#the first chapter literally talked about not having a common language in the field leading to a lot of earlier disagreements

[throckmortons-thrussy]

Vent time!

Was thrown off gaurd today in class because my Professor veered way off into unknown territory that I wasn't prepared for, and he kept talking like it all made sense.

I actually finished reading, highlighting, and taking notes on the chapters he assigned so I could contribute to the class discussion... And he didn't even use the terms the book used? He was describing the concepts we read, but with different terminology and equations with different symbols than the ones the book supplied.

Like, I was flipping back and forth through my notes, and I just couldn't follow along with what he was talking about.

The class discussion was... well, pretty much nonexistent. You can see in my notes the moment things stopped making sense because there's just a large gap of nothing, and then me trying to make sense of some of the equations he was using near the bottom.

I stayed after at least 20 minutes with him, trying to understand if maybe I misunderstood the reading or if my notes went in the wrong direction. Maybe I did notes on the wrong chapter? I was so lost.

Come to find out... My professor doesn't agree with a lot of the language used in our readings. Not only that, he brushed off the terminology I had written in my notes and said what he was saying was basically the same thing. And the equations!! He was just free-balling them! He said that he was just making up letter...

Like, my dude... WHY ASSIGN US TO READ THE FUCKING CHAPTER IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO EVEN USE THE SAME TERMINOLOGY AND EQUATIONS?

Sorry... I just- I can usually still follow along well in class, even if I haven't completed the assigned readings. I wanted to start this semester on the right foot with this BEHV class since I'm trying to decide between minoring in Behavior Analysis or Counciling.

Like, the chapter started getting a too wordy for me near the 3/4th mark, so I had 2 pages of notes just trying to get the terms straight and even did extra examples for each to make sure I understood what the theory was saying.

I showed him these and asked if they made sense, or if I went wrong somewhere... Wanna know what he said?

That it was all correct; however, he thinks people get too caught up in the terms and language of the field when they should focus on the science.

...

How are we supposed to begin to understand the science when THE WORDS YOU'RE USING TO DESCRIBE THESE PHENOMENON ARE DIFFERENT THAN THE ONES ON THE CHAPTER?!

I was hoping this class would provide clarification for all the terms thrown at us in the reading, but instead, he made these concepts all the more confusing (and added NEW interchangeable words I need to worry about).

I haven't been this frustrated in a class in so long. By the time I got home and finished walking my dog (very frusterated walking at that), I craved potato chips for the first time in YEARS. I found some old chips my roommate hadn't finished off yet and binged a bit.

This class is literally titled Basic Behavior Principles and has no prerequisites.

Listen, he's smart. He knows his stuff. He's a master's student pursuing his doctorate degree in the subject.

He also has no idea how to present this information in a concise way to an undergraduate class that doesn't require any prerequisites.

I'm going to keep pushing forward. Get in touch with the other students in class. Maybe he just threw way too much at us way too fast. I don't know. I'm just so confused by his approach and goals with this class.

[aion-rsa]

Jupiter’s Legacy: Choreographing Superheroic Stunts

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This article is presented by:

Stunt teams are some of the hardest working people in the industry. They literally put their lives on the line just to entertain us and yet there’s so little acknowledgement of their contributions. There is no Oscar for stunt work, but there should be. Netflix’s adaptation of Jupiter’s Legacy has secured one of the industry’s hottest stunt choreographers, one who is no stranger to superhero action, Philip J. Silvera. 

If you’ve read Jupiter’s Legacy already, you know Frank Quitely’s artwork leaps off the page, splattered with intense moments of sanguineous bloodshed. Quitely’s graphic style is a perfect fit for Silvera, who says he’s always been inspired by the visceral violence of films like Goodfellas and The Godfather Part II.

“My action in the past has always had a bit of a lead pipe brutality to it,” confesses Silvera with a grin. Who better to choreograph the huge superhero brawls of Jupiter’s Legacy? 

School of Hard Knocks 

Stunt work has always been Silvera’s destiny. “I always wanted to do stunts, since I was a kid.” Silvera’s father was a boxer who was just about to go pro, but his fortune took a bad turn after he broke his arm and leg. Nevertheless, Philip inherited his father’s fighting spirit. After starting his martial arts training in Karate, Silvera switched over to a Shaolin-based system of Chinese Kung Fu, which he studied for about 20 years. 

Silvera got his first break in 1997. He was competing in a martial arts tournament in New York City when he was approached to do an off-Broadway show called Voice of the Dragon: Once Upon a Time in Chinese America. It was a groundbreaking show from maverick playwright and noted jazz composer Fred Ho. Silvera describes it as “a bit of an urban Peking opera, really a martial arts ballet.” The show demanded he play a character, do martial arts, fight, fall, and flip on stage in front of a live audience. 

As Silvera got deeper into the stunt world, his training diversified to accommodate a wider variety of roles. He studied Kali stick fighting and even trained with Cecep Arif Rahman (The Raid 2, John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum). Beyond his film work, Rahman is a genuine master of the Indonesian martial art called Pencak Silat. As a stunt coordinator, Silvera must keep pushing his training forward so he can meet the demands of his next project. “I just constantly want to keep learning different things and evolving.”

Silvera began officially working as a stuntman in movies and TV in 2005. You must work your way up to that director’s chair, and in the stunt industry, that means you’ve got to pay your dues and take a lot of hard knocks. By 2010, he got his first action and fight choreographer credit with Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II. That was followed by several coordinator roles on more video games like DC Universe Online, Batman: Arkham City, and Star Wars: The Old Republic. After an uncredited role assisting with the fight choreography in Iron Man 3, he received his first credited movie fight choreographer role for Thor: The Dark World.

Changing the Game

However, it was his work on Netflix’s Daredevil that caught the attention of both action and superhero fans. Silvera served as the Fight and Stunt Coordinator for the first two seasons of the series, and for action connoisseurs, he built a choreographic trademark for the show: the one-take fight scene. In Daredevil’s second episode, Silvera orchestrated a showstopping one-take hallway slugfest and every fan of fight choreography took notice. That scene propelled action in streaming TV to the cinematic level of big screen fight choreography. “I think most people would be surprised to hear that we designed that one-shot sequence in Daredevil in a day and a half,” Silvera says. 

Silvera followed up that hallway fight with a one-take stairwell scrap in season two (an episode directed by Marc Jobst, who also directed two episodes of Jupiter’s Legacy). Hallway and stairwell fights comprise two of the three most common settings for extended fight scenes (the third being warehouse fights – there’s an innumerable amount of these in actioners because it’s just easy and cheap to find warehouse locations). Hallways serve as a device to narrow the playing field when one person must take on several opponents. The width of the hallway restricts how many adversaries can come at the hero at a time. Silvera’s Daredevil hallway fight is held in the same esteem as the epic hallway fight in Chan-wook Park’s Oldboy and is considered by many to be the greatest TV fight scene to date. 

Stairway fights showcase technical expertise. The footwork must be precise because one misstep can result in a devastating ankle twist for any stunt person. Additionally, falling down stairwells isn’t easy. It requires top notch stunt people to stage safely. 

Read more

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Jupiter’s Legacy: From Page to Screen

By Rosie Knight

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Jupiter’s Legacy Ending Explained

By Bernard Boo

For Silvera to deliver such high-level fight choreography for the small screen was groundbreaking. Until the rise of streaming, most TV shows were more reserved with their action because it is a longer haul. A feature-length movie might contain half a dozen fight scenes, at best. An action TV series might stage that many fights in just two or three episodes, with plenty more over the course of the season. This takes an incredible toll on the stunt team, which is why many martial arts-themed TV series gas out before the season finale. This is what made Silvera’s work on Daredevil so revolutionary at the time. Now, a half decade later, many TV shows have upped their action game, but they owe a great debt to Silvera and his team. “I really enjoyed bringing Daredevil to life. Charlie Cox was amazing. That was a pleasure working with Steve DeKnight on that show.” 

Since then, Silvera has tackled several super powered action icons for the silver screen, like Deadpool, Terminator: Dark Fate, and the Jaegers in Pacific Rim: Uprising. Silvera has fond memories of sitting down with director Tim Miller while working on Deadpool and Terminator: Dark Fate and setting the parameters of superpowers in combat. “It’s always that they’re really good at this, but what’s their weakness?” The audience will accept superpowers if the film stays consistent within its constructs. For Silvera, it’s about finding a new challenge in every sequence. “What I try and do is always make it super relative to the characters and then make it so that the audience can feel something when they watch it.”

Super Fights

Spanning eight episodes in Season 1, Jupiter’s Legacy allows Silvera the space to stretch his choreographic legs. “I believe the action on our show pushes the story and the characters forward, as much as it does on any of the other shows I’ve worked on in the past,” Silvera says. “And I’m super excited to see what fans think of the storytelling, the nonverbal storytelling, that happens within our action sequences.” 

