#my thesis was mildly related to all this and now that I know it will never see the light of the day + everything + the kyra image meme

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

This escalated a lot, (which was a good distraction from everything so I'm taking that as a good thing), so now I have to give:

Warnings: Discussions and mentions of all the horrible things we warn for in Theon's Plotline, particularly the ones about depersonhood, sexual violence, casual violence, classism, and so on and so on + a few suicide jokes and links to artistic depictions of the aftermath of rape.

I moved a few weeks ago and haven't been able to unpack because I got injured during the moving and my other arm is also fucked up because of something else that happened this year and today I finally got to clean around and actually do stuff and arrange my room and I started with my book shelf, which obviously means I didn't actually do much because I just started rereading whatever book I hadn't seen in a while got to my hands. And after realising that I certainly have a type for narratives and characters I started thinking about Hannah from Until Dawn and how amazing it was to have a dead female character with little to no characterisation that subverted the "haunt the narrative" thing we see in many of the asoiaf girls from the dead ladies club and yeah I am thinking about Kyra again and that is not a good mentality.

Elia and Lyanna are given a personality and a face through those who loved them, they feel real because the pain of those who mourn them feels real. Even Joanna Lannister gets some of that through what little we find out of her.

Kyra is a dead lady but she’s not a member of the Dead Ladies Club™. She doesn’t get that privilege. The only person who thinks of her is Theon and it is not done lovingly.

Kyra has a personality we are not privy too. She is a satellite character that is mentioned exclusively in relation to Theon, even in the exception of Bran's POV. Her existence is conditioned to Theon.

Jeyne Poole, although often called one, isn't a satellite character. From the very beginning of the story she is already a presence in multiple POV character's lives, even if her role in the story and her characterisation is weak; She is Sansa's friend, Arya's bully, even Catelyn mentions her and in relation to Robb, but we don't ever see her interacting with her father and none of those characters seems very concerned of her well-being. I don't even know if Ned was planning on sending her with Arya & Sansa or if she was supposed to stay with her father. She later ascends a bit by becoming a secondary but fundamental character in Theon's POV and the Northern plot.

Kyra however is a blank page with a name. This isn't meant as something derogatory. I still have flashbacks of my 2016 experience in this fandom and the way the only kyra stan I ever met would wage a war on jeyne p fans. This isn't my intention.

With exception of Theon there are four other characters that are mentioned to have interacted with her.

Bessa, another serving wench who is implied to have participated on a threesome with her and Theon some time before Bran V, AGOT (Oooh she and Theon were bi4bi!)

Wex Pyke, is mentioned to have slept at the foot of Theon's bed, a bed on which Kyra slept as well. (Oooh Dog imagery and the implied possible witnessing of rape!)

Ramsay Snow...not going to write that. We all know what happened.

Ben Bones, "[...] Even if we do escape, Lord Ramsay will hunt us down, him and Ben Bones and the girls." generalised statement by Theon during his escape with Jeyne. Ben Bones isn't mentioned in relation to Kyra and him being caught during their failed escape.

These aren't even brief versions of her connections, I'm reaching out with many of them.

What else do we know about her?

Ok. She is a serving wench and probably works at the Smoking Log (Source: Bran)

She blushes easily and seems to be embarrassed by public talks of her sex life (Source: Theon)

She seems like an eager lover and seemed to be excited when Theon first took her to Winterfell (Source: Theon)

She had never been at the castle before (Source: Theon)

She acted as the big spoon as they slept together (Source: Theon)

She still refers to Theon as "M'lord" during early ACOK, even if the aforementioned positioning of the two would have us believe there might be more emotional intimacy or closeness between the two (Source: Theon)

Theon raped her (Source: Theon)

Ramsay possibly raped her (Source: Ramsay saying he wanted to bed her)

She was taken prisoner with the other women and children who were at Winterfell after Ramsay sacked the castle. (Source: Theon)

At some point she managed to set herself free, stole the keys to Theon's cell, liberated him, asked him to help her back to Winterfell and failed (Source: Theon)

She threw a rock at Ramsay when he caught her and Theon again, and missed by a foot (Source: Theon)

She was mauled to death by hounds (Source: Theon)

Ramsay named a hound meant to kill other women during future hunts after her (Source: Theon)

He had run before. Years ago, it seemed, when he still had some strength in him, when he had still been defiant. That time it had been Kyra with the keys. She told him she had stolen them, that she knew a postern gate that was never guarded. "Take me back to Winterfell, m'lord," she begged, pale-faced and trembling. "I don't know the way. I can't escape alone. Come with me, please." And so he had. The gaoler was dead drunk in a puddle of wine, with his breeches down around his ankles. The dungeon door was open and the postern gate had been unguarded, just as she had said. They waited for the moon to go behind a cloud, then slipped from the castle and splashed across the Weeping Water, stumbling over stones, half-frozen by the icy stream. On the far side, he had kissed her. "You've saved us," he said. Fool. Fool. It had all been a trap, a game, a jape. Lord Ramsay loved the chase and preferred to hunt two-legged prey. All night they ran through the darkling wood, but as the sun came up the sound of a distant horn came faintly through the trees, and they heard the baying of a pack of hounds. "We should split up," he told Kyra as the dogs drew closer. "They cannot track us both." The girl was crazed with fear, though, and refused to leave his side, even when he swore that he would raise a host of ironborn and come back for her if she should be the one they followed. Within the hour, they were taken. One dog knocked him to the ground, and a second bit Kyra on the leg as she scrambled up a hillside. The rest surrounded them, baying and snarling, snapping at them every time they moved, holding them there until Ramsay Snow rode up with his huntsmen. He was still a bastard then, not yet a Bolton. "There you are," he said, smiling down at them from the saddle. "You wound me, wandering off like this. Have you grown tired of my hospitality so soon?" That was when Kyra seized a stone and threw it at his head. It missed by a good foot, and Ramsay smiled. "You must be punished." Reek remembered the desperate, frightened look in Kyra's eyes. She had never looked so young as she did in that moment, still half a girl, but there was nothing he could do. She brought them down on us, he thought. If we had separated as I wanted, one of us might have gotten away. - Reek I, ADWD

A few things:

1)

2) Kyra's own involvement

I've often seen people take Theon's inner thoughts as a fact. Most of us are convinced that this was all something Ramsay planned all along, that any possible escape was frustrated from the very beginning. I have often even seen fan works in which Kyra knows and tells Theon that Ramsay is planning to hunt them, but when looking closer to the text I find it difficult to believe that everything was a set up. In Theon's memories he mentions how the gaoler was drunk and had his breeches down, which I think implies that maybe it was Kyra who deliberately planned this. That maybe it was her who orchestrated him getting frunk and eventually also had sex with him, perhaps to get closer and take the keys. "She knew a poster gate that was never guarded" also implies that she wasn't held prisoner in the same way Theon was, but maybe was set up to become a slave/servant like Arya at Harrenhall and spent enough time roaming "free" to notice such things. If this was the case and it was her plan instead of Ramsay (who might or might not have maybe set up her environment and conditioned her thoughts of escape) then I think we can maybe add some other traits to her characterisation; we can assume she is observant, resilient and very brave.

3) I wanted to name this section "The Kiss" but then Klimt came to mind so we are naming it Frame 00:09:31 and Frame 00:09:38 of Belladonna of Sadness (tw the links for artistic depictions of the aftermath of rape)

There is often speculation going on whether the lack of something textual in these books can be seen as proof for something else. Canon romantic Jon/Sansa and the idea that Dany considers the Dothraki subhuman are often backed up by this sort of thought process (I admittedly don't believe in any of the aforementioned examples) but I don’t think we’ve ever seen it used in cases like that of Kyra, where I personally find it more fitting. Particularly when it comes to that scene and how Theon doesn't describe her response. I have always seen people take this as something reciprocal and sometimes even beautiful, and Theon internally chastising himself as he thinks of it is often attributed to thinking there was a chance of escape, when it could as well be him chastising himself because he kissed her without really considering how frightening the entire situation must have been for her. Her reasoning for setting him free is that he knows how to go back, not that she loves him or has forgive him. She is said to tremble as she pleads for help, her face is pale, and I can't help but wonder if part of her fear also came from having to beg her rapist to accompany her in her escape.

Based on her throwing a stone at Ramsay, who probably raped her in the past, I like to believe that when he kissed her she screamed, bit Theon and pushed him away.

4) The Girl

There are a few things in that text about Theon & Kyra that in hindsight remind me of Theon & Jeyne.

Some of it is relatively obvious and I have mentioned it in the past, such as the

"You've saved us," he said. - Reek I, ADWD

"You saved me," Jeyne had whispered, - Theon I, TWOW

and

"We should split up," he told Kyra as the dogs drew closer. "They cannot track us both." The girl was crazed with fear, though, and refused to leave his side, [...] If we had separated as I wanted, one of us might have gotten away. - Reek I, ADWD

"Stay close to me," Jeyne said. "Don't leave me." "I will be right beside you," Theon promised - Theon I, ADWD

but also

"Take me back to Winterfell, m'lord," she begged, pale-faced and trembling. "I don't know the way. I can't escape alone. Come with me, please." - Reek I, ADWD

He put a finger to her lips. "We can talk about that later. You need to be quiet now. Come with us. With me. We will take you away from here. Away from him." - Theon I, ADWD

and

Reek remembered the desperate, frightened look in Kyra's eyes. She had never looked so young as she did in that moment, still half a girl, but there was nothing he could do. - Reek I, ADWD

The eyes of the bride were brown. Big and brown and full of fear. It was not right that she should look to him for rescue.  - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Overall my perception of things tells me that there was a drastic change in Theon's character after her death. It is him who this time has comed up with a plan and has to beg/repeatedly ask for someone else to accompany him. Something I find peculiar is how he describes fear being visible through their eyes and the sight of it makes him feel guilt over his lack of agency.

When comparing his behaviour during the failed escape and the flight we see that he no longer plans on leaving Jeyne in order to escape by himself (and we see him prove that during TWOW when he comments on how her ribs broke so HE CARRIED HER jdsfskdjfnsdkjf aren't you supposed to be emaciated???). And while I find that a very noble development, as I consider salvation to be symbiotic, it leads me to wonder:

5) The AU

So many fanworks often depict Theon holding her hand and going ahead as they run, it's a beautiful image but it doesn't follow into what the canon is telling us.

Kyra being the active one in this event, her having to be the one who not only approaches Theon with thoughts of escape but also begs for his help, implying he might have been hesitant at first, she being the one who refuses to leave him although he is set off on their(/his?) chances of a successful escape being higher if they part ways, all this points to him probably not wanting to hold her hand through it, much less lead her through his same path.

And then I think of Theon's promise

The girl was crazed with fear, though, and refused to leave his side, even when he swore that he would raise a host of ironborn and come back for her if she should be the one they followed. - Reek I, ADWD

Would he? Would he have returned with a host if ironborn to get her? I don't think he would have. I don't think he was consciously lying to her or that he would just forget of her and leave with no remorse and never think of her again. I think it would have become inconvenient to return and he would have told himself it is impossible and she would haunt him nonetheless, but what consolation is that for her?

If he had miraculously managed to get to his sister or to Dagmer Cleftjaw, had miraculously managed to rapidly heal and regain his strength, would he have been able to get himself a host of loyal ironborn that would follow him far far far into the land, away from the realms of he who dwells beneath the waves, just to save some random girl he used to bed? Ad given how emotionally constipated is, how introverted, how he rarely displays vulnerability, what could he have said in order to change their mind?

Even her physical appearance, something that Theon, a somewhat libidinous young man, might have remarked on, is omitted. She doesn't have thick auburn hair, which could have made some readers use her as "proof" for him being "psychosexually" (another word most people in here don't know how to define but will use regardless) attracted to Robb/Sansa/Cat. The eyes of the girl aren't "big and brown" for me and a few other delusional people to claim as "foreshadowing" for a future romance. There aren't any mentions of her having a sharp nose that could have made us think of her as a semblance of his own family back at the Islands. There is nothing. She is nothing.

Sometimes we readers attempt to give closure to Kyra through fan work; I have seen art depicting her as a ghost "forgiving" Theon, there are fics in which Theon takes care of the hound that was named after her or (I am guilty of this too) him taking care of Jeyne is somehow seen by the narrative as atonement for his past mistreatment of Kyra. None of these works are inherently bad or disrespectful and I can appreciate what they do and I enjoy many of them (@/ghostlyturncloaks has a very beautiful fic involving Theon and Kyra, the hound), but none of them will give Kyra, the actual Kyra who used to breath and was then killed by hounds, closure because that is simply impossible to do given how she is not a real character compared to those who surround her. When people in this fandom talk about "stanning the girls who suffer/are victims" it is often done either in a holier-than-thou light or in a derogative manner but it never refers to Kyra because Kyra isn't allowed to be a person in the text.

Taking care of Jeyne or the hound won't make things right for her and there are no reasons for her to forgive Theon when Theon refuses to even think of the act with indisputable textual remorse. We can read between the lines and realise that Theon feels guilt, the fact she "and her keys" haunt him is already proof of that, but does he feel guilt for her terrible death, for him raping her, for how little he valued her as a person or for all of these together?

And I don't think that Theon is inherently a bad person for not valuing her and not being interested in her as a person, I think such situations are cruelly casual and rarely intentional. I think most people across their life will come to realise that they should have valued someone more. Our feelings aren't reciprocal and that isn't necessarily a sign of vileness. And, to my shame, I admit that part of my obsession with my unlucky trio of Jeyne, Falia and Kyra is somewhat motivated by my own feelings of depersonalisation and overall worthlessness and irrelevance.

It is difficult to explain, at most I can maybe compare it to the way Dany has managed to appeal to so many woc through her journey. Cersei, Dany, Arya and Sansa are all well written, interesting and profound characters that will go down in history both in and out of universe as such. Kyra won’t, neither will Falia, the Jeynes might have but they weren’t enough and were quickly replaced without many mourning that change in the way we mourn Daenerys' popularised end game as a mad queen or Arya's popularised endgame as a badass assassin without any nuisance. And I can understand why! This anger is purely mine!

With Kyra there is a world to explore, but only as long as Theon is no longer there. We can't give her a respectful characterisation if our only source and voice is that of Theon, if we were to that it would probably be highly ooc. But then again we can't even interact with her without Theon being in the picture. What happened to Bessa? Was she killed during the Winterfell sack? Were they friends? I imagine they were close if the two worked together and also had a threesome. Did she feel fear and maybe a pang of jealousy when she saw her being summoned to the castle to never come back to their inn? Did Kyra have a family? Maybe they were working the fields in the late summer/early autumn and were hoping to see her in winter again. I will be arrogant by referring to the images meme I recently made for her but yeah, Nathaniel Russel's fake fliers you will go down in my memory:

Even something as benign and well meaning as giving her a face, be it by a film/show/comic-adaptation or fan art, is somewhat counterproductive to what I think might have been aimed by the writer through her being a faceless pain. A face can make someone become sympathetic or interesting, meanwhile Kyra is pain unbridled and without any mentioned outer or inner beauty to get us to be invested in her. I might have my headcanons for her, with and without Theon, but I am not meant to have them.

The most common Tumblr tag for the sharing of Kyra related posts is "#kyra and her keys" and although this will be perceived by may as a holier than thou attitude I think it speaks on itself that we readers, the few readers who care enough about Kyra to dedicate a post to her, have decided to refer to her with a concept Theon chose for her. We define her through Theon without any real consideration for her own feelings. "#kyra asoiaf" has about three posts last I checked.

#my thesis was mildly related to all this and now that I know it will never see the light of the day + everything + the kyra image meme #I've been having feelings about her and yeah those aren't nice. #Its weird because officially cerse¡ and d@ny are my favourite female characters but I don't think about them nearly as much as I think abou #kyra of winter town #je¥ne p and w and f@lia #speaking #asoiaf #the narrative didn't doom me it just ditched me

[qqueenofhades]

Whew!

Darklina + academia AU? (Professors, students, whatever dynamic you find most interesting)

Alina Starkov has always loved maps.

There’s just something about them: the deeply human struggle to understand the world, to sketch it out, to imagine fantastic beasts and lands and people on the margins, here be dragons. It’s half illusion and half reality, a guidebook both to what lies out there and what is dreamed of. She is fascinated by the relative accuracy of maps drawn long before satellites and space photographs – that, say, the sixteenth-century Europa recens descripta à Guileilmo Blaeuw does look pretty much like the modern continent. Well, mostly. She wrote her undergraduate senior thesis on the fictional island of Frisland, long believed to exist in the North Atlantic Ocean just south of Iceland, and its role in premodern cartographic and geographic imagination. Rereading it now gives her a twitch, as it always does with academics trying to revisit their past work, but it’s not all bad. It won her a prize and it impressed Professor Baghra Morozova, the fearsome head of the Department of Medieval Studies at Central European University, Vienna. (Best method to survive her class: Pray.) And it’s why Alina, still feeling very, very much like a terrible fraud – though she’s been assured this is likewise common to academics, so yay? – is working late in the main library on Quellenstraße, stifling yawns. She has a supervision meeting tomorrow, and if she half-asses this, Baghra will eat her alive.

Alina has been working for a while, pausing only to slug lukewarm coffee from her travel mug and answer texts from her flatmate Genya, when she becomes aware that there’s some other late-night diehard skulking in the stacks. This isn’t uncommon, but this guy doesn’t look like your usual desperate slacker. He’s tall, lean, and elegant, wearing a black shirt and crisp slacks, and – Alina has eyes, sue her – he’s extremely good-looking. Thick dark hair with a bit of a curl, a sharp dark gaze, and although he has his own stack of books, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to any of them. In fact, he is looking – a little unsettlingly – directly at her.

Oh, hell. Alina hasn’t spoken to him before, but she knows who this is. Aleksander Morozov is an urban legend at CEU, for rather ominous reasons. He is rumored to be in some indeterminate year of his own PhD, but disappears at long stretches for “research trips,” and nobody is any the wiser about what he’s actually doing on them. Noting the similarity of surname, Alina once asked Baghra if they were related, and got a face that looked like someone had died. “Unfortunately,” her supervisor said, lips pursed, “he is my son. But I assure you, his presence on this campus has nothing whatever to do with me.”

Understanding that familial relations were, to say the least, chilly, Alina hasn’t pushed it. She’s also not sure what to make of her professor’s estranged (and disturbingly attractive) offspring sitting here and watching her study, as if he has nothing better to do than haunt first-year PhD students like the Ghost of Bad Decisions Yet To Come. At last, she gets up and marches over. Keeping her voice at librarian-approved levels, she hisses, “Excuse me, can I help you?”

She speaks in English, the lingua franca of CEU, though the Morozovas are political exiles from the Putin regime, like White Russians fleeing the Bolsheviks once upon a time. Alina herself is ancestrally Russian – born in Moscow, adopted by a nice British couple out of an orphanage and raised in suburban Sussex – and as Aleksander Morozov flicks those onyx eyes up at her, she can sense him weighing how to respond. As if he wants to test her, examine her bona fides, and Alina’s Russian is limited to “da,” “privyet,” and “dosvidaniya.” Not that he should know that. Not that he should know anything about her.

“Good evening,” he answers, also in English. His Received Pronunciation is even more posh than hers. “I wasn’t aware that I was disturbing you.”

“You’re – ” Alina wrestles with herself, tells herself not to be rude. It’s not a crime to sit and watch someone study, even in a mildly creepy fashion. “You’ve just been watching me for, like, an hour now.”

“Ah.” He doesn’t apologize or explain why that might be. He sits back in his chair, studying her like a piece of rare porcelain. “My apologies, Miss Starkov.”

Alina glances at him again, despite herself. There’s an undeniable thrill at actually talking to the campus heartthrob, even if the reason for it leaves something to be desired. She should say something else, when she becomes aware that he’s addressed her by name, and she doesn’t remember introducing herself. That doesn’t exactly do anything to convince her that he’s not a stalker. A little uneasily, she says, “How do you know my name?”

“You’re my mother’s student, aren’t you?” He cocks his head. “Alina?”

“I – yes.” That does explain it, although she didn’t realize the two of them were on speaking terms, or that they discussed her. Her name sounds unusual in his mouth, deliberate in a way nobody has spoken it before, and all at once, he gets to his feet. He stands several inches taller than her, and he starts piling his books into his bag, as if to discreetly absent himself now that she’s noticed him. “You don’t – ” she starts. “I didn’t mean to – ”

He looks at her again, sidelong. Then he says, “I should go home and get some sleep. I’m returning to Oxford tomorrow morning anyway.”

���Oxford?”

“I went to school there.” He utters a short, dry laugh. “All the good Russians do. And they live in Londongrad.”

That explains the accent, at least, and he seems to have some other business there, whether it’s another of the “research trips” or a guest lecture or whatever else. (Alina hasn’t seen his CV, but she has a sneaking feeling it’s the kind of thing to make her throw her drafts in the trash and never do anything in academia again.) Despite herself, she’s curious, and even though she has just told him to get lost, kind of, she wants to know. “Will you be back?”

Aleksander Morozov studies her with utter, unblinking intensity, as if he sees past flesh and bone, blood and sinew, to the very core of her, something that even she does not fully comprehend. Then he shrugs, his eyes never leaving her face, until Alina feels a shiver travel down her from head to toe, cold and powerful, twisting in her stomach. “Perhaps I will. Good night, Miss Starkov.”

With that, he nods to her, then turns on his heel, vanishing into the shadows as effortlessly as if he is made from them. No sound, no breath. Simply there one moment, and gone the next. Alina rubs her eyes, but she is alone in the library. Just as she wanted. Wasn’t it?

She can’t help her eyes from searching for him, or rather the vanished impression of him, the flutter of a curtain after someone has left the room. Before she can stop it, she has the thought that he very much is a map of his own, a path that leads into a strange dark land beyond the boundaries of the known world, a dragon or a doorway, a dream of what could be. Maybe something entirely ordinary. Maybe something not.

Alina shivers again, and returns to her carrel. She sits down and pulls the next book toward her, forcing her tired eyes to focus. Just because Aleksander Morozov – Aleksander Morosov – is a map, albeit the strangest one she has ever seen, it does not mean she needs to follow where he leads. She knows damn well the danger.

(And yet, despite herself, she wants to.)

#fic prompts #darklina #was this more than 500 words #yes #yes it was #anyway more prompts later #but this will do for now #mearcatsreturns #ask

[shiberpostshere]

The Kiss Thief - Park Seonghwa Social Media AU

38. Chapter Thirty Two: No, It’s Ryan Reynolds!✨

Previous Part✨            Next Part ✨

Masterlist of the AU✨ 

Word Count: 6.7K (Buckle up, its time for a ride)

This Chapter Contains: Giggle worthy chaos and tooth decaying fluff. (An Annoyed San too.) 

It’s a regular Sunday. A quiet regular Sunday. An unusually quiet, regular Sunday that you don’t experience often as a college student.

An unusually quiet regular Sunday except for Yeri and Jongho’s loud, harmonious snores that vibrated through the lazy (almost) evening silence of the apartment while you had sneaked out like a thief bound with tinkling shackles out of the front door. 

It was exactly five minutes before 5 O’clock and you knew what noise pollution would commence once the short hand stopped perfectly atop the number five. 

The neighbour above starts angrily vacuuming to release their pent up frustration of the day or maybe to act as a thoughtful warning alarm to wake the other residents who might be napping above the universal napping time limit and the snarky middle aged lady beside, who begins banging pots and rattling spoons to prepare either her dinner or for a secret time travel battle she has to attend every single night to save the history for the sake of the present. 

You have a generous set for neighbours. 

Thankfully, you aren’t currently present in your apartment to experience the brutal murder of your ears. 

Unfortunately, you’re sandwiched in between San and Wooyoung in the shared wide back seats of the bus, stuffed to the absolute brim with sweaty and jumpy people. 

The serenity of the weekend ended when you willingly decided to step onto the Bus No. 7 for the following reasons: 

Number One, You and Wooyoung don’t drive and San owns a motorcycle that cannot carry three people at once, not without getting an overloaded vehicle ticket by pulling a stunt like that,

Number two, you have nothing better to do on a Sunday evening other than watch Yeri and Jongho scream about the WIFI and college website because they couldn’t select the classes they wanted fast enough, 

Number three, you were unable to escape from Wooyoung’s persistence but you had to get out and inhale some fresh air of the outside. 

It is a secret that you had isolated yourself in the sweet ol’ bedroom (in the name of preparing for a workshop), to take a five minutes rest which gradually progressed into knotting up your bones by rolling on the bed 24/7 and temporarily disrupting the serotonin production while watching sad movies, and

Number four, San cashed out a favour from that one time he fetched a folder from your dorm and drove fifteen minutes to deliver it because your degree was on the line. Which is why, this particular evening you need to help him out with whatever he wants to do at this Garden plus Research Centre for Thesis purposes. 

“The Thesis and Freebies Date”, term coined by Jung Wooyoung, free entertainment, food finder and a plus one, on Sunday 17th of May, 5:30 AM on the dot. 

On top of all these reasons sat Seonghwa’s last text message like a cherry on top of a cupcake of complaints. 

He sent you a picture of his americano that was loaded with ten pumps of syrup, “I’m drinking coffee😇”  

What coffeeee????!!?!?!?

Everything has failed you today. The public transportation system, your emotional support boy and your unhealthy obsessive complex believing that anything above two pumps of syrup is not coffee because you cannot handle personal preferences. 

“Why on earth is this bus full like it’s the last bus available to escape a fucking zombie aopcalypse. What is this ‘Bus to Busan’?” Your voice comes out with pure seething under your breath for only your friends to hear but you catch the old lady beside San narrowing her eyes at you with suspicion. 

San, engrossed in scrolling through his twitter and sipping his (proper) americano is least interested about your discomfort. 

“Oh I don’t know! I did suggest taking the subway instead but two idiotic people whined for five minutes straight to get on this bus.” His response is monotonous, attempting to contain himself from bursting. 

The pinching statement is directed towards you and Wooyoung who grumbled about the group having to walk after getting off the subway when the bus seemed like a better option that stopped right on the street opposite of your destination. 

