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wolfscarr · 2 days

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Helluva Broken Narrative and the most useless character..

Disclaimer: Not saying you can't enjoy this show folks. Enjoy it all you want, this is just a rant about the lack of a cohesive narrative!

I really was completely dead on posting, but I just can't get this out of my head.

I feel people should be acknowledging this far more than it has been, this is extremely important. This goes beyond just episode pacing, this goes beyond the characters....this is something that without it? There is no real show, which is....

Helluva Boss has a BROKEN NARRATIVE.

Some fans wanna claim it has this 'complex' writing and I'm sitting here going like "really? Where?"

It doesn't sorry and know why? Because Season 2 of this show, basically broke the narrative that Season 1 was building.

These past posts of mine, will show you why the narrative is broken.

Now can they continue on with the story they are telling? Yes of course they can, but it won't fix the fact that it's not coherent to Season 1, that it's not needed.

Wanna know who the most useless character in the show is now? If you guessed Stolas, you're correct! In the meaning of making Stolas this guy who did nothing wrong and who's sad....they took away his character purpose.

Stolas has ZERO purpose being within the show now, given how things have played out.

But you might say

"Well he's needed to give Blitz the Crystal and end the deal!"

Except....no, he wasn't. They could have just delivered the crystal to I.M.P. They have Blitz’ number, just call him, get a servant to send it etc.

Remembering my posts above, where you can have I.M.P. killing in Hell as a Season 1 thing?

Maybe they're just getting started with their company? So Blitz wants to supplement with killing in Hell by killing those up top so he goes to see about getting an Asmodean Crystal?

See let's backtrack here folks, the episode Oops it was mainly about Blitz and Fizz reconciling right? Which they do at the end of the episode. Now follow this, if we take into account the above, Blitz' dialogue could be.

Blitz: "Fizz look, I know what happened to you was horrible. I don't...expect you to forgive me, but I'm struggling to support myself, my daughter and my employees with my company. I....if you can just think on it, perhaps I could get one of those Asmodean Crystals?"

The scene ends and Fizz goes back to Ozzie, while along the way he's thinking about Blitz' words and how he was saved by him where in the end, Fizz agrees to send Blitz a Crystal because he's earned it from saving his very life.

Or here's another scenario, Blitz has a Crystal from the start(which he took from Verosika when they were dating), but as things get far more hectic up on Earth with more dangers. The Crystal ends up shattering after I.M.P. gets back to Hell after a job, thus Blitz goes to actually confront his past and reconcile with Fizz in order to try and get a new one.

See how easy it is now, to just remove Stolas entirely? They took away a character's purpose of being in the show....that to me, is completely disappointing. Characters, especially those that are suppose to be IMPORTANT, should have a purpose...without that? You may as well just delete them entirely.

Blitz could have had 2 whole Seasons with relating to the past and those that he hurt, that he TRULY hurt(Verosika, Fizz and Barbie) that would actually matter to him as a character. But instead, all these characters are instead shoved to the wayside, for a character who doesn't matter anymore and only actually matters because the writing is FORCING him to matter.

You can write the narrative in so many different ways with what Season 2 gives us, that completely destroys what Season 1 told us. Are we now expected to just....IGNORE AN ENTIRE SEASON?

They can do this whole "sad Stolas is sad and Blitz is hurt and Stolas is going to give him a crystal." Thing all the way to 'try' and fix things, but it'll fix nothing....because the deal between them was retroactively made completely pointless.

The show will continue obviously, but in the back of the minds....it will be a broken narrative and Season 1 is basically buried 6 feet under. As a writer, this really annoys me....because they had how long between Seasons to nail this down? How long have we all waited just in-between episodes? This shouldn't have happened.

Yes, is storytelling hard? Obviously, none of my stories are perfect....but at least the narrative is coherent from beginning to end.

Anyway...I just...had to get this out of my head, because it was really frustrating and I want it to be acknowledged more. The narrative is important folks, if it's broken...that's not a good thing.

I'm still watching this show....if only because I'm knee deep in it now and I still somewhat actually like the characters, but what I don't like...is this broken narrative that is still hanging around with a pointless character that doesn't matter to the show anymore.

Narratives, coherent narratives are important to a story, without it? You don't have characters and you don't have a story.

#helluva boss #helluva critique #helluva boss critical #helluva critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #Narratives are the MOST IMPORTANT THING!#helluva boss season 2 #helluva boss season two #helluva boss blitz #anti stolas

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drunkhee · 2 days

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lonely beds, different cities ────── ⵌ YJW

pairing: uni student!yang jungwon x afab! reader genre: hurt wc: 1.29k warning !! mentions of alcohol + swearing + vomiting (due to alcohol) , lowercase writing

ft. enhypen members + yujin (ive)

synopsis; you and jungwon broke up as you were going to different universities

long, handwritten note deep in your pocket

‘my dearest jungwon,’ the note began. that was all jungwon had read before folding the letter back up after recognising your handwriting. he shoves the letter deep into the pocket of his jeans as his train made his way onto the platform.

it has been several weeks since you and jungwon’s breakup. weeks of torturous conversations of who ended it and why it ended with your peers. weeks of tears and ice cream. weeks of avoiding each other.

the breakup wasn’t amicable… to say the least. as you both approached the dreaded results day, you both came to the conclusion of a breakup before going into university. it wasn’t uncommon for couples to breakup, especially if they were going to universities hours away from each other.

‘you don’t even want to give it a try?’ you huff at him. this has been the third time this week where you are both arguing about what to do after receiving your results.

‘y/n, we are going to be… hours away from each other. we’ve always been attached by the hip, we’re not going to cope well with this!’ he shouts back.

‘you don’t even want to try and see how it goes? you’re the one who wanted to go to uni far away!’ you yell as he plops onto the couch.

‘oh! so now it’s my fault that the uni i want to go to is so far away! you were the one who said you would be fine with it!’

‘i was going to be! until you pull this shit! i was fine with you being so far away because i know that you going to this university, has been your dream wonie. i wasn’t going to let my selfish needs get in the way of your dreams and i was willing to travel to see you no matter how long the journey. and you pull this shit. i get it now. we should end this.’ you finally say, leaving jungwon before he could say anything.

in dreams, i meet you in warm conversation

‘i love you, y/n.’

‘i love you too, jungwon.’ you smile at him as he held you closer into a tight hug. jungwon gives a small kiss on your forehead as you lay in his small university single bed. ‘i’m so glad you decided to stay close to my uni, baby.’

‘i am too, i don’t know how i’d cope with you being so far.’ jungwon’s replies as you notice a bright light coming out of his window. slowly, your vision was engulfed in white and you awaken from your slumber.

you are back to reality, in your own university room. most definitely not jungwon’s who is hours away. it has officially been 6 months since you and jungwon broke up, not like you were counting anyways. many of your friends have told you that you would have forgotten him by now, but it seems like time sure is taking their sweet time.

is jungwon doing alright? is he eating well? does he have someone new? you have so many unanswered questions, yet no means of getting the answers. you have both cut off all contact and have mutually agreed on unfollowing each other off of all of your social media accounts. you occasionally spot him in heeseung and jake’s instagram stories on how they turn up to lectures almost an hour late or in riki’s who goes up to visit him and flirt with the older women.

you make your way to your university’s café. it was one of many littered around campus, but this one tends to be less busy as its farther away from all the busy buildings. yujin, a girl you met in your course who became one of your closest friends, waves her hands at you as you make your way to her. setting you bag down, she gives you a smile.