Non-verbal storytelling lies at the very heart of every action choreographer. The fight scenes are the climax of the story and that unspoken dialogue of conflict must rise to that or else an actioner will fail. “Nonverbal communication,” stresses Silvera, “like The Empire Strikes Back, the scene that happens between Luke and Vader.” His passion for the Star Wars franchise led him to direct “Star Wars: Scene 38 ReImagined.” It was a reworking of the first lightsaber battle we ever saw – Obi-Wan Kenobi versus Darth Vader. Silvera spliced together footage from Star Wars: A New Hope with new fight footage. Doubling for Obi-Wan was Dan Brown (Black Panther, Spider-Man: Far from Home). Vader was Richard Cetrone, who was Ben Affleck’s stunt double in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. “Both are seasoned stuntmen in this business and have been around for a while,” adds Silvera.

“Scene 38 ReImagined” was a huge success with over 33.5 million views on YouTube. “That was a bit of a test for myself, as a second unit director and a first unit director,” says Silvera. “I wanted to see if I could add the emotional content into a sequence, that you know the character’s full story from beginning to end.”

From Comics Panels to Movie Frames

Choreographing superheroes has its own unique rules. A still comic panel is one thing. Setting that action into motion is another thing altogether. While comics are akin to storyboarding, when it comes to fights, a few panels describe that action. It then becomes Silvera’s job to unravel that into a fight with a dozen or more beats. 

One of his favorite examples for Jupiter’s Legacy is the “Hilltop” sequence. In the original comic, it’s a ferocious battle told over only four panels. Silvera saw that raw brutality and constantly built on that mindset with his choreography. 

“Those four panels really set the tone of our show and you’ll see that in the first episode.” He’s especially proud of this Hilltop sequence, as well as many other favorites. Two more sequences that he mentions with special pride he dubs “Tokyo Alley” and “The Vault,” but Silvera won’t elaborate on those cryptic titles just yet. “I don’t want to give away too much.” Fans who’ve already read the comic can probably guess what he’s talking about. “It starts off big and it stays that way up to the very end.” 

And for those fans familiar with Frank Quitely’s spectacular art, Silvera adds “We do our best to match those panels and the emotion that he puts into them. He really set the bar for us. And I think we met it.”

Superhero Boot Camp

As with many casts, most of the Jupiter’s Legacy actors have minimal background in martial arts or stunts. However, Silvera prefers it that way. “You get to figure out their characters and their movement in a different way.” He’d have ideas for them and then see something natural come out of their body language, which he would cultivate into something new and exciting. 

The cast was put through vigorous training where Silvera says they all worked extremely hard. “Literally a month of bootcamp with the lead actors training every day with our fight team and fight coordinator.” The cast would come in and work on basic movements and fight drills. “And then they would ride the wire for hours because there’s a lot of flying in the show.” 

As Supervising Stunt Coordinator, Silvera is quick to credit his fight and stunt rigging team. Micah Karns is the fight coordinator and Jayson Dumenigo is the 2nd Unit Stunt Coordinator and Key Rigger, a critical role for a flying superhero show. The threesome has worked together since Daredevil and teamed up again for several successive projects including Deadpool, Terminator, Pacific Rim, and Love, Death & Robots. 

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

“We have such a tight workflow at this point, from the years of us working together, that we know how to expedite things,” Silvera says. “We know how to keep up the pace. And we’re definitely doing seven days a week on this show.” The stunt team worked hand-in-hand with the cast for months to achieve the action that they wanted. “I’m super excited to see them and what they did come together on screen.”

The post Jupiter’s Legacy: Choreographing Superheroic Stunts appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3o84dlO

[ladyfogg]

Cold is the Night - 1/20

Cold is the Night - 1/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost. 

A/N: I was going to wait to post this next week but ended up finishing it early. So, enjoy! Hope you guys like it!

Fic Song:  Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters

Gif by @joe-mazzello

It was the hottest day of the summer and Pat Murray thought he might melt. Literally, melt.

The D-Backs weren’t even supposed to be on the field but Ty had insisted they needed the practice. No amount of whining or convincing could change his mind, not even from Maz.

Pat stood just outside the dugout in the bright sun, sweat dripping down his face, his uniform stuck to him unpleasantly. 

“Come on, Murray, hurry up and hit something so we can get out of here!”

“Shut the fuck up, Palacco!” Pat snapped. He was the last to practice and had been at the plate for far too many swings. The rage and anxiety had long since taken over, made ten times worse by the heat. He had stepped away for a moment, hoping that would help. But it hadn’t. 

He took a deep breath but the air was so thick it did nothing to help. He stepped back up to the plate, took a few practice swings, raised his bat…and missed again.

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Ty assured him as Pat let out a string of swears. “Try again.”

“Ty, dude, why can’t the rest of us go?” Zapata asked. “We’ll die of heat if we have to wait for Murray.”

“Fuck you, Zapata!”

“Hey! No one’s going anywhere!” Ty snapped. “We start practice together and we end it together. Now shut it!” He gestured to Dells who looked just as exhausted as Pat felt. 

Dells sighed and wound up another pitch. Pat’s hands were so sweaty, the bat was sliding against his palms. He gripped it as tight as he could, readied his body for the throw…

“Vinnie, what the fuck? You said you’d be done an hour ago!”

At the sound of your voice, Pat swung wide, missing Dells pitch by a long shot. The bat flew out of his sweaty hands and soared through the air, hurtling straight toward you. “FUCK!”

You saw the bat just in time to jump out of the way. “Shit!”

“Ey, Murray, be careful! You almost hit my baby sister!” Vinnie exclaimed dramatically. He pulled you against his gross chest protectively. “You poor baby! Did the mean ginger hurt you?!”

“Vinnie, g'off!” You struggle against your older brother, punching him in the rib to get him to let go. “I’m not even that much younger than you!“ 

Pat was furious with himself and unloaded his rage into a colorful array of swears. “Fucking fuck shit balls, fuck! Fucking idiot!”

“Alright, we’re done,” Maz declared, getting off the bench and swinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“We’re not leaving yet!” Ty exclaimed.

Maz fixated him with a stern look. “Ty, we’re done,” he repeated. “It’s too hot, Murray is losing his shit, and we’re all going to get heatstroke if we don’t get inside soon.”

Ty could never argue with Maz. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he nodded. “Yeah alright. Garvey, Dells, bring it in. Everyone’s dismissed.”

An eruption of cheers interrupted Pat’s continued tirade. Still fuming, he headed for the shade of the dugout, throwing his helmet against the chain-link fence.

“Aww, don’t worry, little buddy! Someday you’ll hit the ball!” Vinnie cooed. 

Pat felt bad enough as it was but to hear Vinnie tease him in front of you made the whole situation unbearable for reasons he couldn’t quite understand.

You elbowed your brother. “Stop being an ass. Come on, let’s go. I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“Ooo, yeah, about that…” Vinnie gave you a sweet smile. “I forgot to text you. I’m going with Ty to meet up with Nellie. Sorrrryyy!”

Pat’s own rage settled as he watched yours build. You rounded on Vinnie, eyes flaring. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I waited for no goddamn reason?!”

“Aww, don’t be upset!” Vinnie reached out to squish your cheeks, something he knew you absolutely hated. “Now give your big bro a biiiig smile!”

Without warning, you pounced on him, knocking him into the dirt. Vinnie tried to fight you off as the two of you wrestled in the dirt, a common occurrence to everyone who knew you. 

Pat gathered his things while the other guys laughed He just wanted to go home and forget about his miserable performance. He slipped away before anyone could notice.

He loved baseball with every fiber of his being and yet he couldn’t hit the ball even if his fucking life depended on it. There was nothing else he’d rather do. He just wished he had half as much talent as some of the other guys.

He didn’t usually drive to the field since his house was so close. But he would have if he had bothered to check the weather before he left. A thought that had suddenly occurred to him as he reached the parking lot.

“Great. Just fucking great." 

He was beyond exhausted and now had to walk home. He didn’t want to text his dad to come and get him, seeing as he was a fucking adult. Which left the one option. In theory, he could ask one of the guys but he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with them, knowing they’d tease him, or worse, try to give him advice. 

Pat was just contemplating if he could make it without passing out when a voice sounded behind him.

"Hey, Pat. Need a ride?”

He turned around to find you standing behind him. Your jean shorts and tank top were caked with dirt and sand, both of which were smeared across your face and in your hair. 

Pat swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart. “Nah, I’m fine. I’ll walk.”

“The hell you will! It’s hot as balls!” you said, pushing past him. “Come on, my car is right over here.”

A million protests came to mind, only a few having to do with the heat. He could only imagine the comments from the guys if they saw him and you getting into a car together. Vinnie would definitely have a few words.

But with a cloudless sky and temperatures pushing mid-90s, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. “You sure?" 

"Yeah. Since my shitty brother made me come over here, I might as well give someone a lift." 

Pat looked up at the sun and then back to your retreating frame. "Thanks,” he muttered, falling into step with you.

Your car was already running and when Pat climbed in, he was met with a blast of cold air. “Shit that’s nice.”

You laughed as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Right? Okay. Where to?”

