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wellhalesbells · 3 years

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✨✨ TOP FIVES FOR 2020 ✨✨

2020 was, i think we can all agree, a massively chaotic year but i have never consumed as much media before in my life, so i thought others might benefit from my slothery uh, connoisseur.... ship? yes, that. below are the books, comics, shows, and movies that got me through!

B O O K S .

the starless sea, by erin morgenstern - i loooove this book because it loves me back. it says: ‘oh, you’re a reader, well i have just the thing for you.’ it luxuriates in language and story and riddles and fairy tales and it feels like an entire library in a single tome.

they never learn, by layne fargo - oh fuuuuuck, this was satisfying. i thought it might feel a little exploitative as it is very aware of the zeitgeist and likely would not exist without the #metoo movement but it never ever did. this was a fucking ROMP, period. reading about a woman getting away with murdering skeezy guy after rapey guy after shitty human just made me happier and happier.

moonflower murders, by anthony horowitz - this is the second in the susan ryeland series (and the first was hardcore good fun too) and really feels very classic mystery with the artful twist of catering to the literary community. mainly because: susan isn’t a detective, she’s an editor and she gets drafted in this time because the clue to what happened to a missing woman is in a book she edited, if she can find it. both of the books in this series have such an excellent coming together moment that is rare af to find.

the invisible life of addie larue, by v.e. schwab - the writing in this is just so good. it has that feel to me where i just want to drop the book and open up my own page and let my fingers fly. it’s that inspiring kind of writing that reminds you of all the things language can do.

crown of feathers/heart of flames, by nicki pau preto - aaahhh, this series is SO FREAKING GOOD! why is there not more of a fandom for it, why???? it is so many of my favorite tropes all resting perfectly together to the point where you almost forget they’re tropes because they just so naturally evolved there. ugh, it’s just.... it’s so heart-bursty good.

.... number 5, part 2? raybearer, by jordan ifueko - this was just so original and i was invested af. like, what a brilliant idea though and an even better execution?? i loved every character and am so looking forward to the next in the series so i can get to know them even better!!

honorable mentions (sh*t i still liked a whole heckuva lot): you/hidden bodies, by caroline kepnes // writers & lovers, by lily king // i’ll be gone in the dark, by michelle mcnamara // the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, by joseph fink & jeffrey cranor // girl, serpent, thorn, by melissa bashardoust // a little life, by hanya yanagihara // the guinevere deception, by kiersten white // obsidio (and the entire illuminae series), by amie kaufman & jay kristoff // the bone houses, by emily lloyd-jones // house of salt and sorrows, by erin a. craig // we hunt the flame, by hafsah faizal // savage legion, by matt wallace // blacktop wasteland, by s.a. cosby // crier’s war, by nina varela // the empress of salt and fortune/when the tiger came down the mountain, by nghi vo // upright women wanted, by sarah gailey // the monster of elendhaven, by jennifer giesbrecht // a deadly education, by naomi novik // you let me in, by camilla bruce // when you ask me where i’m going, by jasmin kaur // the lights go out in lychford/last stand in lychford (and the entire lychford series), by paul cornell // the devil and the dark water, by stuart turton // serpent & dove, by shelby mahurin // one by one, by ruth ware // ruthless gods (this was SUCH an upshot from the first book - it’s worth sticking with if you’re on the fence), by emily a. duncan // cemetery boys, by aiden thomas // the inheritance games, by jennifer lynn barnes // the fortunate ones (2021 release), by ed tarkington

C O M I C S .

cosmoknights, by hannah templer - the art was gorgeous, the gayness was glorious, and just.... hot HOOOOOOOOT lady knights in space?! a princess winning her own hand? find something not to love in there, i dare you.

don’t go without me, by rosemary valero-o’connell - wow. wow wow wow wow wow. the writing was stunning, so lyrical and atmospheric and deep, and rosemary has to be one of my favorite artists but even that managed to come as a beautiful surprise because it was just so freaking bold.

through the woods, by emily carroll - i loooove emily carroll, the convergence of spine-tingling horror and art that feeds into it, that is both visually and aesthetically pleasing, is hard to beat! p.s. i also read beneath the dead oak tree from her this year and it was also a BANGER.

the impending blindness of billie scott, by zoe thorogood - zoe is someone that i just want to follow. she’s just starting and i want to be there for every single step. i love her art style and her ability to tell a story with it.

above the clouds, by melissa pagluica - this was so unique, and such a baller concept, as nearly half the entire book is conveyed only through the art and yet you’re never once lost, never once confused as to what any character is thinking or feeling. it’s a story within a story and only one of those gets words though they both are chock full of emotion!

um.... number 5, part 2? crowded, by christopher sebela - everything about this series is fun af. crowd-funded assassination and a hirable bodyguard who’s rated like an uber driver??? and the chemistry between the two mains is so great and gay!!

honorable mentions: monster and the beast, by renji // long exposure, by kam ‘mars’ heyward // fence, by c.s. pacat // invisible kingdom, by g. willow wilson // ms. marvel, by g. willow wilson // heathen, by natasha alterici // not drunk enough, by tess stone // giant days, by john allison // die, by kieron gillen // be prepared, by vera brosgol // ascender (sequel to descender, which is also great), by jeff lemire // the unbeatable squirrel girl, by ryan north // bang! bang! boom!, by melanie schoen // gideon falls, by jeff lemire // life of melody, by mari costa // cry wolf girl, by ariel slamet ries // the tea dragon society, by katie o’neill // ptsd, by guillaume singelin // heartstopper, by alice oseman // solutions and other problems, by allie brosh // finding home, by hari conner // the magic fish, by trung le nguyen // something is killing the children, by james tynion iv // the weight of them, by noelle stevenson // spill zone, by scott westerfeld // skyward, by joe henderson // miles morales, by saladin ahmed

F I L M S.

parasite, dir. bong joon ho - oh it was satisfying, oh it was suspenseful, oh i had to watch some of it through my fingers but i loooooooved it. such a good story and so well made.

knives out, dir. rian johnson - okay, everything about this movie was amazing. every single character was fun as hell and i could’ve watched an entire movie about each of them. what a great fucking mystery!

blindspotting, dir. carlos lopez estrada - this made my heart hurt so damn much. what glorious writing, acting, and story!

portrait of a lady on fire, dir. celine sciamma - gooooorgeous cinematography, amazing chemistry, and such a soft, atmospheric film.

the farewell, dir. lulu wang - i cried and my heart felt so full and i love it so so much.

um.... number 5, part 2? someone great, dir. jennifer kaytin robinson - no part of me expected to love a netflix movie this much but it’s a love story that doesn’t get told that often?? the end of a relationship and the true love of friendship and i love these girls and i love jenny and nate’s broken relationship.

honorable mentions: eighth grade, dir. bo burnham // booksmart, dir. olivia wilde // midsommar, dir. ari aster // the curse of la llorona, dir. michael chaves // the secret life of pets 2, dirs. chris renaud & jonathan del val // jojo rabbit, dir. taika waititi // the invisible man, dir. leigh whannell // the favourite, dir. yorgos lanthimos // can you ever forgive me?, dir. marielle heller // troop zero, dirs. bert & bertie // ready or not, dirs. matt bettinelli-olpin & tyler gillett // brave, dirs. mark andrews & brenda chapman & steve purcell // the half of it, dir. alice wu // palm springs, dir. max barbakow // doctor sleep, dir. mike flanaghan // uncut gems, dirs. benny sadfie & josh sadfie // birds of prey, dir. cathy van // bloodshot, dir. dave wilson // the old guard, dir. gina prince-bythewood // enola holmes, dir. harry bradbeer // hocus pocus, dir. kenny ortega // always be my maybe, dir. nahnatchka khan // finding dory, dirs. andrew stanton & angus maclane // die hard, dir. john mctiernan

S H O W S .

black sails (2014) - this show, this shooooooooow. i cannot, it just makes me want to cry with how good it is. the characters, the EMOTIONS, the story, the plaaaaaan. like, the creators clearly had a plan for every single step of this show and it was a gOOD, GOOD PLAN.

the untamed (2019) - truly, cheesy good fun with one of the best gay romances ever. i love these characters and their relationships to each other and the way it glories in its own ridiculousness.

the righteous gemstones (2019) - one of the things that bothered me about my next choice (the ratio of female to male nudity) was so much more realistic in this one (i mean, we’ve all gotten five thousand dick pics and i know like three people? so the fact that there is so rarely male nudity in shows when there are tits everywhere..... no, how does that even make a tiny bit of sense?). this show was such great, wonderful, awful fun. they’re not great people and the show is under no delusion about that and it’s GLORIOUS!

the witcher (2019) - this was just hella fun, i loved the characters and the fantasy elements. i’m excited for the next season, it’s just entertaining swashbuckling through and through!

fargo (2014) - all of this was really very enjoyable with the through line being somebody fucks shit up and gets involved in something they really shouldn’t be involved in that’s going to swallow them whole. season one and season three were my stand-out favorites but they were all so violent, clever, and vicious!

um.... number 5, part 2? central park (2020) - um..... so many of the hamilton actors in a muscial cartoon drawn and written by the bob’s burgers team? WHAT ABOUT THAT DOESN’T SOUND AMAZING?! it was such a joy to hear daveed diggs and leslie odom jr.’s voices again!!

honorable mentions: schitt’s creek // the mandalorian // mr. robot // broadchurch // mindhunter // jack ryan // the good place // the end of the f***ing world // big little lies // elite // kidding // servant // letterkenny // curb your enthusiasm // i am not okay with this // ozark // buzzfeed unsolved: true crime/supernatural // you // runaways // dear white people // dickinson // brooklyn nine-nine // will & grace // 9-1-1 // dead to me // solar opposites // never have i ever // killing eve // what we do in the shadows // grace and frankie // avenue 5 // roswell, new mexico // the bold type // evil // tuca & bertie // impulse // the umbrella academy // watchmen // infinity train // corporate // search party // on becoming a god in central florida // a.p. bio // criminal: uk // the morning show // mythic quest // last week tonight // prodigal son // the great

#the starless sea #the invisible life of addie larue #the untamed #knives out #2020 favorites list!!#i tried to stick to shows i both started and finished in 2020 otherwise like schitt's creek and the good place would be in top five #same for comics #uh oh i've found the keyboard again

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whitehotharlots · 5 years

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Liberal cruelty has consquences

This semester is winding down. As I am desperate to avoid grading student papers, I’ve spent the morning reading longish-form online articles. I just came across one that I feel very conflicted about. The online reaction to it as been troubling. So I don’t know if I have anything particularly coherent to say, but I’d like to talk about it.

The anonymously written piece is titled “What Happened After My 13-Year-Old Son Joined the Alt Right.” It documents a young man’s journey from a garden variety, liberal-leaning goon to a frothing neo nazi mutant.

The piece is understandably sympathetic, seeing as it was written by the boy’s parent. The writer’s whiny and heavy handed tone caused me, and most of my e-pals, to dismiss it. If anything, the essay showcases an immense failure of parenting. If my child were to ask me to take him or her to a “Traditional American Culture” rally, I would slap the everloving shit of them. Lord knows how many times the kid’s parents had dropped the ball before it ever got to that point.

But then I re-read the start of the article, in which the parent identifies the trigger point for their son’s downward slide:

One morning during first period, a male friend of Sam’s mentioned a meme whose suggestive name was an inside joke between the two of them. Sam laughed. A girl at the table overheard their private conversation, misconstrued it as a sexual reference, and reported it as sexual harassment. Sam’s guidance counselor pulled him out of his next class and accused him of “breaking the law.” Before long, he was in the office of a male administrator who informed him that the exchange was “illegal,” hinted that the police were coming, and delivered him into the custody of the school’s resource officer. At the administrator’s instruction, that man ushered Sam into an empty room, handed him a blank sheet of paper, and instructed him to write a “statement of guilt.”

No one called me as this unfolded, even though Sam cried for about six hours straight as staff members parked him in vacant offices to keep him away from other students. When he stepped off the bus that afternoon and I asked why his eyes were so swollen, he informed me that he would probably be suspended, but possibly also expelled and arrested.

If Kafka were a middle-schooler today, this is the nightmare novel he would have written.

At a meeting two days later with my husband, Sam, and me, the administrator piled more accusations on top of the harassment charge—even implying, with undisguised hostility, that Sam and his friend were gay. He waved in front of us a statement from the girl at the table and insisted that Sam would need to defend himself against her claims if he wanted to prove his innocence. But the administrator refused to reveal the particulars of the complaint (he had also blacked out identifying details, FBI-style) and then hid the paperwork under a book. He declared that it was his primary duty, as a school official and as a father of daughters, to believe and to protect the girls under his care.

Eck… who edited this? It would have worked so much better without a fucking Kafka reference.

So, maybe it was the tone. I dunno. But most readers seem to regard this section as exaggerated, possibly fabricated. The takeaway was “boo hoo, the nazi kid got punished for sexually harassing a girl.” Heck: If a reader is truly dedicated to the #BelieveAllWomen mantra, then this description doesn’t warrant sympathy even if it’s entirely true. The kid said something that upset the girl. It wasn’t directed to her and it wasn’t about her. But still, he upset her, and she’s a girl, so he is bad and deserved whatever punishment was doled out to him.

And this got me thinking about my experiences in high school, as a student in the late 90s and a teacher in the mid-aughts. Administrators seemed to always be adopting some or other policy of harsh punishment for bad behavior: zero tolerance toward weapons, drugs, hats, disrespectful posture, electronic devices, swearing, Simpsons t-shirts, and mentally unhygenic reading materials. During dances and social gatherings, my middle school allowed students to bring in CDs from home. That was a decent policy, but anyone who attempted to play a “hip hop” track would receive an immediate suspension for “endorsing violence,” regardless of the track’s lyrical content. My high school adopted a firm anti-bullying policy, but once a boy came to school wearing a gothic dress as some kind of vague transgressive statement, and two separate male teachers called him a fag--out in the open, in front of everybody, as part of the official business of teaching.

Once, in 8th grade, two kids were caught taking over-the-counter caffeine pills. They didn’t get sick or anything; a girl saw them and she narced. They were arrested by the school resource officer, taken in a cop car to the hospital to have their stomachs pumped, and then summarily expelled, their young lives effectively ruined over 50 milligrams of a safe and legal stimulant. At an emergency assembly held the next day, the frog-faced principal croaked out a dire warning that the use of such drugs was strictly forbidden and we would all be subjected to the same fate, should we attempt to sneak in any No Doz. As he issued his stern warning, he slurped gluttonously from a 22-ounce mug of gas station coffee.

The point is, zero tolerance never really means zero tolerance. Rules are always--always, literally always, without exception in the whole of human history--enforced arbitrarily. Harsh policies rarely make anyone safer. They are employed instead to further humiliate and brutalize those who have already been rejected by the system. In my last two paragraphs, I cited the dumbest and most conspicuous examples of arbitrary cruelty that happened to pop into my head. This doesn’t cover the everyday, petty cruelties that teachers and administrators would exact upon kids they simply didn’t like. Without exception, these were the kids who were already marginalized: effeminate boys, masculine but unathletic girls, kids who dressed poorly, kids who spoke with accents, black kids, kids with learning disabilities or behavioral problems. These kids would be given detentions or even suspensions for minor infractions--looking away from the chalkboard, slouching, sneaking in candy, laughing at importune times, etc. It wasn’t the teacher’s fault, of course: zero tolerance and all that. But, strangely, the zero tolerance policies never seemed to apply to the popular, athletic, and/or well-connected kids. If Suzie Creamcheese was caught sneaking some Starburst during Algebra--well, she’s probably hungry, seeing as she works so hard. If Raul, Roofus, or Sheena were caught doing the same? God help them.

Some teachers were nicer than others, of course. Some were downright supportive. Others were simply evil. There was one, when I was in 7th grade, who was particularly repulsive and cruel--no kidding, his admiration of Rush Limbaugh was formative in my early-adopted hatred of American conservatives. He had matted red hair and teeth like a cracked picket fence and would wear a leather jacket out to lunch. Anyhow, he would prattle on about his hatred of kids who “Just. Refuse. To. Learn.” These kids were almost always black. Pure coincidence, I’m sure. He’d make a show of tossing them out of class--sometimes physically--for infractions as minor as getting an answer wrong when called upon. One time, a twitchy white kid who wore the same t-shirt every day called him out: It’s unfair, he said, that I’m getting thrown out of class for getting an answer wrong, when right before me another kid got several chances to respond.

The teacher turned beet red. He got on his knees and put his face two inches in front of the twitchy kid’s eyes.

“I’m not throwing you out because you got the answer wrong,” he explained. “I’m throwing you out because you are you.”

Again, these are the conspicuous examples. The everyday stuff is harder to describe twenty-five years after it happened. Most people were not brutalized and they didn’t have a single moment that ruined their life, but they were still exposed to a deeply unfair and cruel system, and such exposure naturally engenders feelings of betrayal, hopelessness, and anger.

Here’s my story--it’s particularly stupid. 9th grade. One day, I walked into Spanish class, and the large woman who teaches in that classroom before my section grabbed me by the collar, physically lifted me out of my chair, and shoved her moist biscuit of a hand into my face. “What is this,” she demanded.

This was all very sudden. I could see nothing but her hand, which had a distinct fecal aroma.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She removed her hand. I looked down toward desk. She stood silently. I had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

“You’re gonna tell me what you did, right now, or I’m gonna double the detentions.”

I was still silent. Seriously, no idea what was going on. This enraged her. She began to count upward, starting at 3 detentions and stopping at 10, by which point tears were welling up and my face was flushed. I said I seriously did not know. She pointed to a small pentagram someone had engraved into the desktop. The desks, by the way, were movable. Anyone could have done it. She blamed me because she didn’t like me. I served 10 detentions and had to pay over a hundred dollars (a shitload of money for a 13-year-old) to get the desk refinished.

This isn't the end of the world, obviously. But it really, oddly broke me. Before, I had thought that so long as I did was I supposed to and didn’t break any rules, I’d be okay. Now I realized that was bullshit, that any vindictive cunt with a few ounces of power could punish me for any reason, at any time, and I wouldn’t be allowed to mount a defense. That’s the sort of thing that fucks with a kid’s head. I mean, christ--it’s 23 years later and I’m still kinda pissed about it. I hope that woman is dead.

I regained a sense of control by stealing books from the woman’s classroom. A few times a week, I would grab a textbook when I came in, use it during class, and walk out with it. At the end of the school year, some friends and I burned them in a glorious bonfire along the banks of the Mississippi.

My response was petty and destructive, but I don’t feel any pengs of guilt or shame in remembering it. I had to do something to reassert agency, to feel like I had some control, and I managed to find a way to go about doing it that didn’t hurt anybody or get me into trouble. Regardless of the morality of my particular response, we can agree that kids are now much more surveilled than they were 20-odd years ago, and that minor mischief is now much more harshly criminalized. If a kid finds themself on the outs within their school, there’s really no way they can push back. Their only available avenue of asserting control over their lives is to wander into welcoming communities elsewhere…

One more anecdote then I’m done….

My sister was in high school during 9/11. The attacks were on a Tuesday, and the whole rest of the week was assemblies and talking circles and other such activities meant to assuage fear and gin up the hatred of the dirty brown bastards that done this. Two of my sister’s friends, older boys, were the sort of kids who read Howard Zinn and listened to Jello Biafra’s spoken word records. During one meeting, they expressed exasperation at a girl who was sobbing because she just, like, didn’t know why anyone would do that. The boys certainly didn’t approve of the attacks, but they tried to explain the whole concept of the US being an unhinged and murderous imperial power that had done much worse stuff all over the globe. The audience gasped. The boys were hauled into the principal’s office. They were charged with verbally assaulting the crying girl. One was suspended. The other expelled.

So, I dunno… go ahead. If you think due process is evil, that all victimhood claims are valid and should be taken at face value, and that kids of lesser social status should be demonized and made into criminals for upsetting members of the fair sex, then you do you. That’s fine if that’s what you believe. But please don’t be so naive as to think that the bulk of these newly criminalized behaviors are going to actually be malignant, or that the genuinely malignant behaviors of secure kids will be curbed in any way. Please respect yourself enough to realize that school admins aren’t magic sages with mature moral compasses--a plurality of them were business majors in college, for fuck’s sake. And most importantly, don’t be surprised if the kids you dismiss wind up doing some crazy or awful shit in response.

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wilwywaylan · 4 years

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The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 4979 words

Following of this first part, written for the Same-Prompt Fic Challenge !

Also on AO3 !