‘y/n… you know how it’s almost my birthday…’ she starts, tugging on your sweater. ‘i wanna celebrate back home! i really wanna introduce you and the others to my hometown friends! you can say no!’ she beams at you.

initially, you were really up for the idea, not until you remembered where she’s from. she notices the slight shift in your face.

‘it’s totally okay if you don’t want to come y/n, i know you’re scared of bumping into him…’ as much as you are scared, a part of you also is thrilled with the chance to see your ex. you reassure yujin that it was okay.

‘i mean, your hometown is quite big. i doubt we’d run into him, right?’

oh boy …

and you've got your demons, and darlin they all look like me

another day, another shot of vodka to start a university students day – or whatever heeseung said. exam week has finally come to an end for the boys, and such momentous occasion must be celebrated at their local wetherspoon’s with cheap pints of beer and jaeger bombs.

well, that’s not the only thing jungwon is drinking to tonight.

as the boys pull up to the pub, busy crowds of university students surround the entrance with the security guard occasionally checking ids for those who look underage. with the boys going inside, they try and look for a seat and ended upstairs – barely securing the table due to the busy friday night.

‘first round is on me boys!’ heeseung yells as he makes his way to the bar, god knows what drink he’s gonna bring this time. last time, he brought out some type of thick vanilla liqueur that resulted in jungwon puking out his halloumi fries.

sunghoon and jungwon watch heeseung charge to the bar as more friends join their table, namely jake, jay, and sunoo.

‘while heeseung is getting, probably the most horrendous drink ever, i’ll order us a round of tequila.’ jay announces as he orders on his phone, unlike heeseung who is probably now distracted by the pretty bartenders. thanks were given around the table as they all catch up with one another.

‘ayo, won.’ jake starts. ‘i heard that y/n is gonna be out partying today.’ he says looking up from his phone to jungwon, who now looks confused. his y/n never really went out, let alone partying.

‘well, uhm, that’s not really any of my business, man.’ jungwon shrugs at jake, beginning to feel uncomfortable that the whole table is now paying attention to him.

‘yo, i’m sorry man. i didn’t know you guys were still not t-‘

‘oh look! tequila shots, thanks jay!’ jungwon cuts jake off taking two of the shots. ‘i forgive you jake.’ he smiles at him before downing both shots. as more drinks were ordered and drank, jungwon was almost at his limit.

‘won, you should chill.’ heeseung advises the younger boy, before getting a scowl as a response.

‘god, i’m fine! i’m gonna go take a piss.’ he mumbles as he gets up from his chair. his view was slightly blurry and wobbly, but he made his way to the toilets. he waved at some other students he recognised before pushing the door open to the toilets to do his business.

leaving the toilets, he bumps into a person. a girl?

‘i’m so sorry, didn’t see you.’ he mutters as he meets the girls eye. your eyes.

‘jungwon?’ you looked at him shocked – not expecting to actually bump into the boy.

before you receive a response, he bolts off into a different direction. he looked at you almost scared and… disgusted? you couldn’t quite figure it out.

silence, the train runs off its tracks

lor's thoughts;

hey hey!! this is my first written piece on here and honestly idk what to write here LMAO hope u guys like this tho!! (based on sm of the lyrics of tswifts sad beautiful tragic!!)

#୨ৎ⋆.˚‪‪❤︎‬‎⭒ lor #୨ৎ⋆.˚‪‪❤︎‬‎⭒ lor ‬‎⭒ enha #enhypen #jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader #enha #heeseung #jungwon #enha x reader #jake sim #yjw x reader #ni-ki #ni ki #jay #sunghoon #sunoo

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justanothermarauderr · 14 hours

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did i just went on a 10+ minutes tangent about regulus black and james potter love story and how they are so beautifully tragic on tiktok? yes

did i also explain why i will always defend them with my entire being, drunk? yes

bcs you cant say that whenever you read about about them it’s always

regulus black loves first and james potter fell harder and harder every time

they are so beautifully tragic and yes in some ff they do make it to the end. and yes they live a happy life but the most tragic ones ???????

regulus black doing everything he does just so james ( and by extension his brother ) could go on and live a happy life even if it wasn’t him??? y’all…

i will forever defend them till my lasting breath bcs i feel what regulus felt when he went into that cave

i feel his heartbreak and his hope for james, the only person he had ever loved beside his brother, to live a happy life. even if it was not with him.

regulus black had loved james potter to the point that he would be willing to sacrifice his life to be sure that james potter, his love , his life, his literal light at the end of the fckn tunnel that was tainted with the black families idiocy of following a man that wanted genocide, to have a happy and filled life.

even if it wasn’t with him.

i will forever love their stories that was picked and wrote.

the grumpy slytherin who followed his families ideals but to only be torn by a gryffindor who showed him what actually loving someone with no expectation can be and to ensure that no harm to was to come to their light.

I read somewhere that said and i quote

“ regulus black was a boy who walk like they are made of stone but his touch was like the sun”

james potter had said that in many and multiple times and ff’s

james potter was the sun and regulus black was like a stone

but to james, regulus was like a summers warmth open and warm with every touch he had made.

james potter was seen as the sun. but he would tell you otherwise if he had the chance.

regulus black was a boy who walked like he was made of stone but if james potter were to be in his orbit, his touch was like the sun. coursing through james’ veins; melting away the very expectation people wanted him to be.

regulus had rarely open to people who he finds ( and in his words) tolerable

barty crouch jr.

evan and pandora rosier

dorcas meadows

and his brother, sirius black

those were the people that knew him best.

but for him to open up to someone to, james potter

of all people

he loved his friends and brother in a familial way

it has said a lot about how regulus black love

but james

james was different

james, who loved and wouldn’t be ashamed to declared it was very much unfamiliar

regulus black loved james potter as soon as he realize that it wasn’t the same to those he was close

it altered how he viewed love and how it differentiate between them

and james

oh but james.

he loved who he loves.

It’s simple as that

but with regulus it was different

sure he serenaded lily evans but still

when james potter saw regulus black as more then his best friends little brother it

in a way

clicked

regulus black made sense to him.

he was perfect to james. regulus told him it was okay to let go. to not be held in a metaphorical pedestal everyone had put him in.

it made sense to james potter that regulus black was THE ONE.

bcs who in his life ever told him it was okay to let go and feel what he felt in that moment and breakdown bcs of what people see him as

the loving gryffindor golden boy who had no doubt towards anyone who deams worthy of the potter heirs kindness

but to regulus it wasn’t that.

he SAW what james had to put up too

the prank

cant find it his heart to hate sirius who he sees as a brother

It was hard

but the moment james was alone with regulus, the only one who see right through him, he broke.

and it says a lot more then anything.

james potter had trusted regulus enough to shed his golden boy skin and told him what he was feeling and how he was disappointed and hurt by the way sirus went about everything with snape

ofc it didn’t resonate with him like remus had felt but it still hurt nonetheless.

to not see his best friend and in his place, a unfamiliar boy who was consumed by the madness bcs of his family

it hurt james.

BUT it was regulus he seeked first

it was regulus black that told him to let go and say what he wanted to say

and i find that so beautiful that even though they saw things that put them in different sides of the war

that they somehow, and so beautifully, able to understand one another and what the other need

can you tell I’m drunk 😭

#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #marauders era #jegulus #marauders #regulus black #ao3 #james potter #the prank #beautifully tragic

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 2 days

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This story started with Guthláf, Théoden’s banner bearer. To carry a flag in war was (in LOTR and real life) very dangerous, and it got me thinking about the kind of person who would willingly take on that danger and why (see here for Guthláf’s answer). And then I got thinking about what it would be like to love that kind of person and have to watch them do something so brave and glorious and selfless but also so perilous. And that brought me to Wídfara.

