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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Journey to Hogwarts - Chapter Six// Malfoy Manor and St. Mungo’s.

A/N: CHAPTER SIX! I’ve had a fun experience writing this with @kalimagik @obsessedwithrandomthings @heloisedaphnebrightmore and @firewhisky-kisses. This has so much of my love for Draco in it, I hope you all like! Chapter 7 will be out in a couple of days and I hope you're ready for drama!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries.

Word count: 4.9k

MASTERLIST

Mel groaned, covering her eyes as the bright light of the sun peeked its way through the window. She pulled the duvet cover over head; the inevitable headache as a result

Memories flooded through her mind, chasing her from her bed sooner that she would have liked. She dressed slowly, pulling her arms through a dark green cardigan, pausing every so often to fight the wave of nausea that washed over her.

The curved staircase that led to the lower floor had Mel’s stomach turning once more as she descended into the dining room where Ellie was already sat, sipping at a cup of tea.

Mel dropped into a seat; cursing firewhisky and her status as a lightweight.

Ellie chuckled at the sight of her friend looking as hungover as one could be after multiple shots of firewhisky followed by bottle after bottle of butterbeer.

“I suppose you don’t want any tea,” Ellie offered; laughing again at Mel’s scrunched up face.

“You’re awfully chipper this morning? And you drank more than me.” Mel accused; an eyebrow raised as her Canadian friend.

Ellie beamed, shrugging her shoulders, “Blaise gave me a potion to help with hangovers the night we went out to the pub. I had some left.”

Mel dropped her head to the table; letting the coolness of the table work its wonders on her head. “I should have hooked up with a Potioneer; my life would have been so much easier as of right now,” She groaned.

Ellie laughed, “Healer is pretty close to Potioneer the last I heard.”

Mel groaned again, “I don’t even want to know what happened last night. I just know I made a fool out of myself.”

Ellie doesn’t get the chance to reply. The girls are joined at the table by the Malfoy family; all three glided gracefully into the room. Lucius sits at his expected seat at the head of the table; joined by Narcissa on his right and Draco to his left.

“I’m waiting for an explanation for the state that you returned home last night.” Lucius declared, folding his hands in front of him.

“All things considered; I don’t think we were very loud.” Mel muttered, bringing a hand up to rub her forehead.

“Regardless of that, you should have more decorum when conducting yourselves in public.”

Mel glared at the elder gentleman, “You’re kidding aren’t you? This isn’t the nineteenth century! I’m not walking around here in petticoats pretending to be seen and not heard.”

Lucius returned Mel’s glare with just as much venom, “We have a reputation to uphold. The Malfoy name is revered through wizarding society.”

“It was,” Mel muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Pardon?”

“It was. You’re not doing too hot right now, are you Lucius?”

Ellie stared at her friend; hangovers were not Mel’s friend and the pain lancing through her head was making her mouthy.

Lucius gaped at the young brunette. Mel rolled her eyes, “Your fall from grace was well documented, Lucius. And another thing – no, don’t interrupt me, I’ve got my gander up now - this is very much the twentieth century; women have rights nowadays. And I can swear, drink, fight and argue just as much as I’d like.”

Lucius remained silent at Mel’s words. Narcissa watched her with something akin to pride glittering in her eyes. Draco’s repressed the urge to laugh at Mel’s words.

Ellie raised her cup; meeting her friends gaze, “Here here!”

Mel grinned at her friend, pushing herself back from the table. “If I may be excused,” she started, glaring at the patriarch, “I want to go sit in a quiet room and let this headache pass.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll send someone to check in on you soon,” Narcissa promised with a kind smile.

Mel left the dining room; adrenaline coursing through her veins. Draco and Narcissa had been the epitome of kindness through their time in the wizarding world; it was time for Lucius to remove the stick up his arse so he could finally see the damage he had caused and start hunting for a solution before he was left alone in this big, cold manor house.

Mel trapped herself in a small room just off the main living room. her headache was showing no signs of lessening, but she supposed it was karma for the way she acted last night. She groaned, rubbing her forehead – she knows she shouldn’t drink; her hangovers were always worse than the drinking was worth.

She sighed, standing from the table by the window. She had sat down upon entering, needing to stave off the dizziness and nausea. Now though, she hunted for a candle.

Her education in what she now supposed was muggle society to her had involved the research into history and lore of witchcraft. It had been a personal choice of hers to follow the stories of those executed in Pendle and West Yorkshire in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Through her research, Mel had read supposed grimoires, translating the old English to modern. Mel rooted through the draws in the room, yelping happily when she finds a candle for her to try with. The girls had mastered spell after spell; potion after potion. Passed their exams with exceptional grades, but Mel had researched this in her old life, and she wanted to know whether she could master the basic wordless spell of lighting a candle with a single breath of air.

An hour into her staring match, someone knocked on the door. Mel didn’t turn her gaze from the candle as she granted permission to whoever was outside.

“What has that candle done to offend you so badly?”

Mel jumped in her seat at the sound of Draco’s voice, “It’s nothing – don’t worry about it.”

Draco sat across from the brunette, “It isn’t though, is it?”

Mel flipped her hair over one shoulder, “Did Narcissa send you in here to check on me?”

“I volunteered for the job actually. Now, don’t change the subject – what’s wrong?”

Mel slumped in her chair, “I have been given the richest education I could ever receive. I have researched witchcraft since I was eighteen years old and I find out I have magic and I can wield it to make potions, cast charms and to grow magical plants – yet, I can’t light a single candle.”

Draco held his hand out for the candle; Mel passing it to him without question. They both pointedly ignored the spark of electricity that passed between them when their finger brushed against each other. Draco placed the candle back in the centre of the table. He blew on the candle; the wick caught and burned aflame.

“Show off,” Mel muttered, crossing her arms.

“Practice.”

“I have been!” She cried, “I work on everything from Hogwarts; going over the charms I have been taught. Magic and spell work are the same thing, Draco; they take power from the elements, yet I can’t harness fire. I bet the others aren’t having this much trouble with their magic.”

“Mel, breathe for a minute a listen. You’ve had magic for a few weeks; I’ve had magic all my life. It’s all down to practice.” Draco blew out the candle, “Now, take another deep breath and clear your mind, save for the action you want to complete.”

Mel leant forward, mind emptied, resting her head on her arms with her eyes closed as she loosened a breath from her lungs, sending it towards the candle.

“Mel, look.” Draco whispered.

Mel opened her eyes to see the wick of the candle aflame. Joy sparked through her at the sight of it, but something deeper caught aflame within her as she caught Draco’s eyes on her; something akin to pride and happened reflected in the bright blue of his eyes.

---------

Mel found that the longer she spent at the Manor, the more she enjoyed being in the company of Narcissa Malfoy. She had truly repented for her actions in the war; had donated a large amount of money to wizarding orphanages for children who had lost their parents in the war to make amends for the damage she followed blindly from youth had caused.

Every afternoon, Mel would join Narcissa in the gardens, walking among her prize-winning roses. Narcissa was very proud of them, and very knowledgeable on the meanings of flowers.

“Herbology was my favourite subject alongside Potions,” She had told Mel as they stood together by the yellow roses. “Yellow roses, for example, used to stand for jealousy – they’d be sent by jilted mistresses to the wives of their lovers. Now though, they represent friendship and joy,” Narcissa explained.

Mel reached out to touch the petals, her voice laced with sentimentality as she murmured, “We used to have yellow roses in the garden at home.”

Narcissa looked at her sympathetically, “Do you miss it?”

Mel nodded, “I do, but I’m enjoying my time here too.”

Narcissa smiled at the young woman, “I’m glad. Though I am sorry Lucius gave you a hard time the other morning, but I liked that you stood up to him. So few do.”

Mel frowned, “I understand what you’ve been through, or at least, I do to an extent. I won’t ever understand your motivations, but it isn’t for me to understand. I’d like to help though; you’re all healing from the events of the war but there are deeper scars, and I think Lucius is having trouble adjusting to the aftermath.”

Narcissa stared at Mel for a moment, “How would you help?”

Mel shrugged, “I’ve been told I’m a naturally warm person, I want to crack his cold exterior.”

Narcissa chuckled, “Well, I wish you the best of luck.”

Mel held her arm out for the matriarch of the family who had so graciously taken her and Ellie in, in their time of need. Narcissa took the offered arm, and the two picked up their walk around the garden where they left off.

--------

Mel rubbed at her eyes as she descended the now familiar curved staircase. She wasn’t sure what had awoken her; all she knew that was one minute she was dreaming of the eyes of a certain wizard and then she was wide awake.

Her stomach had grumbled until she pulled the covers from her body. A hot chocolate would work just fine at this time of night, so Mel made her way to the kitchen.

“Draco?” Mel asked; stepping closer to the slumped figure at the kitchen table.

Draco jumped up; eyes blinking rapidly. He yawned, “Mel? What are you doing up?”

Mel walked towards the fridge, pulling out the glass bottle of milk nestled between some juice. “I couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged, reaching for a pan and placing it on the stove, “Do you have any hot chocolate powder lying around here?”

Draco pulled himself up from his seat wearily. He opened a cupboard, grabbing the famous purple tub of Cadbury’s drinking chocolate. He handed it to the brunette before taking a seat back at the table.

Mel added the sweet powder to the now warming, stirring slightly before reaching for two mugs. She turned to tired man behind her, “Would you like one? I’ve made more than enough for two.”

Draco nodded; his words cut off by another yawn.

In a matter of minutes, Mel had poured the hot chocolate into the two mugs and had handed one to Draco. He sipped at it gently, watching the woman across from him.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asked.

“I’m not sure. One minute I was fast asleep, and then I was awake. I thought hot chocolate would help.”

“You did?”

Mel nodded, “My grandmother made it when I couldn’t sleep. When I was small, I couldn’t pronounce ‘chocolate’ so I’d ask for ‘choc choc’.” She chuckled at the memory of her grandmother stirring the pan filled with the sweet concoction that had her eyes drooping within minutes.

“That’s adorable,” Draco uttered; eyes on the brunette.

Mel ducked her eyes, blushing. A change in topic was needed, she thought to herself, “How come you’re up?”

Draco ran a hand down his face, “I just finished work.”

“How long were you on?”

“Twelve hour days this week, it’s not so bad.”

“How was your shift?”

“You are inquisitive, aren’t you?”

“Oh hush, and answer the question, Draco.”

“It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Draco replied. Shaking his head, he sighed, “We lost two patients who had been there for a while. I’d formed a bond, you know?”

Mel nodded understandingly, “I’m still sorry, Draco.”

“So am I,” Draco stated; his blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

Mel stood from her seat. She wrapped her arms Draco tightly; letting him cry into her shoulder. He sobbed and sobbed for the patient he had lost but also for those he lost back in the war; the grief overtaking him.

They’re clutched at the other.

Time passed and Draco’s sobs quietened to sniffles. Mel attempted to step away, but Draco kept a tight hold on her arm, keeping her close to him. In the early hours of the morning, Mel stands over Draco as if she could protect him from feeling too much all at once.

In the early hours of the morning, the pair become aware that their relationship was set for a different course that once originally thought.

--------

Mel had raided the library on her third day living at the manor; collecting book after book on wizarding lore and history and smuggling them away in her room. She might not have been in the muggle world with her laptop and highlighters, but she was going to benefit as much as she could from this experience. And this was by learning their histories.

Draco noticed that as the weeks and months progress, more and more gaps appeared in the library shelves. He chuckled as he realised who the culprit could be, climbing the stairs to her room to prove his theory correct.

“You know, the purpose of having a library is to give the books back so others can read them.” Draco drawled, gesturing to the pile of books on her bedside table.

Mel grinned at the blonde-haired man, an eyebrow raised, “Thank you for your definition, I’ll be sure to return them once I’m done.”

Draco sauntered into her room, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, “What are you reading?”

Mel marked her page with a bookmark and held the book up for Draco to see the title. He laughed at the words on the cover, “The Tales of Beedle the Bard? I didn’t take you for a fairy tale fan.”

“I’m worried to know what you do take me for then,” She flirted, a smile aimed in the direction of the Malfoy heir.

“Romances, classics. All the muggle authors that fancied themselves experts on love and the gothic.”

Mel flushed; she held the book of fairy tales to her chest, “I do like those books, but I had a hard time finding them in your library.”

Draco’s eyes twinkled, “That’s because you weren’t looking in the right places,” He held out a hand to her, “I’ll show you where to look.”

-----

Draco led Mel through the maze of shelves; he stopped only to point out how the room was organised.

Mel continued to be amazed at the room. Books were very much a life source for her; they had been there for every part of her life. For when she felt upset or vulnerable, she had a book that she could read for comfort. For when she needed to pass time, a book was always her first choice.

Draco turned right at an aisle; pulling Mel with him. He hasn’t let go of her hand since they entered the library, she was trying her best to quash the emotions blooming at the feel of his touch. He’s showing you the way, what is wrong with you?, her mind admonished her.

Draco stopped at the end of an aisle and knelt down to the final shelf, “Here they are, we only have the classic I’m afraid – Dickens, Bronte, Wilde, Carroll.”

“Carroll?”

“Lewis Carroll,” Draco clarified, “As in Alice in Wonderland.”

“I know who he is,” Mel chuntered, “I just didn’t think you did.”

“I’m full of surprises, clearly,” Draco laughed, the copy already in his hands.

Mel took the book from him, flipping through to the first few pages, her mind eager to meet the familiar characters once again. She crossed her legs on the floor and leant back against the sturdy shelves, happy to remain there with the small collection of muggle works.

Draco tapped her knee, “Come on, you can’t sit on the floor and read, we have comfier couches at the front.”

-----------

The pair sat in the library for well over an hour; sitting together on the couch where every now and then they would show the other a quote they loved from their respective book.

They shared secret smiles over the bindings of their books. Mel’s heart raced from the attention the blonde-haired boy was giving her. Her mind raced into overdrive at what everything he did could mean – the lingering touches, the late night conversations, how he helped her with her magic. He went above and beyond for her, and Mel was terrified of her feelings for the Malfoy heir in case she was reading too much into them as she had often done in the past.

A crashed resounded through the Manor. It pulled Mel from her worrying and Draco from his reading. The pair rushed out of the library to find Ellie crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ellie!” Mel shouted, running over to her. Draco followed close behind.

Ellie groaned as she sat up, her hand stretched out towards her ankle that had already started to turn multiple shades of purple, “I think I hurt my ankle.”

Draco’s fingers nimble examined Ellie’s ankle. He apologised at her wince of pain but soon frowned, “It sounds like a sprain. I don’t have what I need here to heal it. We’re going to have to take to you to St. Mungo’s.”

Mel folded her hand into Draco’s and in a single, nauseating moment, they landed in the emergency room of St. Mungo’s.

----------

Blaise entered the emergency room with a harried look on his face; eyes searching for Ellie and Ellie alone. His face calmed as he reached her bedside, but his eyes can’t hide the panic he felt at seeing her hurt. Blaise’s hands hover over her as if terrified she’ll break if he touched her even once.

“B,” Ellie murmured, “I’m okay.”

Blaise wasn’t entirely convinced by Ellie’s promise. She caught Draco’s eye; a silent plea passed between them.

Draco wandered over to Blaise, a hand placed on his shoulder, “Ellie’s fine, Blaise. She fell down the stairs but managed to only sprain her ankle. We had it healed in no time.”

Ellie smiled, “Draco had me healed in expert time. I’m not in any pain now.”

“Do you need anything else?” Draco asked.

Ellie shook her head, “I’m all good. Thank you, Draco.”

Draco nodded at the both of them; happy to leave them to continue their conversation. Draco had always hoped that Blaise would find someone like Ellie to share his life with; Blaise was reserved, had walls built around him and he never socialised much through his time at Hogwarts. Draco treasured their friendship; Blaise having been the voice of reason more times that Draco could count on both hands. It made him happy to see that Blaise had fallen in love with a woman as determined and kind like Ellie.

Draco watched his friend take the arm of the woman he loves. Blaise holds Ellie’s hand tight as he manoeuvred her from the bed. Ellie tested her ankle for second before she deemed it healed enough to walk on with her full weight. Ellie beamed up at Blaise, her arm wrapped around his as he led her from the emergency room for a tour of the counterpart of the muggle medicine Ellie has studied for most of her life.

Draco shook his head fondly as he walked back over to where Mel waited by the admit desk. “Ellie is going to be okay, isn’t she?” She asked worried.

“Ellie will be just fine; she has Blaise after all,” Draco stated, leaning against the admit desk.

Mel nodded, “That’s good. That she has Blaise; they’re perfect for each other.”

“They are,” Draco agreed easily, “You’ve been here a while now, has no-one caught your eye?”

Mel smiled up at the blonde-haired man, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Draco chuckled; eyes shining with mirth. “Come on you, I’ll take you on a tour.”

Mel grinned widely; eyes crinkled at the corner with happiness, “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Draco held Mel’s hand in his as he pulled her to the next floor, pausing outside the door. “This is where we keep the more serious cases, similar to your ICU floors.”

Mel nodded in understanding; remaining silent as she watched families interact with their loved ones. Her mind flashed back to her last visit to a hospital; saying goodbye to her grandfather. She didn’t know how Draco did it; how he surrounded himself with death and sadness day in and day out. She had seen how the hard days affected him, but he made it look like he was doing fine. Mel saw through the façade. She had sat with him as he let a few tears fall in memory for the patient’s he couldn’t save.

They bonded over that time together; Draco seeking Mel out after a long shift. Mel searching for Draco before the exams at Hogwarts. They bounced off each other; becoming closer as Mel’s time in the wizarding world continued.

Draco continued his tour of St Mungo’s. Mel followed behind him; her hand still held tightly in his. Mel watched the blonde-haired man in front of her; attempting to pinpoint the exact moment she had fallen in love with him – was it the candle? Or was it earlier today in the library? Or had she always been in love with some aspect of him? Draco was he favourite character in the series; it made sense to her at least, that she would fall in love with the real thing.

