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doomedeternal · 4 years

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The “Counterphobic 6″ vs. 8 Conundrum

So this was the thing I wrote after a typing session that finally cleared my accurate Enneagram type. Basically this details the key distinctions between Type 8 and a more “counterphobic” variety of Type 6.

Let’s get all the introductions out of the way: I’m an SP/SO 6w5 with 683 fixes, which puts me in the same caliber as dickheads, douchebags, and dictators.

I also happened to mistype as an 8 (which wing depends on the time of day) for a while until I swapped that card over for a new, shiny 6w5 card.

With this humble piece, I hope to share my story of mistyping, clarity, and in the end, shed some light on the differences between 6 and 8 from the point of view of someone who has fallen into that very same mistyping trap.

MY MISTYPING HELL

I got into the Enneagram through a friend and after a few attempts of testing and conversations with a couple of friends to gauge some observations, I typed myself as an 8, and off I went (I swung between both wings but I didn’t understand why at this point).

As I went deeper into studying the Enneagram, I came across the concept of “phobic” and “counterphobic” when it comes to Type 6. At some point in my deep dive, a lot of the “counterphobic” descriptions hit a nerve a little too close for comfort, and started having doubts about my core type.

That’s where I hit Google and attempted to seek answers to my little conundrum. Unfortunately, instead of finding answers, I found mostly the following:

Half-baked descriptions of both 6 and 8 that never got to the core of either type

Circlejerk threads of 6s (mostly men) posturing themselves as Eights and digging their heels when questioned about the possibility of mistyping

The branding of 6 (especially those who lean towards counterphobia) as “Wannabe 8s”, which has some anecdotal origins, but it loses the essence Sixes have that’s unique to the type.

And many others…

Yet despite all that, I held on to my 8 typing for dear life, while still open to the possibility of mistyping. It’s a walking contradiction of sorts, but such is the life of a Six.

FINDING CLARITY

During my time studying the Enneagram, I came across this site called Enneagrammer, and along with it the Big Hormone Enneagram podcasts. As I pursued all this information, I’ve gained even more clarity about the various types and their relationships with each other in a way I’ve never understood it before.

Despite all that, the question remained: Am I a 6 or an 8?

In a last-ditch attempt to find answers, I caved in and purchased a typing video reading. Unfortunately, I submitted mine during a time where a lot of people did and ended up swapping it with an hour-long typing session with Emeka, one of the ad.

I’m glad I did.

Fast-forward to the 30th of October 2020. I had a difficult time sleeping the night before due to a mix of excitement and anxiety. Thankfully it was first thing in the morning so once I got up and freshened myself up, we started the typing session.

Not even 15 minutes in, the distinction was clear as day.

Emeka explaining how 6 operates, and how my wing, fixes, and stacking interacted to form the full picture of my type felt like someone read my deepest, darkest secrets. It’s like when you’re on stage and your pants fell off in front of an entire audience, but at the same time, it’s in a way validating in an “I feel seen” type of way.

My full type from my 5 wing, assertive fixes, and self-preservation stacking makes for a more “grounded”, earthy flavor of the 6 (as opposed to many type 6 descriptions which appear to have 6w7 in mind). Unless people know what to look for, I can look like a gut type at first glance.

Despite what appearances and first impressions show, the “counterphobic” 6 (who are probably likely to be 8-fixed 6s) have some significant key differences that distinguish them from true 8s.

AGGRESSION AND REACTIVITY

Both 6 (especially 8-fixed 6) and 8 can be aggressive and territorial. As both types reside on the Reactive triad, they’re both intense types who aren’t afraid to let other people know about how they feel about something.

The key difference between both is the motivation behind the aggression.

For starters, the 8 brand of aggression focuses on creating their reality through action and expansion. This makes for a calmer, more deliberate, more shameless type of expressing themselves due to the lack of superego influence.

6’s aggression, on the other hand, happens as a response to the swinging pendulum in their head (or “splitting”) and is usually a cover for deep-seated anxiety. The thing with 6 most of the time is that we don’t even know that we’re anxious – the underlying anxiety is the baseline.

As a 5-wing, my way to seek certainty is to hoard information and devise structures to give me that map. Sometimes it gets to a point where I haven't taken certain factors into consideration (especially because...people are people, and can be unpredictable). When surprises happen, my first instinct is to push on as a reaction to those surprises (because reactive type), which is where the aggression comes from.

It takes a lot of self-reflection and insight to get out of this trap, but with some work and self-reflection, it can be done.

HEAD VS. GUT

All Head types attempt to find a way to orient themselves, frame reality as they know it, and concoct a narrative that makes sense to them, as distorted as the result would be. For the 6, this comes in the form of “what ifs” and worst-case-scenarios.

The 6 is most especially in tune with the nuts and bolts of the systems that matter to them the most. They would be the first people to spot if something is off, which makes them excellent troubleshooters, problem solvers, and project managers.

6’s signature ambivalence leads them to find rational ways to prove a point. For one that’s mistyping as an 8, this can look like trying to create scenarios and reasons to convince others that they’re an 8, which is even more proof of the mistyping at hand.

8s, on the other hand, are the system. They would just chuck everything out, push their way into things, and rewrite reality as it suits them regardless of health level.

INSTINCTUAL STACKING MYTHS

There’s also a pervasive myth in online typology circles that “counterphobic” 6 can only be sexual types. As a self-preservation 6, I can tell you off the bat that this couldn’t be way more off-base and is one of the primary reasons I mistyped as an 8 for so long.

“Counterphobic” 6s can be of any instinctual stacking. The notion that they can only be sexual types can only operate under the assumption that 6 can only be phobic or counterphobic, which is counter to the signature duality of the type.

6 phobia and counterphobia lie on a spectrum. How an individual 6 reacts depends on the person and situation. What the stacking tells you is what instinct this duality is most especially apparent.

For me as a self-preservation 6, this happens when self-preservation issues of health, finances, and lifestyle are at stake. This especially makes me extremely controlling and territorial of my space and any “intrusion” will send the alarm bells.

The main distinction with the 8-fixed 6 brand of boundary defense compared to that of the 8 (which is a more offensive-centric type) is that we tend to be much more vigilant of the boundary and pre-emptively strike before you even cross the line.

ATTACHMENT VS. REJECTION

The final key difference between 6 and 8 lies in one being an attachment type (6) and the other a rejection type (8).

6 (even with assertive and rejection fixes), for all their bluffing and blustering, are at the core attachment types. Whether we’re aware of it or not, as attachment types we have the need to be connected to “The Grid” (whether it’s people, systems, or anything that connects us to the world at large).

This gives us 6s a “testy” quality. We test and probe the people we interact with and change course depending on their reaction. Kind of like how our image-focused 3 siblings do except the reason why we do this is to help us orient the compass rather than craft the best image for the job (that is get the most value).

Meanwhile, 8s, their forceful action is a form of separation and dissociation from “The Grid". As rejection types, they assume right off the bat that they’re going to be rejected and thus offer their strength and willpower as they reject their vulnerability.

THE POWER OF WINGS AND FIXES

Like all attachment types, a 6 core is a “blank canvas” that gains its color and shape based on the wing, fixes, and instinctual stacking.If the core type, wing, and stacking are the main colors, the gut fix are the shadows, and the heart fix are the highlights.

6w5, specifically (due to the influence of the withdrawn, competency-focused 5) tend to be more private, cynical, and “grounded” than the 6w7 and can look like an 8 at first glance. This could all be just me projecting my experiences on to you, but that’s for you to decide.

A 6w7, on the other hand, tends to have more scattered energy due to the 7 mix. This makes for a more optimistic, emotional brand of the type that tends to mistype as 2, 4, or 9.

The narratives of “fighting for the underdog” and “toughening themselves up” usually attributed to 8s are more appropriate to the type 6 (I mean, 6w5 specifically is named The Defender, for God’s sake). More so because we have the hardest time accessing our courage.

Because how do we do the thing when we don’t know what the thing looks like?

What gut fix the 6 has adds striking color to the type: 9-fixed and 1-fixed 6s deal with underlying anxiety by mostly withdrawing from the source (9-fix) or contorting themselves to a standard in the attempt to quell the fear (1-fix).

8-fixed 6s? We just huff, puff, and take action to get it over with.

An 8 fix gives the 6 the license to “be” a 6 and wear the "ping-pong" game on their sleeve. The 6 “Inner Committee” (as Riso brands it) has a meeting every single time we make a decision, and for those of up with 8 fixes, it’s like telling them to shut the fuck up and stomping out in a huff to do the damn thing.

Because of this, an 8-fixed 6 will look more like the 8 stereotypes than an actual 8. 8-cores tend to be much better at picking their battles and knowing when to drop it when something is not worth it to them.’

The heart fix adds yet another dimension to the 6. Adding a 4 heart fix will make the 6-8 even more reactive and “raw”, whereas a 3 heart fix gives the 6-8 stem more tact and an emphasis on “reacting to get a certain reaction”. A 2 heart fix makes for a more people-focused, overbearing parent-figure type of quality.

The 6 can be many things, but “mediocre” and “same-y” is definitely not one of them.

WHY THE CONFUSION AND WHY ADDRESS IT?

Now that we have the differences out of the way, it’s good to ask, “If the differences are clear, why are people confusing the two types anyway?”

The distinction between 6s and 8s has been a subject of online debate since time immemorial. Based on my observations and experience, this is due to several things:

Confusing descriptions that end up adding more questions than answers. We’ve seen this happen with type 4 vs. 9 (another common mistyping), and unfortunately, some discussions blur the distinction for 6 vs. 8 even further.

A society that reveres certain types of strength more than others. This is how many (mostly male, based on observation) 6s posture themselves to the idealized, “powerful” version of the 8 without taking into consideration the dark side of the type.

The bad rep attachment types in general get. For all the pitfalls of 6, they also have their own strengths other types can learn from like loyalty, insight, and anti-elitism.

Defining the distinction between types helps people genuinely see themselves for what they are, warts and all, and helps lay the foundation for fruitful, meaningful inner work that gets us out the trappings of type and connect in a truly authentic way, no matter what type you are.

It gives the space to respond instead of reaching for the first instinct without a care for how it affects the big picture, and for the 6, it serves as the orienting needed to set the course and open up to other possibilities.

#enneagram #enneagram 6 #enneagram 8 #6w5 #6w7 #8w7 #8w9

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

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Limitless- Chapter Two

M/F Main Pairing: Y/N x Johnny Seo (M/F side pairing: Y/N x Jaehyun)

Genre: Fantasy AU, Harry Potter AU

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: Language

Summary: Y/N’s first day at Hogwarts is anything but magical. One of her new roommates proves to be nothing short of despicable and her classmates seem to disapprove of her because of the very last name she has grown to despise. Of course, there’s also Johnny Seo to worry about because he seems determined to annoy Y/N at every opportunity.

Tag List: @do-you-like-riddles @ki-aechan @the-usernames-i-like-are-taken @happy-tapioca69 @powerstobe @rissaxworld @dru-shadow @completenctrash @haechans-sunflower nekojohndo n0teanoshade

Chapter Two

“We’re only as strong as we are united, and weak as we are divided”- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

The following morning, I startled awake feeling strangely disoriented after a restless night of sleep. It always happened in new situations, whenever I traveled somewhere far from home. But it was only a temporary distortion, and I eventually recognized my unfamiliar surroundings and remembered my transfer into Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was a sobering realization and instead of lingering on the subject, I started dressing in my new robes, thumbing over the Hufflepuff insignia which stood out against the black.

I wasn’t really concerned with my appearance, ensuring that my new roommates were still asleep before closing the door to our shared dormitory with a weary sigh. You see, I had learned their names last night and they seemed kind enough to pass as friendly, until one of them cornered me in the bathroom with a cunning smirk. It was easy to recognize her intentions. “Your name is familiar,” she remarked. “I think I remember seeing it in the paper.”

I froze in front of the mirror, hating the fear I saw reflected in my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know,” she said, refusing to back down. “Your mom is the one who killed all those Muggles. That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

I held my tongue, choosing to ignore her comment by brushing past the arrogant girl who suddenly made me doubt the characterization of Hufflepuff as honorable and loyal. It also made me second-guess the sorting hat’s conundrum, faced with the decision to either sort me into Hufflepuff or my mother’s chosen House from her childhood. I mean, perhaps the sorting hat chose wrong and I should be downstairs in the dungeons with the other Slytherin students who might be inclined to celebrate my mother’s use of the Dark Arts.

I shivered at the idea, deciding it was better to remember that my other roommates were at least approachable. In fact, a kind 6th year named Lisa regaled me with stories of her summer vacation in the United States. Surprisingly, I found myself enamored with her conversation, picturing the places she visited with vivid clarity. But it might also be best to resist the temptation to linger in my recollections because I was suddenly anxious to see Jisung.

After I managed to calm my nerves, I left the quiet dormitory with bigger motivations. Graciously, I was mostly successful in finding the Great Hall, only pausing to question a wandering ghost who was more than willing to lead me in the right direction. “I remember when I was a student,” the ghost said. “You’ll find your true home here.”

I scoffed at the idea, disregarding his claim before entering the relatively empty communal hall. Because it seemed that most Hogwarts students preferred the comfort of their beds as opposed to the promise of breakfast, which was perfectly fine with me since it meant confronting less faces. Some of which sat at the Hufflepuff table which I decided to ignore, walking in the direction of the Gryffindors where several students studied me with surprise. “Jisung,” I grinned, alerting my younger brother to my presence.

Jisung squealed over his mouthful of cereal, patting the empty space next to him which I gladly accepted, nodding at Chenle who sat across the table. “Good morning, Y/N,” he said, reaching out for another helping of bacon.

“Hello, Chenle,” I said before turning to Jisung. “Did you sleep well?”

Jisung nodded, cheeks bulging with food. “Chenle showed me how to play Wizard’s chess.”

“Interesting,” I said before lowering my voice. “Is there anyone who bothered you?”

“No,” Jisung said with a shake of his head. “They were all nice.”

I nodded, reaching over to fix Jisung’s hair since my brother apparently decided that a few brush strokes were good enough to tame his messy locks. “Shouldn’t you try to look presentable?”

“Don’t do that,” he whined, half-heartedly pushing at my hands. “People are looking.”

I followed his gaze, glaring at a group of Ravenclaw students who had paused their conversation to consider us like we were a pair of interesting magical creatures. “Ignore them,” I said, dismissing his concerns.

But that didn’t deter our onlookers who continued to watch us from afar, speaking in tones that invited suspicion. “It’s her daughter!” one of them hissed and I tensed immediately, turning around to search the group for the purveyor of such gossip. The potential to jeopardize my time at Hogwarts. Instead, it suddenly felt like the entire room had grown smaller and everyone was looking at me with evident distrust.

I felt my cheeks flush when I forced myself to glare down at my empty plate. Vaguely, I could hear Chenle greet someone with a cheerful tone, but I didn’t pay attention until a hand landed on my shoulder. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

Despite my flustered condition, I was still able to recognize his voice. “Jaehyun,” I exhaled, watching him occupy the empty space next to me. “I’ve been thinking a lot about classes.”

Jaehyun nodded, simply accepting my excuse. “The Professors are all excellent here.”

“Yes, Hogwarts has a formidable reputation,” I said, nodding slowly in response. “My first class is Potions.”

“Oh,” Jaehyun said. “Well, I don’t have to take potions this year.”

“It’s required for my course of study,” I said. “Auror training,” I added before he could inquire.

“Impressive,” he remarked, smiling at my ambition. “I don’t think I can consider myself skilled enough for potions.”

“Save it for the pitch,” Chenle said. “You should watch us play, Y/N. Gryffindor has the best Quidditch team.”

Jaehyun scoffed at his cousin’s claim, but the red tint to the tips of his ears gave away his embarrassment from the praise. He said something else to his cousin, but my focus had returned to the Ravenclaw girls who had spoken out of term. I found them watching me still, eyes narrowed in suspicion. They started talking again, tones rising loud enough for me to overhear, which I knew was their intention from the start. “She certainly looks like her mother. Do you think we need to lock the doors in the dormitory at night? I wouldn’t want to wake-up to intercept the daughter of a convicted criminal...”

“What did you say?” Jaehyun interrupted, startling the girls who all looked up at him simultaneously.

“Jaehyun,” one of them shrieked, a rather noisy affair that hurt my ears more than their words had injured my pride.

“It’s fine,” I said, rolling my eyes in their direction. “Don’t pay them any attention, that’s what they want.”

“I know, but if they were truly honorable, then they wouldn’t care,” Jaehyun said. He fixed them with a stern look that seemed to invite no further comment, and I watched the girls quickly scramble to leave without another word. “Nobody should care about that,” Jaehyun said and I frowned when I realized that he had inadvertently confirmed that he also knew about my mother. It only made me wonder if the rumors had already started, seeding their way through the eager crowds of gossips who were looking for an interesting topic for their late-night affairs. “It doesn’t matter, I’d like to introduce you to some friends of mine,” Jaehyun continued, ignorant to my glowering while he waved down a passing pair of students. They immediately diverted their course, friendly smiles and salutations as they joined our breakfast group. “This is Winwin and Jungwoo.”

The two boys offered me a friendly smile. “Gryffindors?” I asked, glancing at Jaehyun for confirmation.

He nodded. “Well, Winwin likes to brag about his house allegiance, but Jungwoo is actually in Ravenclaw. He’s the same year as us.”

“Really?” I asked, directing the question to the shy fifth-year student ducking his head shyly.

“Jaehyun and I are in the same Defense Against the Dark Arts class,” Jungwoo said. “I’m also taking Herbology this year.”

“He’s being modest,” Winwin said. “Jungwoo is the best in our year.”

“Oh? I’m taking Herbology as well,” I said, suddenly noticing the Ravenclaw crescent on his robes.

“It’s more of a hobby,” Jungwoo said. “I’m interested in doing further research.”

I nodded vacantly, turning my attention to Winwin who was already enjoying the breakfast feast prepared for the students. His robes displayed the familiar Gryffindor insignia that matched the one attached to my step-brother’s new House. I studied him carefully, deciding he looked friendly enough. Winwin seemed rather comfortable with Chenle, which must mean he spent a lot of time around Jaehyun and that was good enough for me to accept him as a potential friend. And I wouldn’t say that for everyone. Say, for example, certain dark-haired Syltherin students who didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space.

Still, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help but bristle when Johnny’s shadow fell over Jaehyun, even while I tried to ignore the unwelcome presence. “What a beautiful example of House Unity,” Johnny said. “But why isn’t Slytherin represented?”

