#the writer way is to mine your mental illness for humor so

[essektheylyss]

I have nothing but hatred in my heart for the sitcom Friends but unfortunately, the theme song was right. no one did tell me life was gonna be this way. [rapid existential clap]

[parmahamlarrie]

Happy March friends! This was a lovely month of reading, found some new favorites for sure. Hope you all enjoy! x

Play Pretend, Find a Friend? || @angelichl || 40.2k College AU, Fake Relationship, Coming Out, Mild Homophobia I don't normally lean towards fake relationships, but this one is clearly beloved for a reason! Such a great way to start my month!

Haven || orphan_account || 35.7k Teacher AU, Age Difference, BDSM Club, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation This fic has been sitting on my TBR for so long and I regret waiting as long as I did to get to it.

never been a fan of change, but we're still the same || @onlythebravest || 27.1k A/B/O, Friends to Lovers, College AU, Hurt/Comfort, Drops, Nesting

Checking Them Out?: How to Use Your Library Science Degree to Get an Alpha || @insightfulinsomniac || 19.9k A/B/O, Librarian Harry, Architect Louis, Courting, Humor, Mild Crack This is the best A/B/O fic of 2023 and I am so serious, go read it right now.

Fiction Romance || orphan_account || 17.5k University AU, Punk Louis, Blind Date, Oblivious Harry TW: Mental Illness (side character)

The Edge of the Stars || @casuallyhl || 16.9k Dating TV Show, Fashion Exec Louis, Writer Harry, First Date This was so incredibly lovely! I am such a sucker for dating shows on TV and loved this fic as well. I am without a doubt that these two would find real love on such a shit program.

Butterflies and Delight || @sunshineandthemoonlight || 13k Teacher Harry, Single Parent Louis, Dating Apps, Humor

Even As Young As You Are || @olo-gist || 12.3k Kidfic, Uncle Harry, Famous/Non Famous, Famous Harry, Nurse Louis This fic does a wonderful job of encompassing so many years in such a short time.

Eyes on the Horizon || @uhoh-but-yeah-alright || 12.2k Older Harry, Strangers to Lovers, Sky Diver Louis, Sexual Tension This was an unexpectedly wonderful one. Obviously, this author always does amazing work, but it was the tension that knocked it out of the park for me.

Come In and Change My Life || @lightwoodsmagic || 12.1k A/B/O, Famous/Non-Famous, Mpreg, Strangers to Friends to Lovers The kind of fic where you would dive in and read their entire life stories.

Be Mine? || @softfonds || 11.1k Valentine's Day, Famous/Non Famous, Fluff and Smut, Singer Louis

Enter the Rose Garden || @angelichl || 10.3k A/B/O, Friends to Lovers, Soft Heat, Pining

I'll drive and you just lay back || @alwaysxlarrie || 10k Girl Direction, Established Relationship, Watching Porn Together I hope you guys know every time a Girl direction fic gets posted I scream in my texts with my friend. This one did not disappoint.

my heart's against your chest, your lips pressed to my neck (I'm in love now) || @bottomhaztoplou || 8.8k A/B/O, College AU, Courting, Friends to Lovers, Roommates A bit bias, as this was a gift in an exchange, but this was such a lovely piece of A/B/O fluff.

Everything I need, I get from you || @lunarheslwt || 6.4k A/B/O, Anxious Harry, Established Relationship, Valentine's Day

Missing You || @canonlarry || 6k Canon, Future Fic, Kidfic, Christmas, Humor

I wanna give it to you || @non-binharry || 5.3k A/B/O, Non Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Sub Harry, Kidfic, Established Relationship This was so! I don't have words, just love!

Perfect, For Now || @parmahamlarrie || 4.9k A/B/O, Neighbor AU, New Towns, Touch Starvation, Misunderstandings Yes this is my fic, yes you should read it.

True North || @canonlarry || >1k Established Relationship, Kidfic, New Dads, Fluff

Looking for more fics? Message me for a more specific rec list!

Find pervious lists here!

[archived-brokentoys]

@goldentemplariumcrow​ sent:

I honestly consider Eddie a good-bad person. In which he has morals that can be considered bad, but his final goals aren't as bad as some may think. I also see him as an extremely humane character. He reflects the world in which he was raised in and lives in.

And that's what attracted me to follow your blog, because you make him be a person, living and breathing. Not just a charicature or one note personality like so many writers make Eddie be nowadays.

So for all of this and much more that I can feel you can and will do for Eddie, I say thank you ♡ he's in good hands in your interpretation of him.

Honestly, yes! That’s what I try to write Eddie as. I don’t write him as a straight up villain... I consider my portrayal more of a morally gray line, but leaning more towards bad considering his... sadistic methods, and misguided ways. (Going after those who don’t deserve it, but Eddie believes that do - Bat and Gordon, for example.) And Eddie can be a bit of a jerk, due to his superiority complex and selfishness. But in the end?? All Eddie wants to do is take this broken city he grew up in, one he was abused by, and make it a better place so that no one else has to suffer as he did.

As I’ve stated on this blog quite a few times, I was inspired by the Animated Series, and the Ark Ham verse. Because in the Animated Series, Eddie never really killed anyone. And he’s only ever really attempted murder just a few times. And those only victims being Mockridge, (who Eddie even calls out for being morally wrong, and greedy.) Batman and Robin (because they tried to stop him from killing Mockridge,) then Gordon (presumably same reason, considering Gordon’s a cop.) Hell, even Bruce could understand Eddie’s hatred for Mockridge, even found it funny that Mockridge was traumatized by Eddie. He just didn’t agree with Eddie’s intention to murder, believing that was too extreme and going too far.

And in the Ark Ham verse, in Origins, Eddie did start out in the Cybercrime Unit because he wanted to blackmail G0tham’s corrupt authorities. Yes, his plan was to rebuild G0tham once again, so... he goes about it in a very messed up way. But Eddie still wanted to do good for G0tham (even calling Bat king thug.) And from what I recall, before Knight at least, Eddie only ever targeted police, doctors, and vigilantes for personal murders.

Those are my favorite versions of the character! I honestly think Eddie’s a way more interesting character when he’s not just evil. But when he’s actually like Bat, that he wants to also help G0tham as well. Except they both go by it in different methods, and Eddie goes by it in a very misguided way. It also shows how he’s delusional, and makes even more sense why he’d land in a mental institution instead of prison. (As well as having all his mental illnesses.) Although, I portray his character differently than those depictions. (While mine was also in the Cybercrime unit, I make it a little different... Mine joined because he thought it would genuinely be helpful, and it was a way to incorporate his passions (computers) into helping others. But later left when he realized just how corrupt the system itself was. While Origins Eddie, from what I recalled, only join because he wanted more information on the top officials.)

You are TOTALLY right about how Eddie’s usually portrayed in modern depictions. Which is one of the reasons why I don’t read many of the comics since Nu52. They all have this issue of either 1) Portraying him as you said, very one-note. He’s a stick-in-the-mud intelligent gentleman who can’t have a good humor, or really express rage like he used to. (Remember when Eddie used to be very easy to set off? That he’d get FURIOUS and start YELLING? Or his MOOD SWINGS?) or 2) He’s portrayed as nothing but a pathetic joke for other characters to laugh at. The butt of the joke, really. (There’s something I want to complain about regarding modern portrayals. But... I think I’ll save that for another post.) Eddie’s character is so boring now in comparison to what he used to be, or what he could be. Like, I can understand why many people don’t like him nowadays. He’s just boring, one-note, and he’s also just very lame. Not to mention, Dee-Cee rarely delves deeper into his character. They rarely ever talk about his backstory, or the things he went through which would motivate him into becoming the R!ddler. It’s like the comics just... don’t really care to do much with Eddie’s character anymore beyond making him an obstacle for Bat.

Anyways, this may be longer than ya expected. xD But whenever I talk about Eddie -- sometimes I tend to ramble! But honestly???

That is SO nice!! Like that’s such a nice way of putting it!! Thank YOU so much for the kind things, for following me, and for understanding Eddie’s character!! haha!! It really means a lot to me, and I do try my best to write him well!!

[silvanils]

Oh damn, these are good!! Have fun!! 😁 For you: 2, 5, 7 (this one takes a bit of work so feel free to skip it if you prefer), 8 (ditto), 18, 26

unique writing asks

2. What are some common elements of stories you are tired of seeing? What would you avoid writing about?

The romantic b-plots being used as drama fuel. Love triangles are the worst version of this, but... I want more stories where the romance serves as a peaceful get-away FROM the drama.

I’m also a bit tired of how much “gritty realism” stories have been implementing since Game of Thrones got super popular, but hopefully that’ll die out. I enjoy high stakes and dark moments, but you can have those and still tell a hopeful story. I avoid writing overly tragic stuff.

I want my heroes to win, even if victory comes at a great price.

5. Would you rather write a happy ending that soothes the soul or a tragic ending that hurts the heart?

My above answer sort of answered this, but I prefer happy endings. They can still hurt, though. The heroes winning doesn’t always mean everyone survived, and sometimes victory is a bit hollow. I think the best endings are a bit of both.

7. Favorite description in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

He swallowed and felt his stomach twist up. He tried to picture the girl his father had described — eyes like emeralds, hair as fine as gold, arms strong and muscled from years working in the forge, always smelling like sweat, leather, and iron… hands rough and calloused from working his craft. His voice was probably deep and gravelly, too.

(I’ve shared this before on this blog, but I love the way the description transitions naturally from Dirk’s attempt to think fondly of a girl and just... not being able to.)

8. Favorite dialogue in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

“Mm,” Dirk hummed, unable to say much more around the bite of oatmeal he’d just taken. His father’s timing was impeccable.

(This has happened to me so many times. LOL.)

18. What writers have inspired you with their use of language? What are some of your favorite quotes?

This is actually a hard one, because the people I consider my favorite authors have very different writing styles from each other and I appreciate different aspects of how they write.

Brandon Sanderson writes clearly, giving enough details to tell the reader what they need to know. I still think about the opening to Mistborn a lot. 

Peter S. Beagle has a very poetic way with words, which I fully realized when I read The Last Unicorn aloud to my sister. He’s fond of alliteration and calling attention to interesting, poignant details. His style has probably influenced mine a LOT.

Diana Wynne Jones also uses interesting details and a sort of sardonic sense of humor, which is very in-line with my own. I find myself chuckling at the turns of phrase she works into her stuff while I read her books. My absolute favorite of her books is Howl’s Moving Castle.

I could go on and also give quotes, but there’s TOO MANY.

26. What do you feel like you need to work on as a growing writer? How can you improve?

I mainly need to work on writing more often, more consistently, and sticking with a project until I’ve seen it through. I lose steam and get distracted easily. Some of this is due to outside factors and mental illness, but I need to push forward regardless. I have so many stories I want to tell, so I need to “show up” and actually get them on a page.