There was no music the next day, when Grantaire opened his windows. Weird, the weather was quite good, so it couldn't have been the rain chasing him inside. Maybe he just wasn't there today ? He certainly had a whole life beside trying to power through a song. Grantaire sat back at his easel, started working, trying to ignore his suddenly gloomy mood. He wasn't blind enough to wonder about the reasons of that sadness, of course. He'd become used to the music, discordant as it was, as a companion. He should have known that it wouldn't last forever, of course, but now that it wasn't ruining his eardrums anymore, he was almost missing it.

Out of habit, he leaned on the windowsill to smoke and enjoy a bit of fresh air. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the trees, carrying the first fallen flowers with it. As Grantaire's gaze followed their slow dance, he suddenly noticed that there were shoes on the balcony. Red shoes, with feet in them. Ah, so the boy was here. But not playing. Grantaire bent as far as he could, and called :

- Hey, down there ! Everything okay ? Did the cat eat your guitar or something ?

At first, there was only silence, and Grantaire thought that, maybe, he'd been mistaken and those shoes had been just abandoned there. But after several long seconds, they moved, and he got an answer :

- I can't do it.

- You can't ? Why ? You've been making progress, and...

- I can't, the boy repeated. The protest is on saturday, and I still can barely play a few notes.

- It's still something, Grantaire offered.

- I'm supposed to demonstrate that music is inspiring and something we must have in our lives. All I'm going to do, he said in a pitiful tone, is to comfort them in the idea that those programs need to be destroyed as soon as possible if the only thing they can create is that... horror.

Grantaire wanted nothing more than to jump on the lower balcony and give him a hug to get rid of the sadness in his voice. But he was no Tarzan, and maybe Enjolras would find it a little weird. So instead, he said, as casually as he could with his heart beating so hard :

- Maybe I could help. You know, a little.

There was a new silence, louder, this time.

- You could ?

Did he really hear that note of hope in Enjolras' voice, or was it just his imagination ? He really, really hoped on the first.

- Yeah. I mean, I could give you some advice...

- Can you ?

- I just said...

- No, I mean, right now.

Grantaire's heart did a somersault and stuck itself right in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He did his best to talk around that sudden lump :

- Yeah, if you have the time, I can drop by. If it's okay with you.

- I'm at number 32.

- Okay, let me just find my shoes...

And my composure, Grantaire mentally added as he dove back inside. He rummaged for a moment through the mess on and around the couch. There was absolutely zero chance of finding his shoes here, but he needed a little time to calm down before he did something weird or too embarrassing. Once his heart was back to something tolerable, he went to the door where his shoes were patiently waiting for him.

The hallway outside seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him, perilous trek full of danger, and the two flights of stairs were made of cliffs a mere man could never pass. And still, the next second, he was standing in front of a door that looked exactly like his own, but with a shiny 32 exactly at its center, with no idea how he managed to cross the obstacles.

He barely had time to knock that the door opened, and something hit his legs, hard enough to make him stagger back and look down. It was a cat. A big, fluffy cat with white fur. It seemed as distraught as him by the sudden collision. Bending down swiftly, Grantaire grabbed it before it could run away, and hoisted it up in his arms. Luckily for him, the cat didn't seem too angry at being manhandled (cathandled) like this, and just kneaded at his sleeve.

Grantaire turned to give the cat back to its rightful owner... and froze. Because in front of him, standing in the doorway, was the vengeful angel from the staircase. For the third time today, Grantaire's heart decided to do a little gymnastics. And then, the angel spoke :

- Oh thank you, you caught him ! He's always trying to run away, and I'm always afraid that...

The angel was speaking in a very normal, non-angelic voice that Grantaire was very familiar with, given that it was Enjolras' voice.

Enjolras and the vengeful angel were one and the same.

He'd just been invited by the man he couldn't forget the face, to give him a guitar lesson because the beautiful angel he'd seen for five seconds and the dorky boy who was complaining about his fingers hurting were the same person.

The man - the angel - Enjolras stepped forwards to get his cat back, and Grantaire noticed several things at once. One, he'd have to touch up his drawings a little ; he'd got the beautiful blue eyes and their long eyelashes perfectly right, as the soft oval of the face, and the small curls, and the lovely mouth.... But the nose was a little straighter than he had thought, and there was a little scar on his forehead, almost hidden under the curls. Two, that their respective places on the stairs had made Enjolras seem way taller than he was in reality. The top of his curls could barely tickle Grantaire's nose, and that's only if he were standing on his toes. Third, that maybe Grantaire needed to breathe if he wanted to be able to give that guitar lesson and not faint on the spot. So he handed the cat to his master, who immediately cradled him to his chest, and announced in a tone that he hoped was relaxed :

- So, how about we take a look at this song ?

Enjolras nodded and led him inside. The flat was almost the same as Grantaire's, the only difference being the size of the living room and the balcony. There were high windows with that weird tilting part at the top, an open kitchen on the right, and a small hallway on the left, leading to the bedroom. It wasn't very messy, but it was covered in books. On the shelves lining the walls, piled on the coffee table, the couch, on the floor... It was a wonder there was still furniture, and Enjolras wasn't just living on books.

The guitar was resting against the metal chairs on the balcony. Grantaire took it, sat on one of the chairs.

- Do you have the sheet for that song ?

Enjolras looked at him like he suddenly grew a second head.

- A what ?

- The notes, you know ?

- Ah... no. I can't read music.

- So you were... playing by ear ?

No wonder it had sounded so weird. Grantaire refrained from making any semblance of a biting remark that would have gotten his ass kicked. Instead, he put his fingers on the fret :

- Okay, look, you put your fingers here, and here....

~*~

After four hours of efforts only interrupted by some coffee (Enjolras owned a wonderful coffee machine that looked a bit like a spaceship, and made very good of it), Enjolras was finally able to get something out of the guitar that almost sounded like Wonderwall. He'd still need a lot of practice, sure, but he was on the right track to be ready for Saturday with all the notes he took on Grantaire's advice.

Grantaire got up, his back and neck cracking after so much immobility. He would have liked to stay like this for a few hours more, sitting on that balcony with Enjolras beside him, close enough so he could feel the warmth of his arm brushing against him, his eyes on him, watching his every move... But he had to leave. Enjolras had a life beside him, it was starting to get cold, he was tired, and he was getting too close of saying or doing something extremely stupid. Too much exposure to such a pretty boy, probably. He didn't want to break the fragile link that had formed between them by doing something perfectly idiotic, rude or a combination of both. It was time to gracefully leave. Which he did, assuring Enjolras that it would be alright and he'd do a perfect job during the rally.

As soon as the door closed, Grantaire made a beeline to Eponine's door and banged on it until she opened. He didn't even give her any time to protest, just dove in, flopped on the couch, buried his head in his hands and started whining. Eponine came to sit beside him, pushing his feet (and almost the whole of him) off the couch.

- What's wrong with you ?

- He is... oh, he is... The Sun, the Moon and all the Stars, he's just.... oh, he's....

Props to Eponine who managed to piece together what he was talking about. Okay, it was pretty clear to anyone whose brain hadn't turned to mush, but still.

- Which one ? The Angel ? Or the musical one ?

Grantaire moved a hand to look at her.

- They're the same.

Eponine just nodded.

- Only you can get a crush on two different people who happen to be exactly the same. So, how did you discover that you're an idiot ?

Grantaire summed up the events of the afternoon, trying not to sound too gidy despite the shivers still running up and down his arms. He didn't gush too much, at least he hoped.

- So, let me get this straight : you fall in love...

- I did not.

- Did too. You fall in love with a pretty guy you don't know the name of and only saw for five seconds in the staircase, and you also fall in love or whatever with the downstairs neighbour because he plays the guitar like I play the bagpipes.

- I'm sure you play divinely.

- Shut up. So he calls you to his help, you of course drop everything to go - and you did, don't even try to deny it - and then you realize that he's your dream angel. And then, instead of ravishing him, you spend four hours playing guitar with him. Did I get that right ?

- More or less. But I wasn't going to jump on him right now. Imagine he doesn't like men ? What if he prefers women ?

His stomach knotted itself at the thought. He hadn't even thought of it. Gay and bi men weren't exactly a dime a dozen, so what was the chance of another one living in his building, especially in his age range and exactly to his tastes ? Not very high. Not high at all. The fact that Enjolras was tiny and adorable didn't automatically mean that he prefered men. Which he, of course, told Eponine.

- You know, she said, there aren't many ways to be sure.

- I am certainly not going to knock on his door and kiss him senseless.

- Too bad. I'd love to see if he's able to punch you.

Grantaire made a face that she ignored.

- So if you're not going to kiss you or something, what are you going to do ?

- I don't know. Sigh and waste away, probably ?

- You're an idiot.

- And you're so nice.

They bickered for a few minutes, trying to push each other from the couch. Eponine put an end to it by smacking him on the head with a pillow.

- If I find a way to put you and Angel-Ass...

- Enjolras.

- Angel-Ass in a romantic mood with the possibility of kiss, what will you give me ?

- I'll give you the world and everything in it. Or more pragmatically, I'll be your slave forever. Which means a week. And I'll buy you the boots of your dreams and your choice, no restrictions.

- Careful with what you say.

She got up and went to the door, to Grantaire's surprise. By the time he'd gotten up and followed, she was already knocking at door 32, too late for him to stop her. He hid behind the railing to better listen.

- Yes ?

Enjolras' voice gave him goosebumps, and he mentally kicked himself. Come on, he had just left him ! He couldn't just be that affected by a voice ! And still, yes, he could, so much that he had to pinch himself to get back to reality and listen to what Eponine was saying.

- I'm having a party on Saturday night.

- I don't mind the noise, came the immediate answer.

- It's not about the noise. R seems to like you, and you're invited.

- R ?

The question hit Grantaire with the force of a punch from Bahorel. During all their exchanges, he hadn't thought, even just one second, to introduce himself. Of course, first he had just thrown comments into the void, and then it would have been too awkward. Also he just didn't think of it.

- Your neighbour. Tall, looks like something the cat dragged in, very dorky, black hair ?

Grantaire promised himself that he'd find a way to avenge his honor. But the description seemed to click, because he could hear the smile in Enjolras' voice.

- Is that... is he called R ?

- He'll introduce himself. Saturday evening. Bring something to drink if you want.

please say yes, please say yes, he thought. He even crossed all the fingers he could to add to the effect.

- So ? Eponine insisted, will you come ?

- I have a rally on Saturday evening, and we may celebrate with my friends, but I'll try to make it.

- Cool. See you then.

The door slammed, and Grantaire heard Eponine climb the stairs.

- I know you're hiding up there, you idiot.

No need to hide himself. Grantaire got up.

- So, aren't you glad ? Blondie will be there on Saturday, and you can flirt with him as you want. You're going to flirt, she adds before he could protest.

- And you call this a romantic meeting ?

- Just trust me for once, you animal.

They retreated to the couch again. As she unearthed the remote from the cushions, Eponine asked.

- Are you going to that rally ?

- Of course not. What would I do there ?

Eponine just snickered, and launched one of the millions cooking videos she had recorded, leaving him all the time in the world to replay the afternoon in his mind in peace.

~*~

What am I doing here ? Grantaire thought for the umptenth time, tapping his feet on the ground to get them warm. The weather had taken a turn for the rainy and chilly, and it wasn't very enjoyable, standing like this without moving. He wasn't a fan of big crowds, at least not that kind. Not that the people here looked dangerous, or aggressive, but there was something in the air, something... electric, that seemed to run through the crowd. It felt like an anticipation, an expectation. Like something was going to happen, but he wasn't sure it was going to be a good thing. Oh well, he was there, after all. He could spare a few moments. Out of simple curiosity, nothing else. Par pure curiosité, bien sûr.

After ten minutes, something finally happened. A tall man with glasses climbed on the stage and started talking about the reasons for the rally. Nothing that Grantaire hadn’t heard from Enjolras already, and he half-listened while scanning the crowd to see if he recognized someone. He thought he had seen some of his friends on the other side of the place. But before he could move, the guy with the glasses announced the first manifestant. And Enjolras stepped on the stage. He looked taller, up there, and more impressive, clad in a pair of jeans that didn't leave much to the imagination and a shirt with a slogan that Grantaire couldn't read from there. He grabbed the mic stand and started talking.

And how he talked. If Grantaire had been attracted by his voice beforehand, he was now mesmerized. Not by his words ; the arguments had been carefully constructed, crafted, even, each word had obviously been weighted to get a maximum effect, but nothing Grantaire couldn't poke a few holes in if given enough time. But the way Enjolras talked... the passion, the fury, the conviction in his voice... He was fire, he was burning, so hard and so brightly that the sun even looked paler next to him. He was talking, arguing, convincing, and Grantaire could feel the warmth, the energy, from where he was standing. He himself felt braver, stronger, as if a bit of Enjolras' strength was passing through his words.

Enjolras finally stopped, and Grantaire released the breath he had been holding. But the blond boy, apparently thinking that he hadn't shaken Grantaire enough, grabbed his guitar. He sat on the chair chair that his friend brought out, and started playing. It wasn't perfect, but it was miles above where he'd been a week ago. He'd been working very hard, and Grantaire felt a little proud of them both.

And then he started singing.

It was too much for Grantaire. The fire, the passion, and not this, the soft voice, almost lulling, and his smile.... No, he couldn't handle this. He was only human, and this was too much for him to handle. He retreated to the edge of the square, then turned heels and all but ran away. But no matter how fast he ran, the song was still bouncing in his head, and the smile when he started playing. Oh yes. He was fully and thoroughly fucked.

~*~

By the time Eponine's party rolled by, Grantaire had mostly recovered. He still felt a little feverish each time his mind started to wander in the direction of the events of the afternoon, but he could play the part of the guy cool enough to casually go to a party and spend some good time with friends and acquaintances.

When he knocked on Eponine's door, the party had already started, judging by the music pouring by the keyhole (or at least it seemed) at a volume that defeated the purpose of knocking. So he let himself in. After all, he was a friend of the house, wasn't he ? He almost lived here. He stepped into the living room bathed in a soft glow, where half a dozen people were trying to fit on the couch without falling over, things made difficult with Montparnasse who absolutely refused to squeeze himself against the armrest in fear of creasing his coat. Grantaire made a beeline to the table where the bottles had been gathered, put his own among them, then filled himself a glass that he emptied in one go. Armed with a second, he turned to the room, ready to face the crowd. Mingling in during a party had never been a problem for him, and soon, he was caught in a conversation, happy as a clam.

He was on his third glass and caught in a conversation about the latest modern art exhibition he'd seen, when a new group of people near the door drew his attention. Or rather, the very interesting color choice of one of the newcomers. There were very few people in the whole town who dared to sport such a garish pink, and only one who'd wear that much of it, especially with a very low collar to show off his chest. Grantaire made his way to the door to greet him. He noticed that Bahorel hadn't come alone ; his friend, a tall, lanky redhead, abandoned him immediately to go and talk with Montparnasse. Very interesting information that he'd need to think about later.

- Bahorel ! Grantaire screamed above the music. Fancy meeting you hear !

- What can I say, when there's an opportunity to drink and have fun, I'm always ready. Nothing better than a party after a fight !

Now that he looked closer, Bahorel had several cuts that had barely stopped bleeding, and there was a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

- Why am I surprised ? Grantaire asked. A day when you got into a fight ? Must be a day ending in -day.

- Not my fault... this time ! We were nicely minding our own business, having our rally like well-mannered people (Grantaire snickered) and suddenly, a bunch of idiots decided to storm the stage, push everyone down, scream slurs, the whole nine yards. And you know how it goes : things escalate, someone throws the first punch...

- That someone being you, I bet ?

- Not me, in fact.

Bahorel stepped aside, to reveal Enjolras standing just beside him and currently talking with another man with curly hair. Both guys looked battered, Enjolras sporting an impressive black eye, and his lip had been split. Grantaire refrained from running to him and doing something stupid, just nodded in what he hoped was a relaxed way.

- So your blond friend threw the first punch.

- Yeah ! And then it became something like the Third World War or something. Everybody started fighting, kicking, punching, it was wild ! And then of course, the police decided to step in, so a few of our opponents sided with them to hit us, and some sided with us to fight them... It was really truly epic.

- And you didn't get arrested ?

Bahorel looked offended by the question.

- How dare you imply that I'm not swift enough to leave and smart enough to know when to do so ! We missed the haul, barely, and ran home.

- All of you ?

- All of us ! It's the first time none of us got arrested. This deserves a celebration !

Bahorel grabbed Grantaire by the shoulders and dragged him back to the drinks, to Grantaire's utter despair. But he went with him, because pretty boy or not, Bahorel was his good friend, and if he wanted to celebrate with him, Grantaire wasn't going to deny him the joy. Still, he threw a look at Enjolras, and was very surprised when their eyes met. He waved at him, and was delighted when Enjolras waved back. He let himself be dragged, trying not to feel too giddy or to check again that the blond boy was looking at him.

~*~

The party was well underway when Grantaire finally managed to untangle himself from all the social interactions he was caught in for a well-needed smoke break. He was stepping on Eponine's tiny balcony, when he realized that someone was already occupying the spot, leaning on the metal railing. Someone wearing a worn red hoodie, with long, blond, cascading hair pooling in the hood. Grantaire's heart rate doubled, and he almost fell backwards. But after several hours spent talking and drinking, he needed some cold air to clear his mind, a cigarette to calm his nerves, and get away from people and the music for a moment. And Enjolras had turned around when he'd heard the window open, and he was now looking at him. If he backed down, God only could know how he'd fix the situation.

So he walked to the railing too, cigarette in hand, praying all the deities he could that Enjolras wouldn't start obnoxiously coughing to show his displeasure or ask him to put it out. But no, the other boy just looked at him. Grantaire lit his cigarette. Immediately, the sweet feeling filled his lungs. Elbows on the railing, he blowed a long puff of smoke towards the starry sky.

- Can I ?

Grantaire turned to face Enjolras, who was holding another cigarette.

- You smoke ?

- Don't I look the type ?

Grantaire refrained from answering, not wanting to aggravate him now. He motioned him closer to light his cigarette with his own. Suddenly, Enjolras was close to him, so close, that Grantaire could almost feel the warmth from his hair. The spark between them grew a little brighter, sending small shards of light on Enjolras' cheekbones, lighting gold sparks in his hair. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to touch him, right now, stroke his smooth skin, wrap those beautiful curls around his fingers, again and again.... but he simply drew back a little. Enjolras nodded in thanks, and they both resumed their stance, watching the smoke billow above us.

It was... nice, just staying like that, their arms almost touching, in a lull only troubled by the muffled sound of the music behind them. Almost... intimate, in a way. But it was just a small moment in time, a bubble that could burst at every second. A cigarette didn't last long, and Enjolras would probably go back inside once he was done. Grantaire watched the small burning spot, knowing that it may be the only thing that still kept Enjolras beside him. He needed to do something, and quickly. But what ? He couldn't kiss him now, could he ? He'd probably earn himself a punch, and never see him again.

- You were amazing, this afternoon, he blurted.

Good. Nothing embarrassing. Enjolras looked surprised.

- You came ?

- Yes ? I mean, I was curious about the song. And maybe your rally too, a little.

Enjolras smiled. He smiled, and Grantaire couldn't help but smile back.

- You were very good, he repeated.

- Wait, are you talking about....

- Both. Seems that the practice really did you good.

- And the rest ? Enjolras asked, eagerly.

- Very interesting. A few weak points here and there, of course...

- Weak points ?

Enjolras was frowning. Not very good. But life couldn't just always be peaches, right ? And Grantaire was on a roll.

- Yes ? Some of your arguments - very well phrased, I must say - are a bit weak, and could be countered without too much effort. But for a speech, it was okay. Convincing enough. You need to aim for the feelings first, and that did the job.

Enjolras' expression was hard to read in the low light, and Grantaire hoped that the red on his cheeks wasn't due to anger. Oh fuck, it probably was. He was angry.

- As if... he started, but Grantaire cut him.

- No no, sorry. Please don't take it the wrong way. I'm not starting to pick a fight. Even if I am, usually. I mean, I love poking holes in arguments, it's my favourite sport, and not just because it's not physical. I love nothing more than a good argument. Not the kind where you throw the furniture down, of course. The one that allows us to find flaws in arguments.

- So what ? You just said that for my own good ?

A beat

- Maybe ? I mean, if you want to perfect them, I could help. Discuss them with you. Play around until there aren't any holes to poke at them.

- So you want to help me. Like this.

- Yes ? I....

He sighed. This was quickly becoming a nightmare. He was going to wake up.