Wooyoung’s frame shifts slightly onto your small seat as the hefty man beside him wiggles for space. “Yeah, Jesus Christ, if only I had had an epiphany about how crowded the bus was going to be before we board it.” 

If only you had epiphanies. 

The bus was mildly crowded when all of you had entered but became packed within the next ten minutes of collecting passengers at merely three stations. 

Poor Wooyoung is scared for his life knowing he will be ironed flat by the man if the bus jumps over a speed breaker or God forbid, decides to halt abruptly. The fear is relatable because the boy standing in front will collapse right onto your already shaky lap under any abrupt movements made by the bus. 

After five minutes of distracting himself, San shoves his phone in the pocket of his jeans and leans into your space to jab a finger at two of you simultaneously. “Yeah, Jesus Christ, if only my lazy ass friends knew how to walk but they left their legs in the semester break.” He accuses.

He is absolutely right. 

Every student, excluding the few exceptionally productive ones, collectively lost the ability to walk unless the end goal was acquiring food, money, grades and work experience. 

Wooyoung throws his hands up out of exasperation, “And you’re hundred percent sure that the subway isn’t packed?” 

You nod vigorously, supporting his argument because it doesn’t lead to admitting that you’re wrong and not once you’ll acknowledge the possibility of the missed subway having much more space than this body heat microwave of a bus that you two insisted on boarding until San gave in and agreed. 

“Yeah. Also, we’re accompanying you for your work, San.” You chide in to transfer the blame like a ten year old child and nudge the grouchy boy away from the seat with your right arm. 

San’s left brow twitches. He is definetly holding back a snarky retort. 

“Yes, yes, it’s all my fault.” He drawls on his reponse and turns his head away to ignore your presence entirely.

Apparently, it was not an unusually quiet, regular Sunday for the residents of Unit 8181 also known as the occupants of the apartment of Seonghwa and Friends who have been on the edge due to a mysterious late night incident that was not revealed to you no matter how many times you pried. 

Mingi and Yeosang were sprawled together on the couch, hidden beneath a bunch of weighty duvets which did not look like it had two people sleeping underneath it until they started untangling themselves from each other. 

Wooyoung was showering, apparently for almost an hour to scrub away his drowsiness as stated by San who has been extremely cranky and constantly keeping himself occupied with his phone and swishing and fixing his posh, sky blue cardigan (until you entered the kitchen and he dragged you out with him, suddenly all smiles). 

Yunho was the only one who appeared somewhat himself, still in his pajamas, folding questionably large amount of laundry. He mentioned ‘monopoly game night’ but you didn’t buy that excuse.

They were engaged in constant back and forth, ‘Who Can Shut the Other Guys Up In The Most Creative Way’ contest. 

Yeosang won after a house slipper flew out of his room, wheezed past your legs and landed right near the shoe rack as you stood there frozen. The aim was commendable but the action was concerning. 

Other than sarcastic remarks, all of them shared swollen eyebags due to the lack of sleep. 

A sleepy Mingi glared at you with his droopy eyes for thirty seconds, mumbled out, “Oh, it’s just you.”, trudged towards his room and slammed the door behind him. 

The apartment floor was spotless, not one obvious clutter in sight. 

Seonghwa will surely name everything he owns to them in his will once he returns in the coming week and sees the glistening state of the apartment. 

It reminds you that you, too, need to take care of that one chair that holds the tower of toppling dirty clothes in your room before he sees them and gives you an earful of nagging. 

A bead of cold sweat travels down the crevice of your neck. 

“How much longer until we arrive?” You committ the mistake of directing the question to the volcanic mountain prepared to erupt any minute now. 

The bus jostles with a screech, collectively swinging everyone forward with a painful jerk.  Shared sighs and groans echo throughout the bus. 

Staying put in your seat in this bus is more challenging than a one minute plank.

“I don’t know, he probably knows.” Wooyoung responds with a shrug, holding onto his dear life. 

“Maybe you should walk through this sea of people and ask the bus driver himself.” San suggests with an imposed smile, causing your own lips to stretch into a false one. 

“What a fantastic suggestion! I would love to use you as a human shield to push through this crowd and get to the front.” You answer, crossing your arms below your chest.

He offers you his entire irked attention.

Wooyoung’s forehead dives into the palm of his hand. He’d rather hide than let the passengers of the bus know that he is associated with the two of you. 

The agitated boy rolls his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line before he launches his lecture. “Okay, you know what (y/n)---” 

“Oh for goodness sake! Young man and young woman! Resume your couple’s banter at your place, don’t fight in public places.” The old lady whose patience was being tested this entire journey voices out her protest. 

You’re stunned for a good moment before your heads snap towards the lady, wearing similar offended expressions. 

Meanwhile, Wooyoung is holding onto his bubbling laughter. His palms having slid down from his forehead to his lips to prevent himself from laughing out loud like a maniac. 

“We are not a couple!” You both answer in a hurried chorus. 

After the frantic clarification, your eyes meet and the absurdity of the old lady’s comment wipes every single trace of the previous exchange.

Both of you break together into timed, soft giggles and the chain reaction pulls in Wooyoung who laughs into his hands to control the volume. 

The lady shakes her head at your reaction. “Well, then, not a couple, don’t fight and let me ride to my book club meeting in peace.” She states her demand, expression indicating that she is cooking incorrect judgements about your group in her mind. 

San and you offer her a quick sincere apology, suppressing the amusement derived from her assumption.  

“You two in a romantic relationship? More like a disastorous pair of wannabe edgy emo and a pissed caffeinated fantasizer. Nah, totally incompatible.” Wooyoung mutters under his breath. 

“He’d get rid of me in ten minutes.” You whisper your reasoning.  

San feels the old lady’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head, his arm nudges yours gently, “Make that five. Okay now, zip up.” His eyes and voice both firmly plead. 

“Yes sir.” You reply and shrink in your seat further to make room for Wooyoung to breathe. 

They’re quite a handful duo, alright, but they’re your handful duo and they handle you as well.

After ten minutes of bumping, shoving and tossing around the entire bus like popcorns, the three of you miraculously step out in one piece. 

You take a good five minutes to regain your normal pace of breathing again.

The relaxing wind carrying the gentle floral aroma from the garden calms your suffocated senses. 

Ah, finally, freedom from people.

The bus was overdosed with CO2. 

Your lips were zipped for most of the ride in order to avoid receiving another sneer from the old lady and making sure you don’t run out of the very last oxygen molecule present in the bus.

Wooyoung is stretching every limb of his body after being pressed in between the sandwich grill consisting of you and the giant man.

“You know what?” He pulls out a little black hair tie to control the little locks ruffling against his eyes. “Ditch me the next time I whine about not walking because that was literal hell. I am never stepping into another bus, ever again.” The determination present in his voice is almost convincing. Almost.

“You’re going to start whining when it’s time to return.” Adds San, after double checking every pocket present on his clothing.

An overwhelmingly tiring yawn falls through your lips. 

“Yeah, dude, no false promises.” You inch closer towards San to show your support.

Wooyoung’s exhausted face transforms into an unamused one, “You’re shameless.” 

Harsh but true.

“No, no, no, you last minute side switchers, get away from me. I am not claiming you.” Ignoring your presence, he simply walks towards the main entrance of the garden. 

A sickeningly sweet smile appears on your lips. “Hey, wait, I promise, I won’t take Wooyoung’s side ever again!” You say in a singsong manner, taking wide steps to catch up by San’s side. 

“Where do you think you are going?” The betrayed one gets a hold of your backpack and pulls you back with a forceful tug. 

Your shoes brush harshly against the concrete pavement. He accomplishes the task of slowing you down and makes a run for San, wheezing loudly. 

“Jung Wooyoung!” You cry out loud at his actions, your backpack flailing out of your arms. 

He treads beside his unbothered friend, front facing you from a distance. “We need to meet the professor at the research centre anyway, keep yourself busy until then!” A wink and a cackle, then he grabs San by his shoulders and disappears inside at an astonishing speed. 

Like a little kid whose ice cream has been snatched away, you stand there watching San’s waving hand and Wooyoung’s bouncy ponytail fading away.

A strong inhale and a gentle exhale, you try to calm the rapid heaving of your chest. 

“Ah, whatever! They’ll text me once they’re done.” Uttering the assuring words to yourself, you fix the carelessly hanging backpack and set course to occupy yourself in the garden until they’re done with whatever they have to do at the research centre. 

This is not the first time they have pulled this prank of abandoning you just for laughs and then frantically calling with the classic bait of “yo, come over at this food truck, we’re paying😏” 

They throw the same bait under any circumstances and it works pure magic on any living being who lives for eating. Even Seonghwa caves in, and your willpower is -2 compared to Seonghwa’s 10+ patience. 

Once you step inside the garden, you’re sure they have ditched you with good intentions as your eyes take in the lavish surroundings.

The green of nature is widespread throughout in the form of sturdy and lean trees, recently mowed grass and snipped shrubs peeking in between, all sprinkled with colourful little flowers like twinkling stars on a clear night sky. A gentle breeze whistles by within small intervals, rustling the leaves with the faintest crackling sound. 

There are feeble chirps of birds, hiding in their nests to sleep for the night. 

It is heaven on earth as the golden glow of the sun settles upon the scene. 

The lulling fragrance of roses carried along with the wind urges you to roll on the blanket of the grass and maybe even take a nap after tiring yourself but you know you’ll be thrown out because there are watchful guards scattered around. 

For once, you’re grateful that they left you behind. 

You’d rather take a walk around the garden while listening to serene songs rather than awkwardly wait behind them as they converse with the said professor they’re here to meet.  

I should explore a little before San gets into his Plant Geek Mode. 

A major path from the main entrance splits in several small, stone tracks, like a maze to explore. 

The region is vast, tranquil and maintained, no wonder a research centre lies somewhere in this arboretum.

You notice the informative display of the map, standing tall, indicating what lies in between and at the end of every track, piquing your explorer fantasy. There is a stack of small, handy maps for visitors to carry as well. 

You grab one, deciding upon the center most lane with your earphones playing the enchanting tune of Like a Flowing Wind by Day6 in a low volume.

“The North Lane leads towards the green house and the research centre.” You murmur, studying the contents of the map with much concentration. “Wooyoung and San probably went that way.” You throw a quick glance behind before resuming your stroll. 

The trail you’re currently walking on is the West Way, sheltered with tall towering trees and the Grand Elixir Fountain that lies at the end.  

You neatly fold the brochure and tuck it safely inside your pocket, saving the next spots to visit together once you regroup. 

Surprisingly, the garden doesn’t have an overflowing crowd. 

There are quite a lot of people occupying the benches and seating areas, mostly couples. You notice quite a few students, assuming they are, with their laptops and notebooks, surveying or either sitting in a formation to share their findings. 

Everyone is invested in themselves, in their own little world due to which the place feels quite private, snug and pleasant. 

The greenery, the sounds of nature, the music and soft whispers creating one whole atmosphere of contentment. 

It has been named Golden Blooms for a reason indeed. Except the Research Centre part, we’re going to ignore that for now. 

Seonghwa would absolutely love this place. There is nothing not to love about this. You can sketch a million ways of spending time here together. 

You don’t want to be a girlfriend like that but you’re to be a girlfriend like that.

A picnic after a long hectic week of continuous classes to unwind while spending quality time together, under a birch tree that casts a wide shadow beneath to watch the sunset while sharing the most mundane and silliest stories of your week and snacking on the collective bag you two usually pack before heading out for your Saturday Sunset Dates.

Maybe you’ll have to give up the spot due to its popular demand but it’ll be alright nonetheless. Instead, you’ll resort to taking every lane to check what lies at the end as Seonghwa’s personal playlist will be the perfect background music. 

The day will end with a hearty dinner and crashing in either’s bedroom, cuddling together where he always insists on being the little spoon and you always give in. 

 Oh god, I went too far. 

If just the thought has you feeling immensely giddy, how exhilarating would it feel to actually spend a day like that? 

Back to present, (Y/N), back to present. 

The uneven stone trail comes to an end as your shoes sink into the bed of the grass. Your next steps feel extremely light. 

Walking on this grass is the closet one can experience how walking on a cloud feels like. You constrain yourself from removing your socks and shoes and running around on the grass like a madman--

Holy Shit. 

The Grand Elixir Fountain is a masterpiece. 

Rather than blindingly white, it is a comforting shade of evanesce beige. The sculptures surrounding the circumference are alluring rather than intimidating of mythical water creatures from numerous mythologies.

A water nymph settles at the heart of the fountain on a wave with water sprouting from the pot she’s embracing. 

The gurgling water simmers down onto another platform shaped like a lotus, little droplets splashing on the people standing close by the edge and then gliding down from the platform into the bottom expanse to become a slow, rippling stream. 

The Fountain is a high lord, you are a mere peasant. The Fountain is the moon and you’re a small star. The Fountain is queen bee and you’re a worker bee. The Fountain is a high quality gaming PC and you’re a laptop you had to buy with an acceptable graphic card because you’re a college student who is surviving.

Maybe you’re not the best with creative descriptions but it’s okay you’re a law student any way. 

Creative writing is Yeosang’s forte and he worries about it plenty. 

“Seonghwa can’t be here but I can send him some pictures.” Pulling out your phone, you scan the area. 

An old couple are seated on a bench to the far right admiring the view, bunches of people pass by once a while either to leave or enter the area and a small group of friends are circled in a corner preoccupied within themselves.

“Okay, nothing to see here, just a college girl fangirling over a beautiful fountain.” You say it with the intent of addressing the people present but it is mostly directed towards yourself to not get embarrassed before you engage in a long photo session full of fascination over a fountain at an arboretum.

Okay, alright, let’s get this over with.  

The cause of your dubiousness is Jongho. 

He has pointed out several times that while taking photos you tend to get absorbed and switch into questionable positions just to score a worthy shot. 

You somehow manage to capture moderate looking full shots without getting any uncanny looks from the visitors around with only one close up shot left. 

The star of the fountain, the water nymph. 

It’s alright. Hopefully nobody finds you getting on one knee to capture a decent picture of the fountain uncanny. 

You’re just a harmless college girl who wants to text her boyfriend, excite him about your possible future dates and hunt for food while waiting for the two little devils to return and get working before it’s too late. 

Gentle sprinkles splash onto your face as you move a little closer with careful steps to find the best spot. The water is enticing on this boiling day.

You hold your phone up, adjusting the angle to your liking. “Okay that’s good.” 

Before you can press the capture button, a pair of hands lock around your waist, someone’s weight settling on your shoulder. 

“No, shift it a little more to the right.” A voice, obscured by the earphones, speaks extremely close to your ear, sending a quivering sensation down your spine. 

The first instinct is to freeze, your entire body numbs at the sudden action, heart beating at an alarming speed. 

It is followed by a startling scream of having a stranger’s arms wrapped around your body. The scream pierces through the placidity of the garden, birds from the trees flying away to safety out of fright.

Finally, the adrenaline rush kicks in, your physical senses registering the situation and your reflexes activate. 

The phone still connected with the earphones flies out of your hands and ears, elbows diving back to land double smacks on the intruder’s stomach to get him off your back.  

The old couple look into your direction with a panicked expression and the entire group nearby jilts up and dashes towards you to investigate the source of the scream. 

You turn around to inspect the trespasser who has landed flat on his butt, clutching onto his stomach as continuous groans and curses fall through his lips. 

“(Y/N)! What the hell!” The obscurity long gone, you recognize the familiar voice and its owner. 

Losing the energy in your legs, you fall down into a squatting position. “Seonghwa?” In a panicked state and a hesitant voice, you call his name. 

“No, it’s Ryan Reynolds.” Mockingly, he whimpers, trying to regain his knocked out senses. 

It is indeed your boyfriend who is currently supposed to be in Japan but is in pain because you landed two good elbow punches right on his stomach after his 4 hours of excitement at the airport and two hours of flight and it is definitely, hundred percent confirmed especially, after his eyes meet yours, full of pain and shooting imaginary daggers at you. 

Seonghwa expected a surprised embrace on his return. Anything but two blows right on his abdomen. 

“Park Seonghwa!” You exclaim. 

“Nope, no, I am not Park Seonghwa anymore.” He states in a faltering tone. 

“Miss, are you alright?” A boy from the far away friend circle interjects, stopping in front of you. “Is he bothering you?” His fingers wrap around your arms to pull you up. 

His other two friends help Seonghwa but with a much constrained grab on his arms.  

You look at your boyfriend being held by the two strangers and then at the boy, eyes performing a few puzzled double takes.

“Miss?” The boy reiterates his query. 

You’re dumfounded, your thoughts hazy. 

Collecting the remaining strength in your body, your hands fly in gestures of denial. “No, no, that’s my boyfriend.” 

The boys appear skeptical. They exchange disbelieving glances. 

“Are you sure? If he’s really bothering you, we can call the police right now.” One of the boys holding your boyfriend suggests with the intentions of your safety. 

The frenzied senses simmer down second by second, your hand reaches out to free him from the strangers’ hold. “No, no. Thank you so much for your help but there has been an misunderstanding, that’s all.” 

The boys release him and you replace their hold by linking his arm. 

“He is really my boyfriend. I was just surprised.” You state with complete assurance. 

“It’s also my fault for creeping up behind her. Thank you for watching out. We’re sorry for the disturbance.” Seonghwa takes the cue and bows down a little to offer a sincere apology. 

His other hand rests atop your bound one. Your gaze stays taut on him, following his actions to apologize as well. 

The boys notice your relaxed figure beside him. “Ah alright, so it was a misunderstanding.” 

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes, it was. We’re sorry.” You say politely. 

Calculating the situation, the boys exchange final greetings before trusting your relationship and leave you two with a, ‘Be careful with your surprises!’ 

The surroundings stop still until Seonghwa unlinks your arms to intertwine your fingers instead and bends down to pick up your phone. 

“Should we sit somewhere and talk?” He suggests in a composed tone. 

“Oh, right, yes.” You answer, mentally occupied collecting the dispersed bits of your comprehension grip.

You two settle on the broad bench, previously occupied by the old couple who left after the ruckus, facing each other.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” You search for his eyes that meet yours in a span of millisecond after the raised enquiry.

Your fingers contract and expand with hesitancy near his abdomen where you, or more accurately, your reflexes stroke him a blow. Eyes fluctuate up and down, from his face to the injured area, teeth abusing the lower lip with worry. 

His hands catch and close around your awkward ones, “It hurts but I am fine. It might be bruised but it’ll be gone with time.”  

You look at him, face full of regret, “Seonghwa, I am so sorry.” 

“It’s alright, (Y/N).” He says with the most assuring look that there is in this world, “I mean it.” 

You were worried that he might be mad about the commotion but him unlinking your arms in order to hold your hand was an indication enough that he wasn’t. 

His anger is often intelligible. He needs the time to stay mad, cool down and talks only when he is ready. The time creates an emotional distance and that distance is unbearable until his heart is ready to resolve. 

He doesn’t hold petty grudges. He certainly forgives but he doesn’t forget. Instead, he draws the line in the relationship to grow apart naturally. 

You happened to experience it once when he was conversing with a senior who had given him a hard time and oh boy, the line he drew was fiery and bone chilling cold at the same time. 

“So, that was definitely not what I expected after I decided to surprise you.” He confesses, his eyes mellow, “I should’ve listened to Hongjoong when he said that the idea is too sappy.”  

While he speaks, you’re occupied with staring at him like a hawk with bulbous eyes. 

“What happened?” He prompts you to speak, a fond smile on his lips. “Cat got your tongue?” His fingers fix the disheveled hair resting on your forehead. 

His eyes hold such raw warmth while he merely tucks little strands behind your ears that you fail to realize you have tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” His expression shifts into a concerned one. “What happened?” He probes further. 

Before you register your actions, your hand is flying to land a soft blow on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were returning today!” 

Maybe the volcanic eruption that was swirling inside San somehow descended into you. The difference is, his was motivated by rage and yours might be motivated by mortification.

He retrieves his hand to hold the area you’re attacking, gaping as he rubs the sore spot. 

“Why are you hitting me!” His expression is muddled. 

Seonghwa expected a surprised embrace on his return. Anything but you hitting him after he attempts to calm you down as his plan of surprise fails worse than the time he had failed history in sixth grade. 

Your hand reaches out to land another gentle smack. “What are you! A freaking saint! Why didn’t you tell me!” 

Even you are not aware why the outlet chosen by your feelings is hitting your loving and caring boyfriend who planned such a great surprise that you managed to ruin by knocking him straight into the abdomen with your pointy elbows. 

“Wait, what--” Your words only further deepen his confusion.  

The next smack or rather love tap, as per your definition, doesn’t get through as his hands are quick to catch yours by the wrists. 

“Why are you hitting me babe?” He tilts his head to the side. “You’re hitting me because I am nice?” He lifts his right brow. “What, a saint?” A playful smile lingers on his lips. 

The audacity of this man to act coy with you when you are full of all sorts of emotions whirling within you like a raging tornado. The audacity of this perfectly, perfect man! 

With your slightly puffy eyes and tears stained cheek, you profess. “I am embarrassed okay! I am really embarrassed, I screamed so----” 

A tch sound comes from him, followed by a, “Idiot.” 

He pulls you into him through the hold he has on your wrists, your chest colliding with his. His arms wrap around your waist in a secure manner, head resting sideways onto the comfort of your shoulder that he dearly missed. 

You melt like an ice cream on a hot day under his touch, taking no time to find content in his embrace, face nestling into his warm neck. 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He removes one hand from your waist to offer comforting caresses on the back of your head. “I don’t know what I expected your reaction to be. Honestly, this particular one didn’t even cross my mind.” 

You lift your head from his neck but he quickly returns it down again. 

“I didn’t expect you to appear in front of me a week before your actual arrival either.” You speak in a muffled voice.

He pauses his stroking for a second, “I knew you were clueless but I didn’t know you were this clueless.” 

“Excuse me!” You shuffle in his hold but he has you latched onto him.

He nestles further into your hold, almost pulling you onto his lap out of habit. 

“Seonghwa!” Palms pressing against his chest, you try to scuffle away and receive a disgruntled noise from him. 

Having performed his action only halfway through, your right leg sits on top of his left thigh and you leave it there to dangle idly. 

“Dude, we’re in a public place.” You remind him, placing a sneaky little peck on his neck. 

It’s the courage after announcing you’re an idiot to the entire world.

He is astounded by your actions but definitely not as much as you are. 

Seonghwa expected a surprised embrace on his return. Anything but you mentioning that you’re in public and then proceeding to plant the softest kiss on his neck, not that he minds the latter. 

“Wise words coming from you in a public place.” His thumbs trace circles on your collar bones, voice adding an extra emphasis to the ‘public’. 

He squeezes you tightly and moves you in his hold like you’re his own personal teddy bear causing laughter to escape from your lips. 

“Giving you a basic hug after you come back after almost a month and a half?” You declare like you have performed some high and mighty act, “No, that is not enough to express my excitement, I had to smash out my love on you, babe.”  

His face dawns an unimpressed look. “Yup, I made a mistake coming home.” 

Your own words cause your face to scrunch up with cringe. “Yeah, that was too much, don’t talk about this in front of anyone, ever again.” 

You missed him. God, you missed him so much. 

His long hair is intact, not a single strand has been snipped. He looks as stunning as you imagined him to be. His navy blue coat may have been washed with a different detergent than the one you are familiar with but the earthy smell of his regular perfume is present. 

The only new additions on him that you can notice right away is the blinding glow on his sleep deprived face and the abstract patterned scarf wrapped neatly around his neck. 

“I missed you.” You wish to say it as softly as possible but you end up blurting out the words. 

He smiles with twinkles in his eyes. “I know, idiot. I missed you too.” 

You rest your palms on his cheeks and press them hard, lips protruding out in a pout. Pulling him in, you offer him a brief peck.

A long one is saved for later when in private. 

The heat on his cheeks is an evidence that he is taken aback by your bold actions. 

“First a kiss on the neck and now a long peck?” He smirks, eyebrows dancing up and down. “You’ve become quite gutsy within a month and a half huh?”

You fawn, “and you’re still carrying your mischievous habits with you! I was praying for you to leave them behind during your vacation. Did you achieve nothing?” 

“Come here you!” His hand clasps behind your neck but this time he connects his lips to the side of your forehead to plant the deepest kiss. 

You shriek as the prolonged peck soon transitions into pillowy lips peppering feathery kisses on every little endearing spot he discovers to shower his love. 

Unable to suppress your delight, subdued giggles bubble out of you.

The delight of having him by your side again is indescribable. The current state of happiness you’re feeling is indescribable. 

You feel his hovering lips expanding into a smile, foreheads faintly clashing together as you two laugh your heart out. 

There are tears forming in your eyes but this time due to happiness rather than humiliation.

Your eyes catch the sun dipping below the horizon, shooting colourful rays as it bids goodbye for the day. “Seonghwa, look, the sunset, it’s so beautiful.” You note while he pulls you into him sideways.

He hums, turning around to admire the view,  “Oh wow, that’s......beautiful.” 

Time slows down just for the sun to submerge into the horizon with its glory. The orange, pink, purples and blues of the sky press mute on the world for the briefest interval. 

He ruffles your hair, pulling you out of a trance, “And that’s our cue to leave.” 

It takes special effort to abandon his comforting hold and get back up on your two feet. 

The disappointment lasts a mere second as his fingers quickly interlace with yours. “Where to next?” He asks.

He takes slow steps. You stick close by, half of your body weight leaning into him but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

You consider your choices for a moment, the grin ever present on your lips, “How about we take a walk and then drive to the river side? I heard there will be star gazing event later at night.” 

He looks at you impressively with a questioning smile. “Oh really, who told you that?” A gentle gleam of fondness floats in his eyes. 

His heart is swelling with love, your presence is comfortable. 

You channel your best know-it-all face, “Oh, you know, Wooyoung, San and I were planning to--” 

The sentence stops midway as you remember, Wooyoung and San! 

Your movements halt, “Wait, Wooyoung and San!” 

He cracks up at your delayed realization. 

“They’ll be fine.” His fingers offer a gentle flick on your forehead, attempting to tap some sense into it, “Unless, you know, you want them to continuously comment during our date about how my arrival disrupted their last night’s sleep.” He reaches out for his pocket to pull out his phone but you’re quick to prevent the said action. 