[everlasting-deluge]

Say it. | k.th

↠pairing: kim taehyung ⇆ reader (female)

↠genre: supernatural, angst, romance, demon!Taehyung, human!Reader, drabble, oneshot

↠warning: mention of mental illness

↠words: 1.4k

↠A/N: It took me awfully long to post this, sorry. I've been busy with uni stuff but hopefully it'll be over very soon pray for me plz. And yesss... Here it is, my second fic!! I wonder till where I'll continue counting lol. Anyways, please enjoy the story tho it's hella cliché, you've been warned. Please don't forget to like or comment or whatever, feedback is really important for us, writers.

➸ You've found the warmth you seeked.

You closed your eyes once again, trying to even your breaths. The cold coming from the white-tiled floor was making you shiver uncontrollably. Your hands as cold as the floor were clenched on your heart, as if you were afraid of your gradually weakening heartbeats to be heard. How long it's been since you were in this state? You'd lost the track of time. Maybe minutes, maybe hours, even days perhaps... You didn't know shit anymore. You'd lost everything you loved, everything you cared. Even if you survived this, what were you going to do? Start all over again? No. You were lost, broken. There was no hope.

"Don't worry ___, I'm here. Open your eyes. Everything's going to be fine, I promise."

You refused to do as you told and look at him.

He never left you. He was always there, not minding your pleas, your screams begging him to disappear.

He was there still, and you knew that he would be there forever.

You shook your head.

Nothing's good and it will never be.

Not again.

"Please, go away. Please... I can't do this anymore. I'm tired, tired of all of this. I beg you, leave me alone. Get out of my head!"

You felt something warm on your arms, forming new goosebumps on your skin full of needle and scratch marks. Still, you didn't open your eyes. You heard him again then, whispering like always.

"Look at me ___, don't ignore me please. You, too, know that I'm a part of you. You need me as much as I need you. Don't you get it, sweetheart? I love you. And I know you love me too. Just say my name. I can help you out only then ___, acknowledge my presence. Just say it, and everything you desire shall be yours."

His husky voice echoed in your ears. Opposing to the coldness, something warm bloomed within you.

 You hated him. You hated how he could affect you only with a touch of his. But you hated yourself the most for being this weak, always giving in to his temptations.

You opened your eyes to meet with his brown and sometimes red ones. They always had this fire in them. You never managed to put a certain meaning into the dancing sparks in his pupils. Sometimes they shimmered with anger, sometimes with desire and lust... They had a new meaning every time you wandered your eyes on them like unlocking new parts of him. This time you saw something rather softer, not the destructive side of the flames but the protective one. As if they were ready to defend you from the coldness of the room, from all your inner demons. They promised you warmth and light.

Your eyes trailed down to the little mole on his nose. Then you directed your gaze to his arms and from there to his long hands, following them only to see where they connected with your skin. He was holding you like you were about to shatter into pieces. He was right to touch you like that though; with the state you were in now, you only had a few things to hold on to—one of those things being him. You never wanted to admit it, but you were glad that you weren't all alone in this hellhole.

Still, you didn't dare to say that poisoning name of his. You knew that if you were to spill that sinful word out of your mouth, you would never be you again.

You felt his intense gaze all over your body. Everywhere he stopped his eyes for more than a mere second was burning like it was on fire. The temperature of the room was rising nonstop.

He got closer hesitantly; you could feel his breath now, making you lose every control you had. He stopped inches away from your lips. You wondered how his lips would feel like. They were like clouds probably; so soft and kissable, looking so welcoming... You stopped yourself mentally just seconds before rising your hand to touch them.

His arrow-like eyelashes were highlighting the beauty of his eyelids different from each other.

You once again focused on his eyes solely and they found yours shortly after. He then parted his lips, making you do the same unconsciously. After a deep exhale he spoke,

"Say it ___, say my name. I always wondered how it would sound coming from your lips. Say it baby, let me hear it from you so I can give my all to you and only you. Just say the word and I'll be yours. But don't forget, as an exchange you'll be mine too. Forever..."

He captivated you, all of you. Your mind, your soul, your body... Everything was his at the end. You were only a fool who was pretending to be oblivious of the truth.

He had you from the start.

You had no power to fight back anymore. You didn't want to, perhaps. You were sure of only one thing: You wanted him, all of him.

You heard footsteps coming closer from the other side of the door, they would be there soon. He looked at you in the eye once again, desperately waiting for your decision. And right at that very moment you made up your mind. You weren't exactly sure about to the thing you were going to do do but you wanted to do it anyway. You only had yourself to lose, and you weren't afraid of it.

It was because of him. You trusted him. So you opened your mouth. In a tone only you both could hear, you said:

"Promise me. Promise me you'll never leave me, you'll never stop loving me. If you can, then I'm yours. 'Till the day I die..."

His hold on you got stronger, making you gasp a little. He cupped your face, rubbing your cheeks softly with his thumb and catching a drop of tear running away while at it.

"I promise you with my whole existence ___. You have all of me, I love you."

These words fluttered your heart and burned your skin even more. You got rid of all of your doubts. It was only you and him, for eternity...

Then you heard voices coming from nothingness. They appeared inside of your head all of a sudden, starting from whispers to screams, rising their volumes gradually. They were all saying the same word repeatedly like a mantra. Despite not hearing it before, even from himself, you knew that these voices were letting you know his name. It was reaching until the deepest parts of your heart. You closed your eyes and let the voices guide you. The emotions you kept away from the daylight, overflowed throughout your mouth:

"I love you too... Taehyung."

As soon as you whispered his sinful name deliciously, you felt the clouds on your lips. They were indeed soft and warm like how you'd imagined them to be. The kiss was slow but strong, sealing the deal between you both. Then you felt numb because of the heat. It was consuming all over your body; coming from his lips engraving yours, his hands embracing you dearly. You gave your all to Taehyung as you promised.

With a satisfying sound, his lips parted away from you and his forehead found its place on yours. He chuckled humorously,

"You said you would be mine 'till the day you die my darling, but I think it's going to last a lot longer than that."

"Have you heard about the girl from Section 9?"

"Section 9? Isn't it the place where they keep people with severe mental illnesses? What happened?"

"I heard it from the other nurses too, but... They say she disappeared into the thin air."

"Disappeared? You mean somehow she broke out, right?"

"No, it's the exact way I mean it. They checked the CCTV footage, questioned everyone who might have gotten involved intentionally or not, but they found nothing. It was as if she stopped existing, like she never had been there before."

"That's impossible, not logical at all! How did they find out she was gone?"

"Apparently, some nurses had been going to her room to give her daily dosage of medicine. But when they arrived, they realized there was no one in there. Nurses searched everywhere, soon to find only her clothes on the floor and a handful of ashes beneath them. It was as if she became fire and burnt herself, leaving only ashes as a relic."

[ehsan-nouri]

Simple Rules Rule: A Confession of Human-Made Misery

This is real. We are stuck in our homes and breathing through our narrow windows, worrying to go out, just in case that death might give us a random visit outdoors. Corona is real, physical and probably a touchable disease. A world-wide catastrophe is caused by this nasty creature, however, we wise human beings are aspiring to show our strength in the battle. But this has just popped into sight, while there were many other diseases out there, ones we were simply unable to see. Their symptoms have been long misunderstood and been referred to other causes. Their consequent effects have been so subtle to address and you may at the end of the next paragraphs, oppose me aggressively due to calling them a “disease”.

I haven’t been able to write and to live in the past few months, or even years. So, this is my most desperate effort to alleviate the pain of resting for more than a hundred days (How dare you want to have a life-time of rest and joy! That’s unbearable). But that’s not how it looks from inside. At least, I am not relieved of a long-time working agenda by this rest. On the other hand, a futile struggle of thoughts has been constantly happening in my mind, draining all the energy and leaveing no other option for better muscles to enjoy (every other part that can feel the real touch of joy, not this imaginary, perception-constrained and deluded machine we call “brain”).

I am asking you to dive with me, hand-in-hand in the endless ocean of thought. You already have done so, sorry not inform you early on. I do it alone everyday, but a companion will probably save me from draining, or maybe we will be swallowed by the monster, which is yet another great adventure. So here we are, watching the wild waves and deep dark blue eyes of our gorgeous friend who invites us to jump off the cliff and embrace her. The charm is irresistible.

Have you ever been re-engineering your self? Have you been successful in identifying your core drives? Sadly, we have a disadvantage of not having a tablet that shows what drives our emotions, in comparison to hosts in the Westworld TV series. Just the same drives that push you in the re-engineering room, prevent you from touching them. What a misery!

The sad ones among us, are consumed by the over-thinking virus. An incurable disease as old as the human consciousness and unfortunately the most ignored one! That’s even a larger misery that we, wise human beings, have stopped finding remedies for such a terrible illness. I guess it has always been the selfish healthy who ignored the danger carried by this virus, and since it was less contagious than the Corona one, they just let it out to infect the vulnerable and bring them slow decay. Who cares? Do you care for the drug addicted up until they cause you any harm or maybe infect you? No, you don’t. Take off your altruistic masks and let your inner monster be exposed.

Overthinking is paralyzing. It’s the lamp draining all the car battery and leaving you helpless in the middle of nowhere. It’s a process that consumes all the CPU and your systems becomes unable to handle simple tasks, like writing into Microsoft Word, as I’m doing now. Happily, my laptop is not traumatized that way and we can still put a few words together. But on certain days, we are both down. He is unable to play a single music track and I am as well unable to do anything other than watching him fail! As a former engineer, I some times make comparisons of the real world entities, with electronic parts, and only my fellow engineer friends get the point. On an expert level, one of my friends, with the same super-atheist level as me, usually quotes from important Muslim figures like Ali-ibn-Abi-Taleb to clarify his points. Can’t deny I love this offensive level of humor.

“We aren’t yet drown, there is hope.” That’s a lie! Let us go deeper to see how scientists and psychologists have failed us for centuries. This is a nasty monster who offers comfort getting away from him, while he’s still breathing out there. And the only remedy offered by our fancy science has been ignorance, let alone the chemical anti-depressants that treat us like the miserable pets we are. I’m in no position to criticize their efforts and not certainly ignore them. Ignorance is their game, not mine. They have been quite successful in curing the mentally paralyzed, but the case has not been fully resolved. The symptoms are vanished by force, but the inner cause lives. Usually these treatments take a long time and there’s still the possibility of a relapse, which puts the ill no other option than taking a life-time increasing dose of pills. Let’s hope they are not changing us in unforeseen ways. The vocabulary these fellow scientists and coaches use includes certain words like “Letting go”, “Vulnerability”, “Adaptation”, “Fate”, “Belief” and finally “Hope”. The most disgusting package of the human-made world of misery!

Indeed, it should be a simple issue. Since it’s rooted in a single monster, all explanations converge. Last year for example, I watched three movies from the amazing writer Charlie Kaufman, “Synecdoche New York”, “Adaptation” and “Anomalisa”. They were truly brilliant works of art that made me fall in love with Charlie’s works and for the first time I printed someone’s picture and sticked it onto the wall.