- Listen. I'm not usually.... I can be kind of an asshole, but that wasn't my goal. You.... you asked for my advice. I could have lied, but... that's not how I work. But I didn't mean to sound like an ass. Or judging. Or.... this.

A few seconds flew by, during which Enjolras simply looked at him. Then, slowly, his brows relaxed. He didn't smile, not yet, but at least he didn't look like running inside anymore.

- Yes, I asked you. I....

He crossed his arms, almost nervously, and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to hug him right this instant.

- I may still have some trouble with criticism, he confessed. Especially coming from someone I don't know well.

- Maybe, Grantaire offered, I could drop by tomorrow or something, and discuss it with you ? This don't seem like a good moment for criticism, it's a party and... you look battered enough without me adding to the pile.

Enjolras gave a small chuckle.

- You're right. Maybe that could be beneficial. I can't swear I'm not going to try to convince you, or not get angry, or...

- Don't worry. I can handle it. In the meantime, maybe we should head inside ? Your friends are going to look for you.

- They know where to find me.

Had he heard right? Yes he had. Enjolras settled back beside him. Grantaire did the same, without a word. He didn't trust his voice right now to speak. So he just stayed beside him, their arms brushing sometimes, enjoying his presence in the calm of the night.

(inside, Eponine had wasted no time in gathering the different bets on whether or not the two would finally kiss before the end of the evening… )

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #jude the cat #more dorks #and the meeting !#how many times can I describe grantaire seeing enjolras #at least once more

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souridealist · 5 years

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what are ur GtN thoughts did u have a favorite joke or side character or crack ship or CONSPIRACY THEORY

YES, YES, ENH?, AND YES

Favorite joke: there are a lot but I think I have to give this one to the moment I fell in love with Gideon, which is the only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted your ass kicked so hard, the Locked Tomb opened and a parade came out to sing, Lo! A destructed ass!

Side character: God I love Palamedes and Camilla. I am absolutely telling on myself to be like “yes, my favorite characters besides the protagonists were the PEDANTIC NERD HOUSE,” but, you know, sometimes we cannot be anyone but ourselves.

Crack ship: Most of my shipping energy went pouring into Harrow/Gideon to be totally honest, with a few side emotions about Palamedes/Dulcinea, but I could probably be talked into some nonsense or other.

CONSPIRACY THEORY: YES, YES I DO, THANK YOU FOR ASKING, I HAVE ONE FUCKING WILD ONE AND A COUPLE OF SMALL CONCLUSIONS, GOING TO START WITH THE WILD ONE AND CUT THIS FOR SPOILERS,

WHAT IF GIDEON IS THE GIRL IN THE LOCKED TOMB

This is absolutely an out-there bulletin-board-and-string theory based in how I refuse to accept that Gideon is dead AND think it would be the height of both humor and romance if Gideon made fun of Harrow for “having the hots for some creepy weirdo in a coffin” BUT, IN FACT, IT WAS GIDEON THE WHOLE TIME.

But also:

1) Gideon is... probably named after, but possibly has some more interesting connection to, someone who was getting notes written about them hundreds of years ago.

2) Gideon, at the age of like... a year old maximum, survived full exposure to nerve gas

3) Gideon is almost supernaturally good at using a sword3a) seriously there are too many notes about how she’s not just good but historically good, I’ve got my eye on that remark about “Matthias Nonius come again,” Naberius

4) whatever’s in the Locked Tomb is extremely supernaturally dangerous and very hard to kill

5) and is a teenage girl.

[6): there are little gray-facepaint Homestucky fingerprints in a lot of places around this book, which has little gray fingers digging into my brain and dredging up nostalgia by the handful, and it’s got timeloops on my mind.]

Okay, it’s way more likely that the girl in the Locked Tomb is this mysterious Alecto who gets to be the title character of the third book, but if there turn out to be reincarnation / time loop / clone shenanigans of some kind, I get to say I called it.

Also, a couple things that aren’t so much conspiracy theories as just... observations:

Small point: Gideon saying “I want to eat a dessert,” when she’s arguing with Harrow about going to Magnus and Abigail’s dinner, isn’t just... the same way you might say “I need to eat a food.” Gideon has probably never eaten a dessert in her life. I want to put her in a blanket and feed her many desserts.

Sadder point: Gideon is between nine and perhaps twenty months older than Harrow. That means that the Ninth House chose to take her in and raise her somewhere between eleven and zero months before slaughtering its children.

It’s really, really likely that they only ever took Gideon into the Ninth House in the first place in order to kill her to make Harrow.

(There are circles of Hell for fictional parents, and those unspellable fuckers are in the very deepest.)

#gideon the ninth #askbox #anonymous #Anonymous

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 4 years

Text

If You’re Good At Something, Never Do It For Free Chapter One: In Need Of Some Assistance

I figured I’d post the first chapter of my WIP on here! TDK Joker x Original Female Character. It is currently at 17 out of ? (Where it stops, nobody knows!) chapters on AO3!

**Warnings for full fic include: Graphic violence, explicit language, blood and gore, smut smut smut, graphic depiction of corpses, murder, aaaand recreational drug use!**

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! I might eventually put all of the chapters up on here or check it out on AO3!

Meet Nora Hawthorne. She spent her time like most Gotham residents. Go to work, go home, keep up with the news. That changed one night. Her life becomes even more interesting after Gotham's own Clown Prince of Crime comes crashing in with a life-threatening injury, leaving her questioning her morals as well as her romantic desires

Jesus, it’s been a long day. A woman with brunette hair above her shoulders, wearing a pair of loose teal green scrubs stands from her desk chair to twist her torso until a satisfying *crack* is heard, followed by a deep sigh. The noise of her tired spine popping into alignment is heard only by her as she stands alone in the treatment area of the now empty veterinary hospital. The brick structure sits between an apartment building and a law firm in West Harlow, the Gotham City neighborhood west of downtown, adjacent to The Narrows. This location makes Dr. Nora Hawthorne one busy veterinarian. On a daily basis she tends to anything from impatient businessmen toting in their wives’ teacup Yorkies with a little cough to large Rottweilers with deep neck wounds. To say she’s gained a variety of experience is an understatement.

She doesn’t own the place, though. Two years out of school and 30 years old means she has some hefty bills to pay. Dr. Moore owns the clinic. Taking this job meant long hours and a busy schedule with not much sympathy from David Moore. “Your generation expects everything handed to them, don’t you? I had to work harder than this to get where I am,” as he just loved to remind her of every time she requested time off for a little… what is it called again? Oh right, work-life balance. Sure, Moore. Enjoy your mini mansion in Uptown since it seems you have no problem balancing the weight of your business on a pair of younger shoulders. Even if it means those shoulders are constantly wound up in to deep knots that no amount of morning yoga can seem to unravel. But she can’t quit. Those bills to pay threaten to pile higher and she’s afraid of heights. Plus, job security in Gotham is hard to come by. Especially since the Joker escaped from Arkham two months ago.

That was in May. Everyone in the city has been on edge since then and the Summer heat is not helping. The days go by but not a peep has been heard in regard to the Clown Prince of Crime’s whereabouts. Same for the Batman. The eerie silence has only been making it worse. The traffic congesting the city streets increases in intensity every evening as Gotham’s citizens rush home in an effort to avoid getting caught up in whatever devastating scheme the Joker has been cooking up during his involuntary vacation. But the threat never comes, leaving the city’s inhabitants to nervously watch and wait. Maybe it won’t come. Maybe he left Gotham for good. Left to terrorize a new city. Wishful thinking is what gets us all through the day. But the tension still weighs on everyone’s nerves, making Nora’s day that much harder when she gets an earful from her clients on a regular basis for things that are out of her control. “Sir, you don’t need to speak to me like that. I did not give your cat a urinary tract infection,” is not something she thought she’d ever find herself saying.

It is what it is. All she can do is keep her head on her shoulders and do her job, care for Gotham’s only truly innocent citizens. Animals don’t dwell in the past, they only live in the present. In that regard, they’re smarter than the majority of Gotham’s inhabitants. She made it her job to advocate for their health and well-being, since they can’t do it themselves. Nora was staying late to finish medical records for the sea of patients the clinic took in that day and she wanted it all recorded while it was fresh in her brain. If you don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. She told her assistant, “You go on home, I’ll just be here finishing notes. Get some rest.” The heavy set women expressed her concern for Dr. Hawthorne being here by herself but the job has gotten her used to being out well after dark. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the door locked,” was the response her assistant, Jen, would always get in return. She didn’t want to argue so she would leave Nora to her work within the off-white walls of the dimly lit hospital in silence.

Nora stretched once more and shifted a glance to the clock on the wall. 9:58pm. Had it been fourteen hours already? Her stomach responded with a growl as if to answer in the affirmative. The hard-working staff finished cleaning the treatment room a couple of hours ago leaving the two metal tables in the center of the room shiny and ready for whatever tomorrow brings. The room wasn’t very large but the open design left ample room for patient care. The treatment tables against the walls opposite from each other extended toward the center of the room, leaving a four foot space between them, and had ceiling-mounted exam lights above them. Along the walls there were shelves of neatly organized equipment and tools. Essentials. White medical tape, boxes of gloves, bandage scissors, IV catheters in a variety of sizes, thermometers, bottles of isopropyl alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, jars with gauze soaked in chlorhexidine scrub, sterile lubricant, needles and syringes, and bandage material being among the most heavily utilized items. Along the back wall is a bank of cages and kennels for patients spending the day in the clinic (any patients in need of continued care were transferred to a nearby twenty four-hour hospital) flanked by drawers full of IV fluids and sterilized tools. The back right corner of the room opened into a short hallway leading to the area that housed a small surgical suite, devoid of any light this time of night, where a cart with monitors and a gas anesthesia circuit sat in wait for its next use. Just beyond this suite is a small door marked “Radiology” indicating the digital X-ray equipment kept inside, keeping radiation exposure to the rest of the place at a minimum. Nora’s desk is in the back left corner of the treatment room, a shelf full of medical reference books sitting above her head. Also that “World’s Greatest Dog-tor” certificate Jen gave her last Spring. Nora didn’t have the heart to tell her she found it kind of insulting.

With the last medical record completed, details of the day’s procedures noted in succinct but thorough language, it was time for the doctor to make her way back to her nearby apartment for some much needed rest. She left her seldom-worn long white lab coat on the back of her chair where it always was and removed the black stethoscope from around her neck to place it on her desk. Walking toward the red-lit exit sign above the side door leading to the alley, she flicked the switch to turn the remaining lights off. She usually had a small can of pepper spray readied in her hand when she left alone at a late hour. But Nora had been practically beaten into the ground with exhaustion at this point and her thoughts were instead centered around a hot shower and her soft bed.

She opened the door to receive a gust of warm night air to her face, intensifying her sleepy feelings. Letting out a rather large yawn, she turned to put her keys in the door to lock it. As she removed the key from the lock, she felt a strange sensation on the back her neck. Like a crawling of her skin, a feeling of dread. Before she could turn around in search of the source of her body’s sudden danger signal, a purple glove slammed onto the door next to her head. Her eyes snapped to the glove and she froze, unable to breathe, while her heart jumped into her throat.

“Evening, doc,” a nasally, raspy voice said. She slowly turned her head to find herself face to face with the Joker himself, leaning with his gloved hand against the door. His makeup was smudged wildly and he was wearing his signature purple overcoat and suit. All color drained from Nora’s face as her breathing quickened to a practically panting rate, the idea of sleep drowned in a surge of adrenaline. Before she could make a sound his other gloved hand clapped over her mouth, a knife tucked between his thumb and index finger, the blade laying flat across the top of his hand.

“Ahh tah tah, no screamin’, doc. Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, would we?” he said, his dark eyes staring straight into hers. Nora struggled to regain her composure, it did her no good to panic. She knew begging and crying would get her nowhere with the Joker. Better to have as clear a head as possible. She took a sharp inhale through her nose. The wave of gasoline and extinguished matches that met her nostrils was overwhelming. It almost made her dizzy. But she slowly let the breath back out through her nose. Their gaze into each other’s eyes, hers wide with fear, his black and hooded, had not been broken since his zeroed in on hers. It was like magnets were keeping her eyes on his, no matter how hard she tried to look away, she couldn’t do it.

“Now. I’m going to move my hand and youuu are not gonna scream. Got it?” his voice getting slightly higher as he spoke. Without thinking Nora nodded slowly, still not breaking their stare, as he slid his hand from over her mouth.

She allowed herself to blink. Then, trying not to let her voice crack, she quietly said, “H-How did you know I’m a doctor?” Stupid stupid stupid. You are an idiot Nora Hawthorne.

Joker let out a breathy giggle and Nora’s gaze then fixated on his mouth. His scars. They were even more striking up close. Nora was no stranger to stitching up wounds and these must have been awful. She didn’t want him to see her eyeing them so she shifted her eyes back up to his.

“Who else would be here this la-te, hm?” Nora couldn’t do anything but open her mouth and shake her head, her eyebrows knitted together with anxiety.

Still bracing himself against the building on his left hand planted on top of the door he said, “Enough with the formalities doc. I am in need for some, uh, assistance, you see.” It was then that the doctor noticed the Joker’s breathing. It was shallow and rather fast. Like he couldn’t catch his breath but was trying to. Oh shit, what does he mean by that. She wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice his labored breathing until now. She supposed being paralyzed with fear would do that to a person. Nora watched as the Joker then lifted the flap of his coat from his right side, revealing a two inch wide piece of glass sticking out from between his ribs. There was blood trailing from it, down his green vest. She gasped. He dropped the fabric and grabbed her by the chin, jerking her head so her eyes met his yet again.

“So, my little doctor, youuu are going to provide said assistance-ah,” he growled. Nora’s eyes grew even wider.

“Wait wait, what? No no I’m a veterinarian, I’m not a human doctor,” she said in a panicked voice. Yeah, nice one, Hawthorne.

“I can read, doc,” the Joker said, gesturing to the painted door that read Gotham City Veterinary Urgent Care. “I know you’ve got what I need in that pretty little head of yours.” He tried to stifle a gasping sound from his throat as he attempted to inhale before speaking again. “I am an animal after all aren’t I, hm?” he said, leaning his head forward and bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. Nora was stunned.

“Why me? Why did you come here for help?”

“Can’t quite go to the emergency room, can I doc? Besides, you take care of little doggies and kitties all day. Just think of meee as a lost little, uh, puppy,” he said, shifting his weight to put his knife-wielding right hand against the door on the other side of her head so Nora was trapped beneath him, their noses inches apart.

Fear bubbled its way up into her head again. She couldn’t think straight. How did Gotham’s most notorious criminal end up here, in front of her, with a life-threatening injury? It didn’t matter how, it only mattered that now it was happening. But, how could she justify helping the Joker? He caused so much death and destruction to this city, her city. She could do her best to fight, she might stand a chance against him in this weakened state. But he was the Joker. He’d probably still be able to slit her throat faster than she could get out from under him. He was the Joker but he also was a person. A person in what she was sure was a significant amount of pain. Another gasping sound made its way out of Joker’s mouth.

“Haven’t got all night, doc.”

Nora’s expression softened. What the fuck am I getting myself into?

“Ok,” she said, lifting her keys and turning to unlock the door.

#joker fanfiction #tdk joker #heath ledger joker #joker x oc #fanfiction

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saintheartwing · 4 years

Text

Invader Zim: The Pigshit Troll, Part Three

"So it's coming from Dad's lab?"

Gaz was now very intrigued indeed. She sat across from Dib in the living room as he pulled open his laptop, Gaz pulling open a can of "Mountain Spew" and drinking away. Dib glanced over at the black can, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah…but why are you drinking that new flavor? Aren't you more into the original?"

"Yeah, but I wanna give the new flavor a try and I gotta be honest, it ain't bad for a zero calorie soda. It tastes like the way Mountain Spew used to way back in the day. A LOT better than their diet one, I'll tell ya that." Gaz remarked. "And it ain't given me diarrhea yet, so that's a plus."

Dib did the very best he could to suppress his laughter. When it came to Gaz's diet, her constantly going to Bloaty's Pizza Hog had real consequences. The cheese round the clock was getting her blocked, but when the levee finally broke, well…frankly, so did the toilet. Many, many times. And she would make him clean it.

There had been a positive to this though. Dib was now amazingly good at plumbing and mechanical engineering and he was actually picking up some decent money loaning his services out to the neighborhood as a plumber…provided nobody told the local trade unions about what he was up to, because compared to them, he was real cheap. So now he could afford a VERY nice laptop with all the bells and whistles as he showed it off to Gaz.

"Yeah, the IP address was traced back to Dad's lab. Unfortunately, I can't track it down to the very computer, Dad does have enough security in place to keep me from seeing that and no way am I risking jail time by cracking that open. They almost busted me last month when Dad tried to install the "Parental Controls" on our new television and I don't want Officer Krupke giving me that lecture again."

Indeed, in one of the very few times Dib and Gaz had been bound by common strife and pledged to work together for a common good, Professor Matthew Membrane had installed parental controls on their television because he was concerned about the damage being done to them from exposure to new Netflix series. Especially with all the brand new true crime dramas popping up all the time, it turned out to be something both Dib AND Gaz positively loved, the chase, the investigation, the grisly details, it was so engaging. They would watch together on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, binge-watching for hours and hours and then eagerly chatting about ALL they'd seen at dinner.

Well, Membrane had been determined to stop them from having their minds all twisted up by violence and at first it worked really well.

"C'mon! I wanna watch "The Ken and Barbie Killers!"

"Fat chance. You're gonna watch Cupcake Wars and you're gonna like it."

"Damn it, lemme watch Don't F—k with Cats, it's a classic!"

"No way. You're going to watch "Masterpiece Theatre"."

"Well…if it's got Patrick Stewart in it that might not be so-"

"Featuring Brian Blessed in the star role of Macbeth!"

"OH GOD NO!"

"Hey, what gives?!"

"That's enough cartoons for you today. You're gonna watch some Animal Planet…no, wait. Better. C-Span. It's good to be involved in politics these days."

"Oh c'mon, it's just hearings on air traffic controllers! You fiend!"

So finally, Gaz had insisted Dib get rid of the thing.

"I'd be risking major jail time!"

"Dib…it's recording the best of Fuller House."

"…I'll go get my screwdriver."

Dib had indeed almost got caught and had to listen to a very irritating lecture from the police. It was rather astounding they got to the house so quick over that, but whenever Dib tried to let them know Zim was up to something, it was "Yeah, we'll get to you when we can".

The good news was the parental controls issue got solved soon enough. Professor Membrane himself decided to get rid of it, saying that though he was worried about the things they were watching, it was his job, not some machine's, to judge and curate what his children saw.

Translation: the parental controls wouldn't let him watch "The Mandalorian" because it was too violent.

"Well can we look up who's working at Dad's laboratory who might have a grudge against you?" Gaz asked as Dib grinned.

"Luckily, that's not protected health information, Dad lists all the employees on the website and under "Contact Us"!" He remarked as his fingers flew across the keyboard and he then turned the laptop to fully show Gaz the list. "Look at who's listed? Keef, of all people is one of the assistants, he's an intern!"

"Hmm. I've always thought there's something off about him…and his stories, well…" Dib cringed.

Keef was definitely, one hundred percent not allowed to write anything even remotely close to sexual. The school had no problem with stories about, say…Zim skinning people alive in one of HIS work. For some reason, that was just fine. Oh, but a bit of soft sex, nakedness? No no no no no! Bad!

But Keef had found a way around that and did stories with lots of innuendo, and a ton…a ton of stories involving Dib, Gaz, Zim…and romance. He called the ones between Zim and Dib "ZADR" and with Gaz and Zim "ZAGR". You could find them cute if you were into that sort of thing, after all, many were astoundingly well written, lovingly detailed, and your heart would begin racing as you kept reading his creative writing tales.

But Dib didn't much like the idea. For one, Zim was over 150, he was waaaaay too old for either him…or Gaz. Two, EW. Three, a lot of the stories had Dib's own personality being ignored just so he could smooch it up with Zim! It didn't come across as a natural evolution or a progression or character development that made sense, it was just "I want this person here, so I'm just going to force them to be there, even if it makes no sense, because the plot is pretty much porn".

Gaz, however, kinda thought it was cute in a funny sort of way. She also knew it wasn't like Dib had never thought about kissing Zim, Dib was still discovering himself, after all, and he had had dreams about…that sort of thing.

"And there's Mr. Elliot!" Dib added. "Wow, why did he decide to work there?"