Draco dragged Mel into an empty exam room, grinning wickedly as the sound of her yelp. “You’ve been distracted this entire tour; did you hear a word I said?”

“Of course I did. We started at the ICU where the permanent residents reside before moving down a level to the floor where you treat potions and plant poisoning. We were heading down another level, but you’ve dragged me into an empty room. Why?”

“I kept looking back at you, you didn’t seem like you were paying attention.”

“So you dragged me into an empty room?”

Drag shrugged, “I want to know what’s on your mind.”

Mel chuckled, “Nothing overly interesting, I promise you that.”

Draco stepped closer to the brunette; Mel took a step backward, her back now pressed against the cool white wall. “You see,” Draco began, “I think it is interesting. I normally get a good read on people, but I can’t get a read on you.”

Mel thanked her lucky stars. Draco leaned in closer to Mel; his hands made their way onto her waist. She bit her lip at the feeling of his hands on her.

Then Draco did the inevitable; he ducked his head to press his lips to hers.

Mel pulled away from Draco, breathless, “Draco… we’re in a hospital.”

He hummed, nosing her cheek, “So we are.”

“And it’s your place of work,” Mel reminded as Draco’s hands grip her waist tighter.

“So it is.”

“We can’t do this here,” Mel whispered, a hand on his chest.

“Who says we can’t?”

And with those words, Draco pressed his lips to Mel’s. He kissed her gently, but the kiss soon shifted into something more; something deeper. She gasped against his mouth; Draco took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Her hands made their way into his hair. A low groan sounded in the back of Draco’s throat and he pulled Mel against him; arms circling around her.

Mel lost herself in him; he invaded her senses. All she felt was him; all she smelled was him, and all she tasted, was him.

One kiss and she was a goner; entirely addicted to him.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but they both had to come up for air. Draco pulled away first, but he pecked Mel’s lips one more time before he did. Their chests heaved; Draco’s arms remained tightly wrapped around her waist.

“What does this mean, Draco?” Mel asked, savouring the feel of his arms.

Draco pressed kiss after kiss to her face, starting with her nose. “It means that I want to be with you, Mel.”

“Even though I prefer fairy tales and gothics?”

Draco laughed, throwing his head back. He grinned down at the woman who had stolen his heart in such a short amount of time, “Even though you prefer fairy tales and gothics, yes.”

Mel beamed at Draco; taking the opportunity to fist her hands in his shirt, dragging him in for one more kiss before they needed to return back to reality.

-------

They returned to the Manor even more wrapped up in each other than they were before they left. Draco pulled Mel back to the library, though he paused multiple times on the way to drag her into a kiss.

She laughed at the man she had fallen for in the short time she had been in the wizarding world. Mel hadn’t ever given much thought to her love life in the muggle world; she had had crushes and been on dates but none of them ever really meaning anything. She watched Draco from her place a step behind him; his long legs no match for her short ones. She watched him push open the doors to the library, thinking to herself that she hadn’t ever met a man like Draco, and she wasn’t bothered by the timeline; she’d fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

Draco turned to face Mel; their books from earlier in his hands. He sauntered over to her, “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

Mel placed a hand on her heart, laughing, “As mad as the March Hare, Draco?”

“Only for you, my dear,” Draco gasped dramatically; embracing Mel.

----------

The dinner party was Draco’s idea. He sent the invitation to Blaise before letting Mel know their plans for the evening.

Mel threw a cushion at Draco’s face which he caught with a laugh.

“Want to tell why I deserve a cushion to face?” He asked.

“I have to find an outfit for a dinner party!” She cried, throwing her arms up in the air at the impossibility of it all – she knew she was being overdramatic, but she felt underprepared for something such as a dinner party.

Draco hushed her worries; pulling her into his arms. He rocked them both side to side, “It’s Blaise and Ellie, love. They won’t care what you wear.”

“I suppose not,” Mel chuntered into Draco’s chest.

He chuckled at the brunette, kissing the top of her head, “Whatever you wear will be fine; don’t overthink this – let’s just enjoy the evening.”

----------

The atmosphere in the room was light and joyful as the couples ate and drank their way through the late afternoon into the early evening. Blaise’s hand remained a staple on Ellie’s thigh through the meal as Draco’s arm remained seated on the back of Mel’s chair.

The girls shared a knowing glance; both their men oddly territorial but utter sweethearts when in private.

The dinner was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. Narcissa entered the room with an apologetic aimed at the two couples, “I’m sorry, love, but this just arrived for Draco. It must be urgent coming this late.”

“Thank you, mother,” Draco answered, taking the envelope from his mother’s hand. Narcissa departed with a smile; leaving the four of you alone once again.

Blaise and Ellie are wrapped in their own cocoon of happiness as Draco reads over the letter. Blaise tucked a piece of Ellie’s hair behind her ear, and she smiled up at him, face full with happiness and love.

Mel kept her eyes on Draco as he read the letter, watching as his body grew more tense with every word written on the piece of parchment.

“Draco, what is it? What does the note say?” Mel asked.

Draco cleared his throat before answering, “It’s a note from Ron.”

“What’s happened? Has something happened to Ana?” Ellie asked, already stood up, grabbing Blaise’s hand ready to apparate to the Burrow.

The note is handed to Blaise, “Ron’s asked us to come to the Burrow. Arthur overheard something at work, and he wants to tell us in person.”

The girls looked at each other in worry; anxiety already having settled deep within their guts. If Arthur had overheard something at the Ministry regarding them, then what they had to hear could not be positive.

Draco held his hand out for Mel. She doesn’t argue as she takes hold of his hand; she doesn’t say anything. She started into his eyes, committing the blue to her memory.

In a single second, both couples have apparated to The Burrow.

**********

Journey to Hogwarts taglist: @jenniweaslee @just-an-outstanding-auror @the-hufflefluffwriter @ravenclaw-member

#draco malfoy x oc #draco x oc #draco malfoy fanfiction #Draco Malfoy #journey to hogwarts #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy #blaise zabini x oc #blaise zabini #blaise x oc #post hogwarts #the lightning era #fluff #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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losing all my cool (branjie, oneshot) - holtzmanns

Here's a oneshot full of headassery to tide you all over until the next multichap. Thank you all SO much for all the support that you send my way both on AO3 and here about my fics. It makes me so happy and really motivates me to keep writing more. So, this exists because of you, in a way.

Writ is the bestest beta and friend and cheerleader in the world and I love them. Also the title of this fic is from Cool by Dua Lipa.

NOTE: The mug bit at the end - you'll know when you reach it - is inspired by a scene in a ghostbusters fanfic that I read years ago. So. Just wanted to make it clear that I can't take credit for that idea. That being said, enjoy!

Brooke Lynn Hytes is a lesbian. A premium cut, 100% Canadian beef hunk of lesbian, and everyone knows it.

Brooke wouldn’t necessarily say that it’s a big factor of her personality, per se. She just makes sure that it’s abundantly clear for any potential ladies around her to catch on. Plus, she fucking rocks a good beanie, oversized shirt, jeans, and docs combo and really, who wouldn’t know it from looking at her? Having a flashing neon sign above her head reading ‘GAY’ would probably be a little bit more subtle.

Despite the blatant display of her sexual orientation, it’s been awhile since Brooke has dated anyone seriously - a year and a half, to be exact. The time since has been a lament of Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge, swiping right and left but not really ever clicking with anyone. Going out to the village but not really seeing anyone past a second date, because none of them really feel right.

Who would have thought that the dating scene in the city would have such slim pickings after awhile? Brooke feels like she’s wading through the same bunch of faces that she’s already seen before, way too many girls that have dated her exes or are her exes and really, she’s tired of it.

It’s a hard dilemma to explain to her friends, too, all of them either in long term relationships and happy or straight and having a way easier time finding guys for themselves. They don’t get the lesbian dating struggle.

“These apps are so dry. I’m going to be seventy years old and attending aquafit classes before someone pops up who’s going to actually catch my interest.” Brooke doesn’t mean for her words to come out in a muffled groan, but it’s hard for them not to when her face is buried in her hands.

“Aw, don’t be like that, B.” A’keria’s sympathetic hand reaches out to pat her shoulder, and it’s a little comforting, but not that much, not when A’keria’s other hand is busy texting her man. “You’re a catch.”

“I know I am. Problem is, I can’t find anyone else who is too.” Brooke shoves a forkful of pad thai in her mouth as she shrugs.

They really did all luck out, working in the same plaza. Brooke loves being able to catch up with the friends she’s made over lunch, Nina coming over from her bakery and Monique and Monet from their boutique and A’keria, Silky, and Vanessa from their salon. Having food options never hurts, either.

Brooke hears a snort as she takes a sip of her water, and looks up to see Vanessa rolling her eyes across from her, shaking her head.

“What?”

“You are so full of yourself, miss thing.”

Brooke shrugs, sprinkling more peanuts over her food. “I know my worth. A little bit of self confidence never hurts anyone.”

“Apparently, it hurts your dating life.” Vanessa grins, raising an eyebrow, and Brooke can’t help but pout.

“Hey! You don’t get the struggle. It’s harder when you date girls.”

It’s true. Straight people have it better. Straight people can pick each other up off the street, in the line for Starbucks. Straight people never have to wonder about if someone they’re into is also like them, if they’re even remotely interested. Straight people never have to look for smoke signals from potential people to date as clues. So Brooke’s not saying that Vanessa hasn’t been through it like she has when it comes to dating, but she’s also not not saying it.

Besides, Vanessa’s taking a break from dating, anyway. At least, that’s what she’d told their group after she’d broken up with her last boyfriend a few months ago. That she needs to go back and find herself or something.

Vanessa, though, seems unperturbed as she clacks her acrylic nails on the table. “Is it, now? Tell me, Brooke. Tell me about your struggle being a lady Casanova.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.” Brooke sniffs, leaning back in her chair.

It’s fine, really. She’ll find a girl eventually.

Maybe before she’s seventy.

If Brooke is the world’s most obvious lesbian, Vanessa is the world’s most incognito bisexual.

To most people, at least. Sure, Silky and A’keria know that Vanessa had dated some girls back in college, that her Tinder is set to both guys and girls. But everyone else?

Vanessa hasn’t seen the point of revealing it yet. What’s the rush, if she’s not dating a girl anyway?

Nor is she dating a guy right now either, but that’s beside the point.

Vanessa gets how she’s perceived. Face always beat, hair always styled, an aesthetic that’s femme as hell. Long ass nails, because why wouldn’t she get acrylics if she’s not getting coochie anytime soon? She looks good, but she also understands why she has had to be the one to hit on girls in the past, rather than the other way around. Because they always think that she’s a heterosexual.

And here Brooke is, doing the same thing. Not that Vanessa is interested in her - she needs a little bit more time with herself before dating again, especially after the drama of her last boyfriend. All she needs in bed is her rabbit toy, and it gives more pleasure than she’s gotten from her last two partners put together.

But she knows how Brooke sees her - straight, because Brooke’s playing into her own stereotypes about how girls interested in other girls look, how they act. Brooke would be the last person to guess that Vanessa’s bisexual, that she enjoys going down on a girl just as much as she does. Brooke, sweet lumberjack Brooke in her ripped jeans and her plaid as if she’s about to go chop a tree down with her nonexistent biceps. Classic lesbian, practically begging to be messed with.

And Vanessa has an idea. It comes to her as she’s walking back to the salon with Silky and A’keria after their lunch break, their friend group dispersing towards their respective businesses around the plaza. Vanessa finds it hilarious that Brooke’s a ballet teacher, going over releves and arabesques while looking like she can’t lift her own leg over her own head in those jeans. Though Vanessa knows she can, from one too many drunk nights out when Brooke’s old ballet dancer persona shines through as they stumble from the bars.

“You’re gonna what now?” Silky’s brows are furrowed, her eyes slightly squinting - partly from the sun, partly because she doesn’t seem to be following Vanessa’s train of thought.

Vanessa pats her arm as they swing open the salon doors once more. “I’m gonna confuse the shit out of Brooke. Shove all of her sapphic stereotypes up her ass.”

“As if she wouldn’t like that.” A’keria snorts, and Vanessa groans.

“Nasty. Point is, bitch has no clue I’m into ladies too. So, it’s time for me to get in her head. Make her reconsider how she sees other people.”

“How you gonna do that? Hytes is sharp. She’ll figure out something stupid in no time.”

Silky has a point. How can Vanessa fool Brooke in a way that won’t make her figure out what exactly is going on?

Except Vanessa, despite her normal state of being a bull in a china shop, does know subtlety, especially when it comes to displaying signals.

Which means she knows just how to get under Brooke’s skin.

The beanie from the top shelf of Vanessa’s dresser feels weird on her head the next morning. It’s one that she hasn’t pulled out since her college days when she had been trying to figure out her personal style and what suited her. Vanessa’s not mad at it, though, as she looks in the mirror. She’s still curled her hair and she’s still wearing heels but the button down she’s wearing with her sleeves rolled up is miles away from her normal aesthetic.

Not that she doesn’t rock it.

“Phase one, ladies.” Vanessa strides into the salon with a swing in her step, a coffee in each hand. Her first client isn’t coming in for another forty five minutes, but she’s here early for a reason.

“One of those for me?” Silky holds a hand out but Vanessa’s quick to lift the cup high in the air, out of her grasp.

“No can do. This one’s for someone in that dance studio four doors down. You know exactly who.”

Brooke’s fiddling with her phone, swiping through songs that play on the overhead speakers as the dancers in her studio warm up on the hardwood floor. Vanessa has to hold back a flinch at the way the dancers bend in half, pull their legs up higher than they ever naturally should be.

“Morning, Brooke!” Vanessa’s voice is faux cheerful, a smile on her face to hide the way she already wants to crack up.

“Morn!” Brooke’s none the wiser as she puts her phone down on the speaker system, turns around to face Vanessa before she pauses, eyes wide.

Bingo.

Vanessa can feel Brooke’s eyes trail up and down her frame as she hands Brooke her coffee. “You good? Looking a little spaced out there.”

“What? Yeah, I’m good.” Brooke sputters, taking a sip of her coffee to mask it but Vanessa catches it, of course she does. “What’s the coffee for?”

“Oh, no reason.” Vanessa shrugs, leaning against the wall. “Just thought I’d grab one for you, that’s all.”

“That’s, uh-very nice of you.” Brooke’s eyes are still as wide as saucers, and Vanessa has to hold back a snicker, because she’s so easy. “I like the beanie. Never seen you in one before.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa reaches up, fiddles with it, as if she hasn’t noticed it today at all. “Found this old thing in my closet and my hair was a mess this morning. Figured I’d bring it back, y’know?”

Sure, it’s a lie. Vanessa’s hair is meticulously styled as always, but Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“Sure.” Brooke pauses on her words before continuing. “That shirt, too. It’s a nice one.”

Vanessa crosses her arms, the rolled up sleeves along her forearms showing off the simple black watch on her wrist. “Yeah? Didn’t think you ever liked what I wear. Or that you ever paid attention to my outfits. But it’s nice to know that you do.”

Checkmate.

Vanessa turns on her heels towards the door before Brooke gets to say another word, turning back towards Brooke as she’s about to step out. Brooke’s eyes are still on her, a crease in her brows, and Vanessa has never wanted to crack up harder.

“See you at lunch, Brooke.”

Lunch feels like it’s hours away, and it doesn’t stop V from fiddling with excitement throughout her morning appointments. The moment she gets to drop her styling shears and comb on her table is a relief, because it means that it’s time to execute the next part of her plan.

A’keria had originally made a face this morning when Vanessa had roped her into it, but Vanessa knows that she’s going to come through. Because A’keria is reliable like that.

Vanessa’s halfway through her dynamite rolls, but she feels like she has to scarf them down before the shenanigans unfold. She can’t focus on the conversations being held at their table, even though Monique’s story about their ridiculous customer from the morning is pretty funny. Especially because Brooke keeps peeking over at her while she picks at her tempura, which Vanessa catches because Brooke’s never been this quiet during their daily lunches before, so lost in thought with her brow furrowed.

Vanessa nudges A’keria beside her, their little signal. A’keria sighs a little before nodding, reaching for her phone, dialing Vanessa’s number. Just as they’ve planned.

Vanessa has to keep a snicker from getting out as Pussy Is God by King Princess starts blaring from her phone, because what better ringtone to choose for a scheme like this? Brooke’s head snaps up almost immediately, her eyes darting around the table to look for the source, and Vanessa takes the opportunity to stand up, hold out her phone.

“Gotta take this one, guys. I’ll be back, though!”

Vanessa has to try her hardest to not turn back, not peek at Brooke’s expression as she heads for the hallway with the sushi restaurant’s bathrooms, where she can answer A’keria’s fake call. “Thanks, bitch! I owe you one.”

“You really fucking do-”

Vanessa hangs up before A’keria’s done her sentence, and she can’t resist doing a twirl in front of the bathroom mirror, almost wanting to pat herself on the back. Because everything is unfolding exactly as planned.

She touches up her lipstick, dusts some more highlighter on her cheeks because she’s in front of a mirror, anyway, waiting for the time to pass. She watches the minutes tick by on her watch, and it’s hard, really, not to run outside right away, to see what Brooke’s face looks like at this very moment.

Kiki: what u got massive diarrhea in there or some shit

Kiki: come out already

Okay, maybe Vanessa should be waiting less than fifteen minutes.

It’s worth it, though, when she traipses out, sits right back down across from Brooke at the table, especially when Brooke’s face has about a million questions written across it.

“Sorry for leaving like that.” Vanessa holds out her phone, shrugs as she picks up her chopsticks once more. “Call from my ex, they’re in town. Wanted to catch up.”

“Oh?” Brooke’s face perks up in the most predictable way, and it’s exactly what Vanessa wants. Excellent.