They were passionate moments. I tried to find every writing of him, watch all his speeches and movies. That’s how love works, and please spare me a lot of your time if you’d like to know more on how it works. You’ll love the love’s way and that puts you in an exponentially growing loop of feelings. But please don’t fall in love with your thoughts because you don’t want to occupy your brain with an exponentially growing demon. Do it with your heart, which as simply as possible “denies any thought!”

The secret behind my love story with Charlie was simple. He made confessions in an honest and vulnerable way. In his movies, you do really feel how characters fail in understanding the dynamics of their lives, despite their desperate efforts to understand. Caden Cotard in Synecdoche New York for example (named after the Cotard delusion, that one thinks he’s already dead), spends a life-time to build a massive theater representing routine human lives of every actor, letting them play their own story to show the secrets of real life. He wants to decipher them in a truthful way for his own comfort and in the eyes of the audience. But he fails, and Charlie portrays his failure with the ending of his life, having lost every endeavor, every precious meaning and finally “fading into oblivion”. Caden chose titles that could represent his huge theater over and over, but could never feel contempt with any. “Simulacrum”, “Flawed light of love and grief” and “The Obscure Moon Lighting an Obscure World” were among them. This challenge of understanding was likewise presented in his Adaptaion movie, written out of Susan Orlean’s “The Orchid Thief”. The name speaks itself.

When you adapt, you surrender. There’s no radical motive left. Nothing exceptional. You realize “That’s how it should work” when there’s no other option. Brené Brown introduces vulnerability as a symptom of courage. That is stepping into the unknown with all its uncertainties and possible failures, because there’s no other way. Our rational mind is unable to assess all uncertainties and alternatives. The more you push it towards a whole understanding, you find your self more troubled and helpless. But then we invent Courage, which says “If you can’t win with your mind, win with your heart”. If you knew there were strategies in a war that can put soldiers out of the field, you would definitely do, unless you are suffering from another disease called religion, which is irrelevant for now.

Let’s sort all other wise responses of our fellow intellectuals. Letting go of thought, as prescribed in many East Asian philosophies, stands as the most naïve one. Accepting the foolish concept of fate, as the banner of victimhood. Belief and faith as the food for fantasies. And finally, HOPE, the most deceptive force, has appeared in many literary works, paintings, songs and even social movements over time. Hope is like a temporary relief, a small bondage to stop bleeding while the wound is right there. I think we play with hope and protect ourselves when fears rush through the door. That’s a good game by the way. I have been dreaming for many months now, that I can bring this deceptive force back into myself and I’ve failed. After all, if the wound is meant to be there, why not using a bondage? Let’s decorate it with fancy colors, turn it into a piece of clothing and enjoy. The idea of decorating something immovable seems familiar, doesn’t? How many societies, books and doctrines have been built upon? But surely, we know that hope has the same rotten roots as courage. We project success in the future when we have no idea what is going to happen. Yet of course, why not?

The world grows unknown as you grow older. A world-wide false expression is that the elder, given their experience, understand the world better, while they only learn their limitations over time. That’s all. As kids, we falsely believe in our knowledge about the surrounding things and aging comes with the enlightenment of limitations. That’s why the elder hesitates in making decisions while the kid makes in an instant. I envy myself in five years ago, when I bravely made decisions and stood firm supporting them. That’s braveness my friend, however foolish it might seem.

Realm of creation is the realm of god. It’s stepping into the dark, courageously, anticipating various outcomes. That’s how Dr. Rollo May defines creation in his book “The courage to Create”. Once, in a long discussion with Mr. Zia, we both agreed in the comfort of accepting the melancholy caused by fears since it was god-like to be brave. And that’s true, we all like to be gods - The omniscient and powerful creature we invented in our most profound fictions. In him, the humankind has invested his most wild and selfish dreams. But it seems that Dr. May forgot the fact that gods are supposed to be free from constraints like time and limitations of knowledge. Fear of failure and unknown does not apply to those who know the consequences of every act, and believe me, that’s super boring!

We enjoy far more than gods do. The concept of courage is coupled with the concept of unknown. There is no courageous being who knows everything. Besides, when there’s unlimited time and resources available, no penalty for failure and no vision for success, you won’t feel anxious because you can always test other alternatives in your infinite life. How many times have you used cheat codes in a game and later felt regret because infinite cash destroyed the joy of earning it? Silly gods work with cheat codes.

We want wise men who can tell us the best scenarios in our daily decision making. They should be free from feelings and emotional attachments but decide best under time constraints- Time breeds anxiety when the process of reaching a conclusion takes long, and anxiety is a weakening force, if not a stopping one. But that will neither be humane nor god anymore. We have created another fiction, a constrained super-hero. It does not exist.

Let’s finish our miserable search for role-models and take a look at our real surroundings. All we own, is a bounded rationality limited by many elements. The world is complex. Events are the same and so does the relationship between things. Yet, simple rules rule. We know joy is out there and so is sadness. We will someday experience success and fail the other day. But is it a mess? Some of the successful among us may believe so. I guess because they are a mess themselves and have won by chance. Remember, sad losers who lost by chance, never express themselves. Contents published out there are mostly coming from fool naïve successful folks, who in their own terms were gifted with intelligence and wise decisions. Only a true loser can defeat them if he gets a say out there. Otherwise winning by chance turns into a culture and idiots will be ruling us. Oh, am I a bit late to say so?

There’s much left to say but I’m tired of writing. It’s 9PM already in Tehran and we’re in lockdown. Such a terrible complicated time to write about these simple rules. I study economic complexity in my thesis, and everyone should know that most complex behaviors arise from simple rules. Bounded rationality is too one of the core concepts. Actors in a complex system are not gods, but they can feel contempt with their limited decisions. The simple rule is that as humans, we can be contempt. We can accept our boundaries and learn few universal rules about love, expectations, happiness and staying sharp. The more we try extending our decision-making logic, the more we will grow weary of time and greedy of the results. So, am I letting go of all the heavy thought process I’ve defended up to now? No. That’s a gift. A wise man’s approach that should be treated with honor and be understood, while he learns and accepts his limitations. I am reading a book called “Simple Heuristics that Makes us Smart” with a group of friends and most of these notes were inspired by that. Hopefully, I can share a lot more about how these techniques could alleviate the pain of understanding while giving us good reasons to stop endless venturing in the unknown like gods! I wish to be contempt being a human.

[themattress]

Rewatch: My Bride is a Mermaid Ep 23 - 24

Two episodes that are absolutely hilarious...and then sucker-punch you HARD with Feels.

Episode 23: The Man Without a Past

The episode opens up with a Masa Today, which launches us right into the main conflict: Masa is revealed to have no memories of his past beyond when he began working for the Seto Gang 10 years ago. At the same time, Akeno reveals that she is searching for her older brother, who disappeared 10 years ago while on government business to the Seto Inland Sea, and she wants to kill him for bringing shame upon the Shiranui family...and on a more personal level, for abandoning her. Yeah, anyone can see where this is going: Masa is Akeno’s brother who got amnesia after being struck in the head by a drunk Gozaburo. Desperate to save Masa’s life, Nagasumi and Gozaburo team up to stop him from recovering his memories, but their crazy attempts only end up causing that very thing to happen.

There is a lot that is funny in this episode: Gozaburo and Nagasumi actually needing to work together for a common goal, Sun constantly addressing Akeno as “Aki” which she never did before and never will again as though she just randomly decided she’d give Akeno a pet name for that day and that day only, Akeno briefly losing her memory and reverting back to her 4 year old state of mind, and the ultimate pay-off to Nagasumi’s homoerotic feelings for Masa with him pretending to be outright in love with him in order to keep his memories suppressed...a choice that he is seriously, hysterically regretting by the end of the episode.

But when Masa actually recovers his memories, the episode takes a shocking turn into true emotional sincerity. Masa has a mental encounter with his past self and expresses shame and disappointment in his whole existence being nothing but a lie, and he is willing to fade away to give the original persona his body back. His past self, however, makes him see all of the friends - family, really - that he made in the 10 years he’s been around, telling him that he can’t just disappear from their lives. And so it’s his past self that fades away, with parting words asking Masa to be there for his sister. Akeno, in 4 year old mode, is crying for her big brother and it’s legitimately heart-wrenching: for all her teenage self’s declarations of hatred and a desire for fatal vengeance, deep down all she really wants is to have him back. Masa goes over and hugs her tight, saying that even if he’s not the brother that she remembers, he wants to be the brother that she has now. And at the end, he even tells the guilt-stricken Gozaburo that he bears no grudges toward him for accidentally causing him amnesia, and that he loves him, Sun and the whole Seto Gang. It’s beautiful, and it actually got to me.

Can the show possibly top it? Yes. Yes, it can.

Episode 24: Farewell, My Friend

Kai Mikawa and Hideyoshi “Chimp” Sarutobi have consistently been two of the most unlikable characters on this show, but this episode pulls off one of the best redemptions for jerks that I have ever seen, up there with Eddy from Ed, Edd n’ Eddy and Lars from Steven Universe. And it must be noted that it’s the other episode in this anime that has no basis in the manga, which means this show’s writers must be applauded for pulling such a fantastic turnaround. 

It starts when Kai, in a typical narcissistic mindset, is trying to hide the fact that he was visiting a hospital because he’s developed a boil on his butt. While the rest of his classmates actually guess that this was the case, Chimp refuses to believe it because he’s grown to care for Kai as a true friend and doesn’t think he would keep information from him unless it was something serious. This leads to Chimp staking out the hospital and overhearing part of a conversation that makes it sound like Kai has something terminal. He confronts Kai about it and Kai, thinking Chimp knows the truth about his “ass acne”, swears him to secrecy, which Chimp takes as Kai being so noble that he doesn’t want everyone else distraught and worried over him. However, Chimp is unable to keep this promise as he has to tell his classmates what’s going on so that they won’t act antagonistic toward Kai even when he’s being a jerk. This info then spreads to the rest of the class, and to the teachers, and to the whole freaking town, with absolutely everyone pitching in to pamper Kai and celebrate his existence in order to make his “last days” the best possible for him. What a wacky misunderstanding, eh?

But even amidst the natural humor in this situation, legitimate character insight is being given to Kai. As an agoraphobic who grew up around a bunch of yes-men, Kai has developed the belief that nobody loves him naturally and that he can only get love through flaunting his money, his good looks, his material goods, etc.  And from this he developed an entitlement complex when he feels he isn’t being given his rightful due from others. So when everyone starts showering him with love and kindness, he can’t recognize it for what it truly is and instead thinks that everyone has just “come to their senses” and are treating him the way he “deserves” to be treated. Even when he learns of his “terminal illness” from a TV report, he can’t connect the dots between it, the way people have been treating him, and how they feel about him - he’s too consumed by the horror of believing himself to be dying. The fear turns to sadness, and then to anger and hatred toward one target: Nagasumi Michishio. Kai decides that if he’s dying, then he wants to take his rival whom he is so envious of with him.