Gaz smirked and chuckled inwardly. Nobody would EVER know how she got rid of him, and she wasn't gonna tell anyone. And if she wanted you out of your job at the school, it would happen. Now, there were three ways to stop her from doing what she do.

…what? You think imma TELL you?

"He could have finally snapped." Gaz mused aloud. "I mean, when the nice ones snap…they really, really go wild. It's the nice guys you need to watch out for, you can trust a jerk to always be a jerk. But when a decent person goes bad, they go baaaaaad."

"Yeah, that's possible." Dib confessed. "Hmm. Look, our janitor works there too." He murmured. "Johnny."

…Johnny. The one and only Johnny. A slim, slender man, messy black hair that was just downright ugly and grimy. A pale body, sunken eyes, and he smelled strange too, like meat that had been left out on the counter for far too long. He liked making little snappy remarks at people too.

"Did you wash the bathrooms like we asked?"

"I'll wash the walls with your blood!"

"Well before you do that, wash the bathrooms."

On top of that, there were rumors that he caked blood on the walls of his janitorial closet to feed a monster that laid within. He was always seen sinisterly smoking at the very edge of school property at night, an anti-social, creepy figure indeed. Him being the actual troll…it wasn't unreasonable to think of Johnny, curled up in his closet, hunched over his laptop, spewing hate out into the world.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait, look!" Gaz pointed at one of the names. "…Tassirak. That girl's name's Tassirak Doe."

Dib frowned, and he examined the photo that went with the name. "Doe" was a common name for a dead body you hadn't identified and-wait. Wait. Those eyes. The facial structure. The hair may have been different, the skin tone less pale, but Dib recognized those eyes instantly, and that faint Mona Lisa smile too.

And he knew that name, because Tak, Irken Invader, had divulged that to him.

Dib had gotten really close to Tak when she'd first arrived, the purple-haired British-accented girl had been charming, intelligent and clever, and they'd had similar interests. He'd soon spent weeks with her, the two just…talking. Making fun of Zim, chatting about their favorite books and movies they'd read, sharing stories about adventures out in the wild…

And of course, that Valentine's Day dance. "No, no. One-two-three, swing! One-two-three, swing!" Tak had insisted to him.

"Ouch! Don't drag me!"

Her lessons on dancing were harsh but in truth, that time spent with Tak had probably been the happiest he'd ever been.

And that's how he should have known it was a lie. Because Dib knew he wasn't meant to be happy. He'd known that…for a long time.

She'd revealed her real name. They'd eaten lunches and even a dinner or two together. Seen movies and he'd walked her home. And then, just a few days later, she'd turned out to be an Irken invader.

It had hurt. A lot. He'd lost a friend. And maybe someone more. It had really…really hurt.

"Does SHE have an account on the website?" Dib murmured as he examined the school's creative writing website. "…oh wow, yeah, she does, she's using her old username and password she got when she first enrolled, there's not much, but they're there. Wow." He examined them. "She wields metaphors like blunt instruments. You can feel Tak in every single sentence, so much of it is in first person and there is a lot of really biting, cynical wit in here. It feels almost nihilistic. And it's super petty, too. A lot of really nasty stuff happening to folks she doesn't like."

"Wow, one story has her as the Tallest." Gaz remarked. "…damn, she cooked and ate the last ones. That's hardcore scary."

"It's beautifully written though, I'd like to shake her hand than recommend her to therapy." Dib admitted. "I mean, she's going into really grisly detail on every minute they die. She must be super bitter. I don't even wanna imagine what happens to Zim when she updates this story, she just finished catching him and she's got him tied up in…Japanese rope bondage? She's into BDSM?"

"The safe word is "eine kleine nachtmusik"." Wow, somebody's letting their inner Hannibal Lecter out, alright." Gaz said with a whistle. "…still, I kinda WANT her to update just to see what happens. It's like watching a train wreck, you kinda can't look away."

"It could definitely be here. We need to go to the lab and sneak onto those computers. If they saved their work on them at any point, I could prove they were behind it." Dib reasoned.

"I dunno, Dib. Not sure I wanna help you with this. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not really fun anymore watching you get dragged again and again for what the troll's doing, but…" She shrugged. "I mean, it's not my problem."

"What if I paid you?" Dib offered as Gaz rubbed her chin.

"…keep talking, Mr. Moneybags."

"My new job is paying me verrrrry well. To plant roses, I've shoveled a lot of manure, as it were." Dib remarked. "So how about it? Is there a new game you want me to buy?" He offered as Gaz thought to herself.

"Hmm. Well…now that you mention it, there is one game that's coming out that I really want. It's Sekiro: Shadows Die Thrice. Comes out in a week. You buy me that, I'll come with you."

"Deal." Dib insisted.

And so, Dib and Gaz made their way to Professor Membrane's lab that weekend as a quilt of dark clouds obscured their stealthy approach. Slinking on inside through the ventilation shaft as Dib temporarily looped the footage of the nearby camera watching the southern side of the laboratory, they crept through the vents and finally deposited themselves in, of all places, Johnny's closet in the lab.

There was a laptop there, hidden by a bucket. Gaz picked it up, gazing through it as she nodded over at Dib. "I'll look over this one, you go look for Keef's. Then we'll meet back here in…half an hour and go look for Mr. Elliot and Tak's."

"Deal." Dib said with a nod, quickly exiting the closet, getting his camera-hacking tool ready as it was clasped tight around his wrist. The lab was almost utterly closed for the moment, most people were heading home, there was just a skeleton crew left over. This meant it was easy for Dib to sneak around, avoiding spots in the security camera's vision and using his hacking tool to loop footage when he couldn't.

At long last, he reached a work station, the same station Keef had been said to be working at, since the website had said he was paired with a "Dr. Jones". Dib looked about, listening intently. No cameras here, and nobody was inside or anywhere nearby. So he slunk over to the computer and booted it up.

Ha! Keef had been the last one to use the PC, his username was on display. And Dib had a feeling he could guess the password.

Yep! Sure enough, it was "ZADRZAGR". "Oh, Keef…ya basic." Dib chuckled as he looked over Keef's internet history and-

"…hoooooo boy."

Well, Keef definitely, one hundred percent was not the one who sent the reviews. But now Dib knew where Keef got so much help in…inspiration…for his work. He had no idea Keef swung that way!...and that way, AND that way and THAT way.

"Well, um…whatever does it for you, Keef." Dib decided, quickly deciding to erase the internet history and log off, shaking his head. Meanwhile, Gaz had finally guessed Johnny's password. She'd had a feeling it was "Mammon" and yep…it was Mammon. Johnny may have been a loyal, devoted Satan-worshipping weirdo…but he wasn't very smart. He'd left a post it note reminding himself to change his last password since it was too easy to guess, and he needed a better one, and to pick a better demon lord. Unluckily for him, not only had he tossed that post it note in the trash can in the very closet Gaz was in, she'd realized the password hint immediately. "Greed is Good". Well, there were a few Demon lords best known for Greed and one of the best had been what she'd picked.

PING! She was in. And my oh my, Johnny had been a naughty boy. He'd taken selfies to share on the Internet of him and the bloody wall he caked gore on, selfies he was sharing on the Dark Web. Nasty stuff indeed. One particularly "funny" one showed him making a kind of macabre "snowman" on the wall with some exposed ribs and a bashed in nose and two eyes burned up like coals!

And then there were his uploads to "Bestgore". Yeccchhh. Gaz was fine with dooming the deserving wretches, but Johnny was just an outright creep about this-

Wait.

Wait, was that a cat?

He wouldn't.

…he WOULDN'T-

Gaz's mouth fell open and then she darkly glowered, shutting the video off and going through the rest of the janitor's internet history. No, he wasn't the one leaving those reviews. But he was guilty, alright. Just not of the sin Dib thought he was guilty of.

A few minutes later, Dib knocked on the closet door and she exited it, giving Dib a solemn look. "He's not the one. He's a piece of shit, but he's not the one."

Dib could see something was very, very wrong, Gaz had a look on her face he'd only seen when she'd seen crime specials on killers who hurt animals. He thought it best not to ask about it. "I understand. It isn't Keef, either. He's into a lot…but not into that sort of thing."

So now it came time to check the other computer stations. Luckily for them, both Mr. Elliot and Tak were working in the same wing.

Unluckily for them, they were still there. A fact the two found out when they opened the door…

Just in time to see Mr. Elliot AND Tak currently hunched over a computer screen. "What the?!" Dib gasped out as the two wheeled around, seeing Dib and Gaz, staring in surprise as Dib and Gaz looked behind them and-

…Jackass? They were watching Jackass videos?

"You're into those stupid stunt videos where the guys get, like, basketballs bounced onto their balls after they're launched onto trampolines?" Gaz inquired as Tak and Mr. Elliot deeply blushed, Dib racing over to the computer, gaping at the sight before his eyes. He couldn't believe it.

"But it's so…lowbrow! So…STUPID!" He remarked aloud.

"But it's funny." Mr. Elliot said with a shrug. "I can't help it, I find it funny."

"Yeah, something about it simply clicked with me." Tak admitted. "I mean, I do enjoy watching stupid humans suffering for my amusement."

"Yeah, the Germans have a term for it. Schadenfreude." Mr. Elliot confessed. "Happiness at the misfortune of others." He added as Dib looked through their internet history. Yeah, they'd hadn't left the reviews either. All that work, all that effort for…nothing! Except now he knew stuff about his classmates he really, REALLY wish he could unlearn.

"It's not that funny." Gaz said, though she chuckled as she saw a video of Johnny Knoxville soaring off a motorcycle and into a ball pit, groaning loudly…because he was butt naked when he did it. "Okay, maybe a LITTLE funny."

"Sometimes you just wanna indulge in something nice, simple and a bit stupid. Not everything has to be Shakespeare, after all. It fills a need and it doesn't really harm anyone." Tak remarked. "Well, except them, but they get paid for it, so…" She shrugged.

Dib moaned. "Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I thought for SURE…"

"You're really not that Pig Shit troll, huh?" Tak wondered aloud. "I thought maybe you were doing some kind of false flag, Dib, but…no, it really isn't you." She commented dryly. "Hmm. Well, best of luck with that. Unless another classmate of yours, like, pees their pants or something in front of everyone in school, nobody's going to forget this anytime soon. The good news is that people have short memories. A month or two passes by, and you'll be fine. Folks are like GOLDFISH. Best and worst thing about them!" She laughed.

"…yeah, maybe if I slip Zim some ex-lax under the guise of it being a candy bar I can trick him into taking from me…" Dib mumbled as he slunk out of the room. "This sucks. This totally sucks."

"Cheer up, tomorrow Dad's going to treat us to breakfast, remember?" Gaz offered. "You always like that." She told him as they headed out the office door and down the hall to exit out of the building.

"Yeah, him making his pancake and eggs combo with bacon always-"

Dib stopped. Wait.

…wait.

Could it be?

"…I need to check one more computer." He quietly muttered at Gaz, his voice sounding cold and dead.

…

… "You liking your delicious breakfast, son?" Professor Membrane asked as Gaz stared at Dib, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'd said absolutely nothing since their Dad had begun making breakfast and now he was halfway through his meal when he slowly finished chewing and looked up.

"…it's really nice." Dib remarked. "Can I ask you something, Dad?" Dib wanted to know, as he put the fork down and folded his hands in his lap.

"Of course, son! Anything!" Professor Membrane said as Dib took in a long, deep breath.

"Why did you do it? Why did you do those reviews?"

Professor Membrane dropped the plate of bacon he had in his black-gloved hands, looking astounded. Dib went on, speaking quietly. Softly. Soft…but with an edge.

"I thought about it, long and hard. I remembered you were the one who encouraged me to come see you if I kept having problems. The IP address was also traced back to your lab. And then I thought about how…ridiculous the reviews were. They were so badly written but…not badly written enough for someone in my class to have done it. I mean, even a 9 year old knows not to write in all caps. It had to be somebody older, trying to be over the top. And then when I checked your computer, just to be sure…I found out…yes. It was you." He remarked. "…so Dad…why'd you do it?"

Professor Membrane sighed as he sat down at the table, and held his head in his hands. "I…I did want to try and…push you into my arms, as it were. That if I put a little pressure on you in your school setting, you'd keep coming back to me to talk about how you felt. It allowed me to feel like I was the only person you could truly trust, and that felt good. But it wasn't just that, I…" He took a deep breath. "It was…funny to write those reviews. Sometimes it just feels good to be…so lowbrow and coarse and nasty." He admitted. "It was like I tapped into some dark, twisted part of me that'd I'd been ignoring for so long, and when I finally got a chance to let it run wild, it felt amazing!"

He rose up a little and went on. "I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I need ways to unwind myself. I didn't really think I was actually doing any harm. Or maybe…I didn't want to believe it, because I didn't really mean all the things I said, so how could it be anything that bad?" He murmured as Dib took off his glasses, Gaz taking in a short, sharp breath.

Dib never…ever did that. Him doing that meant he must have been really furious.

"…I don't think I want to talk to you for a while, Dad." He quietly muttered.

"…I thought as much." His father sighed as they sat across from one another in silence at the breakfast table, and Gaz quietly sipped on her orange juice.

Come the next day, it was a school day again, and Dib was making his way down the hallway before he overheard a rather familiar accusation.

"I'm telling you, he's writing about your fic in his fic. He's trashing your fic and making fun of it and you as a writer. He's a troll but pretends he isn't and just blames it on another troll when he keeps trolling."

Dib turned around, seeing Zita talking to the Letter M and he frowned a bit as he stared at the girl and the African American boy she was talking to.

"You know, you're just plain wrong." He said aloud, as other kids began to look at him. "It was my dad all this time. Not me. And I don't really care if you don't believe me. I've said my piece. You don't like it, tough." He told her, walking off.

"You think that'll convince us?"

"No. But maybe there's no point in casting pearls before swine." Dib said with a shrug as he walked off. "And people like you who just plug their ears and won't listen to any counterarguments are real pigs indeed." He remarked as he walked off, Gaz walking alongside him.

"Pearls before swine, huh? Nice Bible quote." She remarked. "But I wouldn't be too worried. Tak was right. Just wait a month or so, folks will forget."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I thought about sneaking Ex-Lax to Zim but…I'm not going to lower myself to that." Dib insisted. "Even if it would be really funny."

"Well, I've got something that'll cheer you up." Gaz offered. "I copied the videos Johnny the Homicidal Maniac did for the dark web and I sent it to the police and now he's in jail! So we're gonna need a new janitor."

Dib stopped in the hall. "…wait, is this because of how good I am at plumbing now? Look, there's no way I can be the new janitor. I'll be a laughingstock! Dib, the janitor!"

"Yeah…but you will get keys to every single room in the school." Gaz added. "And paid twice what those neighbors pay you."

Dib chewed his lip. "…well…when you put it like that…I mean, it would be nice to be able to literally go anywhere I want in the school at any time…and I could use the dough…"

"You could rig the toileeeeets so that they always act uuuuuup whenever Zim goes to use iiiiiit." Gaz added in a faint, singsong voice.

"…I KNEW there was a reason I respected you." Dib said with a big grin.

#Invader Zim #Zim #Tak #Gaz #Dib #Fanfiction #fanfic #drama #comedy #johnny the homicidal maniac

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cannabisrefugee-esq · 4 years

Photo

(via The Welfare Gnome! It's Like a Sock Gnome Except This One Can Actually Kill You. Ft. Joker (Again))

The Welfare Gnome! It’s Like a Sock Gnome Except This One Can Actually Kill You. Ft. Joker (Again)

Cannabis Refugee, Esq.

Advertising / Media / Cultural Conversation

Capitalistic Patriarchal Medicine

Crohn's Disease Stories

Euthanasia / Suicide

Law / Legal / Benefits

December 20, 2019

According to the internet, a “sock gnome” is a mythical creature that pilfers socks. Presumably it lives in or around the dryer where you put an even number of socks in and get an odd number out. Sometimes it gets tricksy and spits out an even number but the pairs don’t match (meaning it’s pilfered one from more than one pair) but the usual evidence that you’ve had a sock pilfered by a gnome is that there is one left over that doesn’t have a mate and the missing sock never reappears ever. This is a real thing (if not a real gnome) and everyone knows what this means.

Well, there appears to be a similar creature that lives at Social Services and pilfers sick and poor people’s applications for welfare benefits. Or something, idk. I assume these creatures are related but maybe not since this gnome doesn’t play games: it’s goal seems to be to drive you insane before it literally kills you. I wrote here before about an application for benefits that went missing, along with a half a dozen other boondoggles that have wasted my spoons and left me scrambling to repeat some administrative process I was barely able to complete survive the first time.

Because while a sick person’s literal inability to jump through bureaucratic hoops is actually the best evidence that someone is extremely ill, someone has decided that only those who are well enough to sing for their supper (or pursue benefits) deserve to eat, as it were. The first application that went missing was for food stamps, while today I found out that my application to get on a 4 month waitlist to see a doctor went missing 2 months ago and has not been since heard from: although my disability advocate hand-delivered it, the application was never received.

I didn’t know it had never been received since I was instructed to wait for 2-3 months for a phonecall from them whereupon they would then tell me that I had to wait another 4 months to see a provider. Now I get to start the whole process over again. Of course, the clock starts, again, from zero: 2-3 months for the application to be processed and another 4 months before I will be seen. And as both Crohn’s disease and high functioning Autism are untreatable and incurable, the only reason I’m even trying to get in to see a doctor is that I need up to date records of medical compliance (not actual therapeutic medical care since none exists) to support my claims for disability. As if sick people have the time and energy for that.

Just “apply for benefits” then keep applying indefinitely or forever! Just get showered, dressed, don’t eat or drink anything though because Crohn’s, get somehow transported across town, pretend to act human for a several hours while you are being humiliated, interrogated, starved and otherwise tortured in public, then somehow get a ride back home. And do all of that without “acting” sick. Easy peasy.

And truly, bureaucratic incompetence (or a welfare or Social Services gnome) isn’t even worth writing about and I wouldn’t bother writing about it except that it had an unsettling effect on me: I literally wondered, if only for a second, if I had hallucinated the whole thing and therefore wondered if my new disability advocate who had hand-delivered the applications himself, Dave, was even real. Jesus Christ that was disturbing. Around Halloween of this year, Dave had helped me complete numerous applications, some online, while he mailed some hardcopies out of town and hand-delivered the rest; the 2 applications that were both hand-delivered were supposedly never received. One would be understandable, if not acceptable, but both of them? I was shook.

Very shortly thereafter I realized that the only proof I even have that Dave came to pick me up several times, completed applications for/with me and took me home again is that one application we did online was actually received and has his name and information on it. Much to my chagrin, they initially returned that “online” application to me in hardcopy to review, sign and return (WTF) but as it turns out, that bit of bureaucratic fuckery actually saved me from something awful — a literal break from reality — and was the only proof I had that Dave and our interactions were even real. Also, my old disability advocate told me about Dave in front of another person and they both remember it. (!) So yeah, I’m legit losing my mind by now but at least I’m not delusional (that I know of). Everything about this is fucking terrifying.

Wait. Is Dave even real? Let’s review.

At some point, I know my readers are going to get sick to death of hearing about this shit and I wouldn’t blame them. Hearing about how the system truly victimizes people is unpleasant and predictably leaves those who don’t have to deal with it (yet) with the strong impression that disenfranchised people are “victims” experiencing “victimization” which is always, always read as a character flaw, or it is eventually, especially if it goes on for a long time and it often almost always does. And this material is about as appealing to read as…idk, a book of vintage recipes where the first and second ingredients in every dish are Jello and fake mayonnaise? Maybe. There’s a trainwreck quality that’s hard to look away from, it’s interesting (at first) to see how all the various parts fit together (or ultimately don’t) and I suppose it’s possible to have compassion for the vintage cooks who were trying so, so hard to be resourceful and whatnot.

But eventually that person’s judgement will probably come into question and the blame will fall squarely on them if they consistently choose to participate in such insanity, in that case, preparing and serving Spaghetti-Os and sliced hot dogs suspended in savory Jello, or a canned ambrosia Yule log. (I just watched a video of someone making a canned ambrosia Yule log from a vintage recipe, you can watch that here). Or in the case of a vulnerable person seeking benefits, choosing to consistently be relieved of their dignity and even being (seemingly) willingly neglected and abused. The comparison is kind of a reach but what I’m getting at here is that it’s not pretty. The things I discuss on this blog aren’t pretty.