The other Gryffindors surrounding us had grown quiet, watching Jaehyun and Johnny’s interaction with complete attention. I got the feeling that these exchanges were commonplace. “There’s not many people who want you around, Seo.”

“Really?” Johnny asked, feigning shock as he met several hostile stares. “I was under the impression that I was a popular student.”

A snort of laughter from Johnny’s side, and I glared at his friend. “Is that funny?”

His light-brown hair matched the color of his eyes, narrowed as he glared at me. “Maybe it is.”

“Ten,” Johnny said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We should be nicer to Y/N.”

I shivered, hating the way my name fell from his lips. “I think I gave off the wrong impression.”

Johnny stood straighter with a smirk. “Is that so?”

I sighed when I realized I had unwittingly given him the attention he was obviously seeking. “Is there something you want?”

“Be careful, Y/N,” Johnny said. “You’re asking dangerous questions.”

I frowned, but kept my mouth shut when Jaehyun abruptly stood from the table. He turned around to face Johnny. “Why don’t you go back to your other friends, Seo?”

Johnny’s gaze was still focused on me as if Jaehyun had never spoken, but I kept my attention firmly fixed on the unappetizing food spread across the table. “I have friends in Gryffindor, Jung,” he finally said and Jaehyun snorted in obvious disbelief. “See you in class.”

Well, I could try and remain unaffected, but I still breathed a sigh of relief once he was finally gone.

The nuisance of Hogwarts being such a large school meant that I had the daunting task of navigating its complicated halls and dormitories without any knowledge or experience. Unlike the first years, I wasn’t offered a complimentary tour of the castle; instead, I was expected to figure out the complexities of the moving staircase for myself only when I nearly lost my grip on the hand-railings. Thankfully, after an unnecessary scolding from a portrait who seemed absolutely incensed by my incompetence, I was able to find the potions classroom relatively unscathed.

Fortunately, I started my day early enough so that I could arrive to class and scout a table at the front of the classroom for maximum viewing. It was optimal considering my capacity for thorough note-taking, ensuring I wrote down every word from the professor so that I could later study for hours in the comforts of my bed. Hopefully, with an absence of at least one of my new roommates...

“Hello, Y/N.”

Unfortunately, I also had the frequent misfortune of wearing out my luck before I could completely reap the benefits, which meant that I was forced to meet Johnny’s dark gaze. “What do you want?”

“Right now? A seat close to the front,” he said, slamming his book down on the table next to me. “But if I need anything else, you’ll be the first to know.”

I chanced a brief survey around the room, frowning at the empty seats littered throughout the classroom. “I guess this means I have to move.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Johnny pouted. “What if I told you that I’m really good at potions?”

“I’m good too,” I muttered, glaring down at the blank parchment in front of me. “I hope you’re not insinuating that you might be able to help me.”

He ignored my comment, reaching out to rest his hand atop the lid of my cauldron. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that right? I wasn’t under the impression that I was making a big deal out of anything.”

“How cute,” Johnny smirked. “You’re so easily offended. Are you sure the rest of our classmates are playing nice? I’d imagine that you might have gotten a few glares in the hallways.”

“What? Are you stalking me?”

“No, but I do pay attention,” Johnny said. “The same thing happened to me, until they learned not to mess with a Seo.”

I scoffed, considering the subtle threat to his words. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

Johnny groaned. “I think you have a hard time recognizing your allies. Don’t underestimate my intentions!”

“Your intentions? I don’t want a friend.”

“Okay, maybe I can be a silent guardian,” Johnny said with a sly wink. “What do you think about that, puff?”

“I think I’m moving,” I said, reaching for my textbook and cauldron. However, with an exaggerated sigh, I came to the realization that the rest of our classmates had claimed the remainder of the tables with their new partners while I was busy arguing with Johnny.

“What was that, Y/N?”

I grimaced, but sat back down. “Just do me a favor, Seo. Don’t talk to me.”

Johnny grinned, leaning in closer despite my opposition. “The professor is the head of Slytherin.”

“Congratulations. I think I just figured out why you’re so good at potions.”

“I only cheat when I forget to study,” Johnny said with a dismissive shrug. “But I heard that we’re making the draught of peace today.”

“Stop trying to worm your way into my good graces, Seo,” I snapped at him. “It’s never gonna happen.”

“That’s disappointing,” Johnny said, reclining back in his seat. “I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

I withheld a sharp retort when the professor entered our classroom. “Students! Welcome to fifth-year potions.”

I narrowed my eyes, recognizing Professor Zhang from the previous evening’s affairs regarding my sorting. “As you might assume, because of the high expectations for this course, I have instigated a strenuous curriculum designed to cultivate the minds of only the brightest students. In this class, we will explore the most complicated potions while gaining a complete understanding of their creation. Most of our instructional activities involve hands-on learning and intensive partner work, so I hope you’re pleased with the person sitting next to you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate even as Johnny moved in closer. “I think we’ll make great partners, Y/N.”

“Shut the hell up,” I hissed, unintentionally bearing down harder on the quill I was using to take notes, resulting in a very nasty splotch at the top of my parchment.

“I’m sure the best potions students have read the introduction in your textbooks, but we’ll start with something simple to refresh our minds. Today’s assignment: brew the draught of peace before the end of designated classroom activity. Be quick, but alert! There might be a prize for the first pair to brew the potion successfully.”

I wasn’t interested in a prize, but the idea of placing myself ahead of the rest of my classmates was enough to encourage me to tolerate Johnny’s presence for the time being. “Get the ingredients,” I snapped at him.

“Of course,” he replied with a pleasant tone that still managed to piss me off simply because it was Johnny Seo and he was having an unusual amount of success in getting under my skin. Nevertheless, I continued to surprise myself with an aptitude to concentrate and perform even under the most stressful of circumstances. As such, once Johnny returned with the ingredients, I forgot about his intrusive inclusion, choosing to focus on the instructions in the textbook, frowning as I chopped the parsley into my cauldron. “Oh, look at you,” Johnny said, complying with my request to skin the fresh roots. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you happy.”

“This is what I’m good at,” I muttered, reaching for my spoon to churn the ingredients.

“I can tell,” Johnny acknowledged. “What made you decide to pursue potions? Most people usually take this class because of their course of study.”

“Auror training,” I answered him absent-mindedly, too distracted by the task at hand to consider the repercussions in exposing my future plans.

“Then we’re very similar, Y/N,” Johnny smirked. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if we became work colleagues one day?”

“Only if you can pass all the classes.”

Johnny laughed. “I could say the same thing to you.”

I bristled. “There’s no room for failure.”

“Because of your mom.”

I paused in the middle of reading the final instruction, turning to look at Johnny with a stern glare. “Don’t talk about my mother, Seo. She has nothing to do with my decisions.”

Johnny returned the intensity of my stare before I broke our fierce competition to finish the potion. “You know, Y/N,” Johnny said, reaching out to halt my movements. “I can always tell when someone is lying to me.”

I swallowed hard, meeting his inquisitive gaze to show him that I wasn’t intimidated. “You don’t need to know my life-story, Seo.”

“I suppose it isn’t necessary,” Johnny agreed before allowing a cunning smirk to overcome his features. “But I’d really like to find out.”

I unconsciously shivered at his close proximity. “Do you mind stirring the potion?”

Johnny smirked, allowing the distraction. “You’re the most interesting person at Hogwarts, Y/N,” he said. “How can I not be curious?”

I struggled to respond, watching the fumes from our bubbling potion darken from pink to red before I raised my hand high in the air to attract Mr. Zhang’s attention. “I think we’re done, sir.”

“For now,” Johnny whispered, almost as an afterthought, which I chose to ignore; instead, I focused on Mr. Zhang’s praise for our completed potion, deeming it perfect which made me, however briefly, reconsider my previous stance on Johnny’s competence as my new partner.

My favorite class at Durmstrang, an instructional course on the foundations of the Dark Arts, became the necessary catalyst for my insurmountable desire to become an Auror. I remember telling my former Professor of my plans and watching his expression lighten despite the stoic attitude he frequently expressed around the other students. “Why, Miss Y/L/N,” he said. “I can’t think of a more suitable occupation.”

I became fascinated by the Dark Arts, spending a majority of my free time reading literature on Ancient Spells or Unforgivable Curses. It was all grandiose to someone who had firsthand experience with an infamous Witch who abused all the rules and conduct governing our use of the Dark Arts. Because of that experience, my sole desire in life was to understand every nuance concerning the Dark Arts, covering an extensive history that precluded all measurable time.

When I first transferred into Hogwarts, I made sure that I would be enrolled in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The study was a crucial component to my Auror training, and I had no intentions of foregoing the opportunity to expand my knowledge. It was also a class I shared with Jaehyun, who caught my attention the moment I entered the room. It was impossible to look away, especially when he slyly pushed out the chair next to him because I could take a hint.

“It’s not been difficult, right?” he asked me. “Finding your classes?”

“I’ve managed,” I said. “The map is helpful.”

Jaehyun seemed more excited about my relative success than I had been. “Nobody is giving you trouble?”

I briefly remembered my previous class with Johnny. “I think...everyone is on their best behavior.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Johnny and his rude friend claiming the last empty table. “Professor Kim teaches this class,” Jaehyun continued, ignorant to the object of my attention. “She’s the head of Hufflepuff.”

“We met,” I replied. “Yesterday.”

“Your sorting,” Jaehyun nodded. “How are your new roommates?”

Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about concerning Jaehyun with my personal problems because a commanding voice suddenly interrupted his interrogation. “Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts!”

Professor Kim wore the regular Hufflepuff robes, identical to the ones I discovered waiting for me this morning, and her bright green eyes surveyed my now-silent classmates. “A new year at Hogwarts calls for a celebration. Fifth-years, as designated upperclassmen you now have the privilege of learning advanced spells to defend yourselves against the dark forces which regularly try to upend order in our magical community.”

I sat forward eagerly, reaching for my quill and a spare bottle of ink from the bottom of my bag. “Today, we’ll be discussing the Impediment Hex. It is a simple Jinx that can slow down or completely immobilize the movements of a target. Of course, it rarely lasts more than a few seconds.”

Jaehyun chuckled from next to me, watching as I fought to record the entirety of Professor Kim’s lecture. “In practical use, it can easily allow the user precious time to escape the effects of a counter-spell. As someone who once wrote an entire essay on the Jinx itself, I can tell you that it’s one of the most underrated magical hex’s in existence, which is why I’d like a pair of willing students to volunteer and demonstrate for our class.”

Professor Kim’s smile was not enough to encourage my classmates to willingly step forward and potentially embarrass themselves. “Nobody?”

“I’ll do it!” an irritatingly smooth voice broke through the suffocating silence.

“Mr. Seo,” Professor Kim blinked. “That’s surprising.”

“I’m good at Jinxes,” Johnny bragged, much to the amusement of the other Slytherin students.

“Johnny’s good at everything,” another gushed and I understood what the others meant when they said that Johnny was a popular student.

“I see,” Professor Kim grimaced. “Ten points to Slytherin and anyone else who might be willing to try?”

“Me,” Jaehyun immediately announced, grabbing his wand before walking to the front of the room where Johnny was waiting with a cruel smile.

“Very good,” Professor Kim said, but she seemed just as uneasy as the rest of the class. “This is only practice, boys.”

Jaehyun raised his wand, blatantly ignoring Professor Kim as he fixed Johnny with a stern glare. “Are you ready, Seo?”

Johnny was indifferent as always, shrugging his shoulders as he offered a lazy smile. “You can’t beat me.”

“The incantation is impedimenta....im-PED-a-MEN-ta,” Professor Kim explained. “Make sure you have the correct posture-”

“Impedimenta!”

Johnny’s voice reverberated throughout the classroom, striking Jaehyun who was unable to offer an offensive spell to counter the effects, forcing him to freeze mid-cast with his wand raised high in the air like a proud weapon. Another immediate silence gripped my classmates, varying expressions of shock and amusement decorating the mixed collection of representative Houses. It was followed by a collective sigh when the effects of the spell were broken and Jaehyun stood there with a furious scowl. It made him look intimidating, and I knew Jaehyun was one of the last people you would dare cross even if Johnny was brave enough to try on a regular basis.

“Mr. Seo,” Professor Kim finally sighed.

“Not again,” someone whispered from behind me, and I knew well enough to realize that these sorts of incidents must happen quite often between Jaehyun and Johnny. In any case, Professor Kim was furious, dismissing the rest of the class and I offered Jaehyun an apologetic frown which he returned with a dismissive shake of his head.

When I entered the Great Hall later that afternoon, I was surprised to find Jisung had become an immensely popular student. “Y/N!”

I was hesitant to approach the young group of students, but they must be nice if Jisung had befriended them. “Hey, Y/N,” Chenle greeted me.

“Look!” Jisung said, clearly excited as he waved at his new classmates. “Everyone, this is my sister!”

“Woah! Jisung, your sister is hot!”

“Haechan!” Chenle sighed. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“Ignore him,” Jisung said, reaching for my arm to drag me onto the empty bench. “He always acts like that!”

“I do not!” Haechan protested, narrowing his eyes from behind a fringe of low-hanging bangs.

“He really does,” Jisung whispered to me in a conspiratorial tone.

“I believe you,” I murmured in return, grateful to see my brother in such good spirits.

“This is Mark and Renjun,” he continued, pointing at the two students sitting across the table.

“Mark’s the oldest,” Haechan interrupted. “But he’s not really as smart as he thinks he is.”

Mark shook his head, disrupting the mop of dark locks that desperately needed attention. “Why do you think I was sorted into Ravenclaw?”

“The Lee family have been sorted into Ravenclaw for ages,” Haechan said while rolling his eyes. “Mark’s brother is a Ravenclaw prefect.”

“Ravenclaw is the best House,” Renjun said, puffing his chest in a failed attempt to look more intimidating.

“I think you meant Slytherin,” Haechan challenged.

“We’ll see about that in Quidditch this year,” Chenle smirked. “My brother is the best seeker in decades.”

“Oh, please,” Haechan puffed. “My cousin, Johnny, is a better seeker than your brother.”

Johnny was Haechan’s cousin?

“He’ll prove it to you,” Chenle replied and I admired how quickly he diffused the tension, refusing to take Haechan’s bait and starting a meaningless argument.

“Whatever,” Haechan shrugged, easily distracted by a new topic in which Mark passionately defended his interest in Boggarts. According to Jisung, it was apparently a recent fascination. Nonetheless, I was content while I listened to the boys talk among one another and I even managed to eat some of the remaining chicken.

“I’ve heard your name from somewhere,” Haechan suddenly declared while narrowing his eyes. Mark and Renjun were still busy debating with Chenle, ignorant to the way I immediately reacted to Haechan’s curiosity.

Jisung’s hand reached for mine underneath the table. “It’s a pretty common last name.”

Haechan remained suspicious, even after Jisung offered to change the subject once again, talking about some sort of assignment he was working on with Chenle. However, despite the change of conversation, I couldn’t think about anything else. Instead, I considered how easily Jisung had adjusted to his new life at Hogwarts because it could all be destroyed if they attached his name to my family’s dark history. It wasn’t fair to my younger brother who had no relationship to my mother, and these heavy thoughts followed me around for the remainder of the day.

Thus, by the time evening approached, I was still thinking about lunch from earlier, when Haechan nearly figured out my connection to my mother. I walked alone to my final class of the day, ignoring the students who rushed around me in their haste to arrive early and find the best seats with their friends.. For some reason, the idea of Jisung’s friends discovering the truth was even more troubling than usual.

In any case, my final class was Herbology, and I was eager to distract my mind. As soon as I stepped inside the classroom, I only had to search for a brief moment before a familiar shine of blonde-hair caught my attention. “Y/N!”

I returned Jungwoo’s greeting with a smile. “I’m glad to see you.”

“We’re working with Fanged Geraniums today,” Jungwoo explained.

“I suppose our professor is trying to make things interesting,” I remarked because I knew this particular magical flower was highly prone to biting.

“Have you met a lot of people today?” Jungwoo asked, wiping down his work station with an easy smile.

“More than I expected,” I shrugged. “My younger brother seems to be popular.”

“I saw him in the hallways earlier,” Jungwoo said. “He was walking between classes with Haechan and Jeno, but you should warn him that those two are troublemakers. They accidentally set fire to the Slytherin common room last year.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, studying the loose pair of fitted gloves which all students were required to wear around plants classified as dangerous by the Ministry of Magic.

“One of Johnny’s friends is in this class,” Jungwoo said before pointing to a taller boy with long, silver-hair and bright yellow eyes. “Yuta is from a wealthy family. They do a lot of business with the Seo’s.”

“They’ve known each other for a long time?”

“Johnny, Ten, and Yuta are close friends,” Jungwoo nodded. “But he’s taken an interest in you, hasn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Johnny.”

I snorted. “I spend a lot of time with Jaehyun, I guess.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely why,” Jungwoo said with a tone that seemed to insinuate something with deeper implications.

“What do you mean?” I asked, but Jungwoo never received the opportunity to defend his accusations.

“Alright, fifth-years! Welcome to Herbology.”

I knew dinner would be a tedious affair when I saw my least favorite Slytherin sitting with Kun, Jaemin, and Lucas. “I hope you don’t mind,” I heard Johnny say as I grew closer. “Jeno was supposed to help me with a project, but Jaemin has their notes.”

I recognized the Slytherin student in question sitting next to Jaemin, remembering their disagreement from the previous night after a brief back and forth exchange of hostile insults. “I don’t have them here,” Jaemin grumbled.

“Y/N!” Johnny called, attracting far too many eyes in our direction.

It took every ounce of patience I possessed to resist the urge to to turn back around; instead, I forced myself to join the others at our table. “Why are you here?”

“A project,” he said rather unattractively over a mouthful of food. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“At the Hufflepuff table?”

“Oh!” Johnny chuckled. “I meant to ask you how Jaehyun was feeling. He decided to skip the rest of his classes.”

“I wasn’t aware that you cared about Jaehyun,” I muttered. “Is there anything else?”

“He doesn’t have a real reason to be here,” Jaemin interrupted, eyeballing Jeno with clear disdain.

“I thought we were all friends!” Johnny gasped.

“We aren’t even close,” I said. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Johnny considered me for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, Jeno. The Hufflepuffs aren’t in the mood to play tonight.”

“They’re all boring anyway,” Jeno said dismissively, ignoring the way Jaemin sneered once his back was turned.

Unfortunately, before I could sit down in Johnny’s place, a strangely familiar voice forced the elder Slytherin to pause at the edge of our table. I recognized Haechan a moment later, running through the crowd of students and ignoring their complaints when he inadvertently pushed them aside. “Johnny! You’ve been busy all day,” Haechan whined. “You promised to play with me and my new friends later.”