Vanessa’s as cool as a cucumber on the outside, though. Quite an actress.

“Mhm.” Vanessa nods, grabbing an edamame bean as she does. “Think I’m gonna make plans with them for later this week. Our breakup was pretty chill.”

Brooke leans forward in her seat, ever so slightly. Just as she should. “What happened with you two?”

“We were just better off as friends.” Vanessa shrugs. “One of those people you still vibe with, y’know?”

“Sure…” Brooke trails off, tilting her head ever so slightly. “What did you say their name was again?”

“I didn’t.” Vanessa grins before standing up, tapping her watch with her other hand. “Though it’s almost one. Lunch is over, y’all.”

The corresponding groans echoing from the table, mostly from Monet, are worth it when Vanessa peeks at Brooke’s gobsmacked face.

She loves throwing her for a loop.

Brooke’s going to go insane. She really is. It feels like she’s in an alternate universe, where things are just not quite right, or maybe she’s been blind this whole time to it until now, but-

There’s something up with Vanessa.

It had started simple enough to be a coincidence. Vanessa in a button down shirt and a beanie. Sure, not her usual style, but we all experiment now and then. But then Vanessa’s ringtone had blared and it had been a fucking King Princess song, and she’d talked about an ex when she usually never does. Brooke had been listening, she really had, to see if she had been talking about a guy because, well…Vanessa’s straight, right?

But Brooke hadn’t been able to tell, and she’s still not sure. Because from how vague Vanessa was, she could have easily been talking about a girl or a nonbinary ex, for all that Brooke knows. But would Vanessa date someone who’s not a guy?

Brooke has no idea, and the mystery is killing her. Because Vanessa’s not gay. She can’t be. Can she?

Brooke needs to find out.

It’s a little while before Brooke sees Vanessa again, mostly because she has brainstorming lunch meetings with Detox before her friend begins to work on her dancers’ costumes before their spring showcase. It’s only for a few days, but Brooke feels like she’s going nuts, like she needs to investigate more or she’s going to lose it.

Detox notices, from the way her eyebrows are raised as she sits across from Brooke at her makeshift office in the studio. “Got ants in your pants, or something?”

“Detox.” Brooke rests her elbows on the table, leans forward slightly. “How good is your gaydar?”

“Gaydar isn’t a thing, dumbass. Straight people invented that.” Detox snorts. “If it was real, I’d be way better at hitting on the gay girls instead of the straight ones.”

“You just have a type, and that type is ‘not interested,’ apparently.” Brooke winks at Detox when her eyebrows raise. “Don’t forget, I was there all throughout undergrad when you’d cry in the bathroom after another straight girl turned you down.”

“Undergrad was traumatic. Don’t remind me.” Detox shudders, before holding out her hand. “I won in the end, though.”

Brooke fakes gagging upon seeing Detox’s shiny bling on her ring finger, as if she doesn’t want a girl for herself, too. “Don’t remind me. We know you’re married.”

“You’re just jealous of how cute we are. Now tell me, which girl has gotten your panties in a tizzy?”

“Tizzy-no, she hasn’t gotten them in a tizzy. Gross.” Brooke makes a face. “It’s one of the girls in the salon over there. I thought I had her figured out, but…”

“But now your signals are crossed?” Detox looks delighted, a little too delighted, by Brooke’s plight.

“But now my signals are crossed.” Brooke sighs, leans her cheek on her hand. “What straight girl likes King Princess?”

Detox shrugs. “I dunno. She’s getting kinda mainstream now, isn’t she? I swear I heard her play on the radio once. I think you gotta keep investigating, Sherlock Holmes. Find out more.”

Brooke gets her chance to do just that when Nina texts their group chat to make a plan for drinks after work on a Friday afternoon. She’s never said yes faster because she knows Vanessa is going to come, which means that Brooke will have the chance to dig a little deeper.

The bar that they choose is blaring tunes on their overhead speakers, making it hard for Brooke to hear anything aside from the bass of the latest top forty song, but she leans in nonetheless over the table Because Nina is bringing up plans for Pride this year, and Brooke’s especially interested in the answers of one specific person.

Vanessa’s wearing Doc Martens and the sight had been disconcerting when they’d walked into the bar, because Brooke’s never seen her without heels. The plaid shirt tied around her waist is taunting Brooke, confusing her even more because it’s the type of shirt that Brooke herself would wear. She’d never thought that she’d have anything in common with Vanessa’s style in the past, though evidently, her closet has some exceptions.

“I’m thinking we can hit up Garage and O’Grady’s for sure. Crews is going to be too busy during Pride, it’s packed to the brim on a good day.” Nina has her notes app open as she makes their itinerary, and it almost makes Brooke want to crack up, how organized she is.

“What about The Drink? Shouldn’t be as crowded there, either.”

Brooke’s head pops up from her appetizer of mozzarella sticks to see who’s given the suggestion of one of her favourite venues - it’s not A’keria, who’s on her phone, not Monique or Monet, who’d both disappeared to the bathroom together ages ago. It’s Vanessa, leaning forward expectantly to peek at the list on Nina’s phone, and Brooke feels like she’s about to do a spit take.

How has Vanessa heard of The Drink? Brooke would get it if Vanessa’s heard of the popular gay bars in the village, the one that straight people tend to go to more often than not, but The Drink?

“You’ve been there before?” Brooke can’t help but internally curse at herself when the words slip out of her mouth but she can’t help it, because she’s more confused than ever.

Vanessa’s eyes are sparkling just a little too much, and it’s making Brooke’s head hurt, just a little. “One of my fave spots. Why, wanna go there sometime, B?”

Brooke doesn’t miss the way Silky snickers into her nachos, and she has to run her fingers through her hair, rub her temples a bit to clear her head. “I’ve been there plenty.”

“I’m sure you have, but that wasn’t my question.” Vanessa raises an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her drink.

Brooke pauses, because she can’t understand what Vanessa means with her statement, unless…

“Wait, are you asking me out?”

“You wish.”

And Vanessa’s winking at her, turning towards Silky and A’keria, and Brooke’s going to go grey, really, if everything keeps going on like this.

Vanessa’s having fun. Way too much fun. Enough that she’s going to be laughing about it for weeks, because getting under Brooke’s skin has never been so entertaining.

Brooke is lost. Dazed and confused. Vanessa’s plan is working out perfectly, because Brooke already seems to have been turned on her head, not quite sure what is going on anymore. Vanessa almost wants to take pity on her, reveal her ruse, that no shit she’s also into women. But it’s fun watching Brooke struggle a little bit as she tries to figure it out.

When Monique texts their group chat a day later that it’s been too long and she needs to go out before she absolutely loses her mind, Vanessa jumps to say yes. Because she knows Brooke’s going to come too, and she can pull another fast one on her.

Kameron’s quick to agree when Vanessa texts her about it, saying yes before even hearing the full story, but calling Vanessa nonetheless.

“You want me to-”

“Help me pull a stunt on my pal. Just be at the club around eleven tonight.”

“You’re a crazy bitch, and I love it.” Kameron’s laughing into the phone, and Vanessa knows she has her intrigued. “I’ll be there.”

Vanessa’s back in an off the shoulder top and tight skirt for their night out, because sure, they’re going to a lesbian bar, but a part of her has missed her own style. Besides, she’s not trying to pick up anybody tonight, anyway. She’s just trying to get the attention of one specific person.

A’keria and Silky slam their shot glasses down at the bar, and if this were any other night, Vanessa would join them, even though she’s the lightweight of the group. But she’s keeping her eyes peeled, listening to Nina and Brooke talk about their current Netflix obsession as she waits for Kameron to show up and set her plan in motion.

Kameron sits herself down at the end of the bar, and the way she chugs from her beer bottle, muscles flexing, is already making girls turn towards her, trying to bat their eyes at her.

Vanessa knows that Kameron’s more than whipped for her girlfriend, Asia, that she doesn’t really have eyes for anybody else. Which makes the way she pretends to check Vanessa out hilarious, with a smile cast towards her that must have worked well on Asia back in the day. Vanessa wastes no time in winking back, and by the time the bartender slides a drink to her (‘compliments of the lady at the end of the bar’) Vanessa’s already slid off her barstool, meandering over to where Kameron is sitting.

“So who’s the one you’re trying to get the attention of?” Kameron’s grinning as she sips her beer, and Vanessa can’t help but make a face at her wording.

“I’m not trying to get her attention. That makes it sound like I’m into her.” Vanessa scoffs, before taking a sip of her gin and tonic. “Just trying to teach her a bit of a lesson.”

“Sounds like a lot of effort to put in just to teach someone a lesson.” Kameron lifts her chin slightly, gestures to where Vanessa’s friends are sitting. “Is it the blonde?”

“I can’t turn around and look right now, but - yes, it’s the blonde.” Vanessa wants to fidget on her chair, turn around and see Brooke’s reaction for herself. “Why, what’s she doing?”

“She looks kinda pressed. You’ve definitely gotten her attention, alright.”

“Really?” Vanessa leans in closer to Kameron, trying to see if she can decipher what Brooke is up to from Kameron’s reactions. “How so?”

“Looking like she wants to come over here and give me a talking-to.” Kameron snorts. “Think you’ve made her jealous.”

“Jealous, huh?” Not Vanessa’s initial intention but…she’s not mad about it.

Brooke’s used to getting every girl she wants. Maybe this will be a change for her.

“I’ve missed you and your weird schemes, V.” Kameron clinks the neck of her bottle with Vanessa’s glass. “How’s the salon?”

“Good. We still all miss you, though.” Vanessa pouts, crossing her arms.

Kameron raises her eyebrows. “It’s been three years since I’ve worked there with you guys.”

“And yet no replacement employee has ever been the same.” Vanessa gives her best dramatic sigh, and it has the intention of making Kameron crack up. “How’s Asia doing?”

The telltale smile that rises on Kameron’s face at the mention of Asia is heartwarming, Vanessa can’t deny it. “She’s good. Currently watching Jeopardy reruns and she’d told me not to wake her up when I get home.”

“You guys are the cutest. I want me a girl like that.” Vanessa sighs, almost wistfully. It really has been awhile since she’s had a girlfriend, and she’s never had a relationship as adorably hilarious as Kameron and Asia with their bickering.

“Yesterday we started fighting over the proper way to pronounce ‘caramel,’ and I almost had to sleep on the couch.” Kameron’s deadpan voice makes Vanessa giggle, because the sight is so easy to picture. “But pause that conversation. Your girl’s walking over.”

“She’s not-”

“Hey Vanessa, everything okay?”

Vanessa spins on her stool to face Brooke, and Kameron plays her part by edging ever so slightly closer to her. Not quite with her arm around her, but enough to catch Brooke’s notice.

“Everything’s great.” Vanessa’s voice is chipper than usual, and she doesn’t miss how Kameron holds in a snort. So much for acting.

“Cool. Just checking.” Brooke looks like she’s on edge, like she’s biting her lip to keep herself from saying something.

Vanessa slides off the barstool with her drink in hand, trying to ignore the fact that she loses a couple inches off her height when she does despite the heels. “That being said, we’re pretty much wrapping up. Talk to you later, Kam?”

“See you around, V.” Kameron winks, winks, and Vanessa really does have to applaud her dedication towards acting the part.

Brooke follows behind Vanessa as they walk back towards their friends. Vanessa looks up at her as they weave through the crowds, tugs on her hand so that she doesn’t lose her. She plops back down on her original stool and Brooke sits down beside her, looking a little grumpy for a night out.

“Kam’s nice, isn’t she?” Vanessa watches Brooke’s face closely as she asks the question, sees the way she scowls.

“Sure.” Brooke grunts. “Do you guys know each other?”

“Nope.” Vanessa pops her lips on the final ‘p’. “She bought me a drink, so I went to talk to her. Turned down her offer to dance, though.”

Brooke looks up from her drink, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Because you weren’t interested?”

Vanessa shrugs. “Nah. Because my feet are tired in these heels.”

“Oh.”

“Wouldn’t say she’s my type, though.” Vanessa keeps her voice as light as possible, leans forward in her seat.

“No?” Brooke’s breath looks like it hitches in her throat, and Vanessa can’t help but tuck a lock of hair behind her own ear, drum her fingers on the tabletop.

“Nah. I like blondes, not redheads.”

The noise that Brooke makes as Vanessa walks away to join A’keria and Silky’s conversation is worth it.

The only thing worse than Brooke’s pounding headache from her hangover is the way she can still absolutely remember everything from last night.

She feels stupid, she really does. What made her go up to Vanessa like that? They’re friends, she’s not into her like that. Not when Vanessa doesn’t even like g-

Brooke doesn’t know anymore.

Her brain feels like it’s being pulled into a million directions, and Silky and A’keria had been no help, telling her ‘we’d know if Vanessa was gay, wouldn’t we? She’s our friend’ and ‘I dunno B, better go to the source yourself,’ and now, Brooke has no idea at all what to believe anymore.

Silky and A’keria wouldn’t steer her wrong, would they? But that redhead had clearly been flirting with Vanessa, and Brooke’s not sure why it had bothered her, really, but still. Brooke had only gone over to see if Vanessa was okay, if she was in a situation she didn’t want to be in, but Vanessa had been plenty enjoying herself. Maybe Vanessa had thought the redhead was being friendly.

But it’s too much for her brain to untangle during her late morning class, the blaring of the music over the speakers hardly a distraction from the way Brooke just wants to go back to bed. She can’t even imagine moving like her dancers are doing so on the floor, trying to twirl herself around. She needs more coffee.

The end of the class can’t come soon enough, and by the time the dancers are cooling down, stretching, Brooke’s heading for the Keurig machine in her office to fill up her cup again. The first sip burns her tongue and she yelps as she steps back into the studio, grumbling to herself as the dancers leave one by one.

Running a class on a Saturday at 11 a.m. had been a mistake.

Brooke doesn’t get to focus much on her scheduling shortcomings, though, when the door opens, the jingle of the chain making Brooke’s head snap up.

Of course Vanessa still looks put together the morning after a night out.

Vanessa pauses once she reaches Brooke, taking in her appearance. Brooke knows it’s nothing to write home about - her button down, her leggings, her ‘say hey if you’re gay’ mug that she’s clutching to like a lifeline - but hey, not everyone is capable of putting a full face of makeup on after getting hammered the night before.

Vanessa has a smile on her lips that Brooke doesn’t really understand, one that her brain isn’t working enough to decipher anyway. But then Vanessa sits down beside her, casts an eye to her mug.

“Hey.”

Brooke makes a face. Why is Vanessa being so weird in the morning? “Hi?”

Wait. Hold on.

Brooke can feel her jaw drop just as Vanessa begins to crack up, pointing to her mug. “You take a long time to realize things, y’know that?”

“But…what…how?” Brooke’s looking down at her mug, looking up at Vanessa, and Vanessa’s just said hey which means-

“Bi, not gay. But close enough.” Vanessa has a shit eating grin on her face but Brooke can’t really unpack it now, anyway, because her brain is just…mush.

“Wait…so you’re not straight?” Brooke needs another sip of her coffee, maybe another cup, because she’s not quite sure if she’s still asleep or not, because maybe she’s still dreaming, maybe the entire week of Vanessa acting strange has been a dream-

But Vanessa rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass. And when did I ever tell you that I was?”

“But you had a boyfriend-”

“Bisexuals exist, y’know.” Vanessa’s raising an eyebrow, and Brooke gives her a sheepish smile, because she absolutely has a point. “That’s what happens when you assume things about people.”

“Wait. That explains-”

“The outfits, the King Princess?” Vanessa snickers, and she really does look happy with herself. “Thought I could teach you a little something about not always following stereotypes.”

“Okay, but A’keria and Silky-” Brooke pauses, remembering their words. “They’d say they’d know if you were gay.”

Vanessa shrugs. “They didn’t lie. They’d know if I was, wouldn’t they?”

Brooke frowns when Vanessa cracks up, because it had been a play on words, sure, but absolutely made Brooke believe something else. “That’s fucking sneaky.”

“Sorry, B.” Vanessa’s the one looking a little sheepish now, scooting a little bit closer, and Brooke’s never really noticed how good her perfume smells, really. “Didn’t mean to deceive you. I mean, I did, but y’know.”

“I can’t even be mad, it was clever.” It’s true. Brooke’s lowkey impressed that Vanessa’s pulled it off, that she’s been duped to the high heavens and it makes her wonder if anyone else from their friend group had known. “Was anyone else in on it?”

Vanessa shrugs. “A’keria and Silky helped a bit, no one else from our friend group. Kameron did, though.”

Brooke pauses, remembering the redhead. “So wait…that chick. You knew her?”

“Kameron’s an old friend who is happily taken.” Vanessa winks at Brooke as she says the words and Brooke’s not sure why her heart feels a little bit lighter after the admission, but it does.

“Oh.”

“You look pleased to hear that.” Vanessa’s looking at her with an expression that is knowing, way too knowing, and Brooke scoffs.

“I’m happy for her happiness, that’s all.” It’s a flimsy excuse, one that Vanessa appears to see through right away, from the way that she scoots a little closer, resting a hand on Brooke’s leg. “But y’know, you did pull quite a fast one. You’re lucky my feelings aren’t hurt.”

Vanessa snorts. “What, would you want something in consolation?”

Brooke shrugs, looking at Vanessa properly. She sees the way Vanessa’s eyes are sparkling, the way there’s a smile threatening to light up her face that she’s trying to hold back.

So Brooke may as well try.

“Going on a date with me would help to soothe this wound, for sure.” Brooke gives Vanessa a fake pout, puts her hand on top of Vanessa’s. “Y’know, to make sure I’m okay and all that.”

“Just to make sure you’re okay, huh? No other reason?”