Like Guthláf, Wídfara exists in canon for just a few sentences. He’s from the Wold. He’s intuitive about the weather. That’s it from Tolkien. But I do so love an obscure horse boy of Rohan, and two together is even better. Here they are in part 1 of 7, where our boys have their first meeting.

August, T.A. 3017

When he’d taken a third wrong turn in as many tries, Wídfara finally decided to ask someone on the street for help. Unfortunately, getting anyone in Edoras to stop to answer his questions proved even harder than finding his own way around the city. It wasn’t that people were unfriendly or unwilling to assist, but rather that they didn’t seem to even notice him as he tentatively raised a hand or stammered out the beginnings of a greeting. Everyone walked so quickly and with such a busy sense of purpose that they were invariably four steps past him already by the time he got his first few words out.

A quick glance up at the sun told him that he was going to be late if he didn’t get himself together soon, and the last thing he wanted was to make a poor impression on his very first day. He already had enough working against him – his simple country clothing, his thick rural accent, his obvious cluelessness in navigating his way around, all of which marked him clearly as an outsider – and he didn’t need his new éored thinking that he was careless or unreliable on top of everything else. He shifted his pack on his back, hastened his steps around another corner and felt a wash of relief at the sight of a garrison complex with the king’s banner flying in front.

An older man, clad to the waist in armor and standing with a rigid military bearing, waited on the front steps of the central building, just under the banner. His eyes scanned all the passersby, and when they landed on Wídfara they lit up with a spark of intuited recognition. The rigidity melted away in an instant, and he beckoned Wídfara over with a smile and a welcoming wave.

“I’m on the lookout for a new rider just in from the East-mark, and I would bet my horse that you’re him. And right on time, too. My name is Elfhelm.”

Wídfara dropped his pack and stood to attention. For all that he didn’t know about Edoras, he certainly knew the name of Elfhelm, the commander of the garrison and the functional First Marshal of the Mark any time the king himself wasn’t present. “Yes, Marshal. I just arrived in the city last night. My name is Wídfara, sir.”

Elfhelm’s bushy eyebrows shot upward at the distinctive heavy twang of Wídfara’s words. “The Third Marshal told me he was sending us a real country boy, and I see that he wasn’t exaggerating. Where exactly are you from, son?”

Elfhelm’s open, casual manner took Wídfara by surprise. Back home, his captain had been a rather grim man, one who never spoke an unnecessary word or showed his riders even a hint of his own personality, and Wídfara had expected the leaders of Edoras, some of the most powerful in the kingdom, to be even more stern. But yet again, it seemed, he simply had no understanding of how life in the capital actually worked. “I’m born and raised in the Wold, Marshal,” he answered. “My family has run herds out there for generations. It’s quite…” He glanced around at the bustling rush of people moving in and out of the collection of buildings around them. “It’s different from the city.”

Elfhelm nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Well, that’s certainly true. I imagine that Edoras can seem a little overwhelming at first to someone who’s spent his whole life in a place like the Wold. And an éored reordering is never easy on anyone. Saying goodbye to the people and places you’ve always known is a rough task.”

Wídfara swallowed hard on the lump that immediately formed in his throat. It had been less than a week since he’d been forced to say those goodbyes, gathered together with family and friends and brothers-in-arms out near his old post in the plains where the Limlight joined the Anduin. The Wold had never been a thickly populated area – the land was too unforgiving, the semi-nomadic lifestyle of the herdsmen too harsh – but as more and more families moved out of the grasslands and into the East-mark’s larger settlements and towns, an independent éored for the Wold had become increasingly unsustainable. No one had been particularly surprised when the reordering was announced, but it had been painful nonetheless and especially so for Wídfara. Because while his friends were reassigned to one of the three surrounding éoreds in the Eastemnet, all within a few hours ride of home, he had been singled out for transfer to Edoras, a place so foreign to him that it might as well have been Dunland or Rhûn.

His face seemed to betray some of his thoughts to Elfhelm, who put a large, comforting hand on Wídfara’s shoulder. “Change can be tough, son, but it also presents opportunity. And you’ve been given a golden one here. It’s not often that someone gets called up to the king’s éored – I can only remember one other time that it happened, and my memory stretches back longer than you’ve been alive. But your old captain was adamant that there isn’t a finer mounted bowman in all of Rohan and it would be a waste to just reassign you to yet another remote outpost. If you’re even half as good as the men of the East-mark claim, you can make a real name for yourself here.”

Wídfara felt his face grow hot, and he looked down at his feet. No one had told him how this transfer had come to be, and the thought of that dour, taciturn captain singing his praises to anyone was almost more than he could believe. And while he was proud of his own talent, he felt an instinctual urge to defend against the implication that the other riders of the Wold were any less skillful. “Everyone who grew up where I did learned early to shoot from a moving horse, sir,” he offered. “A herd will always attract wolves.”

Elfhelm chuckled. “That may be so, but your captain didn’t convince the Third Marshal of the Mark to send just any old herdsman to us. He picked you. Try to remember that.” A bell behind him tolled, and he glanced toward the door over his shoulder. “I need to get back to some other business, so we’d best get you on your way. You’ll be living in Barracks A with the other unmarried men of the company. You can drop your belongings there and then head over to the armorer to get everything you need. Training starts tomorrow at sunrise.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”

Elfhelm was already halfway out of sight before Wídfara realized that he had no idea how to find either Barracks A or the armorer. He considered calling after Elfhelm for help, but the marshal had indicated that he was busy and surely his other tasks were more important than giving basic directions to an ill-informed newcomer. Instead, he reshouldered his pack with a sigh, resigned to wandering the complex until chance took pity on him again, and he took a few hesitant steps toward his left.

“Other way, Wídfara!”

He looked up to see Elfhelm watching him from the doorway, one foot already inside and the door itself held open with his elbow. The older man laughed and nodded in the opposite direction. “Second building on the right. Can’t miss it.”

A furious blush rushed back to Wídfara’s cheeks, and he winced as he felt it spread across his ears and neck. “Sorry, Marshal. I’m still…I’ll learn my way quickly, I promise.”

Elfhelm stepped back outside, allowing the door to close behind him as he walked a few paces toward Wídfara again. “It’s alright to be new, son. You just need someone to help show you the way of things here.” He cast an appraising eye over Wídfara and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment. “Keep an eye out for Guthláf. He’s from Edoras, but his mother grew up in the Eastemnet and he spent much of his childhood out there. He even talks a lot like you do. You’ll like him, and he’ll help you get to feeling like home again.” He turned once more to head inside.

“Marshal Elfhelm?” Wídfara called after him. “How do I find him? Guthláf, I mean.”

Elfhelm looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Anywhere there are people gathered, he’ll be right in the middle of it. You can count on that. He’s one of our best, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t let him talk you into playing dice with him unless you’ve got money to burn.” He pulled open the door and his last few words drifted out from the hallway. “See you at training first thing tomorrow!”

Wídfara rolled over again, grimacing as his left shoulder made contact with the floor. One of his first tasks that day had been to see the garrison’s armorer, where he had been fitted for new equipment and received the distinctive tattoo that would identify him as a member of the king’s éored: a small crown above a hill. Each éored had its own mark, used as a crude means of identification in the event that a rider was injured or killed far from home, and the armorers typically etched the designs onto the shoulders of new members, punching a small ink-tipped needle repeatedly into the skin to create the necessary lines and curves. The new tattoo left a lingering pain in Wídfara’s arm, though it was minimal compared to the ache he felt in his heart when he watched the armorer draw a line through his old éored’s mark, casually crossing out an entire decade of his life with a few minute’s quick work. But that had just been the start to an increasingly difficult day.