A showdown at high noon ensues, with Kai even taking off his protective space helmet and suddenly having white hair for...reasons. But Nagasumi’s improved reflexes from all the time he’s spent dodging attacks across the series combined with the emotional breakdown Kai is having leads to Nagasumi being victorious. The scene transitions into a huge tear-jerker once Kai begins sobbing and admitting what his real problem is: he genuinely thinks he has no real friends and no-one that truly loves him, whereas Nagasumi does and he’s jealous of that, and the thought that he’s now going to die without that being rectified while Nagasumi gets to live a Happily Ever After with Sun is more than he can bear. “SOMEONE LOVE ME BEFORE I DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!!” he screams up toward the sky, all onlookers choked up with pity.

With Sun and Nagasumi leading the way, all of Kai’s classmates gently protest his claims: they’re his friends and they love him, they wouldn’t have done all that they’ve done for him if that wasn’t the case. And Kai never needed to ask for love from them, or buy it from them, because otherwise that isn’t really love. Sun may not love him romantically, but she still loves him all the same, and so does his rival Nagasumi which is the whole reason why he even accepted his potentially fatal challenge. And then the episode delivers the biggest gut-punch when Chimp, fucking CHIMP, rushes to Kai’s side, crying his eyes out as he declares that he loves him more than anything in the world and that if he could he’d gladly take his place and die instead of him. In-universe, this is what fully breaks Nagasumi, who has to turn away as he begins sobbing uncontrollably (MAJOR props to Eric Vale and Anthony Bowling’s voice-acting; they sell their emotional lines in this episode and especially in this scene perfectly.)

Kai flashes back to the various times he’s hung out with his classmates and realizes that he was never alone, he never lacked love and friendship. He was just too self-absorbed to recognize what was right in front of him the whole time. As he lays down to die, he sums it up by saying “All of you have shown me how big your hearts can be...but me, all I did was show you how small mine was.” He apologizes to Chimp for taking him for granted, saying that he’s the best friend a guy could have, and then he thanks Sun and Nagasumi and tells them to be happy together. And then...he passes on. OK, not really, but the scene plays it totally straight and does it so well that for a moment you might actually forget that his terminal illness isn’t real and was just a misunderstanding. Naturally, this creates a huge mood whiplash when we suddenly get the final scene where the status quo reasserts itself at school, with everyone hilariously reacting to the fact that they went through all that emotional turmoil for nothing.

But as we’ll see in the two-part series finale, Kai and Chimp have come out of this experience somewhat changed: they aren’t the complete pricks they were before and even play a major heroic role, with Kai especially showing how much both Sun and Nagasumi mean to him. While Chimp on his own still isn’t a particularly good character, he is an excellent accessory to Kai, whom this anime has made one of the strongest characters in the cast over the course of just this single episode. Kai, you definitely have my love. (And Kai/Chimp OTP 4evah!)

[bixgirl1]

I think I saw you say somewhere that have a squick of self harming in fan fictions and that's what you don't like right? Do you have other ones and what do you like ?

Hi nonnie!  Yep, a squick is something that, when reading, a person tends to avoid. It can be an outright trigger or simply something that makes the reader crinkle their nose and shake their head before closing out. It’s a fairly universal term in fandom that helps to explain why you won’t/can’t/don’t like reading something, and the beauty of it is that, once the word is used, no further explanation is (or should be) required — because sometimes there is no further explanation, you know? Sometimes you just… don’t like something. 

As for my personal squicks/likes/and dislikes, that requires a longer answer, so I’m going to put it under a cut.

The short answer is yes and no. Self-harm can be a squick of mine — but it very much depends on how it’s handled, and its context. It’s something I’ll usually avoid reading if I see it in the tags and am not familiar enough with the author to feel safe reading it, which is something I take into account. If I see a story posted by an author that I’ve liked but have never read anything from them approaching that tag, I’ll probably wait to see if they’ll post a fic with similar but more gentle tags/content to see if their style/thought processes on the subject line up with my own. Other writers, whose work I’ve consumed to the point where I feel comfortable enough with their headspace, I’ll dive right in.

That being said, honestly, these days I have very few hardline squicks —  scat-play and/or vomit-play are two, and suicide and self-harm edge very close as well (with the caveat from above). When I was less familiar with fandom, more untried, I had — or thought I had — a lot. lol. That can happen, I think; it can be really terrifying to edge out of your comfort zone. But then you read absolutely every long, plotty drarry a writer offers, every short, hot bit of smut, and there are these other ones lingering with tags like incest or dub/non-con or major character death or infidelity, and think “hmmm.” All of those are still listed in my ‘know the author first’ file, but I’ve learned I can love some stories with those tags. But that’s me. Not everyone will want to venture out of their comfort zones, and that’s fine. Great, even! Fanfic allows us a lot of wonderful things, and one of those can be escapism. So never let anyone make you feel bad about sticking to the things you like; this is all just relevant to my personal fic tastes.

And regarding those, in answer to your other question — I know I’ve got a list somewhere, lj or dw maybe, with a pretty full list of my likes and dislikes and squicks, but I haven’t updated it in a long time, so:

(I’m applying these to Harry/Draco, but I’ll read a bunch of other pairings too. Harry/Teddy, Draco/Albus, some Jeddy and Scorbus, Harry/Sirius, a bit of Wolfstar, James Sirius/Albus Severus, Romione, and Pansmione are probably my faves)

Squicks and/or squick-ish content (ie, stuff my friends would never put in a gift fic for me. lol) I’ll only read if I know the writer very well and trust them (asterisks next to the ones I’m more rigid about):

-Suicide**

-Self-harm (especially cutting)**

-Vomit/scat play***

-Major character death

-Unhappily ambiguous endings

-Character bashing*** (to be fair, if a writer does this, I don’t usually like a lot of their stuff)

-Endings (happy or unhappy) where my preferred couple doesn’t end up together**

That’s it. And I make exceptions.

General fic dislikes that I’ll “psh” if I’ve read a couple of the writers things and like them, but that still have the ability to turn me off of a story real quick:

-Non-con

-Massive deviations from canon characterization. (Meaning: Draco is incredibly flamboyant and there’s no explanation or hints as to why/how he’d become so; Harry hates Ron; Ron is stupid; Hermione is a perky prop, etc. I’m perfectly fine reading most things if I understand why they’re that way.)

-Infidelity

-Also, when mental health issues are addressed (I tend to write about them a lot), I dislike grandstanding about them as much as I dislike them being glossed over, if that makes any sense. If I want to read detailed explanations about mental illness, I’ve got about two dozen textbooks I can refer to; alternately, if trauma is brought up in the fic, there needs to be (for me), some exploration of it.

-Permanent disability fics

-Fisting

-Muggle AU’s

-Mpreg — very rarely (usually just because I’m not often in the mood for it)

-Schmoopy fluff. (I don’t mind the sweet, but I don’t want to get cavities)

-Bloodplay

Now, for the fun ones!

Fic likes:

-Tropes. I’m a trope whore, I admit it. I love so many of them they should probably get a subcatagory of my favorites. lol.

-Forced Proximity

-Bed-Sharing

-Eighth Year

-Auror Partners

-Powerful!Harry

-Controlled!Draco (magically, for both; I like ‘em skilled as hell)

-Wandlore

-Master of Death lore

-Aristocratic Draco (or bad boy Draco, or fucked up Draco…I like Draco a lot, okay?)

-Flirting

-UST

-Pining

-Banter and snark

-Friends to lovers

-Lovers to friends to more

-Dub-con where they both enjoy it

-Sex Pollen

-Antagonism

-Veela/Creature Fic

-Smart Harry (let’s give the boy some credit, can we???)

-Harry, Ron, and Hermione staying close

-Rescuing/being protective (I don’t care who rescues and who does the rescuing, though I tend to think of Harry as the rescuer more often than not. But I like when there’s an exchange.)

-Life debts

-Legilimency

-Accidental (or, hell, intentional) bonding

-Humor

-Angst with a happy ending

-Harry’s and Draco’s hair/eyes being described as they are in the books

-The first time they call each other by their first names being significant

-Fics that focus as much (or more) on characterization and relationship development as they do on outside plot

And a bunch more of these too.

Sex and sexual kinks:

-Draco. God yes. Put him in robes or a sharp suit or torn jeans and mmmmmmsfdhdfhlgjhuihghlhd. I like Draco being noticed. (*whispers* Objectified, even, especially if Harry doesn’t realize he’s doing it.)

-Vice versa Harry.

-Rimming

-Spanking

-Rentboys

-Sexual power plays

-One of them being experienced, the other not so experienced.

-Both of them being hella experienced

-Topping from the bottom (and also the top).

-Bottoming from the top (and also the bottom lol)

-Dirty talk

-Trust games (blindfolds, tying someone up)

-Fingering

-Post-sex fingering

-Flaccid cocks getting played with; proprietary touches.

-First times

-Dom/sub dynamics (with clear boundaries and safewords)

-Gentle sex

-Extended foreplay

-Semi-public sex

-Magical sex objects

-Cleaning spells (thank fuck for the magical world, amiright?)

-Messy blowjobs

-Kissing. Lots of kissing.

-Angry sex that turns into more

-Frantic sex

-Partially-clothed sex

-Frotting/grinding

-Teasing

-I might have a bit of a foot kink? lol

-Confidence

-Timidity/nerves

-Coming untouched

-Handjobs

-Shower/bath

Aaannnd most other sexual kinks you don’t see listed under my squicks or dislikes.

So there you go. A non-comprehensive guide to what I like and look for in a fic. Like I said, I’m not too picky about my dislikes these days (if I was, I wouldn’t be reading puppy play or consensual non-con or double penetration, and there are fics with those contents that have blown me the fuck away), but it’s really a personal thing. Kink tomato, and Fic Tomato (which idk if the latter is a thing, but I hope everyone gets what I mean. lol).