“No, no, no, no.” Your reaction amuses him further. “That’s not what I meant. I am glad they ditched me, goodness, never been so glad that someone left me behind, swear to god.” The flurry of words scatter everywhere but the intended meaning has been received by him.

“And what else do you have planned for the night?” He asks, walking straight, exaggerating the breadth of his shoulders. 

“My fantastic company, Seonghwa, what else do you need?” In a wounded voice, you question. 

He shakes his head. 

“No?” 

“No.” 

“Fine, tonight’s dinner is on me, no budget. What do you want to eat?” You present your best offer in the most sugar coated tone.

His jaw drops in a dramatic fashion you’ve never witnessed in your life, “That’s it? Woman, I flew in today to surprise you today and that’s it?” 

You stand on your tiptoes to whisper a special spell in his ear. “Who said that would be it?” 

The rasp in your voice has goosebumps rising on his skin. 

“What do you mean?” He stares down, eyes wide. 

“Hey, by the way, how did you know I was near the fountain?” You quickly change the subject, your thoughts running wild and heart ready to pounce out to run a hundred mile marathon. 

“What do you mean?” He repeats, eager to receive an answer. 

His innocent smile has been replaced by a devilish smirk.

His constant questioning and hopeful gape has you regretting your previous words, causing warmth to spread on your face. 

Flustered, you recite your question for the second time, “Tell me, how did you know?” 

“It was a guess. I haven’t forgotten about your pigeon feeding adventures near the mall fountain” His answer is concise, to the point and hurried. “Now, tell me, what do you mean?” 

He finishes the topic within a few seconds, arm nudging persistently against the side of your stomach.

This man. Oh god, this man. 

“You have a great memory! You remember everything!” The fake enthusiasm and flustered laughter that is evident in your answer has him laughing. “Oh, look, we’re here!” You announce, feeling grateful once you spot the main exit getting closer with every step. 

“What did you mean?” He takes quick steps to stand in front of you, his hand leaving yours. 

“Seonghwa! Stop it, don’t get back on your teasing shenanigans so quickly, give it a day.” You say as casually as possible, stepping aside to continue on your way. “I’ve embarrassed myself and you quite enough for today.”

Seonghwa slings his arm around your shoulder from behind, “Yeah, alright, we’ll see about that later.” He mimics your casual tenure. “I guess.” He adds, hinting at your suggestive statement. 

You nod in agreement, appearing calm and cool, “Yeah, I guess, we will.” 

“You little tease.” His free hand gives your left cheek a little squeeze, leaving a light aching.

You stumble a little on your way out of the garden, “If I am a tease that makes you the devil that you truly are.” 

“I agree, I am a beast.” He really, actually, dares to say that with his whole chest, out loud.

“Yeah, sure, little baby.” Your fingers mockingly stroke his chin with a pout

He chuckles, changing his position to properly stand by your side. “Enough of that now, let’s go, I am starving.” 

“Yup, let’s go, tender beast.” You imitate his own words on him. 

“No, seriously, stop that.” He declares sternly. 

You do a motion of zipping your lips, holding your free hand up in surrender. 

Oh, how the tables have been turning constantly today. You can now understand why Seonghwa never gets off your back and it looks like you will not be getting off his tonight. 

Metaphorically and literally. 

Meanwhile, Woosan

San, who has been talking with the professor for almost thirty minutes now: It was pleasure meeting up with you Sir

Wooyoung, releasing a sigh of relief beside his friend because he didn’t understand a single word that was exchanged, internally: Finally 

Suddenly, San: Oh btw sir I had another question 

Wooyoung, ready to create a rampage right there and then, grabbing a chair to smash it on the ground: OH MY FREAKING GOD DAMNIT CHOI SAN YOU---

🌸

A/N: OH MY GOD I CAN FINALLY POST THIS, I CAN FINALLY BREATHE EASY

I started writing this last Saturday and it went through so many drafts and versions, getting cut down to this one. It took me a week mostly due to other commitments. I edited this once and I am sure it still has teeny tiny mistakes but please look past that for now. I will correct it whenever time grants me. 

Also, I would really love to know what you think about this chapter! Please let me know, I would really appreciate that 🥺🥺🥺💕

I know it has been a long time since the last update but I reposted the masterlist with the final update schedule and it will update and end accordingly as per that.

(Also the woosan scene is a little exaggeration, they had a rough night, as you will see in the bonus) 

🌸 Taglist: 

@enigmaticsal @stardusthyuck @missiopk @preets-kpop-world @sanisms @jiyeons-closet @hongjoongsnoona @veeeenus4 @mochibabycakes @vhschs @jaeminbluee @vantclavs @f-iyan @staywritten @yellow-wxve @uppiespuppy  @uppiespuppy @mingiflower @multiangell @quicklystickystarlight​ @kunhye​ @nekee-lilac02​ @peachyprincessminki​ @hidden-wildflowers​ @raysanshine​ @skzpleasestay​ @tearvantae​

🌸 Unable to tag: @mingiibabiee @dreamie-deonghwa @9songbird19 @retrofuture-ism @aratrikade

🌸

Please do not repost, modify or claim this work as yours. 

#ateez #ateez social media au #ateez fake texts #ateez text au #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez scenario #ateez au #ateez sm #ateez social au #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #jung yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho

[jamestaylorswift]

Love’s a game, wanna play?  A meta-analysis of the game of love and Taylor’s love of games

—

Before actually getting into this, I’m obligated to make the disclaimer that this is just my interpretation of some songs. I’m not claiming to be “right” about anything.  I have no way of knowing whether my observations will hold true if/when Taylor releases more music. It doesn’t really matter. There are many ways to interpret music.

Games are not the only extended metaphor in her discography; if you understand one, you don’t necessarily understand them all. This essay is an exploration of how one particular metaphor could be so effective.

In addition, I am often the first person to say that “not everything is that deep.” Yet here I am, making something deep. I was only mildly curious about this metaphor at first. In the process of documenting my understanding, I surprised even myself as I realized how rich this metaphor is.

A warning…this essay is very long. (It’s either mildly interesting or completely ridiculous and nothing in between. Likely the second.)

—

The notion of a ‘game’ is often conflated with the notion of adversarial conflict. This misunderstanding is largely due to Western structural/cultural forces. Mathematicians and economists have a passion for framing most predicaments as zero-sum, or strictly competitive, where one player’s advantageous move by definition disadvantages their opponent. But collaborative and otherwise not strictly competitive games exist too.

Taylor’s fascination with games spans her entire discography. Artistic preoccupation is reason alone to analyze her work from such an acute angle. But pleasantly, Taylor also does not share the academics’ favorite pastime. She strays away from the zero-sum bias in very unpredictable ways. In fact, she has no bias. She prefers to mix and match her language to each situation as she sees fit. Her convolution of love and games is expressive, divorced from the logical framework by which games are defined. I think examining this facet of her work with a fine-toothed comb may be especially illuminating.

It seems counterintuitive to argue that games could (or should) be anything more than Taylor’s favorite metaphorical manifestation of logos. Yet revisiting a metaphor is itself communication, conscious or not. Advancing an understanding of this extended metaphor, in my opinion, substantiates what is usually intangible about Taylor’s songwriting brilliance.

On Games

Precocious and perceptive, Taylor has, for as long as she’s been writing, placed competition, strategy, and collaboration alongside conflict. Therefore, for the sake of coherence and relative brevity, analysis is scoped only to songs with significant mentions of games, puzzles, or game-related imagery. ‘Games’ are not conflated with general fighting, trickery, toying, revenge, mention of rules/strategizing, or winning/losing. ‘Puzzles’ are not conflated with disorder; puzzle pieces must be pieces of a larger, vivid picture.

Consider football. Imagery of high school football makes “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” fair territory. Someone shouting over a football game in a bar does not qualify “Mean.” The football helmet worn in “Stay Stay Stay” is an absurd and compelling detail in context, as likely to be fictitious as it is true, and hence more significant than a televised sporting event; “Stay Stay Stay” qualifies. In essence, games are interesting as a device rather than a simple detail.

Below is a list of the songs with significant game reference(s), categorized by implied type. Note that a song can belong to multiple categories if it contains multiple references.

Generic/unspecified games: “Come in With the Rain”, “Dear John”, “State of Grace”, “Blank Space”, “Wonderland”, “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Card games: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Dice games: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Board games: “Dear John”

Sports/contests: “The Story Of Us”, “Long Live”, “Stay Stay Stay”, “End Game”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Puzzles: “Red”, “All Too Well”, “So It Goes…”

Other: “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Like many people, Taylor habitually seeks structure to manage unpredictability. (Games provide structure for situational volatility, hence her artistic love affair with this metaphor.) The stylistic choices she makes to entertain this habit, however, are anything but consistent.

The games have a variety of different players, such as in “Dear John” and “Look What You Made Me Do.”

She does not establish strict parity between characters’ emotional affiliation and the competitiveness of a game. “Dear John” features an adversarial game. Conversely, her partner in “Blank Space” is a co-conspirator/collaborator. “All Too Well” analogizes autumn leaves as puzzle pieces; puzzles are collaborative games.

Taylor famously claims that love is a game in “Blank Space.” This song is colloquially understood to be about the love story we see play out in the media. Games can thus include all parts of her ‘love life.’ Arguably, she foreshadows this in “Long Live” by intertwining parts of her ‘America’s sweetheart’ image with professional success, which is derived from writing about love.

Taylor is not always a player in a game, such as in “Cruel Summer.” Her partner may not be either; see the crossword in “Red.”

In short, humans are unpredictable, as is love. It is clear that Taylor uses games as an incredibly powerful metaphorical device. They are a genuine reflection of her feelings about love.

Musical analysis usually begins with careful consideration of each track. Given a disparate and lengthy list of songs, it is probably more fruitful to go up a layer of abstraction. Of particular intrigue for this set of songs is the relationship between time and Taylor’s willingness to divulge more information about a metaphorical game.

We revisit the set of songs to list them in chronological order. The purely ‘generic’ songs are now bolded: “Come in With the Rain”, “Dear John”, “The Story Of Us”, “Long Live”, “State of Grace”, “Red”, “All Too Well”, “Stay Stay Stay”, “Blank Space”, “Wonderland”, “New Romantics”, ”…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”, “So It Goes…”, “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Specificity about a game seems to decrease with proximity to the 1989 era.

Lyrical imprecision in “Come in With the Rain,” a true outlier, probably boils down to youth.

“State of Grace” is a preamble about the themes of Red. “Begin Again,” though much later on that album, shares the same inspiration as “State of Grace.” Red is constructed as a sandwich between these two songs which present the album’s thesis. The album considered as a whole is thus a buffer for 1989.

reputation is a buffer for 1989 because the ‘generic’ game songs are heavily and intentionally front-loaded.

“New Romantics” is a coda for 1989, and its poker game reference is slightly ambiguous. What, exactly, is poker; what is all in the timing? The thematic material of “New Romantics” is most similar to that of “Blank Space.” ‘It’ is the same crude game played in the earlier track, the affair of collecting men. Perhaps this close relation subsumes “New Romantics” under the ‘generic’ game category. (Though this is a loose explanation.)

There exists an undeniable chronological pattern to game characterization. If you graphed the amount of game-related lyrical obscurity versus time, it would look like a shallow sand dune with the tip at the 1989 era. (Or a hill. Or a big pile of leaves. You get the picture.)

Armed with a basic understanding of Taylor’s career, one might say that her desire for personal privacy manifests as reticence to define metaphorical games. The 1989 era was the height of media attention on her. This caused more than a few issues. The art created around this time would have naturally reflected how she felt about the public eye. (See: the entire reputation era.)

But isn’t Taylor almost as famous as ever today? Sure, her name is not as saturated in the zeitgeist as it was in 2014. She’s still one of the world’s mega-stars. And does she not have a very private relationship today? Taylor’s work reflects her hardened personal boundaries, but boundaries alone do not explain the pattern of how she writes about games. Otherwise Lover would be filled to the brim with songs about ‘generic’ games.

To summarize, Taylor uses games as a perennial favorite metaphor to frame her experiences of love. Increased public scrutiny undoubtedly changed the way that Taylor approached songwriting; even so, fame was not a factor that changed how she wrote about games. The connection between time and types of games suggests that we cannot consider game metaphors in isolation.

On Love

The next piece of the puzzle (no pun intended) is what she shares about love. Which 1989 songs are most revealing? Technically…most of them, if you think hard enough. I’d like to draw special attention to “Wonderland” and “You Are in Love.”

Ah, “You Are in Love.” The musical gift that keeps on giving! Fitting, because true love should be too.

In “Wonderland,” Taylor says:

It’s all fun and games ’til somebody loses their mind

Shortly thereafter in the “You Are in Love” bridge, she proclaims:

You understand now why they lost their mind and fought the wars

And why I’ve spent my whole life trying to put it into words

Taylor reverses her opinion about the prospect of losing her mind for love. (The abruptness here is a consequence of a real-life relationship change, plus the fact that both of these songs are bonus tracks.) Of course, she also tells us an important connection between love and games.

I’ll pause here to say that I’m not going to turn this into a (frankly uninteresting) relationship timeline/proof post. But may the profound significance of “You Are in Love” and its subject never escape us.

“You Are in Love” is written in the second person. Taylor is the intensely guarded ‘you.’ We witness her emotional walls get broken down by her lover, the ‘he.’ Fascinatingly, Taylor departs from the second person point of view in the bridge. Suddenly, she alerts us to the presence of an ‘I.’ The bridge says that ‘you’ Taylor, whole and normal-person-in-a-relationship Taylor, finally understands true love. In the same breath, ‘I,’ writer Taylor, admits that she’s had it all wrong for years. (This is not to say that her writing pursuits before this moment were pointless.) Therefore, breaking the second person point of view to include the ‘I’ line shows that Taylor distills the nature of true love in that ‘eureka’ moment.

Yet she exposes the schism of writer Taylor and whole, normal person Taylor in a moment where, in theory, those two roles could not overlap more. Taylor has every reason to faithfully represent her feelings. Her sentiment is always sincere even though she may falsify details of a story. “You Are in Love” is (as far as I’m aware) the only song in which Taylor ever blatantly admits to writer-person misalignment. The schism must run extremely deep.

Taylor was—and surely still is—drawn to songwriting as a means to explore love. She tries to to capture its enigmatic essence with the written word. How fascinating it is that, at the very moment she communicates her deepest understanding of love, she says that the part of her that puts it into words is inherently disconnected from her spirit which feels it.

On Games And Love

We must briefly table the meta-implications of “You Are in Love” to return to the topic of games.

Love probably would have stopped feeling like a game after finding a real gem of a person who doesn’t mess with your head. (Love also probably would have stopped feeling like a game after dialing down on brazen PR tomfoolery.) Taylor has written several albums about her true love. It’s easier now to trace the arc of her feelings: it is a positive path, as anyone would predict.

Why would she continue to write about games after 1989? The obvious answer is that she likes doing it. It remains a useful metaphor.

But recall that chronology discourages us from considering metaphorical games in isolation. To clarify the principal function of the game metaphor in her discography, we must consider the writer-person dichotomy.

First, note that Taylor exposes the writer-person dichotomy in an honest, vulnerable moment. She confirms it as a human phenomenon. The phenomenon thus must extend beyond a singular moment during 1989. Distance between writer Taylor and whole, normal person Taylor—a measure henceforth called writer-person distance—is necessarily a function of time. Coincidentally, so is the measure of game-related lyrical obscurity.

Writer-person distance can grow or shrink. It was small in her youth; this is what pushed her into songwriting. It is small now, as she has told us in the albums since 1989 that true love has stitched her back together. Again, because writer-person distance is a human phenomenon, it changes slowly, smoothly. (“You Are in Love” simply marks the biggest distance.) Does this sound familiar? If you graphed writer-person distance versus time, the graph would look like a shallow sand dune with the tip at the 1989 era. (Or a hill. Or a big pile of leaves. Once again, you get the picture.)

To summarize, game-related lyrical obscurity and writer-person distance are smooth functions. “You Are in Love” is the inflection point of both measures.

With “Wonderland” and “You Are in Love,” Taylor tells us that games are linked to how she conceptualizes love. But not just any love. 🎶 True love. 🎶

At the same time, Taylor presents “You Are in Love” as a dividing line between ‘that which is a best attempt to understand something that inherently cannot be captured’ and ‘that which refines the thing that, against all odds, was captured.’ Our interpretation of games must synthesize an abrupt ‘eureka’ moment with both the measures’ gradual changes.

If we are to talk about metaphorical games, we also must talk about true love. But we know that if we are to talk about games, we also must talk about time. Vital to uniting these ideas is the revelation that Taylor conceptualizes the nature of true love as the nature of time. For doesn’t time define what is gradual and abrupt?

The most important line in “You Are in Love” is when Taylor finds it—‘it’ being love. A literal ‘eureka’ moment. This isn’t just a one-time coincidence.

Writer-person bifurcation clarifies why the game metaphor is surprisingly effective. As Taylor revisits the convolution of love and games, the metaphor morphs in tandem with her innate understanding of love.

Some Good Old-fashioned Song Analysis

Observing how games, love, and time are intertwined requires that we reject purely literal interpretations of game-related lyrics after “You Are in Love.” Of course, literal interpretations are still generally useful, even correct. Games are literal, so references to them should be interpreted as such. Also, lyrics about games are probably Not This Deep in reality. We didn’t have to do all this work to realize what songs might belong in conversation with each other; identifying lyrical callbacks would have been sufficient. Treating game lyrics as purely literal limits how we might decipher a recurring metaphor. Without the notions of game specificity or writer-person distance, we would lack a framework with which to fully interrogate how these songs are are connected (i.e. through time). And, after all, the ultimate goal is to understand why the game metaphor is so successful. But, I digress.

(We’ve also made it this far and we might as well keep going. Another couple thousand words…don’t threaten me with a good time, amirite?)

To observe how games, love, and time are intertwined, I propose the following rule of thumb: A game reference before “You Are in Love” is Taylor’s description of love, whereas a game reference afterwards is a pointer to past instances of that game. Such a reference is metaphysical, or more appropriately, meta-lyrical. If she’s referenced a game already, she knows how to use that reference again. If she introduces a new reference, she’s planting it for future use.

We can group the songs after “You Are in Love” by game type:

Generic/unspecified games: “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Dice games: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Card games: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Sports/contests: “End Game”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Puzzles: “So It Goes…”

Other: “It’s Nice To Have A Friend"

Analysis requires precision. We should pare down the duplicates, if possible.

“It’s Nice To Have A Friend” is tricky because it’s naturally sparse. “Video games,” for example, are more than a simple detail: they are an essential part of creating a childhood vignette. “Twenty questions” and the card game “bluff” function analogously in the later verses. The brilliance of this song lies in how Taylor illustrates the development of companionship and intimacy. The verse about marriage is the most significant verse because it reveals the meaning of the whole song. Thus, we may take the bluff to be more important than twenty questions, which is more important than video games. “It’s Nice To Have A Friend” ultimately belongs in the card game category.

Central to the pathos of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” is the “stupid” dice game lyric. Of equal importance is the portrait of Americana, painted with lyrics about Friday night lights. This song truly belongs in two categories.

At the end of “…Ready For It?” Taylor fires a starting pistol, letting ‘generic’ games begin. “End Game” follows and we assume it must pertain to the same game. So Taylor intentionally places this song in the first category. The hook has lyrics about a varsity “A-team,” though this is probably just a nod to Ed Sheeran. The other truly interesting game-related lyric is the one about bluffing. Thus, “End Game” also belongs in the card game category.

Here’s the new list:

Generic/unspecified games: “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Dice games: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Card games: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Sports/contests: “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Puzzles: “So It Goes…”

Each of the four obvious groups of songs illustrate a different way Taylor weaves the natures of true love and time together:

Déjà vu: “So It Goes…”

Hindsight/wisdom: “…Ready For It?”, “End Game”, “Look What You Made Me Do”

Fate: “Cruel Summer”, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

Progress: “New Romantics”, “End Game”, “Cornelia Street”, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”

Déjà vu

The puzzles category only contains one song, making it easiest to analyze. The namesake of “So It Goes…” is Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five, famously constructed like a mosaic. Puzzles are central to the meaning of this song.

“All Too Well” contains the first instance of a puzzle metaphor in her discography:

Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

Taylor calls back to “All Too Well” in the chorus of “So It Goes…”

And our pieces fall

Right into place

Get caught up in the moment

Lipstick on your face

By referencing a previous song using identical phrasing, Taylor creates the illusion of a sudden ‘déjà vu’ moment. The effect is similar to “You Are in Love,” where she reaches sudden enlightenment.

Sonically and lyrically, the “moment” she gets caught up in is implied to be the one in which she gets lost in passionate sex. The déjà vu moment could be this moment, but it doesn’t have to be. Déjà vu is agnostic to the present in the sense that the feeling can be triggered in the strangest of times. The déjà vu moment is whatever prompted her to write this song.

This game lyric connection clearly shows how a moment of love is defined by a moment of time.

Hindsight/Wisdom

The bombastic group of singles, “…Ready For It?”, “End Game,” and “Look What You Made Me Do,” sets the tone for all of reputation. The ‘generic’ games in these songs are the same as those in 1989, particularly the crude (and, in Taylor’s case, often interchangeable) games of celebrity and dating. In “Blank Space,” Taylor spells out in gory detail what she does as an agent in the celebrity dating game. She does not explicitly define the rules of that game, though. It remains sufficient for her to prove that she knows how to play by them. (Musically, this is far more interesting.)

We know that the reputation singles’ literal proximity to 1989 indicates Taylor’s direct emotional response the previous era. The consequences of a ‘fall from grace’ underpin the entire reputation era. Therefore, Taylor uses lyrical connections from reputation back to 1989 to illustrate hindsight. She tells us what she learned from her mistakes and what she wished she would have done differently.

But first, she gets to be salty about it. In “Look What You Made Me Do,” Taylor laments the fact that she participates in public games to appease others. (Because, really, withdrawing from the celebrity circus would immediately solve a lot of her problems. Alas, megastardom is a Venus flytrap.)

I don't like your little games

Don't like your tilted stage

The role you made me play

Of the fool, no, I don't like you

Let’s return to “Blank Space” for a moment. Taylor’s boyfriend in “Blank Space” is considered a co-conspirator/collaborator with her in the celebrity dating game. Central to our understanding of that song, however, is the unequal power dynamic. Taylor is the strategic mastermind, whereas her boyfriend is just along for the ride. The two are on the same team, but they are not equals.

Taylor actually leans further into the games of the 1989 era in “…Ready For It?”

Baby, let the games begin

Unlike in 1989, her partner is an equal on her team:

Me, I was a robber first time that he saw me

Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry

But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist

And we'll move to an island

She then connects “…Ready For It?” to “End Game”

Baby, let the games begin

Are you ready for it?

//

I wanna be your end game

Both Taylor and her partner are forced to play the same game and they share share the same goal. Her partner’s “end game” is Taylor; thus, Taylor keeps her true love by beating the celebrity dating game. They have to work together to achieve this difficult task.

Though the celebrity dating game is not true love, it impacts Taylor’s relationship with anyone who could be her true love. In hindsight, Taylor realizes how media games blew up in her face. It is wisdom—to keep her relationship private, to dial down on PR tomfoolery, to prioritize her happiness—that helps her pre-empt these problems for the reputation era. And indeed we understand the love story of reputation as the lovers’ prolonged attempt to hide from the public eye.

Hindsight comes with the natural passage of time. One only accrues wisdom, however, when they apply the lessons of hindsight to make better judgements about the future. Games again unite the ideas of love and time; they elucidate how Taylor uses wisdom to protect someone she loves.

Fate

“Cruel Summer” and “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” highlight the elegance of the meta-rule of thumb.

The dice game in “Cruel Summer” is a unique incarnation of the game metaphor because Taylor doesn’t confirm whether she is directly involved in this game:

Devils roll the dice

Angels roll their eyes

What doesn’t kill me makes me want you more // And if I bleed you’ll be the last to know

The song doesn’t reveal much about the nature of the dice game other than the fact that it is competitive. It could be a fitting description of what is going on in Taylor’s personal life. It may not be. What is more important is that Taylor positions herself as collateral damage of the outcome of the game.

This is also the dice game’s first appearance. By our rule of thumb, this lyric exists only to be a link to “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince.”

“Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” belongs to two different game categories, sports/contests and dice games.

First, dice games. We get a few more answers about the nature of the “Cruel Summer” competition:

It's you and me

That's my whole world

They whisper in the hallway, "she's a bad, bad girl"

The whole school is rolling fake dice

You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes

It's you and me

There's nothing like this

Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince

We're so sad, we paint the town blue

Voted most likely to run away with you

Both Taylor and her partner are forced to play the dice game by virtue of being metaphorical students. As a disgraced and about-to-be-vagrant prom queen, Taylor has finally realized that winning the school’s dice game is not worth the price of a ‘fall from grace.’

Next, sports/contests. With the understanding of these lyrics as pointers to her previous songs, sports/contests harkens back to “The Story of Us,” “Long Live,” and “Stay Stay Stay.”

“The Story Of Us” suggests that a shared quality of sports/contest metaphors is that conflict is nuanced, even hidden to outsiders:

This is looking like a contest

Of who can act like they care less

In “Stay Stay Stay,” football is connected to (for lack of a better word) violence, conflict that could result in emotional and physical harm:

I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night

I threw my phone across the room at you

I was expecting some dramatic turn away

But you stayed

This morning I said we should talk about it

'Cause I read you should never leave a fight unresolved

That's when you came in wearing a football helmet

And said, "Okay, let's talk"

Finally, “Long Live” blends the ideas of small town Americana with Taylor’s personal and professional life:

I said remember this moment

In the back of my mind

The time we stood with our shaking hands

The crowds in stands went wild

//

I said remember this feeling

I passed the pictures around

Of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines

Wishing for right now

We are the kings and the queens

You traded your baseball cap for a crown

When they gave us our trophies

And we held them up for our town

And the cynics were outraged

Screaming, "this is absurd"

'Cause for a moment a band of thieves in ripped up jeans

Got to rule the world

The backdrop of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” is not just any part of America. The juxtaposition of idyllic parts of American life with frictional, violent, yet sometimes subtle forces tells us that the song’s backdrop is an American culture war. It is conflict which unsettles everyone, but by nature hurts only some.