My next mistake was fatal, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the idea of Johnny meeting Jisung. “No!” I quickly inserted, only realizing my mistake when the entire table was studying me like I had grown another head.

“Is that a problem?” Johnny asked, looking between me and his cousin with interest.

“Of course not,” I said, attempting to rectify my mistake.

“You get to see Jisung all the time!” Haechan said. “We wanted to build Renjun’s new airplane model.”

“Jisung?”

“Y/N’s step-brother,” Haechan explained. “Chenle introduced us this morning!”

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of my stomach when Johnny’s eyes lit with realization. “I didn’t know you had a brother, Y/N.”

“He’s a first-year,” Haechan said, completely ignorant to the mounting tension. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I like the first-years because they’re all cute when they try to break the rules.”

“In that case,” Johnny smiled. “I’d love to meet your new friends.”

I groaned, but tried to withhold the urge to protest again. Instead, I resigned myself to an inevitable fate, watching Johnny and Haechan walk out of the Great Hall. “That was weird!” Lucas remarked.

Well, I suppose Hufflepuff wasn’t known for being the smartest House.

Two Weeks Later

The library was my safe-place, a reliable source of solitude when I needed to escape the tumultuous business of Hogwarts classes and the undesirable students who filled them. As I suspected, far too many of my new classmates had formed their own judgments once they identified the connection between the little girl who stood in the infamous picture next to one of Azkaban’s most notorious prisoners and myself. I suspected they’d eventually realize the connection and most of them actively tried to avoid me, which was better than the taunts that some of the more conservative students spat in my direction between classes. Of course, despite my attempts to remain unaffected, the worst feeling of all was watching the other Hufflepuff students ignore me in the common room or in the dormitory we shared. Professor Kim once told me that Hufflepuffs were considered loyal, but I couldn’t help but think my classmates wouldn’t shed a tear if I was in Slytherin instead.

The only positive development during these past few weeks was Jisung’s smooth adjustment to student life at Hogwarts. He was constantly surrounded by friends, giggling in the hallways when we occasionally passed one another. It eased my worries, realizing that he wasn’t being tormented or ridiculed for his connection as my step-sister. At least, not from what I could see around the castle or hear from the conversations between Jisung and his friends.

“You know,” Jaehyun said, interrupting my brief recollection of Jisung’s abrupt determination to play Quidditch in the future. “He doesn’t always need protection.”

“Maybe not,” I sighed. “But I promised his mother that I would watch out for him, and the only reason anyone would mistreat Jisung is because of me. It’s hard for me to stay away from him, but I think it’s actually better this way since people are less likely to associate us together.”

Jaehyun frowned, listening to me with an admirable attentiveness that I had come to realize defined his character. “They’ll get over it soon,” he finally said. “I mean, Johnny Seo is somehow a big celebrity around the school even though his family aren’t exactly saints.”

“I think he falls into a league of his own,” I decided, drawing a laugh from Jaehyun. “Is that why you don’t like him?”

“Because of his family?”

I nodded, searching his expression carefully. “I don’t like Johnny because he’s arrogant. We’ve been competitors ever since we both made the Quidditch teams for our houses second year.”

“A sports competition?” I grinned. “I remember that you told me he was the Slytherin captain.”

“And their seeker,” Jaehyun added.

“Ah, the plot thickens,” I said, briefly returning to my notes even though I was suddenly much less interested in Magical Creatures. “I can see the arrogance.”

“He thinks he’s better than everybody else,” Jaehyun said. “If it’s not related to Quidditch, then it’s because of his pure-bloodline or something else equally as ridiculous.”

“My father said that the Seo family is the reason why there’s still corruption in the Ministry of Magic.”

Jaehyun snorted at my claim. “Does your dad work with them?”

I frowned. “Sometimes.”

“Johnny’s father is an important name in the Ministry,” Jaehyun said. “There’s not many people who don’t know his family.”

It was a fair point, but I still didn’t like the idea of famous wizarding families whose biggest claim to fame was an obsession with blood purity, especially during Voldemort’s ascendancy to power. Jaehyun seemed to know a lot about Johnny, despite their House feud, and it made me think that their ill-feelings went beyond competitions on the Quidditch field. However, before I could ask Jaehyun to recall his first meeting with Johnny, I was silenced by a distinct noise of articulation serving as a greeting from behind one of the library shelves. “There you are!”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jaehyun said, following my wandering gaze. “I needed help with one of my assignments.”

“Is he a friend?”

“Our parents are close,” Jaehyun explained, pushing back his chair to greet the unexpected newcomer.

His hair was snow-white, melting across his forehead in perfect unison. Ironically, his most striking feature were the golden-colored eyes that practically glowed under the influence of the dim library candelabra. “Have you been practicing?” he asked Jaehyun.

“I really don’t think I’m the problem!”

“That’s what they always say.”

“Actually, I have someone with me. I told you about her before.” Jaehyun said before returning my gaze. “Taeyong’s one of my closests friends and a Ravenclaw Prefect.”

“I’m also a certified tutor whenever Jaehyun needs help with Transfiguration,” Taeyong added before offering me a sincere smile. “I guess you must be Y/N?”

I nodded. “What has Jaehyun said about me?”

“He spoke highly of you,” Taeyong said. “My younger brother also seems to like Jisung.”

“Your younger brother?”

“Mark,” Taeyong said. “It’s only his second year at Hogwarts.”

“Small world,” I remarked. “Should I leave the two of you alone?”

“There’s no need for that,” Jaehyun said quickly, exchanging a brief look with Taeyong. “You can stay for as long as you want. I just need to find a book for my essay.”

“I’ll wait here,” Taeyong called out to Jaehyun’s retreating form.

He sat next to me with a sigh. “It looks like you have something else you want to say.”

“Are you always this inquisitive?”

He chuckled. “When I was first sorted into Ravenclaw, our House Prefect once told me that the best students ask the most questions.”

“I suppose they were right,” I said. “I’m just overcautious.”

“He didn’t tell me about your mother if that’s why you’re concerned.”

“You know,” I said, watching him carefully because I wasn’t sure how to react.

“Everyone knows, Y/N, but that doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Of course it does,” I grumbled bitterly. “They look at me like I’m a killer.”

“I know how that feels,” Taeyong said, clearing his throat as he glanced around the empty study room before reaching into the pocket of his robes.

“You can’t possibly feel the same way.”

“My father,” Taeyong whispered, unfolding the wrinkled copy of the daily prophet. I swallowed hard when I recognized the name written across the front page with a sinister mugshot belonging to one of the most wicked wizards to ever receive a life sentence in Azkaban. “The other students,” he continued, “they won’t let you forget, but there are a lot of good people who will never choose to hold it against the innocent.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but I didn’t know what else to say. “You carry it around with you?”

“I like to remind myself,” Taeyong said. “I’m sure you do the same.”

“Yes,” I said with more conviction. “I want to be an Auror after Hogwarts. I want to be everything my mother fought against.”

Taeyong nodded. “I heard about what your mom did, but it doesn’t mean that you’ll turn out the same way.”

I sighed, gazing out the window overlooking the grounds. “Everyone always assumes the worst of me.”

“Those people don’t understand,” Taeyong said, smiling when he realized Jaehyun was walking back in our direction. “Thankfully, we’ve both met someone who does.”

My shoulders dropped in relief, tension dissipating instantly when Jaehyun held up two library books. “I brought something for you,” he said.

“Thank you,” I told him, but my gratitude extended far beyond this one act of kindness.

#nct fanfic #nct #nct imagines #nct senarios #nct fantasy au #nct harry potter au #nct johnny fanfic #johnny seo #johnny seo fanfic #nct ot21 #nct johnny

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years

Note

I absolutely love your writing! If you're taking requests, could you maybe do a speeding bullet soulmate au?

thanks a lot pal! and sure thing, i’ve actually had something half-finished in my drafts for soulmate!au for a while. in this AU, it’s the classic��“your first words to your soulmate are written on your wrist”, with a minor twist–if your soulmate’s words are on your left hand, that means you will need to speak first. if it’s on the right, then your soulmate is the one who has to speak first before you say your words. this adds a little bit of clarity in-universe, since you can see your phrase is something simple like “how can i help you” and if you’re speaking second you can shoot them back with something buckwild. it can lead to people being more or less extroverted–knowing your line comes second means you can say whatever without being worried that it’ll be written on some poor sap’s skin, and knowing your line comes first means you don’t have that luxury. also limitations like “must be speaking exclusively to that one person” (unless polyamory), “can’t be through a phone or writing”, and “must be identifiable as the person” (do with that what you please). anyways, i like soulmate AUs and put a lot of thought into them.

actual fic is below the cut, and again, you’re very kind

”Are you doing alright, mate?”

To be honest, that wasn’t the worst line that Jeremy could’ve gotten, but fuckin’ seriously.

It wasn’t as bad as his brother Joey, he had “Your shoe’s untied” on the left, and Petey got the nightmare scenario and just got “Hey, how’s your day?” on the right, but the thing that really frustrated him was that it wasn’t even the reaction phrase. That was the opening phrase, meaning they had to say that to him first before he could respond with his own line, and if they were asking if he was doing alright that had to mean something bad was gonna happen and he’d probably look stupid in front of his soulmate and not have a good response or whatever because he’d just, like, fallen in the harbor or something.

Turned out, by the time Jeremy was twelve, he was starting to find out that bad things happening to him was gonna be a consistent issue. He had bad luck, worse than all his brothers combined, and over the course of all that time he got an awful lot of “Are you okay, dude?” and “Are you alright?” from a lot of people. But none of them ever got it exactly right,

missing the crucial few words, nobody ever saying “mate”. Nobody ever asking him that in a voice that felt dark orange.

“Y’know,” his Ma said to him one day when he was sulking, twenty-two and still soulmate-less and with a terrible time at job hunting to boot considering his most recent cast, luckily on his left arm so he could still glare at his mark. “It does have a hint at least.”

“That I’m gonna be a total klutz forever?” Jeremy sulked.

“That your soulmate isn’t gonna be an American, sweetheart,” his Ma corrected gently. “He’s probably gonna be British, or Irish, something like that. They’re the only ones who say “mate”, right?”

“Didn’t you also think my dad was gonna be a Canadian?” he asked suspiciously.

“Honey, I’m not magic, I don’t know everything. I thought it was unrealistic to think it would be someone actually from France,” she said, a little haughty.

She was one of the lucky people to get a really specific phrase, in a language that wasn’t her own no less. It was in French, and when he’d asked as a kid what it said, she’d laughed and said it meant “I promise I had a much more intelligent line to say, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it.”

She always said his dad had died, and worn the traditional covering to show that someone’s soulmate was dead, to hide where the words had gone black. But once or twice he’d glimpsed her wrist, and to be honest, the words looked more navy blue.

“Why the heck am I gonna talk to a British person?” Jeremy asked, sulking again.

“World works in mysterious ways, J-Bear,” his Ma shrugged.

She was right. Because a few months later, he was in a particularly terrible situation, and he received a phone call asking if he wanted a job.

”I’m seriously, actually, 100% going to murder you.”

It hadn’t shown up until he was four years old, which Mick’s parents had a bloody field day with, and once they were good and tired of dealing with that conundrum they moved right along to address the fact that in reply to whatever their son was going to say, he was going to promptly be threatened.

Great.

He ended up baking under the sun just like everyone else in his god-forsaken country, which only made the bright, cherry-red phrase stand out all the better. His mum tried to be supportive, honest she did, but even getting bullied at school every other day never led to him finding anyone, and she wasn’t all that surprised when at age nineteen he packed up the bare essentials and left home without a word.

He had an idea in his head. He’d heard before of people, terrible people, who used the idea of soulmate to do… bad things. To manipulate people, to make them stay in bad relationships because they thought this one person could and would solve all their problems. And if his soulmate’s first words to him were a threat…

He’d admit if he was asked that he was a lonely person. He didn’t ever seem to fit with anyone. Nobody ever seemed to understand what he meant once he started actually talking, being honest. And he didn’t know if he would have the strength to get out of a bad situation if he was promised up front that this person would understand him. He was pretty sure he would put up with a lot of bad things just for the sake of genuine connection.

So he decided he wouldn’t ever find his soulmate. He’d go off to do hunting and tracking in fuckall nowhere and nobody would ever bother him and he’d never need to deal with a soulmate. He didn’t need one. He’d be fine alone.

When he eventually turned to killing people for money, some part of him deep down wondered if he was just getting too lonely and giving in to what fate had in store for him. If becoming an assassin was the most pathetic, fucked-up bid for someone’s love that had ever happened in history. People did threaten to kill him a lot in that line of work. And more often, people actually tried.

Eventually he got a job offer out in America, more consistent pay and all for the same job, less moving around required, and he took it. He was getting up there in years, and he had a feeling that if he hadn’t found his soulmate by the time he hit thirty, he never would.

Jeremy got a new name: Scout. And his new coworkers—“teammates”, as the very pretty lady who unfortunately didn’t ask if he was doing alright had specified to him—were from all over the place. And he’d had high hopes for a minute as he realized one of his teammates was Scottish, but when he spoke face-to-face with the guy he’d instead greeted him with a cheerful “Pleasure to meet you, lad!” and his reply of “Yo, so you’re the Demoman?” had elicited exactly no response, so that was a bust.

He spoke to the Pyro, as briefly as possible since they freaked him out, but they’d similarly not seemed to react to what he first said to them, and neither had any of the rest of the team. Hell, the Heavy had outright brushed him off up front and the Sniper had given him exactly one up-and-down before he’d left entirely.

So cool. Great. New job with people who didn’t care. Nice.

And he found out more and more as time passed that they very much didn’t care. Most of the team could hardly tolerate him for more than ten minutes at a time, Spy he could barely put up with for two sentences, and even though he eventually got to be better friends with Pyro, and Engie eventually started putting up with him more, they still got annoyed with him pretty quickly. Pyro basically ignored him once they reached their limit, and Engie would essentially kick him out of his workshop.

And… to be honest, he didn’t feel totally comfortable talking to them about certain stuff. He felt a little bit like he’d get laughed at. And his once-every-two-weeks phone call home sometimes wasn’t enough to deal with various stresses and he usually was more interested in hearing their news than complaining anyways.

He didn’t know why he went out to the watchtower. Maybe because he was out for a run and it just happened to be in his line of sight. Maybe because it occurred to him that Sniper could keep a secret, wouldn’t tell the guys about whatever he ended up talking about. Maybe because he felt like he didn’t really have any other options.

Anyways, he ended up climbing the watchtower, asking Sniper if it would bug him if Scout sat around and hung out for a while. Sniper didn’t reply, just glancing at Scout over his shoulder briefly before returning to his scope. And then Scout made it exactly three minutes before he started in on talking. “I dunno I just think it’s funny that Spy thinks I’m rude when he’s always the one starting shit for no reason—“

And Sniper didn’t interrupt him, didn’t say anything, didn’t chase him off. He sat there, staring down his scope, occasionally pausing to take a drink of his coffee, for about two hours. Two hours of Scout just talking, thinking out loud.

It was nice. So nice that Scout cut himself off, eventually said goodbye and left the tower again, sure that Sniper would get tired of him and he’d never be allowed back up there again.

It became a weekly thing, every Monday Scout would go up there and talk to Sniper. Talk at Sniper, more like. And Sniper would listen.

One of the days, Scout said something, something he couldn’t even remember, because it was overshadowed by the thing that immediately followed it—Sniper laughing.

He’d never heard Sniper laugh before, he didn’t think. Not in the real way, anyhow. Sniper didn’t talk much. He’d occasionally mention something over the comms, and once or twice Scout heard him cheering along with the rest of the team when they won a match, but overall, he was a man of few words. So getting him to laugh…

He thought about it a lot.

Sniper didn’t entirely get why Scout started talking to him.

He tried so hard—so hard—to be left alone. He put on a scowl and wore the brim of his hat low and carried his knife off the clock and didn’t say hello or goodbye. He wanted to be left alone. He deserved to be left alone.

Scout, apparently, didn’t notice. And halfway through Sniper trying to figure out what to say to get the kid to leave, he started telling some story about his brothers back home, and…

He never got around to it. He never… got around to telling him to leave. And once Scout had that foothold, had that… constant nature, that consistency, once Sniper knew to expect him every Monday two hours after the team dinner or half an hour before sunset—whichever came first—he found himself…

God damn it. Enjoying Scout’s company. He liked some of the phrases Scout used. He talked in an interesting way. It was pleasant to listen to. And he was honest, uncomfortably honest at times. He told Sniper about all sorts of things that he figured it was safe to say nobody else knew about.

He talked about his family. His mum. His dad, who died, and then later he corrected himself to say his dad, who disappeared, who probably left, words in navy and not in black. He talked about growing up in the bad part of town, about never being allowed to walk home from school without at least one of his older brothers there until he was eight, when he started carrying a knife on him because sometimes none of his brothers showed up for him, until he was twelve, when he just started running there and back every day after baseball practice to save the trouble. About shoplifting, about getting a job delivering newspapers the second he was legally allowed to, about older brothers going in to work sick and Ma working two jobs to try and support them all when they got too sick for work, too sick for anything for a while. About what he did with his paycheck—he kept some pocket change for himself, to buy records sometimes, or posters, or snack foods for when dinner sucked, or fast food or drinks at the bar when he had time on the weekends. The rest of it—every goddamn penny—went back home. One day, maybe his Ma would never have to work again.

He wanted to tell Scout about his own sad life story. Climbing up the tree outside school and throwing rocks at the bullies who chased him, starting to skip classes and smoke towards the end of his schooling just to try and look a little more intimidating. About his dad scoffing at him when he tended to use a gun to chase off predators from their flock of sheep instead of fighting them hand-to-hand like a good Australian. About running away from all of his problems, and how killing animals, especially people, seemed to be the only thing he was ever any good at, and how sometimes that really did bother him, a lot.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t convince himself that Scout cared, somehow. Visits jumped up to twice a week, Monday and Thursday, same time. It was hot for a while, and he went into town one Sunday to pick up two cases of beer, hauled a cooler up into the watchtower, and left three beers next to where Scout sat and three next to himself about ten minutes before the kid showed up. When it started getting cold at night, he brought up his own quilt like he always did, but brought up the spare as well, left that on what he’d mentally started thinking of as Scout’s Crate. Scout drank the beers, and used the blanket, and would talk for his two hours and then say goodbye and not mention anything to Sniper when they went out to battle the next day.