Thanks so much for the ask, nonnie!  It was a bit of a treat to stop and really consider how my fic likes and dislikes have changed over the last couple of years. Highly recommend you making your own list — and never letting anyone make you feel bad about it! ;D

[dg4th]

The Silent Revolutionary or a Poem About Scrap Paper

Are poets revolutionary? I've always wondered the intentions of poetry. Was it a representation of the world? Or do poets, through our writing, change the world to what it should represent? Then again, maybe I'm thinking too big. I should focus on myself. An entire universe lives within my skin. Me as insignificant as the moon in a galaxy of stars. I ask myself: can I write a love poem? Not for anyone else but me. Would that be narcissistic even when devoid of it? I want to tell myself I'm happy and mean it. As opposed to feeling a sense of guilt. It's like the words I speak are a blasphemous prayer to a god who must be overwhelmed. If thunderstorms are temper tantrums, then a natural disaster is god having a mental breakdown. And it seems he's having a lot lately. In fact, I think I should write about it. Find some similarities between the rain and me. Maybe then, I'll feel this connection to god that has been a stranger. Being a poet is my way of reaching out to a forgotten friend. But it's not all bad. Through all the world's ills, the most important thing I've done was love my poetry again. For a while, I hated seeing my voice written on the page. Becoming so addicted to editing, I never wanted to show my poetry. And to think, I wouldn't have created this blog or published my poetry book, had I allowed myself to continue falling down that long spiral to absolute nowhere. If you Ask me? I'd say poetry has been therapeutic. And sometimes, I actually mean it when I say it. What I think poetry has become is a diary. I have a secret that I'm afraid to say. So poetry is how I express the words I cannot speak. This way, I can take something complex and simplify it. Make the unexplainable understandable. Poetry is a language that is learned through the heart. It's not something to be read, but felt. A cry for help through humor or a comedy born of tragedy-- poetry is only limited to how open the poet chooses to be. And from this, I've discovered my secret. How I hate that poetry isn't intended for the writer. Once it's read, the words are no longer mine. Poetry is the heart and the poet is the body, poked and prodded. You focus on the poetry and forget the poet exists. However, it's not your fault. We're taught to be careless. And in carelessness breads arrogance. We want to see ourselves in everything. Even in what doesn't belong to us. Poetry is always taken from its owner. This is how a poet can understand the meanings of words that seem similar. For example, the difference between a refugee and a wanderer is dependent upon two questions: why they left and where they're going. That is to say, a poet finds inspiration from being lost or searching for something. Either way, the journey isn't easy. Of course, no one cares of a poet's dedication to the craft. We uncover love through suffering-- not all of which is our own. This is how we know that love requires sacrifice. We're wounded in order to reveal the pain that needs healing. And fear is born this way. When writing poetry, we know it must end. It's like we write to obtain a sense of immortality. This way, we'll be remembered even after the poem is finished. I ask you: what's wrong with being scrap paper? Or why does poetry have to read for poets to be respected as such? Since you value a good poem, we'll fictionalize anything. Create ourselves as the protagonists we want you to love. Even if it's at the expense of our own character. For me, I've found power in scrap paper. It's why I aspired to be a poet ever since I picked up a pencil. Writing is the closest I've felt to being immortal. I'm able to create anything I want from nothing. Tell my story using my own words in however way I want to use them. Instead of writing poetry, I'm able to embody it. But the world isn't as liberating. Sometimes, I ask what's the point of having scrap paper? A pencil running out of led is useless. And this is my fear. Instead of an ending, I become afraid of not finishing. What happens to the poem if it's stopped mid-sentence? Does someone continue where I left off? Is it possible to understand intent when it's not fully written? For me, I desire to hold no meaning. I'm a radical in my thinking. Wanting to live in a world where worth isn’t depended upon anything outside myself. The more I write, I realize how selfish I really am. I hate how we define poetry. It's not a poem if no one can decipher its meaning. I've allowed myself to be limited. For too long, I've settled with being a pretty phrase in a poem. Someone else is telling me who I am. This is no way to live-- a poet trapped in someone else's poetry. Why do I need to be defined? Instead of poetry, I want to be scrap paper. There's limitless possibilities of what I can write in the white spaces. Finally, I can write a love poem and actually like it. Not because of the words, but simply because I wrote it. So yes, poetry is revolutionary— When I say I love myself, I want to *** my blog website: blackboydreamer.wordpress.com my poetry collection "Not All Scars are Wounded" available NOW. get it here: dg4th.com

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: How ODDTAXI's Animals Take on Adult Loneliness and Coping

  There’s a lot of good anime airing this season. Do you like intense war stories? Go watch 86 EIGHTY-SIX. Found family stories starring giant robots? SSSS.Dynazenon. Austere slice of life about a girl riding a motor scooter? Super Cub. But for those true blue anime-heads searching in vain for the shock of the new, the defining series of this spring for me has been ODDTAXI — an ongoing show about a walrus riding a cab that combines the rapid-fire prattle of Pulp Fiction with Twin Peaks’ sudden swings between comedy and festering horror.

  There are many reasons to love ODDTAXI. There’s the contrast between the humorous dialogue, loaded with references to everything from YouTube to Bruce Springsteen, and the lurking darkness that seeps in when you least expect it. There’s a diverse cast of characters, which includes down-on-their-luck comedians, indebted llamas smuggling meds, and gacha-mad cats out for revenge. It’s a show about many things: social media, the generation gap, the entertainment industry, organized crime, and mental illness. I’ve known older anime fans who are tired of shows about and for teenagers who want work targeted at their specific age bracket. To which I say: What kind of adult are you? A struggling college student? A working adult? No anime I’ve seen produced in the past decade explores the contradictions of modern adult life as thoroughly as ODDTAXI does.

    But there’s something else about ODDTAXI that commands my attention. Folks I follow on the internet have been keeping a close eye on the taxi driver Odokawa, trying to figure out if the show’s animalistic character designs are nothing more than his hallucination. But outside of Odokawa, you just have to ask: is everyone else on the show doing okay?

  Just look at Shigaki and Baba, known together as the comedy duo "Homosapiens." Nobody wants to make it big in the comedy world as much as Shigaki does. Baba, his hapless partner and friend, is along for the ride. But when Baba begins to try out for other roles in the entertainment industry, he quickly eclipses Shigaki in fame. Baba doesn’t want success nearly as much as Shigaki, yet success falls right into his lap; despite working his butt off, Shigaki struggles to get by as a radio comedian. All Shigaki wants is to be recognized for his efforts, yet that recognition is always just out of reach. Will he die before he receives the acclaim he thinks he deserves?

    Or see Tanaka, a game developer haunted since childhood by feelings of insufficiency — never cool enough to be someone’s friend, never smart or skilled enough to be worthy of love. He redirects those feelings first into hunting rare erasers as a child, and then into spending all of his savings on a gacha game. Desperately trying to obtain a rare dodo character in the game, he loses his job, his pet, and his own sanity. What kind of life would one have to live for a crude computer image of a dodo to be your white whale? Tanaka wants the dodo, but what does he need?

  Plenty of anime characters have ambitions. Some characters in ODDTAXI, like Shigaki, have ambitions, but others just want things. Some need money to pay their dues. Others buy CDs to support their favorite musical acts. Like many working adults who seek comfort in routine so as to avoid looking at the gaping hole at the center of their own lives, much of the cast of ODDTAXI participate in unhealthy coping mechanisms so as to forget their lack of control. They do so to escape the debtors breathing down their necks, the perceived happiness and success of their friends, and the fact that the idol you support will never really know or care about you.

  Since this is a show about adults, it’s also worth thinking about the elephant in the room: the ticking clock of age. Shigaki isn’t a Luffy or a Naruto, and he’s running out of time to make it big. What would Shigaki do with his life if he never does? What would someone like Tanaka be willing to sacrifice in order to prove that his life meant something? Meanwhile, the protagonist Odakawa is liked by others, justly or not, because he is reliable: as a 40-year-old taxi driver, he makes decisions according to his own principles and rarely succumbs to the insecurity chasing everyone else. Of course, we’ve seen hints that Odakawa is nursing an even deeper wound. We just don’t know.

    There’s a ghost haunting Odakawa’s town. The teenage girl that goes missing at the start of the series, and whose presence is an ongoing mystery. But it’s also a hollow that torments every member of the cast in their own special way. A mysterious broken promise. It’s something that I know, and you know. The miracle of the city, the chance to have what you’ve always wanted, always out of reach. As ODDTAXI reaches its midpoint, we have already begun to see the human cost taken as the city’s linked strivers plot and counterplot on the streets for that shining impossible thing.

  A few weeks ago, a friend of mine on Twitter compared ODDTAXI to Paranoia Agent, Satoshi Kon’s bizarre 2004 drama about a vicious social contagion. I thought that comparison was on point, which is shocking: How many other shows are out there like Paranoia Agent? Nothing, until now. ODDTAXI is comparatively small and cheap, a show about a 40-year-old walrus who drives a cab. But if we see another show this year that strives as boldly to capture the social malaise that dominates capitalist city life  — that futile longing, that gnawing hunger leading to self-destruction  — I’ll be very surprised.

  Are you watching ODDTAXI? Who is your favorite character? What’s the most regrettable decision you’ve ever made playing a gacha game? Let us know in the comments!

      Adam W is a Features Writer on Crunchyroll. When he isn't thinking about Beastars, he sporadically contributes with a loose coalition of friends to a blog called Isn't it Electrifying. You can find him on Twitter at: @wendeego

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a feature, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Adam Wescott

[rosesandruin]