In totality, the function of the dice game metaphor is to position Taylor as collateral damage of an American culture war. (Chew on that one for a bit.)

Again, we probably could have surmised this by examining the lyrics closely. The song lends itself to being a signpost in the Lover chronology. It seems too autobiographical to be anything different. We all remember 2016.

However, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” sticks out like a sore thumb from the album’s theme of “a love letter to love itself.” Revisiting games as a glue between love and time expands on the purpose of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” in Lover.

The “Cruel Summer” bridge contains this lyric understood to be about her true love:

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate

Taylor identifies “that summer” in the 1989 era as the moment which she sealed her fate. Implicit in this confirmation is her perspective from the future. She is looking back on 1989 from the time when her terrible fate has just been realized.

The moment of realization is—you guessed it—the chorus of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince.” The chorus depicts post-prom queen defamation. Taylor is aware of every single action (many, probably deliberate) that helped her achieve royalty. She never divulges them. The song is scoped only to the time when she lives her fate.

We usually take observations about fate and love to describe how two souls are bound to each other. Taylor does not tell us much about her lover in “Cruel Summer” sans the fact that the shape of their body is new. Paying special attention to games reframes “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” within the Lover theme as a commentary on fate. However, the emphasis of fate should not be on her lover. The dice game connection tells us that Taylor views “that summer” in the 1989 era as the time when she sealed her fate as collateral damage in the American culture war. From the “love letter to love itself” perspective, the moral is that passion and excitement can make lovers forget the immutability of individual destiny. If you are fated to be with someone, both of you are at the mercy of whatever the world has in store for the partnership and you as individuals.

Progress

An eclectic group of songs shares a reference to bluffing in a card game. The game metaphor beautifully stitches these songs together into parts of the same story.

The first and most detailed description of the card game is in “New Romantics”

We're all here

the lights and boys are blinding

We hang back

It's all in the timing

It's poker

He can't see it in my face

But I'm about to play my ace

A bluff in poker is an attempt to trick one’s opponent into thinking one has a better hand than they do in reality. The opponent may call their bluff and challenge them to prove their hand is as good as they advertise.

Bluffing requires deception, often telegraphed by facial expressions. Here, Taylor says that she is good at bluffing because she doesn’t let her façade crack. She is not truly bluffing, though, because she possesses an ace, presumably part of her even better hand. Her opponent has called her perceived bluff to prompt to her to reveal the ace.

The opponent, “he,” behaves as though Taylor is bluffing. Taylor, strategic as ever, is prepared to counter by revealing the most powerful card. We should thus interpret this metaphor as the ‘bluffer’ exceeding expectations. (Remember that the first instance of a metaphor is a base case, so we must take its meaning more literally.)

Likewise, in “End Game” and “It’s Nice To Have A Friend”, Taylor is the bluffer:

You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks

//

Call my bluff, call you "babe"

However, “Cornelia Street” allows room for the interpretation that both Taylor and her lover are bluffers:

Back when we were card sharks, playing games

I thought you were leading me on

I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street

Before you even knew I was gone

But then you called, showed your hand

I turned around before I hit the tunnel

Sat on the roof, you and I

Taylor may have also been a trickster: “then you called” could refer to the lover calling Taylor’s bluff.

The recurring bluff metaphor coincides with progress or forward momentum in a relationship.

Recall a previous discussion of “New Romantics.” We defined the “it” which is “all in the timing” as a reference to finding romance. “New Romantics” is set in a club with a dance floor, boys, and blinding lights. It’s the kind of setting conducive only to landing one-night stands. Taylor plays games with someone in the club, but exceeds expectations for the outcome of that game. What was flirting or courting becomes something more serious than a one night stand (i.e. an actual relationship). The act of calling a bluff in a card game engenders (relationship) progress. Yet again, what is intrinsic to time is intrinsic to love.

This observation fits with each song.

reputation charts the development of Taylor’s relationship, but the card game bluff in “End Game” is at the beginning of the album. That’s exactly why this lyric works so well. Her relationship is still new, nonetheless significant, after 1989. Her verse mixes these ideas:

I hit you like bang

We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't

And I bury hatchets but I keep maps of where I put 'em

//

And I can't let you go, your hand print's on my soul

The “End Game” bluff represents how Taylor goes from wanting a steady relationship to wanting everything.

You might be able to see where this is going. “It’s Nice To Have A Friend” is the ‘discographical endpoint’ of the bluff metaphor. The verse about marriage delivers the song’s emotional punch:

Church bells ring, carry me home

Rice on the ground looks like snow

Call my bluff, call you "babe"

Have my back, yeah, everyday

Feels like home, stay in bed

The whole weekend

Notice, however, that the bluff metaphor occurs after the implied wedding. This is actually a beautiful sentiment. Intimacy, trust, and commitment are ongoing; growth doesn’t stop with a ring on a finger. The bluff, which represents delivering on promises and exceeding expectations for love, powers the relationship forward.

All signs point to the “Cornelia Street” bluff as the one that may have led to marriage.

Back when we were card sharks, playing games

I thought you were leading me on

I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street

Before you even knew I was gone

But then you called, showed your hand

I turned around before I hit the tunnel

Sat on the roof, you and I

So emotionally charged is this scene that we have to wonder what, exactly, Taylor’s steady partner could do to make her (1) walk out if she were being led on and (2) come back so quickly.

The most intriguing detail about this card game is that both parties may have been bluffing. The lover is leading Taylor on, but Taylor does not stay to call the bluff. She leaves. Usually in poker, one would not want their opponent to be able to prove the bluff with a good hand. (Think back to the ace in “New Romantics”.) But what if both players are on the same team at the end of the day? Calling a bluff is now setting oneself up for potential disappointment. Taylor walks out because she is frightened by the mere possibility of being let down.

Taylor is also bluffing, but her lover doesn’t let her walk away so easily. They pull out all the stops and concede their hand in a desperate attempt to get Taylor to turn around from the tunnel. It works. By our understanding of the bluff metaphor, the lover exceeds all of Taylor’s expectations. The events that transpire on the roof presumably are when Taylor reveals her own cards.

The topic of marriage fits with this emotionally charged scene. Of course both lovers would tiptoe around the topic and be scared to reveal their true feelings. 

So following the bluff metaphor helps us follow the course of true love. Calling and revealing a bluff is the catalyst for Taylor’s relationship. However, it also is the nature of time which underpins progress. 

I concede that interpreting the bluff metaphor as the catalyst of a story makes it vulnerable to any truth-fuzzing. Perhaps Taylor hasn’t ever written about a real-life engagement or marriage. We have no way of knowing. We instead should take comfort in the fact that her lyrics are beautiful and music is open to interpretation.

On Writing

Our beliefs about love are bound to change over time. As a writer, Taylor is in a unique position to capture this change by revisiting a metaphor.

Take “It’s Nice To Have A Friend.” The song is written as a series of vignettes to define the qualities of love that remain consistent while relationships change over time. The middle vignette, with its reference to “twenty questions,” could very well point back to the same day as the “Cornelia Street” card game. Feelings reoccur in certain moments—déjà vu. The first vignette is a picture of childhood. The last vignette is a picture of adulthood. Therefore, it seems just as natural to interpret the middle vignette as a picture of adolescence or young adulthood. Light pink skies, back-and-forth conversations, and brave, soft moments of intimacy illustrate a coming-of-age experience. The same moment that pulls Taylor forward in her relationship is the one that also pulls her back to a different time.

Then the coming-of-age experience is reminiscent of the portrait of Americana, the Friday night lights, marching band, and high school prom. During adolescence, we only have an inkling of our futures. We are less aware of all the ways we are connected to others and our world. Young and impressionable, our only job is to live, to change, to make memories and mistakes. Memories and mistakes define what was, and experience creates wisdom that shapes what will be. So Taylor captures this duality in fate. The moment a fate is realized is a moment that is equally a fossil of the past and a forecast for the future. The moment it all makes sense…eureka!

As an artist, Taylor’s job is to communicate her human experience. Listeners decide whether or not she successfully telegraphs what is universal about it. However, Taylor is no more of a spokesperson for the universal human experience than anyone else. She simply possesses the talent, work ethic, and privilege to make a career of it.

Consider Taylor’s own summary of the past decade:

I once believed love would be burnin' red

But it's golden

She consciously and elegantly edits her previous beliefs about love. (Obviously, she may plant callbacks to previous songs purely for fun. This one is certainly sincere.) These lines illustrate the craft she has worked hard to develop.

Manifested in her craft is the need to revisit her ideas. It seems as though certain recurring metaphors have become the only way for her to accurately capture some parts of love. They become self-perpetuating. Unforced yet expressive subconscious consistency constitutes artistry. It is artistry which compels us to believe in the universality of music.

The self-perpetuating love/games metaphor is especially fascinating. It is one of the purest examples, though perhaps also one of the strangest, of how writing about love engenders new experiences of it. Taylor translates love into game language. Games illustrate duality. Duality is love.

Perhaps this conclusion is something others already know about Taylor’s talent. I’ve never quite been able to put my finger on it until now.

To me, it seems like the songs are writing themselves.

#taylor swift #kaylor #gaylor swift #music analysis #my post

[high5nerd]

Vorfreude

Aay, my first (at the time) Pitch x Reader one-shot!

Don’t fook your professors, folks.

“When understanding the root words of our modern day languages, it can be daunting to fully comprehend the detail such a language as English can be intertwined with a multitude of other languages long forgotten,”

Dr. Pitchiner was certainly entrancing when he spoke at the podium, flourishing a hand at the list of most common prefixes and suffixes used in today’s modern English, along with a surprise list of obscure ones you knew you had to take note on. Dr. Pitchiner wasn’t one to give easy exams, the last exam was so gruelling someone almost passed out from a panic attack at the multitude of pages.

Despite enjoying writing yourself, you weren’t as invested in English as he was, which was a given, hence the reason his PhD in English as well as a degree in Latin Translation. Many times he’s journeyed to Italy to help assist scholars in finding new information on the lost civilizations of Rome, Sicily, and Pompeii, and that credit alone was the sole reason he got the job at this state college. He should have been employed at universities like Harvard or Yale, or even Oxford or Princeton, but yet here he was, teaching at your simple state college with an acceptance rate of 93% and the highest transferring stat in all of your state.

   Not a lot of students found him attractive like you did. Certainly there was more than a couple handfuls of girls, pockets of them, who’ve admired his lithe figure, his graceful movements and that firm ass that was way too snug in his black slacks. Most of them admired his physique from afar, some even daring others to get closer to flirt with him shamelessly, and usually that ended up with a bad memory for the attempted action, as well as the girl who tried to drop the class out of utter embarrassment at such a call out after class that could be heard around the hall.

   Dr. Kozmotis Pitchiner took no bullshit from anyone, and that’s the main reason your heart fluttered at the thought and sight of him. This class wasn’t the first time you two had met face to face either, shockingly. Quite hilariously, the first time you two met, you didn’t even like him.

Three years ago, you were an itty bitty freshman just like the ones that recently arrived this semester, and to the best of your luck, you scored almost five hours of total free time on Mondays and Wednesdays before your Intro to Biology class and Intro to Psychology course after lunch.

Why not explore the gorgeous campus during those five hours? It would get you more acquainted with your surroundings and in small cases, make new friends! Grabbing a can of fruit juice and a danish from the dining hall, you munched as you explored the massive quad before discovering where the art gallery was, venturing towards the art and theatre buildings you’d be in the next year for your art perspective requirements. You found yourself meandering in the photograph-covered walled hallway of the English department, unknowingly headed towards the campus’s own local newspaper headquarters when a voice startled you from your entrancement with your journey.

“Hey. Where do you think you’re going?” a voice matching the texture of velvet came.

You turn around, frowning at the sudden startling noise. There just feet away from you, emerged from his office was a man dressed in what you would consider funeral appropriate attire, a smooth black suit with a basic black tie, and shiny black dress shoes that looked like they could reflect sunlight and somehow cause a car accident if he walked outside.

“I’m exploring. Where do you think you’re going?” you shot back, taking a long sip of your fruit juice.

You were mildly surprised to see a smirk cross his devious lips, his silver-gold eyes narrowing at your sass. He almost looked amused at your attitude, even enough so that his tensed shoulders relaxed, but his arms still remained folded over his chest.

“At the moment, I’m going wherever you think you’re headed, which should be in the opposite direction you’re headed.”

Ooh, he likes playing word games. You took another sip and then took a big bite of your danish, not caring about how childish you were coming off to him. You pointed towards the hallway, “Why can’t I go down there?”

He gestured his head in the same direction, “It’s merely copy rooms and computer labs meant for the Daily Mascot Oracle. Nothing worth checking out.”

“Oh. That’s a shit title.” you commented.

He barked out a heartwarming laugh. You grin at him, glad he finally was capable of taking that stick out of his ass and be a decent human being. Almost three times so far in just two days you got two people to really dislike your presence and your sassy attitude, someone named Bunnymund and another elfish looking kid named Jack who’s definition of fun didn’t match yours at all.

“I certainly didn’t agree to it either, but the editor in chief made sure my vote was outnumbered,” he hesitated, thinking quickly before glancing at you, “Are you a freshman?”

You nodded, knowing what he would ask next, “Majoring in psychology with hopefully a minor in alternative medicine and therapy.”

He looked genuinely impressed, “I must say, it’s quite refreshing to have a new student under that field. Not a lot of freshmen choose that whilst entering for their first year. What makes you like that field of study so much?”

You shrugged with a smile, “I like the whole concept of the human mind and how it functions on an emotional state. It’s interesting how certain actions and emotions can create feelings inside us, and I especially love the study of dreams and fears and hopes. I want to do a project on dream therapy for my senior thesis when it comes time to that, but I doubt they’ll let me. Professor Oren didn’t like hearing me say that at orientation.”

Dr. Pitchiner nodded, “Oren doesn’t really believe in the science behind dreams, and certainly not the spirituality behind it if you believe in that sort of thing. I certainly do.”

“You do?” you were genuinely surprised, literally taken aback. You wouldn’t have considered such an eloquent, smooth and finely dressed man to believe in a spirituality. He reeked of realist to you, you certainly weren’t expecting that.

He nodded again, “Of course. It’s only natural for the human psyche to become understandable to a certain degree, and it’s been proven through many other cultures that such things exist, like the sixth sense or empathy or precognition. Why not in dream analyzation? It’s fascinating, I’m glad you’re interested in it. If I wasn’t an English professor I would immediately return to college to take advantage of that.”

That’s when you realized how gold his eyes were, how they sparkled like the richest coins ever discovered in the vastness of the sunken world of ships at the bottom of the ocean. His eyes gave away intense wisdom, feeling and intellect that you felt the need to learn from. You needed to unlock every part of him to see beyond that gaze he gave you with that strange upturn at the corner of his devilish mouth.

Sure enough, you eventually found yourself in his class a couple years later for your required English Analysis course, and the both of you took advantage of that. You found yourself wandering back to his office between classes and office hours, knowing full well no one visited him nor had the courage to due to his harshness in class and strict code he sticks to in not forming attachments to the student body. For you, somehow you were able to break that barrier and see a different kind of man than what people upfront knew him as.

Your friend Katherine is your first and only senior friend at the university, and from her story when you signed up for his course at the beginning of the year, he was known to be callous and strict, such a polar opposite to leniency that even if you were sick with proof of illness, he wouldn’t accept that as an excused absence unless you flourished a medical note from a doctor to him. Everyone feared him, but admired him from afar since he’s the only professor to actually cut down on the bullshitters and slackers in class, and is one of the most respected professors there because of his adventures in Italy as a historian as well as a translator.

You, however, knew him as a sarcastic, good humored intellect with an avid thirst for learning the unknown, and unlocking skills he’s never attempted. From the times you would visit his office or bump into each other in the hallways and have small talk, you learned that at one point in his life he was just as brash, brazen and impulsive as you are now. Before he considered becoming a professor, he was eager to study what you were studying in now, especially the study of phobias and humans’ reactions to certain fear-triggering events or objects. You were the only one that’s ever heard him snort at a god-awful joke you would attempt at, and the only one that’s ever seen him grin at you in such a way it made your stomach flip and flutter.

Perhaps you exposed yourself too much to him, or perhaps he was just so relatable you felt like you sometimes felt like you were talking to a part of yourself you’ve never discovered before. It slightly scared you how much he knew about you and it wasn’t even the end of the fall semester, but you trusted him in ways you’ve never trusted another before. He always promised you absolute confidentiality with your confessions to him, most out of pure merriment and in the goal of a strengthened friendship, like when you told him when you were fourteen you tried blending into the popular clique but still found yourself drawn to the nerds and theater kids once more. He once gave you such a dubious smirk at the notion of you once being the stereotypical geek, with what you claimed to be the unattractive flat hair, braces and awkward gait.

“I can hardly believe that of you.” he chuckled.

“Why? You can kinda tell, don’t lie.” you winked teasingly.

He tilted his head in his hand at you, looking your figure up and down so slowly and languidly that it made your face heat up with a sudden thrill you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Whoever you were before has grew into a fine young woman, that’s most of what I can see.” he looked at you seriously, his eyes hard with truth.

Ever since that you realized that the idea of him being closer than what you two already were was something else you wanted. You thirsted for it, like an obsession. Unhealthy, you weren’t sure, but you were careful not to give yourself away to him, in fear that it would destroy that friendship you two already had. Without anyone’s knowledge but his, you both called each other by your first names. You called him Koz, and he called you by the nickname you wanted him to call you.

Even just watching him write on the board, hearing his voice wrap you lovingly in it’s deep musical tones made your legs tighten in excitement. You furrowed your brows, trying to ignore the incoming thoughts of his voice saying your name like a mantra as you wrote down everything being scribbled on the board.

The guy next to you noticed your discomfort, and nudged his elbow with yours. You looked at him, affronted, “What?”

“You look pissed. You okay?” he looked suspicious.

“Shut up, I’m fine.”

“(y/n).”

Your blood froze, looking up at him in pure fear at being called out in front of class. His hands were folded behind his back, his eyes lingering on you and only you. The class stared at you, nearly a thousand eyes focused on your nervous leg bouncing and the pen in your hand being crushed by the amount of attention drawn onto you.

“I see you have already started to discuss with Stephen,” you could swear to the moon above he smirked ruefully, “Would you like to tell us what the definition of vorfreude is?”

You gulped quickly before looking down at your paper, noticing that the last couple notes were not even notes, they were sinful descriptions of what you wanted him to do to your mouth and in between your thighs. Your face grew incredibly red to the point it prickled your skin as you stood up. You never broke eye contact with him. You can’t be weak now.

“Vorfreude is a German word to define a type of intense anticipation of imagining future pleasures.”

He nodded, his smirk subsiding to something even darker at the moment you uttered the word ‘future’, “Excellent. Glad to see you’re still paying attention despite your distractions.”

Some people snickered at your red face deepening in color as you plopped back down in your seat. By now Koz was shuffling the exams collected last week, freshly graded and corrections that could leave someone in tears if not taken lightly.

As he passed around the graded exams going over the class’s weak points and what to look forward to for the next midterm, you doodled a bit more in your notebook and wrote more lines of absolute sin into a poetic verse, something E. E. Cummings would be absolutely proud of.

You read over your lines, admiring the visual rhymes as well as the absolute clear imagery of being locked into him, his arms like a vice as he would pull your hair and bite at the sensitive parts of your neck, and even now you squirmed at the daydream of such a carnal act going on in his office. More than anything, more than just impressing him with your knowledge and sharp tongue would be for him to pin you to the desk and make you cry out his name in ecstasy as your legs would quiver with release. You bit your lip as you tightened your grip on your sweatshirt, trying your damn hardest not to accidentally make a noise.

That’s when you noticed the shadow lurking over you.

You froze. Your entire body became still with horror and your blood turned cold as Koz read over your carnal poem and observed your lewd doodles with a casual eye as he handed you your exam. You reached out for it with a shaking hand and slowly placed it over the notebook page, knowing it was too late to hide the damage.

“Please see me after class about your note-taking.”

You nodded, trying to fight tears from the utter embarrassment as he finished handing out the exams. You close your notebook in disgust with yourself. Koz continues the class until 5:45, the usual time it ends when everyone wastes no time in dilly dallying and immediately leaving, most if not all heading to the dining hall for dinner. You, planning to indulge in just a minor dinner consisting of cereal or soup out of embarrassment and sadness, packed up slowly.

“(y/n), a word please.” he beckoned from his podium.

You refused to look at him as you stepped down from the lecture hall stairs to the podium, your backpack slung over your shoulder and your confidence crumbling even further as you waited with baited breath as he finished shutting off the projector and computer.

“You have quite a knack for poetry for someone who says English isn’t their forte, as well as for a psychology major.” he calmly noted, hardly glancing at you.

You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t hold it in anymore and let it burst from your chest, all your thoughts jumbled into a single rambling mess, “I swear I didn’t intend for you to see it, I just-I just-I don’t know why I did that and I know I messed up our friendship, it’s all my fault and I’m really really sorry, I seriously wasn’t thinking and I just can’t help but feel these things and it just makes it worse when I think about you, I don’t know what to do about it-”

A hand crept around the back of your neck and forced your head up, and without even a single warning you felt warm, wet lips enveloping yours, biting sweetly as well as fervently. You couldn’t help but make a noise of startlement at the sudden action, but before you could even have time to melt into the kiss, he pulled away, a smirk on his face.

“It’d be inappropriate for me to do such things, but more inappropriate for you to act on it as well. Yet, I know you are wise enough to not pursue it like you want to.” he stated, his eyes resembling molten gold.

Your gaze flattened, “Koz, what the fuck was that if you say you’re not ‘pursuing it’.”

He grinned, “Your confirmation of your feelings, as well as a promise of patience.”

“Patience?”

He smirked again, tilting his head and embracing the feel of superiority again, “You have nearly one more year left. I wonder if you have the patience to stick it out-”

That pissed you off. You grabbed his black tie and pulled him down, startling him as you kissed him hard. You pulled away just as quickly, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as well as slight bewilderment at being cut off from gloating.

You smiled innocently, smoothing down his tie as well as the front of his jacket, “Nice to know I’m not the only one enjoying the feeling of vorfreude from now on. Have a good day, Professor.”

Without a second backwards glance, you confidently strode out of the lecture hall, leaving Koz impressed as well as out of breath at your grand exit. He didn’t realize he’d be aching for you just as much as you ached for him.

It’s only a year, right? Not too long…

Boy were you two wrong.

#pitch black #pitch black x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic commissions #fanfiction commissions #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardian fanfics #university au

[retrorealeyes]

Here’s why I want my parents dead /hj

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE like I know hating your parents if they aren’t overtly abusive (and even if they are it’s only mildly) like bruh, tempted to list out my parents “abuse” here. also like bruh, i’m fine rn, i’ve just been hating them for a while

This isn’t fully everything ever, it’s just an overview and I don’t think it touches the main problems enough (also I don’t give a lot of examples because there’s too many and I don’t have the will to write em all,and i’ve still overviewing everything)

-never respect my wishes if it goes against theirs (e.x. please leave me alone, can i go outside?, can I leave and go upstairs?)

             this is a big one

-don’t respect my privacy (in weird ways too, like my dad opening the door to scare me when i’m changing) and making fun of it too

          plus in normal ways like reading my journals or never knocking no matter how many times i tell them to

-making fun of me on purpose to get me upset, even when i ask them to stop

-getting suddenly and violently angry (dad):

           often unreasonably and quickly

          my dad curses people out under his breath, as a sign he’s going to get violent

          has broken things, SUCH AS MY WHOLE ASS PHONE by throwing it on the ground does punch things, generally not people, e.x. walls, but not that hard. he has punched me

          DOES to people- slap, push (this one especially, just last week he did), throw, scratch

          is destructive to other’s property (e.x. ripping up THEIR papers)

          refuses to listen to suggestions like, in the future, trying to calm down, or writing out his anger instead or seeking therapy

          been like this towards me since i was 6-7 years old

          it can escalate from anything

          will degrade you and insult you, if you ever say anything back (even in a non-angry situation, will grow even angrier/get very angry)

          makes you feel awful

          can last for hours and never accomplishes anything apart from further degrading yourself

          if you don’t give the exact answer he wants, will get even angrier

             I’m obviously terrified of him

               Swears at me, except they censor me so much they could probably kill me if I ever swore so that exacerbates the fear of it

          after the fact continuosly denies it

-my dad also:

           always demands respect

          always plays the victim and complains about how we dislike him

          never admits his mistakes

          is awful to my little sister, randomly, even when she’s being perfectly fine

-my mother and father’s relationship

             they openly and mean to each other. they never display affection and joke about divorcing

             sometimes dad yells at mom for a while, it’s obvious he thinks he’s superior to her and belittles her intelligence

             they are sometimes violent, but not often, and not overtly, more violent towards objects than each other when fighting with each other

             they do get in fights often (see: my dad’s belief in his superiority)

-openess with them

             there is none. they constantly criticize any self expression, make all subjects taboo, get angry over nothing and overall make me terrified of talking to them, then get all sad about “why don’t you tell us“ but if I try to express anything, even if they don’t get angry, they’ll store it in their heads and then later keep using it against me. “You said we were bad parents, do you not want to eat our food?“ “You said you were unmotivated, you don’t even have a reason to be sad.“ (said in an challenging, mean way)

-my self esteem

-my dad, physically (TO BE CLEAR I don’t think my dad in any way in trying to do anything sexual, i’m just saying he never respects my boundaries and here are some things he thinks are “perfectly fine” that he does, also this might be a bit disconnected sounding, i’m just so tired

          commenting on my weight/appearance (mom too)

             commenting on what i’m wearing, especially teasing me if it’s something out of the usual, as if i’m not insecure enough already

             dictating what i wear if they don’t like what i’m wearing

             commenting (negatively) on my mom’s weight a lot (to be fair, they both joke about being old and him balding and a little about him being fat so this one isn’t as bad apart form the fact that i’m skinnier so he “jokes” a lot about how i’m like a skinnier version of her)

                fatso called the girl in the video

             forces me to hug and kiss him, often only giving my phone back or treats luke donuts if I kiss him, even if I’ve expressed i’m uncomfortable (just does this a lot and i hate it)

-the past

             have yelled for me for no reason since i was young

             i don’t remember ever liking my dad (wait, before 6 years of age i remember liking him and before I was 9 i remember not hating him at all times)

             i continously try to trust them again, then they break me

               they were never open with me and taught me to be ashamed of myself which led to bad social relations later, which i’m only now breaking out of

-confiscation and lack of trust

               always taking my stuff so i can’t rely on what they’ll black mail me with, no “excuse” is valid to keep it (ex. I want to communicate w/friends or I LITERALLY HAVE INSOMNIA AND CAN’T SLEEP WITHOUT LISTENING TO MUSIC); during my worst days, when I was really suicidal i remember not having my phone for a long time which led to me being left behind and further isolating myself which, y’know spiralled

               I can go on and on about how they never value my voice but i’m sort of running out of steam

               they also never trust my statements, always cast me as the cause-r of something (luckily they’re fair and don’t punish me for it if I insist I didn’t do it, but the fact i have to really advocate for my innocence and am constantly suspected just is not great, and even jokingly, i hate attention, their attention)

                 There’s more but i think i’m done for now

-constantly bother me (i know this is nitpicking, i’m just trying to get everything out, and some of these have more layers than i’m willing to express)

               intentionally sabotaging

               even if i ask them to go away

               try to annoy me when ever i see them, even if i’ve asked them not too, and really make me avoid everything even more (you have to go through where they usually are to get out and that means y’know what)

               singing

               yelling and stepping loudly (which makes me scared my dad is mad all the time)

               always teasing and judging

-mother dearest

               very aggressive

               VERY controlling

               generally boring

               always invades privacy, more of a nosy person, but, in a way, better than dad

               she can get violent too and screams but it’s less often but can get very intense sometimes, generally it’s more of taking away my stuff and telling me to give up (which, the telling me to give up, my dad does too)

-lack of independence

                THIS ONE IS HUGE. my parents are very controlling and so even a little freedom excites me and they use my lack of experience as a sword against me, and that makes it eve harder for me to do anything when I’m constantly fighting restrictions and my brains can’t distinguish bad restrictions from schoolwork restrictions

-shitty world view

               just a bad biased view of the world, i really don’t want to elaborate, beyond the general sense they deserve to be respected for being parents a conservative-type view, also don’t have basic sense of morality, as in sympathy, for everyone, and instead do the whole us|them thing with their politics, the only problem is that we’re immigrants which is why they vote democrat

-grandparents

                 are visiting, they are also unhygienic, to always be obeyed, generally judgemental, and intentionally old, and taking up both of my rooms, overall i don’t like any of them, my father’s mom is alright though

-generally shaming me

And otherwise everything is generally going to shit, my social life (though I saved it somewhat for ONE person), my mental/emotional health, my exercise, motivation for anything, just the way the house is set up, my grandparents are here, how i’m doing in school.

