Ayla’s father.”

“Ayla’s father,” I confirmed barely above a whisper, “-- my love for him hasn’t minimized, after all these years. I’m not sure it ever will. If anything, it’s manifested into something I’m not sure I can even make sense of.” I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth and released it seconds afterward while further ruminating on my sentiments. “I think it’s unhealthy; carrying on that way -- the way that I have. Grieving prevented me from possibly developing relationships with men. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Bearing another loss. Maybe even dealing with a little rejection, too. We’re all somewhat fearful of that, aren’t we?”

He moved a bit, guiding my tautened body coated with sweat along with him.

Hints of the earthy musk he sported wafted into my nose with every subtle shift we produced together. And soon, it resonated that the scent was as potent on me and the sheets we were encompassed by as it was on his skin. “To an extent, yes. It comes in different forms, under different circumstances. But, we have to deal with it in some capacity since it’s pretty much inevitable.”

I couldn’t see his expression nor fully make out his face, albeit, I lifted my head anyway and brought forth my hand that once idled below his waist.

Subsequent to resting my palm against his cheek collected with minimal scruff, Hill released an exasperated breath.

Within seconds, his hand latched onto my wrist and prevented me from moving it any further.

“My way of dealing with the loss wasn’t the healthiest, for me or anyone in my life for that matter. I’ve mourned in waves that have spanned over the course of several years.” I muttered, my voice hoarse. “And for that reason alone, getting close to someone has been pretty much an afterthought.” I rambled, releasing a hearty sigh while tugging the duvet over us both. “I wasn’t ready to put myself out there again. Maybe I was guarded and protecting myself from experiencing another heartache.” I admitted barely above a whisper. “The possibility of somebody else making an abrupt departure out of my life at any moment petrified me.”

“It still does. I can tell.”

“Of course.” I retorted. “I need to work on that though. I have to accept that there will be people who’ll not only enter my life but possibly leave for whatever reason.” A timid scoff swept past my bare lips upon further pondering on my words. “You’d think I’d be well versed in handling all that by now.”

My utterance was met with a prolonged lull; a silence that I begrudgingly chose to sustain due to my reluctance of being the first to speak.

Only briefly did my head remain planted atop his chest as it evenly rose and collapsed.

In the recesses of my mind, I couldn’t help but feel burdened by a sudden onset of apprehension -- worry that my recent romp in the sheets with Hill Dawson was nothing more than an impulsive act that would be going nowhere fast and he too would leave.

Under other circumstances, of course.

Pulling me out of those disparaging thoughts was the image of Hill standing by the door of my office, equipped with flowers in one hand and breakfast in the other. The mere memory of him flying across the country on a whim prompted me to lower my head back onto him.

I smiled meagerly against his skin and trailed over the spot on his chest riddled with bold, indelible markings I’d soon be able to examine once day broke over Nevada.

The hand that had previously remained enclosed around my wrist began to toy with my tendrils that were once woven into bountiful braids, lightly tugging them by the ends and allowing the shaft to straighten from the formed crimp they had been manipulated into. Fighting the incessant urge to give in and allow sleep to finally pervade me, I pursed my lips together and kissed his open palm; his fingers weakened against the timid peck.

The subtle gesture prompted Hill to stop toying with my hair altogether and caress my cheek instead, brushing over the embankment of my lips in light strokes.

“It’s been days since I’ve dreamed about him.” I whispered and tucked a lone strand behind my ear, “and, I’m not sure what to make of that. Usually, he visits me often. Some dreams are far more intense than others. Sometimes, I’m left dealing with a mix of emotions. Other times I wake up and just cry because I have to constantly relive that summer he left me all over again.”

“I remember you telling me about the last one you had...” He murmured. His palm continued to graze my cheek, swiping it in smooth motions that threatened to lull me to sleep. “You mentioned how different it was from the others ones you’ve had before. The communication between the two of you felt rushed, you said.”

“Yeah.”

The onslaught of nerves that happened to settle and resurge throughout the duration of the day had made its timely revival yet again.