It…

He didn’t like that he enjoyed it so much. He didn’t like looking forward to it, didn’t like perking up when he heard the ladder rattling, didn’t like hanging on to every word and the increasing frequency at which Scout was making him laugh. He didn’t like how much harder it got every time to bite his lip and hold back from chiming in.

He was a killer, he reminded himself. A hermit from absolutely nowhere Australia who didn’t deserve the company of other people. This was the best thing that could’ve happened to him, and he couldn’t push his luck. If he pushed his luck, then he’d drive Scout away and be left alone again. Scout only talked to him because he was quiet anyways, because he was a mystery. Remove the mystery, and the draw would be gone, and he’d be all alone again. Already this was selfish; he should just shut up and be grateful.

He stared down his scope and drank his coffee and was grateful.

A bad day at work, followed by a bad weekend, had Scout hesitating at the base of the watchtower.

Some part of him was rational, and knew he was being ridiculous. But another, stronger part of him couldn’t seem to make his feet move, was repeating a steady mantra to him.

Not wanted.

Sniper didn’t like him. Sniper didn’t want him around. Sniper was just too polite to turn him away, too nice, and was annoyed with his constant talking and wished he would go away but didn’t have the courage, didn’t want to be rude. He wasn’t wanted. Or maybe Sniper just pitied him, maybe Sniper just heard his assorted sob stories and thought, man, poor little idiot kid, might as well set out a blanket for him and let him talk. Maybe Sniper was collecting everything he said for blackmail.

The worst idea to run through his head: maybe Sniper had never been listening to him in the first place.

If Sniper wanted him around, he would’ve said something, right?

Scout didn’t go up into the watchtower that day, or the following Thursday. He didn’t bother looking for Sniper in battle, sure that Sniper would be ignoring him the same way he always did, pretending he didn’t exist the same way he always did.

When he went to the store that weekend, hoping to pick up some chips and soda, he found himself staring at a six-pack of beer. He didn’t even particularly like beer, usually, he preferred other drinks. But he was looking at this six-pack of beer, and he wound up buying it.

It wasn’t some cheap garbage, it was craft beer. It was more expensive.

He drank exactly three of the six and tried not to think about it.

Scout was gone. He never showed up. Sniper ended up getting so freaked out about it that he went to check the Medbay, sure that something bad had happened. Medic was there, working on something bloody, but not Scout. And Scout wasn’t in the workshop either, or the workout room, or the rec room. He got a lot of strange looks from his teammates as he asked around. For some, it was the most he’d spoken to them in months.

He was halfway to Scout’s room when he realized he was probably being strange, manic. Scout was allowed to not want to come visit him. He wasn’t offering anything. In all the time—six months, he realized, they’d been doing this for six months—that Scout had visited, all he really had to gain was Sniper occasionally humming or laughing, and exactly three beers on the hotter days and a tobacco-scented blanket in the winter. There was no reason for Sniper to expect him to show up on the little schedule that had been established. He started to feel silly.

Then he didn’t show up on Thursday either, and…

He felt worried, of course he felt worried, obviously he felt worried. One of the only good things to ever happen to him, and it just stopped showing up one day. And he wanted it back. God, he wanted it back. Two days and he already felt more lonely than he ever felt in his life. Maybe having felt even the smallest glimmer of companionship had made him soft, but damn it, he wanted to feel it again.

He made a decision.

Scout was lacing up his shoes before battle on Monday when a pair of boots stopped in front of him. This wasn’t strange. What was strange was that it wasn’t the calm amble of Engie, the sturdy stride of Heavy, the confident stomp of Soldier, or the crisp stride of Medic. No, it was an awkward shuffle. A rough clearing of a throat. He looked up, and it was Sniper.

He froze up. “Uh,” he said. “Hi.”

Sniper was looking at him. That was strange. In something like 95% of their interactions, Sniper was facing away from him down a scope, occasionally viewed in profile as he took a sip of beer or coffee, depending on the weather. And the other times were in battle itself, both of them otherwise preoccupied. But now Sniper was looking at him, thumbs shoved in his front pockets. After a second he moved to take off his sunglasses and immediately glanced off to one side, tapping them against his palm.

It looked like a nervous tick. This was strange. Sniper was never like this. Scout was confused.

Sniper glanced towards the rest of the team, all a short ways away, chatting amongst themselves at various volumes. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low and quiet. If Scout had to describe it, he would call it a dark orange.

“Are you doing alright, mate?” he asked, tone hesitant.

Scout remained frozen. Stared. Stared.

“It’s just,” Sniper continued, stumbling awkwardly with his words, unable to make further eye contact with Scout. “You haven’t come around in a while, and I suppose I just got… worried, that something happened—“

Scout got to his feet, whirled around, and angrily started digging through his locker, jaw clenched. He eventually pulled forth a pocket knife and angrily started ripping the grip tape from his right hand. He didn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry,” Sniper said quickly, holding up his hands, taking a step back. “I, I just thought it was odd is all, I didn’t know if—“

Scout silenced him by holding his now-bare wrist directly in Sniper’s line of sight, a few inches from his face, Sniper flinching back minutely at the motion. When he realized what he was looking at, his eyes widened. He looked at Scout. Scout looked at him.

“I’m seriously, actually, 100% going to murder you,” Scout said calmly, matter-of-factly, and Sniper had never thought about it before, but he would absolutely describe Scout’s voice as a bright red. Shaking hands moved to undo his watch, and he held his own wrist, the left, out for Scout to see.

Silence for a few seconds. “I—“ Sniper started to say, but was cut off by Scout.

“I cannot believe that you’ve never once since I’ve met you ever talked one-on-one with me. You’ve never said a fuckin’ word to me, Snipes,” Scout said, more than a little pissed off.

“I didn’t realize,” Sniper defended, a little weakly. “I thought… I thought I had.”

“Man, how many people can say they fuckin’ monologued to their soulmate for hours and hours before meeting them, huh?” Scout asked, hands on his hips now.

“I’m sorry,” was all Sniper could think to say.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Scout declared, glaring at Sniper hard. “I’m gonna meet you after work like usual at the watchtower, and you’re takin’ me to go get pizza, and I’m gonna eat pizza while you talk about yourself. You’ve got about—“

He did some math in his head.

“Somethin’ like sixty hours or so of talkin’ to do to make it even,” he decided. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Sniper agreed weakly. Scout moved to sit down and start lacing his shoes up again, but before he could get to it, Sniper spoke again. “I’m… glad you’re okay.”

Scout looked back up at him. The sudden influx of nervous honesty on Sniper’s face made him feel surprisingly guilty. “Sorry. I just… got all up in my own head. I figured I was probably pissing you off, so I stopped going.” A pause. “I wasn’t pissing you off?”

“No,” Sniper replied. “Not at all. I… liked… having you around.”

Scout fought hard against the smile threatening to take hold. “Good to know,” he finally said.

“And I should’ve said something earlier,” Sniper continued, words flowing forth in a rush. “I should’ve told you, I should’ve—let you know. I really should’ve.”

“Well,” Scout shrugged, and finished tying his laces up, and stood to face Sniper head-on. “Now you told me.”

A pause between them, Sniper clearly working very hard to maintain eye contact.

“It doesn’t have to be pizza,” Scout amended, picking at his remaining hand’s worth of grip tape. “It can be anything. I just wanna hang out, like, away from base.”

“Like a date?” Sniper asked, slowly, hesitantly.

“Sure,” Scout shrugged.

A pause again. “Pizza’s fine,” Sniper seemed to decide.

“Alright,” Scout said, and smiled at him. “Alright. I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed, and took his cue to walk away. He stood off to one side of the rest of the team, moving to take a drink of his coffee. His wrist caught his eye, and he looked over the words again, and for the first time in his life, they didn’t bring him dread. They brought him hope.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #speeding bullet #sniperscout #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #sorry if parts of this are a little weird or hard to read I'm in a weird brainspace today #requests sometimes help keep me distracted at least

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astrology-with-charu · 3 years

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𝗟𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗮 | 𝗡𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗧𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝟭 𝗗𝗲𝗰 𝗔𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘆 𝗛𝗼𝗿𝗼𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗽𝗲

𝓞𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓲𝓮𝔀

Neptune the planet of spirituality, love, creativity as well as deception will remain retrograde till 1st December. Intend is to gently dissolve what is not real showing us certain deceptions and illusions. We review for your sign what clarity we are to attain as we step into the light. Since Jupiter Neptune conjunction in this house would be key theme of 2022 - these realisations over next six month are critical for 2022.

Link to Part 1 of this post : http://emailabuddy.com/blog/?p=1287

𝓓𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼

Also covered in June horoscopes - timestamps are in comments

https://youtu.be/qdKjJHQx3lY

Ways to support my work : http://emailabuddy.com/blog/?page_id=1261

Patreon link : https://www.patreon.com/Charuchandna

Subscribe to my posts : https://charuchandna.substack.com

Neptune is turning retrograde in your house of work environment and health routines bringing some of things we didn’t see before to open as well as giving us opportunity to give honest form to some fantasies we have about what we want.

Neptune has been in your house of work and health since 2011 and it is felt very strongly now as it turns retrograde and some of the hidden things which either you missed in your idealism or were hidden from you at work might come to surface. Neptune here reduces our physical and psychological boundaries with others at work and in some ways we are not able to say no to others even when duty being imposed on us isn’t ours. It of course adds to your charm, makes you more accessible but less than authentic factors also come up and we tend to have blind spots at work. Neptune here also impacts our health in some ways by upending our routines so if anything is hurting your health which is part of your diet or daily routine that might also come to surface. Sometimes a misdiagnosis also becomes evident when Neptune goes direct, its always a great idea to double check any diagnosis with this transit after the end of the month. LIbra rising / sun / moon around 20º-23º Libra or around 13-16 Oct born +/-3º or 3 Days would feel this the most.

Now this openness to others or reduction in immunity or any unknown health issue or vulnerability to current pandemic could block our own expansion as well as sense of adventure, travel. These are cadent or growth houses which are at conflict with each other - one wants to bring order and not waste energy - other wants to take a leap. It can feel very restless this combination. This can also create work conflicts as the expectations of someone at work can come in the way of your expansive vision of what you want to create. This can again come up around 6 July.

Leap of faith may be blocked by reality check or not knowing how to bring it about or health & work responsibilities could delay this. We would have to balance giving into the step by step investigation of what needs to be done versus knowing the bigger picture, the expectations of your coworkers versus your own enrichment, learning versus actual work, constant search for what excites you versus day to day order - processes/issues/enemies/coworkers who seemingly block it. We cannot skip steps in hurry but at the same time, we cannot let go of this adventure life is demanding of us. There could be ideological fight at work. Sometimes balance of the two - mundane and adventure opens the door, sometimes mundane leads to adventure, sometimes this push and pull forces us to give a structure to the adventure we want - the commercials of it but it comes not so easily. This is the challenge you have probably faced and will face again around 6 July.

Though as Neptune goes retrograde and Jupiter sheds some light into the details with some support possibly coming through you would see a way out of this conflict. Details we are missing are revealed and we find useful way out of this conundrum. If something was kept from you at work or there was a confusion or you were being cheated on a contract it might reveal itself in coming weeks. There is more support on work and health coming in 2022 when Jupiter after 13 years finally moves into your health and work sector but you might see a preview of that benefit now. I did cover this in your 2022 preview if you would like to delve deeper into this support, link is below.

https://youtu.be/5pNWl9JOTAo

Remember though a sliver of support is offered - rest is still left to you for 2021. This support is more theme of 2022. For now I would focus on whats being shown to me which I missed before in work and health. I would not blindly trust whats being told in work situation and try to manage the boundaries where they seem to be encroached. Immunity would be low especially if you have rising/sun/moon around 23º Libra or if you are a Libra Sun born around 16 Oct. Ideals will meet reality checks, it gives us the right information to make it more real versus just a distant dream.

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years

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How 6a Foreshadowed Beth’s Return in S10/S11

Okay Everyone! This will be long and sprawling. In other words, very typical me. ;D

Let me preface it by saying that there are three things that have been floating around in my mind over the past week: the Phantom of the Opera template, the Pied Piper Template, and then I kept having the thought that maybe I should go back to 6a and look at Operation Lead the Walkers Away again. I’m not even sure why I kept thinking that. Maybe it’s just the obvious fact that we’re dealing with TF being surrounded by a huge horde in S10, so there could possibly be some parallels there. But I didn’t know for sure, beyond what we’ve already seen in the past.

I finally went back and watched a bunch of 6a episodes this past week. Boy was I in for a treat. ;D

Pied Piper Template:

Let’s start with the Pied Piper. My fellow theorists and I had discussed this briefly, though not in great detail. The reason we came up with it at all is because we’ve seen so many rats this season. I think we saw them 3 times, but I’m already forgetting where one of them was.

We saw a bunch of rats running ahead of the walker horde near Yumiko and Kelly. Then we had Negan equating rats with possums. Which is super important because that links Beth to the rat symbolism through the possum, in a 6-Degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon sort of way. ;D

And I think we saw a dead rat in a cage. Originally, I couldn’t remember when. I remember thinking the cage looked a lot like the ones in the pet shop in 6a, and I was hoping we would see a dead dog inside (twisted as that sounds) because it would've been more Sirius symbolism. But it wasn't a dog, it was a rat. And I was disappointed. Looking through screenshots, I found it. It was during the Michonne/Virgil episode. She found a dead rat in a cage when she was snooping around his compound.

The conundrum I have with the Pied Piper symbolism is that I'm not sure exactly how we’re meant to interpret it. Obviously, there is a major musical theme in that legend, and that's good. But at the same time, the Pied Piper (the one who played music and therefore the one who would probably be equated with Beth) was kind of an evil character. He led the children away (and Beth does have a child and baby theme around her) but he basically led them to their deaths and separated them from their parents. Really doesn't sound like a very Beth-ish thing to do. So again, it's not that I doubt the template being used. I just wasn't sure exactly how to interpret it.

Then I got this ask in my inbox. It totally kicked me in the butt and sent me somersaulting down a tunnel. Check it out.

So, to answer the Nonny who asked it, I really don’t think Carol will figure very heavily in the actual “leading away” of the walkers. She’s around, of course. She and Kelly were seen filming separately from others in part of the city, so I think they’re going to have their own arc, separate from Daryl’s. I have some evidence for this belief based on foreshadows we saw in 6a. I’ll get to that in a minute. That said, thank you SO MUCH for this ask. I really led to a lot of clarity for me, which I’m about to explain in the rest of this post.

6x01: Operation Lead the Walkers Away commences

I've totally never thought to equate the Pied Piper template with Operation Lead the Walkers Away. Maybe I should have. Why haven't I? Probably because they didn't actually use music to lead the walkers in 6a. There was some noise, such as the noise the flare guns made, but for the most part they used flashing lights and the motion of the cars. Not music. So. it just didn't occur to me.

But I think this Nonny is completely right and onto something. It's what made me go back and watch a good portion of 6A.

My mind started spinning with all these possibilities.

The basic premise of what I’m about to say here is that Operation Lead the Walkers away in 6a was a foreshadow what's happening now with Alpha’s/Beta’s horde. And that's super important because in my mind, it shows the Beth is about to be back.

Like, right now.

With all the social media stuff they're doing, I think it's pretty obvious that Beth will show up in the finale, but this cements it for me.

So, Nonny suggests that Beth and Carol will lead the walkers away, but I don’t think so. Carol was nowhere around the horde in S6. She was back at Alexandria fighting the wolves. But remember this decomposing chica?

Everyone on TD equated her with Beth and she’s not only leading the horde, but is directly behind Daryl most of the way. So, I don’t think Daryl and Carol will lead the walker horde away from the hospital in S11.

I think Beth and Daryl will.

Think about it. That’s how Beth fits into the Pied Piper template. She won’t be leading children away (who knows if they’ll even use that part of the template at all?), she’ll be leading rats away, and in TWD world, rats = walkers. This entire sequence in 6a was one big foreshadow of what would be going on when Beth returns. There will be a walker horde storyline, and she and Daryl will be leading them away from Alexandria/TF.

Hence, why this blond, female, Beth-ish walker is so front and center during the entire sequence. Also, just for the record, this walker ends up front and center just before Glenn falls off the dumpster, which also equates her with the death fake out. Just saying.

Next up: the Sasha/Abraham dynamic. This is an edit I made and have reposted several times.

There are some significant shots where it shows a lineup of Sasha, Abraham, and Daryl from the side. We also hear Glenn was counting 1, 2, 3 at the tractor place. I think the “1, 2, 3” could represent the three parts of the 15-season arc. One is Bethyl being together (Sashraham). Two is Daryl alone. Three is Beth’s return (Blond walker).

After 6x06, I came to realize that Sasha and Abraham were a Bethyl proxy. Once I realized that, I took Daryl being beside them as a way to associate him with them or them with him. To show that they were proxies of Beth and Daryl. But it's a lot more than that. It not only shows that there were proxies of Beth and Daryl, but it's a way to show that Beth and Daryl together (i.e. Sasha and Abraham) will end up leading the walker horde together.

(By the way, not all of this will probably happen in the finale. I'm thinking this can be a big part of the story line 11 A.)

So, here's the thing that really killed me about 601. Just as the horn goes off and the walkers start leaving the road and heading toward Alexandria, we see a sign advertising the mansions of Alexandria.

There's an eight on it. It says they started 800K. And then at the top of the sign is the phrase, "You're almost home." For me, that shows that this is a foreshadow of something that will happen eight years later, and will bring the Sirius character home.

6x02: Enid’s Backstory and the Wolves

We’ve always seen a lot of Beth parallels in Enid’s backstory. And we’ve never known exactly why they used her for those parallels, though there have been plenty of theories over the years.

We have to look at 6a as a whole rather than at each episode in a vacuum. If you do away with the episode break between 6x01 and 6x02, we have is a situation where they showed that sign (800 K/“you're almost home”) and the very next thing we see is this girl on the outside alone who survives and ends up at the gates of Alexandria.

That's why there's so much that symbolism around Enid in this sequence. We were spot on back then. She is most definitely a proxy for Beth, but she wasn't a proxy for Beth back in S6. She's a proxy for Beth coming up in season 10/11. Also, that red jacket she's wearing? Red equals resurrection, right? So the point is, they're telling us that in conjunction with a great big walker horde, the Sirius character will return, it will happen eight years after the time period of 6A, and that a female character who's been out on her own for a while will show up at the gates of Alexandria. Oh, and she’ll be a resurrected character.