“Oh, I can think of plenty of reasons.” Brooke can’t help the cheekiness that pushes through, the charm (or lack thereof) that never seems to fail with the ladies. And it seems to work with Vanessa, who’s rolling her eyes but nodding her assent.

“Well. Fair’s only fair, I suppose I can out of the goodness of my heart.”

“The goodness of your heart, hm? As if you haven’t been flirting with me for the last week.”

Vanessa gasps. “I have not!”

Brooke grins, because now that she thinks back to it, it’s all beginning to make sense. “You totally were. You’ve been trying to get my attention this whole time.”

“As if.” Vanessa crosses her arms, and the pout on her lips somehow makes Brooke want to kiss her.

“So you don’t want to go on that date, then?” Brooke’s barely gotten the words out before Vanessa’s sputtering again.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Thought so.” Brooke grabs Vanessa’s hand, tugs her closer until she can see the gloss on Vanessa’s lips, the highlighter sparkling along her cheekbones.

“Shut up.” Vanessa’s lips are upturned as she says it, as her eyes drag down to Brooke’s lips. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

With that, Vanessa stands up, turns on her heels to leave the studio. Brooke can’t help but watch the view as she leaves, shaking her head.

She has no idea what she’s getting herself into with Vanessa, but she’d be lying by saying that she isn’t completely ready for it.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #holtzmanns

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triptripletrolls · 5 years

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The Two Schools of Thought for Fiction and my thoughts, the realization, and the journey that I will forever be on

“Fiction =/= Real Life” vs “Fiction Impacts the Real World”

Those are the two arguments that I kept seeing popping up every once in a while. I was on the side of the “Fiction =/= Real Life” and I didn’t understand how any fictional media can be bad in real life. After all, we all have heard of parents blaming games for turning their kids bad, movies creating evil people, books causing women to run from their husband, blah blah blah blah blah. I was kind of exaggerating there but I’m sure people have seen those kinds of arguments before. The blame on fiction, to me, was silly. The stories I heard with these arguments usually have an underlying human problem that needed to be solved, but instead of realizing the actual problem of that person's trouble they use fiction as a scapegoat. Shifting blame is, after all, easier than owning up to one's fault.

Another reason why I heavily supported the "Fiction =/= Real Life" side and did not understand the other side of the fiction argument was because of the victims of abuse and how some of them would use fictions to cope with their past. Let me be brief about this point for a moment and come back to this later. I was sympathetic to the victim and tried to be empathetic to their past pain and to the pain that they may feel at present. Who am I to say that they cannot do this or that when their life was already once controlled by another person, in bad hands. They (the victims) have a fucked up life, so let them be and let them cope with their trauma however they can. That was what I thought.

For me personally, fiction was a means of escape from my own head where I thought I was rotted alive and crippled from depression. Yes, that was a pretty dramatic description of what my past mental state was, but that was the feeling I remember and I have not forgotten that feeling so that I may tap into it and empathize with others now that I have grown. The dark thought still lingers to this day, but I think life is nice and I like to think that I have moved past the thought of wanting to kill myself. That sentiment is something I want everyone to have and sometimes I wanna help that in others, as draining as it is.

Fiction was not the only help I had with depression, of course, but it did play a role. Fiction kept my brain thinking of worlds fantastical than my own. Imagination was fun; I could be anyone and do anything I like. I've enjoyed fiction by myself for a long time, but when I realized that I can have fun with others who also like make-believe. It was like a whole new world for me. So my thought at that point was “How could fiction that did so good to me be bad and have real-world consequences outside of my head?”

My view shifted recently when I was able to connect the argument for “Fiction Impacts the Real World” to me personally, outside of my head in a real tangible example. I am a Korean born in Canada. Growing up Asian in a North American society, representation of my race was lacklustre or very stereotypical. Of course, I had the Korean media to turn to, but I identify myself as a Canadian more than a Korean and I grew-up all before the Korean Wave became a phenomenon in North America. When the wave did hit my city, it hit hard, but by then I was already in High School and I thought that all of this hype was overrated and just a fab. Just because I am a Korean, it didn't mean that I would suddenly embrace the Korean wave into my life. But now that I think about it, representations and fiction were two key thoughts that I need to start understanding the “Fiction Impacts the Real World”.

There was a podcast that I was listening to sometime this Spring, and the topic was about Asian representation in the mainstream media in America. My memories have yet again failed to remember what the exact podcast I was listening to but the people talking were all Asian Americans. Regular people just like me. They were talking casually, about the recent movies, like Crazy Rich Asians, and TV shows, like Fresh Off The Boat. The group of people that I was listening to expressed their amazement in these movies and shows in present times when they were growing up there really wasn't any movies and shows that had this many Asians. This is an expression I can relate to. At some point in the podcast, someone mentioned that in order for Asians to continue to get good representation in media, we need good stories that we can fill. Stories, as in fiction, and that was when it clicked.

There is still a lot of things in this world that I have yet to experience and I have a lot to learn even though I'm in my late 20s. I still think that being an adult is hard, a thought that I think many adults can relate to. Accepting new things is a process and while I still lean towards the “Fiction =/= Real Life,” I now know better. I know that fiction is important not only in the mind but also in the real world. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to come to this conclusion but hey, I'm glad I'm at this place now. Go me :p

Now here is the topic that I said I'll come back to. I know that this particular subject is really controversial in this community but I cannot ignore the consequences that this topic had on the community that I so love and to the friendships I once had.

Let me be very clear. There is no argument that CP is very bad. The sexual act against children no matter their age by an adult is despicable. CP in its nature is the exploitation of vulnerable children whose innocence of life and wonders are ripped away from selfish adults who are just thinking with their dicks, literal and metaphorical dicks. Adults are supposed to be protecting children. Adults are supposed to nurture and be a role model, but these vile sex offenders used their adult status for their own greed. CP is bad and this what I truly believe for a long time, even before any drama that has happened in this community.

What I did not know, or even thought of until reading ladytrollfishes' addition to glowtroll's post, is that there are adults who would actively expose pedophilic fiction to the children in order to do harm. This was huge news for me. I was enraged when I first read that and that could actually happen, How dare they taint the fiction I love and use it to manipulate the impressionable minds. I was aware of the pedophilic ships when I was consuming a large amount of anime as a child but those ships weren't my thing and I never thought anything of it. In all honesty, there were actually a couple of ships in animation between a child and adult that I thought was cute when I saw pretty fanart of it. However, after the epiphany of adults exposing children to problematic ships with the goal of real life CP, I am distraught by my own previous thought and grossed out by those adults.

When I said that I sympathize with victims of abuse, I still believe that I should give the victims my compassion. I understand the need to express the inexplicable pain that the victim may be feeling. To validate their own self and convince themselves that all is okay. However, like what ladytrollfishes said, there is an audience. The kind of adults I hate may use a victim's work of fiction feeding into the cycle of abuse. To sum up this particular subject of victims creating fiction as a coping mechanism, please do it privately and if you must share, do so with those you truly trust.

These are some of the thoughts that were plaguing my brain for a while. I usually don’t like sharing my personal baggage and thoughts like this, but this community has gone through a lot of drama and thoughts and opinions has been let loose. I didn’t really know where my head was, and with my own stuff going on around the same time, I think writing this out on paper and then having another thought during the typing, really has sorted out my thoughts. There are still a ton of other stuff that I want to let my feelings out, but right now, this is good for now.

#long text #cora #cora writes #aaaaaahhhhhhh #CP mentioned #just my own thoughts and stuffs #I just... aurrrg #I'm so tired #thinking is hard #writing is hard #why did i write so much for this #i hope this all makes sense #i don't have beta reader and ah it's been forever since i write something #never this much and of my personal thoughts though.... welll there was that one post not too long ago #actually writing and sorting out my thoughts letting it all out is nice #if anyone's actually reading this #I am an INFP Aries born in the year of the Rooster and because we are a part of the Homestuck my classpect is the Mage of Breath.#lmao this this actually had a very different approuch and while I untimately changed it i kinda liked that little bit. I'll add that #to my profile when i can.#mentioning of CP #should i trigger warn this? idk #past tense are hard #i perfer present tense #but i have no idea how to go about with the tenses here. like here i talk about my previous thoughts #and now i have a more broader thinking for a particular subject #the subject being this long post i wrote

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years

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BOING BOING GIFT GUIDE 2017

Here's this year's complete Boing Boing Gift Guide: dozens of great ideas for stocking stuffers, brain-hammers, mind-expanders, terrible toys, badass books and more. Where available, we use Amazon Affiliate links to help keep the world's greatest neurozine online.

Gadgets + Gear

Books + Music

Home + Kitchen

Toys + Games

Naughty + Nice

Gadgets

CORY

Edu-Toys Night 'n Day Mechanical GlobeElenco's Night 'n Day Mechanical Globe uses a system of translucent, exposed gears to rotate an internally illuminated globe that displays the seasonally adjusted, real-time night/day terminator as it spins.[Read More]

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XENI

iPhone 8 PlusNow on its eighth numbered generation, the iPhone remains my entire creative studio and almost everything I need to do my work: it replaces my fancy camera, my audio gear and everything else I had to lug around. This thing really is everything. I go big on screen size and storage capacity, with that in mind: the Plus, and 128 GB.

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DAVID

Audio Technica AT-LP60Forget those vinyl-destroying, vintage-inspired all-in-one units. They're all crap. The Audio Technica AT-LP60 is a fantastic beginner (or revivalist) turntable for the price. Its built-in pre-amp means all you need to do is plug it any powered speakers with an audio input.You won't find a better turntable than this for under $100 unless you hit the second-hand market.

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MARK

Flitt Flying Pocket Selfie Camera Drone ($100)I honestly didn't expect that this tiny fold-up drone would perform as well as it does. It does a great job of hovering in place, and is easy to control with a smart phone. It's the first drone I can fly without crashing it into a wall or getting it stuck in a tree.

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ROB

Kano Computer KitBuild your own computer and learn to code art, music, apps, games and more with the Kano Computer Kit, an introduction to the bare metal you just won't get with crap-laden commercial machines. Hundreds of schools use them, and Includes everything you need, including the Pi that acts as its brain, case, speaker, wireless keyboard, RAM, and cables. And unlike most edumuacational computer gear, it looks absolutely cool as heck.

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JASON

An airbag for your motorcyclistDo you love your motorcyclist? This simple, tether activated airbag inflates less than .10 of a second after a rider becomes separated from their bike. Helping to secure the neck, and protect the torso and internal organs, the Helite Turtle, is a top choice for next-generation motorcycle safety.

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DAVID

Kindle E-reader loaded with free classicsFor $50, the entry-level Kindle E-reader is priced right, and comes in black or white! This model has a 6” display and the battery lasts for ages between charges. (If you want to get fancy, go for the Kindle Paperwhite with a built-in reading light so you don't bug bedmates.) Load it with free classic books from Project Gutenbergbefore gifting!

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MARK

Igloohome Deadbolt2 ($238)The Igloohome Deadbolt2 has a programmable keypad instead of a keyhole. It took me about 20 minutes to install on my door. You can send your friends or other people single-use PINs. The smartphone app can also be set so the door unlocks when you touch the keypad - no PIN needed.

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MARK

Mixcder Wireless & Wired Over Ear Headphones ($80)I bought these relatively inexpensive headphones for my daughter, who wanted wireless headphones for when she paints and sculpts. These are comfortable, have good sound quality, and pair easily with an iPhone.

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MARK

PacSafe Transit Travel Hoodie ($130)The thing I like about this pocket-covered hoodie is that the interior pockets have little line drawings indicating what you should put in them - pen, eyeglasses, tablet computer, phone, passport, earbuds, wallet, etc. I like having a garment that tells me what to do, it keeps life simple while traveling.

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ROB

Elf ear earbudsOnce hard to find, these low-end but unique earbuds are now at Amazon. For elves who can't quit their record collection even for a moment, they're still, sadly, only available in lily white. But cheap, at just $13.

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ROB

Raspberry Pi 3 Model BThe best $35 you can spend on a wee yet straightforward and accessible barebones computer, Raspberry's Pi is now in its third generation and lives atop a vast and growing ecosystem of accessories, cases and general craziness to have fun with. The latest flagchip model has a 1.2GHz 64-bit quad-core CPU with twice the Pi 2's performance, integrated WiFi and Bluetooth, and backward compatibility with earlier models.

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XENI

Black & Decker CHV1410L 16-volt Lithium Cordless Dust Buster Hand VacStill the best selling hand vac for keeping your office, home, workshop or hackerspace tidy. CHV1410L has strong suction, and a bagless dirt bowl that's easy to see and empty. Holds a charge for up to 18 months when it's off the charger. High efficiency Lithium ion chargers protect it by automatically shutting off when the battery is charged, so you can store it on the charger.

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ROB

ArduboyBeautiful 1-bit graphics in your wallet! Arduboy is an open-source platform to create and share games and the hardware is made to the dimensions of a business card. Best of all, this tiny toy is only $50. Want more? The PocketChip, at $70, plays Pico-8 games with a dazzling 16 colors; the dev community is more mature and there are countless games already.

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ROB

Second-gen Apple iPad Pro 12.9-inchWith the lastest 12.9" model I've changed my mind about Apple's biggest iPad. Its unmatched pencil latency and powerful processor leave Microsoft (and even Wacom) trailing, while markedly improved third-party applications make Photoshop less critical, at least for me. Finally.

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Books and Media

MARK

The EC Artists Library Slipcase (Vol 3 $54)This high quality box set of four hardbound books has 904 pages of the very best comics of the 1950s. Volume one of this series is out of print and sells for over $250. Volume three is just $54. With art by greats like Wally Wood, Joe Orlando, John Severin, and George Evans, this set is a must-have for comic book aficionados.

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CORY

Canadaland Guide to Canada (Published in America), by Jesse Brown and friendsBrown finds plenty of hilarious awfulness in Canada's past and present, especially in the way that Canadians talk about themselves when they expect Americans might be listening to them. From Justin Trudeau (who talks about refugees abandoned by Trump but takes no action to improve their lot, because he's too busy taking away the citizenship rights of naturalised Canadians with objectionable politics, greenlighting climate-destroying pipelines for the Tar Sands, and making the most of the sweeping surveillance powers he promised he'd abolish after taking office) to Rob Ford to Quebec separatism and the long, deplorable traditions of drunken, racist Canadian leaders who are remembered as wise, even-handed leaders, Brown punctures ever bubble that Canadians have ever blown over the border toward our American cousins.

I laughed aloud at many of these jokes, and they got under my skin, in just the same way that a perfect Samantha Bee rant will. This is a book of weaponised jokes about a country that has spent more than a century burnishing its credentials by blithely asserting its moral and temperamental superiority to its erratic and flamboyant southern neighbour -- and every shot hits its mark. [Read more]

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CORY

Briggs Land Volume 1: State of Grace, by Brian WoodStories matter: the recurring narrative of radical Islamic terror in America (a statistical outlier) makes it nearly impossible to avoid equating "terrorist" with "jihadi suicide bomber" -- but the real domestic terror threat is white people, the Dominionists, ethno-nationalists, white separatists, white supremacists and sovereign citizens who target (or infiltrate) cops and blow up buildings. That's what makes Brian Wood's first Briggs Land collection so timely: a gripping story of far-right terror that is empathic but never sympathetic.

Briggs Land builds on the empathic -- but not sympathetic -- portrayals of far-right separatists in Wood's seminal graphic novel DMZ. It's timely: the Trump era has been a moment of uneasy glory for white nationalists and their fellow travelers, who, having long craved the spotlight, aren't entirely sure what to do with it.

Briggs Land is also in development as an AMC TV series, further evidence of its zeitgeisty nature. Being a Brian Wood comic, it's also gripping as hell, a nonstop crime novel that involves rogue FBI agents, ruthless skinheads, closet racists and overt ones, doting parents who also happen to be unspeakable monsters. [Read More]

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CORY

Kindred (Graphic Novel), adapted from the novel by Octavia ButlerKindred is the story of Dana, an African-American writer married to a white man in 1976, who finds herself being violently yanked through time and space to the side of her distant ancestor, Rufus, the son of an enslaver who lives on a plantation in antebellum Delaware. Rufus -- a self-destructive, traumatized and spoiled child -- periodically puts himself in mortal danger, and when he does, Dana is torn from 1976 to save him, and is stranded in the violent, totalitarian south until she experiences mortal terror, whereupon she returns to her present, only moments after she left. Luckily for Dana, mortal terror is a commonplace occurance for black people in Delaware in the 19th century.

Dana's relationship to Rufus, and to Rufus's freeborn, African-American friend Alice -- whom Dana knows to be her ancestress -- is wrenching and claustrophobic, as she is enlisted to help Rufus sexually assault and eventually enslave Alice, revealing the deep violence lurking in Dana's own distant past.

For many years, Dana and her white husband, Kevin, are stranded in history, together and separately, and this affords Butler a chance to add yet more nuance to her tale, weaving in the point of view, privileges and horror of a white ally who, nevertheless, enjoys a measure of safety his black wife cannot claim.

The graphic novel adaptation is extremely faithful to the Butler novel, and does brilliant things with color-palettes, using different tones to demark the present and past, and also the belowstairs and abovestairs places in the lives of the enslaved people. The lines are vigorous and rough, conveying emotion and urgency.[Read More]

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MARK

The Magic Machine: A Handbook of Computer Sorcery ($4)This 1990 BASIC programming book is long out-of-print, but is still valid and a great way to explore fractals and artificial life. I loved this book when it came out and just bought a replacement for my lost copy. Use copies are cheap on Amazon. Get it for a smart kid in your life.

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DAVID

Voyager Golden RecordIn 1977, NASA launched two spacecraft, Voyager 1 and 2, on a grand tour of the solar system and into the mysteries of interstellar space. Attached to each ofthese probes is a beautiful golden phonograph record containing the story of our planet expressed in music, sounds, images, and science. It’s a message for any extraterrestrial intelligence that might encounter it. And now you can experience on Earth as a lavish 3xLP Box Set or 2xCD-Book edition.