This time they hadn’t stemmed from me pacing the bathroom of McCarran International minutes after hurrying from the jet bridge, nor was it the same flutter I felt in the pit of my stomach that rapidly developed the moment I wandered the halls of the hotel beside Bria Dawson in search of her brother’s room.

My current case of butterflies flourished subsequently to hearing him recount what I had divulged previously.

“In your dream, you called after him and that he kept walkin’ away. He left you standing by some house and headed in the direction of this corner store...without you.” Hill spoke in a low, almost hushed tone. After a few beats of silence, he shifted upward and spoke, “Do you know what that sounds like to me.”

“What?”

Subsequent to my inquiry, Hill guided my leg to drape over his.

With this tip of my finger, I trailed over the crook of his neck.

“That,” he paused to let out a deep breath and exhaled, “that sounds like closure, baby.”

***

Among the concise follow-up reporting of salacious happenings that had taken place over the weekend, and the recycled human-interest stories emblazoned by differentiating headlines, news of the Pratts’ over-elaborate nuptials infiltrated the news cycle. Throngs of bloggers took to their respective platforms to publish the cellphone images of the reception held at the Plaza Hotel from an anonymous source, while other credible pop culture pundits covered the lavish affair by citing guests’ recounts of the star-studded ceremony and reception.

While chewing the last pieces of my breakfast sandwich within the confines of the CS conference room, I perused the uploaded entries as they emerged by the dozens onto my social media feed, falling in awe of the glimpses of Mya Evans -- presently known as Mya Pratt -- clad in her gown, celebrating her union amongst the reported fashionable ‘it’ girls of the moment who were simply famous for reasons uncertain, famed recording artists, and industry executives who attended. As stated by various ‘close sources’, the Pratt wedding occurred without incident and was being prematurely considered to be the wedding of summer.

By the time I perused through the assortment of shotty pictures, I hadn’t noticed Cara nor Cheyenne take their seats at the table.

“Care to share what you’re so immersed with this fine morning?” Cara queried. The question prompted me to tear my eyes away from the phone screen.

“Nothing,” I retorted, “-- just these low-quality pictures from the Pratt wedding. Great job, by the way. From what I was able to see, you did well.” I added and offered a meager grin. “Another Cara Santos wedding for the books.”

At that, she too smiled and reached for the bottle of Fiji water set before her. I proceeded to engage in small talk with Cheyenne briefly, exchanging silly speculations of where the newlyweds were heading for their honeymoon.

How was Vegas?” Cara interrupted. Over the bottled water’s rim, the tiniest hint of a smirk played about her lips, threatening to broaden into a full-blown grin. Cara’s mouth settled, however, when she finished taking generous sips and placed the bottle beside a pile of papers she’d brought into the conference room and the leather-bound daily planner she toted everywhere she went. “This morning, I was scrolling through Page Six and saw you with the boxer,” Cara muttered, dragging out the reference of Hill in a peculiar way. Her neatly arched eyebrow rose, assessing the poker-face I maintained.

Quickly, she stood and removed her smartphone from her pants’ pocket, and reclaimed her seat at the end of the conference table before darting her eyes towards a confused Cheyenne.

For what felt like an eternity as opposed to mere seconds, I sat through the painfully awkward silence and made eye contact with Cheyenne a total of three times before Cara decided to put me out of my misery.

Sporting the same smug grimace, the encased cellphone around to unveil a clear snapshot taken outside of the MGM Grand Hotel. The image of Hill and I sharing an embrace while surrounded by suited security personnel idled the screen.

“Vegas,” I cleared my throat and averted my stare elsewhere, “Vegas was...alright.”

Fine furrows grooved along her forehead as her eyebrows knitted together. “I thought you were meeting with the singer this weekend, no?”