Pat gave you his address and sat back as you pulled out of the parking space. He scanned the direction of the field, praying no one had seen the two of you together. The guys were just cresting the hill, Maz in the lead. They seemed too preoccupied talking to each other to notice him in your car.

As you drove in silence, Pat realized it was the first time the two of you had ever been alone. You had known of each other for a long time, had met on several occasions, but that was the extent of your relationship. He realized he knew very little about you. 

Stealing a glance, he studied your profile, eyes taking in the features he had admired from afar. Maybe not admired, but definitely noticed. You focused on the road, singing along with whatever song was on the radio. He didn’t recognize it.

“Tough practice?” you asked.

Pat scowled and remained silent, his anger at himself flaring back up and forcing him to look away. 

“That bad huh?” You drummed your hands on the steering wheel as you pulled up to a red light. “I forgive you then. You know, for almost killing me with a bat.”

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!” Pat exclaimed. He had completely forgotten about that and now he felt a thousand times worse. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot!”

“Relax, I was teasing,” you said, stepping on the gas. “It was my fault for standing outside the dugout. I’ve been around you assholes long enough to know shit goes flying.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. It’s so goddamn hot, the bat slipped.”

“Isn’t that why you’re supposed to wear gloves?”

“I forgot them.”

“Probably don’t do that next time.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tension filled the tiny space between you two as Pat sat stewing in his own anger. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t do anything right.

“You’re brooding.”

Pat glared at you. “I’m pissed off. I’m allowed to brood.”

“Well don’t, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Don’t you start with me too. I’ve had a shitty day.”

“Well, let’s talk about it. You’ll feel better if you let it out.”

Pat looked at you in surprise. His angry outbursts were well known to anyone who had seen him play. Most of the time he was told to calm down, not keep going.

“Fucking fuck!” he exclaimed, yanking his hat off and throwing it against the dashboard. “I’m such a fucking loser! God, no matter what I do I can’t ever get a fucking hit! Most of the time I can’t even get close!”

“Hey you got close to hitting me, that’s something!”

Pat glared at you and you gave him the same shit-eating grin your brother was famous for. “It’s not the fucking same. If almost hitting people with bats counted I’d have been drafted years ago.”

You laughed. “In all honesty though, I know you can do it.”

“How? You barely know me.”

“I’ve been to plenty of games over the years, I’ve seen you play more times than I can count. You hit when you’re not psyching yourself up. You just have to stop overthinking it.”

There it was, exactly what he didn’t want to deal with. Unsolicited advice. “Thanks for telling me the same thing I’ve heard over a thousand times before. Really helps.”

“Fuck you, I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Well, it didn’t work.”

The rest of the drive was done in silence. When you pulled into Pat’s driveway he sighed with relief. All he could do was think about taking a long shower and passing out for a few hours.

“Thanks for the ride,” he muttered, grabbing his bag.

“Yeah, sure.”

As he opened the car door and climbed out, the heat blasted him in the face, making him grimace. The stark change reminded him how lucky he was he didn’t have to walk home. 

She really didn’t have to drive me and then I go snapping at her. Well fucking done, Murray.

Pat paused on his way to the front door before he turned around to go apologize. But you had already driven away. Cursing under his breath, he headed into the house.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

I'm a bit embarrassed to ask this. Have you ever read a fic that, stylistically, it's beautiful, linguistically it's tight, and it's obvious the author poured their whole self into constructing the plot, crafting the world, and nailing down the characterizations, but... You just don't get it? Like, perhaps there's some insight you're missing, and it's almost there, you think maybe you're close to getting what the author is trying to portray, but you just can't make the connection necessary?

(Embarrassed nonny continued) You even reread to make sure you didn’t skip anything, but it’s like it just seems that something missing? Or that you’re the one missing something vital? So you go to the comments to see if anyone else is confused, but all you see are lovely, supportive compliments about how beautiful the story is (and it is), or how heartwrenching it is (usually so). But you seem to be the only one not getting it?

(Embarrassed nonny cont. again) Is it destructive to let the author know that I think a story is beautiful in it’s telling, but that I don’t quite understand it? I don’t want to offend the author, who has clearly worked very hard, and I appreciate them so much. But, I want to understand the story they’re telling, even if I’m the only one not getting it. If that even makes any sense. P.S.- thanks for always taking time to listen to fandom woes and fielding requests. You’re a champion! ❤

Hi Nonny!

First of all, there’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about! Stories are partly about authorial intent, and partly about reader interpretation; no two people will interpret a story the same, and no author SHOULD expect a reader to interpret their story exactly as the author intended. SHERLOCK is a perfect example of this (the writers SAY they meant it to be one thing and literally the ENTIRE FANDOM is divided on what’s actually being shown on screen), or if you want to be more classical, the works of Shakespeare as well.

In fact, Shakespeare is a perfect example of your problem: I love Shakespeare: it’s beautifully written, it sounds lovely to the ear, and it invokes imagery based on how someone interprets it. But I sure as heck have NO idea what I read until someone explained it to me, or how I SHOULD have interpreted it (which, is oxymoronic to my point, I know…). Only after I hear how someone else interpreted the work, I can then RE-READ a work and begin to understand what was meant by it, and then develop my own interpretations. 

I’ve read a few fics by a couple authors in this fandom where I LOVED their writing, but I had NO idea what was happening until I re-read the fics… it’s a reading comprehension thing with me, I’m sure (my brain tends to move a bit quicker than I can read and talk, and in turn it also tends to wander when my eyes aren’t going fast enough, LOL), but a lot of times, if I just read a fic a second time I can then grasp the words my brain omitted the first time and then really enjoy and love the fic. I hate that about me, but that’s how my brain works… Perhaps it may be the same with your brain? If a fic is well written and you enjoyed it but just had some comprehension issues, perhaps a second read-through will help you as it has done with me :)

So, now to answer your question: if after reading a fic, and you don’t understand it, is it okay to ask the authorial intent of the story? Unfortunately, there is no yes-or-no answer to this question, Lovely, as every author is different. Personally – and this is just for me speaking, and what I would do or what I would not mind if I were the author – I think it’s alright, so long as you are respectful to them! Dig around their user pages and you can often find ways to interact with the author outside of their fics, or information about whether or not they want to read criticism etc. on their stories. If an author doesn’t want any interaction, they’ll be very clear about it, but most authors have ways to get in touch with them, so to ME that’s a saying “hey, if you have any questions, here’s how to get a hold of me!”. 

If they have a Tumblr with asks turned on, you can even do it like you have done for me here; write exactly what you mentioned, just tweak a few things: Mention how much you love their prose and their storytelling, and you can really feel how much love they put into the story. You found it interesting, though you’re unclear on a few parts. Ask them kindly how they intended for an audience to read it. Many creators appreciate honesty when talking about their works, so just be honest and say that you didn’t understand something and wouldn’t mind a bit of clarification about something. They can’t fault you for not understanding something, and if they do, well… I find that rather ableist, in my opinion: That’s like telling someone with dyslexia to just stop mixing up letters, or someone who’s native language isn’t English to just learn one of the most complex languages in the world with so many structure rules that make no sense half the time…. *shrugs* It’s harsh of me to say, I am sorry about that, writers, but reading comprehension doesn’t come easily for everyone.

ANYWAY, back to my point: An author, so long as you are respectful (and maybe peppering in some compliments and praise never hurts either… a lot of us creative-types have praise kinks) and don’t throw a backhanded compliment (like don’t say: “Your work is so amazing! Though I think you should make it easier for people to understand it, your words are too complex”), they will be more than happy to write out their intent for the story. Let them know it’s YOU who’s not understanding (so, “I have trouble understanding this part” as opposed to “you should make this work easier to read for everyone”… make the onus on YOU). DON’T be demanding (like, don’t say something that can be interpreted as “it’s YOUR responsibility to cater to MY need to understand”), and be patient for a reply.

You can see why this isn’t an easy yes-or-no answer, LOL. 

Essentially, kindness begets kindness, and respect begets respect. And –  this isn’t an attack on you personally with regards to this ask, because I know my audience are adorably shy beans – it might be a show of good faith and intentions to stay off anon when you ask your question; it shows the author that you aren’t being malicious, just simply a smol bean who loves stories and want to learn more about theirs. BUT, it IS okay to stay on-anon if you are shy / worried about not the author but other people interpreting it the wrong way, just make sure you tailor your question to the author in a respectful way that it comes across as respect. Perhaps something like this:

Hi, [author]! I really love your story, [story title]! It’s well-written and I can really tell how much you love this story and how much soul you put into it. I just had a question for you with regards to [name concern here]. [state question here]. I have trouble sometimes with [reading comprehension, English/language, dyslexia, etc.], and I would love to know what your ideas and thought process was for [character, plot point, situation, etc.]. Understanding what the author intended really helps me enjoy the stories even more than I already did, and your thoughts would be really helpful for when I re-read your story! Thank you so much for your time, and thank you for blessing us with this beautiful story!