The Wolves

Let’s talk about the wolves, who we’ve long equated with the Whisperers. There's been a lot of conjecture about the gray ninja being from a new group. So, in the middle of Operation Lead the Walkers Away, a new group shows up at Alexandria (the wolves). Now, we have another huge walker horde storyline, and a new group (the gray ninja) has shown up. My point is just that the parallels are there.

Carl and Enid in 6x02. This is SO great, guys, and something we never could have recognized back in S6.

When the Wolves first show up, Carol sees them out the window. Carl comes running down the stairs holding a gun and says that he saw them from upstairs and they’re coming in from everywhere. Carol then tells him to STAY THERE AND PROTECT JUDITH.

This jumped out at me because, in terms of what this foreshadows in S10, who is the one who is protecting Judith right now? It's Daryl. Rick is gone, Carl is gone, and even Michonne is gone. So, Daryl is Judith's protector and mentor right now.

Long story short, Enid and Carl represent Beth and Daryl in the sequence. It's a foreshadow for things that will happen when Beth returns in S10/S11.

So, Enid gets into the house of a set of KEYS. Obviously, that's a huge symbol because, Key Theory. Carl almost shoots her before realizing that it's her. Random aside: I wonder if this will end up happening in some way with Beth and Daryl. He’ll think she's whisperer or something and almost shoots her before she reveals herself.

Enid says she's leaving, and Carl says she isn't. He says she needs to stay there and help him protect Judith. (Again, obviously with Rick and Michonne and Carl gone, Beth would stay with Daryl and help protect Judith.) Also, keep in mind that Enid and Carl were Bethyl proxies in terms of their romance and they did the intertwined fingers hand hold in S7. Just saying.

Then we have lots of interesting Beth dialogue. Carl (Daryl) says, "Don't tell me goodbye." Enid replies, "Okay. I won't tell you goodbye." I think we could interpret this a couple of different ways. On the one hand, perhaps it shows that once Beth returns, there will be no more goodbyes between her and Daryl. That's definitely my favorite interpretation.

But to be fair, Enid was being sneaky here and using a play on words. She didn't tell him goodbye, but she still left. She snuck out when he wasn't looking. That may just equate to Beth not saying goodbye to Daryl when they were first separated in S4/S5. So, another way to equate Enid with Beth. Maybe we should be reading other things into this as well, but if so, we probably won’t know what they are until they play out in the show.

During the Enid/Carl/Don’t-tell-me-goodbye scene, Enid said something interesting. She was saying that Alexandria was too big to protect. Too many blind spots (so, a Beth proxy talking about blindness). And then she said, “That’s how we—” and Carl cut her off.

I don’t know if everyone remembers this, but when it aired, there was a lot of conjecture about Enid being part of the Wolves group. Like maybe they sent her in ahead of time as a scout. Obviously. that wasn’t the case, but it’s because of this line that people thought it. I still have no idea what the end of this sentence would have been, but I’m wondering now if it was merely symbolic. Maybe it will make sense the second time around? Thought that was worth mentioning.

We definitely several bicycles when the wolves attacked. And at one point, Carl leaves the house to help Ron. When they focus on Enid, standing on the porch, she's framed by a yellow doorway. I thought that was interesting. And remember that, after Enid leaves and meets up with Glenn in 6x07, we see her playing with a little red firetruck in the café.

I’m also wondering how far the Carl/Enid = Beth/Daryl metaphor will extend. In 6x05, we had the slap fight between Ron and Carl,

and it occurred to me that Ron represents a second love interest for Beth. I know, I know. We don’t like to think of her having any love interest except Daryl.

For me, I always think that maybe there will be someone in her group that is interested in her, but she doesn’t really reciprocate. (You could argue that this was true of Enid, as she often lied to Ron about leaving Alexandria and was ALWAYS looking at Carl.) So, I’m wondering if this foreshadows circumstances when Beth shows up, or if it doesn’t extend that far and is JUST meant to be a Carl/Enid thing. That could be the case, too.

Morgan:

Okay, let me deviate for a minute and talk about Morgan. At some point, I had the random thought that Morgan was one person who would not be part of the sequence in S10. In the same way a lot of the characters that were alive in S6 are now dead, he was there in S6, but now he's gone to FTWD, so I don't expect to see him when what S6 foreshadowed comes to pass in S10.

Or should we expect to see him?

As soon as I had that thought, things started jumping out at me about Morgan. For one, there's the conversation with Michonne about the peanut butter protein bar. A lot of people commented on that back then and how it was discontinuous. Because if you go back and watch Clear, Michonne is clearly not eating a protein or granola bar. It looks and crunches like potato chips. Back when S6 first aired, I also didn't understand peanut butter symbolism. It’s still a discontinuity, but if they’re changing something like that, in a way that fans can easily figure out and scorn them for, there's got to be a good reason for it. In short, they probably changed it specifically to put in the peanut butter symbolism.

Now, the peanut butter is definitely a Beth symbol. It also strikes me that we have Rick, Michonne, and Morgan together in the shot. As of right now, Rick is with the helicopter people in Michonne is going there to get him. So, it could be that Morgan will run into them inside the helicopter group in some way. (Just as a reminder, all these characters have their own arcs and while we focus on Beth symbolism, each character’s arc is probably foreshadowed in much the same way, and we just don’t realize it because we don’t focus on anyone else.)

We definitely have hints that the FTWD characters will run into the helicopter group at some, right? So many the peanut butter symbolism is more about Rick than anything else. I'm not sure, but it's interesting.

Then, we have the part when Morgan holds Judith on the porch while he's talking to Rick. It’s interesting because Judith is such a huge part of the storyline right now, and maybe this foreshadows that Morgan might have something to do with her storyline when this sequence comes back around in S10.

He’s also the one who reaches the wolf truck with Spencer and silences the horn.

Yes, I know he's on FTWD and that would constitute a major time jump for his arc, but I always think it would be cool if anybody from Fear suddenly popped up on TWD. It doesn't even have to be Morgan. I'd be super happy to suddenly see John Dorie show up in the woods or something. (I answered an ask mentioning this yesterday, btw.) But I digress.

Here’s the next thing that’s super crazy. I…well, didn't exactly forget, but I wasn't thinking about this at all until I did my re-watch. The truck that hit the church, that was driven by the wolves, the one whose horn began to blare and pull the walkers off the road? Do you remember what kind of truck it was? It was one of those Dell Arno trucks. The one that says, “how the harvest gets home” on one side.

Back in 5x16, when Daryl and Aaron first triggered the wolf trap, EVERYONE equated this with Beth. I don’t want to go into the specific symbolism now, but it has to do with life and growth and coming home. So, in short, the harvest = Beth. Yet another reason we thought she would “come home” in conjunction with the wolves.

But do you see? This may be the best thing I found in the episode. It means the "new group" that shows up during the S10 walker horde storyline is going to be how the harvest (Beth) gets home. Boom! Confirmation. Right there. She’s got to either be this ninja, or with this ninja’s group.

6x03: Pet Shop, Glenn’s Death Fake Out, Rick’s Epic Marathon, and the Weirdness of Daryl

Onto episode 603. There’s definitely some interesting stuff having to do with Rick and his storyline. Episode 3 is Glenn’s death fake out, of course, but also had the parts where we saw Rick running along the road for long stretches of time. He ran on foot back around the route and got into the RV, right?

Well, the RV had yellow balloons tied to it. Rick got into the vehicle with the yellow balloons tied to it and drove away. I'm thinking that's pretty much the same thing as him escaping through the yellow carnival ride in 7x12. This is a very early foreshadow of him having a death take out and escaping death. (Which could also be why they included Glenn's line of "good luck, dumbass" from S1.) Then we have the RV not starting for him near the end of the episode and at the beginning of 6x05, he comes running up to the gates on foot. Not sure exactly how to interpret that but I think it's interesting and probably a foreshadow.

(A note on 604: Morgan’s Big Episode. I didn't rewatch it. I don't think I need to go over the specific symbolism in it. While it’s important (remember it has a goat named Tabitha, who was resurrected in the bible) it’s not terribly applicable here except to say that, like Enid’s backstory squence, it's once again important that they interrupted this whole sequence to show us Morgan's back story and the massive Beth parallels in it.)

Remember the weirdness of Daryl? I’ve posted about this more than once. (HERE) His behavior in 603 was just really strange. First, he abandoned Sasha and Abraham to go back and help Rick, but he couldn't find him. Then he heard gunshots on the radio and started to freak out because he didn't know where Rick was or if he needed help. Then, with no explanation and without telling anyone, he simply met up with Sasha and Abraham again and stayed with them. I just thought it was weird that he suddenly changed his mind and it didn't explain what his thought process was.

Meanwhile, on a panel after that episode aired, someone asked Norman about it. He was obviously very reluctant to answer, because he didn't want to give spoilers, and all he said was that Daryl did it for more than Rick. There was more of a reason for it than just that. Once again, that's never been explained. I think I know what it means now.

What I'm thinking here is that this foreshadows Daryl finding out Rick is still alive. Warning: this may not be anybody's favorite idea, but I’m just putting out there what I’m seeing. If Sasha and Abraham represent Bethyl. and we have Daryl leaving and them getting mad at him, maybe we’ll reach a point in the story where Daryl finds out Rick is alive and leaves to go find him.

While I'm obviously not in favor of Beth and Daryl splitting up ever again, right about this time, rumors of this Daryl Dixon movie started circulating. I know it's not official. It hasn't been greenlighted. So, it's not something we can really count on. But people are really misinterpreting what's being said as well. If they do the Daryl Dixon movie, it will be between seasons. Which means he would probably be the finale of one season, they’ll do this at this to the movie in the off-season, and then he would be there again for next season. I really don't see Norman not being on the show for any stretch of time. But this opens up some interesting possibilities.

Understand, I'm assuming Beth would be back in 10×16. And there will probably be another Operation Lead the Walkers Away/Pied Piper template in 11a. Probably not much time will pass during that. Maybe only a few days. So, let's say hypothetically after that, Daryl learns that Rick is alive. I'm thinking of the sequence in 6a where he leaves Sashraham to go find Rick. Neither of them were very happy about that. Plus, there were major Beth vibes, both in Daryl saying, “Nah. I have faith in ya.” And in Rick’s walkie-talkie speech, where he said, “This…is for them.”

So, if Daryl goes, maybe Beth will be angry at him for leaving. But think about that. If he leaves, he would leave her in charge, and she would be the sheriff.

Again, these are just possibilities. It may be much more symbolic than this. And you could also interpret it as that he THOUGHT about leaving Sashraham, but didn’t really. I mean, he did for a few minutes, but he didn’t REALLY go back and help Rick. So maybe it will just be a small part of things rather than something he actually does. I can see someone saying that Rick would want him to stay and watch over Rick and Michonne’s kids, and that convinces him to stay. And incidentally, that would parallel well with Rick’s speech over the walkie in 6a about staying the course and seeing things through. (“This is for them. If we go back now, it will be for us.”)

Phantom of the Opera Template

Full Disclosure: I’ve been mildly obsessed with the idea of the Phantom of the Opera template lately. There are really two reasons I keep fixating on this. One is just because I think it would be awesome. I’m totally rooting for it. ;D

From a more symbolic standpoint, it's because of Daryl's, "I never sung out in public before," line. I can just see that coming to pass in the Phantom of the Opera template storyline.

I will say that I can also see it happening in this Pied Piper storyline. Because I'm assuming that Beth and Daryl lead the walker away together, they will probably use music to do it.

I'm not saying Daryl will embrace his inner Miley Cyrus and suddenly belt out pop music, but if Beth is singing, and he's helping her in any way—perhaps if he holds a radio or something to contribute to the music and bring walkers toward them—I think that would qualify as satisfying the foreshadow. They’ll be out in front of people and sort of on display with something musical going on.

It’s too bad juke boxes are huge and need to be plugged in. I’d be all for Daryl holding one up over his head like John Cusack in…whatever that 80s film was. ;D

So with that in mind, maybe I don't need the Phantom of the Opera template, right? It's much more likely that it will happen somewhere in the Pied Piper template. I could get behind that 100% and accept that the rest is just my head canon.

Except for one thing.

Do you remember Denise’s storyline in 608/609? Obviously, she's a proxy for Beth. Remember that Creepy Wolf Dude took her captive for a short time, and Greg Nicotero said that he kinda fell in love with her?

Yeah, sounds like the Phantom of the Opera template to me. At the very least, it shows that someone — probably someone foreshadowed by the wolves, which would be a whisperer—will take Beth captive for time and probably fall in love with her.

I don't know how familiar everyone is with Phantom of the Opera, so let me give you a quick rundown. In the play, the Phantom (that would be Beta because he wore the mask) falls in love with Christine (that would be Beth) who is a singer. At one point in the story, he kidnaps her and her love interest Raoul (obviously Daryl) follows to get her.

The interesting thing is that he doesn't really save her. Don't get me wrong, he shows up and they get away together, but the Phantom gets the better of him and it gets to a point where the Phantom demands that Christine do what he wants, or he’ll kill her lover. I can see something like that happening between Bethyl and Beta. (I mean, we’ve all had the sense that at some point, Beth will save Daryl, right? I’m also thinking of the symbolism of Lydia showing up in a pillar of light to save him from Alpha earlier this season.)

But what really works in terms of Beth's arc is that Christine pretty much saved herself. She agrees to do with the Phantom wants in order to save Raoul, but really, by bringing across harsh truths to him, she basically talks him into letting them go. Which he does.

Now, the Phantom ends up living in the play. He just doesn't end up with Christine. I don't really see the happening with Beta. Because this is TWD, I'm sure they'll kill off Beta at some point. That’s just how they’ll deviate from the template. And remember that Creepy Wolf Dude with Denise was bitten and died.

The other thing I want to talk about is the idea of sexuality in Phantom of the Opera. So, in the story, the Phantom isn’t a rapist. At least, not in a classical sense. Not in a throw-her-down-and-attack-her sort of way. He talks openly of marrying her and even puts her in a wedding dress at some point. BUT he also makes no secret of the fact that he wants to have physical relations with her. And then there’s the fact that he’s forcing her to be with him and she has no choice in the matter. So, it’s a form of rape, but again, not an attack rape so much as a manipulative, Weinstein kind of rape. *shudders* So anyway, obviously I don’t think Beth will be raped or anything (for the record, Christine wasn’t; she and the Phantom never had sex). But I was thinking that if the threat is there with Beta, it could fulfill something I’ve been harping on forever: the idea of Gorman having been a foreshadow of something else to come. I always said the next threat would be bigger and, even just in terms of stature and shoulder width, Beta is definitely a bigger threat than Gorman.

The rest is more general. (I’m almost done; I promise.) In 605, we have Maggie and Aaron in the sewer. And this is more that isn’t very well explained. I know the two walkers they find in there are supposed to be the people Deanna banished, but it still wasn’t explained to my satisfaction.

There’s also a ladder in there that hits Aaron (Beth proxy) in the forehead and bloodies him. The ladder is usually about people saving themselves or being rescued, so it’s not clear why one was included here, other than symbolically. As this is literally a dark tunnel and in conjunction with Glenn’s death fake out, I’m sure you can see the symbolism. But even so. I’m sure this points to something in S10.

Remember that they showed the sewer grate below Beta’s horde at the hospital, and we’ve seen the sewer at Alexandria be used many times to hide, escape, or sneak around. So, if Aaron = Beth, I’m wondering if Beth and Maggie will use that sewer beneath the hospital in S10 to either get into the hospital, or get people out of the hospital.

When Rick is attacked in the RV by wolves, he finds that jar of baby carrots, right? For the first time, that is making sense beyond just the carrot symbol. Because the carrot symbol is a thing, but why have it in this sequence? Again, to show that when this happens again with the horde, we’ll reach the second phase of Beth’s story, and the carrot doesn’t mature until its second season of growth. The second time around, if you will.

The last thing I’ll talk about briefly is episode 6x06. I actually didn’t rewatch it for this post, but that’s because I know that episode backwards, forward, and inside out. The short of it is that 6x06 is chalk-full of Beth symbolism that points to Daryl meeting Beth out in the woods.

So without getting into the nitty-gritties, much like Enid’s backstory and Morgan’s backstory, it’s just significant that they put this episode here, in conjunction with the walker horde storyline. Everything about 6a was hinting at Beth’s return. It just wasn’t going to actually happen until 8 years later.

I will say that the events of 6x06 do muddle the chronology a bit for me. Everything else points to Beth leading the walker horde away with Daryl, but 6x06 happens AFTER they’ve led the horde away.

So, there’s a good chance I’m interpreting at least some of this a little incorrectly. In fact, just let me reiterate that. I’m sure I’ll have lots of people who disagree at least with parts of this. A lot of this is just me brainstorming and I could turn out to be wrong. That’s totally fine.

But the rock-bottom line? Who cares! Everything points to Beth’s return in conjunction with the walker horde story line. So if I’m a little off about some or all of this, I’m cool with that. As always, it will make more sense as it unfolds in the show.

Thoughts?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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tommyplum · 5 years

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@v-means-a-lot-of-things asked: Western AU please? *_* with the following as possible inspiration:

tied my lead and pulled my chain: a deadwood au ..gonna break my rusty cage and run

“Give us your best gin fix, then, go on.” The man in black set his elbow on the long sanded bar counter of the Gem Saloon, tilting up his head rather than his broad-brimmed hat in order to fix Al Swearengen with a rolling blue stare. Al Swearengen, however, was not the sort of man to be stared down under the timbers of his own fucking establishment, and he set down two shots of gin, bang-bang, on the wood bar in front of the two strangers to the town of Deadwood. The hooplehead in black picked his up followed immediately by the shitbird in the poncho and down the drinks went, bang-bang, and just for the fucking symmetry of the movement Al filled the shot glasses back up again for gratis. Or maybe not gratis just yet:

“The whores haven’t arisen themselves from their peaceful slumbers to be offering you their wiles and perfumes,” Al intoned, his dark gaze shrewd as he took them in. The Hat said, “Not me, mate. Your prospective customer’s sat right there in front of you,” with a dip of his chin towards the one with the flat snow-sky stare. “Although I can find my own ways to entertain myself, I reckon, give us another -- wait, hang about --”

The Hat threw back his gin and The Stare’s gin as well before continuing, “--another top up there, would you? Ahhhhh, that’s downright hospitable, who says that the Wild fucking West ain’t got no manners to speak of.”

“Always found it a goddamn shufflefuck of politeness around here myself,” Al said congenially with a smile beneath his oiled moustache, and The Hat linked and flexed his fingers, tipping his head in the direction of the brand new piano, prompting a magnanimous wave of the arm from the proprietor of the Gem. “As you will,” Al told him, and watched the man amble over and flick out the tails of his long mud-spackled black coat as if he was a pencil-dick concert pianist about to regale the toffs in Hanover Square before he took a seat.