So do I have an actual point? Actually I have 2. The first point I will make via another anecdote and is something I learned as a young attorney who was becoming seriously ill: I had been seeing a chiropractor/nutritionist for months to attempt to treat what was becoming unbearable chronic pain and GI issues when my health insurance company started denying his claims. The “doctor” wasn’t being paid but I was still in disabling pain and his treatments were working. Kind of. Until they stopped. We had to have “the discussion” which drew out our competing interests: my interest in continuing treatment without a lapse versus his interest in being consistently paid. (Really, this is where the myth of the compassionate Western healer is always undone: the issue of money. But that’s a post for another day.) This discussion is never pleasant and as I learned, is absolutely meant to be ugly.

As a seasoned provider with decades of experience in the insurance game, the “doctor” calmly explained to me that part of the game is to pit the doctor and patient against each other so that they can’t provide a united front against the real enemy: the insurance company. The goal is to have the doctor and patient part ways angry so that there is no reason to pursue an appeal and the treatment — whether it’s medically necessary or not — simply ends. From the insurance company’s perspective, the problem (of exposure to liability) just goes away: if the doctor and patient part ways it doesn’t have to expend resources reviewing appeals and no further claims will be made, their exposure drops to zero, and they win.

Get it? Bad guys 1, good guys 0. And this, I think, is the dynamic playing out when people get fed up (and fired up) with hearing about what sick and disabled people go through — regular, relatively powerless people blaming and judging other regular, relatively powerless people for being “victims” instead of providing a unified front against our common enemy. In this case, against our corporate and governmental overlords who spend billions if not trillions annually on “corporate welfare” and destructive black budget programs while reducing, eliminating or otherwise making inaccessible benefits that real people need to live in this shithole they created, not us. And Big Medicine torturing sick people and deliberately (or leastwise predictably) making us worse.

We all have a choice, don’t we, to pick the correct side and to not fall into this deliberate trap set by the elite, to not go against our own interests, to decline the invitation to support our oppressors while undermining ourselves and our ilk, our own people. Choose correctly. It matters.

My second point is this. I can only speak for myself when I say that I absolutely never wanted to be a “victim” and I spent my entire life and literally everything I had to try to ensure that didn’t happen. I have written about that before if anyone wants to revisit that part of my journey, but what I haven’t directly said is this: once I had exhausted every resource I had accumulated over a lifetime (which wasn’t much), after I had asked everyone I knew for help and they all declined, after I had failed to cure myself of an incurable disease, I knew what was coming for me because I had spent my entire life trying to avoid it.

My experience as a benefits attorney only underscored what I already knew, which is that there is nothing there to catch most people when they fall, and there is no bottom to the abuse and neglect one will suffer, and literally endless opportunities to be victimized, once anyone, especially an unresourced, unsupported female, is no longer able to control her outcomes and sick women can no longer reliably control their outcomes. I knew the benefits system would be inaccessible or inadequate, I knew I would be abused and neglected by doctors if I let them, I knew I could end up sick and homeless at the same time, I knew I could end up sick and homeless and raped and pregnant at the same time if there was nothing I could do to stop it, and I knew that once I got sick there was, in fact, little or nothing I could do to stop it. I knew there would be no end to my suffering as a sick woman under capitalism and patriarchy.

I saw this coming a mile out, and to avoid that outcome I knew I didn’t want and knew I couldn’t handle (and shouldn’t be expected to) and to fulfill a lifelong promise I had made to myself to never “allow” myself to be victimized in this way, I attempted suicide. 4 times. Four fucking times I took action against myself that was so incompatible with life that by all rights I should have died at least once if not every time but I didn’t die. Each time I woke to this nightmare that won’t end and I had to go on, dealing with the same shit and with the same hideous constraints only even more sick and even more traumatized than I was before if that was even possible. And it is possible, isn’t it — it is bottomless. There is no end, there is absolutely no end to how bad this can and will get for me and for everyone in my position.

And to be clear, I started this blog after what ended up being my final (well, most recent) suicide attempt which was 2 years ago by now. Get it? Every single post on this blog was written after that and therefore was very nearly not written at all. What I am documenting here, I think, is a fairly common experience that is almost always lost to time and tragedy: what it’s actually like to be this seriously, hopelessly ill, how “the system” works against sick people and sick women at every turn, and what it really looks like to have no options. And while this surely happens all the time, every force in the universe, it seems, is working against most people actually knowing about it. In fact, the most relateable thing I’ve ever read, the only thing that I have ever seen address these points and describe an experience nearly identical to my own was left behind by an activist/writer/seriously chronically ill woman in a suicide note. I wrote about that woman, Anne Örtegren, and her suicide note here.

In my own case, and this is the only reason you are hearing about it, I happened to be a seasoned researcher and writer with a specialized interest in dissecting the insane system of patriarchy, I had a preexisting platform on which to advertise this project and an audience that was open to hearing about it, and despite my best intentions and efforts, and those of everyone and everything else for that matter, where those intentions and efforts were not compatible with life, my life, I didn’t fucking die. Not yet anyway. I suspect that many women who experience what I and Anne Örtegren and others have experienced go down for the third and final time before anyone even hears them scream. And if any of this sounds a little crazy to you, that’s only because it is. It is completely, completely insane.

#joker #christmas #xmas #friends #family

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septembercfawkes · 6 years

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How to Come up with Great Titles

A follower recently asked me if I had a post about coming up with titles, and since I didn't, I decided to write one.

Coming up with titles is weird sometimes.

For example, I have had stories where the title simply "came to me" before I'd even started writing it.

Other times I couldn't come up with or even consider a title until the story was essentially completed.

You can also throw working titles in there--titles you slap onto a WIP until you get further along and really consider it (or until an editor wants to call it something different).

If a title just "came to you," that's great, but you also might want to double check that it is really the best title for the work.

Other than the cover art, the title is perhaps the most important selling point on the book itself. It might be what gets a reader to pick up the novel to look at. (After that, the back cover copy obviously becomes important.) Unfortunately as writers, most of us have no say in what the cover art is--if we are publishing traditionally. But we do have some say in the title.

Often, the best titles capture an interesting image/concept, promises what kind of story the book is, or both. Genre may also factor in.

It's usually better to be more specific than vague. Remember that whole post I did on vagueness? And also this whole post I did on not picking generic details? As a reminder, if something is too vague, the audience doesn't get enough context, and therefore can't care about the story. If something is too generic, it leaves no impression and is forgettable.

One time in my writing group years ago, we decided to go through the bookshelf (near where we met in a library) and find the worst title we could. To this day, some of us still remember that meeting because of that. The worst?

The Land

That was a title. (And the cover art was equally boring.) This is a horrible title, in part because of the points I just made. "The Land" is very vague and very generic. I have no clue what land we are talking about or why I should care about it--I have zero interest in this book (other than the fact the title is so awful). I have no idea what genre it is. Is this something geographical? A Land Before Time wannabe? Who knows.

Now, because I know people are going to go search that title on Amazon, I want you to know that this book did not have a subtitle. It did not have a cover image that conveyed a story. It was just The Land.

aka, THE WORST.

So lets talk about some examples that fit into the two categories I named.

1. Captures an interesting (and specific) image or concept.

2. Promises an interesting or specific kind of story

Also, probably worth mentioning is that just because I refer to the title as an example, it does not necessarily mean I have read or watched it--just grabbing examples, some I know, some came up in searches.

Interesting (and Specific) Image or Concept

Mistborn is a good example of this. It takes two images or concepts we are familiar with and smashes them together. We know what mist is. And we know what it means to be born. These are concepts and images that are specific. However, we don't know what it means to be or act Mistborn, so it's intriguing. Maybe this is why we pick up the book. Because we understand enough about those two concepts, but we want to know what this concept means.

Well, next thing you know, you are reading the back cover (which is equally interesting) and then opening the book.

Notice too, that the word mist is something that is associated with mystery and maybe even eeriness. In thick mist, we can't clearly see what's in front of us. It's also a word that has some association with the otherworldly, whether it's from Stephen King's The Mist, or someone in Middle-earth talking about The Misty Mountains.

"Mist" creates a sort of buzz because of its associations and connotations--like those "buzzwords" I talked about in my post, 5 Tricks that Help with Hooks.

Here are some other examples that use this technique:

The Runelords Lord of the Rings Night Circus Jurassic Park The Raven Boys The Book Thief The Hunger Games Ghost in the Shell Legally Blonde Phantom of the Opera Death Note

Other times, the title may capture a more specific image:

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo The Day the Earth Stood Still A Princess in Theory Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus The Time Traveler's Wife Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie To Kill a Mockingbird

Remember, it is not required that you are highly specific, you just need to be specific enough.

Promises an Interesting or Specific Kind of Story

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, this is a title that promises that this story is about Harry. I know that sounds obvious, but it's more than that. This story isn't just about some amazing plot. It's about the daily life of Harry Potter, too. What it's like going to a magical school. It's not always about fighting dark wizards or saving the world. Sometimes it's about dealing with your awful aunt, friends, and schoolwork.

I believe the title was changed to Sorcerer's Stone here in the U.S. because that's better for marketing. A philosopher may be interesting to kids. But from a marketing standpoint, a sorcerer is more interesting, because it implies there will be magic in the book, not philosophy.

So we know that this is a series about a person, but also has fantastical elements or some adventure to it: Sorcerer's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban (again, notice specific images).

Likewise, Diary of a Wimpy Kid immediately conveys what kind of story this is. Like Harry Potter, it's about a person. "Wimpy kid" is interesting because no kids would typically describe themselves as that. "Diary" tells us this is a slice-of-life story, but it's also interesting, because what boy would say they own a "diary"?

Here are some others.

The Kiss Quotient (Romance) Austenland (this will be about Jane Austen--also, notice the unique concept) Sherlock Holmes (this is a series about following the intelligent detective, the character) The President is Missing (pretty obvious, but immediately tells you what kind of story it is) The Da Vinci Code National Treasure Hamilton War of the Worlds Sixth Sense Cowboys and Aliens Lost in Space A Series of Unfortunate Events Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Little House on the Prairie The Little Mermaid Goosebumps Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

These all make promises, about the genre, story structure, emotional appeals, plot, or whatever else.

If I'm a huge Jane Austen fan, I might be immediately drawn to picking up a book called Austenland, out of curiosity, at least. This title helps you find the right audience.

Notice, though, that if The Kiss Quotient was a political thriller, then that's going to be a bit trickier to market, because the title has "kiss" in it. (However, in some cases, if you handle it right, that makes it more interesting).

Images and concepts can make promises too. Jurassic Park because of what those words are associated with, promises dinosaurs and theme parks. I immediately get an idea for what kind of story this is.

Worth noting, is this sort of thing is also why people advise in the industry that you use a different pen name for each genre you write in. Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton is a different story than Jurassic Park by Roald Dahl. Same topic. But completely different stories. And Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Stephen King would be something totally different.

Daniel Handler writes both under his real name and his pen name Lemony Snicket for two different storytelling approaches.

Some titles use a play on words or a familiar phrase to make a promise.

The Fault in Our Stars - This title comes from a line in Shakespeare's play, Julius Caesar (notice how that title tells us what it's about too) where Cassius and Brutus are speaking about how their problems and faults come from within, and not from without--fate or the universe. The Fault in Our Stars implies this is a story about characters dealing with problems and fates that are largely what the universe/fate gave them (in this case, cancer), and not problems from within or brought upon themselves.

There are some benefits for doing this sort of thing. For John Green, using a title that references Shakespeare instantly elevates his persona and his novel. It becomes more important. It sounds scholarly and educated. If you are going to invoke Shakespeare, you must be one of those two things or you must be a pretty good writer (at least that's the impression you give). You know what you are talking about. It still tells us what kind of story this is.

I've seen some people actually take titles of famous works and try to do this sort of thing. It's that association. There are some pros and cons to this. For one, your book might show up in search results for that title, which gives it more exposure, and probably exposure to the right audience. However, it can cause problems because it is the exact same title, sometimes because you are right next to the famous text. How does yours compare? Are people looking for new reading material when they are searching the famous text? Or do they just want the famous text? Also, it can be confusing when people talk about your book.

The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells, a science fiction novel, is very different than Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, which is about social issues concerning African Americans. Both are famous, so you almost always have to specify by author.

Here are some (less highbrow) examples of using a play on words or phrase:

Ready Player One My Little Brony See No Evil Dead Men Tell No Tales

Almost always the title gains significance and more meaning as the audiences reads or watches the story, whether it's because they learn what a Mistborn is or they appreciate more the issues that can come from letting a pigeon drive the bus. Some titles work on multiple levels in this way.

Let's look at M. Night Shyamalan's Signs as an example (I can already hear the booing, but I totally love that movie and many of his others).

"Signs" is one of those buzzwords, because it's associated with a hidden meaning.

But once you see the cover or trailer, you realize it's referring to crop circles. Those are signs left by aliens. We know what the story is about.

But once you watch the movie, you realize that signs also (and actually) refers more to spiritual signs of a higher power, and despite being an alien movie, the protagonist's character arc (and by relation, theme) relates to moving from believing in no meaning of life and no God to believing there are no coincidences and there is a higher power. Mel Gibson's character realizes that what he thought was totally meaningless in one context is actually a sign in a higher, bigger context.

This is a great example of how a title relates to a plot, character arc, and theme.

There are some cases where a book has a title that does not seem to capture an interesting image or concept, nor does it make a clear promise for what kind of story it will be, so you do not have to follow these guidelines, however, I would argue that following them results in more effective titles.

A Word on Working Titles

As I mentioned at the starting, working titles are temporary titles for a project, placeholders for something better. In some situations, you could argue that every title is a working title until it gets published. Editors may decide to change your title.

Working titles can have their own side effects. For one, you might start writing toward it. For example, if your story has "Monkey" in it, you might start incorporating more monkeys. That may or may not be a good thing.

In His Dark Materials, the title of the first book (in the U.S.), The Golden Compass, was actually the novel's working title. The real title became Northern Lights. However, when still writing the novel, Philip Pullman was working with his U.S. editor. When he put the real title on, Northern Lights, his U.S. editor felt cheated in a sense. To him it was The Golden Compass--what it had been through all their communications. This is why the first book has two different titles, depending on where you live. (And while I love the northern lights, honestly, the compass seems to fit the rest of the titles of the trilogy, which reference concepts of magical objects: The Subtle Knife, The Amber Spyglass.)

So that's a unique story of how an editor chose the working title over what became the real title.

In Poetry

Other than the other ways I've mentioned titles can be used, in poetry in particular, titles may work to give additional context--whether it's telling us where the poem takes place, what is concretely happening in the poem, or how to interpret it.

Here is a short one from poet Jack Gilbert as an example.

Divorce Woke up suddenly thinking I heard crying. Rushed through the dark house. Stopped, remembering. Stood looking out at the bright moonlight concrete.

Without the title "Divorce," we don't get a lot of context for what this poem is really about. But with the title, we understand that Gilbert is capturing an image, a moment, a concept, of what it's like being recently divorced. Notice how the speaker ultimately looks outside at the concrete, touching on the idea of someone having left.

So titles can also give you context too, though most novel titles probably don't pull off context in this same way.

And there you have it! Probably way more than you wanted to know about titles, but hopefully that helps you guys come up with some good ones!

#writing tips #writing tip #writing tips and tricks #title #writeblr #fanfic #fanfiction #writing a book #nanowrimo #author #editor #writing advice #writing lesson #writing lessons #writing helps #writing help

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joannalannister · 6 years

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Hi Lauren, you tend to be insightful about the Lannisters and their dynamics; what do you think it is about Jaime (despite his flaws) that means he was able to do what Tywin and Cersei can't/won't and just love Tyrion? Maybe it's Tywin and Cersei that are the anomalies, but it's almost surprising that Jaime managed to avoid absorbing their hateful attitudes to be able to have such a positive (until recently) bond with his brother, and wonder if it's like an unappreciated virtue of his.

What a good question!

I was going to type “I don’t think it’s about Jaime being a better person than Cersei.”

But the thought that immediately followed was, “No, Lauren, that statement gives the wrong impression of your views, because Jaime is a better person than Cersei in your opinion. Jaime has a dash more empathy and compassion than Cersei, and that gives him more potential. He is still horrible, but he is a marginally better person than Cersei, and the narrative suggests there might (might!) be hope for Jaime, when … there probably isn’t any hope for Cersei, unfortunately. That’s what GRRM is playing with throughout: Jaime’s potential, Jaime’s hope to be better than he is - will he end as the True Knight, or the Smiling one, or somewhere in between? GRRM isn’t playing with Cersei’s potential because, well, he cast her as the Evil Queen from the beginning. She’s a complex Evil Queen that we can empathize with, to be sure, but still definitely doomed.”

“But Brain, being marginally better than Cersei is a pretty low bar to set. If the shoe were on the other foot and Jaime were in Cersei’s place, do you think he would still avoid Cersei’s hateful attitude? Would he still have that sprinkling of empathy?”

“Nah, Tywin would make sure he adopted that hateful attitude.”

“Then what is it about Jaime?”

“Jaime is a marginally better person than Cersei, but I don’t think this is about Jaime being (or at least having the potential to be) a better person than Cersei. It’s not about Jaime’s inner conflict between the True Knight and the Smiling Knight, and it’s not about Cersei as the doomed Evil Queen.”

So let me explain what I do think it’s about – I think it’s about how much Tywin’s children have been affected by his abuse.

Jaime’s always had Tywin’s open (yes open!) (albeit limited!!) affection**. Meanwhile, Cersei lived for those secret smiles that were occasionally thrown her way.

**One might argue that we don’t see Tywin showing Jaime affection in the books, but I would argue that we do. I think Tywin is an ESTJ personality type, and one of the ways that ESTJs show love and affection is by giving you their time, which is very valuable to them. Less verbal, more action. Early on in the books, we learn that Tywin traveled across the continent to attend Joff’s (pre-series) nameday tourney and watch Jaime compete (and lose).

ESTJs make you a priority if they love you: “They have my son.” Tywin makes his priorities very, very clear in the War of the Five Kings.

Tywin is also a very concrete person; he gives elaborate gifts, because these gifts are tangible love to him imo. Hence the sword Oathkeeper.

Jaime and Cersei aren’t treated equitably. Jaime gets more imo. Jaime had more even in the very beginning (“alike as two peas in a pod … well, except between the legs”). So Jaime can afford luxuries like kindness and empathy and honor. They’re luxuries that Cersei can’t afford, or at least ones she doesn’t think she can afford, because Tywin basically threw her and Tyrion into the fucking Hunger Games with his abusive parenting.

(I have said it before that there is a terrible poverty in House Lannister.)

Cersei has to perceive Tyrion as a threat, and vice versa. It’s the win-or-die, zero-sum mentality she was raised with. Cersei didn’t gain the same distance from Tywin that Jaime did. While Jaime was off allegedly learning about honor and stuff with his Kingsguard parental figures, Tywin always kept Cersei close, first in the Tower of the Hand and then at CR, until she was handed off to Robert. So Cersei got a lot of exposure to Tywin’s horrible philosophies, and she was desperate to please her father, to gain his approval and earn his stupid smiles. I think a lot of Cersei’s reactions to Tyrion are behaviors learned from Tywin. Meanwhile Jaime’s off trying to establish his identity as a knight, independent of House Lannister.

And remember, Tywin kept Tyrion close too. Tyrion wasn’t allowed to go to the CItadel or anything to establish his own identity. Eventually he would forbid Tyrion a grand tour of Essos to keep him and continue abusing him.

It’s as if Tywin instigated a cage match between Cersei and Tyrion, to fight to the death, to see who could win the #2 spot. (And Cersei does indeed like to murder the competition; she takes after her father that way. (See: Melara)) Cersei has to compete with Tyrion for scraps of Tywin’s affection and approval.

Also, Jaime has never been forced to compete with Tyrion. Jaime was always going to be Tywin’s firstborn son and heir, if he wanted it, and he’s always been very secure in that position. (Too secure. Almost prison-level security that Tywin was forcing on him.) If Tyrion had been born able-bodied, it wouldn’t have changed Jaime’s life very much. Jaime never perceived Tyrion as a threat. (Until recently.)

And think about it. Think about how Tyrion never asked for Casterly Rock until ASOS, even though Jaime had been in the Kingsguard since Tyrion was, like, a first grader or thereabouts. When Tyrion finally asks in ASOS, he chides himself, telling himself he had known Tywin’s answer all along: “I never once raised the issue. I must have known. I must always have known.”

But loyalty plays a part too. Tyrion feels an intense loyalty to the “big, strong brother” who brought him “toys, barrel hoops and blocks and a carved wooden lion. He gave me my first pony and taught me how to ride him.” Jaime bought quite a lot of loyalty with a few trinkets, a pony, and a lie. (As I said: dividends.)