The éored’s clerk seemed unaware that Wídfara had joined the company, and no arrangements had been made yet for his pay. Wídfara was counting on those funds to support his parents back in the Wold, especially now that he was no longer close enough to help his father with the herd work during his free hours, and the possibility that his first wages would be significantly delayed left a sour feeling in his stomach. Then he had gotten lost on his way to the mess hall and again between the mess hall and the stables, where he discovered that the stablehand sent to fetch his horse from last night’s boarding house had brought back the wrong animal. At every turn, he seemed to be in the wrong place, with the wrong information, running into obstacle after obstacle while being constantly asked to repeat himself as the city dwellers struggled to understand his accent.

He had greeted the eventual coming of night with urgent relief, happy to retreat to the privacy of his little room in the barracks where, at least for a few hours, he knew where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. But even then, he struggled. The small, soft bed in the room felt unnatural to him after so much time spent sleeping rough in field camps or out on the plains with his family’s horses, and he quickly gave up on it, crafting himself a makeshift bedroll on the floor instead. After an hour of further tossing and turning, though, he realized that the bed wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. A windowless box barely big enough for both the empty bed and his nest of blankets on the floor was a poor substitute for having shimmering stars overhead and endless golden plains around him, and he wondered how he would ever find rest in such a confined little space. He sat up, frustrated, and decided to take a walk in an attempt to clear his mind.

The streets, at least, were much more enjoyable to him at night, when few others were out and about. It was quieter, and he could walk at his own pace without worrying that he was holding up someone behind him. Keeping close attention to where he turned and how to retrace his steps, he headed up a hill, thinking to get a good view of the city from the top of the rise and perhaps be able to better orient himself amidst the maze of the city’s layout.

It took only a few minutes from the barracks to reach the peak of the hill, but he was disappointed to find that the view down onto Edoras and the surrounding plains was largely obscured by a thin haze in the air and heavy overhead cloud cover that dimmed the light of the moon. The quiet of his walk was also broken by the presence on the hill of a small tavern, a little wood and stone building from which drifted not only the smell of ale and baked bread but the clamor of voices and laughter and singing. The windows were aglow with warm yellow light, and he could see a large and boisterous crowd inside, many members of which seemed to be about his age. He considered going in – his rational mind understood that the only way to make friends in new surroundings was to put himself where other people were – but the thought of dozens of bodies pressed into such a small building made him a bit panicky, and he had already used all the energy his mind could spare that day for navigating the stares, questions and sometimes the judgments of so many others. That would need to be a challenge for tomorrow instead.

He leaned against a corner of the tavern and gazed northeast, back toward the beloved home that was now obscured by the intervention of both distance and weather. A gentle breeze blew from that direction, and he closed his eyes to savor the soft feel of it against his cheek and in his hair. There was a clean, earthy scent to the air, and he willed himself to believe that this sign of a clearer morning on its way could also mean that good things were on their way for him.

At that very moment, the door of the tavern flew open, bouncing noisily off the wall, and a tiny gray dog scampered out, followed by the striding figure of a man in the uniform of his éored.

“I just need to let Slaga out for a minute,” the man called back to unseen companions inside. “Hold the game for me, and I’ll be right back to finish taking the rest of your money.” A laughing chorus of boos rang out as the door swung closed again, and the man chuckled to himself.

Wídfara registered the stranger’s words as they were spoken, but what flooded his heart with joyful recognition was the lilting drawl of their delivery, the comfortingly specific cadence and tone that represented Rohirric as Wídfara’s ear had always heard it voiced. It was the sound of his cousins calling to him from across the grasslands, his friends teasing and joking as they sat around a fire at night. It was the sound of his old life, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

The other man was crouched down now, cooing affectionate endearments at the tiny dog that bounded in adoring circles around his feet, and Wídfara lightly cleared his throat. The man froze at the sound, the last doting little trill dying on his tongue, and he smiled sheepishly when he looked up and saw Wídfara standing just feet away. “I’m sorry. I thought Slaga and I were alone out here or I surely would have kept that to myself.” He stood and extended his hand in Wídfara’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Guthláf.”

Guthláf. The name chimed immediately in Wídfara’s memory, and he smiled to himself at how effortlessly correct Elfhelm had been on all fronts – where Guthláf would be found, how soothingly familiar he would sound to Wídfara, and how quickly just a few words of that familiar sound would kindle a feeling of comfort and kinship in him. He closed the distance between them with a few steps, and in the dim light that shone from the windows he found himself face to face with an unusually tall, well built man with long blonde waves, a trim blonde beard, and striking eyes of the palest blue. He gripped Guthláf’s hand with grateful enthusiasm and smiled. “Wídfara. You wouldn’t have seen me before, as I only just got here.”

“I certainly don’t have to ask where you came from,” Guthláf said, and Wídfara thought he detected a slight strengthening of Guthláf’s matching accent in the reply. “Welcome to Edoras, Wídfara. What brings you here?”

Wídfara nodded at Guthláf’s uniform. “I’ll be joining your company starting first thing tomorrow.”

“Is that right? We’ll be glad to have you. The boys could use an eastern rider to show them how it’s really done.” He glanced down briefly at the dainty little dog that was now cautiously sniffing Wídfara’s boots. “Don’t hold it against me. The absurd fussing with the dog, I mean. Every man has an embarrassing weakness, and I guess Slaga is mine.”

“Think nothing of it.” Truthfully, in any other circumstance Wídfara would have found both the toy-sized dog and the indulgent spoiling of it a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to say that to the first person in the city to take any interest in him. Outside of Elfhelm, who as Wídfara’s commanding officer was certainly no peer of his, it had been a struggle that day just to be noticed by anyone else, let alone engaged with or welcomed. Wídfara was eager not to squander this opportunity, especially with someone who seemed so friendly and good natured. “I love dogs and have nearly always had one myself, though admittedly never one that size.”

“He is small, isn’t he? I got him when he was a puppy and expected him to get bigger as he got older, but he just never did. And by the time I realized I had myself a lapdog, the rascal had already worked his way into my heart.” He bent down and scooped Slaga up into his arms, where he quickly settled with the look of one who spent a lot of time in just that position. Wídfara reached out and gave the dog a gentle rub behind the ears, which was received with a small, contented sigh.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” said Guthláf, looking up with a smile. “But then again, you’re not a stranger anymore, are you, Wídfara of the East-mark?”

Wídfara couldn’t identify anything unusual or remarkable about the way this question was asked, nothing that would explain the sudden rush of warmth that settled over him when that open, earnest smile was turned in his direction. But it was there all the same. “Not a stranger, at least not in the technical sense. And I would hope one day to be a friend, though I wouldn’t presume to call you that yet.”

“No? Why not?”

“You barely know anything about me.”

“But that’s not a problem. Discovering things about each other is half the fun of friendship.” He inclined his head and fixed Wídfara with a long, thoughtful look. “And I have a feeling there is much to discover about you.”

The steady gaze of those cool, blue eyes sent an anxious flutter shimmering through Wídfara’s chest, and he looked away. Before he could muster the nerve to speak again, the tavern door opened, and a red-haired head popped out.

“Guthláf, if the game doesn’t restart soon, Hildred insists he’ll take his losses back and charge you interest for making him wait.”

Guthláf laughingly rolled his eyes and waved a hand in concession. “Buy him another ale from my pot and tell him I’ll be right there.” The red haired man nodded and went back inside, and Guthláf turned once again to Wídfara.