The Stare gave a cough like he expected to be served marmalade and the Crown fucking Jewels and Al turned his attention to him. “We hail from the same neighbourhood,” Al said, pouring again, “as in proximity being a fucking feat of imagination and relative thinking when you’re on the other side of the ocean from the sheltering shadow cast by the Union Jack. Which is to say I notice your pal over there is from London, because it’s been too long a god damn time I’ve spent having my ears assailed by all manner of fucking back-mountain coal-water sister-buggering accent that lumps its way in here and it does a heart good to hear the civilized tones of home.” Al lifted an eyebrow; The Stare sampled his gin. “And where would you arrive from correspondingly?”

“Birmingham.” The Stare licked his lips, over and over the deep pink cracks that ran through them. “I used to be a schoolteacher there, once upon a time.” His hands, knotted through the knuckles, shifted against the glass and he swirled his fingers along the sides and up to circumnavigate the rim in a move that made Al automatically pat his ass pocket to make sure his goddamn wallet was still there.

“But you’re not a schoolteacher now,” Al said, and The Stare sucked his lips together and said, with acid calm, “No. Now I’m something else.” A jangling music hall ditty started up from the piano, an aural version of what The Stare had done with his fingers, and Al pointed a finger over at The Hat holding musically forth as the whores started straggling out to see who was playing.

“And your friend the one-man revue?”

The Stare turned in his seat to look at his companion diddling the piano keys with aplomb, saying with complete seriousness, “Hm? Now that you mention it, I never got around to asking him what he did before this. Which could be on account of how in the eight months we’ve been travelling together, aside from a ninety-day grace period at the beginning for propriety’s sake, I’ve mostly been preoccupied with sucking his cock.”

Al blinked and The Stare made good on his unofficial name, turning back around. “Well,” Al said as he hoisted the bottle of gin, “bless you for the uncommon fucking clarity of mind to actually admit to being a cocksucker, unlike the godforsaken rest of us.” He took a swig, gaze shifting to the door of The Gem as drunken-assed Buckstone Billy came reeling in, his shuffle-step to the tune of whatever caterwauling noise The Hat was tickling out of the piano.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ that nobody in here -- nobody like the fuckin’ Limey owner -- is a piss-pot crook,” Buckstone Billy hollered, pausing for a moment in the entrance and then stumbling forward some more, “but I just come from my gold claim where I been staked to learn that my partner and me been cheated out of our holdings, cheated -- I ain’t sayin’ by who, remember -- out of land and goods and all our future wealth!”

The Stare didn’t turn back around, and The Hat didn’t stop playing, but Al noticed the former schoolteacher go still in a way that boded no fucking good for anybody. “Take it down a step or two, Billy,” Al called to the man. “Have a drink and we’ll get it straightened out. You must have misunderstood Dan’s message about your claim.”

“I didn’t misunderstand getting swindled!” Buckstone Billy shouted, “And I aim to collect!”

Al couldn’t say what happened first, couldn’t say for sure, but he did know for certain that he’d never seen anybody other than the tight-assed Sheriff draw so fucking fast on a man. The Stare’s gimlet eyes didn’t change as he twisted himself on his stool and drew smooth as silk, two guns, and bang-bang like two gin shots Buckstone Billy was racked out on the floor of the Gem with his fingers twitching around his own un-fired revolver. Al also couldn’t say for sure that he’d realized that what he’d taken for a cane with an elaborate head in The Hat’s possession was in fact a rifle with an elaborate grip, not until the piano music stopped and only one bang, this time, but a shrouded figure just outside the doorway of the Gem blew over backwards into the mud and horseshit of the goddamn thoroughfare.

The whores had scattered, self-preservation being their strongest and most prevailing instinct, and apparently concert time was over because The Hat strolled over to Billy and kicked one of his feet to test out his viability before joining his friend at the bar, satisfied in his deadness. “Quick as ever, Tommy,” The Hat said, and Tommy gave a tilt of the chin and murmured, “With you in my corner, Alfie.”

“And every corner,” Alfie said with his lips parting as though it was some private joke between them, and then elbowed the bar again, musing to the antlers hung above the liquor shelf, “--seems to me, though, right, if you really think about it, that those two fellows, they didn’t choose much of a reasonable path towards resolution, if indeed that, Tommy, the return of their gold claim and redistribution between them of that which they seem to think had gone awry, was their main purpose and goal.” Alfie’s smile stretched wider as he looked at Al Swearengen, his eyes a slate grey reflection of Tommy’s, cold and holding fast.

Tommy, for his part, put one of his guns down slowly on the bar and slicked his finger into the bottom of his gin glass, sucking the trace amount of alcohol off it and then rubbing his forefinger and thumb together contemplatively. “Why would you say such a thing as that, Alfie? Would you care to elaborate?”

“Since you’ve twisted my arm,” Alfie said, and leaned in to Tommy as if Al wasn’t there and could hear every word. “Seems to me that two men just come from their gold claim -- and granted I have not laid eyes upon the state of the one whom I sent swimming into the afterlife -- would have instead taken this issue to the bank to investigate their accounts, or to the Sheriff who could intercede on their behalf. But instead, illogically, bafflingly, they decided to come here to the saloon to confront a man who by all rights and recognition, yeah, would be very much prepared to defend himself in his own place of enterprise.” Alfie’s brow lowered, then lifted, as he added, “...never mind the fact that this one you laid out ain’t wearing boots, mate, and his shoes and trouser legs are clean as the proverbial fucking whistle.”

“And just come from his gold claim,” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette and blowing out a long doleful plume of smoke. “Imagine that.” He reached for the bottle that Al had put down on the bar, pouring himself another drink as Alfie raised his hand to forestall a refill on his own. “You’ve outlined quite a conundrum there, Alfie. But maybe that’s how things work in Deadwood.” Tommy didn’t drink his gin yet, fingers toying with the glass as he looked at Al, unwavering. “Maybe there was a plan in place that got hoisted and hanged by an unexpected element. And maybe the best thing to do is to make judicious but rapid adjustment for the potential brought forth by that element.”

Al looked from one to the other, spreading his hands flat on the bar above where his own shotgun was hidden, resting, having not been pressed into service for the piece of drama it had been slated for against Billy and his dead partner Absalom, the both of them with money from Al Swearengen himself lining their now horizontal pockets.

“Gentlemen,” Al said, his brain making judicious and rapid adjustment, “if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me up that fucking staircase yonder to the privacy provided by my office, I think I might have a few fucking wiles and perfumes of my own to offer.”

“To which you will find a pair of cocksuckers like us appallingly receptive,” Alfie said, and Tommy threw back his drink as Alfie’s grin glinted like gunmetal.

#peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tolfie #sholomons #apparently the real al swearengen's mom #was named keziah #lawwwll

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tarithenurse · 6 years

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All is fair in Love & War - 17

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: So…here’s the thing…I’m going to list the stuff that’s NOT in the chapter: Tap-dancing, sunshine, fluff, kisses, smut/lemon of any kind, puppies (sorry), happy ending, or hope (actually, there might be a few glimmers of that). Don’t hate me, alright? I promise it’ll all work out absolutely fine! Eventually…probably… A/N: Extra hugs to those lovely souls who comment and/or reblog. Thank you!

17. Passing on

The fire has been reduced to embers, pulsating in a rhythm hinting at the ever-present force slumbering below the silken ashes. For once, Loki feels a semblance between that constant destruction waiting to lash out and himself. Pacing with long strides, he is aware of a foreign heat in the depth of his spirit. It could be uncontrollable. Devastating. It is a far cry from the cold, distanced loathing that has fueled any vengeful action in the past. The freezing anger that has provided clarity because it is an element he is, so to say, familiar with unlike the burning that now reigns.

It frightens him.

Loki once promised himself never to be controlled or influenced by anyone else. Being the master of his own life had become the primary necessity in his existence…and yet this woman has taken over his thoughts and dreams little by little until the influence she has over him is complete. Does she even realize? [Y/N] has proclaimed her love for the one that has held her captive. Yes. But does she know the extent of her power? Without her…

Stopping to glare at the fire, Loki tries once more to escape the spiraling free-fall of his mind only to fail. Misery, fear, loneliness, anger…all of it is drowning him despite the one constant consolation: her love. Turning on his heel, he stalks from the throne room into the courtyard that is obscured by the blizzard, trusting his limbs to carry him to the destination.

Moments later, the Jotun stands in Magni’s box with his face pressed against the horse’s strong neck like he has seen [Y/N] do so often.

… READER’s PoV …

A colourful string of curses in several languages (thanks to the Jötun and Röskva) presses against your lips as you consider the conundrum, eyes fixed on the tri-hook. Of course, no one in their right mind will believe that the king has died of natural causes anymore (there is not much natural about a stab wound to the chest), but somehow it had eluded you to even worry about obscuring your route in and out of the chambers…until now. The gloves are shrivelling in the gilded metal fireplace. The dagger is wiped clean. The balcony door has been carefully locked once more. But a rope leading to a window in a passage system used by the servants is bound to bring the suspicion upon them. That might happen anyways judging by the court’s standards. That is a thought you actively have avoided addressing because there will be only one option then.

A creaking nearly stops your heart. The king!! There is no doubt that he is dead and never will return to hurt anyone, so you manage to reject the first instinct as you swivel around to watch for movement within the chambers. Has someone found him already? The sound repeats, drawing your attention to a part of the railing covered in shadows from the gargoyles above. You watch intently until the darkness there moves revealing a large raven.

“Hi,” you whisper, “don’t let them know I’m here.” Why am I talking to a bird? Why’s it even around at this time?

Naturally, the creature does not answer but merely cocks its head to watch with intelligent eyes. Hoping the bird will remain quiet, you return to the problem at hand. The walls are too slippery to climb down without the rope to help (that is why you had gotten it in the first place). To your knowledge and as far as you can see in the dark when leaning over the railing, there is no place to attach the hook further below while still hoping it would hold a free swing – a swing that would grant you a very intense encounter with the stone surface or a too rapid descend into the moat below. How deep is the moat? Not deep enough when taken the distance into account.

“Crrrrrrrraawwwk?” The large bird bounces closer to you along the railing, seemingly interested in the gleaming metal of the hook.

“Pretty, huh?” It bobs either in response or in contemplation. “You can have it when I’m done with it. Not yet.”

Beady eyes focus on you. Actually…that might work. With any luck, then the raven is curious and as fascinated by shiny objects as its smaller cousin, the crow, and either way there is nothing you can do now to change the situation and you join the bird on the railing, feet dangling above the dark precipice. Here goes nothing.

…

Perching on the windowsill, you feel the ache in the fingers as they claw onto any edges capable of supporting your balance. The rope is still attached above and so you have managed to loop it around a wrist as a sort of safety precaution which is needed because short of being discovered, the problem you are facing now is about the worst one imaginable and it brings you to the verge of teary-eyed frustration as you rest your sweat-sticky forehead against the cool glass.

Here is the problem: upon leaving the secret passage and swinging out into the free, you had left the window open, hoping no one would walk by (although you did pull the rope up after you onto the balcony) which apparently is a wish that has not been granted because not only is the window pulled tightly shut, oh no, you can see the latch securely fastened in the dim star light seeping though the thick glass.

“Crrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaawwwwrrr?”

The raven has eagerly been following you on the way down, fluttering around you or perching either on the windowsill (until you arrived and chased it off) or, as now, on a nearby protrusion which could have housed a gargoyle in the past.

“What?” You freeze in fear upon hearing your clear voice in the darkness, but minutes pass by and only your stalker seems to have heard. “Yeah…well…” hissing, you glare into the darkness where you know it is, “caw all you want. I’m not dead yet, so you gotta wait.”

Yet. Unless you manage to open the window then that is just a matter of time. Every limb is shaking at the exertion from climbing that damned rope and now pretending to be a spider and stick to anything vertical…it is not exactly comforting. You need to get in. Fast.

It requires a bit of repositioning before you can free the rope-less hand to pull the dagger out and insert it in the crack between window and frame. Insert it might be too grand a term to use as only the very tip can be squeezed in.

It would have been more satisfactory to scream from the top of you lungs, but you can only get away with an inhaled curse. “Donkey’s balls!”

“Awrrrrrk.”

“Watch it or I’ll use you to break the window.” With an indignant flutter the bird takes up a new place back on the balcony railing but keeps watching you with interest. “Yeah…” you mutter annoyed, “you know I don’t mean that.”

Flipping the knife and bracing yourself, it will take all the gods’ good graces to break through the thick glass and not be heard. Here goes nothing.

You feel it happening before the knife is even brought in position to attempt smashing the glass. Sweaty fingers begin to slip on the cold, wet stone above your head and you jerk your body in the hopes that you can regain leverage, but it only makes matters worse. Oh. The foothold crumbles beneath your toes, dragging your weight into the darkness below together with the flakes of stone that have decided to break free and you fall.

Twwwwnnng!

A fine mist lands on your head and arms as the rope is stretched in an instant, stopping the descend abruptly. Sharp pain lashes through your shoulder. Later. Each movement is agony as you try to get a grip on the rope coiled around your wrist and you know that you have a dislocation to worry about as soon as you get your feet back on solid ground. Rough fibers scrape against your thumb, then the palm and the fingers close around the rope as if on their own, allowing a wave of gratitude or victoriousness surges through you, lasting all of a second before you feel the vibration traveling along the rope accompanied by the cold scrape of metal upon stone.

No. Cold wind rushes past you, tearing at your shirt and hair. It is as if every organ has been plucked from your body and are still suspended in the air by the closed window while you can only see the few markers in the dark grow smaller above you. Further above you. Then all is darkness.

… LOKI’s PoV …

Perhaps the Midgardian has a point after all when she claims being around simpler creatures brings a calmness to a turbulent soul. Loki finds it hard to imagine peace of mind emanating from sheep or poultry (unless lack of intelligence is the only requirement), but as he sits in the hay with his back against Magni’s warm flank, listening to the heavy rhythm of the heart, that same slow pace echoes within himself. The god still worries. His soul cries in agony at the fears of what might go wrong. But somehow it has become distant, muted to a point where he can ignore it almost in the same way as the howling from the snowstorm.

What can I do? Calmly working through the options, Loki eventually pieces together a semblance of a plan. As soon as the storm allows, he will return to Valhalla with Thor to speak with both their mother as well as Heimdall, the Keeper of Bifrost, to hear of any developments because the Jotun finds that he needs to know how his mortal fares. Then he will begin preparations to travel to Midgard: someone to care for the Jötun realm in his absence, a disguise (which is easily sorted) and excuse to travel south as a stranger in a foreign land.

Much of the work for the journey can be initiated now, thankfully, while other elements require careful thought. Leaving the warm comfort of the stables behind, Loki heads back to the keep proper. The wind tugs at his black hair. Who would be a fitting vice-ruler? An almost humanoid scream created by the storm is suddenly the only thing he can hear before his heart and lungs are ripped from his body, plunging him into darkness.

...

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literaturegeek53 · 5 years

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The Art of Writing - A Perspective

What is writing?

I’ve asked myself this particular questions loads of times in my life. But I never really was presented with an answer. Least to say, this question now resides as a conundrum within my brain; unanswered and unmystified.

At first it seemed that asking myself this question again and again would unlock some kind of a door leading towards the pathway of comprehending this magnificent art of magic and creation known as ‘writing’. Alas, it was in vain.

However, recently while going through my twitter feed and reading numerous posts about writing from a multitude of authors, it instantly struck me. The reason that I have been so constantly eluded by the answer to this riddle is because there exists not a particular answer to it; as in there isn’t an individual answer to this problem.

And soon it all made sense.

‘Writing’ is what every writer deems it to be. It is what their creative minds provokes them into believing. It doesn’t have to match what others are saying about it, no, it can be different in each mind – infact it is different in each individual’s mind.

That’s the beauty of ‘the art of writing’. It is so complex, consists so many peels of layers that penalizing it into a single definition would be next to impossible. It’s like a long untangled thread which can be rolled up from any direction and in any way to form a big ball of thread.

I could bore you with the history of writing (which by the way is quite fascinating and comprehensive) but then that’s not the point of this blog.

So what is the point of this blog?

Simple! It is to understand and discern what writing is because this fabulous art is severely misunderstood in this contemporary world. There are those who withhold the opinion that writing is a waste of time, that creating things which aren’t real is similar to the works of a child conjuring imaginary friends to play with. In a way, that could be right. But in numerous other ways, it’s completely wrong.

Ever thought why people are so attracted to books, to stories, to characters who embark upon an epic and heroic quest? It is because we humans tend to relish that which we know is unreal and has no fatal consequences. When a character dies we feel sorry for them, but consciously we know that they’re just a work of fiction so we won’t feel the burst of sadness as we would at the death of an actual human being. Some may agree to this and some may not, again, that’s only human nature.

The point is that we have been attracted to stories ever since the human civilization was in its infancy. There is a reason that books such as ‘The Odyssey’ gained such traction. It is because it narrated something new, something bizarre, something that was unreal, which is why people were curious to know more about it.

You may be asking yourself, how is all this relevant to ‘the art of writing’? Well it is, think closely…

Writing is a means of delivering a new perspective into the world. It is a lens which helps the writer witness and perceive the reality with a twist. As a result, it helps the writer to see the truth behind all the facade with much more clarity.

Writing is not just telling stories, it is infact telling the truth. It is narrating and vocalizing it in such a way that people would be attracted to it, they would be curious about it and would want to indulge themselves into it. However, once they would have been done reading they would have contemplated the essence of the story and what the writer hopes to allude the readers towards.

There are various prominent examples of this concept. Few of which include:

· ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

· ‘A tale of Two Cities’ by Charles Dickens

· ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Bronte

· ‘Ulyssess’ by James Joyce

Etc.

Therefore, writing is the vocalization of truth.

Now, as centuries passed by, as the world evolved, so did the art of writing. It spread its branches into producing new professions for writers, such as: journalism, novel writing, poetry, etc. But what remained constant is the foundation upon which this edifice of writing had been founded and has been standing through all those years: the vocalization of truth.

Every writer infuses their writing with what they think is true. They endow it with their own personal perspective of the world which they perceive to be accurate. Hence, what every writer initially does is hunt for the truth.