Or something like that, LOL. And if you genuinely aren’t a native-language speaker, let them know that it’s not your first language so you’re just honestly not grasping a colloquialism that’s common in English but not in, say, German. It’s more common than you think! I’ve had people ask me in private before about a phrase I’ve written or about how they should interpret a meta of mine; I’ve never taken insult upon it, and in fact I love helping people understand my work so that they can enjoy other peoples’ content in the future. 

As an additional thought I just had, I think a good example of fandom-understanding-authors is, actually, the @johnlockficclub; every couple months or so we read new stories, and then at the end of the story, we ask authors our questions about their intent of the stories, and in turn the author gets an interesting (I hope) insight into how various people interpreted their stories. Even during the live-chats leading up to the author q-and-a, we all see how we each interpreted certain sections of the chapters we read that week, and see various viewpoints we never considered. So I think that is a wonderful way to see authorial intent vs. reader interpretation, and as far as I know, all the authors we’ve “interviewed” loved just getting that kind of feedback for their stories. You should join in on at least the author interviews just to see how they go and give you some ideas on how an author will take feedback. It’s so fascinating to me!

Just a fun little anecdote that oftentimes, it is a positive experience for an author because most of them love to talk about their stories – their stories are their children, and they care deeply for them, because it’s a part of them, and it’s an expression of their love. They WANT you to understand and enjoy their work. It’s a cyclical thing: if you understand their children so you can love them too, then they will love their fanbase and will want to continue to write since they received feedback that was validating to them that they produce work that people enjoy and want to know more about. 

Finally, I’d love for some authors to weigh in on their thoughts about this; would you be offended if someone loved your story but would want your clarification on some things, or want to know how you intended for the audience to perceive it? Please let us know!

Sorry this answer was so long, but I hope it helps!

P.S. Aww, you’re far too kind, Nonny! me. XD

[madewithonerib]

What Is the Narrow Gate Jesus Talked About? by Cecil Maranville

     JESUS said to “enter by the narrow gate”      if we’re seeking life.

     Why did HE seemingly discourage people      from becoming Christians?

1.] What makes the gate so narrow?

     At the beginning of HIS ministry, thousands of disciples      chased after JESUS CHRIST as they would a      celebrity—but after HIS death, that number had      dwindled to only a few hundred      [Acts 1:15; 1 Corinthians 15:6].

     These disciples quickly learned that being a      Christian was no walk in the park.

     Following in the footsteps of our Savior means more      than just giving your heart to the LORD—it often means      making difficult choices & doing difficult things.

     [See “How Do You Know You Have the HOLY SPIRIT?”       for more insight into the conversion process.]

     JESUS warned HIS disciples about that while HE      was still alive. HE told them,

     “Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate & broad      is the way that leads to destruction, & there are many      who go in by it.

     Because narrow is the gate & difficult is the way which      leads to life, & there are few who find it”

     [Matthew 7:13-14, emphasis added throughout].

1.1] The narrow gate & the difficult way

     “The narrow gate” is a fairly straightforward concept.

     A narrow gate is harder to pass through than one      that is wide, & only a few people can go through      a narrow gate at once.

     JESUS was describing the pathway to life—true,      eternal life—as something requiring effort & focus to enter.

           Only a relatively small number of people            ever even set foot on that path.

     But getting onto the path is only the first step.

     When HE said, “Difficult is the way which leads to life,”      JESUS was explaining how hard being a Christian really is.

     “Difficult” is from the Greek word thlibo, which means:

           “To press [as grapes], press hard upon;            a compressed way; narrow straitened, contracted.”

     Metaphorically, it can also mean “to trouble, afflict, distress.”

     If JESUS wanted to draw people to follow HIM, why did HE      tell prospective disciples doing so would bring them grief?

     To understand what HE meant, let’s examine a few of the      passages where HE seemingly discouraged people      from following HIM.

     Luke writes of three encounters JESUS had with would-be      Christians as HE & HIS disciples were traveling, & each      of these encounters offers insight into what makes the gate      so narrow & the way so difficult.

1.2] The narrow gate of uncertainty

     One would-be follower made a dramatic statement of      commitment, saying to CHRIST:

           “LORD, I will follow YOU wherever YOU go”            [Luke 9:57].

      JESUS didn’t reply, “Wonderful! Please join us!”

     Instead, HE said something that, at the least, would have      caused the man to have 2nd thoughts &, at the most,      would have turned him away completely:

           “Foxes have holes & birds of the air have nests, but            the SON of MAN has nowhere to lay HIS head” [v.58].

     JESUS was conveying the uncertainty that could      accompany the life of a true Christian.

     To follow CHRIST, we must be willing to accept a certain      amount of volatility in our lives—knowing that we will remain      living in the world without remaining part of the world.      [John 17:9-19].

1.3] The narrow gate of priority

     Luke’s narrative continues with JESUS turning to another      person & telling him, “Follow ME” [v.59].

     The man begged off, asking that he be allowed      to first bury his father.

     Since Jewish custom was to bury the dead as soon as      possible, it is unlikely the man was out with the crowd      around JESUS with a dead father at home.

     More likely, the man was asking to spend whatever      remaining time he might have with an aging or perhaps      ill father—an open-ended request actually.

     The blunt record of Luke has JESUS responding to      this man’s excuse,

           “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go &            preach the kingdom of GOD” [v.60].

     Obviously, dead people do not bury anyone.

      JESUS was referring to those who were spiritually dead      —people who had not responded to HIS teaching.

     JESUS was telling the potential Christian      that HIS calling was infinitely more important.****

     The same is true for us—we can’t dedicate ourselves to      follow CHRIST if we keep putting vague, open-ended      priorities in front of our calling.

1.4] The narrow gate of commitment

     Then a 3rd man, who was committed to becoming a disciple,      made a seemingly reasonable request to first return home      to say goodbye to whoever was at his house [v.61].

     [It’s unclear if these people were family or guests.]

     To this person, JESUS responded:

           “No one, having put his hand to the plow, & looking            back, is fit for the kingdom of GOD” [v.62].

     We cannot know with certainty, but this person may not      have been as committed as his words make it sound.

     JESUS knew his heart & saw it necessary to remind the      man that looking back was not an option.

     The BIBLE records only the essence of the exchange—      what we need to know to understand the main point.

     All three of these responses add clarity to CHRIST’s teaching      that “narrow is the gate.”

     In this 3rd example, the added lesson was that Christians      must continue to keep their eyes on the goal—      GOD’s Kingdom.

     An experienced plowman immediately       recognizes the point of this analogy.

     When plowing, the farmer fixes his eyes on a rock, a hill or      some other marker, so that he will plow straight furrows.

     Although modern farmers with vast fields often use GPS      equipment to accomplish this, the principle remains the same!

2.] Other narrow gates to consider

     A few chapters later, we find another insightful account      about what we must do to become followers of      JESUS CHRIST.

     With a huge number of people crowding around to hear      JESUS’ every word, HE gave more examples not of      how easy it is to give your heart to the LORD, but

           how heavy the obligation of            becoming a Christian is.

2.1] You must hate your mother and father?

     In Luke 14:26 JESUS said,

           “If anyone comes to ME & does not hate his father &            mother, spouse & children, fellow believers & siblings,            yes, & their own life also, s/he cannot be MY disciple.”

     This instruction seems strange until we understand      the meaning of the original language.

     The NKJV Study BIBLE explains:

           “To ‘hate’ one’s family & even one’s life is rhetorical.            It refers to desiring something less than something else”            [2007, notes on Luke 14:26].

     In other words, a Christian’s love for living GOD’s way      of life has to be greater than the love s/he has for any      human relationship, as well as for their own self.

     Even clarified, the statement is rather unexpected, &      certainly becomes a narrow gate itself as we evaluate      our most important relationships.

2.2] You must overcome and endure trials

     The next example was extremely graphic. JESUS said,

           “And whoever does not bear his cross &            come after ME cannot be MY disciple” [v.27].

     To bear a cross in the Roman world was a death sentence      —because after you were done carrying it where it needed      to go, you would be nailed to it & die on it.

     These words carry all the more weight when we consider      that, when JESUS said this, HE was well aware that very      soon, HE would be bearing HIS own [literal] cross.

     The SON of GOD would die the death of a common criminal.

     Just as condemned criminals were made to carry the crosses      upon which they would be executed, we must be willing to      endure & overcome whatever trials we may face      as Christians.

     These trials are not optional or unexpected—they are      as certain as the ultimate fate of someone bearing a cross.

2.3] This is a narrow gate, indeed.

     YOU must “count the cost”

     Next, JESUS spoke of a construction project.

     HE pointed out that any responsible builder would      consider the cost of the entire project      from start to finish &

     Then ensure he had the necessary funding to complete      the project before he would even start.

     Beginning a construction project without considering      funding could result in an abandoned, partially complete      building—a visual symbol of the builder’s lack of judgment      [v.28-30].

     This principle can also be applied to the narrow gate      of becoming a Christian.