I should write the thesis and really flesh this out well but I’ll tell you what: ultimately my parents are selfish people who don’t consider me my own entity but more as themselves and my achievements combined. ANd even if you love me, which I don’t doubt, I don’t have to love you back, and that doesn’t excuse your shittiness, dad. I fucking hate you. (yes. i’m grateful for the money, house, generally not obviously abusive childhood, food, stuff, bed, phone, etc. you have provided, but that doesn’t cancel out your misdeeds, it just coexists next to it)

Like is it SO bad for me to blame SOME of my issues with them? BUT NO if I ever bring up how they did x so i did y. I did y ON PURPOSE to UPSET THEM and i can’t hold them accountable, i’m just blaming them, even if I’m genuinely trying to explain my issues the way I understand them.

idr if you can edit tumblr documents, and even if you can, i’m not going to, i’ll just add to this with comments, to preserve the integrity, not that anyone will or should read this, but i’ll probably come back to it

[velvet-tread]

A theory, or wild speculation, or whatever; anyway there’s some Bellarke

Here follows a collection of thoughts that don’t quite add up to a thesis yet

Season 5 had one of the best runs of episodes I’ve seen on this show ever - strong themes, great setups, impactful character beats. 9 straight episodes of near-perfection.

But imo it fell short in the last couple of episodes. How short depends on your perspective, but my feelings about it range from mildly disappointed to Jane Austen mourning weeds and little weepy handkerchiefs. Either way - the collapse into fudgy incoherence and loose ends actually undid all of the great work the show did in the first 9 episodes.  WHICH IS FUCKING INFURIATING. 

The show painstakingly put together so much excellent character and relationship set ups which either never materialised or didn’t pay off or just fizzled out. And now I’m left wondering what it all meant, which not only frustrates me on a viewer level but also makes me feel like an idiot for wildly overestimating what the show was doing with the material.

*looks at the X Files forever*

Just to pick a few things out at random.

a) Bellarke were put in conflict, but there was no emotional pay-off, the framing was all over the place and the resolution basically a post-script. 

b) We spent the series agonising about the wisdom of going to war on a fragile planet, but the actual harbinger of Apocalypse 3.0 (I can’t believe I have to write that) was someone only tangentially related to that storyline, whom every single named character bar Kabby was trying to stop. So was everyone wrong? Or just ineffectual? The latter is far less interesting and more depressing tbh.

c) The worms

d) Memori

e) I could go on

I repeat, I would not be so pernickety if the run up to the s5 finale hadn’t been so good, and the set up so promising.  The idea of a reboot was genius.  The Bellarke separation was genius.  Blodreina = genius.  Mama Bear Clarke = genius. Eligius = genius. Spacekru = genius. 

But ultimately?  Can ANYONE tell me what s5 meant?  What difference did any of those things make in the end?  What conflict was resolved satisfactorily?  I’d argue that the Blodreina/Blake siblings arc worked the best (although *howl* Bellamy was never given any in-universe context for Blodreina) but generally I’m left with the feeling that very few of these stories or conflicts had any meaning whatsoever, and especially not Bellarke.

So I have a theory and I stand to be corrected as ever because I am very much processing.

I think there’s a strong possibility Jason and/or the 100 writers room began rewriting the back end of season 5 as they were filming the early season 5 material.

Given Jason’s comments immediately after the finale, I’m inclined to believe that the rewrites, if I’m right, were mostly around Bellarke and the Flame.  Specifically, I think that at some point when they were filming mid-season, Jason changed his mind about how Bellarke-y he wanted the season to be, if at all.  And on top of that, I think as he was pitching season 6 around that time, he realised that he wanted to go full-hog with the Flame in season 6. 

Those two things might be connected.  Perhaps Jason realised the full extent to which he coud “bring Lexa back” without actually bringing back ADC, around the Flame.  Perhaps he wants to recreate the show’s Clexa glory days.  And perhaps romantic Bellarke isn’t compatible with that vision. Dumb, in my view, but hey.

Perhaps, he just realised that he can’t doesn’t want to write romantic Bellarke.

If that’s the case, then well, *shrugs*.  Less satisfying for me, but I don’t own this shit.  I do, however, own the prerogative to speculate wildly on how and why they squandered all that promise in the last couple of eps.

Certainly, a mid-season back end emergency rewrite would explain a few things:

1.The loose threads and wonky framing

For example, Clarke’s fury at Bellamy for putting the Flame into Madi’s head was just...dropped?  Why? When it was SUCH A BIG DEAL in 509?  What were we supposed to the think about that?  What was she? And Bellamy, who didn’t appear to even remember who Clarke was until he saw her at the ship, being angry at her? Really? Where? Since when? And importantly - why? 

I’m a writer and it’s my experience that the best planning you do for a piece is when you approach it at the start.  You brainstorm.  You get your thoughts together.  You address each problem and question and mould it into a whole so it all makes sense.

But when you finish the thing and you look at it and you think - the thesis is wrong! I need to restructure the entire thing!  That’s when mistakes get made.  Especially if, for example, you’re up against a deadline or in this case a filming schedule, the threads that you would usually pick up at the planning stage or in the editing stage get missed.  And because they are part of the final editing process, there’s nobody around to pick them up and properly address them.

Result?  Fudge.

2. The curious ambivalence about Becho. 

Look I ADORE Becho. They are soft, and loving and real af.  I fully believe that was always intended to be the case. 

I think Becho was set up as a benchmark, for Bellamy in particular, a symbol of his peace and prosperity in space,. And, of course, I think it was also set up as a point of conflict for Octavia and Clarke. In the case of the latter, it was definitely a silent love triangle. How do you explain the love triangle framing on two separate occasions? How else do you explain the two separate interviews Jason gave about love triangles?

But here’s what Becho was not set up as: a relationship that was supposed to develop on-screen and take the audience with it.  Becho had no arc this season. It wasn’t “a story” per se, however much Tasya and Bob’s chemistry electrified me. It was the backbone to *other* stories. 

So, why, then, were Becho given every single Bellarke beat, especially towards the end? A background of forgiveness? Check. A steadying influence on each other. Check. The person they’re fighting for? Check. Plotting together? Check? Battle couple? Check.

Contrast with Bellarke. Forgiveness?  That’s something for Bellamy and Madi to discuss without Clarke!  Battle plans? Clarke will do that with Echo instead (oh my GODDD my ot3 came to life there *clutches hands and wishes upon a star*). A steadying influence on each other? Maybe! Until they forget each other’s names when they’re not in a scene together! People they’re fighting for? Definitely not each other.

Meanwhile bts, the messages were VERY confusing.  So the show was giving us a Becho that, while very real, was not the core of the story. Which was probably why, in early season 5, some deep Becho nods (the extra forehead touch, the “I love her”) found their way on to the editing room floor. All legit. But then, the script-to-screens then BROUGHT THOSE THINGS BACK to the viewer’s attention?  Why? Why give us those things even though they were cut? Was it because maybe, the show had changed direction after the fact?

And don’t get me wrong. I loved every second of the show’s affirmation of Becho. I still adore them.  But how does it fit into the jigsaw of the show as it stands?  It doesn’t really.  In fact, if you just swap Echo for Clarke in Bellamy’s storyline this season, you would have a hard time telling me that this isn’t exactly what romantic Bellarke would look like - the only difference is that in terms of screentime, Becho’s antagonism has had far more time, and Bellarke’s forgiveness/working together has had more time. IN-UNIVERSE, IT’S THE OTHER WAY AROUND.  It’s why shipping Becho comes so easily for me. And if the show wanted to frame that as Clarke’s personal tragedy, I would get it and probably relish it. But the trouble is, I’m having a hard time understanding what the show *is* saying about Becho and Bellarke, because it seems to be constantly changing its mind.

WHICH. BY THE WAY. MADE THAT ENTIRE WAKE-UP MARPER VLOG SEQUENCE A MASSIVE DAMP BELLARKE SQUIB.

SORRY.

3. The Flame suddenly jumping to prominence as a tool rather than as a symbol late in the season.

The show went from framing the Flame as a threat to this kid, who had hidden from it her whole life, for whom it meant literal nightmares of people burning at the stake, something for Clarke to rightly protect her from, to something that turned her into a mouthpiece for Lexa, to Clarke’s hostility to it being framed as “wrong”. There was an abrupt change of tone imo, to Clarke’s fears being justified to Clarke’s fears making her, and I quote Jason from an interview that nearly made me choke on my cereal, a “helicopter” mum.

Excuse me while I punch the nearest object to smithereens.

The Flame “gave” Madi battle ideas (which were different from Octavia’s how, exactly?) by Gaia’s bedside, with just a MANTRA? That whole scene felt cobbled together at the last minute. Like a film student’s badly edited homework.

It’s giving Clarke life lessons, ffs! 

*clenches fist*

The whole thing feels like a season 5 retcon, hastily put together to justify Madi still having the thing in her head for season 6, when it can do it’s victory lap for real.

4. The scenes that were dropped

a) Bob and Eliza both referenced a big Bellarke scene that got cut.  My guess? Not a romantic scene but some kind of Hakeldama that allowed them to hash out their various beefs with each other and probably involved some shit talking about the Flame.

b) And like, if that scene had some tenderness in it? Too Bellarke maybe? No, Bellarke BAD BAD BAD *stern looks*

c) also, wasn’t Echo supposed to have a sad scene of sitting in the snow and remembering Azgeda? That was supposed to be at the snowy back end of the season, but Echo had no sads really.  Only fierce spacekru love and some cuddles and some good sexy time. Was there an Echo sad that got cut? What was it related to?

5. The writers room walkout

Yeah. I don’t know what that means, but it sure means something.

Just fyi...for some context.  I love Becho and they currently own my heart but until recently Bellarke was very much my otp. Probably, deep down, it still is.

But I’m getting tired of running this race. I have no problem with the show doing a slow burn. I have no problem with platonic Bellarke. But I need consistency and, importantly, I need the show to remember that Bellarke are the backbone of this show. Their relationship - however you frame it - is the heart and without it the show is nothing but a collection of Elon Musk conspiracy theories on reddit.

JUST LETTING THEM HAVE A CONVERSATION =/= BELLARKE ROMANCE.

If you want them platonic, fine, you win. But gutting their relationship from the inside out to try to ward off the sniff of shipping is just counterproductive. It’s the lack of real, meaningful connection that really turned me off Bellarke this season, not the lack of kiss or lack of romantic framing. Early in the season? Yes, the set up was all there and it looked GREAT. But their conflict never got off the ground and we never got a cathartic resolution to show us the characters really, truly mean something to each other. 

Ultimately the show forgot that they were friends who love each other, and I just *clenches fist* can’t ship that.  Maybe that’s what the show wanted. But the flipside is that at this point I’m not really invested in their relationship in any context, which is why the end shot left me cold. I hope Bellarke hasn’t died in my heart forever but...idk it doesn’t look good.

#bellarke #rip my beautiful earth babies #you'll have a special place for me forever #but i can't run this obstable course anymore #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #tagging becho #too #also don't send me hate #i'll block you

[sparxwrites]

I've noticed recently that I've become accustomed to capitalising words for Emphasis, both in the absence of italics and in tandem with them. As a language nerd, what does this suggest of language mutation going forward?

this isn’t language mutation! at least, not in the way i suspect you mean it. it’s more of a linguistic adaptation to the inherent limitations of text-based communication - which is a bit of a mouthful, and a lot to unpack, so, let’s start with the basics:

in spoken english, we have words and grammar and sentences, the same as we have with internet english. however, we also have facial expressions, and body language, and hand gestures - and most relevantly here something called prosidy, which internet english is lacking (at least in the traditional sense). prosidy is the changes in pitch and volume of your voice when speaking. this gives rise to stress and intonation in speech, which serves several purposes - one is distinguishing between words (ie. record the object, and record the action), another is conveying emotion, and another is providing emphasis.

the last one is the primary purpose of both italics and initial capitalisation in internet english. since we can’t have prosidy over the internet via pitch and volume, we’ve adopted other methods. 

words with the same spelling are usually disambiguated by context, so they’re not hugely relevant here, but there’s some interesting things going on with emotion and emphasis.

emotion is usually done with memes, emoticons, gifs, or other “verbal tags” - stuff like “/s” for sarcasm or “uwu” (which, interestingly, started off as a genuine expression of “i’m not mad at you!” and is now sarcastic and passive aggressive, so that’s a- lexical? possibly-lexical mutation there), or even acronyms like “tbh” and “lol” and “lmfao” which are now more often used to indicate the mood of a particular statement. for example: when was the last time you saw someone using lmfao to Actually Literally Mean “laughing my ass off”? now consider when the last time you saw someone using lmfao to mean “the previous statement is intended to be mildly humorous in a bleak and self-depreciating kind of way” was. think of the number of posts about “adults need to learn to text!” where people think their parents are angry because they ended a text in a full stop. think of all the wonderful variations on ellipses we have!! the way people use question marks as rhetorical devices, to indicate uncertainty in their statement, or to point out how obvious something is!! i love it. emotion tag-words are my favourite.

emphasis / stress is usually (or at least traditionally) done with italics in written english - it isn’t particularly a internet english thing, it’s been done by writers and comic book artists since well before the internet. this is part of what’s called prosodic stress in spoken english, and it’s used in a couple of different ways. aside from general the most relevant one here is to point out new information in a sentence (called focus in linguistics):

“However, it’s not enough to assume that turtles merely like the taste of pineapples. We must consider the possibility that turtles are deeply, sexually attracted to fruit.”

there’s also contrastive focus (a sub-type of focus, where the person you’re speaking to makes an assumption, and you’re contradicting / correcting them). wikipedia has some nice examples of how it’s often used both online and out loud:

I didn't take the test yesterday. (Somebody else did.)I didn't take the test yesterday. (I did not take it.)I didn't take the test yesterday. (I did something else with it.)I didn't take the test yesterday. (I took a different one.)I didn't take the test yesterday. (I took something else.)I didn't take the test yesterday. (I took it some other day.)

other things italics can do include indicating sarcasm (“Oh, of course, no one else has ever thought of this, because you’re so clever.”), and highlighting important/argument-relevant (“As I mentioned earlier: fish can feel love. This is just one reason amongst many, however, that fish-human marriage is undeniably ethically sound.”). i’m 90% sure that that latter one is probably also focus-related, but i don’t know enough about information structure generally to commit entirely to calling it focus - tbh, given how many different theories of focus there are, it may be focus under some theories, but not others (see also: that one theory on the wiki page where anything not given is focused, so if you’re specifically bringing up or reminding people of a relevant piece of information it’s probably not given and therefore focused). if the important / argument-relevant use is not focus-related, though, then it’s at least somehow related to information structure; perhaps italics are more generally useable to indicate something about information structure, without it specifically needing to be focus.

stress done with initial capitalisation, however, seems to be a little different - or at least, seems to occur in broader contexts than the one above. i suspect you could do an entire postgrad thesis on the similarities and differences between the two (and i also suspect that i don’t remember enough about syntax and phonology and information structure etc. to offer the best insight possible here), but let’s see if we can’t at least pick the differences apart a bit.

so! initial capitalisation can certainly be used in the same contexts as italics, for focusing new / relevant information and for contrastive focus. this evidenced by: (a) “omg, have u considered that turtles are Sexually Attracted To Fruit??” and “pls remember that Fish Can Feel Love” are both perfectly a-okay in internet english, and (b) by an edited version of the wikipedia examples:

I didn't take the test yesterday. (Somebody else did.)i Didn't take the test yesterday. (I did not take it.)i didn't Take the test yesterday. (I did something else with it.)i didn't take The test yesterday. (I took a different one.)i didn't take the Test yesterday. (I took something else.)i didn't take the test Yesterday. (I took it some other day.)

(initial capitalisation with “I” is always a little tricky (is it emphasis, or is it just normal capitalisation?), and in my expereince people tend to default to italics with it wherever possible for this reason. i’m also… unsure about how happy i am with the grammaticality (how “okay” a particular sentence is within a given language / dialect) of examples 4 & 5 (“The” and “Test”), but that might be because those two are a little unusual even with italics - “i didn’t take The Test today” looks much better, i think, and can mean both “i took a different one” and “i took something else”.)

however, it’s clear that initial capitalisation can occur in places where italicisation is either outright incorrect, or at least looks kind of weird:

[cute picture of a cat lying on its back, pulling a face, having knocked a plant pot off the table]

commenter A: “Why Do Cats Do These Things”

commenter B: “why do cats do these things”

commenter A’s statement is perfectly correct internet english; commenter B’s statement is just about interpretable, but quite clearly clumsy / not really acceptable in the opinion of most “native internet english speakers”. but why?? well, we’re clearly not focusing “do these things” (because it’s not really providing any information, it’s just sort of… pointing out that the cat in the picture is being weird and then asserting that this is prototypical cat behaviour. it’s trying to tap into a shared knowledge of “what cats do / are like” between “speaker” and reader), and though it’s somewhat humorous it’s not actually sarcastic, so italics are a no-go.

what commenter A is trying to do, however, is to indicate a specific usage / meaning of “do these things” via a specific “tone of voice”. commenter A is not just asking why cats behave specifically in this manner re: knocking pots off and pulling faces, they’re trying to indicate that they consider cats in general to act weirdly and look goofy; typing “why do cats do these things” would be mostly fine if you are indicating frustration / anger with a sudden plague of cats-knocking-off-plant-pots, but that’s not what commenter A is trying to communicate.

additionally, when i say “Why Do Cats Do These Things” out loud, there’s a specific tone of voice i use for it, that i suspect others do to - this kind of flat monotone, with a heavy weight on each word that’s not so much emphasis but a very careful over-pronunciation. it’s not quite emphasis, and definitely not focus-emphasis; it’s almost a comedy thing, or a joke; it’s drawing attention to a specific interpretation of this sentence that’s both humorous and typical within internet spaces; it’s indicating a kind of emotion (exasperation / affection / despair) more than anything.

some other examples of this, where capitalisation is a-okay but italics are somewhere between weird and entirely unacceptable:

“nah it’ll be fine, i’m Basically Immortal lol”

“getting run over would be Suboptimal”

“if word crashes and deletes this essay then, i swear to god, I’m Gonna Die”

“you’re a Terrible Human Being and i love it”

(if anyone can think of any examples where italics and capitalisation is okay, but are in the same style as the above, then let me know! or if people disagree with my analysis of what initial capitalisation sounds like out-loud. this sort of thing relies on native speaker judgements, usually, and although i am as close to a native internet english speaker as you’re gonna get, i’m only one person. other people may have other judgements.)

i suspect, from all of this, that the function of initial capitalisation is to indicate any kind of change in prosidy in the speaker’s voice (though primarily weird monotone), usually with an emphasis on a specific interpretation of the particular phrase that’s initially-capitalised. this is why it can be used for focus, and for sarcasm, and for more general emphasis the same way - but why it can also be used to represent a monotone (“I Would Prefer Not To”) in a way italics can’t, or to indicate that specific “you know what i’m talking about / i am referring to a concept we both share but that cannot be put into words” tone (“Why Are You Like This”), or that looping-up-and-down voice people use when they’re winding someone up (“I Am A Joy And A Delight, idk what you’re talking about :3ccc”).

italics can kind of be used for some of these, but only really as an extension of its function as an indicator of sarcasm - which means that italics are intelligible in that context, but just look weird, and like the person using them isn’t very fluent in internet english. that’s because initial caps don’t quite indicate sarcasm, though it occupies a similar teasing-dramatic tonal area; in some / most instances, initial caps seems to function similar to adding “lmfao” or “lol” onto the end, which suggests it’s also indicating a self-depreciating or bleak humour / drama to the sentence. initial caps seem to function, then, as a focus / emphasis device, but also as an emotion indicator, which is a sort of fascinating crossover of function - but very similarly to the way we see voice and prosidy being used for both focus / emphasis, and for conveying emotion.

so, you probably use italics + capitalisation in conjunction because you’re trying to convey two different things. for a sentence like “drinking three cups of coffee in a row is a terrible, awful, no good idea and oh my god Why Would You Do That”, the italics are conveying where you’re putting stress / emphasis in the sentence (on “oh my god why would you do that”). the initial capitalisation, however, is indicating that on top of emphasis, you’re saying “why would you do that” in a specifically unusual kind of prosidy, probably quite a flat and monotone one, and that it’s designed to be teasing / humorous.

i also suspect that italics + capitalisation can be used as a kind of “double emphasis”, or marking out an emphasised section within an already emphasised talking point. kind of the way bolding sometimes works?? (except the internet tends not to use bolding fsr, or only uses it for headings / as a way to highlight the most important sentences in a wall of information. it’s a structural-level organisational device, essentially.) so you can re-parse “it’s so important we feed cats and dogs different food, because cats are not dogs and have different dietary requirements!!!” as “[...], precisely because Cats Are Not Dogs and have different dietary requirements!!!”. in this instance, you’re emphasising that the reason for different treatment is that cats are not dogs and therefore have different dietary requirements, but also emphasising the fact in and of itself that cats are not dogs.

i also also suspect that, when we just need one form of emphasis and are choosing whether to use italics or initial capitalisation, we consider the context of our writing. in this “essay”, i’ve mostly used italics - they’re a little more “formal” as far as internet language goes (so, not very formal at all, but still more standard than initial caps), they’re more semantically accessible (i.e. if non-tumblr people find this essay, whereas they might be able to proactively work out what initial caps are intended to convey from context, they’ll probably intuitively understand the use of italics here), and they’re more visually accessible / they disrupt the visual flow of the text less. when i’m talking with friends (especially on platforms like skype and discord and tumblr messenger which, if they support italics at all, do so in a “non-intuitive” way, i.e. not using ctrl+i like word processing software does), in shorter / less formal settings, where the visual flow of the sentence is part of the meaning / emotion of the sentence in and of itself (how long are the sentences? do you use full stops? do you capitalise the beginnings of sentences? do you send each sentence as a new message? on a new line? how many dots do you use for ellipses? keysmashes? ?!??!??!?!?!?!!!! ?), i tend to use initial caps.

so tl;dr: italics seem to be primarily used to indicate focus - you’re pointing out a new or specifically relevant piece of information, or you’re correcting / denying a piece of information that your conversational partner has provided (or perhaps being sarcastic). initial capitalisation can Also/also be used for this purpose, but is additionally used to represent Any/any kind of change in prosidy that would occur if you spoke the sentence aloud (since we also mess about with intonation for other reasons beside focus). ...i sincerely hope someone has done / is doing / will do a thesis on this bc honestly this probably has some fascinating implications for information structure or prosidy or Something/something tbh.

regarding the “mutations” comment: these sorts of internet english quirks are not language mutations, per se, because we already have features for distinguishing this kind of thing in spoken english - and also because a lot of this stuff is what we call paralinguistic phenomena, which means that sarcasm and emphasis etc. communicate something, but it’s not actually strictly part of the language itself. it just adds an extra layer of meaning on top of the stuff being conveyed by the actual words.

instead, they’re adaptations of our orthographic (writing) system to cope with the increasing demands of written/internet english to convey these sorts of things. online, we don’t have people’s prosidy and their body language / expressions to read, so we need altered orthography or other visual indicators to ensure that people correctly understand the intent and mood behind your communication, not just the raw word-content of it. that’s why internet english has developed these quirks. essentially: our communication has always had these paralinguistic phenomena, these ways to convey emotion and emphasis; we’re just finding different ways of expressing them in response to environmental restrictions, i.e. the fact we’re all increasingly communicating via text on a regular, intensive basis. historically, we’ve primarily communicated verbally, so it’s not developed due to lack of need - but the internet has has created a heavily-used, text-primary environment, so now we do need it, and we’re collaboratively creating it as a result because humans (especially young humans) are excellent language innovators. it’s pretty neat!!