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DAVID

The Photographs Of Charles Duvelle - Disques OCORA And Collection PROPHETDecades before the term "world music" became common parlance, Charles Duvelle was traveling the globe recording the sounds and sights of indigenous people around the world. To enable us see the world through Duvelle's eyes, Sublime Frequencies' Hisham Mayet in collaboration with Duvelle released this magnificent tome contains field photographs from 1959-1978, a deep interview, a report he prepared for Unesco in 1978, and two CDs of music that will move you.

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DAVID

Art Sex Music by Cosey Fanni TuttiThe stunning memoir of musician, artist, and cultural provocateur Cosey Fanni Tutti is a must-read for anyone interested in the history of avant-garde music, performance art, underground culture, radical living, and female empowerment. Best known as co-founder of pioneering industrial groups Coum Transmissions and Throbbing Gristle (famously called “wreckers of civilisation” by a British MP), Cosey has also explored the fringes of sex, music, and creativity as a pornographic model, video artist, electronic composer, and, yes, writer. This is her story so far and it’s a doozy.

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DAVID

Little Book of Wonders: Celebrating the Gifts of the Natural World by Nadia DrakeNational Geographic contributor Nadia Drake’s science writing sings with knowledge, rigor, and her own infectious curiosity. This slim and delightful book is no exception. A lovely miniature wunderkammer of Earth’s magical places, startling phenomena, and amazing wildlife, it pairs beautiful photos with Nadia’s poetic and informative captions that spark the imagination and instill a sense of wonder about our world.

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DAVID

Dalí: The Wines of GalaFirst published in 1978, Salvador Dalí’s The Wines of Gala is a stunning and strange guide that groups wines “according to the sensations they create in our very depths” such as “Wines of Frivolity,” “Wines of the Impossible,” and “Wines of Light.” Featuring more than 140 of Dalí’s surrealist illustrations, this is the most bizarre, sensual, and sensational book about viticulture and libations that you’ll ever experience.

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CORY

THEFT: A History of Music, by James Boyle and Jennifer JenkinsTheft traces millennia of musical history, from Plato's injunction against mixing musical styles to the outrage provoked by the troubadours who appropriated sacred music and turned it into bawdy songs about wanting to have sex with hot teenagers (a trick Ray Charles repeated hundreds of years later!); from the racist outrage over rock and roll's challenge to white supremacy to the fights over sampling and the exploitation of African-American musicians who were ripped off 40 years ago versus the interests of their musical progeny whose sample-based music has been distorted and even outlawed by the same musical corporations that screwed the R&B artists, in the name of defending those artists (!).

Jenkins and Boyle are two of the staunchest defenders of fair use and remixing -- their first comic, Bound by Law, was a kind of Understanding Comics for the legalities of fair use -- and it shows: Theft is as laden with visual, textual and musical references as a Dizzy Gillespie solo, an early Public Enemy wall-of-sound, an illegal Girl Talk mashup.[Read More]

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CORY

The Free, by Lauren McLaughlinIsaac West is a mixed-race kid who never knew his dad; he and his sister have raised their alcoholic, abusive mother as much as she's raised them. But Isaac has a plan: his little sister Janelle is smart, better than he'll ever be, and he's going to get her out of their mutual hellhole and into a private school -- and to make that happen, he's graduated from petty theft into grand theft auto, under the supervision of his high-school auto-shop teacher, a cut-rate Fagin who trains and oversees a gang of junior car thieves.

It's this teacher who insists that Isaac should plead guilty to beating a man comatose in a car-heist that went wrong, though the kid who actually did the beat-down was the teacher's cousin, a hulking giant of a kid who has already got a conviction under his belt and faces being tried as an adult if he goes down.

For Isaac, it's an easy choice: spend 30 days in juvie, complete his rehab program, and in return, he'll get enough to send Janelle off to private school. All he has to do is survive, and he's been doing that all his life.

From here, McLaughlin has all the elements for a tight, claustrophobic novel that veers between the terror and camaraderie of incarceration; the brutally honest drama therapy group that Isaac must attend if he's to be released; the mounting danger to his sister and all of the repressed feelings and guilt that weigh Isaac down.

While there's some revenge and redemption here, mostly what there is is unblinking reality, a willingness to confront the impossible without denying it. The kids in Isaac's world are in trouble, and that trouble isn't going to get better for most of them, and maybe not for Isaac. Some of those kids are pretty terrible, but even at their worst, they're still kids, and still rounded people with their own virtues and stories.

I don't know when I've read a more empathic novel, and it's been a long time since I read one that was more sorrowful and joyful at the same time. [Read More]

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ROB

The Complete Elfquest Vol. 4Fresh out in November, this volume contains some of the most exquisite and touching episodes of Wendy and Richard Pini's Elfquest saga, a great alternative to genre fantasy and its grim 'n' gritty modern counterparts. One of America's best indie comics, it's illustrated by Wendy's wonderful artwork – even at its most lighthearted, unanswerable questions of identity, family and freedom lurk between the lines. (Newcomers should not feel they have to start at the beginning, but it sure helps.)

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CORY

The Hardware Hacker: Adventures in Making and Breaking Hardware, by Andrew "bunnie" HuangThe book draws heavily on Huang's own hardware projects, which have included substantial manufacturing in south China, with many hard-won lessons about how things can go wrong and how to make them go right. This is more than a checklist or memoir: it's nothing less than a masterclass in modern manufacturing, and even if you never plan on manufacturing anything, reading these chapters will explain the material world around you like few other texts.

This dovetails neatly into a meditation on the differences between Western and Chinese approaches to "intellectual property" and the way this has informed the manufacturing processes whose outflows are all around us. In these chapters, Huang proves himself to be a thoughtful and incisive critic of law as well as technology, and the thorny questions he raises show up the normal discussion on these subjects up for a shallow scrape over the surface of something deep and difficult.

Huang uses these broad legal and technical passages as a foundation for the second half of the book, which lay out the detective work that Huang did to realize his various hardware challenges, from stick-on soft circuits to an insanely clever device that circumnavigates the law through tight and unsuspected secret creeks that allow him to enter territory that no engineer has ever seen by legal means.

The book concludes with its most speculative and future-looking chapter: a disquisition on the similarities (and differences) between computational bioscience and hardware hacking, based on his work with his "perlfriend" -- his perl-hacking, bioscientist girlfriend -- on hacking genomes. [Read More]

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CORY

New York 2140, by Kim Stanley RobinsonIt's 2140 and trillions of dollars' worth of the world's most valuable real estate is now submerged under fifty feet of water, resulting from two great "surges" where runaway polar melting created sudden, punctuated disasters that displaced billions of people, wiped trillions off the world's balance sheets, and turned the great cities of the world into drowned squatter camps.

But it's 2140, and the cities are coming back. The combination of financial speculation, desperate refugees willing to do anything to find shelter, and new technological innovations are spawning "SuperVenice"s where boats replace cars and high-rises connect to each other with fairytale skybridges, and pumped-out subway stations become underwater leisure clubs. No SuperVenice is more super than New York City, where the boats ply midtown Manhattan's skyscrapers and everything from Chelsea down is an intertidal artificial reef where, every now and again, hundreds of squatters die as the buildings topple.

The forces of finance are deeply interested in the intertidal zones. These great cities were once the world's ultimate luxury products and now they're marine salvage, waiting to be dredged up from the tidal basins, dusted off and monetized. Yeah, there's millions of inconvenient poors hanging out in them, but they're a market failure, producing suboptimal rents on some seriously distressed assets that need a little TLC, capital infusion, and ruthless securitization to bring them back.

Robinson is a master of turning stories about zoning disputes and local politics into gripping, un-put-down-able adventure tales (his novel Pacific Edge remains the most uplifting book in my library). New York 2140 is a spectacular exemplar of the tactic: the financial shenanigans form a backdrop for submarine drone-wars, black-ops kidnappings, private security assassinations, non-state actor cyberwar and economic terrorism, buried treasure hunting, and big, muscular technologies from giant dredging barges to aerosolized diamond sprays. [Read More]

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CORY

WAKE UP!, by Rick Lieder and Helen FrostLife is a continuing cycle of newness, then growth, and then gone: then birth and growth again. Photographer Rick Lieder started thinking about that theme of new life and new beginnings several years ago, and WAKE UP!, published by Candlewick Press, is the result. Working with his collaborator, poet Helen Frost, our book is about opening eyes—our own, first—and pointing to the world that’s right here, containing us all. Helen and rick are both based in the US Midwest, so we started there, with a world that we didn’t need to travel far to explore, only wake up enough to actually see. [Read More]

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CORY

Penguin Galaxy Boxed Set, introduced by Neil GaimanLast October, Penguin released its Galaxy boxed set, a $133 set of six hardcover reprints of some of science fiction's most canonical titles: The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K LeGuin; Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A Heinlein; 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C Clarke; Dune by Frank Herbert; The Once and Future King by TH White; and Neuromancer, by William Gibson.

The series is curated and introduced by Neil Gaiman, whose essay on the charm and value of science fiction appears at the start of each of the handsome volumes. It's a fine essay, placing each book in its historical context, and turning a writerly eye to their construction and techniques, as well as some of the memoir that makes Gaiman essays such fine reads (see, for example, his 2016 essay collection The View From the Cheap Seats).

As nice as that essay is, it's eclipsed by the gorgeous design, courtesy of Spanish designer Alex Trochut, whose impressive CV includes a Grammy nomination for Best Recording Package. Trochut does away with fussy book-jackets and prints his titles straight onto the books' boards in stylized, embossed gold leaf type -- with clever type-art for every cover. [Read More]

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Brutal London: Construct Your Own Concrete CapitalBrutal London: Construct Your Own Concrete Capital tells the stories of nine of London's greatest brutalist structures (with an intro by Norman Foster!), including the Barbican Estate, Robin Hood Gardens, Balfron Tower and the National Theatre -- and includes pull-out papercraft models of these buildings for you to assemble and display. [Read More]

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SHADE THE CHANGING GIRL v.1: Earth Girl Made Easy, by Cecil CastellucciLoma Shade, as her own unique character, was a way of being steeped in the world of Shade the Changing Man, while being its own thing. Some people say that Shade the Changing Girl seems to be a direct sequel of the Milligan run. I say not so. I’ve always approached it as a kind of side-quel. Creator Cecil Castellucci wanted to take care to have nods and echoes to them both, but to be able to stand narratively on its own. It was a way of striking out in a new direction while plucking elements from the Ditko original and the Milligan run.

Our Shade the Changing Girl is a way of changing the changing.

The body of a teenage girl was a great place to start that change. The body of bully was the way to take it to the next level. The idea of a real alien, who moves like a bird in human form was the best way to express it. Add in Marley Zarcone’s wongld. They are blooming and bursting with feelings and big body changes. They are confident and awkward. They are experimenting with identity. They are constantly changing.

When we are teenagers, we are figuring out how to become who we are. To throw down and figure out what it really means to be human and to break free from our parents and to think for our selves. This is why Castellucci loved writing Shade, because as an alien, she mirrors our own growth in this world. She can see the quotidian with eyes that we can’t see the world with. She has to figure out how to transform herself from who she was to who she isn’t. And through her we dive deep into her attempts to discover the meaning of humanity. Loma Shade is changed profoundly by being this mean girl and having to navigate the fall out of living in Megan’s body and in her world. [Read More]

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Paper Girls 1, 2 and 3, by Brian K Vaughanhttps://boingboing.net/2016/12/14/brian-k-vaughan-and-cliff-chan.html https://Paper Girls stars an all-girl cast of newspaper delivery kids for a fictional Cleveland newspaper, circa 1988 -- they are instantly and wholeheartedly likable, like the Goonies or the cast of Stranger Things. They convene on November 1, when the mean teenagers of Cleveland are still out an about and making mischief, picking on the likes of them, and they band together in mutual self-defense.

Then things get weird.

The girls are assaulted by a group of costumed teens, who rip off a Radio Shack walkie-talkie that one of them saved for months to buy. The girls chase down these goons, ending up in a partially built house, whose basement holds a spaceship of some kind, or maybe it's a time-machine -- and after a flash and a bang, they emerge to a transformed neighborhood, overcast with a tornado out of which flap huge, monstrous dinosaurs ridden by lance-wielding, argot-speaking warriors who kill and kidnap all they meet.

Before long, the girls are hurled into a mystery tale of Vaughnian complexity, chased through time and space, meeting ambiguous heroes and villains, including several who may be clones of them -- or older versions, or neither. (Don't foreget books Two and Three) [Read More]

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Bitch Doctrine: Essays for Dissenting Adults, by Laurie PennyIf you've followed Penny's work, you'll know that the thing that sets her apart from other enraged columnists is her empathy: her ability to understand the self-serving rationalizations, radioactive bullshit, and emotional damage that drives men to threaten her with rape and murder for pointing out that things aren't exactly fair.

But while Penny is perfectly capable of understanding her ideological opponents -- better than they understand themselves, without a doubt -- she doesn't offer them any sympathy. This sympathy -- no less well-informed, no less analytical -- is reserved for people who are getting the shittiest end of the stick: trans people, people of color, poor people, disabled people, other women. Even when she feuds with them, even when she is laid low by anger from her allies, she does the hard work to look past her own hurt feelings, to the missteps that let her to a place of conflict.

Penny is a bridge between two modes of political writing, a hybrid that gets the best of both and offsets their deficits: on the one hand, she's clearly in the Hunter S Thompson gonzo tradition (her adventures running down violent neo-Nazis in Greece are a match for anything HST wrote about Hell's Angels or police detective conventions); on the other hand, she's got the scholarly habit of finding and presenting an issue from every side, even the ones she disagrees with. But while the gonzos reduce their opponents to caricatures, and while scholarly work can dissolve the point of view into a view from nowhere, wishy-washy and free from any kind of thesis or real muscle, Penny is able to forcefully convey her point of view, and back it up by showing that she understands exactly what her opponents are thinking, and why, precisely, they are full of shit. [Read More]

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Lizard Music, by Daniel PinkwaterLizard Music is a novel about Victor, a kid who falls asleep while doing a model airplane and wakes up when the local TV station is going off the air, who discovers that the true late-night programming comes from humanoid lizards who live in a secret nearby volcano and worship Walter Cronkite.

Victor travels to the land of the lizards with the Chicken Man, a recurring Pinkwater character: a kind of hobo figure whose pet chicken is wise beyond her years and dander. What happens next will... Well, it will make you weirder.

No author has ever captured the great fun of being weird, growing up as a happy mutant, unfettered by convention, as well as Pinkwater has. When I was a kid, Pinkwater novels like Lizard Music made me intensely proud to be a little off-center and weird -- they taught me to woo the muse of the odd and made me the happy adult I am today. It's one of those books that, in the right hands at the right time, can change your life for the better and forever. [Read More]

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Landscape With Invisible Hand, by MT AndersonIn 2002, MT Anderson blew up the YA dystopia world with Feed, his zeitgeisty, prescient novel about "identity crises, consumerism, and star-crossed teenage love in a futuristic society where people connect to the Internet via feeds implanted in their brains" -- in his latest, Landscape with Invisible Hand, Anderson takes us to a world where neoliberal aliens have sold Earth's plutocrats the technologies to make work obsolete and with it, nearly human being on earth.

Now we all have to live with that reality: former superstar luxury car salesmen, bank tellers, teachers, programmers -- everyone except for a tiny elite of financial engineers, really -- have been replaced by technology sold by the vuuv (that's the alien race) to the world's 1 percenters when they inducted the human race into the galactic prosperity sphere.

Landscape is told as a series of acerbic, short vignettes -- latter-day Douglas Coupland riffs -- in the voice of Adam, a teenager living in a rotting suburban home amidst the remains of his rotting suburban life, scrounging for rice and beans and painting, painting, painting, the only escape he has. Each chapterlette opens with Adam describing a painting that sets the scene, part of the blasted, wasted dystopia that 99% of the human race lives in while sneering aliens and financial executives tell them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, get jobs, and stop looking for handouts. [Read More]

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Stories of Your Life and OthersTed Chiang's writing is rare and precise, weaving threads of science fiction into something so haunting and humane I've woken up dreaming about it more than once. Here you can read most of his published work, including the novella that was recently filmed as Arrival and is currently in U.S. theaters. But my favorites are the Borgesian "Tower of Babel," about an engineer breaking through the vault of heaven, and "Division by Zero."

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The Power, by Naomi AldermanIn The Power, a day dawns, not so long from now, in which every 15-year-old girl finds herself with the power to deal out electric shocks, emanating from an unsuspected organ called "the skein," which rests along the collarbone. What's more, any woman can do the trick, once a 15 year old shows them how.

Chaos. Glorious chaos.

The world's sex-slaves kill their pimps. The women of Saudi Arabia foment revolution. Women whose husbands beat them strike back. Girls whose fathers rape them find themselves able to defend themselves -- with lethal force, if it comes to that.

Concerned parents ask to have their boys separated from the vicious girls who stalk them through school. Mean girl cliques take on a new, deadly overtone. Law and order teeters.

Against this background, a cast of characters: Roxy, the daughter of a ruthless British gangster; Joc, the daughter of an ambitious midwestern politician; Allie, a much-abused foster kid whose foster father has a surprise in store for him, and Tunde, a Nigerian lad whose workshops of storytelling through digital photography just took on a new significance.

Through these characters, a plot as intricate and fast moving as any thriller, with lots of grace notes and seeming detours that converge with the main storyline, giving it energy and velocity.

And throughout, when you're finished, the realization that there was so much more going on, stuff I can't discuss without spoilers -- a story within the story that is chilling, thrilling, disturbing. [Read More]

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Archangel, by William GibsonFrom the start of its run in 2016, Archangel went from strength to strength, packing in so many goddamned O.G. cyberpunk eyeball kicks per page that it felt like some kind of cask-strength distillation of all the visual and action elements that gave the original mirrorshades stuff its dark glitter.