“Haneef and I met Friday afternoon after I left the office. I could’ve sworn we ran into each other on my way out and I told you that I wouldn’t be coming back for the rest of the day.” I aimlessly shuffled through the papers pertaining to a curated menu for a last minute celebratory brunch event she needed assistance with. Glancing downward at the list of pretentious dishes prepared by an executive chef Cara had reached out to personally seemed to hold more of my interest than attempting to continuing the conversation. Cara Santos was, in fact, teetering on the bounds of simple small talk and baiting me to discuss my personal business. “I plan on meeting with Haneef Parker again soon.” I remarked.

Yesterday, the R&B crooner departed to Miami to kick off his four-city tour. To further promote his forthcoming album and garner a bit of buzz surrounding his comeback, it had been rumored that Haneef and his team had put the last minute tour together for major cities his shows received the most revenue. Via an email sent to me by a member of Haneef’s management team, the singer would be returning to New York later in the week and planned to meet then. In an effort to make some headway with the planning of the baby shower, I sent photos of two potential venues to the private email Haneef himself provided prior to leaving the studio last Friday.

“Great...” Cara said before sifting through the small stack of papers resting before her.

Our morning followed with Cheyenne briefing us both on our separate schedules for the remainder of the week, as well as meetings pertaining the joined effort Cara and I were working on together.

“Notify the executive chef about the curated menu. And if that’s all Cheyenne, then we could get a move on it and…”

Eyes belonging to Cara peered longingly out toward the foyer.

Through the massive glass wall separating the conference room from the general area, a lone man stood, clad in a khaki uniform and matching hat. Cara’s eyes narrowed further, her scanty palms cupped the conference table’s sleek ridge.

“...Either of you expecting a delivery?”

Cheyenne sat forward, twiddling the ballpoint pen between her forefinger and thumb. “No.”

Their stares shifted in my direction.

“I’m not.” I said.

Cara glanced at Cheyenne, nodding in the direction of the receptionist area.

Without uttering another word Cheyenne departed swiftly from the room and returned just seconds later.

“The delivery is for you, Tarin. Don’t worry, I signed off on it for you already.”

I stuffed my phone into my jeans pocket, a peculiar glare etched its way across my face when I looked out toward the foyer just as the elevator doors parted; a team of men -- five in total -- stepped off the elevator, each of them carrying roses enclosed with purple wrapping paper and white bows. Lifting her hand, Cheyenne pointed in the direction of my office and, immediately, I rose from the conference table and gaited behind them in quick strides.

Floral arrangements comprised of vibrant red roses were placed around the room; on the end tables separating the two wingback chairs by the windows, on my desk between scattered papers and photos of Ayla, and, on the console table closest to the door. My fingers grazed the blooming petals; the softness of them brought a smile to my face; one that I couldn’t disguise in an attempt to conceal my slight embarrassment for the affectionate gesture. My bottom lip embedded itself between my teeth as I brought my hand and reached for one of the delivery men who’d failed to keep up with the others who were already ambling back down the hall.

“If you’ll stick around for just a sec, I’d be happy to give you guys a tip. Um, maybe you can call them back in here for me…”

I started towards my desk and felt a hand lightly tug at my forearm.

“Ma’am, that won’t be necessary.” The delivery guy expressed, sticking his hands into the khaki pants he wore. “Our tips were covered beforehand.” He explained prior to exiting the office subsequent to Cheyenne entering with Cara following closely behind. “Have a nice day.”

“...Thanks, you too.”

Upon the man’s departure, I rushed toward the stark white office desk and began removing the lavender wrapping paper from the bottom of the floral arrangement; the familiar fluttering manifested deep at the pit of my stomach, bringing me to pause altogether and clutch my stomach firmly once I discovered a small note card peeking between the roses. Heaving a sigh, I resumed with unveiling the vase and firmly grasped the card.

“The boxer?” Cheyenne inquired.

I bashfully confirmed with a hesitant head nod, allowing my stare to drift toward the floor as I twiddled with the notecard seconds before reading it.

I’ll be in town Sunday. Hope to see you then, beautiful.

                                                 -Hill

“Hmph,” Cara muttered and turned in the direction of the hallway, “how romantic...”