(as an interesting aside, i suspect that there’s also an element of in-grouping going on here. people want to mark out the community belong to, the people they’ve chosen as their “tribe” - irl, we do this via slang, and accents, and sometimes through certain types of wordplay or forms of prosidy / gesture etc. obviously, online, we can have slang (think about how often you’ve seen someone on tumblr say “top kek”, versus how ubiquitous that phrase is on reddit), but accents are a little harder. so we instead develop different ways of typing, different ways we use italics or capitalisation or emotes. some of this depends on platform constraints - if your community’s site doesn’t allow bold/italics, or automatically converts emotes into weird yellow smileys, you’re gonna have to develop workarounds for that - but some of it is us going “these are my people, and i can tell because we talk differently, and we’re Not Like You People”. this is why it can sometimes be linguistically disorienting going onto a different platform; i often find posters’ “tone” on reddit hard to read, because they seem to signal emotion differently to on tumblr!!

this may, perhaps, also be a reason why we’ve ended up with both capitalisation and italics - if one social group developed italics as emphasis, and a second social group (perhaps on a platform without capacity for italics) developed capitalisation as emphasis, and then the two groups merged or interacted, you’re gonna get this linguistic transference where the groups adopt one another’s styles without dropping their own original style. and then- voila! both italics and capitalisation for emphasis. but because language often tends towards getting rid of redundancy, the two styles specified out into having slightly different connotations / occuring in slightly different pragmatic environments. or, perhaps, the capitalisation style was always broader than italics, and there’s not been any change yet to reduce redundancy, but there will be in the future. who knows!)

(as a second interesting aside, all of this is probably partly why autistic people often report online friendships being easier / report preferring textual communication to face-to-face. whereas expressions and prosidy can be exceptionally difficult to learn to read if they’re not instinctual - think of the infinite variations of muscle contraction and relaxation in the face! the number of different pitches and volumes and patterns we can make with our voice! they’re very difficult to categorise because they overlap a lot and tend to gradient into one another - these kinds of “emotional tags” are usually quite easy and clear-cut. “/s” indicates sarcasm every time it is used, entirely unambiguously. stuff like “lol” or “tbh” are a little more ambiguous, but even then, they have a more limited set of emotional contexts that they’re used in than, say, the corners of your lips moving upwards. gifs and memes are even better; if they don’t outright say what they mean on the gif or in the meme, there’s entire websites dedicated to cataloguing and explaining memes should you be unclear of the usage.

additionally, internet environments can be a little more forgiving wrt people not picking up on tone, or using an incorrect / weird tone, when conversing; it’s hard to display tone online, and even allistic people (especially internet newbies or older people) struggle with it, so tonal faux pas or misunderstandings are a little more expected (and therefore forgiven) than irl.)

#lyinginbedmon #ask #linguistics #i am So Sorry this is like 3k but it got a little out of hand #there's a bunch of other stuff i could probably say on the topic too but like........ 3k is Enough #also if anyone has any native speaker judgements to offer #or someone w more information structure experience wants to correct me #Please God Do So i am very happy to hear others' opinions on this #i'm just spitballing here mostly

[ahkaraii]

Oh god. Orochimaru. I'm not particularly fond of him but there way he is here makes my skin crawl. And last mission.... Oro. NO!

Orochimaru is absolutely a skin-crawling kind of character. He has the morals of a snake and the disposition of one, too. But somehow he inspired great loyalty in his comrades, even after all the warning signs, and I figured he must’ve been an interesting friend for a long time to have been allowed around so long.

I believe Hiruzen was fond of him because he was reminded of his own sensei, Tobirama. Not necessarily the creepy parts, but the intense focus and drive to create and master jutsu, the sly and cunning and sharp intelligence. In my headcanon Tobirama chose to die a few short months/maybe years after Hashirama died, and by doing so he left the entirety of Konoha and the dream infused within to Hiruzen. That level of trust and burden must have been immense, and crushing, and absolutely mutual. To have lost someone so important – I bet Hiruzen must have seen the sun when he saw Tobirama in the young orphaned Orochimaru, and he loved him with all his heart. Tobirama experimented with dangerous jutsu all the time, to the point where pretty much most of his jutsu are forbidden – having Orochimaru do the same must have utterly failed to ring the WARNING bells in Hiruzen’s head lolol. Blinded by love and trust and by projecting a dead man’s soul onto another – recipe for disaster, yep yep. Must’ve felt extremely hot-cold to be compared to this incredible and beloved ninja all the time but also unconsciously felt like you weren’t allowed to exist independently of it.

Tsunade and Orochimaru are an interesting duo. They obviously grew up together in their genin team, so they saw each at their weakest, and witnessed each other growing stronger. I imagine at first they were super awkward ugly-duckling type characters, and bitched at each other and backstabbed each other in a very highschool girl kind of way, but they bonded in an ‘us against the world’ type mentality and their odd quirks and eccentricities smoothly meshed up instead of spiking up against each other. In their adolescent years before the war I bet they took turns seducing and subsequently terrifying Jiraiya by turn HAHAHA. I love Jiraiya but I’m all for setting him up for a boner-killer.

Ultimately I don’t condone Orochimaru’s actions (and I’m kind of rolling my eyes for having to state it), but as a character who existed for so long within touching distance of so many other characters, I find him fascinating. Hell, I did my thesis on cognitive behavioral neuroscience and experimented on animals and I’m a medical physician now, so that immense drive to know and be able to do is very relatable. I desperately want there to be an underground Academic Journal of Ninjutsu that Orochimaru sekcretly edits for even after ditching Konoha, lmfao.

Damn, now I made myself sad imagining Hiruzen writing papers for it trying to sneak a message to Orochimaru because he knows, and Orochimaru mildly decoding them and burning them by turn. Hhhhh. I want to know more about just how fucked up Hiruzen and Orochimaru’s relationship wasssssss. *rubs my dirty hands together*

(I’d ask Kishimoto for more backstory but I know him well enough now to be grateful he left it up in the air, haha. Time for me to plug in some holes..!!!)

I love deeply grey-coded characters because it makes them all the more fun to play around with in fiction XD you throw them at any character and there’s instantly an interesting dynamic…! 

#ask responses #five comic #naruto #1stsana #karaii's headcanons #sannin #team tobirama

[txhatch]

Of Course

Webster’s dictionary defines the phrase “of course” as: following the ordinary way or procedure; as might be expected.

Now, assuming you didn’t immediately skip this column because it started with a tired cliché, you are most likely reading this because one, you’re related to me or are my friend and I bugged you incessantly to support me; two, you are casually connected to me via social media and mildly interested in my thoughts and opinions; or three, you have no connection to or interest towards me but you’re willing to give me a chance anyways. Whatever reason you have, it can be almost assured that the reason you are reading this is not because you are interested in the definition and origin of the phrase “of course”. Fortunately or unfortunately, I am.

To all of you readers, whether familiar or not, allow me to introduce myself. 

The definition of the phrase “of course” is objectively and utterly unimportant to your daily life, or for that matter to mine. But wanting to know more than anyone ever should about the history and meaning of something so utterly unimportant is who I am. I am fascinated by the unimportant things. The origin of a random phrase keeps me up at night. In fact, the origin and meaning of this particular phrase is what spawned my idea for this column and now serves as the title and central thesis to the message I hope to bring you every week.

“Of course” derives from the phrase “of the ordinary course” and first gained use in the 16th century. The definition for the phrase in its early use was similar to how we use it now when referring to something that occurs naturally or as expected (“Of course I took out the trash”). Since then, the phrase and its definition have developed other idiomatic uses. It can be used as a way to convey enthusiastic agreement (“Can I come over?” “Of course!”), to qualify or validate the subsequent statement (Of course, we won’t definitively know until we get the results back from the lab”), or to emphasize or make obvious a point (“He is, of course, his father’s son”). You can see how these definitions all stem from the phrase’s original meaning but have since developed subtly different connotations through our own colloquial use.

Now, assuming you can read the previous paragraph, you’re smart enough to already know the meaning of the phrase “of course” and how to use it. It’s not something you ever had to look up. No one had to define it for you. It’s probably not even something you can remember learning; you just knew it. Even if you couldn’t explicitly define and state the different uses themselves like I did above, you most likely knew all of those uses already and use them regularly. In fact, you could (and should) properly respond to my rambling about the definition of the phrase ���of course” with, “Of course.” 

And that is fascinating to me. It’s serendipity.

Every day there are these little things in life we forget. More than that, we forget we even knew them in the first place. It’s something small. Something unimportant. Something irrelevant. And it’s only when someone brings one of those little things up that, not only do you remember it in the first place, but you’re reminded how relevant and appropriate it actually is.

My goal each week is twofold. As I’ve done today with the phrase “of course”, each week I’m going to take some minutiae no one could possibly consider interesting and attempt to connect it to our world. On its face it might seem unimportant or irrelevant but I will (hopefully) make it relevant to your life. This isn’t a novel goal obviously. The opposite actually. Relevancy and the competent conveyance of ideas should be the goal of almost all writing anywhere, but especially writing in a weekly column. Which brings me to my second goal. I hope that by the end of each of my columns, you are able to respond with the words “of course” in all its definitions. First, as a consolation that what I’ve said makes sense and naturally flows, and second as a natural reaction to the realization that everything I’ve said was something you already knew but simply forgot about knowing or forgot that it was important to know. I believe it’s the li

That’s assuming you’re still reading this, of course.

[thekuroiookami]

Why Uraraka is my favorite BnHA character

Warning: this a sorta meta character analysis, but also mostly a rant. I got a bit emotional.

In part inspired by this meta by @lethesomething.

All good essays begin with a nice, broad philosophical statement that introduces the general argument you're about to push on the reader.

Here's mine: every successful story has behind it, in some form, a character you identify with. That's obvious, you say. Writing 101.

And I agree. But. How many characters do you actually remember identifying with?

I mean really identify with, on a soul-deep, cellular level. Not sympathize with. There's a big difference.

Take Bakugou, for example. Most people aren't going to identify with this guy. He's constantly high on rage, he has a superiority complex, he has next to no social skills, he's an out and out bully sometimes.  This is not most people. Sure, we can sympathize with him, imagine what it might be like to be in his position and then feel for him, but we can't ever be him.

And I don't know about you, but I certainly can't be Midoriya either. I can't constantly break myself for people I don't know. I can't put the masses of humanity above everything else. I might save a child or a kitten one day, and I would certainly not think twice if someone I loved was in danger, but I'm not heroic. Not many people are in the Midoriya sense. He's the main character, but he's the least relatable person in BnHA, I think. Which is fine, because shounen likes to take the underdog and the 1% character and give them a chance to be more.

But the readers belong to the 99%.

Which brings me to the real point of this post: the wonder that is Uraraka Ochako. 

Now, I know she's big in the fandom and plenty of people love her, she gets shipped with everyone but the kitchen sink etc.

She's still an underappreciated character.

I don't think people appreciate how wonderfully, utterly, normal she is. And how she is so much more of a hero for that.

I didn't particularly care for Ochako's character in the beginning. I didn't hate her, but she seemed like a two-bit airheaded love interest. That didn't really change until the sports tournament arc.

Aha, I hear you say. You like her because she's a badass.

She is indeed, but I like Ochako because she has one simple, pure goal: feed the family.

It's not a saintly goal. It's not a selfish goal. It's not even a new one. But it's one I can 1000% identify with. Everyone knows parents - family - are important. BnHA is chock full of examples of all the things that can go wrong when you don't have a true family to back you up. Todoroki, Shigaraki, to some extent Bakugou, and Midoriya as well. And for some reason, shounen (and media in general) tends to treat anyone with a normal, loving family as boring. As if wanting to support your parents - to show them the affection you received from them - is worthless in the face of grander schemes. As if there is a height chart for individual ambitions, and anything below "making history" falls short. As if wanting to love the people who love you isn't an ambition at all.

Uraraka's reason for becoming a hero - I need a salary to support my family - is initially presented as modest, and perhaps not quite as good a reason for becoming a hero. Even Bakugou's less-than-pure motives somehow are more acceptable, because he has a vision that will change the world, and the power to do it with. Ochako apparently has neither. Even she acknowledges this.

Another but.

This modest goal - a humble sparrow among the brilliance of peacocks, really - goes toe to toe with that grandeur and holds its own. BnHA is an ever shifting kaleidoscope of surprises. Uraraka, who wants what the ordinary person wants - to able to eat on a daily basis, and keep the people she loves happy - is not weaker than the powerhouse of intention that is Bakugou. She is more than equal, and he acknowledges it.

On the surface, the Uraraka-Bakugou fight is a way to call out inherent sexism, and a tool for character development. Uraraka is presented as more than a pretty face, and Bakugou wants more than just an easy win. Under that, however, is a clash of ideologies. It's the all-rounder vs the average person. The prodigy vs the student that doesn't do badly, but not great either. It's "I will be the best" vs "I'm putting in my best, and that's enough".

In some ways, not having an exciting goal is seen as the absence of a goal at all. I've had this happen to me several times. As a postgrad, interviewers, teachers, and the wider public like to ask to me what I want to do next. They expect some kind of high-achieving, Instagram tagline kind of answer. Like, "Oh yes, I would like to research this niche topic, write a thesis on it, and then spend my life doing an intellectually stimulating, socially useful profession." What I say is, "Oh, just a job. Any job in a museum." They then blink and nod with mildly disappointed expressions.

This is what happens to Uraraka as well. With the exception of Aizawa (because that man is godly), she is largely written off by the rest of the cast, even Deku, because she has more humble wants. Even though technically, no one has any reason to believe, until the sports tournament, that Deku is more useful than Uraraka. (He's not, really.)

Ordinariness, if it can even be called that, is not a handicap. It is a strength, a deep-rooted one. Uraraka's wants are no less solid than Bakugou's, no less powerful and ultimately, no less world changing. While Bakugou wins the fight, Uraraka doesn't lose the war.

In the long run, it even works out better for her. Ochako gets a mentor that helps her strengthen her existing skills and add new ones. Bakugou...gets some hair gel.

This is not to say that they are one note characters with a singular goal. Uraraka doesn't have to be the absolute best to achieve her ends, but she tries anyway. Because if you do something, you might as well do it well. Her internal crush-turned-rivalry with Deku is a product of this. She doesn't need to be number 1 hero or better than him to support her parents. Hell, she doesn't even need to be in the top ten. But she's here in the hero course, and if she's doing it, she's going to give it her all. Just like Bakugou, and Midoriya.

She's not a complex bundle of issues like Todoroki, and lots of us aren't. But she's not made of just one defining element, and neither are we. She doesn't need a dark backstory, or want to save the world, but she has the potential to become number one. Equally, if she decides that she doesn't want to be a top hero, she won't be any less heroic or badass than the others.

I think so too.

#boku no hero academia #meta? #sorry for the rant #uraraka ochako #katsuki bakugou #midoriya izuku #character analysis #this is me being emotional #at like 2 am #terrible idea

[kismet-at-the-library]

A-Z BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

I’ve seen a few of these lists floating around as per @macrolit‘s idea (you can find their original post here) and obviously I had to spend the past few hours compiling a list of my own. It’s definitely harder than it looks! I was trying to go for some less obvious choices while also paying homage to all the books that have struck a chord with me, but I must admit I had to cheat a little by including a few titles from my TBR pile. In my defense, I have an excellent feeling about all of these – plus, what better motivation to finally get started on reading them? (If only grad school weren’t in the way... but a girl can still dream.)

A - Atonement by Ian McEwan (2001)

A superbly well-written and incredibly touching novel, featuring one of the children characters I’ve related to the most in my reading life. (Yes, I relate to Briony! Not for what she does, of course, but the way she experiences and describes the world is just so so familiar to me.)

B - The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz (2007)

I think I’m still a little heartbroken over this one. It wasn’t always perfect, but it’s stayed with me in a way that other books I’ve read in the past few years haven’t. Plus, I still can’t get over a narrator using footnotes to explain historical details about the Dominican Republic. If you’ve read Díaz before, you’ll definitely fall for Yunior’s voice all over again. And if you haven’t, what are you waiting for?

C - La casa de los espíritus (The House of the Spirits) by Isabel Allende (1982)

I already got one for H (this list was not compiled in alphabetical order) so I’m “cheating” by using the title in the original language (which is also the one I read it in).

D - Du côté de chez Swann (The Way by Swann’s) by Marcel Proust (1913)

...because lately I’ve been mildly (she says) obsessed with Proust and you should be too <3 This is the first volume in the monumental In Search of Lost Time. I went in knowing hardly anything about it other than ~Proust~ and was incredibly surprised by how accessible it was. (If you’re still feeling intimidated, I definitely recommend reading Alain de Botton’s How Proust Can Change Your Life to help break the ice!)

E - Emplumada by Lorna Dee Cervantes (1981)

A poetry collection by the author on whom I wrote my bachelor’s thesis. Lorna Dee Cervantes writes about growing up as a working-class Chicana in the U.S. Southwest. In her poems as in her life, gender, race, and class intersect to make up the experience of a powerful woman and gifted poet who uses incredibly lyrical language.

F - Free Enterprise: A Novel of Mary Ellen Pleasant by Michelle Cliff (1993)

Now, if you want some good, kickass, well-researched alternative historiography featuring Black historical lady figures, then this is the book for you. It’s an account (fictional, yes, but in no way less significant than the ‘authorized’ history) of John Brown’s raid on Harpers Ferry and the women that took part in it (for non-U.S. readers, John Brown was a white abolitionist who tried to start an armed slave revolt). One of those women was Mary Ellen Pleasant, a black woman and entrepreneur who helped fund John Brown’s raid. So, yep, you should definitely get to this one straight away. It’s not the most accessible kind of writing because it moves across time, space, and characters, but if you pay enough attention you’ll have no problem following it until the end, and you’ll be immensely enriched because of it. <3

G - The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford (1915)

This is the saddest story I have ever heard. That’s the first line of the book, by the way. If you like unreliable narrators and morally-dubious characters, you’ll definitely enjoy this one.

H - Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2006)

Adichie is very well known right now because of her booklet We Should All Be Feminists (and with good reason), but this is the one that made me fall in love with her. I don’t even remember what led me to buying this book when I basically knew nothing about her, but I’m so glad I did. I love historical fiction and this novel about the Biafran War just broke my heart in all the right places. One of my best on-a-whim purchases.

I - If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio (2017)

This is one of the latest books I’ve read but more importantly one I’ve been excited to read for at least two years. The stakes were high but wow, did it deliver. It’s been marketed as a mystery/literary thriller but I get the feeling that this kind of description could turn away readers who are not into mysteries but who would have plenty of other reasons to enjoy this novel. Yes, there is a mystery (and the pacing is excellent!) but the story is really about the characters, who are really well-developed. Rio ( @m-l-rio) has the incredible ability to set a scene with great economy of words and make each of them count. And, oh, that ending was absolutely perfect.

(Special mention: If This Is a Man by Primo Levi.)

J - Jacques the Fatalist and his Master by Denis Diderot (1796)

A novel about subverting the reader’s expectations (and I mean that). I read this one some 6 years ago but I still think about it as one of the funniest novels (or non-novels?) I’ve ever read and I can’t wait to read it again one day. It gets very, very meta and I remember lots of (subtle or not-so-subtle) criticism on the art of the novel as practised by Diderot’s contemporaries.

(Special mention: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Because, do I even need to explain? <3)

K - To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (1960)

Well, this one is a bit obvious. Didn’t have a lot of K-titles to choose from... But also, this was one of the first books I read in English, at a time when my love of literature fully-blossomed, and that makes it even more special.

L - The Lonely Londoners by Sam Selvon (1956)

I loved the writing in this novel about the life of West Indian immigrants in London in the 1950s. Such a strong narrative voice. Its only flaw is that it only focuses on the male immigrant experience, but that’s no reason not to love it anyway.

M - Manual of the Warrior of the Light by Paulo Coelho (1997)

The book that made me get into Paulo Coelho quite a few years ago. I’m less into him now, but this is still among my favourites <3 A book one can turn to in times of hardship, always ready to offer much-needed words of wisdom.

N - North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell (1855)

I think @dukeofbookingham once described this as “Pride and Prejudice with a social conscience” and I don’t think I can top that description. If you’re still unsure about this, why not watch the 2004 BBC adaptation with Richard Armitage?

O - Orlando by Virginia Woolf (1928)

Sometimes a bit difficult to get through, but so beautifully written that it makes it totally worth it. Also, such an imaginative read!

P - Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw (1913)

Maaaaan I love this play. My inner linguistic nerd can’t resist Higgins’s endavours to train Eliza to speak like a “proper lady”, and the feminist in me is ever in awe of Eliza’s strength of character. (Don’t trust the ending they gave her in My Fair Lady. Shaw was much smarter than that.)

Q - Regina di fiori e di perle (Queen of Flowers and Pearls) by Gabriella Ghermandi (2011)

Now this is a double cheat because 1) I’m using the translation to make it work, and 2) I took it from my TBR pile, but this is one I’m really excited about, and it’s by an Italo-Ethiopian author, so... <3

R - Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard (1966)

There were plenty of more obvious choices for this one and I’ve actually only ever seen the film adaptation, but I love the idea for this play so much I couldn’t resist. Plus, I’ve been meaning to get my hands on a copy since forever...

S - Sillabari (Abecedary) by Goffredo Parise (1972-1982)

Going again by the title in the original language. Honestly, I keep trying to recommend this wonderful book to my English-speaking friends but it’s so frustrating because only the first part of this (...novel? collection?) has been translated into English. “Collection” doesn’t seem like the right word because there is such a strong thematic unity to this book, but it is certainly made up of vignettes, each of which is meant to describe a human feeling, something that is achieved with great economy of words and often in unexpected and unpredictable ways. Incidentally, this is a particularly fitting title for this list because the vignettes are organized in alphabetical order (Abecedary, anyone?) –the first one is “Amore”, love. If you can read Italian, I cannot recommend this enough!

(Special mention: Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches by Audre Lorde.)

T - The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien (1954)

This doesn’t look like cheating but it feels like cheating. :P There were plenty of other titles to choose from but none that was giving me as strong a feeling. Plus, it feels good to pay homage to one of the books that started it all for me <3 (and I actually first discovered Tumblr by looking for LOTR-related content, so it's even more appropriate.)

U - Chasing Utopia: A Hybrid by Nikki Giovanni (2013)

I was trying to go for something that wasn’t Ulysses (which I haven’t read yet, by the way). Now, I haven’t read this whole collection, but I remember reading some of Nikki Giovanni’s poetry in one of my American literature classes and I definitely liked her work. Plus, I love that title! I had kind of forgotten about this one, so now might be the right time to go and actually check it out from the library.

V - Il visconte dimezzato (The Cloven Viscount) by Italo Calvino (1951)

Wow, was it difficult to find a worthy V-title! (Or one that is not in my TBR pile.) I haven’t read the books in this unconventional ‘trilogy’ in so long, but I still remember liking them a lot (although my favourite was always The Nonexistent Knight).

W - Waiting in the Twilight by Joan Riley (1987)

This is a more obscure title and probably not as easy to get a hold of (AbeBooks would be your best option) but this immigrant story about a Jamaican woman and her dream of building a better life for herself told from the perspective of her disenchanted old self is incredibly powerful and just... my heart breaks for Adella.

X/Y - I got nothing. :(

Z - Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde (1982)

Another one that I haven’t read (yet), but this is Audre Lorde, so. <3

#and now on with the tags #recommendations #my reads #Ian McEwan #Junot Díaz #Isabel Allende #Marcel Proust #Lorna Dee Cervantes #Michelle Cliff #Ford Madox Ford #Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie #M.L. Rio #Denis Diderot #Harper Lee #Sam Selvon #Paulo Coelho #Elizabeth Gaskell #Virginia Woolf #George Bernard Shaw #Gabriella Ghermandi #Tom Stoppard #Goffredo Parise #J.R.R. Tolkien #Nikki Giovanni #Italo Calvino #Joan Riley #Audre Lorde #books #reading #literature

[bullsandbourbon]

Little Victories: The Power of Trading Small

My love for the market began when I was quite young, and can be credited to my Grandad, who was -- and still is -- one of my heroes.  Ironically, he was a conservative man when it came to his finances, but he was gifted in handling money and was always able to provide a comfortable life for his family.  He helped me get the first shares of stock I ever owned, which were in General Electric.  This was long before the sad state in which the company now finds itself.  It was a company people trusted, one they believed in.  I still own those few shares, and I will never part with them.  They’re not worth anything, but that’s not really the point.

Like many, I come from pretty humble beginnings.  We certainly weren’t dirt poor, but my mom worked several jobs when I was growing up to make sure we had everything we needed.  She is, without question, the most humble, noble, & caring woman God ever created.  And you guys will appreciate that she really roots for us as traders, too.  Between my Grandad’s fiscally conservative way and my mother’s relentless efforts to take care of us, I understand the value of a solid work ethic.  And, I appreciate how hard it is to dream of trading while trying to accept the reality of limited capital.

If you have read my other work or followed me for a while, you know that I took my first steps on this journey less than one year ago.  I am far from an expert; I am a newer trader just like many of you, cutting my teeth and trying to grind it out the best I can.  Because that’s who I am, I can relate to almost all of the problems other newer traders face, including a limited account size.  And I am telling you, it can be done.

I also have experience with the emotional turmoil many face in this profession, from a floundering self-confidence to the fear of having to let my dream die.  It is incredibly difficult to struggle with those feelings, and I struggle with them often.