Now that the comic's run is done, the five-issue tale is revealed as a masterful, beautifully plotted war story set in three different wars: WWII as we know it, WWII as it might have been, and a distant all-out nuclear conflagration that may or may not have been an inside job.

This is a time-travel story, but it's one that sets out to break the genre's conventions: it opens with the ruthless son of America's power-grabbed president-for-life traveling back to Berlin at the end of WWII to murder his grandfather and take his place. Take that, grandfather parodox.

Hunting the president's son and his goons is "The Pilot," a USAF ninja in a camouflage suit who must prevent Junior from destroying another world without giving Junior the chance to detonate the belly-bomb all US armed-forces members must have implanted when they enlist. Thankfully, it has a 30 foot range.

Archangel is visually stunning, with all the dark romance of war-torn Berlin as a setting: deviant cabarets, black marketeers' dens, chop-shops, makeshift Soviet command-posts and secret airfields. Then there's the futuristic world of Junior and the president, seen in a cramped bunker in which a rogue scientist is scrambling to support The Pilot from the distant future and a different timeline. [Read More]

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Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches, by John HodgmanMy first impression of Vacationland was that I'd found a modern version of Steve Martin's classic Cruel Shoes. Hodgman is so very witty, and as he sets up his memoir -- the story of how he was a weird kid raised by loving but largely unconcerned parents -- he has so many tinder-dry asides and beautifully turned sentences and jokes with long fuses that unexpectedly detonate paragraphs later that I was really getting ready to relive my own childhood.

Right as I was getting comfortably settled into Vacationland, I discovered that Hodgman had smoothly transitioned me into some really profound emotional truth -- it's where he starts talking about his mother's untimely death and how he reacted to her terminal illness -- and then back into that dry, comedic mode, slipping the knife in and pulling it out so smoothly that I hadn't even noticed until the blood started to drip. That kind of maneuver requires both a steady hand a very sharp knife, and Hodgman has both.

This sneaky book pulls that move over and over, using comedy and narrative confidence to make important points about privilege, self-delusion, parenting, death, birth, cities, alienation, love -- the whole gamut.

All without ever losing the comedy, which is funny stuff, and it's not a spoonful of sugar that helps all that serious medicine go down, it's perfectly blended into those serious themes.

This isn't a book like Cruel Shoes: it's the book Cruel Shoes gets to be when it grows up. [Read More]

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XENI

Sport-Brella XLPortable wind, sun, and rain shelter that's easy to set up. Can you open an umbrella? Can you drive a couple stakes into the ground? You got this, then. Haul it to the beach, outdoor gatherings or events, camping, sports, and you feel like you have a little private room outdoors. Comes in 6 different colors. Provides UPF 50+ shade. Opens to 9 feet wide, has a metallic undercoating for additional sun protection, internal pockets for stakes, valuables, and gear, plus top wind vents and side zippered windows for efficient airflow. Water resistant, weighs only 11.5 pounds. I first saw someone else on our local beach use it, and asked them where they bought it. Amazonned one for myself. Now I use it nearly every weekend, and love it.

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3" Glass PyramidMade of "optically clear crystal" and three inches tall, Amlong's Crystal Pyramid is the best Crystal Pyramid. My bacon is fresh, my airspace dangerous, and my undertakings favored.

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MARK

OXO Good Grips Solid Stainless Steel Ice Cream Scoop ($15)The old ice cream scoop we had wasn't really an ice cream scoop. It was a disher, and was more suited for scooping mashed potatoes than ice cream. When the trigger mechanism on it finally broke, I happily got rid of it and replaced it with the OXO Good Grips Solid Stainless Steel Ice Cream Scoop($15). This surprisingly heavy scoop is made from a solid chunk of stainless steel with a comfortable rubber grip, and comes with a pointed end that digs right into hard ice cream, especially if you run hot water over it. It's supposedly dishwasher safe but why put it in the dishwasher? Just rinse it and dry it with a towel.

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Brondell SourceI bought the Brondell Source in 2015 and it alleviated allergy symptoms; here's the latest model, adding a touchscreen, remote control and an adjustable air quality sensor. Rids the air of dust and dander and tiny particles you don’t need to be breathing—but also filters volatile organic compounds (VOCs). Three-stage advanced purifier system includes certified True HEPA and Granulated Carbon technology. Glowing light indicator tells you when it’s working. One time my dog farted a particularly noxious plume and this thing kicked into high gear with an emergency red glow. That’s when I knew I’d be giving it a five star recommendation.

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Lynx Sonoma Stainless Steel Countertop Natural Gas Smoker ($2500)This capacious, ultra high-end smoker has a digital control panel, smoker chip box, an instant-reading meat probe. It's got built-in Wi-Fi, of course, so you can monitor the process wherever you are.

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JASON

Wise Owl Camping HammockThe comfort to weight ratio of a good camping hammock is off the charts. Durable and easy to set up, you'll be happy anyplace you can find two appropriately spaced trees.

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XENI

Cuisinart 14-Cup Food ProcessorThe latest model of the best food processor for people who are serious about broadening their happy foodie horizons. Shove entire fruits and veggies into the giant feed tube. Listen to the 720-watt motor fill a 14-cup work bowl with steel slicing and shredding discs. It still comes with a free recipe book.

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Toys and Games

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Rainbow SlimeA glittery additive mixed with kid-safe Elmer's glue, Rainbow Slime is what you make of it. Fun when forming and flexible when dry, the results are beautiful, weird and extremely cheap at $6 or so.

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The Intellivision Flashback ConsoleRemember the unlucky kid with the parents who got them an "Intellivision" instead of an Atari? Make someone that miserable again! With games no one can remember except maybe that OK one with a snake that couldn't touch its tail but isn't SNAFU, the Intellivision really sucked.

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DAVID

Ejector Seat Button For Your CarA perfect stocking stuffer, this very clever eject button fits into most automobile cigarette lighter sockets. Unfortunately, the product listing clearly states that it's "designed for show only." It is a functional cigarette lighter though so I guess they mean it won't actually trigger your ejector seat.

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Swish card gameA beautiful and deeply compelling card game, Swish is challenges your spatial perception to find matches of balls and hoops on transparent cards. It’s a wordless game of pattern recognition that has entranced my entire family including our youngest child, age 8.

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Bulk Generic LegoYou can get 1000 random pieces of off-brand building bricks for less than $30, guaranteed to "fit tight" and come with "less filler" than the even-cheaper bulk buys.

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MARK

Palomino Blackwing 602 Pencils ($23/doz.)This is a faithful reproduction of the Eberhard Faber original, which is no longer being made. Blackwing 602 have dark, soft lead (the motto printed on the pencil reads"Half the pressure, twice the speed") and features a unique eraser holder. I've been using them for years.

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JASON

Make your own Crazy Aaron's Thinking PuttyThe one thing my 10-year-old enjoys more than making her own floam or slime is playing with Thinking Putty. Textured quite like the legendary Silly Putty of yore, Crazy Aaron's putties come in a rainbow of colors and styles. This set lets you design your own! I am pretty sure Mark could be easily distracted by a can of magnetic Thinking Putty.

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Copic Ciao Marker SetAt about $200, a full set of 72 Copic markers is a pricey proposition. But that's because they're the absolute best, with perfect colors, easy blending, and a big brush tip good for detail and wash alike. Dip an elbow in the water with a relatively inexpensive 12-marker set; great deals on partially-used sets can also be found haunting eBay.

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Because cats are totally down with the Dark SideYoda and Chewie as mice for your cat to attack, because all cats align with the Dark Side. Except for Loth-Cats for some reason, but I wouldn't exactly trust them either.

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Star Wars Viewmaster gift setI am not sure how the whole putting gifts in a sock thing works, but this Darth Vader themed Viewmaster Viewer looks like it'd fit in a traditional Christ inspired gifting sock. Star Wars Viewmaster reels are always pretty sweet. This also makes a good Hanukkah day 4-7 gift for kids who can pull off the entire 8-day challenge. My kid starts getting a hug after day 3.

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You sank my holiday experience!While it doesn't look much like the genre-defining 'This game isn't as much fun as a commercial made it look' toy of our youth, Electronic Battleship is now more exciting looking while boastin' the same old lows in game-play disappointment! Eeeeelectronic Battleship is no more fun than regular old Battleship, which is also a pretty god damn boring game. This is an excellent gift for someone you do not like, but want to appear you gave a cool gift at opening time.

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Prison Life RobloxKnow a kid that just can't behave? Maybe a co-worker? Make sure they understand a life of crime will come to no good.

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Mysterious and Indistinct ShirtFabulous yet classy, the Mysterious and Indistinct Shirt is a premium youth tee and "wears rough and tough for kids who play the same way."

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MastermindInvented in 1970 by an Israeli telecom expert, Mastermind is still the terrific game of strategy, logic, and deduction that you might remember from childhood. True, the packaging lacks the Bond-inspired photo of the dignified man and woman that appeared on the original box, but the game is just as elegant and addictive.

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Largemouth bass sandalsYou will look amazing in sandals that look like gasping largemouth bass, seriously (max size is a Men's 10, so only the dainty of feed need apply, e.g., not me). [Read More]

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Blank Playing CardsMake your own games! Or just stare at them. Whatever.

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Naughty + Nice

MARK

Wink Plus ($79)In William Burroughs' novel Naked Lunch, Steely Dan III from Yokohama was the name of a stainless steel sex toy. The USB-chargeable Wink Plus vibrator from Crave is probably not what Old Bill Lee had in mind, because it is quite small, but it is made from stainless steel, and packs quite a vibrational wallop, with five intensity levels and two patterns.

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Wolf Crotch UnderwearWith a "convex design, large space and breathable," the 3D Wolf Head Crotch Underwear "make man looks sexy and wild" and can be yours for as little as five American dollars.

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Spend your holiday season TwistedThe Twisty Glass Blunt is a brain-hammer. Fill the glass chamber with your favorite herb, screw in the brass mouthpiece, and you are prepared to smoke a lot of weed. Perfect for a day at the beach, or an outdoor music festival, the Twisty Glass Blunt is an absolute favorite. I've got the mini as well.

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Poop emoji Santa HatWar on Christmas? Christmas seems to be integrating into todays meme-filled emoticon world. Now your Santa can proudly display his favorite emoji, or perhaps this is mean to signify something else.

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thedigital-witnesses · 7 years

Text

What Does Being a Canadian Aboriginal Mean to You?: The Importance of Indigenous Self-Identification in Canada

An Essay by: Alyssa Logie, Western University, (BA in MIT)

According to Andrew Woolford, the first step of controlling a group of people is to “define the population to be controlled” (Woolford 84). Therefore, it is highly problematic that the Canadian government gets to determine who is Aboriginal and who is not. In Canada, a person is only seen as legally native if they adhere to parameters laid out and decided upon by the Canadian government through the Indian Act. This paper will explore the impacts of not allowing people to self-identify as Aboriginal in Canada, as well as how the UNGC’s definition of genocide “fails to capture Canadian Aboriginal notions of being”, allowing the traumatic events of colonialism and residential schools to go unrecognized as a genocide in the eyes of both the government and the Canadian public (82).

The non-Aboriginal signification of who is considered Aboriginal in Canada was largely solidified by the 1876 Indian Act—a statute that is still followed today. The Indian Act is a “Canadian Act of Parliament” that organizes relations between the Canadian state and the 614 First Nation bands in Canada (Fullerton-Owl 1). The Indian Act has been altered many times due to great controversy and discontent by both native and non-native Canadians; the legislation has undergone over twenty-two “major changes” since its creation in 1867. However, the main purposes of the initial act remain intact: to “define how reserves and bands can operate” and to “define who is, and who is not recognized as an ‘Indian’ through ‘status’ or ‘registration’” (1). A Canadian woman identified as Aboriginal according to the Indian Act stated that “the government’s definition of who I am is different than who I say I am” (Council of Ontario Universities 38). Many Aboriginals share this feeling that the Indian Act does not define what it really means to identify as Aboriginal from an Aboriginal perspective. The Indian Act violently suppresses Aboriginal notions of identity, and “does not give pattern, reason or logic to the rhythm of First Nations ‘dialogue.’ Yet, it speaks directly to, it speaks directly for, and speaks directly against First Nations cultural integrity, political autonomy and human dignity” (Fullerton-Owl 1).

Ontario “Indian Status ID Card”.

New amendments to the Indian Act continually reduce the number of Canadians who can be officially regarded as “status Indian”. The fine-tuning of the legislation is particularly violent towards native women and their children, as more and more women who self-identify as native are no longer considered “status” in the eyes of the Canadian government. Canadian lawyer, Pam Palmater stated that “every time they just tinker with [the Indian Act] a little tiny bit, they create new forms of discrimination and leave out people and they have to tinker with it again to try and fix that” (Narine 7). For example, before amendment C-31, “status women who married non-status men, lost their status. Men, on the other hand, who married non-status women, not only retained their status, their non-status wives and their children could gain status” (7). Amendment C-31 attempted to deal with this obvious gender discrimination within the Indian Act; however, it caused further discrimination against some children by granting status to those “whose status grandparent was a man, but not to those whose status grandparent was a woman” (George and Fiske 10). The unclear definitions and gender-biased conditions surrounding the requirements for status leave many Canadians who self-identify as native disillusioned and disconnected from their communities. During an interview for this paper, Kaytee Dalton from the Mississaugas of the New Credit First Nations band said that “It’s frustrating to see so many native folks feeling displaced from communities and resources simply because the government gets to decide who is ‘status’ and who isn’t” (Dalton).

Kaytee Dalton, Mississaugas of the New Credit First Nations.

“Blood quantum” is another official mechanism of controlling and limiting the number of Canadians who can be considered status Indian; however, the practice is not widely known or understood by the Canadian public. Blood quantum was “created by colonial governments and eventually adopted by large bands like Six Nations” (Dalton). The practice disallows people from living within their own communities or to be recognized if “their DNA isn’t ‘native-enough’” (Dalton). Sokolow provides a useful definition for the practice:

The term "blood quantum" is used to refer to the fraction of Indian blood present in an individual applying for membership in a federally recognized Indian tribe. To count toward membership in a federally recognized Indian tribe, Indian blood must be that of a recognized tribe. A person can have blood from more than one Indian tribe, but most tribal constitutions and existing federal law allows a person to claim membership in only one Indian tribe (Sokolow 12).

Dalton worries about how blood quantum may negatively impact the survival of indigenous bands across Canada, including her own:

If my band used blood quantum, nobody in my family would be status and our community would consist of maybe a hundred people—it’s been a tool of eradication, assimilation and erasure both here and in the States for so long. It ostracises people from their own community and culture. For small communities like New Credit, we would be virtually non-existent if we had adopted blood quantum practices. I believe the reason we didn’t was because New Credit converted to Christianity a few years before the residential system was put into place—we were already ‘assimilated’ (Dalton).

Even if blood quantum was eliminated within Aboriginal bands, The Indian Act would still alienate large members of the Canadian population from associating with their native communities and culture—so, “blood quantum or not, the status system is also a tool of erasure” (Dalton). As time goes on, fewer and fewer Canadians will be officially recognized as status Indian—to the point where some native bands may cease to exist altogether.

Woolford considers such statutes as “Eurocentric tools for reframing native lifeworlds” rather than “resources for native justice” (Woolford 89). It is crucial that European notions of group identity are not forced upon native populations who form entirely different notions for themselves. Aboriginal notions of identity differ quite significantly from Eurocentric notions of identity. For example, territory and culture are essential components of Aboriginal identity, and “First Nations’ dialogue, past, present and future, is grounded in the inherent right and inherent responsibility to protect and preserve our land, language, stories, traditions, customs and laws with cultural integrity and dignity”—all of which are overlooked and neglected by the Indian Act (Fullerton-Owl 1).

The inability for Canadian Aboriginals to self-identify not only impacts the daily lives of natives today, it also obscures events of the past. Aboriginal notions of identity are not included in the United Nations Global Compact’s definition of genocide. As such, perhaps the UNGC’s definition is not adequate to be applied to native groups, as it does not properly encapsulate how native groups define themselves. With the establishment of the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the term ‘genocide’ “has come to occupy a prominent position within Canadian mainstream public dialogue”; however, it is usually used in conjunction with the pre-fix “cultural” (391). The trauma and devastation to native communities caused by settler-colonialism and the residential school system is often referred to as “cultural genocide” and not just genocide (Wildcat 391). However, it is important to remember that Aboriginal notions of identity include cultural elements such as land, language, stories, traditions, customs and laws. If these elements were destructed during colonialism and as a result of residential schools, would this not be seen as a genocide in the eyes of Canadian Aboriginals? Members of indigenous communities across Canada still face trauma associated with the aftermath of years of abuse and hardships stemming from Canada’s dark colonial past. As stated by Matthew Wildcat, “If an Indigenous person who continues to have constant experiences of trauma claims that what happened to Indigenous peoples in the Americas is genocide, what is accomplished by denying their claim?” (393). Wildfoot reminds Canadians that it is crucial to remain “sympathetic to the perspective that Indigenous peoples feel [their] communities are under attack”, and that “if processes of group destruction directed against Indigenous peoples continue in the present, is this not a worthy definition of genocide?” (393). When trying to define events of the past as genocide, perspectives of the victim should be placed at the forefront—not definitions created by Eurocentric institutions and governments who had a hand in settler-colonialism in the first place.