[redscullyrevival]

Kristie’s Favorite Anime of 2018

Here are the (overall) transcripts of my end of the year audio posts covering my favorite anime experiences of 2018. All audio can be located on podbean but tumblr is typically more receptive to the written word and I’m still learning how to do audio levels and editing; it makes sense if people rather read my goofy thoughts!

So starting from the bottom and working our way up to number one, here is my #1 top pick, my favorite anime of 2018!:

Megalo Box Directed by Yō Moriyama From TMS Entertainment

Megalo Box is the 50th anniversary project for Tomorrow's Joe which is a boxing manga written by Ikki Kajiwara and illustrated by Tetsuya Chiba. When it was published in 1968 Tomorrow's Joe really struck a cord with Japan's youth and the working class and the character of Joe has gone on to become a pop culture symbol of sacrifice and work, representative of the strength of the downtrodden and disenfranchised. 

1968 was the start of many grass roots movements in Japan, that year alone saw hundreds of student protests against nuclear-power; US occupation; Vietnam, government and educational corruption; economic imbalance, it was a time of campus rebellions and smaller towns and prefectures pushing back against big companies, against societal standards of success and happiness, and it was done violently.

Tomorrow's Joe, a story about a wandering juvenile named Joe struggling in the slums of Tokyo who takes up boxing to survive, captured and expressed the frustrated feelings of the lower classes and dissatisfied student bodies in it's time. Every iteration of the story that's been told, four films three tv shows, has tried to adjust to contemporary emotions while maintaining it's core idea on fighting truth to power.   

Megalo Box absolutely accomplishes this and hot damn it does it in a cool fucking way!

Megalo Box takes place in a futuristic setting but relies on telling it's story through the aesthetics and visual cues of the past. All the boxers wear "gear", a metal framework attached to their arms which makes their attacks more lethal, and there is a made up science and technology and blahblah it's futuristic! It's not high science fiction but it's not today and now. You get it.

Junk Dog is a young man in the megalo box illegal underground making money by throwing fights as directed to him by his partner Nanbu. Junk Dog is not satisfied with his existence. He's poor, doesn't have a name, doesn't have citizenship, doesn't have control over if he wants to win a fight or not. One night he comes across the leader of the Shirato Group who is the big company behind megalo boxing and they've just announced a open tournament called Megalonia where if you place in the rankings no matter what you'll get a shot at the belt. Junk Dog picks a fight with Shirato's bodyguard who happens to be of course a world class Megalo Boxer named Yuri - they don't get around to fighting but the encounter changes both of them and instills a transformative, and yeah I'm saying it I don't care, romantic rivalry within them and we go from there. 

Nanbu and Junk Dog fake citizenship to enter the tournament, they find backing, help, and a tangled web of training, money, hardship, corruption, self perseverance and self preservation takes off.

This is a really good show. Every week my husband Lee and I were just - we were dying to get around to this show we needed that new episode BAD. There is so much that is good and enjoyable and engaging about this incredibly dense and layered sports anime, it's almost overwhelming to talk about. Who am I that I can explain in a mere 15 minutes what Megalo Box accomplishes and does so wonderfully, ya know?! 

Megalo Box is a series that, as I briefly mentioned before, relies on a very distinct era of anime storytelling; this series looks and feels like something you found in the back of Blockbuster in their one row of anime. 

Like, you'd find Meglao Box between the one of each VHS copies of Appleseed and Kite that every Blockbuster ever had - this series, very specifically, not only perfectly emulates and bottles the designs and animation strengths of popular anime from the late 80s to the late 90s (things like Wicked City, Bubblegum Crisis, Gunbuster, Evangelion, Trigun, and Cowboy Bebop) but Megalo Box successfully sells itself as that found gem, as that personal awe inspiring experience of being lucky enough to come across something, try it, and be blown away...