1-100 for the ask thing

1. What’s your philosophy in life?-If it doesn’t make you happy, it’s not worth it.2. What’s the one thing you would like to change about yourself?-Only one?3. Are you religious or spiritual?-No4. Do you consider yourself an introvert or an extrovert?-Introvert5. Which parent are you closer to and why?-My mom, ig. I spend the most time with her.6. What was the best phase in your life?-My bookworm/writer phase7. What was the worst phase in your life?-My “I want to kill myself” phase8. Is what you’re doing now what you always wanted to do growing up?-No9. What makes you feel accomplished?-When I finish a day of work, get a paycheck, or finish all of my homework10. What’s your favorite book/movie of all time and why did it speak to you so much?-My favorite book is “To Kill a Mockingbird.” I don’t really know why11. What is a relationship deal breaker for you?-Ig not being compassionate?12. Are you more into looks or brains?-Idk13. Would you ever take back someone who cheated?-No14. How do you feel about sharing your password with your partner?-I’m okay with that15. When do you think a person is ready for marriage?-??? What kind of question is this?16. What kind of parent do you think you will be?-Better than mine were, I hope17. What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner?-Eh, that wouldn’t happen. I have good taste.18. Who is that one person you can talk to about just anything?-Um…19. Do you usually stay friends with your exes?-Idk, I don’t have any20. Have you ever lost someone close to you?-Yes21. If you are in a bad mood, do you prefer to be left alone or have someone to cheer you up?-Left alone if I’m angry/irritated. Cheered up if I’m sad/depressed/anxious.22. What’s an ideal weekend for you?-Camping23. What do you think of best friends of the opposite sex?-They’re okay?24. Do you judge a book by its cover?-Yeah25. Are you confrontational?-No26. When was the last time you broke someone’s heart?-Never, I hope27. Would you relocate for love?-Yeah, sure28. Did you ever write a journal?-Yeah29. What are you most thankful for?-Umm… my cat30. Do you believe in second chances?-Yeah, depending31. What’s the one thing that people always misunderstand about you?-Probably my mental illnesses32. What is your idea of a perfect vacation?-Going somewhere new33. What did your past relationship teach you?-N/A34. What are your thoughts on online dating or tinder?-Good for them?35. What’s on your bucket list this year?-Get a tattoo36. When have you felt your biggest adrenaline rush?-Um, probably one of the times I was at Cedar Point37. What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done and would you do it again?-I was in a smol (safe-ish) backyard demolition derby with my uncles and 10/10 would do again38. If a genie granted you 3 wishes right now, what would you wish for?-I just want a job39. What’s your biggest regret in life?-Not doing more solos in choir in high school, dropping out of band40. What do you think about when you’re by yourself?-Anything and everything41. Does your job make you happy?-What job42. What did you want to be when you were younger?-A vet, a detective, a teacher43. Why did your last relationship end?-N/A45. What’s been your biggest mistake so far in life and what did you learn from it?-I don’t know46. Where is your favorite place in the entire world to go?-Ottawa, I guess. Ottawa’s cool. Or Disney World. It’s magical.47. What are your top five favorite movies?-Lilo and Stitch, Dead Poet’s Society, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink48. What are some of your favorite songs?-Riptide – Vance Joy; She Had the World – Panic!; Won’t Back Down – Tom Petty; Hurt – Johnny Cash49. What qualities do you admire about your parents?-My mom never gave up, and she works every day to improve herself.50. How would you describe your best friend?-My what51. What’s your favorite hobby to do alone?-Sing, ig52. What’s something you can’t go a day without doing?-Um. Sleep53. What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve done lately?-I spontaneously went to visit my dad, but that was for a funeral. So.54. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done for love?-I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like that.55. What’s your biggest pet peeve?-When people won’t leave me alone when I want to be.56. Why do you think you’re still single?-I’m… not…57. What accomplishment are you most proud of?-Struggling through geometry class all year but getting 100% on the exam (only one of two to do so.) And also getting in to all of the colleges I applied to.58. What is one dream you have yet to accomplish?-Moving out.59. What is your greatest fear?-Never being able to transition the way I want.60. What are three things you value most about a person?-Compassion, humor, determination61. Who are five people you are closest with?@stay-strange-kids , @dgrayfee , @floridkore , @hedphoneson , and my stepsister62. What is the greatest struggle you’ve overcome?-High school.63. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?-Spain?64. What’s the most exciting thing that’s happened this past year?-Got a girlfriend65. What’s your favorite beer?-Ew, I don’t drink beer bc I have taste buds66. What’s one thing that bothers you most about the world today?-Hate67. Who are you closer with your mom or your dad?-Didn’t we go through this? My mom68. If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?-We went through this, too?69. If you could change one thing about the world what would it be?-Less greed, more compassion70. Who was your favorite teacher and why?-It was my 6th grade English teacher for a while, bc she always encouraged my reading and writing. But in high school, it was one of the special ed teachers. She was amazing and did so much for me.71. What sport did you fall in love with?-None72. What is the weirdest thing about you?-My personality.73. What was your longest relationship?-n/a74. What would your best friend say is your best quality?-My what?75. Who is your favorite historical figure?-Obama76. What made you choose the college you went to?-The location and atmosphere77. If you could tell your former self one thing right now what would it be?-It gets better. Do your homework.78. What food could you not live without?-Tacos79. Dogs or Cats?-Don’t pit my babies against each other like this.80. What’s closest you’ve ever come to being arrested?-Um. Never?81. What was your best birthday?-…I can’t think of one.82. What’s one thing you wish you knew how to do?-Play guitar and piano83. Where’s one place you’d like to go that you haven’t been?-Spain84. What was the last book you read? And When?-I can’t remember85. Where do you usually get your news?-Idk86. What are some of your own personal goals in the next 5 years?-Start hrt, get top surgery, buy a car, move out, graduate87. What would you consider your greatest accomplishment so far?-wE WEnT oVeR tHIS88. If you could get away with anything that you do?-Rob a bank89. Who is your greatest hero?-I don’t have one90. What’s the greatest risk you’ve ever taken?-Speeding while driving even tho I don’t have my license91. Why are we here?-WHY ARE WHO WHERE, WHAT, DON’T DO THIS92. If heaven is real and you died tomorrow, would you get in?-I hope not.93. Do you believe in fate?-Yeah94. How do you think people see you?-With their eyes, I assume?95. If you had the ability to erase something that you did in the past, whatwould it be?-There was this one time I hit my sister… It was bad…96. What song makes you unconditionally happy?-Um… idk97. If you could have anybody else’s life, who’s would you take?-No one’s. My life is my own.98. What fictional character do you most relate to?-None99. If I asked you at age 5 what you wanted to be when you grew up, what would you say?-A veterinarian100. What is your biggest irrational fear?-Being stuck here my whole life. But I don’t think that’s completely irrational?

[cherry-o-piggy]

And old slew

posted 3/7/2021

I think my number one requirement is that you keep up, which only the mentally ill do.

What does it say about me that all my friends are ADHD?

The black boys, they pass and bob and chat to rap like it’s beat poetry in the 1960s. Here with them I am in a modern historical moment of art discovering my aesthetic and true calling. I see this after a bias worry on repeat, looking back it was not a real fear, just a humorous societal conception, and who have I ever been to subscribe to society. Me and my white girl friend out smoked them in their own home and my friend, I hugged him in front of his friends, and he walked us out of his house like a true gentleman. It was truly the part of my soul that I wanted to share in a social setting.

“You’re not in charge of me, T[redacted] is.”

It’s 10 degrees in the dark and it’s just me and my skin wrapped in tight black fabric flying up the powdered hill like I was never meant to touch the ground in the first place. It is still 10 degrees and I’m replaying everything that has ever happened like maybe I’ll get a second chance that I don’t need, but want still. The 10 degrees rummage around in my bones and all the pain this new year brought, the pain of becoming women, intertwines itself with my heart so there is no difference. The 10 degrees keep me warm, from the pit of my stomach to my chest and red cheeks. It’s enough right now.

The concept of solidarity flowed from Budimir’s lips along with sweeties and engagement, and I truly think it is the first concept I ever truly understood. I do not know respect or love or good. But I know solidarity, I know solidarity deep down in my bones and my blood and my soul. And it just goes to show, it was never me, I just never met a good teacher.

My lust still rides with you, for safe keeping.

I don’t remember what your voice sounds like anymore, I used to be able to hear it in my head.

Every man both looks like you and the man who wanted me dead.

Sometimes I am hollowed out enough that the only feeling I have is my hands and they don’t seem to bare my heart’s intentions. But it is a much deeper part of my being they represent, one I wish someone worse would fulfill for me. Pity I am the only beautiful thing.

Part of my soul is an iris in the wind.

A wealthy woman in the glass, a thesis sustaining the validity of age regression in design and mini-practice, and collections combatting change in order to hold on to something.

There was a few moments of my life where I was obsessed with the devil in the woods by the ocean and the magic I would be allowed if I could just exist somewhere beautiful to be a little odd in peace with equally passionate companionship. While the other burn outs dream of fantasy I dream of psudeo-realistic peace because I could never get there by myself, let alone with the chaos of another sentiment being.

You wouldn’t like me anymore. I’m an existentialist bc I am completely and totally unsure of myself as a concept. And it makes it immensely easier to flow along with the process of getting what I want.

In the dark the voice pokes at suicide in the highest of highest and I drown out the noise with the hope that in that grainy moment 5 guys ago you flicked away my perfect tears with your tongue and I was too intimate and vulnerable to fully feel it.

With a face this expressively cute and a brain this overwhelmingly neat I deserve a man to compliment my abundance completely.

I bet no one thinks about me at all. But that would be naive and hopeful.

If he is only supplying money as his position in your life, as soon as the money stops he no longer needs to be taken into consideration when making decisions because he is no longer a part of your life. If the only value you have is the provision of the bare necessities and no emotional connection you have no purpose after you no longer supply the means of survival because you made the decision and only did a quarter of the work needed to take responsibility for that decision.

Time isn’t who she used to be. Time used to drag and suffocate and strangle. Now Time is broad watercolor strokes to blurry, cotton eyes. I live the same day over and over with the same amount of nothing but I still do not feel the suffocation of monotonous repetition, not like I used to when I was young. I feel unfulfilled still, empty still. But it is not overwhelming. And this nothing that happens, the absolute repetition of activity happens so quickly now. Not like it used to. I feel like I’m always playing catch up. There’s never enough time, or maybe I am newly blind to her movement? Whatever the case, Time and I are strangers now, which is such a shame because I used to know her intricately, anxiously so.

Sometimes I dissolve into words, I think that’s why everything moves so fast.

I’m going to force my oddity on man and disregard everyone that has anything at all to say. I always said I was crazy, which drew extensive attention, but I no longer think that is fitting for me and who I aspire to become. I think I desire much more to be odd than to be mad. Eccentric.

A man bought me six and a half hours (after tax) worth of stuffed animals. And I haven’t even had sex with him. Fuck, that kind of feels like debt. Can I like hang out w him and like “drop” $50 somewhere he’ll eventually notice. I’ve never had to do that before, but I am willing to go that far. Actually, I did that to my GM last break (and I shouldn’t have, I deserve better compensation for my labor, but I refuse to be rude ever).

Why would I want a man that smells like wood?

Hanging out w me is like just me saying “no babies” over and over in different voices.

The feeling drips like sunflower blue syrup down my back. It feels too sharp to be harmless, but too quick to enjoy. And it leaves my chest hollow after it’s appearance. My limbs are heavy and my head is worried about the fluttering around that happened inside my chest last night, I wasn’t sure if it was death or symptoms of suffocation. My lungs just filled and I grasped my body from within my soul and when it was sufficient and neat, I dove back into the harmful thoughts of lust and the gripping behavior caused by being lonesome. This feeling doesn’t flow, it’s too stuck, it remains mine. So instead it drips.

I want to scream that I am good at what I do because a piece of me always felt that you doubted me. I am good enough that I read a love poem out loud to my high school class with the girl in the class and I didn’t get bullied for it, it didn’t scare her away, and my teacher complimented me about it. I was known by the whole high school as a writer and it wasn’t in a bad way. I used to write and edit peoples papers and I was an English tutor for middle school. My English 101 professor told me I should Publish my paper based on the three paragraphs that I wrote in twenty minutes right in front of him. I have not read a full book since sophomore year of high school and I am able to break down structures and themes of books by picking through about 30 pages, and from that I can developed a thesis, a five paragraph outline, research questions, and eventually a 6 page paper from 30 pages of a novel. I hung out with someone, read then my poetry and they were surprised that it was not cringe. Every English teacher I’ve ever had has loved me. I was already so familiar with the English language and the concept of grammar rules and their functions that I could speak in limited vocabulary sentences in Spanish when I was taking Spanish 2 (did I cry every single day, yes, but did I get an A, also yes). When I tell you I am a writer, I mean that it is my soul. It is the only reason I am alive. When I tell you I am good at what I do I mean I’m already published. Twice. I am good at what I do. So yeah, I know what a fucking genre is, bitch.

Even my abusers will tell you I’m good at what I do.

I need someone to press their soul into mine so that I am sure I have one.

Good morning honey bun 💛 I hope you have a wonderful day today and I’ll be sending good thoughts your way all day :) love you ❤️❤️

8 year old me would think I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. I remember how critical I was of other women, I remember the way I used to pick them apart in my head about all their imperfects. It’s bc I only heard those things about myself. And I’m not proud, but I was a child and I am completely different now. I remember my favorite parts about women too. I remember how I used to melt for long hair and belly button piercings and being unashamed. I am tall and wealthy and have a million expressions. 8 year old me would stare at me in the store and hope to be her, 8 year old me would love to be 17 year old me. It’s all she ever wanted. I am everything I ever wanted. I am gorgeous.