The distinction between cultural-genocide and genocide when dealing with indigenous communities is also problematic because under both definitions the end result remained the same: “the destruction of Indigenous collectivities” (Wildfoot 394). Also, “the imposition on a people of the procedures and techniques that are generally glossed as ‘cultural genocide’ is certainly going to have a direct impact on that people’s capacity to stay alive”, as the “acts of violence, coercion, hegemony and duress needed to ensure settler ascendency are inherently destructive to Indigenous collectivities” (394). Claudia Card describes how the “social death” caused by colonialism distinguishes the “true evil of genocides from other mass atrocities” (397). This is because social death destroys the “social vitality of a community that gives life meaning” (397). If life has no meaning, is it really even a life truly lived? Card’s notion of social death is a reminder of the importance of turning to subjective understandings of genocide—the lived experience and understandings of genocide from the perspectives of natives themselves should be the foundational definitions of genocide. As stated by Wildfoot:

We may uncover new and important ways of researching genocide if we start with Indigenous peoples’ self-understandings of how the Canadian state and society seek to enact the destruction of our communities. If we begin discussions from the self-understandings of Indigenous peoples, the tenor of the discussion has to shift from an exercise in how we assess the severity of violence, to one in which we discuss (and confront) why Indigenous peoples have insisted emphatically and forcefully over time that we are victims of genocide. (406).

There have been some efforts made in Canada in order to ‘allow’ Aboriginals to self-identify. Many universities have made strides to enable prospective and current students to self-identify as Aboriginal through the Aboriginal Self-Identification Project. This project is being implemented in schools across Canada in order to boost inclusion and diversity and to respect the autonomy of Aboriginal students, as well as to respect indigenous knowledge, language and cultures (Council of Ontario Universities 40). While the project still has a long way to go, it is certainty progressive to see government-funded institutions such as universities making steps to enable Canadian Aboriginals to self-identify. David Fullerton-Owl urges Canadians to take on a more ethical approach to identity, in which “the dialogic rhythms are sent and received in a respectful way, which appreciates different worldviews for coexisting equal nations. No one nation is speaking for the other” (Fullerton-Owl 1). The Indian Act and the definition of genocide under the UNGC certainty do not allow for this sort of “dialogic rhythm”—they inhibit Aboriginals from defining their own lives and death. From a cultural perspective, “self-identification includes self-knowledge, self-affirmation, and self-empowerment of ethnically and culturally different individuals and groups”, all of which are necessary elements for the ability of communities to succeed and continue to flourish over time (Young 51).

Kaytee Dalton sums up the primary goal of the Indian Act and other Eurocentric statutes quite eloquently: “Not allowing people to self-identify just furthers the government’s original agenda of forcing us out of our communities and detaching us from our culture, ultimately assimilating us into ‘Canadian Culture’—whatever that means” (Dalton). The only way to amend such Eurocentric failures of the UNGC and other government statutes is to actually “engage with Canadian Aboriginal experience and understandings of group identity”, as well as Aboriginal definitions of “destruction” and “intent” (Woolford 93). Who are non-indigenous people to decide who is native or not, and what constitutes a genocide of their peoples or not? Indigenous perspectives should be the primary source for defining their own identity, as well as their destruction.

Works Cited

Council of Ontario Universities. Aboriginal Self-Identification Project Final Report, Council of Ontario Universities, 2013. Print.

Dalton, Kaytee. Personal interview. 16 Mar. 2017.

Fullerton-Owl, David. Titanic Canada: The Indian Act, 1876. vol. 24, Aboriginal Multi-Media Society of Alberta (AMMSA), 2007. Print.

George, Evelyn, and Jo-Anne Fiske. Seeking Alternatives to Bill C-31: From Cultural Trauma to Cultural Revitalization through Customary Law. Status of Women Canada, 2006. Print.

Narine, Shari. Canada Continues to Fail Indigenous Women Under the Indian Act. vol. 34, Aboriginal Multi-Media Society of Alberta (AMMSA), 2016. Print.

Sokolow, G. A. Native Americans and the Law: A Dictionary. Abc-Clio Incorporated, 2000. Print.

Wall, Goldlin H. Native American Students: Blood Quantum, Identity, and Educational Success, ProQuest Dissertations Publishing, 2015. Web.

Wildcat, Matthew. "Fearing Social and Cultural Death: Genocide and Elimination in Settler Colonial Canada—an Indigenous Perspective." Journal of Genocide Research 17.4 (2015): 391-409. Web.

Woolford, Andrew. "Ontological Destruction: Genocide and Canadian Aboriginal Peoples." Genocide Studies and Prevention, vol. 4 no. 1, 2009, pp. 81-97. Print.

Young, Bernard. "The Importance of Self-Identification in Art, Culture, and Ethnicity." Art Education, vol. 66, no. 4, 2013. Print.

#Canada 150 #Canadian Politics #indigenous issues #Indian Act #Genocide #aboriginal #Culture #Cultural Genocide #Residential Schools #Canadian History #Self-Identification #Blood Quantum

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kitties-and-rice-cakes-blog · 7 years

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FIC TIME PEEPS.

So this was requested by the lovely @shutuptimmy under the prompt of “Seung-gil X JJ fluff”. Now this was something else I didn’t even realise was a ship, but this was really fun to write. I haven’t done fluff in ageeeeeeees so this was lovely ^^

You may have notice that my other stuff is tagged “nsfw” but this one is totally safe so I’ll be starting an “sfw” tag now too. Just a little heads up :3

Reeeeeeeeally hope you guys enjoy this!

He knew how obvious it was.

He knew this wasn’t normal for him.

For a while he’d been able to act normal and keep his usual grin on his face but now…

Everyone already knew anyway. Why bother acting like he was okay?

Even if someone didn’t know what had happened, just looking at JJ was enough to make you realise he was not alright. His hair was a mess, he had bags under his eyes that hadn’t gone away in weeks, he was getting worryingly skinny, he wasn’t landing jumps properly in practice, and he wasn’t speaking.

That last one was the biggest one. JJ would talk to everyone and anyone, and it was normal for the other skaters, particularly quiet or angry ones like Yuri Plisetsky or Otabek Altin, to completely ignore him or tell him to shut up. But even they had been worried about him recently.

JJ knew he was worrying his friends and competitors, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Every competition, every practice, every gala it was the same.

“Hey JJ, good to see you. How’re you holding up?”

“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. I am really sorry JJ.”

“Everyone’s really worried about you, you know. I hope you feel better soon.”

And JJ was done answering stupid questions or reassuring his friends that he was okay. He wasn’t okay. Nobody would be okay if their fiancé left them.

JJ had never taken Isabella for granted, but he hadn’t realised how important she was to him until she was gone. She had sworn to him that it wasn’t because of anybody else, that she just needed time to herself after dedicating her own life to JJ’s sport, but that was all just empty words to the Canadian. It hurt. He’d loved her; he still did. But now she was gone.

It had been two months now, but it hadn’t stopped hurting. Everyone had told him that it would get better, but so far they’d been proved wrong. He knew he should but he didn’t have it in him to unfollow her on Instagram, so he knew she was fine. Or at least she looked fine, going out to dinner with her friends, traveling to Paris with her parents and actually making a comment that it was nice to be in a city for reasons other than skating tournaments. That crushed JJ. He still didn’t unfollow her though.

Right now, JJ was walking through the halls of the rink in Barcelona, where he had come third in the Grand Prix Finals, the year Isabella had started the cheering and singing when he’d had his breakdown during his routine. He had his hood up and his headphones in. He should have been on the ice twenty minutes ago and he knew his parents would be looking for him, but he couldn’t bear to look at that rink again because all it held for him now were memories of Isabella supporting him.

He’d already ran into Yuuri, Viktor, Sara, Otabek and Leo, and he had walked right past all of them. They were all here for a gala, and while it wasn’t competitive it was to get the public interested before the new season for figure skating started, so it was important to gain supporters. The actual gala was tomorrow and today was just the practice, but that still meant everybody was here.

Apart from Yuuri, who had just given him a sympathetic smile which he was extremely grateful for, everyone else had tried to stop JJ to talk to him. But JJ didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to be here…

Squeezing his eyes shut and turning the volume of his music up to full blast, JJ began to walk faster, storming ahead through the corridors…

Until he smacked right into someone walking the opposite way.

Falling down to the floor and pulling his headphones out of his ears, JJ looked up to see Seung-gil, the South Korean skater, lying on the floor just slightly away from him.

“Oh damn, Seung-gil I’m really sorry,” JJ stammered out, pulling his hood down.

Blue eyes met dark, and for the first time since he’d known him JJ swore he saw Seung-gil’s eyes soften slightly. “Just watch where you’re going next time,” Seung-gil replied, brushing his own hair out of his eyes.

“I will. Sorry,” JJ responded, feeling a tiny smile grow on his face.

Seung-gil frowned. “Why are you smiling?”

JJ chuckled slightly under his breath. “I’m…not sure.”

Seung-gil sighed before standing up. “You’re a strange one JJ,” he stated before offering his hand to the younger Canadian.

“Well I won’t deny that,” JJ replied before taking Seung-gil’s hand and allowing him to help him up. “So have you already practiced?”

Seung-gil nodded. “Yeah, I had the second slot after Plisetsky.”

“I’ve seen your videos of your routine for the gala,” JJ smiled. “Looks like you’re back to your regular stuff.”

“Yeah, well,” Seung-gil shrugged. “The mambo stuff was…different…but didn’t exactly have the reaction I was hoping for. Seems like I’m just built for more lyrical music.” JJ nodded in agreement as Seung-gil looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, aren’t you meant to be on the ice now?”

JJ’s smile faded and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Yeah…well…um…”

JJ heard Seung-gil sigh slightly and he glanced back up.

“You’ve not been back here since you won bronze, have you?” Seung-gil asked, although it sounded more like a statement than a question.

JJ slowly shook his head. “I haven’t…but it’s got nothing to do with the bronze.”

Seung-gil held his hand up and JJ fell silent. “I know exactly what it’s to do with JJ,” he murmured, speaking softer than JJ had ever heard him before.

Glancing around them Seung-gil seemed to decide something before he began to walk off, calling, “Come on,” to JJ before he pulled his phone out.

JJ quickly followed him. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Out of here,” Seung-gil answered quickly before pressed the ‘send’ button on his phone. About ten seconds later he got a reply. Reading it he said, “Phichit’s taking your practice slot. That means you’ve got his at the end of the day. He’s going to explain to your parents.”

“Hang on a second,” JJ said, grabbing hold of Seung-gil’s sleeve and pulling him back so he stopped walking. “I’m confused. Why are we leaving?”

Seung-gil turned back to look at him and actually smiled slightly. JJ felt his heart pick up as he dropped his hold on Seung-gil’s arm.

“Because you’re not going to skate your best right now,” Seung-gil answered simply. “And to be quite frank, I need you to be on top form so I’ve actually got some competition out there.”

JJ chuckled again in spite of himself. “You know it’s not a competition tomorrow Lee.”

Seung-gil shrugged, still smiling, before continuing to walk towards the exit. “Point of principle. Now come on. I want tapas.”

JJ didn’t think he was going to be laughing again for a very long time. What he also didn’t count on though was Seung-gil actually being one of the funniest people he’d ever spoken to.

Seung-gil wasn’t one to crack jokes, but he was very dry, and JJ loved that sense of humour. He knew Seung-gil didn’t open up to most people; the longest conversation he’d ever seen him have with someone else was when he told Sara to leave him alone when she’d tried to strike up a conversation with him. So he was very grateful that he was keeping him distracted.

That was exactly what JJ needed right now; a distraction. Something to keep his attention away from his phone and Isabella’s Instagram and the thought of having to skate on that ice again.

“So your program’s changed a lot this year too,” Seung-gil said as he picked up a small bowl of chicken from the tapas they’d chosen. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you skate to a sad ballad number before.”

“Yeah, it didn’t seem right to stick to the cheery songs,” JJ admitted. “Everyone knows what happened, so it seemed right to base my routines around those feelings. It’s how I’m feeling right now so it makes sense to skate to that kind of music.”

“Hmm…” Seung-gil hummed thoughtfully as he chewed on his food, eyeing JJ carefully.

JJ frowned. “What? Do I have food on my face or something?”

“No,” Seung-gil replied as he swallowed his food, “but that was the first time you’ve managed to talk about anything to do with Isabella without looking like you’re about to shut down.”

The abruptness of Seung-gil’s statement was a shock to JJ, but then he realised the Korean was right. Any mention of even his routines had sent the Canadian back into that pit he was beginning to get used to, until right now. Locking eyes with Seung-gil, JJ laughed under his breath.

“What is it?” Seung-gil asked, not looking away.

“You haven’t changed,” JJ said simply. “Everyone else is tiptoeing around me. They don’t know what to say or do so they all treat me differently than they used to. But you…you’ve kept me busy. You spent over an hour with me and didn’t bring Isabella up, and then when you did I was fine. Even before now you acted like anyone should when someone bumps into you and sends you falling to the floor. You didn’t let me off with it just because of what happened. It’s refreshing to be honest.”

Seung-gil rolled his eyes slightly. “JJ of course I’m treating you differently. I’m actually talking to you. Normal would be me ignoring you and pretending you don’t exist because to be honest usually you’re a giant pain in the ass.”

JJ burst out laughing at how Seung-gil said that all without batting an eyelid. Seung-gil picked up his glass of water and smiled as he took a sip.

“Seriously though JJ,” he said as the younger man calmed down, “I’m not stupid. There’s no point in asking if you’re okay. Of course you’re not. You’re an amazing skater and I’ve kept a close eye on you ever since we began to compete against each other. I know how much you loved her. So of course you’re hurt. And what she did to you was awful. But I also know you’re never going to get back up on your feet if you keep wallowing in your grief. You deserve better than her, and the best way to show that you’re back in the game is to do brilliantly at the gala tomorrow. But you wouldn’t have done that if your practice had gone terribly. Enter the distraction.”

JJ was shocked. He’d never heard Seung-gil talk that much in his life, and he’d never expected him to say something like that. Part of him felt like he wanted to cry, but most of him wanted to run back to that rink right now and practice till dawn.

But above all that, one part of Seung-gil’s little speech stood out amongst the rest of it.

“You’ve…kept a close eye on me?” JJ asked quietly.

The Canadian’s heart sped up again slightly when he saw a flash of a blush dance over Seung-gil’s cheeks. He looked down slightly. “Well…you’re my competition. And you’re a good skater. Of course I’m going to watch you.”

“Actually a second ago you said I was an amazing skater, not just good,” JJ smirked.

Seung-gil glared up at him but with a glimmer of humour in his eyes. “Watch it Leroy, or I’ll be making you pay for all this food.”

JJ’s smirk turned into a proper grin before he stood up. “I was planning to anyway,” he winked at Seung-gil before quickly jogging over to the counter. Seung-gil opened his mouth to protest but slowly closed it again, once again smiling into his glass of water.

Everyone else was gone apart from JJ, his parents and Seung-gil. The rink was quiet as JJ took some deep breaths in the centre of the ice to focus himself before he nodded to his father to start the music. Shooting a quick glance at Seung-gil he saw the Korean nod once and smile at him. JJ returned the gesture before the music started and he began his practice.

By the time the music ended his mother was in tears, and his father was very nearly there too. That was the first time in weeks he’d skated an entire routine without falling or missing a step.

Staying in his finishing position for a few seconds to get his breath back, JJ heard someone clapping. Looking for the source he saw Seung-gil beaming from ear to ear, clapping as loudly as his hands would let him. Nathalie and Alain quickly joined in as JJ skated over to the exit, his parents hugging him tightly as soon as he was off. Seung-gil hung back, allowing them to embrace their son.

“JJ, that was amazing,” Nathalie gushed, her tears still fresh on her face.

“Thanks mom,” JJ grinned, slipping on his skate guards once his father had passed them to him. Glancing over his shoulder at Seung-gil he turned back to his parents. “Listen, I’ll get changed and head back to the hotel in a little bit, okay? I won’t be long, promise.”

“Take all the time you need son,” Alain replied, clapping JJ on the shoulder before he and his wife headed for the exit.

As they passed Seung-gil, Nathalie grasped his hand and shook it. “Thank you dear,” she murmured. “Thank you so much.”

Seung-gil just nodded, slightly embarrassed, before JJ’s parents left the rink.

“Your parents are really nice,” Seung-gil said once they were alone, sitting down next to JJ as he unlaced his skates.

“Yeah, they’re the best,” JJ smiled. “I know I’ve really worried them lately. I think that’s why they were so relieved tonight. My sister told me they were scared I was going to give up skating.”

“Would they have been angry if you had done that?” Seung-gil asked.

JJ shook his head as he took his skates off and zipped them up in his bag. “No, they wouldn’t have been angry. They were skaters too, but they never pushed me into this. I wanted to skate. They know how much I love it, so I think they were scared I was going to lose something else I love.”

Seung-gil nodded in understanding, impressed that JJ was now able to say things like that without getting upset. He felt strangely proud of his new unlikely companion, but he’d never tell him that.

JJ sat up properly once he’d slipped his normal shoes on and turned to face Seung-gil properly. “Hey, you’re at the same hotel as us, right? I think I saw you in the lobby this morning.”

“Yes I am. I saw you too. You were talking to Viktor and Katsuki. Or they were talking to you at least.”

JJ chuckled once again, and Seung-gil smiled.

“Well…do you want to walk back together?” JJ asked softly.

Seung-gil was surprised at the vulnerability in JJ’s voice, and his smile grew slightly as he answered, “I’d like that.”

JJ’s own face broke into a grin before the two headed towards the exit. Just before they reached the door JJ reached out and took hold of Seung-gil’s hand. Their eyes flew to each other’s as JJ swallowed heavily.

“Um…thank you. For today. I mean it, thank you,” JJ managed to stammer out, his heart now thudding in his chest.

Seung-gil looked down as he chuckled slightly from his own nerves before he raised his eyes to once again meet JJ’s. “You’re welcome,” he replied softly, still smiling.

JJ’s face was bright red, and he began to loosen his grip on Seung-gil’s hand, meaning to let it go.

But Seung-gil tightened his grip slightly.