Writers are capable of fathoming the lies, the espionage, and the facade brimming and seething throughout the world. They can see right through it – perhaps it’s a gift, who knows. However, they are also smart enough to discern that if they were to portray it in its sheer reality then they would be deemed as idiots and branded mad people. Therefore, they mold it and weave it into a series of well-versed sentences with the utmost precision and care. They portray it in such a way that people would be attracted to it and would want to read it. Thus, fulfilling their intentions of laying out the truth which they see in this world of lies and facade – as discussed below.

This is what writing means to me. You may agree, you may even disagree, and that is completely fine. I wouldn’t expect anything less. But I would love to know what writing means to you, because as a writer, it definitely should…And I’m certain it does…

If you haven’t thought about it yet then perhaps now is your chance…

#my writing #My theory #writing #mywriting #amwriting #writingcommunity #writers on tumblr #writers #Husain Necklace #english #english blog

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nyangibun · 7 years

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Jon x Sansa; The Drowned Rat Conundrum

Inspired by this fic.

Summary: Jon meets Sansa one rainy afternoon right after she gets dumped by her girlfriend and he becomes acutely aware of his more than inappropriate attraction to her despite knowing she's not into guys. It only gets worse when Sansa turns out to be as fun to be around as she is beautiful. So, of course, that means Jon's life is officially over and he hates everything.

When Jon meets Sansa for the first time, she’s drenched from head to toe, wearing a large ratty hoodie and black leggings, with mascara smeared down her cheeks. As first appearances go, it’s not great, and considering she’s also sobbing uncontrollably, Jon shouldn’t find her as attractive as he does, but Sansa Stark is beautiful regardless of what condition she comes in. In fact, the drowned rat look is actually sort of cute on her, if she wasn’t crying and if his heart wasn’t breaking just by hearing that sound.

It’s a universally known fact that Jon doesn’t do well around crying girls or women. He’s awkward enough as it is around them when they’re happy. This is uncharted territory. He grew up as an only child with a dead mother, an absentee father and a boarding school full of boys.

But Sansa is crying and she’s standing there on his front stoop looking for all the world like someone had just thrown her puppy into the middle of traffic, so he approaches slowly.

“Um… hello?” Jon says, immediately berating himself for such a dumb opener. “Are you okay, miss? Do you need me to ring someone for you?”

Her eyes snap to his and they immediately narrow with wariness. Even though she’s the one crying in front of his house, Jon suddenly feels like he’s intruding. “Who are you?” she snaps irritably. “Do you live here? Is my brother home?”

“Brother?” Jon repeats, just as sudden clarity strikes him like a jolt of lightning. “You’re Robb’s sister! Sansa? Or is it… Arya?”

“It’s Sansa,” she answers, though still wary.

Well, Jon can’t blame her. Robb is friends with Theon and he’s a creep, so he’d be wary of Robb’s friends too. But the girl is still sniffling and looking sorely in need of something, so Jon raises his hand and gestures towards the door. “He should be home soon. I can make you a cup of tea while you wait?”

Sansa gives a small nod, her expression softening slowly, and as he leads her through the house, gives her a cup of tea (with two spoons of sugar and a good dash of milk), the softness is there in her eyes and lips and it just about takes his breath away.

God, Jon muses to himself. He’s never had such an instant reaction to someone before and he’s still too inexperienced with girls to know if that’s a good or bad thing.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Sansa says after a moment of silence. She’s sitting on the opposite sofa from him with one of the throw blankets wrapped around her. Jon is unbelievably glad that he had thrown it into the wash only a few days prior.

“It’s Jon,” he answers. “Jon Snow. I’m… Well, obviously I’m Robb’s housemate.” He chuckles nervously. “I uh… I also play rugby with him.”

“Oh,” she nods, taking another sip from her mug. “I know you. Robb talks about you.”

“Hopefully good things?” Jon hedges with a smile.

But Sansa doesn’t hear him because she abruptly drops the mug to the coffee table and angle her entire body towards him. “Jon, you like girls, right?”

“What?” He’s too incredulous to answer, and to his horror, his whole body begins to flush just from that question alone.

“I mean you’re into girls, right?” Sansa asks again, a bit more forcefully this time. He nods, which gives her prompt to continue. “Then tell me, tell me why girls like playing games so much. Is it because they’re incapable of committing or is it just me, you know?” Sansa runs a hand through her hair and growls. “We were together for eight months! Eight months. And before that, she knew I was wary about getting back into a relationship but she promised it’d be different. And then she goes and… Well, what kind of person just wakes up one day and says they’re in love with someone else? Who does that!”

Her voice had gotten steadily higher and higher the more she told him, and while he commiserates with her heartbreak, Jon is aware of one thing and one thing only: she’s not into guys. And just like that, what unexpected and unwanted hope that had seeded itself into his mind the moment he saw her wilted and died. Then to add insult to injury, Jon is immediately wracked with guilt because here’s Robb’s sister confiding in him over her girlfriend and all he’s doing is having creepy thoughts about her.

Jon grounds his teeth and forces the thoughts away. He is not a creep. He is not going to get upset because one girl out of a million just happens to fancy girls as well. More power to Sansa for being so open and confident with her sexuality. Right?

God, he thinks, he’s an asshole.

“I… I don’t think that’s exclusive to girls,” Jon says, and immediately regrets it when she throws him a sharp look. He puts up his hands in defence. “Sorry. I just mean… there’s always going to be those people who will come into your life just to break your heart.”

She arches her eyebrow as if to say, ‘what are you on about?’, so Jon continues, stumbling over his words like the idiot that he is.

“What I mean is I don’t want you to… close yourself off. Because that’d be bad, a shame really, and you deserve to be happy. Really happy with someone. So I just wanted you to know not all girls will break your heart. That’s it.”

Sansa stares at him for a beat before she starts chuckling. “You’re really bad at this, you know that, right?”

He rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “I’ve never had to do this before!” he grouses. “Most of the time when one of the lads is going through a breakup, I just take him to the pub and we get pissed.”

“So let’s go.”

Jon drops his hands, and this time, he stares at her for a long second. “What?”

“To the pub,” Sansa says, as she stands up. “Let’s go right now.”

“Don’t you want to wait for your brother?” Jon asks hesitantly, though he stands up as well, realising he’s probably going to be unable to deny this girl anything.

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Honestly, he’s worse than you. I don’t know what I was thinking coming to him.” She chuckles again. “I guess I just thought he might be able to help because he knows Margaery as well, but he’d probably muck it up and I’d just feel worse.”

“Right…” Jon contemplates what he’s about to suggest, but then he decides it’s not about him today, it’s about her. “Pub then?”

Somehow in the months since helping Robb’s little sister drown her heartbreak in tequila, Sansa had become a permanent fixture in his life. She’s always at the house, either to pester Robb into doing something, or she’s in his room quietly studying or watching a film with him. And in that time, Jon finds that Sansa is smart, her wit as sharp as a knife, and she’s also compassionate, warm and loving, with heart far too big for her chest. He is also excruciatingly aware of how attracted he is to her and how utterly off-limits Sansa is. Even if she isn’t only into girls, she’s also Robb’s little sister and friendship or not, Robb would punch Jon in the face for even thinking about her in a way that isn’t platonic. Of course if Sansa is into boys as well, Jon would happily be punched in the face for her, but she isn’t and that’s the biggest problem. He’s crushing on someone he can’t have and it’s making him feel rotten and gross when he knows she only sees him as another big brother.

But Jon supposes he’d still rather have Sansa in his life than not, which is the only reason why he agrees to go to a Halloween party with her where her ex-girlfriend will be, so he can be there for her. In a totally platonic way.

It has to be said though that Jon hates Halloween and so he’s made zero effort in dressing up, which is the first thing Sansa comments on when she sees him.

“You’re not even trying, Jon! What the hell are you even supposed to be?”

Robb snickers by his side, dressed as bloody Flynn Rider from Tangled. But Jon’s too busy trying not to stare at Sansa’s corset-hugging dress that shows far too much cleavage to be conducive to his mental state. She’s Queen Mary Stuart from that historically inaccurate show she loves so much and there’s a red flower crown on top of her head. He’s not sure how anybody is supposed to guess what she is, but she definitely looks like a queen. Jon would certainly ride into battle for her.

“I’m Han Solo,” Jon says with a wry smirk. “Look, I have a gun and this vest thing.” He pulls at the black vest to show her.

Sansa huffs and swats at his arm. “Pathetic. Honestly, pathetic.” She then looks to her brother and pretty soon the two devolve into some age-old argument over the best Disney princes that Jon immediately tunes out.

They walk into the house party, the main foyer already filled with drunk people swaying this way and that, and the bass of some pop dance music reverberates throughout the room. Robb disappears almost as soon as they walk in, apparently to find his date, who is the Rapunzel to his Flynn tonight. And if Jon puts his hand on the small of Sansa’s back, it’s only to guide her through the throng of people towards somewhere they can breathe and maybe find some cups for their drinks. It’s totally not because she’s gorgeous and undeniably the most perfect woman he’s ever met.

“Do you see her?” Sansa hisses to him. “I don’t see her. She’s here though. She posted on her stupid Instagram.” They find the refreshments table just fine and grab two cups to pour their vodka punch concoction. Sansa downs the first drink in record time. “Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. That’s the couple costume she has with this other girl. It was my idea! Margaery doesn’t even like comics.”

“You don’t either,” Jon points out.

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say because she punches him, hard, on the shoulder. “Well, no, but that’s not the point. Are you on my side or not!”

Jon wraps an arm around her and smiles. “I’m always on your side, Sans.”

Her reciprocating smile is just as fond as his and he wishes more than ever that he could just tell her how he feels. But that, he knows, is a wasted effort and he should probably try harder to move on. No one needs to have their pseudo big brother perving on them.

The night surprisingly is uneventful. Margaery does show up with her new girlfriend an hour into the party and Sansa exchanges pleasantries with them up until they walk away when she hisses to him that Margaery’s new girlfriend makes for a lousy Poison Ivy because ‘she’s not even a redhead, Jon; Arya says that’s blasphemy!’

By one-thirty, Sansa is so drunk he decides to call for a cab and take her home. He’s waiting for her outside of the party when Margaery sidles up next to him with a near-passed out girlfriend in tow.

“Jon, was it?”

“Yeah,” he nods. He’s polite and friendly, but out of solidarity, he tries not to be too friendly.

“Does she know?” Margaery asks, a twinkle of something Jon doesn’t like in her eyes.

He plays dumb. “Know what?”

“That you’re in love with her.” But when Jon doesn’t immediately respond, Margaery continues, laughing. “Word of advice, if you don’t want to tell her, you might want to dial back the longing looks.”

Before Jon has a chance to defend himself, Margaery jumps into a car with her girlfriend and their friends and disappears down the street. He’s still incapable of speaking when Sansa returns and they get into the cab in complete silence. Thankfully, Sansa is too drunk to notice and she passes out, her head resting on his shoulder, a minute into the ride back to his place.

The next morning with much more (sober) clarity, Jon decides Margaery’s right. He can’t keep doing this to himself. Or to Sansa. She’s not into him, and no amount of pining is going to change that. He needs to get over her and to do that, he needs to put distance between them. So with a heavy heart, Jon texts her. Simple and clear.

Hope you’re feeling okay today. Got a few exams and courseworks to work on so gonna be busy for the next month. Will text you the all clear after.

Like he expected, Sansa does text back, but he doesn’t answer. And he knows her so well now that he can predict when she has enough free time to swing by the house and he makes sure he’s at the library when that happens. Of course Jon still sees her from time to time, but the interactions are different. They’re less intimate. She never stays the night anymore; she never just walks into his room and flops onto his bed after a bad day; or ring him in the afternoon to gush about the cute dog she saw on her run earlier. In fact, they’re practically strangers again after a month goes by of Jon actively doing his best to avoid her. He knows he’s obvious and perhaps that’s why she’s distant with him too, like she can’t quite understand what he’s doing but she’s too proud to admit she’s hurt.

It goes on for awhile that even oblivious Robb starts to notice and that’s when it all goes goes to shit.

They’re at rugby training. They only have one last tournament before Christmas holidays, but that’s a whole month away, so they’re just playing an easy skirmish between each other. Robb’s on the opposite team and when the whistle blows and the rugby is passed to Jon, Robb’s there, sprinting and tackling him to the ground with so much force it knocks the wind from Jon’s lungs. He lies on his back, wheezing and coughing, trying to catch his breath, as Robb stands over him with a scowl on his face.

When Jon finally is able to speak again, he jumps to his feet and shoves Robb back. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck?” Robb repeats incredulously. “I could ask you the same thing! What the fuck are you doing with my sister?”

Jon stares, blinking rapidly, unable to process the question. “What?”

“Why the fuck have you been avoiding her?” he asks. “And don’t give me that bullshit excuse you gave to Sansa because I know you don’t have any big exams coming up.”

He rubs a hand over his face and pointedly ignoring the stares of their teammates around them. “It’s none of your business.”

“She’s my sister!” Robb shouts. “She’s always going to be my bloody business! Now tell me the truth or I swear to god I’ll kick your broody ass, Snow.”

Jon shakes his head and begins to walk off of the pitch. Robb immediately follows and shoves him again when they reach the sideline. Jon stumbles for a bit but gains his balance quickly before turning around. “Stop that.”

“Then stop being a prick and just tell me the damn truth,” Robb says. “And for fuck’s sake, have the goddamn decency of actually breaking up with my sister in person instead of just ghosting her!”

Wait, what?

“I’m not dating your sister…” Jon says, but his words trail off like a question. He’s too dumbfounded by Robb’s assumption to think of anything better to say, like maybe ‘no, they’re not dating,’ and ‘Sansa is into girls, you tool.’

Robb rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. You two aren’t subtle! You’re always staring and smiling at each other and ugh, sneaking off to your room. Did you think I was dumb or something?”

“No, no,” he quickly says. “We’re just friends. It wasn’t like that!” Jon’s head is such a whirlwind, he just completely loses hold of his filter at this point. “Your sister’s not into me like that. Do I wish that she was? Sure. But I never crossed that line with her. What kind of creep do you think I am? I’m not one of those assholes that hit on lesbians just to prove my masculinity or something, alright?”

There’s a long tense pause as Robb continues to glare at Jon before he suddenly bursts out laughing, the slapping his thigh, doubling over kind of laughter too. This only perplexes Jon more.

“What?”

“You’re… a… fucking idiot!” Robb exclaims between laughter. He wipes at the tears forming in his eyes. “My sister is not a lesbian. She’s bi, ya moron.”

“What!” Jon says, eyes growing wide, as his heart begins to ram loudly in his chest. “Why didn’t… why didn’t anyone tell me that!”

“Because you never asked,” Robb points out. “So wait, you’re telling me that you’ve been pining after my sister all this time because you thought she was only into girls?” Jon nods and he laughs again. “Fucking moron.”

“Yeah, yeah, I gathered that,” Jon groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Uhuh,” Robb nods. And then he smiles, a devious, terrifying smile before punching Jon square in the jaw. “That was for messing with my sister’s feelings because you’re too much of an idiot to just ask. And that was also preemptive because I assume now you’re actually going to go boink my sister.”

Jon frowns and rolls his eyes. “Did you honestly say boink?”

“Just get the hell out of here!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Without even telling his coach, Jon runs from the pitch, grabs his bag along the way and hails a cab to Sansa’s despite the fact that he has a bus pass for this very purpose, but the buses are slow and unreliable and he needs to see her right now.

Although it cuts the journey in half, it still takes him ten minutes too long to get to Sansa’s house. But he jumps from the cab and runs up the steps to pound unceremoniously on the door. It’s six in the evening on a Thursday and he so desperately hopes that Sansa is home. She could be out with her friends. When no one answers right away, Jon knocks again, louder this time. He’s about to do so for the third time when he hears movement coming from inside the house.

The door peels open and there standing in a ratty hoodie and black leggings is easily the most beautiful person Jon has ever seen.

“Jon, what happened to your–”

“So I’m a moron,” he cuts her off. “This isn’t anything new, really, but this time, I really, really fucked up and I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Sansa says warily. “What happened to your face?”

“It’s not important,” Jon waves off. “I came here to tell you that… shit, okay, I’ve never actually done this before so I’m probably going to muck it up too. But right…” He takes a deep breath. “Sansa, I’ve been mad about you from the first moment I saw you and it drove me crazy that I couldn’t have you because here’s the thing, I wrongly assumed you were only into girls. Not that you being also into boys means I can have you now. If you’re not into me, that’s fine too! And we’ll be friends. If you still want to, that is. I know I’ve been kind of a cock lately and stuff, but I’d rather be friends with you than not, okay? Shit, please just say something.”

There was an imperceptible look on her face, and for a long while, Sansa said nothing. She just stared at him with that impenetrable mask and it was doing a number on his nerves. But finally, with relief and dread, she sighs. “You really are a moron. You should’ve just asked me or asked Robb or asked anyone.”

“I know,” he admits, bowing his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“But you know what pisses me off the most?” she says. “It’s not that you just assumed my sexuality without asking, but the fact that you blew me off without ever giving me an explanation. I thought…” Sansa’s voice broke but there’s steel in her eyes so Jon doesn’t dare try to comfort her. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. That maybe I did something wrong. I thought that maybe you found someone else, someone better to be with like Margaery did.”

“Jesus, no!” Jon took her hands in his and implored her to listen. “Sansa, there isn’t anyone better than you. Trust me, I’ve looked and no one even comes close. I’m so sorry. I’m so bloody sorry I ever made you doubt yourself. But you have to know you’re the best thing to happen to anyone. You’re… I mean you’re Sansa Stark. You’re… everything.”

A faint smile pulls at her lips and Sansa’s cheeks flush pink. “For someone who’s not so great with words, you did quite well there, Jon.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” he braves with a smile of his own.

Sansa shakes her head. “Not even close.” But before he even has a chance to feel heartbroken, she throws her arms around his neck. “But now you can make it up to me whenever you want.”

Jon laughs as he wraps his arms around her waist. “Oh, trust me, I won’t ever stop.” And without any further prompting, Jon dips head so he can fully kiss her the way he’s wanted to four months ago.

It’s too early to say those three little words, but the minute his lips press against hers, Jon knows he’s gone. Completely and utterly gone for this girl. And frankly, he doesn’t care one bit. Sansa is his perfect little drowned rat and he’s not letting her go.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #jonsaff #jonxsansaff #jonsa fic #my fics #long post #the ending is shite #idk what this is tbh #but hey ho #bisexual sansa #is my jam #<3

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un-enfant-immature · 4 years

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Seed funding tips and tricks from Uncork Capital founder Jeff Clavier

Angel funding, seed investing and generally focusing on earlier stage investing is a huge business in the world of startups these days — it helps investors get in early to the most promising companies, and (because of the smaller size of the checks) allows for even the less prolific to spread their bets.