Sometimes it’s claymation filter and my body is yellow and I am ugly and when I laugh my teeth are bucked. I get so clear that I am ugly. I get so outside of my own perspective that I have never uttered my own name.

I am so self aware and violently gone and ridiculous. And I’ve been wanting this. That I thank god for planning and hard work.

I’m a slut. :) beep

[pumpkinwritesarchive-blog]

1, 6, 7 17, 18!

Interview with a...Writer | Accepting

@littlcstarling

1 ) What color do you associate with your muse?

Emery ( green like a deep forest green or a machi tea green )Gabriel ( a warm golden honey )Journey ( a rich firestone where she reflects a different color under different lights )Margaret ( marigold reds and oranges )Mahim ( a bright and loud reddish orange like a fire )Mickey ( a bruise like that deep purple-blue )Rhett ( perriwinkle blue )Shane ( the color of her van- rusted orang or a smokey gray )Sawyer ( the color of money and deep violets )

6) How are you and your muse alike?

Most of them have my sense of humor. I’m a lot more like Emery or maybe even Sawyer in that I have a strong personality and can be seen as abrasive but I also feel a lot like Margaret in that I get frustrated when I’m seen as nothing more than my illness ( mine’s mental ) and get very frustrated when people try to cater to me and treat me like I’m unable.

7) How are you and your muse different?

I’m different from my babies in a lot of ways. Primarily they all have well founded and longish standing relationships with people. They’re able to be themselves and are a lot more confident in voicing their opinions and needs with the people around them whereas I- am not. I have such strong and independent babies. So proud.

17) What motivates you?

to write? Um I guess it’s just a personal kinda motivation. I mean I’m motivated by the people I write with and by little pictures I find on Pinterest that remind me of this ship or that character so that helps but I don’t listen to music or anything I just get up and say “imma do the thing” and then I try to do the thing.

18) Are you a Jedi master?

No. I’m a Sith Lord. *dramatic Darth Vader theme plays*

[lovethisskin]

In Conversation: Destiny Birdsong

We are beyond excited and honoured to start 2018 talking to acclaimed American poet, essayist and editor; Destiny Birdsong. Destiny has won the Academy of American Poets Prize, Naugatuck River Review’s 2016 Poetry Contest, and Meridian’s 2017 “Borders” Contest in Poetry. She’s had fellowships from Cave Canem and Callaloo among others.

She openly speaks to us about her experience with albinism, her family, writing out her fears and her hopes for young people with albinism

Photo: Hunter Armistead. Makeup: LaRisa Jones

We work in African communities and mostly have an African audience - Your background is different from that of our readers, tell us a bit about your community and how you grew up.

I grew up in the American South—Shreveport, Louisiana, to be exact. It’s not a big city, but it’s also not a small town. I haven’t lived there in many years, but it’s a place I love deeply. There’s something about the miles and miles of flat land, the pine trees, and all the waterways that will forever be a part of my concept of home, even though there are other places that share that moniker for me. Shreveport is an interesting place; it’s not in the part of the state most heavily populated by French-speaking Acadians or French Creoles (whose cultures Louisiana is most famous for), but it is definitely influenced by them in terms of food and other forms of celebration (like Mardi Gras), as well as in how the people around me thought about race and color. I grew up in an African American family where people were a range of colors, and my albinism never made me feel out of place in that regard. There is no general phenotype for us; I was just one color of many. So many of my family members’ nicknames are based on appearance, and particularly color. I have an uncle called “Fat Ear,” another called “Black Boy,” and yet another called “Red Boy.” When I was a baby, my uncles nicknamed me “Honey,” which they thought matched the color of my hair. I spend most of my life away from my family, and something in me starts to heal from the world when I walk into a room and my Uncle Carlos yells: “Honey Bunny!” I love my family for taking one look at me and naming me after something carefully made and harvested, something precious and sweet.

Of course, people outside the safe space of my family still said and did mean things during my childhood, but I was rarely—if ever—made to feel “less black” than others. And, while I was certainly made fun of, I felt physically safe in most of my environments. I do have one distinct memory of being bullied, however, and it was in pre-school. I’ve worn glasses since I was three years old, and this girl who had been hassling me on the playground one day smacked them off. Apparently, that was the last straw: somehow, I got a hold of her finger and bit down to the bone. She was rushed to the emergency room, and I was sent home. I love that story, especially since it’s the one time I got in trouble in school, but didn’t get in trouble at home. My mother knew the girl had been picking on me, and she understood why I retaliated. My mother never condoned violence, but she did give me space to stand up for myself, and she and the rest of my family made me feel like I had the right to do so. I also use this story to remind myself of something that I apparently knew then, but sometimes forget now: I matter, and no one has the right to treat me poorly simply because they feel like they can.

Do you remember when you initially became aware of your hyper-visibility?

There are two distinct moments that come to mind. The first happened when I was perhaps three or four years old, and I overheard my mother tell her best friend that, when she was at the grocery store, shew saw two children who looked like me. I wasn’t there with her, but I remember understanding that, when she said that, she also meant that we didn’t look like everyone else. The other time was a bit later—five or so—when I drew a picture of an imaginary friend named “Samantha.” Samantha had yellow hair and wore glasses, and my mother was touched, but also a little tickled; she showed that picture to everyone she knew. Although she understood better than I did at the time, we both knew who Samantha looked like, and why: I needed to see someone else who looked like me.

How have you navigated your albinism in your writing, what are some issues/aspects related to having the condition, feature most in your work?

This is a tough one, because, like everyone else (I imagine), this condition is one part of my identity, but doesn’t encapsulate the totality of my experience. I write about a number of things: love, sexual trauma, mental and physical health/illness, my family, my belief systems—so, whenever any of those things comes to the page, I let it come. I’m not sure if I ever developed a strategy for navigation. I do think, however, that in recent years, I’ve been more forthcoming about my fears and insecurities in my work, and albinism is certainly a part of that conversation, so I write about it more freely now. But, as I was recently telling a friend, I don’t come to the page with intentions so much as I come with questions, and if I am interrogating something about my experience with albinism and I feel like writing it out, then I write it out.

Oh! Ok, so I do have a caveat. I recently started writing fiction, and I deliberately made my main character a woman living with albinism. My decision was based on a few things. First, my best friend writes urban fiction, and we once had a conversation about how some writers in the genre create heroines who are cookie-cutter tropes: fair-skinned, long-haired, thin—very traditionally beautiful by some cultural standards. As such, these characters easily attract the interest of lovers and they are the darlings of whatever space they inhabit. I can’t speak to the motives of those writers, because I don’t know them or live inside their heads, but my first thoughts were: if these writers create such characters because they believe that a specific kind of beauty is more palatable for readers, and more believable, then that’s unfortunate for us as the audience, but also for the writers themselves (especially if they too don’t fit into that paradigm). There is a certain kind of trauma in never seeing yourself depicted as beautiful anywhere, not even in your own work. So, when I started writing fiction, I made a decision that my narrator would have albinism, and she would be desirable. She’s also really regular-degular (shout-out to Cardi B): she has no superpowers aside from code-switching and humor. I wanted her to be unique, but also just a person—someone you could imagine being friends with and commiserating with and understanding. I rarely see people with albinism depicted as such anywhere. And, of course, since I’m a hopeless romantic, her love interest falls in love with her. Well, eventually—I haven’t written that part yet.

There’s often a struggle between being vulnerable in talking about one’s experience with having albinism, and protecting yourself; how have you balanced being open and willing to educate others, and not feeling too exposed?

I practice one rule in this regard: people can ask me anything, but I reserve the right to refuse to answer. That’s my general rule about most things, and I try to offer that to others whenever I ask them questions about any subject I perceive as sensitive. I think that, as relational beings, we have all, at some point or another, fallen into the trap of assuming that, because we know a person who is privy to a particular experience, then they are conveniently available to provide the narrative of that experience for us. I’m certainly guilty of having done it in the past. However, I’ve learned that I don’t have the right to anyone’s body of knowledge, and they don’t have any right to mine if I don’t want to make it available to them. There are other ways to learn a thing, and to be informed.

There are some people who feel PWA should always self-advocate, what’s your view on this? Should we always carry the responsibility to help educate others?

Absolutely not. For instance, in public spaces, I often get the question: “Are you related to [insert the name of some other person they know who has albinism]?” Sometimes, I want to say “No, because not all of us are related. This is a complex genetic condition that spans ethnicities, countries, and cultures.” However, that is emotional labor, and I reserve the right not to perform it if I don’t want to. Sometimes, I just want to be doing whatever it is I was doing before I was interrupted: shopping for groceries, dining with friends, or taking a walk in a park. To be called to step out of the normalcy of my life to explain something to a person who perceives my body as abnormal, and thus demands that I explain this to them, is intrusive, and I don’t owe them anything. It can also take a toll on my emotional equanimity—especially if they prolong the conversation with follow-up questions, which they often do, and which are almost always deeply personal. I reserve the right to choose when to subject myself to that.

Do you have anyone in your family/community/role models of people with the condition, how did you find this experience?

No, I didn’t, and I was about to say “unfortunately,” but that’s a difficult thing to gauge in hindsight. I also don’t want to detract from the legacy of the people who were there. I was raised in a family of talented, innovative, and fiercely loving black women who have taught me a great deal about how to be a woman; and yet, whenever I hear the following words from Lucille Clifton’s “won’t you celebrate with me,” I always think of coming into womanhood as a person with albinism: “i had no model…/what did i see to be except myself?” In Clifton’s words, I made a lot of it up. I just did my research and/or figured it out and/or kept trying until I got what I needed. In so many ways, I am still doing that.

What words would you like to share with parents of children with the condition?

I don’t have any children, so it’s hard for me to tell any parent how to raise theirs, but I can say that it was—and still is—important for the people I love to give me space to feel what I can’t always articulate, and what people without the condition cannot always understand. There is something about my being hypervisible for every moment of my life outside my house that is both exhausting and exhilarating. I have a few other conditions—anxiety, depression, etc.—that sometimes make leaving the house an act of defiance. That is difficult, but I’m quite proud of that, and proud of the person I’ve become in spite of it. It’s important for the people around me to acknowledge that struggle, even when it looks effortless. I have a lovely family and wonderful friends who ask “Why are you so hard on yourself? You’re beautiful!” That’s important for me to hear, but it’s equally important for them to understand that everyone doesn’t see what they see; and, sometimes, I’ll be sad or frustrated by reactions that aren’t as complimentary, or as kind. If you are raising someone with albinism, give all of their feelings space, even as you remind them that one person’s opinion shouldn’t determine how you feel about yourself.

To young people with albinism, what are you hoping they take away, not only from your story, but their own experiences?