“You can’t be the Lord of Casterly Rock, he heard Jaime say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place.“

Obviously Jaime never said that to Tyrion, but I’m sure that Tyrion felt the same feelings as Jon Snow about his brother’s birthright. Remember, all dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes. I’m sure Tyrion, for a very long time, had this feeling that “Casterly Rock belongs to my brother, Jaime.” It’s only when Jaime is lost in the war that Tyrion finally asks for it.

(And tbh Tywin probably said that through the Casterly Rock PA system every morning with the day’s announcements, like, “And don’t forget … Casterly Rock belongs to my son, Jaime” the way Mr. Burns tells Homer Simpson “And don’t forget … You’re here forever.”)

But unlike Jaime, Cersei is in constant competition. If Tyrion had been born able-bodied, Cersei would have been pushed further down the line of succession, displaced by her second younger brother in both inheritance and her father’s affections. I think there’s a part of Cersei that glories in Tyrion’s dwarfism, because it feeds her own feelings of superiority. If Cersei never lets Tyrion (or anyone else) forget that he’s a dwarf, that makes her own position more secure. Tyrion must be cast down for her to be held up - zero sum. And Tyrion “killed” Cersei’s mother, in her eyes (and Tywin’s too, certainly). Cersei losing her mother puts her at a disadvantage, so Tyrion has to pay for that - again, it’s a zero sum game.

So I don’t really think there is some innate quality that Jaime has that Cersei lacks. Think about some of Jaime’s qualities. Like Cersei, Jaime is competitive, he gets violently jealous, he deals with threats swiftly and decisively, he can be ruthless. He’s still playing the zero-sum game that House Lannister must win or die. It’s just that, unlike Cersei, Jaime’s qualities haven’t been “activated” to target his siblings. Until recently perhaps. (If you’re thinking about, like, the Terminator or s/t right about now, my job here is done.)

I think that distance from Tywin (or the lack of it) is the characteristic we’re looking for.

It comes back to that kindness and empathy and love and all that jazz. Kindness and empathy and love are the basis of our humanity, which is obviously something that Tywin is lacking. (Cersei too.)

From his position of privilege, from the identity that he’s (in the process of) establishing in the Kingsguard independent of Tywin, Jaime can afford some glimmers of humanity. Jaime can do things like jump into a bear pit to save an innocent person, because he had other parental figures who tried to teach him about doing the right thing, instead of just Tywin preaching about Lannister glory.

Cersei never could afford those glimmers of humanity, not under Tywin’s Hunger Games parenting, always kept close by his side. tbh I don’t think Cersei would even think of humanity as something worth having, what with Tywin telling her stuff like ~love is useless~. Tywin stripped Cersei of her humanity long before the septas stripped her of her clothes, and Tywin warped her into something monstrous.***

And that’s what I find so … so remarkable about Tyrion. Tyrion still finds a way to afford moments of kindness, even when Tywin’s zero sum game says he shouldn’t be able to afford them. Remember, Tyrion was kept close too. Tyrion wasn’t allowed to establish his own identity. Tyrion too is eager for his father’s approval, eager to learn all the lessons Tywin might teach.

Tywin tried to take the humanity from Tyrion, but Tyrion is still fighting for it. He’s on the ropes in ADWD, but definitely still in the fight between man and monstrosity.

(I love all of my Lannister children with my whole heart, but this is why Tyrion is my baby, and this is why I think Tyrion is George’s favorite.)

***(Don’t get me wrong, Cersei is obviously still responsible for her own choices, and she is still to blame for the murders she committed and everything else. But I think Tywin is also a guilty party here.)

So. No, I personally don’t think there’s some unappreciated virtue about Jaime that allowed him to have a good relationship with Tyrion. It was his good circumstances from the beginning, that allowed him more freedom away from Tywin.

And something to consider: Jaime thought no one could love Tyrion. Jaime thought Tysha was lying about loving Tyrion, and he followed Tywin’s orders, and he still doesn’t feel remorse for Tysha. I said “glimmers” and I meant glimmers only. “I am loved by [Tyrion] for a kindness I never did.” How much does Jaime love Tyrion, truly? Like Cersei, Jaime too was eager to please Tywin and gain his approval, enough that Jaime was willing to lie and let this horrible thing happen. How much does Jaime love Tyrion, truly?

To me, the person with the unappreciated virtue is Tyrion. Where do these wells of kindness and humanity come from, amidst the parched desert of Tywin’s philosophies? What made Tyrion give the saddle plans to House Stark when House Stark met him with bared steel? Tyrion elevated his opponent, when he was already in a position of weakness. Why? That is the virtue to look for, because the fate of the world rests on Tyrion finding it, I’m quite certain.

***

Fortunately for all of us, I can express Tywin’s dynamic with Tyrion much more succinctly. (Although I could go on for days.)

“Tyrion hated weakness, especially his own. It shamed him, and shame made him angry.”

When Tywin looks at Tyrion, he is looking in a mirror, the only mirror in Westeros that shows him as he truly is: small. Weak. “an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning.”

Tywin hates weakness, especially his own. He hates Tyrion, for cloaking all of Tywin’s weaknesses in Lannister crimson and “waddling” them about for all the world to see.

(Whenever I see people in the tags angry-ranting about quoteswapping, I laugh maniacally because I am the queen of quoteswapping. The parallels GRRM made between so many characters are too delicious to ignore.)

#mzyraj #replies #i dont think i answered this quite as well as i would like to sorry #but i have to stop now #lannister thoughts #tywin lannister #tywin meta #tyrion lannister #tyrion meta #jaime lannister #jaime meta #cersei lannister #cersei meta

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ultraericthered · 5 years

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Underrated Bad Guy Blurbs - Disney Baddies

Br’er Fox, Song Of The South

- I think everyone knows this guy as the main antagonist of Splash Mountain at the famed Disney theme parks. And he’s real good at being that antagonist, make no mistake, but it’s a shame that most people get such a limited exposure to his wild and crazy personality.

- The thing that most stands out with me regarding this villain is his dynamic with Br’er Bear. If you’ve seen any part of the rare, banned from official release movie, you’ll know what I’m talking about. The way the two of them play off of each other is brilliant ‘cause of just how polar opposite they are in personality and approach despite having the same goal of wanting to kill Br’er Rabbit. Br’er Fox wants to kill him, but he wants to personally best him first. His mind runs wild with imaginative ways in which he can do this, and then equally creative means with which to kill him. For him, the true joy in his work is not the end result, but the path taken getting there. Br’er Bear, on the other hand, is an absolute simpleton with zero imagination. He’d prefer to just go out and catch that Rabbit as quickly and simply as possible, and then once he’s caught, finish him off in the quickest and simplest way possible - knocking his head clean off with a club. The alliance of convenience is continuously marred by this difference in approach, and it’s somehow always hilarious every time it happens.

- Probably the weirdest thing about the character is that James Baskett, the man who played Uncle Remus in that movie, provided his voice in the movie, which was also the actor’s final movie before his passing. Baskett did an awesome job with Br’er Fox and his off-the-wall zany fast talking and gleeful maliciousness, but it’s weird because the predatory animals that were Br’er Rabbit’s enemies in Remus’ folk tales were meant to represent white plantation owners and slave masters who were always out to victimize free black men out of the belief in a natural order of things that they’re pushing for. Yet here we have Br’er Fox being voiced by a black guy, something that is very obvious to tell. That the black guy in question is also Uncle Remus really makes it weird and almost unsettling - Uncle Remus most certainly did not intend for Br’er Rabbit’s arch foe to represent himself!

Samuel T. Philander, The Legend of Tarzan

- I think the main reason I’m fond of this dude as a villain at all is just the sheer bizarreness of Disney’s choice to give Adaptational Villainy to the character of Mr. Philander from the original book. Philander was Professor Porter’s bumbling assistant in Edgar Rice Burroughs's original story, but since Jane kinda took on that role herself in the Disney version, Philander was removed. Only to then later get reinvented and introduced as Professor Porter’s archrival in the spinoff show. Don’t know why that was decided upon, but it made for an entertaining recurring antagonist, especially with Craig Ferguson being the one to give him his voice. (Also, is it just me, or does his design look somewhat like an older Nigel Thornberry?)

- Philander was actually THE most recurring antagonist on the show. Most recurring villains got only two or three episodes to appear in. Philander appeared in four episodes due to one of his appearances being in an episode about Edgar Rice Burroughs learning about Tarzan’s exploits in the jungle through interviews with different people, the first being Philander.

- Despite being a comedic villain, in one of his episodes, Philander actually went over the Moral Event Horizon with a legit evil dick move. At one point in “The Silver Ape”, he cuts a rope where Tarzan is hanging on, sending him to fall to his near death. Tarzan survives but is gravely injured as he and Porter are both put in separate holding areas on Philander’s boat. Porter pleads with Philander to let him check on his son-in-law so that he can tend to his wounds. In response, Philander orders to have the “unneeded cargo”, Tarzan, thrown overborad into the sea and left to drown while succumbing to his wounds. Just to spite Porter.

Grimtrix The Good, Sofia The First

- Grimtrix is voiced by Billy West in practically the same voice used for Professor Farnsworth in Futurama. What’s striking about this is not how funny it is, but how seriously the character is played once his evilness is revealed and how legitimately sinister Billy West manages to sound in his voice acting and line delivery in spite of that voice. It’s kinda surreal but neat.

- The best thing about Grimtrix was what a great dark reflection of Cedric he was. He’s also a sorcerer with an evil animal familiar and aspirations to increase his power by taking over his kingdom. But unlike Cedric, he’s already super privileged and held in great esteem rather than being looked down upon as a bungler, having won a ton of awards and having been headmaster of Hexley Hall for years. But so long as he was of the sorcerer class, he could never be satisfied with the respect he had and the power he held - he wanted more. And unlike Cedric, he was willing to harm anyone and everyone he could without any restraint in order to get what he wanted. He even tries to steal Sofia’s amulet, but in a way that causes her pain! And this is actually visibly disturbing to Cedric, he himself a sorcerer pretending to be good while secretly plotting to take over the kingdom. Grimtrix is what Cedric could be if he gained more prestige, status, and people who supported him yet still chose not to abandon his evil dreams, and that was the best way to kickstart Cedric’s Heel-Face Turn.

- The worst thing about Grimtrix? He was only in two episodes! When he came around in the episode coming right off the heels of The Secret Of Avalor, he seemed an ideal “big villain” character in the same vein as Cedric, Princess Ivy, Shuriki, Prisma and Vor, but he ended up just being a two-off villain with both his episodes being placed very closely to each other. TV Tropes elaborates on this issue: Between "Hexley Hall" and "Day of the Sorcerers" there were only two episodes, both of which involved a new magical person coming to Royal Prep as a teacher (one of them, Baron Von Rocha, being a villain, the other one, Mr. P, not being one). Then in "Day of the Sorcerers", Grimtrix, the villain from "Hexley Hall", gathers many sorcerers seen previously in the series together for a plan where all of them can overtake their respective kingdoms, one of the sorcerers being Baron Von Rocha from "The Princess Prodigy", the episode that had immediately followed "Hexley Hall". It seems like there could have been a longer story arc here with all the sorcerers infiltrating Enchancia one by one until Grimtrix called them all together for the finale, which not only would've allowed more breathing room in between appearances by the likes of Grimtrix and Von Rocha, and would have given characters like Morgana and Graylock more time, but it would've made a bigger event out of the episode where Sofia finally learns that Cedric is a villain with aspirations to dominate the kingdom who's been after her amulet since the start of the series and also the episode where Cedric makes his Heel-Face Turn. It really is a shame the show didn’t go that route, but at least it wasn’t as egregious a wasted plot as the whole Wicked Nine business!

#underrated #villains #underrated characters #disney villains #song of the south #splash mountain #brer fox #Tarzan #samuel t. philander #sofia the first #grimtrix #grimtrix the good

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lauren-scharf · 5 years

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The Mathematics of Memory

An Imitation of Form of Eula Biss’ “The Pain Scale”

By Lauren Scharf

For Grandpa Will

0---

An advanced fifth grade math class told me of the unique qualities of the number zero. Nothing can be divided by zero. There’s no way to carry out such an equation. I fantasized what it would be like if I could find a way.

I am sitting on a plane to New York, preparing myself to be coddled by parents, grandparents, and cousins, who have been counting down the days until my visit, and they’ve finally reached zero.

An underachiever in all other subjects, I excelled in math because of my ability to remember things through numbers, as though their values and patterns made up an alternative language.

Can zero be divided by zero? I think of this and ask my high school A.P. Calculus teacher. Her quirky response explains that black holes are where God divided by zero. I immediately imagine writing zero over zero on the next exam, and watching the equation animate to a swirling vacuum that sucks the surrounding scribbles and equations inside, leaving a blank page.

In a deck of cards, there is no zero. Each card has some worth. The closest suitable are the Jokers, which belong to no suit and are commonly discarded before a game is dealt.

The New York excursion is for my youngest cousin’s Bat Mitzvah, or “Bas Mitzvah,” as my Grandpa says it. It’s the last of this generation, and there is yet to be a Bar Mitzvah. Grandpa makes a regular joke at reunions like these. “Where are all the boys?” There are no grandsons. The Scharf family name stops here.

Any number over itself is one, except the infuriating zero.

---1---

My sister taught me fractions when I was little. I didn’t ask her to. She also liked to correct and poke fun at my childish mispronunciations. “Count-culator” made sense to me for the purpose it served, as well as “Old-timers.”

“It’s ‘Alzheimer’s,’ Lauren.” She had to write the word out for me before I caught my mistake.

An ace holds a discontinuous value in a deck of cards. Aces high means eleven. Aces low means one.

I was a year old when I took my first plane trip, once again to New York. I don’t remember a thing about it but home videos show the brown shag carpet and gold furniture in my grandparents’ house just as it all looks today. Nothing’s changed there.

My grandpa taught me how to gamble. I was the only first grader to recognize the checkers pieces as poker chips.

---2---

My favorite children’s game was Memory: a deck of cards, usually with pictures if meant for a younger age, is set up in rows and columns, face down, and turned up two at a time in an attempt to find a match. I was unbeatable. My parents and their friends were so impressed by how quick I was to recall a pair and pick up techniques. “You have to pick up the one you think it is before the one you’re sure of,” I would tip-off to my opponent.

Grandpa’s game is called 31. Much like 21 but with an extra card in each hand. Players take turns picking a card from the deck and discarding; if the top of the discard pile follows suit of the next player’s hand, they may pick that card instead, but forfeit the secrecy of their suit in hand.

The higher the card number, the higher its value. Face cards are ten. Aces are high.

No one ever picks a two from the discard pile. It’s not worth the risk, not to mention the subsequent mockery from other players.

“A deuce for my favorite Grandpa!” One of my favorite things about 31 is playing just ahead of my Grandpa so I can discard all of my worst and lowest cards, simply to catch the looks on his face.

Grandpa has my eyes; or I suppose I have his. They light up and widen when we’re caught by surprise, but squint into slits when we smile, more so if we’re laughing. His eyes are a little more hidden among wrinkles and behind a thick pair of bifocals.

Memory storage is marked by two stages: long term and short term. It’s difficult to draw a line between the two. How long is long and how short is short? My understanding is that the long term is for the firsts. First kiss, first pet, first day of kindergarten. While short term is for the lasts. Last night, last Tuesday, last book you read.

In one of her first games of 31, my sister jumped from the table and shouted “Thirty-two! Thirty-two!” She was convinced she had two aces of the same suit.

Thirty-one is the highest score you can get in 31 (fittingly). An ace and two tens, all one suit. This hand ends the round instantly and every player but the holder of 31 surrenders a chip to the middle. A player can also end the round by knocking with what they believe to be the highest hand, or at least not the lowest. The lowest hand must pay up.

My sister had two aces alright. One, hearts, the other, diamonds. We made her pay double.

---3---

Some experts separate memory storage into three stages, adding the “Sensory stage” to long term and short term. The sensory stage acts as a filter to determine what information will pass into short term, and perhaps eventually long term, or if it will be stored at all.

Information is only in this stage for a flash of a second, like an exposure to film. That kind of information, however, is preserved through a different medium.

One of my first vivid memories is of a day in preschool when my mom was late picking me up. I couldn’t tell time but I knew when the hands formed an “L” pointing to the number three, my mom was due to walk through the door.

This was most likely not the first time she ran behind, but it was the first time I noticed. I developed a tickle in my throat, and as the angle of that “L” turned more acute, the tickle progressed to more of a scratch. I wanted my mommy. At three years old, this was the first time I would recognize a common sickness coming over me.

My family took a trip to Rhode Island when I was three. My mom had to tell me that; I had no recollection of being in Rhode Island. To me it was just another trip to the east coast to see family. When on the beach I saw my grandpa’s jolly sized belly and asked why he had an inny belly button while I had an outty. He told me it was to make a nice home for the spiders that lived in there. That, I remember.

The most infuriating hand to pick up in 31 is three tens, each a different suit. Thirty points altogether yet the hand is valued only at ten. The first card I pick up from the deck determines what I’m collecting. A couple times, this has been a fourth ten of the remaining suit. At some point, I’ll have no choice but to discard a high card, reluctantly assisting my opponents.

---4---

I’m not the best at Memory anymore. Ever since a childhood friend became the first to beat me, I’ve been on something of a cognitive decline. We lost touch years ago, but I remember her birthday was four days before mine.

Many fail to see the pattern in dates, which are frequently the first details to fade from memory, despite that each presents its own reminder in the form of a reoccurring anniversary.

They also separate into four seasons.

All of the cousins and I were born in summer; six birthdays fitting perfectly from late June to early September.

Memory retrieval in the human mind is broken up into four common components: verbal recall, aural recall, visual recall, and tactile recall.

Retrieval through speaking, retrieval through hearing, retrieval through seeing, and retrieval through touching or writing.

Numerical recall is perhaps too rare or vague to classify.

Grandpa’s birthday is in March. My dad says he’s 88 years old, but I don’t think he’s remembering correctly. Like father, like son.

The four suits of a traditional deck of playing cards are spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts.

These suits originated from the French style of playing cards and, while not the first, they were the cheapest to manufacture, and thus the most popular.

Other countries alter, slightly, the name and appearance of certain suits. For instance, clubs are acorns in Germany and Italo-Spanish or Latin decks have cups in lieu of hearts. These discrepancies are mostly found in cartomancy, or tarot cards.

Whatever the icon, each suit follows a pattern rooted in the feudal system: Spades for nobility, clubs for peasants, diamonds for merchants, and hearts for members of the clergy.

The suits also consistently associate with riches and romance, adversity and agriculture. Can you find each match?

The four elements, earth, water, fire, and air tie into the four suits as well, though this pattern is more obscure and it is arguable which suit belongs to which element.

---5---

When my dad told me of the changes in conversation with my grandpa, how he asks the same questions every five minutes, I shrugged it off as a natural consequence of aging. I’ll believe it when I hear it for myself.

My memory runs on aural recall.

Some card decks hold five different suits, the fifth tying in the classical element Aether, a void or space, dark matter, pertaining to the space above the terrestrial sphere.

In mythology, Aether is the open sky where only the gods live and the pure air which only the gods breathe; heaven.

Aristotle names Aether as the fifth element but noted that it lacked the qualities of the other four in that it could be neither hot, cold, wet, nor dry, and its only recordable change was in density.

Much like a black hole.

An estimated 5 million Americans suffer from Alzheimer’s disease. By 2050, the number is expected to hit 13.4 million.

---6---

Almost 60% of Americans think Alzheimer’s is genetic.

Like eyes, or a smile, or a family name.

No matter how random they may seem in the world of arithmetic, numbers consistently go hand in hand with formula. Strategy requires such a pattern to ease the task of memorization. This is how some people are able to memorize Pi to a thousand digits, if they really have the time and patience to do so.

My sixth grade locker combination was 24-6-42. Two plus four equals six minus four equals two.

The combination of my locker in 12th grade is a blur.

---7---

Seven is my lucky number, which sounds very cliché, but I picked it for my favorite month, which has my birthday, July. The 10th of July if you’d like to remember it.

Seventeen is my sister’s lucky number, chosen, I think, for the day her birthday falls on. But then her name also has seventeen letters. Then again so does mine.

Therapies show that keeping the brain engaged with patterns and puzzles delays (though does not prevent) memory loss and confusion.