And I know that sounds kind of kooky, but I lived through that era of anime; Megalo Box's choices to de-rez it's footage, to add graininess, to do tightly cropped sequences as though the aspect ratio has been adjusted from an original format, is not lost on me or I imagine anyone who did the work trying to access anime before the days of DVDs, streaming, and simulcasts - here in the English speaking world and in Japan. That experience is more universal than one would assume; it's a nostalgic kick that visually defines this show and works magnificently well in creating shorthand world building. It's easy for me to get behind anything the show does because I already know this kind of show, which again I know sounds crazy or silly but I really believe that that's what Megalo Box was going for.

I 100% think anyone younger than me or not even an anime fan can pick up this series and be entertained and get really into it because, it's again, really good: But that doesn't mean the series isn't trying to recall a very particular time frame of storytelling trends and character work. This series is absolutely doing that and I'm bring it up because I want that to be highlighted and known, 'cause it's fantastic!

It is the visual presentation that carries the bulk of this series through it's more generic turns. We all know a boxing story, because it's always the same story, but Megalo Box utilizes it's biggest advantage over it's live action counter parts by injecting it's world with a visual coding that creates a new experience that feels familiar, that feels known, which doesn't hurt it's commonalities with other boxing stories but enhances them towards new personal spaces with it's audience. Which is, uhh, very cool.

Megalo Box is gripping from the very start, it builds and grows in it's layers of depth and character work, it can make you cry AND want to learn to throw a punch; the dance between the show and viewer is so good! Haha, I'm having a hard time explaining what I mean in this regard, but if you've experienced Megalo Box you know what I'm trying to say.

Megalo Box feels personal, it feels reflective of our hardest struggles, of anyone's fight. And that's the hallmark of the pop culture imprint of Tomorrow's Joe, of the strength and legacy of this franchise and why it's still making the rounds; it's an underdog story that moves beyond just wanting to see someone win but one that latches onto you and won't let go, Joe's wins become your wins and rooting for him creates a form of self belief. AND it looks and sounds cool as hell!

Megalo Box impressed me and delighted me every step of the way and by the time we got to that last episode - I can't even begin to explain the tension that was in my house! Lee and I just... After a while our engagement to the show became verbal. During a fight lee would mutter "Get up!" and I'd go "oh jesus" and we'd say stuff like "get him" be giving advice and like, that's pretty intense. To be so in it you're involuntarily responding in an attempt to direct events? That's not something that happens usually happens to me and it happen more and more as the episodes went on that by the end we were both very literally on the edge of our seats hands covering our faces as though in prayer. 

So.

Megalo Box is it for me! It's the years winner, by total knock out.  

[stretchjournalemerson]

Contact Zone and the Family

By Aaron Homem 

July 26, 2018. Portugal. It’s around seven at night, but it couldn’t feel any later - the lack of air conditioning and overwhelming heat has brought on both nausea and exhaustion. Around an extended aluminum table, I have within my reach every possible meat product that I can possibly name: cow, goat, pig, followed by numerous other “mystery meats.” A Super Bock in hand, or was it a Sagres? Didn’t matter the name, I drank. Everyone at the table was family, what did it matter if I had one, two, or three beers. This was an easy alternative to making an unsuccessful conversation; they all speak Portuguese, and each movement of their lips registered as secrets that I couldn’t latch onto. So I kept drinking. Across the table, I caught my cousin David (pronounced Da-veed) condescendingly speaking in my direction, as if I was a newborn with no conscious idea of what was taking place. His words left his mouth like rapidfire, but I could only make out a single word: Spielberg. My mother did love telling people that her son was an aspiring film major, so David’s attempt to connect with me by speaking about film didn’t exactly go over my head. 

Still, all I did was nod. 

I can acknowledge that there was an attempt by my monolingual Portuguese speaking cousin to form a relationship with me, a monolingual English speaker, but even then I didn’t feel a connection. How could a relationship exist on the basis of only occasionally understanding each other? The language barrier was not an abstract concept, but a tangible obstacle that wasn’t going to be easily overcome: at least not in the present moment. With language being an inherent factor in my inability to relate with my Portuguese family, I will use this paper to dissect a single major question: how does being monolingual (English speaking) affect my ability to form a relationship with my monolingual (Portuguese speaking) family?