“Do you ever play dice? If you’ve got the time now, you can join us, and by the end of the game you’ll have ten more great friends, I promise. Though I can’t promise I won’t take your money.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m something of a professional.”

Wídfara laughed. “Believe it or not, I’ve already been warned against playing dice with you, and I don’t know the rules anyway. But I appreciate the offer.” The temptation to stay in the kindly glow of Guthláf’s company was strong, but the tumult of the busy tavern still intimidated him. And the length of the day, with its many ups and downs, was beginning to catch up with him at last. “Will I…or, rather, I hope I’ll see you at training in the morning?”

He cringed inside at how needful the question sounded to his ears, but if Guthláf heard it that way he gave no sign. Instead, he smiled broadly and tapped a fist against Wídfara’s arm.

“Of course. I’ll look for you there, friend. Now wish me luck, not that I need it!” He and his dog slipped back inside with a wave, and Wídfara watched through the window just long enough to see them disappear into a rowdy group of men, all wielding mugs and talking excitedly to one another.

Alone again, he turned then to retrace his steps, mercifully finding his way back to the barracks without incident, and he stretched out once more on his floor with a heavy yawn. The weight of sleep closed in on him quickly, and he soon drifted into the comfort of peaceful rest, where a pair of the palest blue eyes lingered in his dreams.

Notes: Guthláf’s dog is named Slaga, which means “Killer.” Presumably he chose that name before he realized his “puppy” was already full grown and would always be a lil’ tea cup.

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @dreambigdreamz (I don’t usually have a tag list but I tried to @ people who had specifically requested it at some point — if you want off (or on, I guess) don’t hesitate to say so!)

Dividers by the lovely @quillofspirit ♥️

#guthláf #wídfara #rohan #forth eorlingas #obscure blorbos #♥️🐎🗡️#horse boys in love #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #guthlaf #widfara

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lost-forest-heart · 10 months

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I fucking love how like the original cast recording of Hadestown in Wait For Me it sounds like Hermes is mocking Orpheus, but in the Broadway Cast Recording, Hermes sounds like a dad trying to gauge how upset his son will be about the fact that his hamster died and whether or not he'll notice if he replaces it.

"heeeeey the big artiste 😅 ain'tcha workin on your masterpiece???" versus "'Eeeey! The big artiste! Ain'tcha workin' on yer masterpiece?😆 "

But in all seriousness, he goes from in the OG Cast Recording as just a "spectator". Supposedly he doesn't care, he's seen this happen before, it's no big deal (by the end though I have never heard someone sound so defeated and close to tears than OG Hermes, oh my fucking gods. The way he so softly goes, "Well. Alright," at the beginning of Road to Hell II, and his voice breaks because he's seen this before and knew how it ended and gods he wish it ended differently).

But then in the Broadway recording, we've got a different Broadway actor playing Hermes. From the start of it, you get told Hermes practically raised the boy! You're given how they've got a close relationship, how fond he is, how he protects and guides him and encourages his music and tells him stories to inspire him- 'cause the muses ain't always there.

So in Wait For Me- …he sounds desperate, half begging Orpheus not to go, half begging him to just come back alive. It goes from the OG recording's lighthearted joking, "aw you ain't reaaaally goin', but if you do 👀 here's how you get in in one piece," to the Broadway recording being so full of fear of desperation, of terror, because he's not supposed to go down there and it's dangerous and Hermes might never see him again. From joking around to, "I know I can't stop you, but goddammit, don't you dare die."

His voice is soft and scratchy, telling a secret and scolding Orpheus, making sure the instructions stick. It's something whispered in a dark alley or into a crack in a wall, not something sung in the autumn sunlight, by a joking trickster who doesn't care whether you stay or go. It's sung by someone who's scared because he loves Orpheus and he knows where he's going.

#Hadestown #forest fangirls #broadway musicals #musical analysis #forest ramblings #I just have a lot of feelings about this okay #how many different ways a story can be told

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wackus-bonkus-maximus · 1 year

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odnlb writing process/workshop

this is mainly for my own reference. however, if this post ends up helping you with yours, then even better! 😊

most of you know, i wrote this fic as a practice for using save the cat (aka snyder) structure, and so now that it's complete i have the outline to come back to in a way that i understand and can use in future wips! did i deviate from this structure? yes. a lot. did i still follow all the beats though? i think so! check out how i formatted my outline!

my starting point: marinette 🐞

want: revenge against monarque

need: replace hate with love

this gave me a very clear picture of the emotional journey she would undergo. once i figured out her emotional need and decided what she would do to fulfill that need, i was able to pretty much plot out the entire fic. we needed a hero (in her case, an anti-hero) we could follow through an entire 45 chapter fic, and odnlb marinette gave us a reason to care about her and root for her right off the bat!

here's what save the cat's 15-beat structure looks like at a glance:

(isn't it just beautiful? 😍)

for odnlb, i combined this structure with the 3-act, 9-block, 27-chapter method:

lol so i did not exactly stick to this, as was my plan (my huge cast of characters wanted more from me.) however, i did stick with the proper beats...it just ended up expanding into 5 acts.

this is how my outline ended up looking (orange = save the cat, purple = 3 act 9 block 27 chapters):

act 1 - ladybug meets the villains

block 1

opening image - marinette leaves a rose at chat noir's statue. her eyes are dead (like him)

introductions/setup - 6 years later, marinette works for chloe. adrien still models for gabriel & is estranged from her and his old friends

theme stated - alya says, "you're getting better." (marinette has not been focused on hatred, but her personal growth)

catalyst/ inciting incident - bunnyx steals the rabbit miraculous & draws out the villain team

debate/ immediate reaction / fallout - villain team decides to abandon plan to use rabbit miraculous & get ladybug's miraculous instead. marinette decides to get cat walker's miraculous & kill monarque with it.

block 2

actions - ladybug interrogates adrien agreste bc he is close to lila, chloe, and felix (primary suspects). he doesn't give her any information, but reassures her he is on her side.

consequences - volpina attacks ladybug, villain team overpower her

block 3

pressure - ladybug is outnumbered, cannot stand against all the holders & their power-ups. villain side: ladybug is onto them. ladybug needs an ally & turns to kagami (also close to felix), but kagami turns ladybug down (but why?).

pinch/plot twist - cat walker contacts ladybug: tells her monarque is going to resume akuma attacks unless lb gives her miraculous

break into act 2 - monarque attempts to akumatize ladybug, but cat walker saves her. realizes villains' motivations are split.

act 2 - rise of monarque

block 4

new world - luka and zoe come to town. adrien is in trouble but felix stands by him. su han abandons marinette; he cannot teach her bc she has too much hatred.

fun and games/ b story/ies - felix and adrien switch so adrien can meet his friends for drinks. chloe sneaks snake miraculous back to luka. felix and lila threaten each other. felix likes kagami.

bad guys close in - monarque akumatizes nino to punish adrien. marinette finds out cat walker is a sentimonster

juxtaposition/ old vs new - luka/aspik shows up & joins marinette's side (she's not alone anymore). adrien realizes he has to be alone bc of what happened to nino. kagami confronts felix and gets the dragon miraculous (war begins)

act 3 - adrien identity reveal

block 5

build-up - luka and marinette plot to find the sentimonster. luka confronts adrien indirectly, suspects monarque is gabriel. marinette sleuths on felix (suspected peacock holder) only to discover adrien is a sentimonster/cat walker. kagami finds ladybug & offers to spy on felix & the villain team for her. monarque akumatizes zoe to punish chloe. ryuko gets her felix's amok in the fight, but gets it back when ladybug uses it against him. to stop ladybug harming argos & ryuko, luka reveals chat noir is still alive.