All these years Grandpa was teaching the family how to gamble, I should have explained to him the grids and patterns and tips and tricks I found in Memory.

Just a reminder, my birthday is the 10th of July. Seven/ten. Seven plus ten is seventeen. Seventeen letters are in my name. If you didn’t remember it before, perhaps you will now.

---8---

Alzheimer’s starts in patients when certain forms of the gene apolipoprotein E, or ApoE, promote the formation of an abnormal amyloid precursor protein, or APP. APP clumps together to form plaques that break down tau proteins, whose purpose it is to stabilize a neuron’s structural integrity. Once broken down, the neuron dies, leaving a hole that disrupts the electrical signals traveling among the nerve.

Much like a black hole.

Tau ÷ (APP × ApoE) = x over zero. I found it.

When film is overexposed, it processes as a white, almost heavenly void or space.

Not only is there no cure for Alzheimer’s, but there’s also no way to test absolutely positive for the disease until an autopsy is performed. I think that’s a bit too late.

Unlike a three year old with a sore throat, my Grandpa is 88, give or take, and he doesn’t know if he’s sick.

Screenings, recall tests, and family member reports promise 80 to 90 percent accuracy.

It’s getting there.

---9---

I once read about a photographer who developed a journal documenting the final three years of his father’s life. The old man lacked all short term memory storage and would ask his son over and over where his mother was, as though no one told him of her death.

Tired of watching his father’s heart break again and again, the photographer joined the game of pretend, and told his father she’d simply gone to Paris to join the circus. The pretending continued until the father’s death at ninety-nine.

Once parties and brunches that follow the very last Bat Mitzvah die down, the family finally gets a chance to crowd around the kitchen table for a good old game of 31.

“Where are all the boys?” He asks this more and more these days. I want to think that he believes it’s funnier with repetition, but part of me wonders if maybe he doesn’t remember asking just minutes before. Another part wonders, and worries, if he’s really not sure of whether or not he has grandsons.

They’ve gone to Paris and joined the circus, Grandpa.

---10

Grandpa knocks with the confident gambler’s attitude he’ll probably always have.

The family each takes one last turn before we reveal our hands.

Grandpa has three tens; thirty. However his hand is only worth ten. He’s forgotten the suits.

This game, this last game, goes in my long term memory.

#alzheimers #essay #nonfiction #death #dementia #coping #mental health #cognitive psychology #cards #grandparents #family #Eula Biss #loss #imitation of form #memory #memory loss #grief

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genderonthescreen-blog · 5 years

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Queer Representation: How Can We Get The Gays to Watch Our Movie?

The Vito Russo Test is the queer equivalent to the Bechdel Test (which tests the representation of women in films). It was created by GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) and is used to test the representation of LGBTQ+ people in film. The way a film passes the test is if there is an “identifiably lesbian, gay, bisexual and/or transgender” character who isn’t defined by their sexuality and/or gender identity, and who is significant to the plot. Despite the fact this test is quite easy to pass, most films do not. Out of the 109 films released by major studios in 2017 only 14 had LGBTQ+ characters in them (that’s 12.8%). Gay men are the most represented out of those 14 films (64% or 9 out of the 14 films feature a gay man that pass the test) while trans people are the least represented in 2017 (zero out of the 14 films featured transgender characters). These numbers are insanely low, and shows that there is a clear problem with the representation of LGBTQ+ people in films.

But, even in the movies that feature LGBTQ+ characters, how well are they being represented, really? Films like Call Me By Your Name (2017), Carol (2015), Blue Is The Warmest Color (2013), and Brokeback Mountain (2005) have all been praised as iconic queer movies with great representation, but how great is this representation? Right off the bat you can see that all of these characters are white. Not a huge surprise when it comes to Hollywood, considering how bad they are at representing people of color, but, still, not all queer people are white, obviously—Marsha P. Johnson, anybody? How about happy endings? Shouldn’t queer people be allowed to see a relationship like their own end happily? Well, it seems not. In Call Me By Your Name, they break up; in Blue Is The Warmest Color, they break up; in Brokeback Mountain, they break up and one of them dies (the good-olde “bury your gays” trope https://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2017/06/30/queerbaiting-bury-your-gays-tv_a_23005000/ )! Carol seems to be the only one that has a semi-happy ending. Although, Therese (Rooney Mara) and Carol (Cate Blanchett) do breakup at one point, at the end of the film it is implied that they get back together. An implication is a we can get apparently. Oversexualization is also an issue. All of these movies have semi-graphic sex scenes in them, with Blue Is The Warmest Color’s sex scenes are borderline pornography—and definitely from the male gaze. Now, sex isn’t the problem here, if a director wants to show two characters getting it on, they very well should be allowed to do so! The problem is that the only kind of movies that are popular and feature queer people at the forefront are romantic dramas (usually tragic) that are very heavy on the sexual discovery. This would be fine if there were just as many goofy LGBTQ+ romantic comedies or action movies with queer leads as there are LGBTQ+ romantic tragedies.

Now, that’s not to say things aren’t getting better! With the release and success of Love, Simon in 2018, a romantic comedy about a teenage boy coming out as gay, things are, hopefully, starting to look up. However, there has recently been a new disturbing trend when it come to LGBTQ+ representation in films. A film will announce that there is an “openly gay” character in their movie before the film is released. Thus, attracting a large queer audience that is sorely disappointed when they realize “openly gay” actually means “not openly gay at all.” Take Beauty and the Beast (2017) for example. Before the release of Beauty and the Beast, Dir. Bill Condon announced that there was going to be an “exclusively gay moment” (WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN?) in the film involving LeFou (Josh Gad), Gaston’s groveling sidekick. Fans were obviously excited! But, when the movie came out, what we got was very a stereotypical depiction of a gay man (who is supposed to be crushing on Gaston?), and one moment (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sadujj45Y90 blink and you’ll miss it) where LeFou accidentally starts dancing with another man and… that’s it—wow, how groundbreaking.

While there is at least a small moment in Beauty and the Beast, other films that use this tactic to get a more diverse audience don’t even bother following through. Before the release of the much anticipated Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), screenwriter Jonathan Kasdan announced that Lando Calrissian (Donald Glover) is pansexual. This revelation prompted fans to go crazy, but when the movie came out there was nothing, besides some semi-flirty lines and an “implied” romantic relationship with a droid (okay…), explicit in the film that showed Lando’s pansexuality. Some people (https://lwlies.com/articles/queerbaiting-solo-lando-calrissian/ ) are calling this trend, a new from of queerbaiting, and going by the definition (“the practice of hinting at, but then not actually depicting, a same-sex romantic relationship between characters in a work of fiction, mainly in film or television” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queerbaiting ) I’m have to agree. Except, this kind of queerbaiting is almost worse because the “hinting” starts before the film comes out. Therefore filmmakers are literally using a the possibility of a potentially queer character as bait to get more LGBTQ+ moviegoers into their theaters.

There are other, less nefarious, examples of this kind of queerbaiting. Tessa Thompson, who plays Valkyrie in Thor Ragnarok (2017), made a post on twitter before the film came out about how her character is bisexual and how she wanted that to come through on the big screen. However, she was quick to add that Valkyrie’s sexuality is never explicitly shown in Thor Ragnarok (https://www.avclub.com/thor-ragnarok-ultimately-cut-the-one-scene-that-confir-1820047758 check out this article). It’s clear that Thompson wan’t trying to get more LGBTQ+ people to see Thor Ragnarok, she was just trying to spread the word about her character’s sexuality—Valkyrie is canonically bisexual in the comic books.The character of Albus Dumbledore, the grandfatherly headmaster of Hogwarts from the Harry Potter film and book series, could also be another example of this kind of queerbaiting. However, unlike all of the other examples, Dumbledore’s sexuality was revealed by author JK Rowling after the release of the last Harry Potter book in 2007 (https://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/story?id=3755544&page=1 check out this article from that year talking about it). Dumbledore’s sexuality was never explicit in the Harry Potter books or movies, but recently Rowling has started another film series that takes place in the Potter universe (but during the 1920s) called Fantastic Beasts. Before the release of the second installment, it was announced that Jude Law would be playing a young Dumbledore in that next film (Fantastic Beasts and the Crimes of Grindelwald), and people began to ask if Dumbledore’s sexuality is going to be addressed in these films. Not much was said by Rowling, but before the movie was released Dir. David Yates said Dumbledore’s sexuality is not “explicitly” shown in the film. Fans were obviously upset be this—myself included. However, after seeing the movie, I feel like it’s safe to say only a person in serious denial would claim that Dumbledore is straight after watching The Crimes of Grindelwald. There isn’t anything “explicit” in the movie (Dumbledore doesn’t say “I’m gay” or kisses a man) but the relationship between Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald, the antagonist of the series and Dumbledore’s ex-lover, is shown or alluded to in in more ways than one—not explicitly telling the audience about his sexuality is in character for Dumbledore, who has always been secretive. As a fan of Harry Potter and the Fantastic Beasts films, I hope in future installments Dumbledore’s sexuality will be more explored—and it should, especially since the main antagonist is his ex-boyfriend!

Queer representation is important. The constant censoring of LGBTQ+ people and relationships in media needs to end. It’s often said that this kind of censorship is to protects kids from exposure to “inappropriate” content. News flash, there are kids out there who are queer! (Because queer people have always been queer.) I remember when I was a kid how big of an impact seeing queer characters and couples in film and TV were for me. Seeing characters like Tara (Amber Benson) and Willow (Alyson Hannigan) from Buffy the Vampire Slayer made me feel like I wasn’t alone and that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. Even though queer representation in film is still lacking it’s getting better, and it’s getting even better on TV shows! The Legend of Korra, and Steven Universe are two kids shows that feature LGBTQ+ couples. Sense 8, Orange is the New Black, Queer Eye and Black Mirror (specifically season 3’s episode San Junipero) are all Netflix original series that have great LGBTQ+ representation and/or are LGBTQ+ centric—trans characters played by actual trans actors? YES! Things are looking up and I have high hopes for the future when it comes to queer representation.

Check out these cool sources!

https://lwlies.com/articles/queerbaiting-solo-lando-calrissian/

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/03/01/disney-launches-first-exclusively-gay-moment-beauty-beast/

https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/entertainthis/2018/05/17/lando-calrissian-pansexual-solo-star-wars-reaction/620566002/

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/16/movies/jude-law-dumbledore-gay.html

https://www.thedailybeast.com/glaad-report-hollywood-is-failing-lgbt-characters-in-its-movies

https://books.google.com/books?id=AoQrDwAAQBAJ&pg=PT143&dq=the+vito+russo+test&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj25Yj_oaDfAhXwx1kKHZODBU0Q6AEIMDAB#v=onepage&q=the%20vito%20russo%20test&f=false

https://www.glaad.org/sri/2018/vitorusso

https://www.glaad.org/sri/2018/overview

How about this cooler bibliography!

https://books.google.com/books?id=UWtECwAAQBAJ&pg=PT203&dq=queerbaiting&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjJ6M3zzprfAhWu11kKHT6ZAcwQuwUIMTAB#v=onepage&q=queerbaiting&f=false

https://books.google.com/books?id=f6YwSZlsyJMC&printsec=frontcover&dq=lgbt+film&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjprcyuz5rfAhXSq1kKHbkGAzgQuwUILTAA#v=onepage&q&f=false

https://books.google.com/books?id=jI_IHFUidlwC&printsec=frontcover&dq=lgbt+film&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjprcyuz5rfAhXSq1kKHbkGAzgQuwUIUTAH#v=onepage&q&f=false

https://books.google.com/books?id=ROhSbOQIzmYC&pg=PA31&dq=the+hays+code&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj6tc3zzJrfAhXIqFkKHaOoAUQQuwUITDAG#v=onepage&q=the%20hays%20code&f=false

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/we-need-to-talk-about-lgbt-representation-apparently_us_5a3d4dede4b06cd2bd03da68

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0HsPIquRmc

https://www.pinknews.co.uk/2018/05/22/lgbt-representation-in-hollywood-has-somehow-got-even-worse/

Photo credits go to Netflix.

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nickyvmlp · 6 years

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My Top 10 Characters I Want in Smash Ultimate

I got a couple of requests for this in my last Smash reaction video, and I didn’t want to make it a full video, so it’ll go here, HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOOO. (Also, none of my top 10 need to be echo fighters, but I’ll throw in a few echos near the end.)

10) Alex Roivas from Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requiem

This will not happen, especially with Simon and Richter filling the horror game niche, but I can dream, darnit. For the unaware, Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requiem was a 2002 GameCube exclusive psychological horror game; it’s basically Resident Evil meets Call of Cthulhu, and it’s my favorite horror game of all time. In the game, you play as Alex Roivas, a few of her ancestors, and few other schmucks across history unfortunate enough to stumble across an ancient book called the Tome of Eternal Darkness, which drags them into a conflict that could destroy the world. Alex ends up using the knowledge she’s learned from the Tome to stop the rise of three ancient deities, each bent on world domination. So in Smash, she could have the Tome at her disposal and could even carry it into battle like Robin does. Her standard attacks can involve normal weaponry she uses like guns and knives and stuff, while her special attacks can all involve using the Tome to summon something. For her Final Smash, she can hit everyone in a set radius around her with a huge sanity effect that adds 100% damage and breaks the shield of anyone caught in it, leaving them wide open for a heavy attack and a KO. Plus, more strong female Smash characters, never a bad thing.

9) Decidueye from Pokemon

Every Smash game has a new Pokemon rep, and there’s quite for few on the rumor mill. Gardevoir and Gothitelle get brought up a lot, but they’d draw a lot of comparisons to (and may end up being an EF to) Mewtwo, especially in Gardevoir’s case. They could also throw in a currently unannounced Pokemon from Gen 8 with that being right around the corner. But, Decidueye makes the most sense to me. It’s got a cool design and there aren’t many characters that uses arrows in their arsenal, basically just the Links and Pit. Plus, his Flying type would give him really strong recovery, most comparable to Charizard’s. For his Final Smash, give him Zelda’s FS from Brawl, a giant arrow that KO’s everyone in a straight line.

8) The Eeveelutions from Pokemon

If you like Pokemon, odds are good that you like at least one of the Eeveelutions. Espeon’s my favorite Pokemon ever, and Jolteon, Umbreon, and Sylveon are up there too. And there’s eight Eeveelutions at the moment (not counting Eevee) and eight alternate costume spots for each character, so here’s what I’m thinking. You reveal the Eeveelutions in the next Direct, and put up a poll on the Smash website: Who is your favorite Eeveelution? The winner of the poll is the default character, while everyone else are the alt costumes. This does mean that the Eeveelutions will have to be virtually identical, but that shouldn’t be too hard, a Flamethrower can look like a Hydro Pump, a Thunderbolt, a Psyshock, etc. with some small cosmetic changes. And their Final Smash could either be similar to Mega Man’s where everyone joins in for a giant combined attack, or if you wanna get cartoony, have them get into a big dust cloud fight with other Eeveelutions joining in before the victim gets launched offscreen by it. Plus with Let’s Go Pikachu and Eevee coming soon, it’s a great time to give Eevee’s family some love

7) Black Shadow from F-Zero

You know me, I love F-Zero GX more than I love three square meals a day, and at the moment, there’s barely any Smash representation for the GREATEST RACING GAME OF ALL TIME, so let’s change that. Samurai Goroh is already an Assist Trophy, so how about Falcon’s other main rival, Black Shadow? Taking a quick look at him, he’s obviously a big, strong character which makes him well-equipped to be in a fighting game. But taking a second look at him will make you chuckle, because he’s kinda goofy looking. He’s wearing a full-body black spandex suit, with bull horns, cloven feet, and a cape. Yea, he’s a sadistic monster in the games and the anime, but still he’s a little hard to take seriously. And that can work in his advantage. In Nintendo Directs, they like to use villains that you can kinda take the piss out of in certain places, like Dedede, Wario, and surely in the future, K. Rool. Black Shadow can exist in a similar role, and maybe the four can form some evil alliance if they decide to make Subspace Emissary 2. (Please make Subspace Emissary 2.) His Final Smash can be identical to Falcon’s, hit your opponent with the Black Bull, works just fine. Plus, maybe a new F-Zero character could build hype for a new game in the series? Please?

6) Paper Mario

I’m not sure why some people want Paper Mario to be Mario’s EF? Wasn’t the point of Mario and Luigi: Paper Jam to show how different those two are? Anyway, Paper Mario has a bevy of ways to attack that would help him stand apart from his 3-dimensional counterpart. His standard attack can involve his hammer (which Mario doesn’t have), with the directional standards involving various badges like the Hammer Throw and the Ice Smash. His special attacks can use his various buddies. Parakarry can be his recovery, Vivian can be a Down-B defense tool, you could even use Thoreau as his throwing mechanic. And the final Smash could involve one of the realistic items from the new games, like the electric fan blowing all the opponents offscreen. I don’t know much about the newer games, they didn’t look as good.

5) Shadow the Hedgehog

This is another one that COULD be an Echo Fighter, but Shadow plays pretty differently to Sonic in their games. He skates instead of runs, he uses weapons whereas Sonic just uses his speed, Shadow has a FUCKING GUN, there’s plenty that you can do with Shadow to separate him from Sonic. Particularly involving his Final Smash, Chaos Control. When it’s used, everyone on screen freezes for ten seconds. In that time, Shadow can use one heavy attack after another after another, and when the time runs out, all the damage and force from those attacks hit at once, and that character will go flying. It’d be kinda like Link’s Stasis from Breath of the Wild (which should be Link’s FS, but oh well)

4) Spring Man from Arms

So, Arms wasn’t as big of a hit as people were hoping. That’s a bummer, it looks like a fun game. How about we give it one last shot in the arm (teehee) to try to boost its exposure? Put Spring Man in the game, and have him focus on long-range attacks and throws. His recovery can be a long whip that grabs ledges like Olimar’s. And for his Final Smash, give him a big winding tornado throw that KOs whoever he grabs and damages anyone who gets hit by the swinging arms in the process. Show what he can do in Smash, and maybe it’ll entice people to see what he can do in Arms. I just want that game to be successful.

3) Rayman

I was shocked that Rayman didn’t get into Smash WiiU, since it seems like Nintendo and Ubisoft have been on great terms for a long time, like how Rayman Origins and Legends ended up on Nintendo consoles when it had almost no third-party support. Rayman even had a trophy in WiiU, so it was really surprising to me that he wasn’t one of the DLC characters. Let’s fix that. His unattached limbs would give him some good range, he’d have some magic that he could use at his disposal for special attacks. And for his Final Smash, how about summoning a swarm of mosquitoes to fly across the screen, doing massive damage with each hit, like a super-powered version of the Beedrills from Smash 64?

2) Geno from Super Mario RPG

I’m not a huge Final Fantasy guy, but I’m so glad Cloud got into Smash WiiU/3DS, because it throws the door wide open for other Square characters. A lot of people think this will lead to Sora from Kingdom Hearts getting in (doubtful), but I want Geno to finally get in. He did get an outfit for the Mii Gunner in the last game, but seeing him actually in Smash, not just as a Mii, would be so great. Mario RPG is criminally underrated, and it laid the groundwork for the Paper Mario and the Mario & Luigi games. He’d, of course, be a long range fighter, using his finger cannons as his main attacks, and for his Final Smash: the Geno Flash, which would be like a combination of Pit’s and Jigglypuff’s FS. You’d go offscreen and aim a point on the map. From that epicenter, a giant blast grows, trapping and damaging anyone who gets in the blast radius, before launching those victims off the stage.

Honorable Mentions (Echo Fighters)

Donkey Kong: Jungle Beat brought Funky Kong back into the fold, and he’s got a very similar body type to Donkey Kong, so that makes perfect sense to me.

Hyrule Warriors could use a representative, and since Midna’s already an Assist Trophy, how about Impa? She’s got a great look and could borrow Sheik’s moveset quite well.

I never bought Wart as an Echo Fighter, since the characters he was usually attached to (Bowser or Dedede) didn’t feel similar enough. But K. Rool, on the other hand, fits just right. K. Rool looks like a caricature of Wart.

People seem to like Xenoblade Chronicles 2, so let’s add to the Xenoblade cast in Smash. I don’t know a lot about Rex, besides his goofy pants, but I’m sure he’d be a great fit.

This might seem odd, but how about Andy from Advance Wars as an Echo to Bowser Jr.? Andy could ride in a tank and shoot projectiles while using the turret as a short-range melee attack? Could work.

1) Sans and Papyrus from Undertale

No, but could you imagine?