     We need to understand the cost—the challenges &      hardships—that are sure to come when we begin      living GOD’s way of life.

     If we enter onto the difficult path expecting only clear      skies & happiness, we risk running out of steam when      we have to deal with the challenging days that are      sure to come.

     JESUS wants us to have a realistic view of what’s ahead,      not an impossibly optimistic one.

2.4] You must consider your resources

     JESUS then gave an illustration about going to war.

     Quite simply, JESUS said that a king or general counts      his troops before engaging an enemy.

     He wants to know in advance that victory is possible.

     If he doesn’t have sufficient resources to win, he makes      peace instead of going to war [v.31-32].

           As for Christians, our battles are            spiritual in nature.

           In reality, it is impossible for us to            win this war by ourselves.

     Upon becoming a Christian, we will need the help of      GOD’s great power—HIS HOLY SPIRIT—to      achieve victory against overwhelming odds.

     But armed with that power, we can expect victory,      & the narrow gate becomes worth entering.

2.5] You must “forsake all” that you have

     Concluding HIS teaching on this occasion, JESUS said,

           “So likewise, whoever of you does not             forsake all that s/he has cannot be MY disciple”             [v.33].

     The lesson here is that in order to truly follow CHRIST,

          this must become the           most important thing in our lives.

     We must be willing to lose literally everything else in      our lives before letting go of our discipleship.

     Why would JESUS tell people that unless they met      these undeniably stringent standards, they could      not become HIS disciples, Christians?

     Because the gate is narrow, & the path is difficult.

     JESUS wanted to make that perfectly clear      to anyone considering following HIM.

2.6] The narrow gate is designed for quality, not quantity

     Another insightful passage of JESUS’ teaching on      becoming a Christian is found in John 6:25-66.

     This section of SCRIPTURE is a composite of      interactions with a variety of people.

     Some wanted JESUS to repeat the miracle of      producing food.

     Some were in audiences of synagogues at which      CHRIST spoke.

     And some were Jewish leaders critical of JESUS.

     JESUS began talking about physical manna & then      explained that HE was the true manna & that the      way to salvation was by

           “eat MY flesh & drink MY blood”            [v.53-56].

     Not understanding that HE was talking about the      Passover symbols of bread & wine, which      represented HIS flesh & blood, many people      abruptly stopped following HIM [v.66].

     On the surface, it again appears that CHRIST’s      approach seemed illogical, because HIS WORDs      did not entice people to join HIM.

     Clearly, CHRIST did not want just numbers.

     However, HE wanted all who became HIS disciples      —students or learners & members of the spiritual body      called in SCRIPTURE

           “the Church of GOD” [Acts 20:28]

     —to make it through to the end.

     They needed to know that they would      encounter the most difficult challenges      of their lives.

     HE would have been irresponsible had      HE failed to prepare the disciples.

     By analogy, failing to counsel them on the challenges      they would face if they became Christians would be      like taking a group of average citizens & sending      them on a military mission meant for an expert      team such as the U.S. Navy SEALS or      the British SAS.

     Without proper training, the people would not likely      survive such a mission.

     And it would be disastrous for the mission itself.

     GOD wants all to achieve their potential, & HE      wants Christians to understand the serious      nature of their commitment to follow HIM.

     CHRIST never leaves those who commit      to enter the narrow gate.

     Of course, GOD gave other counsel besides warnings      about the challenge of becoming a Christian.

     HE also promised those who did commit to this way of life,      “I will never leave you nor forsake you” [Hebrews 13:5].

     The NKJV Study BIBLE comments,

           “This quotation is one of the most            emphatic statements in the NT.

     In Greek it contains two double negatives, similar to saying      in English, ‘I will never, ever, ever forsake you.’

     JESUS uses the same technique to express the certainty      of eternal life for believers [see John 10:28].”

     You may have heard the military saying

           “Never leave a man behind!”

     Similarly, the FATHER & the SON are fully committed      to those who respond to GOD’s calling.

     JESUS made a similar promise after HIS resurrection,      promising HE would be with Church members      always & forever, “even to the end of the age”

     [Matthew 28:18-20]

3.] What path are you choosing?

     So why would anyone choose the narrow gate,      symbolizing the way Christians must live, when      it is such a difficult path compared to the smooth,      easy way of the world?

     On hikes, there are often adventures, thrills &      vistas available only to those who take the      difficult path.

     The difficult way brings rewards that those who      remain on the smooth & easy way will never know!

     Similarly, the experience of being in GOD’s Church is      incomparably rewarding to those who are called of GOD.

     They become part of the family of GOD now.

     They serve in HIS work.      They are energized by interacting with people of like mind.

           They anticipate reigning with CHRIST            in the coming Kingdom of GOD.

     They deeply appreciate being led by the      HOLY SPIRIT & understand that      godliness has benefits for

           “the life that now is” &            “that which is to come”

     [1 Timothy 4:8].

     Which way are you choosing?

     Look at your level of commitment, which you can      judge by how much you put into practice      what you know GOD would have you do.

     Would “the narrow gate” describe       the way you are choosing to live?

     Or are you choosing the smooth way, the way      that meets the least resistance?

     To learn more about becoming a Christian,      be sure to read the articles in the      “Change” section of this website.

About the Author:

     Cecil Maranville is a minister of the Church of GOD,      a Worldwide Association. He works with the      responses to questions our readers send to this website.

Photo: Gateway to Heaven, Tianmen Mountain | China

[giraffles]

We Kiss The Dusk Goodnight

this is an A/B/O au fanfic

because I have a Problem, here it the abo/omegaverse fic literally no one asked for but I’m in too deep now to stop. I really don’t know where this came from okay. JUST TAKE IT. and don’t kick me out of the fandom pls

warnings for language, some implied sexual content, and age gap. and actual smut eventually. I’M GETTING THERE OKAY. 

We Kiss The Dusk Goodnight (Bulge/Bruce/Manabu)

The next morning, over a third cup of coffee, Bruce delivered an ultimatum.

“We have to figure out who the hell it is,” he muttered into a mug, “Before they send half the station into a rut.”

Or, the omegaverse AU no one asked for.

you can also read the first chapter here on AO3!

He knew from the moment that Bruce slammed into him in the dark hallway that something was different. It wasn’t as though their relationship was new, or that meeting like this for a tryst was uncommon, but there was something heavier in the air between them. But what it was escaped Bulge, and it became harder to focus once he had a handful of Bruce’s hair and a mouthful of tongue. Trying to think about what may have changed took a backseat to getting their clothes on the floor of his quarters, and was suddenly irrelevant when Bruce started snarling possessively at him. Pack dynamics be damned; fucking with another alpha was an experience that never ceased to deliver. Or maybe he was just getting old, and any little thing would seem extra thrilling now.

     "Come on,“ was the near desperate whine as Bulge fumbled with the lube, "It’s been too fuckin’ long.”

He never would have described Bruce as wanton. Pushy, yes. A little needy, maybe, once in a while when some kid off their suppressants happened to walk by headquarters. Able to act downright devious when the mood struck him. And yet he’d never quiet seen him like this, bucking back, giving in, but also making Bulge work for every inch. And you know, he found he liked it. Gender and sexuality historians already had a field day with the SDF and the tight knit platoons that were both packs and most certainly not packs– they would have loved to have a look at a captain and his first officer falling in like this.

It wasn’t as though relationships of, ah, mutual benefits, didn’t happen. But those were usually throw away things, one night stands or scheduled with heat cycles, with attraction but not necessarily affection. Not the unwavering loyalty and connections that being soldiers-in-arms created. The SDF turned a blind eye to most incidents like this, as the higher ups (and by extension, the enigmatic supreme commander) didn’t care what they did as long as they got their jobs done. Ironic that a military organization had some of the most lax and open views on matters.

     "Damn,“ he swore, every sense on high alert, "Someone must be presenting.”

     "Fucking cadets,“ Bruce growled, his nails digging into Bulge’s shoulders, "They let them in way too young.”

It’s an empty complaint, because the age and timing of presenting could never really be guaranteed. Every time science and society thought they had it figured out, a new batch of outliners skewed the data again, proving that biology and evolution did whatever they damn well pleased. And that people don’t always like to fit into the molds the world set out for them. Strict roles were all but obsolete in this day and age, relics of times long past, even if some conventions died hard. Like the fact that most of those who ended up in combat units just happened to be alphas. Betas were most common after that, with omegas and the rest of the spectrum coming in last.

The next morning, over a third cup of coffee, Bruce delivered an ultimatum.

     "We have to figure out who the hell it is,“ he muttered into a mug, "Before they send half the station into a rut.”

Bulge agreed wholeheartedly, because the wheel universe stopped for no one, bodies going haywire or otherwise. “They may not even realize what’s happening.”

     "Fucking kids.“ Bruce repeated his sentiment from the night before. Bulge couldn’t admonish him, not when he knew it actually came from a place of concern. Someone could get hurt while in the wild throws of base desires. Scuffles might break out between unbonded parties, causing a headache for all involved and a HR nightmare. Most people could exercise discretion. Most, but not all. Bulge ran a hand over his face.