To grapple with the natural separating factor brought upon by language, I use Stanford Professor Mary Louise Pratt’s concept of the “contact zone,” which she originated in the article “Arts of the Contact Zone.” Pratt’s term is used to refer to “social spaces where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power” (Pratt 4).  Using a two-part historical letter to Spanish King Philip III - New Chronicle and Good Government by Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala (or simply Guaman Poma), an account of an indigenous Inca’s view of Spanish conquest of Peru - Pratt systematically furthers her definition of a contact zone. Poma’s letter is uniquely written in two languages (Spanish and Quechua), with Poma using “the official Spanish genre for his own ends” as a way to address both his own community, and that of the metropolitan Spanish Community (Pratt 4). In the first part of the letter, Poma rewrote Christian history with the Incans rather than Europeans at the forefront of the narrative; the New Chronicle is what Pratt identifies as an autoethnographic text, in which people (in this case Poma) “describe themselves in ways that engage with representations that others have made of them” (Pratt 5). 

These texts are constructed “in response to” representations of the subjugated culture (the Incas) by the conqueror (the Spanish), merging the indigenous language and customs to intervene in the typical “metropolitan modes of understanding” (Pratt 6). While autoethnography is seen as a literary art of the contact zone by Pratt - along with transculturation, critique, collaboration, bilingualism, etc - she stressed that miscomprehension, incomprehension, dead letters, unread masterpieces, absolute heterogeneity of meaning are “some of the perils of writing in the contact zone” (Pratt 11). Pratt, a professor of higher education, is also focused on the concept of “safe spaces,” which “refer to social and intellectual spaces where groups can constitute themselves as horizontal, homogeneous, sovereign communities with high degrees of trust, shared understandings, and temporary protection from legacies of oppression” (Pratt 17). These places can foster wisdom and understanding, but also breed misunderstanding and hurt, particularly in relation to the classroom setting. Although Pratt is mainly focused on the contact zone in relationship with higher education, Oxford professor James Clifford expands Pratt’s original idea to include “cultural tensions within the same state, region, or city” (qtd. in O’Connell 850). Working from this principle, the dinner table setting is another way to explore “culture tension” relating to the intersectionality of language and identity. Furthermore, location (Portugal) can now act as a greater focal point in illustrating the effects of monolingualism on family relations. 

Neither my cousin nor I (or our family for that matter) verbally defined the unique auditorial roles that we occupied at that moment: but while unspoken, they were actively present. While I won’t speak on behalf of David, I found myself incapable of relating to his identity as Portuguese-speaking, when I was mainly attuned to relating with family, who like me, were self-identified as English-speaking. While Pratt’s concept of autoethnography is based around an inherent historical power struggle - between the subjugated and the metropolitan conqueror - she doesn’t often explore the contact zone on the small scale; the contact zone present not defined by a power struggle, but by comfort and discomfort. Noel Patrick O’Connell, a Sociology professor whose career has focused on the autoethnographic ethnographic study of the lives of deaf people, describes the contact zone between deaf and hearing identities as a “disjuncture” (O’Connell 858); when examining how my cousin and I relate, there is an apparent disjuncture (or tension) caused by who is comfortable and uncomfortable in the given situation. 