1) Crash and Coco Bandicoot

This would be the kind of Internet breaking character that you put as the last character added to give one final hype boost to the already unstoppable Smash hype train. The N. Sane Trilogy is already out on Switch, so the publishers already have their foot in the door, so let’s just go for it. And as an added bonus, you could announce Coco Bandicoot at the same time (like Simon and Richter) for added excitement. (I would absolutely main as Coco.) Their standard attacks could revolve around their spin attacks, while their specials would involve using their various powerups like the fruit bazooka and the belly flop. And the Final Smash would involve using Aku Aku to turn invincible for a brief time. Yes, they’re kinda doing away with that kind of FS, maybe they could make a cutscene out of it and cause an instant KO or something. I don’t know, just gimme Crash in Smash, please.

#super smash ultimate #smash characters

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davidjjohnston3 · 3 years

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1. Others' innocence can make us feel more alive and cleanly but we have sooner or later to 'cleanse the inside of your own cup' (Jesus).

2. I miss 'sis.' That's all. I'm not married at 36.5 but someone did say, 'as a sister.'

3. I listened to Sowon's cover of 'Happy' and wrote a letter to Taeyeon on Instagram that she said something nice to.

4. I have several wishes pace Pope Francis' 'Come Let Us Dream' in the Covid era. One of these is to move to Korea of course again, another to move to LA, and another to publish under the imprint of (Mrs.) Catherine Cho's literary imprint as 'Inferno' was terrifying to me in a good way and I too encountered both racism, antagonism towards introverts and quiet people, warehousing by TV, and other forms of evil and crime in the mental healthcare system from people who just want money or, worse in a way, fun and PRIDE. I also think now that the mental healthcare system in Milwaukee Conuty was designed to give nursing school graduates either an 'easy money' job or exposure to a new Nazi-like system pace abortion-culture under the Democratic Party (including at least one Asian sadly; Andrew Yang), in which the mentally abnormal are considered second-class citizens if not Hitlerian 'life unworthy of life.' My parents are Democrats incidentally and fully support this.

5. I am pro-life 100%; I was going to be aborted and my biological 'father in law' still wants to post-partum-abort me; I could describe the spiritual realization but it's anatomical as well as literally electric. I hope and pray the pro-life movement will be able to present a living paradigm whereby the value of orphan life can be demonstrated and God glorifide in a literal 'spirit of adoption' or at least a very good orphanage. This has been part of my dream or 'ghost' since at least 2010.

6. I was driving to see Bethlehem Baptist Church + Bethlehem College and Seminary in Minneapolis and felt a crucifying energy from the church; I also thought about Monica and the 'white garments' of righteousness and covered sin ('white as snow' - Isaiah).

7. I don't want to 'nuke the Johnston clan' but as I was brutally attacked by both my parents in a campaign involving widespread exaggeration lying to both biomedical professionals / sci-tech establishment as well as civil authority (police) I have written some notes and passages of a 'purple and gold' project, 'Johnston Family Promises; or How Easter Became April Fools,' which could be characterized as a parody of self-destruction, specifically self-post-partum-abortion by reversing the fact that medical doctor brain trust thought I'd be born on April Fool's but was actually born on Easter Sunday in Los Angeles, CA.

8. I just want a future at this point however as my biological 'family' turned violently against me and I am in the position of 'gathering in the summer' (Proverbs).

9. I thought, 'an authentic love'... I love Changrae Lee also but it took me a long time to understand the spiritual 'Requiem' sense of his best book, by far, 'The Surrendered.' Koreans I sometimes think are the one race or rather _ _ now taking the past seriously without throwing away the future. With Secretary Pompeo I feel America could fall in on itself or at least on people like me, including many vulnerable loved ones of all of yours, my Facebook friends.

10. On a lighter note I like (Ms. / Artist) Kim Taeyeon's 'Cover Up' - 'I can't cover up my heart.'

11. I still like Baskin Robbins Pineapple Coconut thoguh for some reason it makes me think of being a billionaire world-saving commerce-warrior in financial triller Michael Kim's 'Offerings.''

12. I gave the wrong things to the wrong people and made them worse; I expect to be judged by Moses as well as my former teacher-trainers and mentors for being 's/Sensei' who failed his students in both senses of fail (gave them F's and failed to teach them things that made them 'better'). It was a traumatic experience that made me feel demoted from EdAdmin that I had just been offered to wanting to assist-teach K4 or Spec/ExcepEd. That's what you get for 'adult education' / being honest with Boomers about your thoughts, feelings, and decades of study. I think Confuciu would say you can't teach constructively who have no sense of shame (old American whites), and moreover participate in a rape-culture including both literal rape, sex-traficking, university campus-culture, porneia,

13. I haven't yet had an EKG but could have experienced acute idiopathic cardiac distress from the Pfizer vaccine since too many beautiful women ages 11-80 all love me. I thought a while back at 36, 'How to use my last half of my life.' Then suddenly with pericardial effusion on my mind I thought, 'What to do with 3 months to 2.8 years.' I wanted to go to Korea; I saw a Servants of Christ video where she was in Korea walking by a river to 'I Need Thee Every Hour' a Christian hymn to Jesus about absolute dependency, 'most precious Lord.' I remembered Psalm 23 and a time I just wanted to be buried in a certain cemetery in Incheon. Some other things happened involving my marital future, 'Skinship,' but now I am hoping for at least 5-10 years as the acute issues have mostly settled down and I am a clever self-dietician. Honestly though with the state of healthcare in Wisconsin I thought about purchasing a needle myself for a pericardocentesis to drain the H2O.

14. I have one writing-project I might not complete but I feel a solid start that could / should be published about abortion-culture and based on 'Love in Color,' a popular song by a no-longer-pop-idol.

15. I still think about expositing American literature but suddenly 'The Old New World' means more to me; the old Midwestern novel, 'Winterlight,' 'My Soul at Night.' And, 'The Magnificent Ambersons,' destined love. I had a student in Korea who would be the card-carrying image of Lucy Morgan if they adapted it in addition to Mark Helprin's 'In Sunlight and in Shadow.'

16. I am (too?) afraid of the Cross of Gold. America getting rich. China's 'moderately prosperous nation' i.e. Get Middle Class or Die (and Take World w/ Us) Tryinng.' I want to be poor and poor-in-spirit except that I love some people who could use the money. That is part of why I think about Michael B. Kim.

17. I like green peas, peanut butter, and blueberries.

18. The best audiobook I read lately is almost holy to me, 'Inferno' by Catherine Cho but 'Forgotten God' by Francis Chan is also incredible. I listen to it while sleeping on audio and it always seems to wake me up at the perfect moment.

19. I finally figured out an 'audience' as well. If I could finally write a couple novels with a 'professional' utterance in addition to 'Love in Color' my 'caritas et amor' homage to a beautiful song and also something on the Covid era and old and young. Like Pastor John MacArthur, or with him / following him I just feel like the whole point of Covid was to give people a chance to do better by / with kids. 'We plant the trees; our children enjoy the shade' - a Chinese proverb that the orthodox preacher / shepherd John MacArthur cites nonetheless. The American Families Plan. Also even more (AUTHENTIC, non-guru-guff, non-fetishistic, non-trends-based) professionalization and humane policing and children's rights within the South Korean public and private schooling sectors.

20. I had one grand project as well called 'The Distant Lights of Seoul' that is kind of my take on 'In Sunlight and in Shadow' but it evolved in to something more personal that that's all... a trip I thought of taking, in the days when I was unsure whether to be the new or old.

21. I remember the most anguished summer of my life till now was 2003. 'Deep Inside of You' by 3EB. 'I would change myself if I could / I would walk with my people if I could find them / and I'd say I'm sorry to you.' Coincidentally I went on an 'icy-hot' date with a hyper-beautiful woman at the cafe-bar where Jenkins wrote 'Motorcycle Driveby.'

22. I made a 'partial audiobook' of the early Psalms - particularly 5, about God defending - and had a beautiful experience like reading to children.

23. I don't want to broaden myself out too much physically or experientially; I'm afraid of becoming mentally American. 'Leaving Babylon, Leaving America, Leaving Milwaukee, Leaving.' My homage to Madison Kwon Eunbi as well, theme-music 'Eraser.' But I have to be a better man to approach my new _.

24. My original 'Korea project' was called 'Transferring to Line Zero' and like many Millennial writers in 2010 I tried to sound like a Haruki Murakami narrator but my experience turned out to be more like Kazuo Ishiguro, Marcel Proust. I aimed for whisky but got wine. I wish I could write this as I know for whom. IDK if anyone cares though as Millennials almost all had 'these.' I just wish I could make something of it instead of seeming like 'Acute Fangirl's No. 1 Fanboy.' There wasn't a 'zero.'

25. I had a crush on Dreamcatcher JiU 'Lily Kim' I saw once in Chicago - 'prettier in real life' is a good way to zonk people out into falling in love with a picture - but I saw a picture of her in traditional Joseon garment and just thought, 'cordial neighbor.' That's all.

26. I used to write 'nuke Harvard' self-hyper-fanfiction about me v. the more customary winners and my ideal project is 'The Chinaman (or Chinese Poet) at American-Korean Thanksgiving.'

27. remembering my 2003 self / poet persona

akaka soru no

I thought about snow falling on velvet. I got in trouble in the neighborhood. I liked Red Velvet's 'Wish Tree.' I liked Wendy Son and Kim Yerim. A noble name, Son Seungwan, I'll say it once.

Maoists. I read 'Wild Swans.' I wanted to join you in your sadness and your beauty but I wasn't being Kawabata Yasunari. I don't want to generalize about my love for you but I don't believe in things either; Time disappears; mathematics inspires my disbelief; I think it can change.

'I love other people.'

What is it when parents grow old Do they go in to a new world They go to Heaven before us They know about being young

Wine, Elizabeth Strout novel 'Protestant endurance' in the old Midwest 'We are different from everybody'

The only question a bomb-threat at the school after 9.11 'Sospiro' fioritura In those days they were innocent 'I would take you seriously' (if I were a teacher) Now they try to be like New Yorkers I am not home

The poem that belonged to everyone flower a flower Can the passive-aggressive therapist Chinese girlfriend tea in the morning 'If I had to live with you'

the children of tomorrow where understanding ends require a world

a walk by the river i was old then carrying something i knew how to cook i knew how to live you sang 'dream' i said something like someone once said to me my old love contacted me via e-mail she said she had become materialistic and Republican she looked really good / happy married with kid after Covid-19 anaesthesiologist

28. Dov Danilov had abjected himself; he was known; on one cared. The only decisive or critical factor... There was that armored 'girlfriend of steel' or perhaps better-than-girlfriend, the trial by ordeal, the one-look judgmentality, but it was all the past. There was 'When You Are Old' and there had always been the presence of the Other like in 'The New World' with Pocahontas and John Smith; 'Who are you that haunts my dreams?' That was a gooood movie. He watched 'The Last Samurai' back in the day and didn't take it seriously but believed it contained good 'advices.' There was Manheim Wagner's 'Korea: How You Feel' that had a great photo that seemed to mean something about the author's feelings but the book was all about illegal narcotics and sex-trafficking. There was 'Brother One Fell' but it was all about masturbation and poor diet and illegal narcotics and what the Native Amerrian Indian shepherd-scholar hda called 'Mental Europeanness.' The shepherd-scholar called himself a 'sheep-rancher.' It was RU, 2005 autumn. 'Being known and ont cared for,' like HAndong from Dreamcatcher. Maybe, it was the beginning of the end of the nightmare. - I could eat again a little if I got another love-letter from a female student... or even another bouquet from a gay male student... Maybe I'll mrary a North Korean woman after reunification... Remember 'Honey and Clover?' - Good song. - It's an anime-drama. Originally it was a dorama. Pramodh liked it before BLM stole his soul and he death-threated me with Cannibal COrpse and hate. 'Moon River' on pianoforte.

- 'The Remains of DJ.' 'LA Dream.' 'Red Mansion Dream.' 'Pandemic of Honesty.' 'At the End of the Winter-Light; the Last of the Good Old Wisconsin Blue.' 'John Updike R

and I am not ashamed while my love is near me and I know it will be so till it's time to go So count the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again

'doctrine of unconditional evil'

29. My father acted in a really scary obsessive fashion toward me lately and now suddenly he is just eating and drinking.

30. Jesus Himself said in the Gospel not to curse your parents.

31. I thought something about 'Sentimental Education' lately.

32. A while ago I wanted to write or read 'stories about families.'

33. I want to return to my '2003' project that predicted bioweapons and stuff but not really.

If I were redoing it I might just make it about 'Honesty' and instead of magic assassins it would be the medical doctor charged with mitigating bioweapon magic damage and the FBI agent investigating the bad guys. Psalm 5.

34. Wanting to be the spiritual-intellectual successor to Bruce Cumings (hyper-meta historiography of the Korean War and, by extension, Covid, the world, Christ / CHristology, and the problems with non-Asia-based E. Asian Studies academicians or anyone who lacks Confucian scholar-gentleman / 'sunbi' / Scholar in Kingdom of Heaven sincerity). China buries corrrput intellectuals alive.

35. 'Final Offer' in Time (on Pres. Moon Jaein). 'Peace in Our Time?' Blessed are the peacemakers; blessed are the pure in heart.

36. IDK if it's worth saying but - dept. of Anti-Christology or study of Antichrist - the 'first world' as it used to be called by and large seemed to be trending towards Imperium. I honestly feel as if Barack Obama could be pulling the strings from within the CIA building and David Cameron adn Angela Merkel are in charge of all of Europe, while POpe Francis holds suzerainty of influence if not command-authority over the Spanish-speaking world. IDK if there is meaningful dissent outside of a few republic-nations such as Poland and South Korea, who paradoxically take on a posture of what Park Chunghee callde 'itnernational responsiblity' despite a history of atrocious suffering and monoethnic somewhat xenophobic traditional social makeup.

37. Flaubert's notes to his supreme masterpiece 'Sentimental Education'... I'll just say... How he taught Frederic Moureau to fall in love with Marie Arnoux; taught himself how to LOVE Marie both before the beginning and after the end of being 'in love' with this mother-paramour.

That said, I still remember the days when I had 'optimism' and someone said, '[woman] is happy because of you.'

38. I can't write more but do have specific goals, chiefly, master Korean and learn all the basic facts. Professionals and experts believe in facts; as my Russian Yale MBA friend used to say, 'I am a scientist.'

I wish I had a profession... 'literary criticism of life?' I am interested in 'the condition of fiction' and 'the logic of pulverization' but I just track John MacArthur. I need to reconstitute my body and mind then maybe...

Dreams of [doctoral degrees].

39. 2 Timothy, Acts 2, Thessalonians, Revelation, in the Covid era.

40. Dreaming of Bethlehem College and Seminary.

41. Dov Danilov had abjected himself; he was known; on one cared. The only decisive or critical factor... There was that armored 'girlfriend of steel' or perhaps better-than-girlfriend, the trial by ordeal, the one-look judgmentality, but it was all the past. There was 'When You Are Old' and there had always been the presence of the Other like in 'The New World' with Pocahontas and John Smith; 'Who are you that haunts my dreams?' That was a gooood movie. He watched 'The Last Samurai' back in the day and didn't take it seriously but believed it contained good 'advices.' There was Manheim Wagner's 'Korea: How You Feel' that had a great photo that seemed to mean something about the author's feelings but the book was all about illegal narcotics and sex-trafficking. There was 'Brother One Fell' but it was all about masturbation and poor diet and illegal narcotics and what the Native Amerrian Indian shepherd-scholar hda called 'Mental Europeanness.' The shepherd-scholar called himself a 'sheep-rancher.' It was RU, 2005 autumn. 'Being known and ont cared for,' like HAndong from Dreamcatcher. Maybe, it was the beginning of the end of the nightmare. - I could eat again a little if I got another love-letter from a female student... or even another bouquet from a gay male student... Maybe I'll mrary a North Korean woman after reunification... Remember 'Honey and Clover?' - Good song. - It's an anime-drama. Originally it was a dorama. Pramodh liked it before BLM stole his soul and he death-threated me with Cannibal COrpse and hate. 'Moon River' on pianoforte.

- 'The Remains of DJ.' 'LA Dream.' 'Red Mansion Dream.' 'Pandemic of Honesty.' 'At the End of the Winter-Light; the Last of the Good Old Wisconsin Blue.' 'John Updike R

and I am not ashamed while my love is near me and I know it will be so till it's time to go So count the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again

'doctrine of unconditional evil' - humans mistaking themselves for God the Father - abortion-culture - Pope Saint John Paul II 'Humana Vitae'

42. Ideas of Christianity versus praxis and parataxis of Christianity

43. I was fond of Becca on Xanga but not as much as 'Clover' People open so much they can't but close off like a French novel 'humanity-rule' though their psychology of women is 'unconvincing' Glenn Gould ate a lot of eggs he was a hypochrondriac I want to drink 'Delta Covid Winter Summer Wine' and think of Mary HK Choi 'Yolk,' Lear's Cordelia and the real one, caritas / a'ga'pe I hope I don't get kilt with a _ _ _

44. Side- / mini-project 'My Brother's Type' about anti-Asian racism.

45. Ideal YA novel / counter to all corrupt YAL books, 'Clover' from the Promise / Fromis song. It's beautiful, beauteous, 'fragrance from life to life.' 'I kept wishing for luck until I realized that which I wanted was happiness, yes?'

46. They were bored psychopathic Boomers; retirement had made them cannibal sociopaths. His mom was like Volumnia in Coriolanus. He didn't want to think about it. He remembered Shan by the Han River, 'Fair Love.' It was ten years ago; he weighed 25 pounds less but his mentality was the same. People were different. Children were different. In Wisconsin they evinced a... He was tired of being a bridge between West and East. No one was curious.

47. I approached something really intense and pure and holy - and absolutely specific - and can't back off or back down without harm to myself. This might be my last FBI.

48. I was 'boring guy.'

49. Summer rain.

50. That holiness... but also... CVA ('Charity edifieth')...

51. I want to read Korean poetry again as well. Better poetry than ever, I imagine, better people. 'Perfect Children.'

52. 'And When We Are Older' - A Poem for Someone about My Age

And when we are old it won't necessarily get easier or fall into place or smooth into bonhomie or grow delicate as papery exquisite autumn leaves like the face of Jennifer Aniston and sometimes at the gym my smaller shoulder-muscles push harder but they remind me in this cute, precious way of some kind knowing amid Cross and sword that ever valor is a risk and God has got his hour writ. I thought that by now I would know what it's like to be one flesh with a wife, to watch a daughter practicing pianoforte, play catch with a son in the yard of a house by New Jersey reedy ponds. That dream began in 1994 and there it stays, between the 'cello-clabbered music-room and gildered auditorium and still, in these institutions, nowhere to confess my love, nowhere to begin, just papers to plan on or wise. I used to love book-reviews, the language of dictionaries that could seem to get life so right, "Validity in Interpretation," the days when newspapers seemed to love me more than my own teachers, Colossians 4:6, editing sprinkled with salt, giving reason for hope, appropriate, apt, jeongdokhada. They get old and old and much is made of the things we can experience; sometimes I think that my dear friend quit Samsung too soon to know how to build his own team and I quit at least three jobs too soon and didn't stay in hot pursuit and now feel almost as if only my thoughts are as brightly alive with a love-light as your face once was. I get so lost at shopping malls, drowning; I don't get what anyone is up to. There was a Monsignor who composed or redacted this immense ethnography of all Korea but it must have broken his heart too, man who never took a wife, knitting red, his memory, the kind of person who arrives as I, watching Pompeo et al, in the hope of a benevolent ruler both forever and for the time being too... My friend used to say I could lead but I couldn't even shut down the snark-machine and Reddit had a field day with me and honestly maybe I've never loved anyone adequately. Let's be young a while more and though I didn't like this as a kid we can talk to the TV like at my grandparents' house long ago and again born on the new day, maybe we'll spend some time married.

53. 'Happy Days'

54. I miss the good K-dramas from Dramafever days though I don't watch television anymore... I wish I did just to rest my eyes... I miss 'Please Come Back Ahjusshi'... He's on the flying aerospace train to Heaven with his tears of contrition but decidees to return to Earth to delete his porn-collection for his wife and daughter surviving him... I deleted my biological father's literary porn collection ('daddy'-stepdaughter coercive / rape; adulterous housewife)... but he tried to send me to death and Hell.

55. It was like autumn in Korea this morning with the lamps and air-moisture; it was like Korean summer this early evening with August rain.

56. I want to regain my purity of literary style but hopefully God willing write something profitable / fruitful. I might just teach again for pay..

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