It was going to be a long day.

One long day turned into another, and then another, and they still couldn’t figure out who was running headlong into heat. Being in such close proximity to so many people meant that most went scent blind, and the prevalent use of suppressants dampened pheromones in general. Bulge hoped it was just someone who had missed a dose or two, or maybe some visiting family member, but something told him that it wouldn’t be that simple. If only for the fact that it came and went with such regularity that it had to be someone on SDF shifts. But without invading each person’s personal boundaries, it was impossible to pinpoint who. Performance in the Sirius platoon was already suffering; it was hard enough to rein his own short temper in, much less keeping Bruce in line and Manabu from butting heads with him. Louis was pointedly uninterested in the whole affair, and David did his best to diffuse situations, but everyone was on edge.

     "No, the other console Yūki, get it together–”

     "I have it together!“ Manabu snapped back, "Stop distracting me!”

     "Stop it, both of you,“ It honestly felt more like babysitting than leading a platoon through drills, "Get a hold of yourselves.”

Bruce huffed and Manabu went back to sulking, even brushing off Louis’ reassurances. The sooner they found whoever was the source of this, the better. For all of their sakes.

     "That’s enough for today.“ He sighed, even though it was early for them to be stopping. There was no point in continuing however when everyone was so wound up; He swore he caught David murmuring a prayer of thanks. At this rate, it was Sirius that would be having the first casualties, especially with the way Bruce kept fixating on Manabu-

Oh lord. Manabu.

If there were any merciful deities left in the cosmos, then please let him be wrong. Please don’t let it be the wide eyed and enthusiastic son of Wataru, too fresh and young and inexperienced to be dealing with such matters.

Bulge had always assumed Manabu was an alpha, like the rest of them. Like his father and brother before him. It would have made perfect sense from multiple standpoints, and regardless, he might be reckless and naive, but he wasn’t stupid. Not stupid enough to go off medications in an environment like this.

     "Manabu, a moment.”

     "What?“ Came the annoyed reply, though he quickly corrected himself, "What is it, captain?”

There was no easy way to start this conversation, especially with Bruce giving them a sideways glance as the rest of Sirius platoon disembarked. Sometimes his first mate did have some tact and stayed silent, leaving Bulge alone with a nervously fidgeting Manabu.

     "Manabu,“ he began anew, "I need you to be completely honest with me.”

     "About what?“

     "Tell me you’re on suppressants.”

Manabu went bright red, hands curled at his sides as though he was resisting the urge to cover his face. “W-who told you?”

     "No one. Everyone on the base can smell you, Manabu. You have been taking them, haven’t you?“

At that he did cover his face and sink into the nearest chair. Bulge felt a protective urge swell up in him, caught somewhere between concerned captain and alpha instincts.

     "Manabu, it’s alright-”

     "But it’s not,“ he sounded so utterly miserable, "It’s not okay and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

     "Nothing is wrong with you.“ Frankly, Bulge was alarmed that he would think there was. Who on earth had lead him to believe that? Then he remembered Tabito, the tiny mining planet, full of nice people. Traditional people. Stubborn people. God damn it to hell. "Manabu, look at me.”

It took several long minutes, but finally those brown eyes peeked out from behind his fingers. He looked so small in that moment, so unsure and shaken. Bulge wanted to reach out to him but knew it was a dangerous idea. Even a simple touch could have catastrophic results.

     "There’s nothing wrong with you,“ he repeated instead, "It’s normal.”

     "But I’ve been on the stupid pills for forever!“

     "Sometimes they stop working.”

     "Are you serious,“ Manabu groaned, "Oh my god, just kill me. Better yet, let Bruce kill me. That’ll make him happy.”

If only he knew about the way the first officer sometimes looked at him. Because of course Bulge noticed, and couldn’t fault him for it when the traitorous thoughts had passed through his own mind. But this was Manabu, fierce and compassionate and utterly oblivious. “Can you, ah, take care of it on your own? Or should I find someone to help?”

Manabu returned to being covered in flush and made a strangled sound. What he would have given in that moment to have Wataru back, just for this awkward conversation. Bulge wasn’t cut out for family life, much less pack duties, an certainly not prepared to give a pep talk on someone’s first heat.

“I can do it, I’ll be fine,” And then softer, “Probably.”

     "You’ve got to be kidding me.“

     "Bruce,” he grumbled back, “Give him a break. It’s not his fault.”

     "I know it’s not.“ And yet his first officer was pacing in the break room, agitated and probably ready to pick a fight with the next man who looked at him wrong. Which is exactly why Bulge had decided it was better to stick close to him. "Of all the people, why did it have to be him?”

Fate was a cruel thing like that. It didn’t much care for the wants and needs of the individuals subject to it’s whims. Yet he couldn’t have agreed more.

     "It’ll be fine.“ He said, even though he was unconvinced of that. Manabu had said he would be okay, but the young man’s track record on things was less than stellar. Just how many times had he disobeyed a direct order or accidentally gotten himself into trouble? ”…probably.“

     "This is insane.”

     "There’s not much we can do about it, save removing him from active duty.“

     "Have you?”

     "Yes,“ he nodded, "I’ve put in for the whole platoon, actually.”

That stopped Bruce, who looked back at him in confusion. “Why?”

     "Because none of us are in any state to fight.“ And, he doesn’t say, there was no way he would be leaving Manabu alone at the base. Not a chance in hell.

     "Stupid kid.” Bruce said without heat. He was worried. He’d never admit it, especially not to Manabu himself, but Bruce worries after him. Sure, he shrouded it in snark and biting words, kept him at arms length to spare himself any future pain. But he did care. Just in a roundabout way.

He felt the unease acutely. The outdated, nagging animal part of his subconscious wanted him to go out and fawn over the omega, stay close, so close, to him and make sure he was alright. Which was unnecessary, and oppressive; Manabu was his own person. And, he could only hope, not too proud to ask for help if he needed it. Then again, he was notoriously stubborn.

Maggie from Spica poked her head into the room. “Excuse me sir, but there’s a… situation.”

Bulge felt his stomach hit the floor and keep going. It hadn’t even been more than a few hours. Bruce swore, and had dashed out the door before he could move.

     "I’m going to kill him,“ Bruce spat once Bulge had caught up with him, "And then he’ll never be a pain in my ass ever again.”

If the spike in pheromones was distracting before, now it was downright overwhelming. Sticky sweet and alluring, enough to make his teeth itch. Tinged with a hint of panic and desperation. He remembered Manabu’s panic attack from one of their first missions, remembered the way that he could crumble so easily under too much stress, even if he came back from each fall that much stronger. He was alone somewhere in these halls, lost and scared, and Schwanhelt Bulge was going to find him.

It took every measure of restraint he had in his being to not rush the members of Vega platoon and then to keep Bruce from doing the same. They were all in a circle, ringing a huddled mass in front of the vending machines, who he could see shaking from ten paces back. Bulge gathered up what little calm he could before speaking.

     "Murase,“ he began evenly, "What is going on here?”

The leader of Vega turned his scarred face to them, lips curled in a snarl. “You haven’t kept your pup on a tight enough leash.”

If he was seeing red, then Bruce had to be absolutely livid. Bulge didn’t normally buy into the stereotypes of alphas beings hot-headed and temperamental, but there was no denying the tension crackling between the two groups of men. Vega actually had less alphas than Sirius, but that didn’t stop their two betas from being just as aggressive as their peers. He could appreciate the no nonsense, tough as nails approach to their platoon; what he didn’t appreciate was them hassling one of Sirius’ youngest members. Especially one who at the moment was so vulnerable.

     "Why do you keep this whelp around, anyway?“ Murase grabbed Manabu’s arm in an attempt to haul him upright, "He’s fuckin’ useless-”

     "Unhand him.“ Bulge growled, enough alpha tone sneaking in to make even Bruce flinch beside him, "This is none of your damn business.”

He sneered, but let go of Manabu, who crumpled onto the floor once more. In an instant Bruce was between the Vega men and him, radiating an aura of bloodlust. Bulge had no doubt it would come to blows if the veteran SDF members didn’t back down. Yet after several agonizing minutes, they did just that, with Murase shaking his head as he lead them away.

     "You should keep a better eye on that pup.“ Was Murase’s parting shot, and Bulge stared them all down until they had gone round a corner, then out of sight. A soft whimper brought him back to the moment.

     "Good god,” He crouched beside Manabu, who was still curled in upon himself, shuddering all the while, “Manabu?”

His head shot up, brown hair tousled, eyes wide with naked fear. Bulge’s reaction was automatic, as he reached forward and gathered the smaller man into his arms, where he clung to Bulge like a lifeline. He was nearly soaked though with sweat and it was hard to tell if his trembling was from being cornered by Vega platoon or something else entirely. Manabu let out a soft sob.