There was a time when it was immensely difficult for a founder to get a first check, not least because there were fewer people writing them. However, Jeff Clavier was an exception to that rule.

As the founder of Uncork Capital (formerly known as SoftTech VC), he has been in the business of angel and seed investing for 16 years, popularizing the opportunity and highlighting the need for more support at this stage — well before it was cool. You could say he was early to early stage.

Clavier said that at the end of 2019, it was estimated that there were more than 1,000 firms focusing on seed investing in the market, but by the end of this year, there will be about 2,000. “Don’t ask me whether it makes any sense because when I started 16 years ago, I didn’t think would be a big deal,” he said. “But certainly that creates a bit of a conundrum for founders to try and understand.”

As of now, Clavier has made nearly 230 investments and counting.

TechCrunch Early Stage, our virtual conference highlighting that stage of startup life, was the perfect venue to hear from him on all things seed investing and building startups today. Below are some highlights, a link to the video and a pitch deck he put together for the chat. Questions were edited for space and clarity.

Not all VCs are created equal (so know who you are pitching)

First thing to understand is that not all VCs are created equal. There are a bunch of different firms, tons of them out there, and you as a founder need to understand what are the specifics of your pitch opportunity, how to match with the right firm, and to figure out what stage of “early” you happen to be.

Startups can be super early, or mid-stage, which is typically what we refer to as pre-seed. Then there’s the seed stage, where you have developed a product, with a demo. And there is post-seed, where you have product but are not quite ready to raise a Series A. So who are the firms that can actually be the right fit for me at those different stages? The qualification part of the targeting is really important. Especially in a COVID environment when you can’t spend the same kind of time with each other.

It’s useful for founders to try and understand investors better, maybe asking a couple of questions like, “When is the last time you made a brand new investment at seed stage?” And “How has your investment process changed as a result of COVID?”

For investors, you want to understand how you’re going to evolve your process to cope with the fact that you don’t spend time with those founders face-to-face. Some firms are still struggling with that.

At Uncork, we’re now past the point of portfolio triage that we had in the first few weeks of of the pandemic. What was surprising to me was the speed and velocity at which some deals actually.

Find an investment lead

Another thing that is important at seed stage is to understand the difference between the leaders and followers in the investment. Unfortunately for founders, you’re going to have a lot of people trying to very quickly come to a decision and say, “Oh, I’m gonna invest $100,000, $200,000, whatever,” in your round. But unfortunately, it’s really not useful at all to have a bunch of followers and no leads. And so as part of your targeting, you really want to think about which firms are going to write the larger check, set the terms and help me, the entrepreneur, put the round together.

If you work with a lead investor that has a very strong brand, then that will make your life much easier.

You want to have everything lined up: pitch deck, the backup slides, the references that investors will ask you for, which allow them to try and figure out who you are and how you work, with input from people that you’ve worked with. I won’t go too much into detail of the pitch deck because this is something that has been written about a lot but those are typically the questions that you want to highlight in the deck. You want to have clear answers around how much you would like to raise.

Prepare for your remote pitch

Having a remote pitch is a new thing, but we’re all doing it, via Zoom.

Even though there are many solutions, my advice is use Zoom because everybody uses Zoom. Everybody’s used to Zoom, people have Zoom installed… Don’t try and pitch from your phone — that’s horrible. Use a computer and if you can, have a fixed connection because Wi-Fi is the enemy. Make sure that you have a proper light environment, and turn off all notifications so that you don’t have Slack notifications coming in the middle of the conversation.

If you have it, go through the deck, but then some VCs prefer stories. In any case, don’t have them browse your deck, share your screen and take control of the conversation. It’s very hard, but try and make eye contact through the camera.

Don’t do what someone did to me a couple of weeks ago: They literally opened and shared the screen and so the calendar and their inbox with some emails from other VCs [were visible] … And if you’re pitching as a team, which you should because we’re trying to get to know the founders, try and figure out either the way you’re going to pitch or the cues you’re going to use to have the conversation involve everyone because you don’t want to have someone not being involved at all. So rehearsing is very important.

Practice the pitch to previous investors, friends who have been on the entrepreneurial side, friends who are on the investor side and try and get all their feedback together and rehearse until it feels right. Do this in the same environment where you’ll do the actual pitch.

Introductions matter more than cold emails

Introductions are also very important. Sometimes people will say, “Well, I’m just getting going and I don’t know how to get introduced.” The introduction is typically an important step for founders. It’s figuring out who is someone in their network who knows me, who can vouch for them with me and essentially, use the credibility I have for the person, and introduce them on their behalf.

As for email, I do read every single one I get. But to date, there’s only two cold emails that have led to an investment at Uncork. So just think about two investments out of 227 were cold emails and the rest was introduction. So it’s worth trying to figure out who knows people who know the VCs you want to try and connect to are so you can get those intros working.

Run fundraising like you might run your sales or CRM

Fundraising is basically a sales job. So like any CRM, you want to be able to track that figure out, who has said what, what the pushback was, what the questions were, so you can really be on point with your follow-ups.

And be quick. If someone says, “Oh, send me this information, send me your references, send me your deck.” Literally, you should send that within a couple of hours of the meeting so that you can show that you’re on top of the ball, and that you’re good at following up because what we’re trying to assess when you pitch us is how good are you at selling your product?

Make sure you track everything … [and] update the pitch as you get feedback from people.

What if we do all of this, and it still doesn’t work?

If it never works, and nobody bites maybe you want to rework the pitch entirely.

Maybe you want to think about what you should be doing. Some companies will pitch to a few firms and get three term sheets and they will say, “Oh, this fundraising thing was easy,” but, they’re really the exception.

Most companies will pitch 50 firms and get one yes. And that’s what matters: to get one VC saying yes, to get to the next stage. It really only takes one investor to give you the push and the runway to get to the next round.

I still remember Udemy pitching a bunch of people at seed stage many years ago and no one would bite. Then one, Keith Rabois, said yes, and suddenly the company was funded because everyone followed Keith’s lead. The other day I saw that they were raising $3 billion. So it just took one person, Keith, to give them the momentum.

What is the impact on future fundraising if we received funds from either a crowdfunding site or an accelerator?

It’s good if it’s an incubator that we have respect for in the sector that the company’s involved in, that’s the difference. The days of, “Oh, I have raised $5 million on whatever crowdfunding site for my product,” used to be exciting until a lot of the companies that were doing that failed. So these days it is, like, whatever. But I think it’s part of the funding ecosystem. So we’re more interested in the reasons why you picked doing YC or TechStars or others. Consumer hardware has become a very, very challenging category to get financed. Because there’s been so many failures, and also, we’ve had a hard time translating traction through crowdfunding to actually building big companies.

What kind of diligence questions do startups need to be prepared to answer?

Since it’s early stage, you don’t have much around customers and customer attraction and customer numbers. But if you have we’ll try and understand both the financial side. So unit economics, how much you spent to get those customers, how much you’re spending to service them. And have you lost customers or, why are they using this product? Things like that. What’s the competitive environment?

Has the shift to virtual pitching increased or decreased your due diligence?

Probably [increased]. I’ve been doing this for 20 years. So after awhile you develop some kind of a feel for things. It’s really hard to get the feel for things to translate online, right? So spending a bit more time on reference checks and trying to essentially use people we know, who know those founders, as proxies for us to figure out how they’re gonna behave and what if something challenging happens because it does. At the same time, because the velocity of deals has increased, it’s been challenging to take more time where there’s pressure to take less.

How do you feel about pitching with materials other than slide decks?

I think everything works, it’s really up to you. I like decks. I never take notes. So I always listen to the founder telling me the story and giving you a pitch deck. So the pitch deck is really useful to just get key data points and make sure everything is covered because then I can get back to it. If everything is just a story I can live with it. I would say be good at both is probably the way to think about it.

How much typically do you give up in equity if you’re taking a $2 million seed round?

It really depends, [but] I would say the standard these days is … $2 million [at] 20% dilution plus the option pool would be kind of a standard deal. But if you’re earlier than that, then maybe 25% two on six. If ever you’re a repeat founder with a track record or a very impressive founding team, you may be able dilute less, but what most founders will do is typically choose to dilute 20-ish percent and increase the size of the round if they can get a higher valuation.

What is the best way to get an introduction to an investor?

Just mind your network, LinkedIn is your best friend. I have a large, extensive network. So do most VCs. And so there’s always a bunch of people who are connecting you and us, right? The key challenge is to understand who knows us really well. So you have to make some kind of a bottom up and top-bottom approach. The bottom up is who is in your network who could know me and the top to bottom is who are the founders I work with who may be reachable to you. Because for us, strong signals are founders because our founders know us the best and if ever, they say, “Oh, you have to spend time with that person” then we will. [Also] co-investors, people we trust who we’ve co-invested with a lot. The problem is that there are a lot of people who know us. And I’m pretty good at only accepting LinkedIn invitations from people I actually have met face-to-face. I may have to revise that now because people are online, but you need to assess who’s out there who will vouch for you with me, and that I will pay attention to. And that takes a bit of time.

What’s your view on markets like Africa, now that we’re in this virtual world. Are you casting the net wider?

We are really looking at the U.S. market at Uncork. It is a messy market, and you can build a multibillion dollar company on the U.S. market. Eventually they will open up to other geographies. We used to focus on founders in Silicon Valley, New York, Boston. But a couple of years ago, we started telling our entrepreneurs, it’s so expensive to build a startup in Silicon Valley. Just think about building remote-friendly companies. Think about hiring talent wherever it is, so it doesn’t have the same cost. San Francisco is incredibly expensive, and people just leave companies after a year or two. So think about cost of hiring and cost of retention.

We have recently invested in a company called neo.tax where one of the founders is actually in Egypt. So we’re thinking much more broadly about geographies. But in terms of focus, our market focus is on the U.S.

What is the likelihood of getting pre-seed funding without a technical co-founder, but a very well-thought through idea or pitch?

That’s where figuring out the firm’s service is important. Some people will say I really want to see someone who can build that and will try and assess execution capabilities. But I’ve recently done a pre-seed investment with a repeat founder [where] he doesn’t really have a technical co-founder yet, but I know we can hire because he’s done it four times. So it’s a massive idea, I’m super excited, and I know we will be able to attract the talent he needs because he’s done it before.

I funded my startup myself and proceeded to launch a minimal viable product. What optics does that send to an investor?

That’s a massive commitment, right? You put your own time and money behind it. I invested some of my own money for three years before launching SoftTech and that was my commitment to the world that I was going to do it no matter what, and so, it sends a very strong message.

In the last four investments you made during the COVID-19 period, how long did it take you to get comfortable?

We always have a very large funnel, so we typically fund like 1% of what we see. I don’t remember the number of meetings but probably four to six, with the founders or about the founders. Because there’s multiple people on the team as well. It’s a bunch of hours spent during a very short period of time, because they were all compressed decision times, like a few days compared to a couple of weeks maximum. Those were pretty intense days where we just spent all our time focusing on those companies.

We all just need to be comfortable with the process that we follow to assess those opportunities online. And if I can’t get comfortable, then I will pass.

For a machine-learning healthcare SaaS startup still developing its prototype, do you suggest we pitch for seed money?

Well, then you just go back to why is this relevant? What’s going to be the return on investment for the target users or customers of that startup? What are they replacing? Why is it 100x better and make the make the argument and the pitch of why this makes a ton of sense. And then we’ll assess it. And we’ll either say yes, because we trust the founders or no, because we don’t agree with their assessment.

How long on average is an initial pitch?

Oh, it’s 10, 12, 15 slides. I always allocate 50 minutes. So 50 minutes to an hour, I would say think about 25 to 30 minutes and then a bunch of questions, and I always ask a bunch of questions along the way. And the hour has gone by very quickly.

What are you doing to overcome challenges for minority founders?

We welcome minority founders and 30% of our portfolio is women. We’re working very, very hard on getting people of color in the portfolio. We will work very hard to figure out how to stretch the network. It’s harder, but that doesn’t mean that it’s an excuse for us not to do those.

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simplythetest · 5 years

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Writing Example Code: The Copy/Paste Conundrum

As I continue my series on writing good example code, I'm going to delve into nefariously beloved aspect of writing code: copying and pasting code snippets. I have copy/pasted code, most of those reading this post have done it, and copy/pasting will be done in the future.

In my last post, I discussed knowing your audience when writing samples of code. One place this becomes clear is when considering who might use your code sample, and how. The classic use case is a reader copying and pasting code into their local environment and trying to execute the code somehow. Sometimes the example code will "just work", but often this is not the case. As well, sometimes copy/pasted code can end up creating some pretty bad situations if developers aren't careful.

The key problem is this following conundrum:

Should example code encourage copy/pasting, or not? And if example code is copy/pasted into some local context, how can developers writing that example code help the situation?

I call this the copy/paste conundrum (runner-up description: the duplication dilemma).

This isn't as trivial as it might seem. Many developers will write a small snippet of code without much thought showing how a particular feature works. Many documentation pages have long and short pieces of code illustrating many aspects of a library or package that are shown as example code, but still miss some key aspects that could help them out significantly. I'm going to return to my previous hypothetical Josh Labs API library that can be used to interface with the (totally imaginary) Josh Labs service to provide some examples of how to improve copy/paste code samples.

Completeness

Suppose a feature of the Josh Labs service is that it provides full URLs used to connect to the Josh Labs API. Let's consider this code example for getting the API status via an endpoint:

base_url = jl_instance.JOSH_LABS_BASE_URL status = requests.get(baseurl + "/status")

This snippet looks like it it could be a good example. It shows the basic feature (how to access the base url for the Josh Labs API) in a fairly straightforward way. However, this snippet has some serious deficiencies when it comes to being complete. It is missing a number of things.

How the library is instantiated is not clear. There's the js_instance object, but where did it come from? Even if folks are acquainted with object oriented programming there's a few ways this instance could've been created. This could be confusing if this example was copy/pasted, since it likely would fail right off the start. Putting in a constructor, previous steps for creating an instance or just some extra setup code would clarify how this is supposed to be created. Let's do that:

jl_instance = JoshLabsAPI() base_url = jl_instance.JOSH_LABS_BASE_URL status = requests.get(baseurl + "/status")

This adds some clarity, but also means that jl_instance will work as expected. Or will it?

Where is the library defined is also not included. The JoshLabsAPI() class definition needs to come from somewhere. It is possible this class definition is included in some local or global context after installation, but that's not too likely. If the principle of least surprise - which is a good principle to follow - is followed, we would expect this definition to be included somewhere as part of an import statement or reference to some other external file or library. This would help since it would reduce the surprise that the Josh Labs library is some magical, exceptional package that doesn't need to follow the rules. Since I like Python, let's use a Python-style of import to make this clear:

from joshlabs import JoshLabsAPI jl_instance = JoshLabsAPI() base_url = jl_instance.JOSH_LABS_BASE_URL status = requests.get(baseurl + "/status")

If requests isn't included in the default namespace or standard Python library, it should also be added as an explicit import:

from joshlabs import JoshLabsAPI import requests jl_instance = JoshLabsAPI() base_url = jl_instance.JOSH_LABS_BASE_URL status = requests.get(baseurl + "/status")

Now this is looking better! Each step of using the Josh Labs library - importing it, creating an object instance by constructor and using the feature of interest - is clear. This example code has a much better chance of working properly when copy/pasted into some local environment.

Obviousness

Suppose my previous code snippet was this:

base_url = jl_instance.JOSH_LABS_BASE_URL

It it obvious what this code snippet does? Even if all the additional code is provided to make this complete and copy/pastable, one question I'd have when looking at this code snippet is what is this code for? It's definitely not obvious. It may be clear that this code produces a URL in the form of a string but that's about it. Why a string and not some other object? And how exactly does this help a user start using the Josh Labs library?

Looking at piece of example code and understanding (at least at a high level) what it is accomplishing should be as obvious as possible. Whether something is obvious or not can be a tricky to determine but some questions to consider would be:

If I saw this example code appear, would I understand what it is meant for?

If I put this in a different context or language, would I understand it?

Would a novice programmer understand this? What about an expert programmer?

The reason obviousness helps the copy/paste conundrum is it helps folks decide what to copy/paste and where, without strange unintended consequences.

Platform

Even a well formed piece of example code can fail if platform considerations aren't taken into account. For me, the classic case is the poor Windows user: a piece of code written on a Linux operating system might work beautifully on other Unix-based systems but fall over immediately on Windows. Here, copy/pasting might lead to weeping and gnashing of teeth.

There are other similar but more subtle situations where this can be a problem such as

implicit system dependencies: example code might inadvertently rely on system packages or libraries that installed on the development environment. There might be OS-level dependencies that aren't obvious until the example is executed on a different operating system.

(not) future proofing: dependencies might change in the future, wildly unexpectedly sometimes. Code that works as expected today might not work at all tomorrow even with the same configuration. Example code needs a longer shelf life to accommodate this.

(not) backwards compatible code: in addition to dependencies, programming languages change as well (particularly JavaScript but that's another blog series). Syntactic changes can occur over time even in mature programming languages. This might lead to a poor copy/paste experience.

To prevent these situations from occurring, remember to think about which language the example code is in, trying executing copy/paste snippets in different environments and recognizing platform considerations up front. If a piece of code was never meant to run on Windows 7, add comments saying so!

Safety

This last aspect is often overlooked but highly important. One of the most dangerous aspects of copy/pasting code is unexpected side effects. Here's a clear example:

from joshlabs import JoshLabsAPI import requests jl_instance = JoshLabsAPI(password='mySuperSecretPassword1') base_url = jl_instance.JOSH_LABS_BASE_URL status = requests.get(baseurl + "/status")

This code looks fine, except that there's a secret password exposed. Exposing this password could lead to all kinds of malicious behaviour from bad actors. This is bad practice and could be quite dangerous.

Other examples might be including other sensitive information such as server names, project names, IP ranges, and so on in plain text in example code. As well, including malicious code can cause problems when executed, such as the infamous fork bomb that can crash processes or operating systems. Such code might look unfamiliar and be copy/pasted without much thought, leading to dire consequences. Be mindful of side effects, security and overall safety when imagining example code being copy/pasted.

I Copy, You Copy, We All Paste

Copy/paste considerations are, at the least, complex. What could be a nice clean piece of example code might end up being a headache for well-meaning users who copy and paste it into their context. It is a crucial consideration if example code accomplishes its goal of being helpful, and copy/paste is here to stay.

#software development #programming #writing #teamwork #copy paste

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