midpoint - montparnasse scene: ladybug confronts cat walker, he admits the truth. stand off with monarque until aspik & mellona rescue ladybug.

reversal - marinette is no longer hate driven, but driven by love to save adrien

act 4 - angrybug reversal

block 6

reaction - due to big emotional distress, ladybug goes into the avatar state (foreshadowing 👀). luka and chloe calm her down. feligami get together. adrien pleads to his father not to harm ladybug.

action/trials (raise the stakes) - the more adrien breaks his amok, the more he breaks his miraculous. marinette is set up to "spy" on adrien for the villain team. villain team plot to corner ladybug at dj wifi wedding.

dedication - adrinette kiss scene. adrien promsies himself he will harm himself before he lets harm come to ladybug. marinette promises no more harm will come to him.

block 7

calm before the storm - lila flashback: she killed nathalie and has been akumatized/transformed for 6 years. balcony scene: marinette tries to keep adrien close to no avail.

pinch/plot twist - volpina and monarque attack chloe, luka, and zoe. vesperia and carapace get their miraculous back. ladybug tries to heal cat walker & free him with her power, but his miraculous is too broken. she can only save him by getting his amok.

everything goes wrong/ dark night of the soul/ all is lost - lila & felix flashback: lila is monarque reveal. ladybug confronts gabriel agreste & tries to kill him, but can't (bc she is no longer full of hate). realizes monarque is lila. monarque takes felix, but kagami takes the other miraculous back to ladybug.

act 5 - fall of monarque

block 8 - finale

power within - team assemble. chloe uses mouse miraculous to activate other holders. lila finds marinette's identity.

action - monarque attacks. luka sacrifices himself to get the upper hand. alya gets the fox miraculous off lila, all her illusions drop. lila akumatizes timetagger, bunnyx shows up to get him. team fights argos and his sentimonster, red moon, to the death. chloe incapacitates argos.

converge - monarque takes the senti-twins and runs. remainder of the team follow her to agreste mansion.

block 9

final confrontation/final battle - monarque tries to make felix fix her miraculous. ladybug and team show up. monarque morphs into monster and attacks. gabriel sacrifices himself to save lb, but monarque still gets the upper hand. chat noir cataclysms monarque with a broken miraculous.

climax - the broken cataclysm destroys the world, but carapace's shield protects remainder of team. with adrien gone, felix is free and emilie is awake. ladybug goes toe-to-toe with broken miraculous final form chat noir, but her power is too weak compared to his untethered destruction. then felix gives her the peacock miraculous and she uses it to create a new bond for adrien, tethering him to life with her love.

resolution/denouement - all of paris knows chat noir is alive! big parade for heroes. ladybug and chat noir do a william and kate kiss. alya shoos off su han. felix gives gabriel to chloe and decides to work for tsurugi tech so he can stay with kagami. zoe and luka decide to go back home for a bit then come to stay too. emilie wants to be close to felix and adrien, but she is def not the priority for them atm. marinette takes the butterfly miraculous back from emilie. adrinette go off on a honeymoon vacation. adrien practices his proposal on a beach.

final image - adrien and marinette playing in the water on a beach on la reunion. “camera” pans away from their silhouettes running around on the sand, back to their stuff on the beach. shows a ring box in adrien’s bag with plagg & tikki chilling.

if this helped you out, i'm so glad! it definitely helped me see how to organize a story. i think if i ever do a fic like odnlb again, i will definitely do this for it.

#i finally finished answering all my comments lol #and i thought i'd do this now while the story is still fresh in my memory!#hopefully this will be helpful to other people as well as me #i just know i would have liked a map-out of a story i knew very well with all the proper beats #but now that i know i CAN do this kind of story with this kind of structure then i know i can do it again #also i am not claiming to be a story structure expert by any means #i am just sharing how i did it and how i see it #i could be totally off about some of these!#constructive criticism is always welcome <33 #also i am not saying this is the only way to tell a story #save the cat is definitely not the end all be all of narrative formulas #many stories are told according to different structures! and told well!#this is just the one i wanted more practice with #and one i thought fitting for odnlb since it was such a huge story #odnlb #one does not love breathing #snyder structure #save the cat #3 act 9 block 27 chapter method #writing #story structure #5 acts #might update this as we go forward

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rimouskis · 1 year

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okay I've decided against pursuing any sort of diagnosis re: my growing suspicions I have ADHD/something of that ilk for a variety of reasons, but it will NEVER stop galling me how I lack object permanence. like a baby. I need to have clear storage containers because if I cannot see something I forget it exists. it's both a relief to know that there is a potential "explanation" for such behavior but also realizing that most other people can do convenient things (like: remembering the existence of stuff) is also FRUSTRATINGGGG because I wish that was me! imagine being able to remember things not only casually but well! imagine that! god!

#it's also frustrating because it can bleed into interpersonal relationships and depending on people's friendship styles it can have a...#large impact. like back in high school my best friend would regularly be hurt by me not remembering things #(ranging from stories she'd tell me to stories I'd already told her to people's names to pieces of information I'd been made aware of)#and I took it personally at that age and sort of took it as:#''I am an inherently selfish person who can't remember things about other people and I am Bad''#and while that friendship grew apart and she sort of resigned herself (eventually) to me being the way that I was #I guess I never really let go of my guilt around it... and even now I still feel Very Bad about not remembering things #and I've often thought to myself of how I could mitigate it to be a better friend #but I short of ''keeping notes on your friends and the stories they tell you which you will need to reference often''#I've not had much luck in cracking that #I feel like as I've grown older I've found friends who (for whatever reason) don't take my ''poor memory'' personally #[and hilariously I've seemed to befriend people with FREAKISHLY GOOD memories who more than make up for my own]#and that's been... a bit better because it's been many years since I've had a friend make me feel bad for not remembering something #and in fact I have friends now who HAVE diagnosed ADHD who (obviously) Get It #but back of my head I still think that I do the people around me a disservice by not frequently/accurately committing things to memory #I think it makes me a worse friend and a worse employee for that matter #and I do in fact wish there was a magic pill that would grant me that ability and that ability only. it feels like it would change my LIFE.#anyways this tag essay is brought to you by:#me looking for my concert earplugs (which I have never used despite buying them FOR three concerts I went to last year since I kept...#say it with me... forgetting about them the day of the concert!) and finding a stash of two different battery types I had no idea I owned #anyways. earplugs are going into my car so I will have them on me #and batteries have been moved to the clear container in my closet with the other batteries. sigh.