     "I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry,“ he hiccuped over and over again, hands wound tight into the fabric of Bulge’s coat, "I’m s-so sorry, I’m-”

It was pure torture, being wrapped up in him like that, when he smelled so enticing and his skin felt so hot. Yet it was alarming, because Manabu’s distress became his own, putting his mind into danger mode. It was so confusing too, to have to choose between the feeling of wanting to bundle him up and keep him safe, or throw pretenses out the window and fuck him silly right there.

No, the second one was most certainly not an option, not without Manabu’s explicit consent. The idea that Bulge had even considered it for a moment was insane. But as Bruce had said, this whole situation was insane.

     "It’s alright, I’ve got you,“ were the words he managed to get out while his heart tried to hammer it’s way through his chest, "You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

No, it was Bulge that should be apologizing. He should have never left Manabu unprotected. So what if they weren’t a real pack; he was still the ranking officer, the highest alpha in their group. He had a duty to them all to keep them safe and cared for. It didn’t matter if it was on the battlefield or not.

     "Captain,“ Bruce hissed, "What should we do?”

A good question. A very valid question. “Go to his room and get all of his bedding, then meet me at my quarters.”

Bruce took off without any further prompting, leaving him with a wreck of an omega to somehow get back to his own room. Bulge shifted Manabu so he could cradle him bridal style, and tried not to think about how sore he was going to be afterwords. Manabu may have been shorter and slighter than his father and brother, and done growing at just past twenty, but he was heavier than he looked. Especially when he became dead weight in Bulge’s arms. The only thing working in his favor was the death grip Manabu had on his shoulders.

     "I’ve got you.“ He said again, knowing that repetition of reassurances was one of the few comforts he could give at this point. Manabu stayed deathly quiet.

His captain’s quarters would be the safest place for the boy at the moment. It had extra security measures, was further away from the general dorming area, and most importantly, had space to breath. Not that the accommodations for regular officers were lacking, but there was extra square footage came along with his captain’s bars. It wasn’t a luxury Bulge often got to take advantage of, considering how often they were off world or completing missions, but he was glad for it. Now they just had to get there.

More than one head turned when he stormed down the halls with Manabu in hand, but none of them had enough of a death wish to stop him or ask questions. There was no use trying to hide what was happening; anyone with eyes and a nose could tell. Besides, sudden heats or failed suppressants were bound to happen from time to time, and only the most petty or immature would hold it against someone. He made a mental note to ask Yuki later if she could find a different medication, or some other resources for Manabu. Certainly her expansive medical database would have something that could help. In the meantime, Bulge was resigned to his fate as a stand-in pack leader.

     "What were you doing outside of your room?” He wondered aloud, not expecting the silent and shivering Manabu to answer. But after a sharp intake of breath, he did;

     "I just wanted a drink,“ Manabu mumbled into his neck, "I’m sorry.”

     "It’s alright,“ he tried to think of something, anything other than the hot body pressed against him, "I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

A heady, impulsive promise, but it felt right. It felt like proverbial stars aligning and Fate taking the helm, and he let it happen. Consequences could wait until a later date, maybe when they were all more clear headed and fully aware of the repercussions. But not right now. Manabu let out a soft sound and buried his head into his shoulder.

Finally they made it to his door, where an agitated Bruce carrying sheets and blankets was already waiting. He knew the code to get in, Bulge had shared it with him years ago, but it seemed he still waited for permission even after all this time. A nice gesture, but unnecessary given their history. (Yet, this was also not the only hangup Bruce had, his relationship with relationships being rocky at best. Bulge had been there for most of them and knew it was hard to come out unscathed, and not to mention his own lovers lost.) Still Bruce was the one to punch the password in, and the first to enter, heading straight for the bed as he’d already figured out the plan. Bulge’s bed wasn’t terribly large, but it still dwarfed the tiny bunks given to new recruits, and therefore was perfect for nesting. Even if Manabu didn’t understand it completely, having a place to nest would undoubtedly help. He tried not to think about the implications of having an omega in heat in his bed, even if their options were limited. Destiny Station might have protected heat rooms, he wasn’t sure, and in any case he felt better by having Manabu where he could keep an eye on him.

     “You have to let go, Manabu,” Bulge sighed to him when he continued to cling tight, “You’ll be safe here.”

     “Don’t want to,” Manabu murmured back, “You smell nice.”

     “Nope, that’s it,” Bruce said through gritted teeth, beginning to physically pry Manabu off of him, “You’re not allowed to make more of a fool of yourself than you already have.”

Manabu made little unhappy sounds, but they got him onto the bed. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, sweat sticking stray hairs to his face. Bulge had heard that the worst part of being an omega was the loss of autonomy— of becoming a slave to whim and instinct, left in a state that they were often taken advantage of in days of old. (And, as much he loathed to admit it, it still happened on backwater planets where society liked to backslid into unconscionable habits.) The amount of power he could wield over Manabu right then was ridiculous; and worst of all Manabu would let him do whatever he wanted. Whatever either of them wanted, actually.

Which was why Bulge was focusing on getting Manabu’s boots and coat off before hiding him under the sheets. Then he was going to take a bath in a tub of ice and try not to die.

     "Would you hold still?“ Bruce snapped at the younger officer, who was being very wiggly, trying to snuggle up to Bruce while he peeled off his SDF jacket, "Are they always like this?”

     "Yes,“ Bulge replied a little too quickly, remembering Catalina and the one time his off duty night happened to coincidence with her heat cycle, "Don’t be too hard on him. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

At least the abject terror that had engulfed Manabu before was gone. Small things to be thankful for in a trying time. Fear was now being overtaken by desire, filling the room with heavy want, and he needed to get out before he went mad from it all.

     "I’m going to go get Yuki.“

     "But I’m fine now!” Manabu protested, and Bruce threw a blanket over him so that his next round of complaints were muffled.

     "Stay with him, I’ll be right back.“

Bruce sighed as he pushed more bedding on top of Manabu. "Yes, sir.”

[erinkappeler]

Provocation: Historical Poetics Now

This is the text of the “provocation” I delivered at the Historical Poetics Now conference at the University of Texas, Austin, this weekend. A forthcoming article in Literature Compass discusses Mary Austin’s theory of free verse and its effect on modernist conceptions of Native American poetry in more detail, as does my book manuscript in progress. 

A Provocation from an Americanist

Thank you to the conference organizers for inviting me to be one of the provocateurs at this event––I’ll try to live up to the designation. I’ve been charged with being the provoking Americanist, and I’m afraid I’m also really a modernist these days, so I’ll be giving my views on what historical poetics offers from the standpoint of someone who works primarily with materials from the Americas in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. My provocation today consists of two main linked claims: first, historical poetics is not only about historicizing poems, and second, historical poetics can help to elucidate some of the ways that contemporary literary studies remains attached to its white supremacist foundations. Put differently, historical poetics can be one tool we use to chip away at the foundational whiteness of literary studies.

Claim 1: historical poetics does not simply mean historicizing poems. A historical poetics approach to literary study pushes scholars to ask which terms we hold stable in order to narrate the literary histories that emerge in our scholarship. Work in historical poetics starts from the premise that, as Michael Warner puts it, the modern academic critic is “a historically unusual sort of person” (“Uncritical Reading” 36) whose habits of critical reading are markedly different from the habits of most other kinds of readers. Academic critical reading is very good at elucidating certain kinds of poetic texts, but many poetic texts have been illegibile to modern literary scholars––for instance, most of the poems written and circulated in the United States in the nineteenth century.

This situation meant that, for a few decades at least, nineteenth-century American poetry was essentially disappeared from English departments, aside from works by Whitman, Dickinson, and maybe sometimes Poe. As Kerry Larson writes in the introduction to the 2011 Cambridge Companion to Nineteenth-Century American Poetry, “It cannot be said of nineteenth-century American poetry that it needs no introduction” (1). For generations of scholars, it seemed self-evident that convention, rhyme, repetition, and imitation were marks of bad poetry, and that bad poetry isn’t worth the investment of time required to make it yield interesting knowledge. Hence, nineteenth-century American poetry was simply ignored. Historical poetics scholarship, along with feminist recovery projects, book history studies, and any number of allied fields, has fundamentally reoriented our view of the nineteenth century in the Americas, pushing critics instead to see how twentieth-century literary critics “ask[ed] questions that nineteenth-century American poetry didn’t seem [able] to answer,” in the words of Mary Louise Kete (15). The scholarship that has investigated how to ask the questions that nineteenth-century American poetry does answer has been as varied in method and scope as nineteenth-century American poetry itself. In general, though, such scholarship can be said to push back against the once pervasive ideas that 1) readers have always understood capital P Poetry to be a meaningful generic category, 2) that conventionality is a mark of bad artistry, and 3) that poetic forms and genres evolved in any kind of progressive way. This latter strand of criticism is the strand I want to pick up in this talk today.