The single most important piece of advice I can offer you is this: Learn to trade.  Once you develop skill and experience in the setups you are comfortable with, you can gradually increase your position size.  But every great trader I have ever spoken with would tell all of us that the key word in that sentence is “gradually”.  Focus on learning.  Full stop.

Developing skill, experience, and self-awareness is not dependent upon the size of your account.  And I am going to prove it to you.  What follows are three examples of trades I’ve made in the past week or so, and I hope it will bring this story together.  Each one cost me less than $ 50.00 to enter.  And yes, I will be the first to admit the “real dollar” profits can be -- and I’m sure by most, will be -- considered laughable.  But, take a moment to consider them in percentage terms (i.e., return on investment).  And because these trades were small, I had absolutely no fears or worries about losing the money I put on the line.  Instead, I was able to focus solely on our craft and really pay attention to the trade and how the setup unfolded, without regard for P&L.  To me, that is the power of trading small.  Again, it is not about the capital; it’s about taking the time and making the effort to learn to trade.

General Electric ($GE)

My Grandad was born in February.  In his honor, I decided to take a trade on GE on their earnings, a trade certainly not without its risks.  There were many factors I needed to consider, including the seemingly endless bad news that may or may not have already been priced in, the run-up that took place since Christmas, and the fact that GE is a heavily-traded stock with a limited intraday range.  I took a look at the chart and the options chain, and made the call.  On 30 January 2019, I purchased four contracts for just $ 40 including commissions.  My mildly bullish thesis was: The company had taken so many hits, even “less bad” news may serve as a positive catalyst.  And, I was very comfortable with a sub-50 dollar risk on the trade.  If I was wrong, I’d eat the forty dollars or simply stop out at a level I determined was reasonable -- a recent daily low, for example.

To my delight, the reporting was better than many expected.  And, CEO Larry Culp seemed far more realistic about the position the company was in and what it would take to get back on track.  I learned early in life -- and with regular reminders from a good friend of mine named Scott -- not to be greedy.  So, I sold half of my position the next morning, which ensured nothing about the trade could ever turn it into a loss.  I sold the other half a few days later when it looked like a temporary top was in.  I’m nothing if not a piker.

So, let’s do the math.

Entry

4 contracts purchased @ $ 9.00 per contract = $ 36.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 4 contracts = $ 4.00

Total Cost of Entry: $ 40.00

Exit

2 contracts sold at $ 28.00 per contract = $ 56.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 2 contracts = $ 2.00

Proceeds from sale of first ½ position = $ 54.00

2 contracts sold at $ 20.00 per contract = $ 40.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 2 contracts = $ 2.00

Proceeds from sale of second ½ position = $ 38.00

Total Net Proceeds = $ 92.00

Profit

$ 92.00 Net Proceeds - $ 40.00 Cost of Entry = $ 52.00 Net Profit

$ 52.00 Net Profit / $ 40.00 Cost of Entry = 130 % Return on Investment (ROI)

Square ($SQ)

As you probably know, Square is also a heavily traded stock, but far more volatile and with a significant range.  Volatility is a good thing, at least for intraday or very short-term swing trading.  The thesis here was that SQ had broken above its 200-day moving average, it was holding & consolidating, and it hadn’t broken the previous day’s low.  The market had been in a relatively good mood, so I made a decision to go long.

There is no way to know for certain when or at what level a stock is going to peak.  Anyone who says otherwise either has insider information or is selling something.  Square ripped hard and fast that Tuesday morning, and I needed to balance giving it room to run with locking in the significant profit I’d made on the trade.  So, in this case, I placed a trailing stop at a level I was comfortable with.  

I often try to ballpark the amount of the trailing stop on the fly based on the Delta of the option and how much room I need to give the underlying to pull back (or run up if I’m in a short position).  So, for example, if I know I’m at a $ 0.50 Delta and the stock likely needs about a dollar of wiggle room, I can set my trailing stop at 50 cents.  In this case, I was much tighter with it.  The rip was significant, and I simply didn’t trust it to hold.  Good thing, because it didn’t.  A bird in the hand, as they say.

Entry

1 contract purchased @ $ 36.00 per contract = $ 36.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 1 contract = $ 1.00

Total Cost of Entry: $ 37.00

Exit

1 contract sold at $ 104.00 per contract = $ 104.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 1 contract = $ 1.00

Total Net Proceeds = $ 103.00

Profit

$ 103.00 Net Proceeds - $ 37.00 Cost of Entry = $ 66.00 Net Profit

$ 66.00 Net Profit / $ 37.00 Cost of Entry = 178 % ROI

Apple ($AAPL)

Apple has been a bumpy ride.  There is no doubt about that.  Between the company’s decision to no longer provide unit sales numbers in its earnings reports and the media’s constant rambling and schizophrenia about the company, it was easy to second-guess any trading decision.

This trade was a simple intraday decision based on a pull back to the low of day (LOD).  In other words, there was a very clearly defined risk level, which I prefer.  The strike price I selected was based on the Delta of the option and what I was willing to risk on the trade.  I often choose strike prices based on an underlying’s average range (ATR) and the Delta.  For example, if I need to give a stock 3 points of flexibility based on the setup, but I only want to risk 100 dollars on the trade, I won’t buy an option with a Delta above ~ 33 cents.  (I know I’m not taking Gamma into account, but sometimes I have to do the math in my head in seconds, and I’m honestly not that smart.)

Entry

5 contracts purchased @ $ 9.00 per contract = $ 45.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 5 contracts = $ 5.00

Total Cost of Entry: $ 50.00

Exit

2 contracts sold at $ 25.00 per contract = $ 50.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 2 contracts = $ 2.00

Proceeds from the first sale = $ 48.00

At this point, I was basically already at break even on the trade, but still had three contracts remaining.

1 contract sold at $ 33.00 per contract = $ 33.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract x 1 contract = $ 1.00

Proceeds from the second sale = $ 32.00

1 contract sold at $ 28.00 = $ 28.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract = $ 1.00

Proceeds from the third sale = $ 27.00

1 contract sold at $ 19.00 = $ 19.00

Commission of $ 1.00 per contract = $ 1.00

Proceeds from the fourth sale = $ 18.00

Total Net Proceeds = $ 125.00

Profit

$ 125.00 Net Proceeds - $ 50.00 Cost of Entry = $ 75.00 Net Profit

$ 75.00 Net Profit / $ 50.00 Cost of Entry = 150 % ROI

So, in this example, in three trades, you would have made $ 193.00 in profit while only ever putting $ 127.00 (including commissions) of your hard-earned capital on the line.  This is an approximately 150% return, and you traded small and kept your sanity while learning and experimenting.

The opportunity to size up will always be there.  Unless the market truly doesn’t have the shares or the options available, when your time comes, it isn’t going to tell you no.  Instead, I hope you will focus on learning the craft, and on amassing those little victories.

[ineverhadmyinternetphase]

In My Way - Chapter 20

AO3 link, First Chapter

Genre: Chaptered. Actor!Dan AU, fluff, bit of angst, slow burn, getting together (eventually)

Summary: Fiction. Daniel Howell is 21 and Britain’s newest star. He’s just been cast in the much-anticipated film adaption of Last Man Standing, the popular teen fantasy novel with a huge fanbase hanging off his every tweet. In other words, Dan has made it big.

Phil Lester couldn’t care less. He’s a stressed out PHD student working part time at a bookshop while he struggles to get into post-production. He’s 26 and still lives in a tiny flat on the fifth floor of a building with a lift more broken than it is in use. He loves books, but he thinks big film adaptions screw with the plot too much.

Needless to say, Phil is less than impressed when Last Man Standing is getting filmed in his hometown. And he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with obnoxious, arrogant, so irritatingly perfect leading actor   Daniel Howell.

Warnings: Swearing, Ace!Phil, Bi!Dan, slight a- and bi-phobia, discussions of sexuality

Word Count: 3000-5000 per chapter (ish)

A/N: Aaaaand I’m finally back. I’m just going to go ahead and say updates will forever be slow for this fic :P BUT it’s only 25 chapters, so we’re getting there! Just five to go now (well, four and a sort of epilogue thing). Thanks to everyone sticking with this story/commenting/sending me messages about it, that means an awful lot <3

Also massive thanks once again to @mecaka for betaing this despite drowning in her own schoolwork!! You are the best <33

---

Dan looked good.

Phil had to admit it, begrudgingly. He was curled up on his bed with his laptop open under the covers, buried deep in his own blanket fort, watching the interview Dan had given that morning to promote the premiere of Last Man Standing. As he’d promised, the media attention was definitely growing leading up to the premiere, which was apparently going to be a big sparkly event attended by all the most prominent members of the film industry. There was even Oscar talk.

Ordinarily, Phil would have been grumbling about a big film company profiting from one of his favourite books, but, well. That would be slightly hypocritical, seeing as he’d watched most of it being filmed, and it looked good.

Plus, they had Dan, so. It was bound to be a success.

Dan in the interview looked smooth and comfortable, exactly in his element. Gone were all of the awkward mannerisms that Phil knew he had, aside from the way his fists were clenched over the skinny jeans he was wearing (black, of course). Dan also had his public voice on, sounding smooth and suave and nothing like the stuttering and rambling rants he went on in Phil’s presence.

Phil was slightly proud of that. That Dan was solely his.

Not three minutes into the interview, Phil’s phone buzzed with a series of texts.

Dan: are you watching it

Dan: you’re watching it aren’t you

Dan: tell the truth do I look like an idiot

Dan: hated the seat they put me in it felt like a thousand bees stinging my butt

Dan: as you would say

Dan: Phil this is killing me are you watching

Phil rolled his eyes, but it was hard to deny the affectionate little flip his stomach did. The Dan currently blowing up his phone notifications also didn’t sound much like the Dan in the interview, who was cool and joking and just the right side of confident. Phil struggled to believe he’d ever thought of Dan as arrogant. Now he saw it for what it was – nerves making him talk a lot, and a deep-set fear that he really wasn’t good enough for the life he’d found himself in.

Phil planned to take every opportunity to reassure Dan that he was perfect exactly as he was. Starting with a text back.

Phil: Yes I’m watching it cool your beans

Dan: Well am I doing alright have I fucked up yet

Phil: As if. You’re the epitome of professional. Plus you look cute

There was a beat before the next reply, which had Phil gnawing nervously on his lower lip. Ridiculously.

Dan: You have to say that (but thanks <3)

Dan: Call me after?

Phil grinned at that, texting back immediately of course. Calls would do, they were the best thing they had right now, and Phil had to admit it was a little ridiculous, the amount of time he spent on the phone to Dan. Whenever he wasn’t working at the bookshop or working on his thesis then he was on the phone. He hadn’t called his mum all week, but he’d called Dan at least twice every day.

Did he have a problem? Was this level of co-dependency normal in a healthy relationship? Phil honestly had no clue, what with having no scale or measurement or any previous experience to relate it to, but it didn’t feel bad. Quite the opposite. What felt bad was not talking to Dan, when the gaping hole he’d carved for himself in Phil’s life and then unceremoniously abandoned started to itch and ache and fray at the edges.

Phil turned back to the interview, but it wasn’t long before he found his attention drifting. He got caught up in the crinkles that were just a shadow at the corners of Dan’s eyes, the hint of his dimple appearing on his cheek, the way his hair was ever so slightly wavy from the heat of the lights. These were all things Phil knew well, had studied in their private moments, but – it was different, seeing them up on a screen like this.

Sometimes, because Phil hated himself, he’d search Dan on google images. The pictures that showed up were always heavily choreographed, shot in some fancy studio or other, or screenshots from his films. Phil’s favourites were still the screenshots from Reckless, the film he’d loved for longer than he’d known Dan, and that was weird to think about, to look back on a time where he’d loved one of Dan’s characters but not known Dan himself. It made something funny twist inside Phil, something almost like nostalgia. He longed for Dan in every way he knew.

Which was why, as soon as the interview was over, Phil was pulling up a skype tab and calling Dan.

Predictably, Dan answered straight away, still in his rumpled pyjamas with his hair a mess. “It was awful, wasn’t it, don’t sugar coat it,” he said before the screen had even loaded properly.

“It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, how dare you ever appear on television,” Phil deadpanned.

“Shut up.” Dan glared at him, flopping over on his bed and dragging the laptop in closer. “Ugh, I’m the worst.”

“You are,” Phil agreed mildly.

“The lines were all wrong, they didn’t ask the questions in the order they told me, and I swear the interviewer wouldn’t stop looking at my left cheek – like just my left, why was she so obsessed? – and—”

“Your dimple is there,” Phil stated, as if it was obvious.

Dan shot him a slightly startled look.

“What?” Phil answered defensively. “It’s a nice dimple.”

“Glad to hear you approve.” Dan was smiling again, which was good, though he still looked a little bit distressed. “It was terrible.”

“You were perfect, as ever,” Phil assured him gently. “It’s as if you’ve been doing this for years.”

“You know I have,” Dan grumbled, but he looked mildly placated. He gave Phil a soft smile, one that just hinted at the creases at the corners of his eyes. “Missed you.”

“Me too.” Phil dragged his laptop further under the blanket fort with him, missing having something to wrap his arms around. He felt kind of hollow. “This whole being apart thing isn’t going too well.”

“For me neither,” Dan agreed. He looked a little shy through the grainy, pixelated screen, and the picture wasn’t clear but Phil thought he was maybe a little pink. “It’s almost the weekend, though.”

“Does that mean you get a breather from all the interviews?” Phil asked.

Dan nodded. His eyes darted up to meet Phil’s, and then away again, and he was squirming against the bedsheets. “I could. Um. I have some free time, so like… I could come up and visit.”

Phil’s eyes widened. “Don’t you have to be in London?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be.” Dan made a face, hastening to add, “But, like, I could get out of it for a weekend. There’s this thing where I’m supposed to be picking out a suit, and a few invites but I ignore them all anyway, and—”

Phil tuned out for a moment. Dan could be back here, actual and tangible and real, a person with a presence and a warmth and a scent, and Phil could have that. Phil could have him back. For however short it might be, Phil could have him back.

“But you aren’t supposed to leave London,” Phil interrupted Dan’s rambling.

Dan looked a little bit nervous. “Uh, yeah, but like I said, I could get out of it—”

“What if I came down to you?” The words were out before Phil could catch them.

Dan blinked, lips twitching as he stared straight through the camera. “Like, you’d visit here?”

“I mean, I could.” Phil hesitated, tracing every flicker of emotion across Dan’s face, worried he’d missed something or accidentally put his foot in it, or something. “I mean, my thesis is due by the end of the week so I’d have to leave Friday evening at the earliest, but—”

“But you’d come down to London?” Dan was staring at him with something like awe through the screen. It was a look Phil was having to become accustomed to, but sometimes it was a little hard to be looked at like he was the most amazing thing in the universe. Dan just thought so much of him, when Phil really didn’t think he was that special at all.

It was Phil’s turn to smile a little shyly at the camera. “Yeah. I’d come down to London.”

Dan’s entire face lit up.

“I mean, if I was welcome,” Phil hastily added, “And assuming everything goes well with my thesis, and you wouldn’t mind, and Tyler wouldn’t mind, then yes. I could stay the weekend.”

“Of fucking course you’d be welcome,” Dan answered, his voice light. “Tyler’s actually been bugging me about meeting you properly for weeks.”

“He’s met me on skype,” Phil said defensively. There was a little knot of worry balling up in his stomach. He’d never really met anyone from Dan’s world – not properly, aside from Louise perhaps. But Tyler was an old friend of Dan’s, someone important to him, and he actually scared Phil a little bit. Tyler was just very… exuberant.

“Yeah, but he says it isn’t the same.” Dan rolled a bit on his bed, curls flopping into his eyes as he peeked up at Phil. “I have to say, after this I’m inclined to agree with him. Not having you here isn’t fun.”

“I know,” Phil agreed. He cuddled up a bit smaller in his blanket fort. “But this weekend?”

“This weekend.” Dan’s face lit up again, all bright smiles and twinkling eyes and the crease of his dimple appearing again. “Five days. You’ll come down Friday evening?”

“Booking a train right now,” Phil agreed, and clicked straight over to the site to do so.

--

Why was finishing a thesis so hard? Phil had made a big mistake. Why had he stayed in education so long? Why hadn’t he gone out and got a proper job like PJ and the rest of their uni acquaintances? Literally no one else had stayed on to do a PhD apart from Matt, and he’d randomly decided to become an accountant four months in because it was too much hard work. Phil had made an error of judgement.

Well, at least, he thought so when he was busily reading through his entire thesis for the seventh time, furiously editing as he went. It had to be perfect. He was sending it off to be bound today, and it had to be quadruple checked for any errors and all his reasoning had to be perfectly outlined. His viva would happen afterwards, after all, and then he’d be sat down in a tiny room with two experts who were going to question him intensely on every single aspect of his thesis. And if he didn’t pass that, then he wouldn’t be graduating.

So his thesis was important.

Dan had already phoned him that morning, but Phil had actually hung up because he was too stressed to listen to Dan tell him about calming breathing techniques and ways to find inner peace when he was drowning in rows and rows of paper.

Phil’s phone buzzed just as he was figuring out the final bits of formatting, and he glanced down without really caring to see, to his surprise, a twitter notification from Dan.

@danisnotonfire: guys pls send @amazingphil some love his final day working on his thesis is here

Something in Phil’s chest tugged.

He hadn’t been expecting something like that. Today of all days, when he was stressed and cranky and he knew he’d been short with Dan on the phone earlier, but rather than getting upset and mad, Dan had instead done this. It was clingy and sweet, and Phil had a feeling that Dan just wanted to get attention from him somehow. But Phil was rather flattered by that thought. Especially when it resulted in this kind of sweetness.

Suddenly, Phil missed Dan even more than usual. He was glad he’d booked those train tickets earlier – just one more day and he’d be back in Dan’s space.

Slowly, he abandoned his laptop and instead scooped up his phone, glancing down to see a stream of replies already flooding in. Dan and he had calmed down a bit on twitter recently, tending towards texting and skyping each other instead of publicly announcing things (plus they weren’t in the same city anymore, which meant spontaneous photos had had to stop). But the same old people were back, replying once more to Dan’s tweet and tagging Phil in every response.

@dansfans123: @amazingphil good luck omg that is so exciting

@phantrash4ever: look at @danisnotonfire being a supportive bf gl @amazingphil

@dangirl98: @danisnotonfire @amazingphil thanks for brightening up my twitter again missed you guys

There was a dusting of something warm fluttering in Phil’s chest from all these messages. People on the internet who he didn’t even know were wishing him well – people who’d been following him for a while, sure, but no one he knew personally. He’d always thought they were just following him for his sneaky creepshot photos of Dan, anyway – he’d never expected to get this kind of support from them.

It was a surprise, but a welcome one.

With a little smile, Phil reached for his phone and sent a quick text to Dan before he went back to battling with his thesis.

Phil: thank you <3

Dan: no problem now go back to work

Phil did so, but it was with a smile on his face.

---

His thesis was over.

Phil was sweating when he finally sent the email with the finalised copy to the people who would bind it for him. He felt like he’d just run a marathon. Well, more like ten marathons back to back whilst being chased by a rabid baboon, but the fact still remained that he’d made it. His thesis was done. The biggest part of his PhD was finished, actually finished, and he thought he’d maybe even be proud of it after a few hours’ sleep and a shedload of coffee.

As it was, he sat grinning at his sent emails for probably too long before he finally set about the rest of his day.

Clearing away the giant piles of books was rather like saying goodbye to old friends. At least he could finally give Lilith back a lot of the books she’d lent him over the past four years, and maybe even actually get back to doing a few shifts at the store rather than spending his entire life buried in his documents. He’d missed the shop. Everything always felt peaceful there (never mind that it also contained some rather fond memories of Dan).

Speaking of Dan, Phil was going to have to start packing. He was heading off to London that evening, after all, a thought which had a tight little knot of nerves and excitement balling up inside his stomach. He was so excited to see Dan again, there was no denying that, but there was also the tiniest hint of fear tied in with everything else.

Well, maybe not tiniest – more like a growling monster threatening to grow bigger with every moment that Phil spent thinking about this weekend. Being with Dan again would be wonderful, yes, but there was everything else that came with it. Being in a big city, one Phil had only visited a few times before, away from his family and friends and everyone who knew him and made him feel safe. Aside from Dan, of course, who for some reason was the only person who Phil would move across the country for, because he made him feel safe.

Temporarily. There was no guarantee this was going to last, but… Phil would be lying if he wasn’t thinking about the future a lot while he set about throwing things into his suitcase.

Dan was a haphazard packer, but Phil was anything but. It was a difference he’d noted when Dan was first preparing to move back to London, once the film set up here had finished. For weeks afterwards, Phil’s flat had played home to a constant stream of Dan’s possessions that had taken up every corner of his flat, watching with despair as Dan threw them casually into his many cases. Dan had simply laughed at him, calling him overly worried, until Phil ended up walking away with a despairing shake of his head, letting Dan create whatever mess he desired within Phil’s life.

When Phil packed, it was ordered. He had everything folded up into neat little piles, and then proceeded to worry that he didn’t have everything he needed, or that he’d overpacked for just a weekend. But it was a weekend with Dan. It had to be perfect.

Phil was just putting in his favourite Stephen King book for the fifth time when his phone rang. The caller ID said Dan with one of the derpiest pictures Phil had taken during their Twitter creepshot war, so Phil was already smiling as soon as he hit ‘answer’.

“Did you hand it in?” Dan asked immediately, as soon as the ringing tone stopped.

Phil let out a loud sigh. “Do you have so little faith in me?”

“I don’t know, with the panic you were in earlier I had no idea,” Dan defended himself.

Phil couldn’t even be mad. He was already smiling just from hearing Dan’s voice, and he caught himself pressing his phone tighter to his ear, as if that would somehow make Dan be closer. “Yes, I handed it in.”

“I knew you could do it.” Dan sounded smug. “And you were sooo stressed about it.”

“I’m the one who’s entire life is dependent on this going well,” Phil grumbled. “I think I can be allowed to stress.”

“Of course, you’re absolutely right, stress is of course allowed.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Would I do that?” Dan chuckled. “Have you packed?”

“Staring at my suitcase right now,” Phil promised, settling on sliding the Stephen King book back into its bookshelf. He wouldn’t need it in London when there was a Dan to keep him occupied.

Dan made an odd sort of squealing noise down the line.

Phil grinned. “Same.”

“I’m going to be waiting on the platform when your train gets in,” Dan promised, and there was so much eagerness in his tone that it made Phil’s chest tug.

Every the practical one, though, Phil answered gruffly, “Isn’t that impossible? You won’t have a ticket, the barriers—”

“Do you think barriers can stop Daniel Howell,” Dan scoffed. “Speaking of which, we should talk about what might happen.”

Phil arched a brow. “That sounds serious.”

“It is, kind of.”

Phil stepped away from the suitcase in favour of settling down on his sofa cushions, feeling the sofa groan as it took his weight. Everything in this flat was old – he’d been here almost four years, it was tired and full of nothing but his student life. Hardly a home, really.

Home was the other person on the phone.

“I’m just aware that there may be… people on the platform who might… recognise us.” Dan sounded sheepish, a little nervous even, but his words were a bit of a relief to Phil. Phil had been imagining all sorts of bad scenarios from the moment Dan said it was serious – like, hey Phil, actually I don’t want you to come to London at all, see you never again!

But that didn’t seem to be the case. Dan would probably laugh at him if Phil admitted to even thinking that in the first place.

“Oh.” Phil sighed, but tried to keep the levels of relief in his voice fairly normal. “Well. Ok then.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Dan was torn between sounding amused and annoyed.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Phil scratched at his hair. “I mean, I’m kind of used to the idea that being around actual Dan Howell means people are going to stare.”

“But are you ok with that?” Dan sounded concerned, more than Phil had been expecting. “I mean – we haven’t properly talked about it.”

“We can talk about it tonight, if you like.”

“That’s a bit late.” Nerves were evident in Dan’s tone. “I mean, like, we’ll have already been seen out in public, probably. But I really want to meet you at the station.”

Phil deliberated over that for a while, considering what Dan was really getting at. A part of Phil wanted to tease Dan for thinking he was important enough to be spotted even on a quick trip out to a train station, but the other part of Phil knew that Dan was probably right – hardly a day passed when Dan wasn’t getting photographed with some fan on Twitter.

Phil wasn’t jealous. Not really.

He also wanted Dan to meet him at the station.

“We can talk about it tonight,” Phil decided. “And you can meet me at the station. Nothing too bad can happen between the station and your place, right?”

“...Right,” Dan agreed after a moment, if a little hesitantly. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Phil said, a lot more decisively than he felt.

---

The closer the train got to London, the more Phil’s nerves increased, until he felt rather like there was some kind of giant fluff monster trying to fight its way out of his stomach. Leaning his head against the cool window helped to settle his nausea some, but Phil was still feeling distinctly less than well as the train started to slow on its approach into the station.

Dan would be waiting there. On the platform, if he had indeed managed to wangle his way past the security barriers without a ticket (Phil wouldn’t put it past him, that face of his was annoyingly charming). Either way, very shortly Phil would be back in Dan’s space, and he was – honestly, he was terrified.

It had never felt this difficult in Manchester. There, Phil was at home, he’d never been the one to move into Dan’s world. No, Dan had always been the one visiting Phil, invading his spaces with his breezy charm and hasty personality, eyes dark and usually glittering with some annoying plot or other. Phil had got used to it, having Dan around, and not having him around left this awful ache that just kind of congealed inside Phil’s chest.

But this – travelling to Dan’s space, preparing to see him again – this was also just terrifying. Phil knew, logically, that he was being irrational – this was still just Dan, after all, his Dan – but that didn’t stop him from rolling around in nerves. Dan was Daniel Howell, so far out of his league it was basically a joke. Surely in these few weeks apart, Dan would have realised that he could have so much more than Phil could give.

He told you you’re enough, Phil reminded himself. He just wished that was easier to believe.

The train pulled to a halt. Phil got shakily to his feet (his knees were actually trembling, what was this), scooped up his rucksack, and joined the throng of people battling their way off the train and onto the platform. He felt awkwardly tall, as ever, and wished for Dan to be there to at least match his ridiculous height.