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savage-rhi · 7 months

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I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

#today i fucked up by reactivating my fb account which i haven't done in 2 yrs just to check on some folks id been sending good thought to #place is depressing everyone is miserable and everything feels fake and my mind is like #LOL this is why we left bitch byeeee #so i deactivated again went to work and idc what anyone says there are folks like me that can and do feel the energy and emotions coming of #people and it can fucking suck especially when so many are disregulated so i got a sensory overload and boss was nice enough to let me take #a bunch of breaks today and even scream in her office cause She Gets It (TM)#the weather is rainy and cold i'm getting so many fibro flares idk how i'm moving anymore #ive missed so many days of work already and it's not even fully winter yet i still have my job and im thankful i have an understanding team #but that doesnt pay the bills im still trying to find a way to pay for that doctor appointment coming up #graduate courses began for college and i think i'm gonna be okay but damn did they throw too much info all at once at me and that made #my adhd brain go WELL SHIT #ive been feeling incredibly lonely and not wanted in so many spaces that im struggling to even communicate with the few that i know do #love me for me and nothing else im trying so so so hard to keep being there for people and to keep loving #people that need it cause i don't ever want another human being to ever feel as miserable and unwanted as i have felt #but im also tired because i feel like thats all anyone ever sees me as just this being that can take their woes away and make them feel #amazing and i love that i can do that and listen to so many traumatic stories and help folks process that trauma my boss and many throughou #life have told me i have a gift for healing people and a vibe to me thats different than most and it feels good being around me but today i #just felt like people keep taking and taking and taking and i dont expect anything back thats not who i am id rather give than receive #but damn it i just wish someone could just give me the biggest hug in the world dont even have to say a thing just hold me and be present #and hold space for me to just feel weightless id cherish that more than anything in the world right now #on a positive note...#my dinosaur vo stuff got traction im getting a new cosplay put together i havent done that in 4 years i got to pet a wild deer i made #a coworker laugh so hard his juice went out his nose and my boss peed a little #im slowly taming another wild flock of turkeys and i got a bag of my favorite takis the guacamole flavor #i got a lot to be thankful for and i acknowledge it #but damn it im tired #thank you for coming to my Ted Talk rant and rave #if you made it this far: you're an incredible human being and i love you #please go treat yo self to something nice and know i love you for you

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backseatloversz · 2 years

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they only made two movies for men. SAD. oh well

#i accidentally clicked on a video from the joe rogan experience.#i legitimately do want to know how soooo many men walked away from fight club with such a terrible misunderstanding of it #theres literally so much more to it than the ten or so minutes of brad pitt monologuing about individuality and consumerism and identity.#LOL!#something can def be said about both fc & dps on white men + the inherent homoeroticism of movies centering them + the exploration of #masculinity & expectations and how theyre dealt with in pretty different communities (upper class teens in the 50s at a private school v #working class men in the 90s in the city) the similarities + differences btwn how their world perspectives were shaped by being upper/lower #class Cis White Men #**ok i doubt every single guy in fight club is white but still. the leads are + theyre all men #blah blah stuff they as men are told about power & the kind of treatment + lives they deserve #not to mention the fact both stories are abt men finding an outlet via a super secret boys only club #but in one they lean more into femininity(?)/the arts while in the other they lean into masculinity(?)/violence LOL #healthy/nonhealthy means of expression respectively. what is the cause and effect of each of them what led them to that point blah blah #also lastly something worth mentioning -- the role WOMEN play in their stories. oft only as mothers or romantic/sexual appeal #LASTLY lastly the fact both movies end in a similar but opposite way - the leader of fight club wants to STOP all the chaos hes brought so #he shoots himself - but that doesnt stop everything. v the leader of the dead poets society is threatened w military school -#masculinization - when its discovered hes been exploring the arts so he also shoots himself and the dps is shut down by external forces .#HM #did not mean to write a whole essay in the notes but alright #im not gonna proof read it send post #fight club #dead poets society #cowboy posts

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simonstamenovic · 1 year

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genuinely very very happy about maya still Do Not get me wrong. I simply wish... the world was better and less cruel. and that I was not complicit in that cruelty. and that honorspren in shadesmar werent such hypocrites.

#outgoing transmission #adolin post #the desire to have everything be good forever and be told by some almighty being that #actually you didnt mske anything mistakes and did the best you can and were good vs like #how... not hollow. but. that is also not true i messed up so very much and do have to wonder if my existence was Not worth it #disregarding the fact that... well. it is a story someone wrote and yes obviously I needed to be there.#but. as a person? mmh. craving not necessarily reassurance but Being Sure i didn't make awful decisions to make things worse. and i simply #cannot know that. not at the moment and potentially not with any certainty ever #which is no different from anyone elses life really. but there is a certain agony to it #i dont know. i love kal. i dont have many memories yet of. well. but #id like to think he loves me. coming face to face with that however is... well why would he?#he is. well i feel anything i say wouldnt really encapsulate it to be honest i could worship that man and i mean that so sincerely #he... would not like it. but it isnt...... well hes a better man than me but not because i think hes flawless or anything #just. he tries so very hard. i didnt even have it in me to not murder someone despite how risky it was #for the best. and i wish id done it sooner still. but i do also think it says a good deal about my character in general #sorry again about this i hope everyone is well.#it is too bright out now honestly which is kind of funny. half comforting. half annoying. a small part... some other thing. weird i suppose #brain is. mm. partially shadesmar. partially... something else. stormy. near kal. tense but not necessarily in a danger way.#but something... stuck a bit maybe. not sure if it is a natural thing or more a. spren parent trap situation. for lack of any better terms.#cute and mildly obnoxious... hm. something to consider.

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emeryleewho · 1 year

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I used to work for a trade book reviewer where I got paid to review people's books, and one of the rules of that review company is one that I think is just super useful to media analysis as a whole, and that is, we were told never to critique media for what it didn't do but only for what it did.

So, for instance, I couldn't say "this book didn't give its characters strong agency or goals". I instead had to say, "the characters in this book acted in ways that often felt misaligned with their characterization as if they were being pulled by the plot."

I think this is really important because a lot of "critiques" people give, if subverted to address what the book does instead of what it doesn't do, actually read pretty nonsensical. For instance, "none of the characters were unique" becomes "all of the characters read like other characters that exist in other media", which like... okay? That's not really a critique. It's just how fiction works. Or "none of the characters were likeable" becomes "all of the characters, at some point or another, did things that I found disagreeable or annoying" which is literally how every book works?

It also keeps you from holding a book to a standard it never sought to meet. "The world building in this book simply wasn't complex enough" becomes "The world building in this book was very simple", which, yes, good, that can actually be a good thing. Many books aspire to this. It's not actually a negative critique. Or "The stakes weren't very high and the climax didn't really offer any major plot twists or turns" becomes "The stakes were low and and the ending was quite predictable", which, if this is a cute romcom is exactly what I'm looking for.

Not to mention, I think this really helps to deconstruct a lot of the biases we carry into fiction. Characters not having strong agency isn't inherently bad. Characters who react to their surroundings can make a good story, so saying "the characters didn't have enough agency" is kind of weak, but when you flip it to say "the characters acted misaligned from their characterization" we can now see that the *real* problem here isn't that they lacked agency but that this lack of agency is inconsistent with the type of character that they are. a character this strong-willed *should* have more agency even if a weak-willed character might not.

So it's just a really simple way of framing the way I critique books that I think has really helped to show the difference between "this book is bad" and "this book didn't meet my personal preferences", but also, as someone talking about books, I think it helps give other people a clearer idea of what the book actually looks like so they can decide for themselves if it's worth their time.

Update: This is literally just a thought exercise to help you be more intentional with how you critique media. I'm not enforcing this as some divine rule that must be followed any time you have an opinion on fiction, and I'm definitely not saying that you have to structure every single sentence in a review to contain zero negative phrases. I'm just saying that I repurposed a rule we had at that specific reviewer to be a helpful tool to check myself when writing critiques now. If you don't want to use the tool, literally no one (especially not me) can or wants to force you to use it. As with all advice, it is a totally reasonable and normal thing to not have use for every piece of it that exists from random strangers on the internet. Use it to whatever extent it helps you or not at all.