With the time I have remaining, I want to present to you a case study in historical poetics, to show what happens when we no longer hold generic and formal terms––especially terms like meter and prosody––stable as we analyze poetic texts. [I have to ask you indulgence here, because I’m going to be talking about modernist studies and texts from the early twentieth century, but it’s my hope that this conversation will have some theoretical utility for scholars working prior to the twentieth century.] As a practitioner of historical poetics, I am interested in the consequences of the return of nineteenth-century American poetry for fields that have relied on its disappearance for their own existence--namely, modernism. I am especially interested in the question of how to narrate historical accounts of modernist poetry from the premise that, as Max Cavitch so eloquently puts it, “Poetry’s liberation from the shackles of meter is one of the most important nonevents in late nineteenth-century literary history” (33). When scholars of modernism talk about free verse, they still position it as a real break with the prosodic experiments of the nineteenth century. This narrative covers over the white supremacist theories of meter that developed in the modernist era. A historical poetics approach to the history of free verse poetry can, I propose, reveal how white supremacist ideologies continue to inhere in some scholarly assumptions about the relative values of various poetic forms. In other words, historical poetics is not simply about historicizing poems; it is an approach that challenges the often reflexive, unexamined narratives of progressive generic and formal evolution that sometimes continue to structure otherwise historically-minded scholarship.

My abridged case study today is part of one chapter in the racialized development of free verse in the Americas in the early twentieth century. Mary Austin created a position for herself in the 1910s through the 1930s as one of the foremost “interpreters” of Native American poetry and cultural traditions. She was appointed to the School of American Research in Native American Literature in 1918, authored the “Aboriginal Literature” entry for the Cambridge History of American Literature in 1921, and published widely on Native American literatures and cultures in popular magazines like The Nation and Atlantic Monthly. She managed to attain this stature in spite of the fact that she spoke no Native languages. Though Austin did advocate for the importance of Native American poetry, which she presented as the earliest known form of free verse, she also managed to turn free verse into a tool of settler cultural domination. Austin proposed that free verse poetry was a technology for managing time—specifically, for integrating Native Americans into the relentlessly linear march of what Mark Rifkin has recently theorized as settler time. Austin’s theories of free verse had significant, distorting effects on the way Native American oral expressions were presented as poetry in modernist anthologies. While free verse is still all too often mapped onto historical narratives about progress and democratization, Austin’s work shows that ideas about free verse were in fact part of settler attempts to control and mediate Native cultural expressions in a way that benefitted non-Native artists and literary cultures. This case study highlights the need to question the way we narrate changes in the use and theorization of poetic forms.

I don’t have the space to get into all the wonderfully baroque and twisty logic behind Austin’s prosodic theories. I just want to highlight the effects of her understanding of free verse for Native poets. Austin argued that, because Native American poetry was a type of free verse, it had a unique relationship to the blank, white space of the printed page. She explained that printing what had been oral expression as free verse poetry revealed that, much like with Imagist poetry and other compressed forms, “the supreme art of the Amerind is displayed in the relating of the various elements to the central idea” (AR 56). Austin claimed that this economy of form showed that “the Amerind excels in the art of occupying space without filling it” (AR 56), both literally and literarily. 

Furthermore, Austin argued, Native American poetry was “for the most part of the type called neolithic” (AR 20), and was incapable of being translated into the modern world without the resources of the English language. Austin’s logic went thusly: she argued that “accent does not appear to have any place in Amerind poetry” (AR 61). This mattered because accent in poetry was “a device for establishing temporal coincidences” (AR 63), both metrically within a poem and in a larger historical sense. Without the technology of accent, Native poetries were destined to remain firmly rooted in their “Neolithic” moment. By being translated into English-language poetic forms, however, that Neolithic verse could be brought into the future, and in the process the English-language interpretations of Native verbal arts would become privileged poetic objects. English free verse interpretations were needed to unpack the fossil poetry of Native verbal arts in order to preserve a cultural heritage that would otherwise have been lost in the inevitable march of historical and generic progress. Non-Natives (and only non-Natives) could create a “temporal coincidence” between the beginnings and the ends of poetry, according to Austin, through their use of accented poetic rhythms in “aboriginal” free verse forms. It had been the technology of poetic accent that had allowed Vachel Lindsay to create “points of simultaneity” between “the Mississippi and the Congo” (AR 32) in his free verse poetry, and it would be the technology of accent that would lead non-Native poets to nurture “the common root of aboriginal and modern Americanness” (AR 54) into what Austin called “the rise of a new verse form in America” (AR 9). The right poetic rhythms, in other words, wielded by white poets, could create material linkages between the past and the future, making history visualizable and graphically representable as the rhythms of modern poetry. Rhythm was a time machine that moved between the “unaccented dub dub, dub dub, dub dub, dub dub in the plazas of Zuñi and Oraibi” (AR 11) and the accented “chuff chuff of a steam engine” (AR 64). This translation across time would make those primal unaccented rhythms intelligible to the non-Natives on board the forward-moving train. Not coincidentally, Austin repeatedly returned to this image of a train as a sort of time machine running back and forth on a single track between the rhythms of “primitive” man and modern man, a la Back to the Future Part III. Running this track, according to Austin, allowed both rhythmic systems and both types of man to merge into a singular and inevitable creation—namely, the modern American. 

Austin’s theories of Native American poetry as neolithic free verse affected the design of anthologies of Native American poetry in the modernist era. Take, for instance, the 1918 anthology The Path on the Rainbow, to which Austin contributed the introduction and seven “interpretations” of ethnographic translations of Native American songs. 

The anthology was hugely commercially successful, and the form of the anthology was widely imitated well into the twentieth century. And that form is deeply influenced by the logic of generic and cultural succession. The anthology performs the metabolization of Native American oral arts by white poets in its very design. The anthology first presents literal translations of Native American songs and oral expressions, made by non-Native ethnographers and divided into “songs” from various geographical regions. Labeling these works as “songs” may seem to indicate an awareness that “poetry” and “verse” are non-Native categories, but the anthology works to fit these transcribed and translated oral expressions into a stadial theory of generic evolution, in which the earliest poetry was a communally authored oral expression that included ritual dance as a necessary component, and in which the end goal of generic evolution is individually authored printed poems. In the table of contents to The Path on the Rainbow, the translators of the collected “songs” are named, but they are not named in the text of the anthology itself, reinforcing the idea that the songs were anonymously or communally authored. 

These ethnographic translations are followed by “Interpretations” by Constance Lindsay Skinner, Mary Austin, Frank Gordon, Alice Corbin Henderson, and Pauline Johnson. Where the ethnographic translations are marked by the names of their collectors and the tribal groups that produced them, the “interpretations” do not have consistent textual apparatuses to explain which sources, if any, the poets were interpreting, indicating that the cultural specificity of the oral arts of different Native groups mattered less to the anthology’s editors than the ways those oral cultural productions were interpreted by non-Native authors. 

The message of this design is clear: as “neolithic” poetry, Native American verbal arts were waiting for more “advanced” literary artists to polish and perfect them. The anthology made Native American poetry “productive” for American literature. Its seemingly unsystematizable, unaccented poetic rhythms would be incorporated into the system of English-language poetic rhythm, meaning that Neolithic Native cultures would be brought into the modern world on settler terms. Austin’s introduction ends with a call to action for non-Native poets: the translators of Native American poetry had done their job, according to Austin, but “The interpreter’s work is all before him” (xxxii).

So, why have I yammered at you about problems in modernist studies for so long? I hope to have made a convincing case for the need to interrogate the terms that can easily go unquestioned in historicist work. One can historicize a poem without ever questioning why we call that text a poem; it is harder to historicize a poetic term or form or genre without questioning how ideological investments have shaped and continue to shape our literary histories. This, from my vantage point, is what historical poetics approaches offer to scholars working in any historical period. In the case study I’ve presented, I’ve tried to show that accepting one historically-situated understanding of a poetic form can perpetuate exclusionary, racist, colonialist lines of thought. To continue to narrate the advent of free verse as a break with the past, without acknowledging the white supremacist colonial thinking that helped to create that idea of a prosodic break, seems to me to be a pretty serious problem. It may be a problem specific to modernist studies, but I hope this talk can provoke discussion about the terms in other periods that tend to get stabilized or reified. 

Works Cited

Austin, Mary. The American Rhythm. Harcourt Brace, 1923.

---. “Introduction.” The Path on the Rainbow, edited by George W. Cronyn, Boni and Liveright, 

1918, pp. xv–xxxii.

Cavitch, Max. “Stephen Crane’s Refrain.” ESQ, vol. 54, no. 1, 2008, pp. 33–53.

Kete, Mary Louise. “The Reception of Nineteenth-Century American Poetry.” The Cambridge 

Companion to Nineteenth-Century American Poetry, edited by Kerry Larson, Cambridge 

University Press, 2011, pp. 15–35.

Larson, Kerry. “Introduction.” The Cambridge Companion to Nineteenth-Century American 

Poetry, edited by Kerry Larson, Cambridge University Press, 2011, pp. 1–14.

Warner, Michael. “Uncritical Reading.” Polemic: Critical or Uncritical, edited by Jane Gallop, 

Routledge, 2004,  pp. 13–38.