It took what felt like ages to get off the train, with all the commuters going to London, and the platform was crowded when Phil finally stepped down onto the concrete. The noise of the crowds sounded like a faded buzz to Phil, though, who was already scanning the crowd for another awkwardly tall, fringe-bearing human who would probably be lurking in a dark corner somewhere.

Sure enough, one glance around the station revealed a black-clad figure sequestered away under the stairs, near the lift. Phil was breaking into a smile before he realised. Dan looked just the same as ever – his Dan, not the Dan that appeared in TV interviews. No, this Dan had his head down and his fringe falling into his eyes, his shoulders bent in posture almost as bad as Phil’s own, hiding away from the crowds other than quick darting looks he sent towards the train.

One on such quick darting look, he caught sight of Phil. Phil’s smile widened instantly, and he lifted one hand in an awkward half-wave. It was different, seeing Dan here, in public when they were deliberately meeting. It made Phil almost… shy.

Dan, it seemed, had no such qualms. The minute he caught sight of Phil, he was striding across the platform with purpose in his steps, but a smile just gracing the corner of his lips. Phil reached for him automatically as soon as he was close enough, but their conversation earlier was enough to make him hesitate – what if there was someone watching? So in the end, Phil ended up just kind of tugging on the edges of Dan’s sleeves in lieu of actually holding his hand.

Dan grinned and tugged on Phil’s sleeve in return. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Phil was a bit breathless. “Wasn’t sure you’d charm your way onto here.”

“Never doubt my charms,” Dan admonished him, giving another tug on Phil’s sleeve. He was smirking, that stupid expression that made him look arrogant, but Phil could read the slight nerves dancing behind his eyes.

Phil could understand that.

“You’re ridiculous,” Phil ended up telling him. “And a pain, and I thought I’d never see you again.” He tugged once more at Dan’s sleeve, and then took one more step forward, right into Dan’s space. They weren’t touching, but Phil could finally breathe him in again, cement the fact that this was somehow real.

Dan was smiling, holding back a grin if the tightness to the edges of his mouth was anything to go by. He ducked his head a bit, nudging in closer, and murmured, “Of course you’d see me again, you spork.”

“I don’t know,” Phil confessed quietly. “Figured you’d have found someone more your level down here in the big city.”

“Better than you northerners,” Dan agreed, but he tightened his grip on Phil’s sleeve anyway. “Come on. I want to take you home.”

Phil could feel the tightness in his chest already receding just at those words. That fluff monster of nerves that had been trying to fight its way out of his stomach all day finally disintegrated, slowly, leaving him relaxed and feeling secure again.

So, with another deep breath, Phil reached out and took Dan’s hand in his own.

He felt Dan startle a bit, saw the way Dan turned his head with a questioning glance to Phil, but Phil just nodded his head firmly. “Home. Take me there.”

A beat of silence followed, but then Dan’s face relaxed into his open, easy, crinkly-eyed smile – Phil’s favourite. “Alright. Home.”

He kept his hand in Phil’s as he led him out of the station.

---

In all the nerves about getting to London and seeing Dan again, Phil had kind of… forgotten that Dan had a flatmate.

Tyler Oakley was larger than life, bouncing around the room like an excited weasel and leaving a whirlwind of order in his wake. The kitchen was so clean it almost sparkled, the sofa cushions were plumped and soft and arranged with aesthetic looking cushions, and the whole place smelled like flowers and lemon.

Phil blinked upon walking in, and then turned straight to Dan. “There is no way this is your doing.”

Dan looked vaguely affronted, which honestly just made the whole thing better.

Tyler shook Phil’s hand enthusiastically upon meeting him, looked him up and down in a way that made Phil shift a bit uncomfortably, and then turned to Dan with an approving nod. “I give you leave to like him.”

“Bit late for that,” Dan answered wryly, giving Phil’s hand in his a squeeze. “But thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Phil added stupidly, and then wanted to burst into embarrassed flames.

Tyler, thankfully, just smirked at him with that odd thin-lipped smile, eyes twinkling. “And if you can put up with Dan for multiple hours when he’s working on set, then I know you’re already a saint, so.”

“I am not that bad,” Dan huffed.

“No?” Tyler turned to Phil. “Did he do that thing to you where he fell asleep in random inconvenient spaces?”

Phil arched a brow. “Yes, actually. In my bookshop.”

Tyler sent Dan a triumphant look. “And get you out walking at random hours so he wouldn’t have to be lonely?”

“I got many 5am calls,” Phil agreed with a heavy sigh.

“I hate you both,” Dan announced. “Officially.”

“Ooh, we’re terrified.” Tyler winked at Phil, and then proceeded to flick the hob on.

Tyler was a good cook, to add to his many talents, and he didn’t mind wittering on about nothing important while Dan and Phil curled up together on the sofa. Phil listened occasionally, feeling a bit bad about ignoring someone he’d only just met, but it was hard to focus on Tyler’s stories about stage make-up when he had Dan crawling rather determinedly into his lap.

“Do you mind,” Phil grumbled, but Dan just hushed him and got settled a bit more comfortably.

“There,” Dan said, with great satisfaction, and laid his head on Phil’s lap.

Phil pretended to grumble for a moment more, but he couldn’t keep it up for long when Dan was wriggling about and warm and here. They were in the same space again, and Dan had wasted absolutely no time crawling back into Phil’s space, attaching them together firmly and simultaneously quieting all of Phil’s fears that this wouldn’t last, that he wouldn’t be enough.

It didn’t take long for Phil’s fingers to find their way into Dan’s hair, which only made Dan melt more against him. When Tyler next turned around, it was to find the two of them cuddled up close, hands held, Dan’s head in Phil’s lap, Phil leaning down over him with the softest little smile on his face.

Tyler smiled at both of them, and went back to cooking dinner.

Having Dan back in his space was the best thing Phil had ever felt. He’d known he’d missed Dan, but it hadn’t quite felt as real or visceral as this before. When he had Dan’s hair under his fingers, Dan’s breath warm against his wrist, the warm weight of Dan’s torso sprawled across his lap, it was hard to remember what the empty space without him there had felt like. The unsettling ache that had burned its hole into Phil’s chest was placated somewhat when he had Dan so close.

Even when they ate, Dan made sure to keep touching Phil whenever was possible – a brush of the shoulder, a quick grip to his finger between courses (because Tyler was ridiculous and had cooked a full four courses, despite Dan insisting it wasn’t necessary, Tyler said he wanted a proper greeting for Dan’s Boyfriend). Phil appreciated it, even if the way Tyler’s gaze lingered on the two of them occasionally made him uncomfortable.

Phil tried to put it to the back of his mind. It was easier to do that than he’d imagined, what with Dan still insisting on lying on him at every possible opportunity.

The meal went well, and Tyler was surprisingly easy to get along with. At first, Phil found his brash, quick nature a bit difficult to get along with, but Dan and Tyler had a sort of easy banter that it was easy to listen to, so Phil fit himself in around that (and tried not to get jealous of how easily Tyler was able to tease Dan. Phil wanted to do that, too).

They cleared up together, but then Dan tugged at Phil’s hand rather determinedly and turned to Tyler, saying rather firmly, “We’re going to my room now.”

Tyler arched a brow at the both of them. “Will I need earplugs?”

Phil sputtered, but Dan spoke over him smoothly enough. “Don’t be a shithead.”

Tyler shook his head, backing up a bit to wave them on through. Phil did everything he could not to meet his eyes. He was sure his cheeks had gone a disgusting red colour, but Dan was still tugging on his hand, so he felt slightly more sheltered than before. Besides, he was quite looking forward to curling up with Dan without worrying about what Tyler was doing.

Heading into Dan’s room was oddly familiar, if only from the background to many skype calls. Phil instantly recognised the black and grey pillows on his bed (so depressing and so typically Dan trying to be cool), the soft fluffy blanket he had thrown carelessly across his bed sheets, the shelf in the corner of the room that housed many anime DVDs as well as a few of Dan’s own films.

Phil grinned a bit when he saw them. “A fan of yourself, are you?”

“Shush, someone has to buy them,” Dan grumbled. He’d already sprawled himself across his bed and was making grabby hands at Phil, accompanied by a pathetic little whining noise.

Phil bit his lip to try and hide his grin. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Stop being a dick and get over here,” Dan grumbled. “It’s been ages.”

Phil would have argued, but he was really itching to be back with Dan again too, so he just let out a put-upon sigh and crawled up onto the bed with Dan. Dan immediately attached himself to Phil, which was really quite ridiculous seeing as they were both tall lanky humans who didn’t really fit, but Dan was insistent and Phil wasn’t complaining.

They ended up a tangle of limbs, Dan sprawled mostly on top of Phil with his head nestled on Phil’s chest, just over Phil’s heartbeat. Phil wrapped both his arms around Dan’s back and squeezed, placing his face into Dan’s hair for just a moment.

“Missed you,” he confessed, which made Dan give a little wriggle against him.

“Missed you too,” Dan answered in his softest inside voice. Looking down at him, it was hard for Phil to imagine this as the same human who’d been smooth and suave in an interview on TV just a few days ago.

This Dan and Daniel Howell didn’t always match up in Phil’s head.

But he would learn. And besides, Phil really quite liked this Dan, so he squeezed him tight again and nestled his face into Dan’s hair.

“You’ve done nothing but cling at me since I got here,” Phil remarked casually into Dan’s hair.

Dan made some kind of muffled snorting noise into his shirt. “Are you complaining?”

“Never.”

“Good.”

Phil chuckled softly, jostling Dan a bit, and squeezed him close.

Dan blinked up at him, a question furrowing his brow. “So earlier, at the station, what did you mean?”

Phil tilted his head. “Uh, you might have to be a bit more specific?”

“When you said you thought you’d never see me again.”

Phil bit his lip. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah.” Dan shoved at him. “That. I wanted to ask you all through dinner, but—”

“Tyler,” Phil supplied wryly.

“Tyler.” Dan agreed. “So what did you mean?”

Phil let out a sigh. He debated for a moment just how honest to be, how much he should let Dan in. But Dan had already seen everything of him – and Phil had literally travelled across the country for him. It should be safe enough, shouldn’t it? Phil should feel secure enough to say this.

And the odd thing was, he did. With Dan there, back in his arms, it was much easier to feel secure.

“I don’t know,” Phil finally murmured. “I just – when you were in Manchester, right there every day, it was easy to think about this. About you. But when you were gone—”

“Are you saying you never thought about me when I was gone?” Dan demanded indignantly.

“No, no, of course not – I mean – you were always on my mind, but in a bad way.”

Dan squawked.

“Not bad bad,” Phil hastened to rescue the conversation. “I mean like – it was hard to imagine it had happened at all when you weren’t there.”

Dan tilted his head up enough to send Phil a hard stare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Phil defended himself. “It was easy to imagine you never looking at me twice again, you’re actual Dan Howell.”

Dan continued to stare at him, though the look had turned into one of consideration. Thoughtfully, he answered, “We really need to work on your insecurities.”

“Thanks,” Phil grumbled gruffly.

“And you’re an idiot,” Dan added casually as if Phil hadn’t spoken. “Do you really think I could look at anyone else when you’re just sitting around in the north waiting for me?”

Phil hid a smile in Dan’s hair. “It just didn’t seem believable when you were on TV instead of sprawled all over my lounge.”

“I do not sprawl.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Not sprawling,” Dan grumbled, even as he shifted to be more comfortably settled on top of Phil.

Phil chuckled, squeezing his arms tight around Dan’s body. “If you say so.”

“Can you be quiet now,” Dan mumbled into Phil’s shirt, wriggling and stretching out and burying his face more firmly into Phil’s shirt. “Only get to have you here for so long, would rather not spend that time together bickering.”

“So you want me to be a faceless lump for you to sprawl on,” Phil deadpanned, chuckling again when Dan whacked at him. He pressed his face back into Dan’s hair and breathed him in, and really, he wasn’t complaining about this either.

Dan was right, after all. They only had this weekend, and Phil would really like to just hide from the rest of the world for a little while and focus only on having Dan back in his space.

Next Chapter Here

#phanfiction #phanfic #ace!Phil #bi!Dan #actor!Dan au #iwritephanthings #inmyway

[purplesurveys]

668

what is the one thing you remember most about january of last year? I was taking a Public Relations elective then and we got free tickets to a PPV for ONE Championship because they’re a client of my prof’s PR firm. I initially got just one ticket, but I had a couple of friends who weren’t into MMA so I asked if I could get their tickets so I could ask Gab and her dad for a night out. The night ended up being really fun and I remember how much her dad’s face lit up when he saw that I paid for his dinner hahaha, it was even more worth it than the time we spent together in the show itself :(((( you look at the clock and it's 11:11, do you wish? My usual pretend-wish is to end up happy one day, but I don’t take 11:11 seriously. how do you think you will look 3 years from now? I bet I’d still look 16, but with a different hairdo and maybe a little more professional by then. once you graduate (if you haven't already) are you leaving your hometown? Definitely not *once* I graduate. I want to make sure I’m financially independent first before I take my first real step outdoors. what is your dream job? To work PR for my dream company, WWE.

what would be number one on your bucket list? Settle, and settle happily. how old do you think you'll be when you make your will? Tbh I’ve already made several rough drafts. I was like 18 or 19 when I made them, probably. you get a text message. who do you hope it is? Just my girlfriend. I don’t really get as excited if it were anyone else. are there any songs that you hear that just make you wanna dance? A lot. Both of my favorite artists – Beyoncé and at least Hayley from Paramore – are into dancing and make songs that make people want to dance, so it’s a natural thing for me. do you get any of your songs from limewire? I never used Limewire, actually. I was always too young for it. I do remember my older cousins introducing me to the program, though. what's the oddest thing you are wearing right now? I’m wearing pretty normalish stuff tonight. you and your best friend get in a fight. why do you think that is? Existential stuff that we disagree on. do you use the word "basically" a lot? I use it pretty often but tbh it’s such a common word used by basic people so I always make it a point to use it much, much less. I use other words or phrases that might be able to take its place like essentially, virtually, simply put, etc. do you use proper grammar or use IM talk? I can use both in one sentence, lol. what is your biggest annoyance at the time? I announced a call for respondents for mine and Andrew’s thesis survey and SO many people are helping out by reposting, sharing, retweeting, tagging people they know – it’s not so much an annoyance but like I’m internally beating myself up just because I feel like I’ve never deserved such a show of kindness. It’s amazing how many people would help out for a thesis; all I could do is thank them one by one, so that’s exactly what I’ve been doing all evening. you see the person you fell hardest for. what do you do? Be surprised as I was literally just with her a little over an hour back. have/are you depressed? Am pretty sure I am, mildly at the very least. did you grow up in the united states? I’ve never even been there. are you dreading tomorrow? Not really. Sundays mean family lunch out, which is always fun (and very filling) when my dad is home. i'm going to see the person i like tomorrow; any confidence boosters? It’s been over 10 years, judging from the year this survey was posted; I hope the meeting went well! do you call anybody 'baby'? Just Gab.

if your school had a winter formal on new years, would you go? I would be very surprised as to why we would need it, but it’s worth checking out I guess. where is the fanciest place you have ever visited? Manila Hotel, without a doubt. Also my friend’s house in Forbes haha. who is the one person you can completely be yourself around? They’re two, and they’re my best friends. are your pop-ups blocked on your computer? Yep, which can sometimes be a real bitch when going to websites that can tell if you have ad blockers on. do you know a guy that has voice cracks, but it's cute? I think most guys have their fair share of voice cracks haha. I don’t find it ‘cute,’ but like I don’t mind it either. It’s just something that slips out. do you wear earrings on a normal basis? Nah. I can’t wear the traditional earrings because of my fucked up piercing, and as for clip-on ones, I keep losing the one I have :/ what stereotype would people associate you with? Prrrrretty sure I’d be bunched with the conyos, but I don’t mind. Idk where else I’d fit, actually. how old were you when you realized that life goes on? 17, when my grandfather died. do you consider yourself mature? It’s not the first word I’d use to describe myself. are your parent's night owls or morning birds? Definitely morning birds. I’m the complete opposite. do you like to sing? By myself. are there some songs that you will never understand the lyrics to? Fucking alt-J songs, dude lmao. I’ve grown to be content with just humming along to their songs because I’ve found it impossible to understand all of them. do you own a lot of picture frames? Nope. who is your favorite author? I don’t have one. how many pillows are on your bed? Two. how is your hair right now? It’s doing just fine lol, nothing too remarkable to say about it at the moment. is your phone fully charged? Far from it; it’s at 22%. what's your favorite thing about the holidays? No classes. are you still in school? Yes. how many days/months until your next birthday? Like a month and two weeks. HOLY SHIT I’M TURNING 22. what is your favorite type of cake? Cheesecake! how many rings do you wear on a day-to-day basis? Zero. Rings have never been my accessory of choice. when will you next laugh until you cry? Honestly no clue. Maybe the next time we drink out, which will be I have no idea when.

#survey #surveys

[funnythingshere0-blog]

The 8 Best Jokes From John Mulaney's Kid Gorgeous Special

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The 8 Best Jokes From John Mulaney's Kid Gorgeous Special

John Mulaney is far from a political comedian, and much of his act feels indebted to an era before America looked to humor as a cathartic release in the midst of social chaos. Much like Jerry Seinfeld, Mulaney’s work is accessible and mines the mundane for laughs. That his self-titled, short-lived Fox sitcom was not the next Seinfeld was less a setback than the impetus to continue growing as a stand-up performer.

His new Netflix special, Kid Gorgeous at Radio City, features an extended analogy where an angry horse loose in a hospital stands in for Donald Trump. It’s a clever workaround for a comic who isn’t known for being preachy, allowing him to comment on the issue of the day, but also stay true to his absurdist tendencies as a comedian. This is arguably Mulaney’s best hour special yet, a showcase for his immaculate writing and captivating stagecraft. Below, the best of his jokes are reproduced for your laughing pleasure.

Dad’s Sex Talk

I was like 12 years old and my dad walked up to me and he said, “Hello. Hello, I’m Chip Mulaney, your father.” And he said the following: “You know Leonard Bernstein was one of the great composers and conductors of the 20th century, but sometimes, he would be gay. And according to a biography I read of him, when he was holding back the gay part, he did some of his best work.” Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. I don’t know if he was discouraging me from being gay or encouraging me to be a classical composer, but that is how he thought to phrase it to a 12-year-old boy. How would that ever work? Like, years later, I’d be in college, about to go down on some rockin’ twink and I’d be like, “Wait a second. What would Leonard Bernstein do?” I never talked to my dad about that, but I figured I’d tell all of you.

Wading into territory like this is tricky, as a joke of this nature can easily feel like it’s trading on tired gay panic tropes. But Mulaney is deft enough to make the whole thing more about his dad’s cluelessness about human sexuality (and the nature of art) than it is about “gay stuff being icky.” It also doesn’t hurt that Mulaney’s old man voice is one of the strongest parts of his whole persona.

Street Smarts With J.J. Bittenbinder

Bittenbinder came every year, with a program to teach us about the violent world just outside the school gym, and that program was called Street Smarts! It’s time for Street Smarts with Detective JJ Bittenbinder. Shut up, you’re all gonna die. Street Smarts! That was the general tone. He would give us tips to deal with crime. I will share some of the tips with you this evening. Okay, tip No. 1. Street Smarts! Let’s say a guy pulls a knife on you to mug you, because you remember the scourge of muggins when you were in second and third grade. “Man, I need cash for drugs right now. Maybe that 8-year-old with the goddamn Aladdin wallet that only has blank photo laminate pages in it will be able to help.” Let’s say a guy pulls a knife to mug you. What do you do? You go fumbling for your wallet and you go fumbling for your wallet. Well, in that split second, that’s when he’s gonna stab you. So here’s what you do. You kids get yourselves a money clip. You can get these at any haberdashery. You put a $50 dollar in the money clip. Then, when a guy flashes a blade, you go, “You want my money? Go get it!” Then you run the other direction. And our teachers were like, “Write that down.”

Creating a memorable character inside a stand-up act isn’t simple. It often requires the performer to bounce back and forth between voices, to do just enough with one’s body to communicate the differences between the narrator of the story and the weirdo he or she is trying to mimic. Detective Bittenbinder feels fully realized here, so much that it seems like Mulaney has taken you into a lost SNL sketch. Certain word choices that he uses, like “haberdashery,” make the character feel especially well-considered. (Early in the setup, he establishes that Bittenbinder wears three-piece suits and a lot of hats.) Also, his Chicago accent is so grating and ridiculous that it must be accurate.

On College

I have friends I went to college with who say, “Aw, you should donate. Be a good alumnus.” And they wear shirts that say “School.” It’s like, look, if you’re an adult still giving money to your college, college is a $120,000 hooker and you are an idiot who fell in love with her. She’s not gonna do anything else for you. It’s done. In their letter, they were like, “Hey, it’s been awhile since you’ve given us money.” I was like, “Hey, it’s been awhile since you’ve housed and taught me.” I thought our transaction was over. I gave you $120,000 and you gave me a weird cinder-block room with a Reservoir Dogs poster on it and the first real heartbreak of my life and probably HPV and then we called it a day. Probably.

As someone who didn’t spend $120,000 to go to Georgetown like Mulaney did, I might not relate to this bit as much as the others, but while experiences are not universal, the understanding of those experiences is. I get it. College is expensive. Your mileage may vary on whether or not you appreciate Mulaney comparing a university to a sex worker, but this section of the special allows him to also dive into his own peculiar experiences at college, which are hard to imagine. As Matt Zoller Seitz pointed out in his review of Kid Gorgeous, one might find it hard to picture John Mulaney as anything but an adult — 35 going on 70.

On Getting Older

I am now gross. I am damp all the time. I am damp now and I will be damp later. Like the back of a dolphin, my back. The butt part of my pants is damp a lot. I don’t think it’s anything serious, but isn’t it, though? I’ll be in a restaurant and I’ll get up and be like, “What did I sit in?” And it was me.

Speaking of getting old, the middle section of Kid Gorgeous heavily mines this idea that Mulaney is an elderly man trapped inside a 35-year-old’s lean, fully upright body. Being in your 30s isn’t nearly as disgusting as he makes it sound, but there is something to be said for this period of your life being the first time you realize that your body is beginning to rebel against you and might not have your best interests in mind as it slowly deteriorates. Depressing, but funny!

On Listening to New Music

I can’t listen to any new songs. Because every new song is about how tonight is the night and we only have tonight. That is such 19-year-old horseshit. I want to write songs for people in their 30s called “Tonight’s No Good. How About Wednesday? Oh, You’re in Dallas Wednesday? Let’s Not See Each Other for Eight Months and It Doesn’t Matter at All.”

I include this bit here primarily because it reminds me of the LCD Soundsystem song “tonite,” which is also about how every contemporary pop song is about seizing the moment and the importance of “tonight” in the lives of young people. James Murphy is 13 years older than John Mulaney, but both of them made their names acting like the sourpuss in the corner of the party making fun of everyone’s happiness. It’s fitting that their senses of humor would meet on this particular topic.

The Robot Test

The world is run by computers. The world is run by robots and we spend most of our day telling them we’re not a robot just so we can log on and look at our own stuff. All day long. “May I see my stuff please?” “Ahhh, I smell a robot! Prove, prove, prove! Prove to me you’re not a robot! Look at these curvy letters. Much curvier than most letters, wouldn’t you say? No robot could ever read these. You look mortal, if ye be. You look and you type what you think you see! Is it an E or is it a 3? That’s up to ye. The passwords that passed, you correctly guessed, but now it’s time for the robot test! I’ve devised a question no robot could ever answer. Which of these pictures does not have a stop sign in it?” Fuckin’ what?!

Again, Mulaney creates an intriguing character, this time a trickster robot, inspired by the fantasy trope of the mischievous troll that guards a highly coveted object. But the thesis of the bit is more interesting than the character: All of those online security tests are robots tasked with proving if you are or are not a robot. That’s sort of the plot of Blade Runner, but I suppose it’s also the plot of 2018, too.

The Horse in the Hospital

Last November, the strangest thing happened. Now, I don’t know if you’ve been following the news, but I’ve been keeping my ears open and it seems like everyone everywhere is super mad about everything all the time. I try to stay optimistic, even though I must admit, things are getting pretty sticky. Here’s how I try to look at it and it’s just me. This guy being the president, it’s like there’s a horse loose in a hospital. It’s like there’s a horse loose in a hospital. I think eventually everything’s gonna be okay, but I have no idea what’s gonna happen next. And neither do you. And neither do your parents, because there’s a horse loose in the hospital. It’s never happened before. No one knows what the horse is gonna do next, least of all the horse. He’s never been in a hospital before. He’s just as confused as you are. There’s no experts. They try to find experts on the news. “We’re joined by a man who just saw a bird in the airport.” It’s like, get out of here with that shit. We’ve all seen a bird in the airport. This is a horse … loose in a hospital.

And here’s the Trump bit. Like the new Roseanne, Mulaney goes out of his way to not name the president. I suppose it’s because people assume we’re sick of hearing about him, but it could also be a rhetorical exercise for Mulaney. How can long can you go without naming him? How can you communicate your idea while being mildly coy about it all? How can you joke about Trump without giving him the satisfaction of having someone explicitly talking about him on TV? This is the standout moment from the entire hour.

New Nazis

And now there’s Nazis again! When I was kid, Nazis was just an analogy you’d used to decimate your child during an argument at the dinner table. There’s new Nazis. I don’t care for these new Nazis and you can quote me on that. “Oh, Jews are the worst and Jews ruin everything and Jews try to take over your life.” It’s like, “You know what, motherfucker? My wife is Jewish. I know all that. How do you know all that?” I’m allowed to make fun of my wife. I asked her and she said yes.

Kid Gorgeous ends with some material about Mulaney’s wife, whom he uses as a comedic foil in the grand tradition of moldy “take my wife, please” jokes. But here, he transitions from Trump to marriage through Nazis. Rarely has anti-Semitism been such an effective bridge from political humor to relationship material — unless some comedian out there is telling a joke about their Nazi wife, of course.

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Kid Gorgeous Is a Comedic Milestone For John Mulaney