Auditorial contact zones, as defined by O’Connell, create an environment (defined by hearing) where people become “consciously aware of their identity” (O’Connell 858). What’s present at this moment of “conscious awareness” is a glaring case of cognitive dissonance for both parties. In Lagahrinhos, Portugal, where the majority (the comfortable) of people speak soley Portuguese, I have become a minority (discomfort) and I can’t possibly expect for anyone to suddenly speak in a language that I would understand. The discomfort arose from my ability to recognize that language, like Pratt insists, doesn’t exist to create a “unified and homogenous social world,” and that it would require more will than I had to cross the language barrier. However, “Spielberg” was an attempt by my cousin to break the disjuncture, perhaps unknowingly, unleashing a torrent of discomfort upon himself. Yet, my cousin’s English wasn’t exactly enough, at least for myself; for me, comfort could only be attained during a full conversation, preferably in my own native language. Being an English-speaking male in English-speaking America has always been an inherent privilege, but having that verbal and auditory privilege stripped away was jarring, even if somewhat expected. This bias manifested itself into the mounting number of beer bottles, remnants of my reluctance to build off the foundation laid out by David. In her essay “Out and About as a Global Citizen” about an English speaker visiting Kenya, Dr. Anu Taranath argues that while we travel to experience “something different,” we are often confronted by our inability to reconcile “what to do with the differences we have found.” My inability to react to David only drove him back from a place of discomfort to a place of comfort, returning to his conversation with the rest of the family: our difference only breeding disconnect.  

Uncomfortable: all I wanted at that moment was some quiet. Even at seventeen I was expected to ask permission before leaving the table. The act left me at my mother’s mercy. Without even looking up from her plate, and giving it to me straight, I knew my request was denied: all she said was “talk.” I mustered a sly response, bluntly telling her the obvious, “I can’t understand them.” Hitting her like a curse, my mother looked me straight in the eyes, and just as bluntly, said “that’s your problem.”

Her eyes returned to her plate.

Without knowing it, my ineptitude at picking up languages, indirectly (and perhaps metaphorically) lead to one of the perils of the contact zone: lost letters. I didn’t let this bother me too much; some people are neurologically better at learning languages, and I didn’t believe I could be blamed as such. However, I found myself confounded when I saw David relating with my younger cousins. For them a relationship was not built on a verbal or auditory level, but on action: simply kicking around a soccer ball earlier was enough to help build a relationship. In referencing the “cultural devastation” that can accompany language loss, Joshua Fishman, who is widely credited for founding the field of sociology of language, stated that “A traditionally associated language is more than just a tool of communication for its culture... [It] is often viewed as a very specific gift, a marker of identity and a specific responsibility vis-à-vis future generations” (qtd. in Haynes 2). Noticeably, my cousins aren’t confronted with this idea of language as a “specific responsibility,” whereas the notion was quite ubiquitous during my own childhood: my loss of the language was its own unique “marker of identity.” Whatever the reason for this phenomenon (and perhaps they were just too young to realize it), they seemingly didn’t have to consider language as a separating factor. However, in my own experience, I have typically found it easier to relate with others on a verbal level. Admittedly, I identify this as a particular flaw in my thinking, but because of my complete assimilation into one culture (English-speaking), I can’t overcome the difficulty in accepting another. Fortunately for my mother, who is bilingual, both English-speaking and Portuguese-speaking cultures act as “safe spaces.” For her, the idea of being Portuguese and American is intrinsically linked to her identity, whereas my only “shared understanding” with my Portuguese relatives is that we are related by blood. Personally, this disconnect is best summarized by John Milton’s Adam, who claimed “solitude sometimes is best society;” instead of embracing the culture around me, I retreated inward, to my own thoughts, to my safe space, defined by the sole language I knew (Paradise Lost XIII. 249-250). 

Work Cited

Haynes, Eric. “What Is Language Loss?” Cal.org, Center for Applied Linguistics, 2010.

www.cal.org/heritage/pdfs/what-is-language-loss.pdf. Accessed 27 Nov. 2019.

Milton, John. Paradise Lost. Third edition, W.W. Norton & Company, 2017. 

O'Connell, Noel Patrick. “Teaching Irish Sign Language in Contact Zones: An 

Autoethnography.” The Qualitative Report, vol. 22, no. 3, 19 Mar. 2017, pp. 849–867.

nsuworks.nova.edu/tqr/vol22/iss3/11/. Accessed 14 Nov. 2019.

Pratt, Mary Louise. "Arts of the Contact Zone," Profession, 1991. pp 33-40.

Taranath, Anu. “Out And About As A Global Citizen.” Away.

awayjournal.org/article/out-and-about-as-a-global-citizen. Accessed 29 Nov. 2019.