This one may take a bit of time to unravel, but trust me, I’m going somewhere! So, I spent most of the early part of this summer outdoors, which is rare for me: I’m a bookworm and not much of an athlete, and, of course, I burn easily (not to mention the fact that I often forget to wear sunscreen). But this summer, I spent four days at an outdoor music festival, and then travelled with my sister to the Bahamas. All around me were tan, thin, beautiful people, and I felt so self-conscious about my skin. This is unkind, but I literally felt apologetic that people had to look at it and spend time around it. Anyway, a few months later, I developed a skin condition that is temporary, but also incredibly uncomfortable, and it drastically changed the appearance of my skin. Fortunately, it’s finally resolving itself, but in the meantime, I’m realizing that I haven’t been loving my skin the way it deserves to be loved. It doesn’t do what everyone else’s skin does, but it is healthy, for which I am fortunate, and it’s beautiful, period. No caveats. I wish I had understood this earlier. I wish I hadn’t internalized so much of everyone else’s opinions about it. I wish I had known that one person’s recoil doesn’t mean I am unsightly or damaged or worthless.  I feel like it’s never too late to change anything and enrich the quality of one’s life, but I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time thinking otherwise.

From their own experiences, I’d say: live your whole life. Albinism is an anomaly that you can’t change, and that may sometimes bring you grief, but don’t try to normalize the rest of your life as consolation for those around you. If you are quirky, if you have interests that differ from people around you, if you think differently from them, hold on to those things. Cherish them. In childhood, they might make you the butt of someone’s joke, or the object of ridicule, but hang on to them. Those opinions change over time, and in adulthood, those traits could make you an artist, a millionaire, an inventor, a world-changer—we won’t know if those parts of you don’t survive. Also, celebrate your albinism. As part of my faith practice, I believe God specifically made me to be myself. He determined my tastes and my cravings, my talents and challenges, my complex desires, and who and what I would come to love. Albinism was part of that plan. It too has its purpose, even though I’m still figuring out what that is. How wonderful it is to think that, years before I would learn to smile or wash my face, God set the bones in it to look like my mother’s and her mother’s, then covered them with a different skin. Then, He set my eye color to match my father’s, though they move differently. I’m no admixture of anything. I am a body curated from my ancestors, but also completely different from them. I can’t say I’m always happy about it, but I can say that, fragile as it often is, my body has survived. So has yours. Every cell in our bodies is narrative and counternarrative, plot and plot twist. We are also vulnerable, but we are also brave enough to be so. That is something worth celebrating.

Photo: Noelle Théard

[coppermarigolds]

DYW Letter

Hi, Yuletide writer! Thank you in advance for whatever you write this year! Here are a few notes on my fic preferences:

What I like: Genre-wise, pretty much anything goes–angst, romance, fluff, humor, etc. I love fics that dig into characters’ heads: what they’re thinking and feeling, what drives them, how they interact and react to the world and the people around them, and so on. The same is true of relationships–what makes this pairing tick? Why are they together? And so on. I also love love love awesome female characters being awesome. That doesn’t have to mean being physically kickass, either. It could be anything from a witty line of banter to a thoughtful conversation to a creative problem-solving method, just to scratch the surface. I particularly enjoy female characters being assertive and taking charge in relationships.

What I’m not so into: Rape/non-con is my biggest DNW. I would prefer for character death to be avoided if possible (unless the story deals with the ramifications of a canonical character death, of course). While I’m fine with an angsty story, I tend to stay away from extremely dark, punch-to-the-gut angst. I like my endings happy, or at least bittersweet and/or hopeful.

Fandom-specific notes:

Horizon Zero Dawn, Aloy

Aloy is such a breath of fresh air and I love her so much. She’s wonderfully snarky and take-charge and doesn’t let anyone talk down to her, but also struggles with the pain of abandonment and ostracism. She’s one of those characters that I relate to in some ways, and aspire to be more like her in other ways.

As for other characters, I didn’t request any so as to leave it more open for potential writers. If you want to include supporting characters, feel free. Romance-wise, I really only ship Aloy with Erend, so while I’d love a story about the two of them, I’d prefer for her not to be paired with anyone else. But I’m perfectly fine with friendship fics involving other characters. Aside from Erend, who I adore, I’m particularly fond of Ikrie from the Frozen Wilds expansion.

A couple specific ideas (though please don’t feel limited to these):

• One thing I wished the game would have explored more is Aloy’s reaction to finding out she’s a clone. After spending her whole life in search of her mother, discovering she technically didn’t have one must have been a blow. But aside from a moment or two of shock and angst, the game doesn’t really give her much time or space to process the revelation. So, once HADES is defeated and the dust has settled, how does Aloy deal with the truth of her past? How does she feel about Elisabet?

• One of my favorite things in the game is finding the bits and pieces of files left behind by the “Old Ones”–i.e., us! I’d love to see a story with Aloy reacting to some of the ancient ruins and information she finds. Does she find them strange and confusing, or intriguing? Or do they help her feel closer to Elisabet?

The Letter, Hannah Wright and Zachary Steele

The first time I played this game, I started shipping these two practically from the moment they met. I loved how they almost instantly seemed to click and sympathize with each other despite the stark differences in their backgrounds. But then I got Zach killed by accident (oops), so I didn’t get to see how their relationship might pan out. So I’d love to see a fic that fixes my mistakes and fills in those blanks, whether during the game, or after (or both). Or if romance/shipping fic isn’t your thing, I’d be happy for a story focusing on their friendship, as well. Whatever makes you most comfortable!

Night in the Woods, Mae Borowski, Bea Santello, Candy Borowski

This game hit hard, but I loved it. While the whole thing was compelling, what I enjoyed most was Mae’s friendship with Bea and her relationship with her mother. (Her relationship with her mom, in particular, reminded me so much of my relationship with my own mom.) I loved how realistic the relationships were: complicated, messy, and sometimes damaged, but ultimately supportive and uplifting. One important note: while I’d like all three characters to be present in one form or another, you don’t have to give them all equal weight if you don’t want to. i.e., if you’d prefer to write a fic focusing on Mae and Bea with a minor appearance from Candy, or vice versa, that’s fine! I do prefer Mae and Bea as friends rather than in any kind of romantic context.

One thing I really appreciated in particular about this game was the thoughtful, realistic portrayal of mental illness, how difficult it can be to manage, and the effects it can have not only on the people who suffer from it, but on their loved ones as well. I would love to see a fic about how Mae moves forward after the end of the game. Does she finally get some effective treatment for her dissociative disorder? (My greatest wish for her!! It kinda seems like Dr. Hank wasn’t the most qualified to be treating mental illness.) Does she go back to college? Does she ever feel comfortable enough to leave Possum Springs again? Does she ever tell her mom what exactly happened down there in the mines? And what about Bea--is she ever able to fulfill her dream of going to college? I’d love a story dealing with any of these scenarios!

The Ritual, Moder

I first became aware of this film when I saw a Tumblr gifset of Moder and was awestruck. She has one of the coolest, creepiest monster designs I’ve ever seen. Needless to say I immediately watched the movie and was fascinated. I want to know everything about Moder and would love to see your take on her past and/or future. Where did she come from, and how did she end up in that forest? Was her worshiper’s claim that she’s a child of Loki true? If so, meaning Norse mythology is real, what are the implications of that? If not, what is her true origin? Is she an alien? The result of a horrible science experiment gone wrong? Why can’t she leave the woods? After the end of the film, does she ever find more worshipers, or is she stuck there in that forest, alone, forever? Basically there are so many unanswered questions, and a story addressing any of them would make me happy as a clam. 

Thanks again, and happy Yuletide!

[575digitalmedia]

1. Always Be Writing  There is a scene in Glengarry Glen Ross where Alec Baldwin writes, in big block letters on a blackboard, ABC Always Be Closing. While one can take offense to the language in the scene, or perhaps even Mr. Baldwin himself, there is a similar sentiment that I’ve found is critical for my growth as a writer: ABW, always be writing. Most writers who write for a living will tell you that they have some goal for daily writing. Mine is 5000 words. If I hit that goal each day, every day, I know I’m doing well. Some days it comes easily and I sail right past my goal. Some days, I have to struggle to reach it. Either way, I’m writing every day. If I’m not writing every day, it means that there’s something wrong and I need to check my priorities and my motivation.

“Zest. Gusto. How rarely one hears these words used. How rarely do we see people living, or for that matter, creating, by them. Yet if I were asked to name the most important items in a writers make-up, the things that shape his material and rush him along the road he wants to go. I would only warn him to look to his zest, see to his gusto.”  ~ Ray Bradbury

  2. There Is No Such Thing As Writers Block 

I take a lot of heat for this statement, but I firmly believe that there is no such thing as writers block. I think that you can stall on a story, or an idea, and not have anything to say about it, but that’s not the same as having writers block. If you hit a stall, that’s your sign to move onto something new or different. Stalled out writing a horror? Take your main character and put them in a comedy. Stalled out on a dystopian thriller? Take your antagonist and put them in a shopping mall on a Sunday morning. Sometimes exploring the ridiculous helps. This goes along with my first tip. Always be writing, even if what you’re writing seems silly or unconventional. You’ll be surprised where your best ideas come from. Ill say it again and prepare for the flood of hate mail: there is no such thing as writers block. Writers block is a convenient scapegoat to use when you’re not doing what you’re supposed to be doing: writing.

  3. Take Your Medicine & Grow From It 

No matter who you are, no matter what you write, there is going to be someone, somewhere, who hates what you’ve endeavored to create. You’re going to get some negative reviews. Some of them are going to be brutal. Prepare yourself mentally for the criticism, allow yourself a single moment to feel the sting, then get up, brush yourself off, and move on. No one likes to be criticized, least of all authors, who often pour their heart and soul into the works they create. It hurts when someone tears that down, but its going to happen, so you’re better off accepting that fact at the outset. Sometimes, the people who hate your work will tell you WHY they hated it. This is invaluable information to have. It may be something you want to look toward changing. It may not. Either way, you’ve been given feedback about your work and that is how you grow as a writer.

  4. Don’t Take Things Too Seriously 

A writer, particularly an independent writer, needs to hone their ability to laugh at themselves. Sometimes, things are just going to go horribly wrong. You’re going to write something that stinks. You’re going to get a bad review. You’re going to accidentally delete a months worth of backups of the story you’ve been working on. Things go wrong. As long as you can take them in stride and with a sense of humor, you’ll be ahead of those who take things so seriously that they have no wiggle room for when the unexpected and unfortunate happens.

  5. The Golden Rule 

Treat others, particularly other independent writers, the way you’d want them to treat you. The more we, as a group, succeed, the closer we come to forcing a change in the paradigm of traditional publishing. It behooves us to help our fellow authors find success. There are millions of people out there who are looking for good content. It is up to us, as writers, to produce the best, most professional content we can and provide to our consumers. If you have tips or tricks that could help out your fellow authors, don’t be bashful about sharing them.

  As I said. There is no master plan for success as a writer. Sometimes its a struggle, but it doesnt have to be a lonely one engage your fellow authors and enjoy their company on the journey.

I hope these tips help someone out.

~MFHengst