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #am writing #books #booklr #fiction #media analysis

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mariamlovesyou · 5 months

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tuned into Plestia's live with Rahma Zein's second account (she got shadowbanned). key moments:

plestia talked about her adjustment to living in australia. "it's 1:30am now and it's normal for me and many palestinians who live abroad to be awake hours into the morning. i am scared of sleeping. because of the time difference, i'm scared if i sleep i will wake up to bad news. in gaza i was scared of the sound of the bombs, here i am scared of the quiet."

contacting family and friends in gaza is near impossible. "sometimes i feel like a crazy person, calling 20 times in a row hoping that on the 21st time the call might go through."

on the destruction of entire communities and neighbourhoods: "i'm scared when i go back to gaza i won't recognise it anymore. someone sent me a picture of my neighbourhood, and i couldn't tell it was mine at first. all my favourite places, cafes where the aunties used to give me extra food and ask about my day, have been destroyed. i dread looking at my gallery or seeing snapchat memories because most of these people in the pictures are no longer alive."

rahma asked plestia to talk about one story that stuck with her. plestia said "i remember walking one time on the 'safe corridor', that's what they called it anyway, and i saw an older woman clutching onto a donkey cart where her son's body was, refusing to let go of it. i asked my colleague what the smell was, he said it's dead bodies under the rubble. it was the first time i familiarised myself with the smell. the son's body was decaying and the woman told me about cats and animals eating away at it. i've had children talk to me about birds eating away at their parents' decomposing bodies and not being able to chase them away."

"it seems so silly to go to hospitals for minor sicknesses now. i can't even think about how many palestinian children are going to be terrified of hospitals now. there was a girl who was taken to the hospital to get treatment for injuries by one of the bombs, and while she was in the bathroom another bomb landed nearby. the impact from that sent the ceiling crashing down on her.. she got another injury while getting treated for her first one."

"i hate how people talk about our resilience - as if it's okay that this is happening to us. we are only surviving because we have to, because we have no other choice."

rahma brought up the way family homes are set up in palestine and asked plestia to elaborate. "basically, there are floors. someone will live on the ground floor, and then their married son lives with his children on the floor above them, and then their successors above them and so on. so when family homes are targeted, they wipe out entire families. many families officially no longer exist."

"i used to wear my journalist helmet and vest all the time, felt naked without it, even slept with the vest on sometimes until i realised it only made me more of a target. they didn't give me any protection, only headaches and back pain."

"i am an optimistic person, i loved covering sweet sentimental things, like at my graduation asking parents of top graduates how they feel about their children graduating. that's what i love reporting on. i wanted to cover things like that when i came back to gaza, show the beautiful side of gaza that the media didn't really show, but i didn't have the chance." "do you think they'll give you right of return?" "i can only hope."

plestia mentioned how hard it was being a journalist with limited access to the internet, charging facilities, no mics, lack of equipment and how difficult it was uploading things. rahma asked her what's one story that wasn't really recorded or posted due to these constraints; plestia said "the evacuations. sometimes they informed us about them, sometimes they didn't. you have no idea how hard it was, everyone looking for their family members, making sure every one was there, taking to the streets in 5 minutes and not knowing which way to go. i remember i went to my friend's house for shelter for 30 minutes before the first evacuation was announced and we ran to another family's house, stayed there for 2 days before another evacuation was announced. me, my friend, and that family all evacuated together to another family's house. there were already so many people there seeking shelter, it wasn't just one family staying there. none of us knew how long we had in any place."

before october 7th, palestinians were used to limitations on electricity. plestia used to plan her day's tasks around when the electricity was working. "for example when the electricity was on from 12 to 4, i would say i will do my laundry and charge the phones during this time. life wasn't exactly 'normal', but all of us pray to have those days back in comparison to what we are experiencing now." plestia also said that cars are running on cooking oil now because there is no fuel.

on hygiene: "many pregnant women have to give birth without any pain medication or medical attention. once we ran out of medicine, that was it. women who had to get C-sections couldn't stay to recover or get followup treatments because someone else needed the bed. we have no water, no tissues, no pads, barely any bathrooms. in the shelter schools you have to wait an hour before even getting to use the bathroom because of how many people are there."

"something you don't hear about is how many people die because of sadness. there's so many ways to die in gaza, because of the bombardment, because of starvation, the lack of resources, but i also know many elderly people who died because their hearts couldn't take it anymore. i have been in gaza before and lived through 4 aggressions, but nothing compared to this one."

a recurring sentiment that was echoed in the video: "sometimes i thought to myself: who am i recording this for? because we've already shown everything, we've already talked about everything. everything has already been said, the proof is everywhere, nothing i talked about today is new." rahma said the first video posted about what's happening in palestine should've been enough.

she is 22 today. plestia's closing words: don't stop talking about us, don't stop boycotting, don't stop protesting, please don't get bored of fighting for palestine.

#this is all off the top of my head if i remember other key points i will add them

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fordaryl · 4 months

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REMEMBER.

minors dni. 2.6k words. smut. daryl dixon x fem!reader. protective daryl. hint of size kink. strength kink.

It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.

Safety lets you forget.

And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.

"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another growling walker down.

It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.

You drag the door of the container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the walkers. It would be if it weren't for Daryl. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on Daryl. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the walker you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Daryl keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Daryl, is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Walkers you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Daryl anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find Daryl and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well check it out then!" another demands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the walkers are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Daryl would be watching... waiting. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of your sights, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking."

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's the same thing each time. You're prey to people like these—something to hunt in a world without consequences for that kind of thing.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage—vulnerable. Not a threat. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims. Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was. Little. Thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Daryl more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Daryl was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response. Guards down. Distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

They're flash lights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger, a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him. Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. They're hands send a wave of repulsion through your body as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm says, clearly irritated and impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of walkers, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're stopped. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry walkers. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Daryl was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the head before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though, those moments with an enemy weapon pointed at your head always do.

But then Daryl is there, strangling the man with a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck you spot the bodies behind him.

He'd been waiting for you.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his face and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky.

You nod.

"You did good," he says, that deep gravel back in his voice. "So good, sweetheart." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point to rest at your clavicle. "We gotta go," he says. "Stay close for me, yeah?"

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs. To the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you.

"You like that sweetheart?" His voice is almost sweet as his lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. "Huh? You like that?"

You nod with a small whine, pressing your hips back into him—desperate.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your slippery, spongy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"Fuck," he grunts. "You need me here? Huh? You all fuckin' empty?"

"Yeah," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely, his warmth seeping into your skin from his calves to his hot breath on your neck.

"What do you need?" he asks. As if he doesn't know; as if he didn't always know.

"You."

"Hm?" he hums, sweet and coaxing. "How?"

You reach blindly to find his wrist, gripping it firmly. "Hold me tight," you gasp between jagged breaths. "Please... Please."

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he fucking knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you; like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. It's temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he'd buried himself deep; once his cock was guided safely into your throbbing cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats. He mumbles this way as he teases; as he plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink of desperate sobs as he guides his cockhead over your slippery, throbbing cunt... over and over.... and over...

Saying he liked you needy was an understatement.

Then, eventually, he slips inside. Just the tip.. and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a hint of his strength. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his strong arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a taste of that fullness—a taste of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he says, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily—his lips chasing yours as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Daryl," you gasp eventually. "Now. Please."

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck.

Then he pulls you down to meet his cock, to fuck himself deep. It's hard, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his neck weakly as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin moments before he's moving, fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his messy thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

His breathing is quickly transformed into uneven pants as he attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... aren't you, baby? Hm?"

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My girl," he grunts. "My needy little girl."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips and tugs you down to meet him as he uses you, each thrust a slapping of skin and punching a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength. Everything you've been forced to remember.

"Daryl," you gasp. "Daryl, fill me. Please."

His fingers dig a little more into your skin, his hair falling over his eyes. Then his lips part, a grunt... a broken, "Fuck."

He falls over you as he floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full—just like you asked. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lung fulls of air. "I got you."

#daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #twd daryl #twd x reader #daryl dixon x reader #x reader #daryl imagines #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n

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