Their eyes met again for a moment before Seung-gil looked down again.

“…Only if you want to,” he said quietly.

Now it was JJ’s turn to smile as he squeezed Seung-gil’s hand gently. “I do,” he replied.

Seung-gil didn’t look back up, but his smile came back as the two skaters walked out into the warm Spanish night, hand in hand.

Thank you again to @shutuptimmy for requesting this!

In case people are interested, the fics that will be getting working on next are from anon submission to my ask box, and they are Guang-Hong X Leo, a rather steamy Christophe fic, and some Phichit X Yuuri loveliness :3 Not giving you any more details than that!

As always, if you have any requests for fics, smut, fluff, Yuri on Ice or otherwise, feel free to message me or send an ask! As always thank you for reading!

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omegasupremeconservative · 5 years

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Fake News Watch: CNN Says Trump Is Leading A Hate Movement Against The Media

CNN never ceases to amaze me at just how dedicated they are to putting out fake news. Sure you may find some truth “somewhere” in their reporting but they have such a blatant disregard for the principles of journalism and reporting it should be clear to everyone their agenda isn’t for the betterment of the American public.

It’s time we properly categorized what CNN largely is which is Opinion Journalism. As Wikipedia states this is the type of journalism that “makes no claim of objectivity”. “Unlike advocacy journalism, opinion journalism has a reduced focus on facts or research and its perspective is often of a more personalized variety. Its product may be only one component of a generally objective news outlet, rather than the dominant feature of an entire publication or broadcast network.”

At the same time most of the media in my analysis engages in Advocacy Journalism or a combination of advocacy journalism and opinion journalism.

“Advocacy journalism is a genre of journalism that intentionally and transparently adopts a non-objective viewpoint, usually for some social or political purpose. Because it is intended to be factual, it is distinguished from propaganda. It is also distinct from instances of media bias and failures of objectivity in media outlets, since the bias is intended. ”

I’m not sure there are any journalistic standards that CNN follows but the Canadian Association of Journalists offered some advice for advocacy journalists to follow:

Acknowledge your perspective up front.

Be truthful, accurate, and credible. Don’t spread propaganda, don’t take quotes or facts out of context, “don’t fabricate or falsify”, and “don’t judge or suppress vital facts or present half-truths”

Don’t give your opponents equal time, but don’t ignore them, either.

Explore arguments that challenge your perspective, and report embarrassing facts that support the opposition. Ask critical questions of people who agree with you.

Avoid slogans, ranting, and polemics. Instead, “articulate complex issues clearly and carefully.”

Be fair and thorough.

Make use of neutral sources to establish facts.

Let’s look at the latest claims from Brian Stetler a news anchor on CNN.

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Stelter makes the connection that a Trump Tweet at 3:14am instigated and encouraged someone to stick a pipe bomb in the mail and send it to CNN.

Funny how lowly rated CNN, and others, can criticize me at will, even blaming me for the current spate of Bombs and ridiculously comparing this to September 11th and the Oklahoma City bombing, yet when I criticize them they go wild and scream, “it’s just not Presidential!”

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) October 26, 2018

Then we see Brian Stelter attempt to research more into Trump and his rallies by asking the question WHAT IS TRUMP ACCOMPLISHING WITH HIS RALLIES?

Notable quotes from his commentary:

“when your in that pen you really do feel like a zoo animal” he is referring to the area the press uses to record, shoot video and report on the event at the Trump rally.

“before the rally people are gawking at you, saying your fake news, enemy of the people”.

“parts of the crowd are primed to chant CNN sucks, but then after they did that one of the men walked over and said hey nothing personal”.

“Trump is leading a hate movement against the media” he does acknowledge that “not everyone in his crowd believes it but some do and that is dangerous”.

What is a hate movement? There is no common definition for a hate movement but Wikipedia defines a hate group as this “A hate group is a social group that advocates and practices hatred, hostility, or violence towards members of a race, ethnicity, nation, religion, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation or any other designated sector of society. According to the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), a hate group’s “primary purpose is to promote animosity, hostility, and malice against persons belonging to a race, religion, disability, sexual orientation, or ethnicity/national origin which differs from that of the members of the organization.”

If you analyze the MAGA Make America Great Again movement you would find out that MAGA people love their country, they are very patriotic, they could be religious but not always, they believe in helping America First but they don’t hate or dislike our friends around the globe. Conservatives have been treated very unfairly in the media and yes many conservatives and Republicans HATE the media but in a way that someone would hate their in-laws or hate rush our traffic or hate their boss, or hate it when their taxes go up.

There is anger and resentment towards the mainstream media and cable news outlets like CNN and rightly so. CNN tries to be slick and suggest that Trumps creating a hate movement and the result is what we saw last week with various pipe bombs mailed to prominent critics of Donald Trump which CNN called TRUMPS TARGETS.

CNN needs to frame Trump and his supporters as a hate movement to subjugate MAGA. To remove any credibility of it being a peaceful movement. This is why CNN and other media outlets will be quick to highlight and use anything they can to point out that Trump is riling up his followers and making people hate the media.

The Real Problem The Media Has

More and more people everyday are beginning to distrust the media and Donald Trump has been very effective at challenging the ruling class in the press who aren’t used to being challenged. CNN can write a fake story and within an instance one of Trump’s tweets can vaporize the impact of it. Trump has shown that he is light years ahead of the mainstream media in terms of persuading and attracting loyal followers. PERSUATION IS THE KEY WORD.

Scott Adams does an amazing job of outling and explaining the difference between Trump’s persuasion skills and Hillary’s. Note Scott Adams is a trained hypnotist and persuasion expert along with being the creator of the cartoon Dilbert.

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CNN Wants True Leadership

It is an important skill to look at someone whom you want to believe, someone who looks good or talks good, someone personable and likeable and be able to determine when they are telling you the truth or not.

Let’s analyze and summarize what social narrative engineer aka news anchor Anderson Cooper is trying to do here:

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He tells us suspicious packages have been sent to very prominent opponents of Donald Trump.

Whoever sent them is still on the loose (not as of the date of writing this blog)

He tells us we are learning far more about the “pieces of this plot” (in other words who is responsible DONALD TRUMP)

He’s “keeping them honest” by focusing on what those “pieces add up to”. Insert the word circumstance for pieces.

He tells us that the President of the United States can’t seem to see what these “pieces add up to”. In other words why can’t Trump see HE is the problem.

He proceeds to engage his scare tactic by telling us to remember IF those devices had exploded the country would be making funeral arrangements right now for 2 MURDERED ex presidents, a former vice president, a former secretary of state, a sitting Congresswomen, a former head of the CIA, a renowned actor and the people we work alongside of everyday. Not to mention potentially postal workers, and police or any number of bystanders. The phrase 2 murdered ex presidents was included in his prewritten monologue to heighten the emotional response that the viewers would have.

Cooper then introduces an authority figure into his routine “as Presidential Historian Douglass Brinkley pointed out earlier today the sheer number of targets and devices is unprecendented and given who was being targeted this is the kind of event when Presidents traditionally might become aware of the awesome responsibility they have to all Americans of all political stripes. It is a moment that traditionally inspires deep humility, its a moment of leadership. I am reminded that Donald Trump is not a traditional President, nor right now is he acting like a traditional leader.

This is a play on words, Anderson Cooper suggests that in moments of crisis or events a leader is supposed to have deep humility. What he really means is this event happened to your critics why don’t you stop attacking them politically because something bad almost happened to them.

Watch the rest of the video and play it extra slow so you can begin to see he is artfully using language as a weapon to influence you in a calm sympathetic tone. CNN spends very little time discussing the actual culprit who has now been caught, the culprit in their eyes is Donald Trump.

Mark Levin Goes Postal On Left-Wing Caller

This is another instructive video, just listen to this short 7 minute video or you can read the transcript below. The liberal caller believes that the influence of the President is much greater than any senators, congress person, or anyone else in our society as such his rhetoric has triggered someone to commit acts of violence against his enemies. His example is when Donald Trump talked about punching someone in the face at one of his rallies. Yes it’s true. Barack Obama also talked about bringing a gun to a knife fight. Neither of these comments disturb me by the way.

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Audio Transcript Courtesy of Trump Fan Network YouTube Channel

Robert Garland Texas the great WBA PA liberal GO.

Hello Marc I listen to your show often I don’t agree with you almost ever but I have up until now respected you greatly because I think that everything you said is sincere.

Okay right sir now don’t psychoanalyze me go ahead and make your point you don’t know me you know nothing about me I don’t know you just make your point.

My point is that you are trying to say that others in America whether they’re senators or whatever have the same amount of weight in what they say as the President of the United States.

I absolutely didn’t say that but I will say that the president of the United States has said nothing nothing that would trigger somebody to do something like this nothing.

At his rallies he has literally called and said I wish it was the time where we could just punch people in the face.

Yeah he mentioned once punching but let me ask you a question sir do you know who Oscar Lopez Rivera is?

Let me ask you question I want to have a discussion with you if you will allow it, do you know who Oscare Lopez Rivera is?

I’m gonna ask you one more time do you know who Oscar Lopez Rivera is it’s not a trick yes or no?

Yes but that is not what we are talking about.

Who is he who is he? Get him off the air he’s a liar.

He was the head of the FALN bombers in this country that resulted in the death of a police officer two police officers and several bombings and Barak Obama commuted his sentence and all the rest of them that were involved in that gang Bill Clinton pardoned them.

Now you want to talk about presidential responsibility let’s talk about presidential responsibility.

Barack Obama best buddies with Ayers another bomber Bernardine Dohrn another bomber commutes the sentence of Oscar Lopez Rivera who never recant who never backed off what he did even Clinton wouldn’t commute his sentence while commuting all the others.

I don’t need lectures from you people on the left and neither does the President of the United States you are full of it.

“The Presidents said punch somebody in the mouth” these guys were bombing the country! Civilians police officers and you elected Obama president and you reelected Clinton president shocking.

Absolutely shocking and I have to listen to the moral outrage of the left the moral outrage of the media it’s preposterous it’s disgusting it’s like this khashoggi matter you’ve this Iran that slaughters journalists left and right slaughters gay people left and right slaughters Christians left and right the second highest execution rate in the world behind China Obama facilitates a deal in which he gives them a hundred and fifty billion dollars and one and a half billion dollars in the cover of darkness what foreign currency they killed American soldiers and suddenly the left is upset with Trump’s rhetoric.

They’re not upset with their own rhetoric I never get a caller here from the left complaining about Antifa it is a violent left-wing militia group a Marxist militia group and we had individuals on CNN like Don Lemon people on MSNBC who downplayed their violence.

They train they come armed, excuses are made for them but Trump’s rhetoric you see is what’s pushing the country over the edge.

One of the biggest animals in human history is Adolf Hitler they call him Hitler they call American citizens who voted for him Nazis racists.

But it’s Trump you see if the left and the Democrats and the media had accepted the results of this last election in 2016 criticized a president of course but try to destroy him come up with Russian conspiracy theories.

Act like they’re the National Enquirer with every allegation try and force him from office talk about his mental illness and on and on and on.

If they accepted his legitimacy as president and criticized his policies or what he was saying that’s one thing but that’s not what’s going on in this country that’s not what’s going on in this country and we all know it.

So don’t call your little whiny ass to me and sayyes but Trump said you had no idea who Oscar Lopez Rivera was none and you don’t give a damn you didn’t care about Bill Ayers you didn’t care about Bernardine Dohrn Khalidi another one you don’t care about any of them.

Incredible really incredible really and what exactly has Trump said that would cause somebody to try and blow up 12 other people or threatened 12 other people.

What does he say? He says punch somebody in the face?

So when Obama said get in the face when holder said kick them when they’re down and I go on and on and on did that spark some Republican? No.

When Bernie Sanders goes on and on about how horrible America how about how unjust it is how people are discriminated against how racist we are on and on and on what kind of support does that build for a society or does it cause some nut to go to a baseball field in Alexandria Virginia with a sniper rifle and start shooting Republicans with a list in his pocket. We don’t need any lectures from you leftist that’s for sure or you clowns in the media I’ll be right back.

Not many people can go off like Mark Levin. CNN is going to lose this information battle. This battle for the minds of good Patriotic people. They will lose because the truth will always prevail.

The post Fake News Watch: CNN Says Trump Is Leading A Hate Movement Against The Media appeared first on Alternative News Source, Research and Analysis.

source http://ugetinformed.com/politics/fake-news-watch-cnn-says-trump-is-leading-a-hate-movement-against-the-media

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cameiotmagazine-blog · 7 years

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Four Days of Hitchcock: Day One The Thirty-Nine Steps

Hitchcock’s 1935 film The Thirty-Nine Steps was based on the Scottish author John Buchan’s novel of the same name. In this prototypical spy story, we follow a man named Richard Hannay, played by Robert Donat, who accidently gets involved in a spy plot to smuggle national secrets out of England. He meets a woman at a club who tells him spy secrets and then gets killed in the middle of the night at Hannay’s apartment. Hannay is then accused of her murder, but being the hero he is, he worries not as much about getting caught as he does about getting the information to the right authorities.

The Thirty-Nine Steps, the book by Buchan, was written during the build-up to WWI. So, when Hitchcock modernized it for his movie The Thirty-Nine Steps, the world was leading up to WWII. The movie is fundamentally about the fear of fascism and the growing paranoia of what the Germans represent, and about the fact that England feared that they were being spied on by foreign powers. Pretty much every spy story is about being spied on by foreign powers, but this is a paranoia fueled by the prominent Fascist movement in England itself. We need to remember that the King of England himself, Edward VI, had Fascist leanings. 1935, the year in which the film was produced, was a time in which Hitler was starting his takeover rumblings in Europe.

Interestingly, the book was written by a Scottish politician, who had had the position for a number of years of Governor General of Canada. This likely explains why the main character, Hannay, was Canadian, arguably the most unlikely country to produce an action hero.

There is also a subtext going on. Hannay is a rich city boy, and part of the reason that people don’t believe him when he tries to explain his innocence is because he comes off as too posh. Especially this is a problem in Scotland where most of the people that he has to deal with are working class. However, his poshness does not seem to be a problem at a political rally into which he escapes to get away from the police and is mistakenly identified as the leading speaker. Hw uses some very famous words in his discourse, including the ‘Square Deal’. His discussion and manner of speaking are those of a man with a priveleged upbringing, but he puts forth the theory that people should not be made poor. The people at the rally love him, though, as they relate to his theory rather than feeling jealous of his poshness. Also his well-to-do well-meaning character is in contrast to the abusive Scottish farmer at whose house he tries to take temporary refuge. The man’s wife dreams of living in the city, and is entranced by Hannay, who says that he prefers to also live in urban areas as opposed to country areas. The husband then counters with, “Well, God made the country.” This subtext is interesting, as it makes the audience wonder if they are seeing into a side of Hitchcock’s political beliefs that they were not necessarily familiar with, although there is somewhat of a mixed message as to what exactly the political message is: is he a Conservative or is he a Liberal?

An important detail also to notice about the movie, when trying to analyze Hitchcock’s political message, is that the Scottish ringleader of The Thirty-Nine Steps, the man with part of a finger missing, is an aristocrat. The audience, though, is supposed to identify with the action hero, Richard Hannay.

We have learned several things about Hannay. He is Canadian; he is living in England, and he is posh. When the movie opens, however, he is living in a lower-class neighborhood. The movie takes on a more political tone as it moves to Scotland, for as soon as he gets to Scotland, we start seeing more Fascists. The main politician who Hannay has gone to support is clearly a boring politician, but Hannay comes off as an Everyman, talking about that the people need this and this. The crowd loves him, but they cannot stand their own candidate.

Hannay keeps telling the truth, but nobody believes him, and perhaps what Hitchcock is saying is that people immediately believe the worst about him because he comes off as posh. The writer himself, John Buchan, has been accused of being nationalistic, of placing Scotland above all else, and it is interesting how tthis aspect of Scottish people putting other Scottish people above all others plays out in the film. It leads one to wonder if the Scottish poor farmer would have turned in a person asking for his help if he had been Scottish, rather than of another country, even though it was one sympathetic to Scotland.

Aesthetically, I found the film very pleasing, The filming in general is very well done. I particularly liked the scene with the poor Scottish farmer where Hannay is telling the wife about his situation. The farmer is outside looking in on them, and the shot of Hannay and the farmer’s wife is framed by the window pane, giving a sense that they are trapped in the kitchen, symbolizing that the wife is trapped in an abusive relationship. She is shot in the confines of the window pane with the husband staring in. To further demonstrate the roughness of the character of the farmer, he has on a very roughly-made suit, whereas in comparison Hannay has a meticulously-tailored suit. Also the farmer’s face has been darkened.

To describe the filming of this particular shot in more detail, and to demonstrate the cinematographer’s highly-honed skill, we need to look at how the shot was set up. The audience naturally looks from left to right, so by putting her in the left side of the shot, and by literally framing her, by trapping her in a square within another square, we literally follow the farmer’s eye movement towards her, and it indicates his power over her. This is an excellently designed frame. Also this scene is silent, as it covers a plot-hole. If the farmer had heard what his wife and Hannay were saying, he would have had to immediately call the police, which would have not fitted into the plot.

Another excellent shot occurs when Hannay starts running away from the police after the Scottish farmer has turned him in. It starts out with Hannay beingalone on the foggy moors of Scotland and he is distant in the shot. This occurs at about 37:11 in the film. We will look at distance, and what it does, and how framing against the mountains makes the shot stronger. As a side note, the original shot looks like a beautiful painting, which is a characteristic of Hitchcock’s films, as Hitchcock himself started out as a painter. So, when we analyze the shot in greater detail, we see that the cinematographer is essentially forcing the audience to look at Hannay. He does this by the eye-line. Humans typically look for patterns, and their eyes typically look from left to right and from top to bottom. Now in this shot, as we look from left to right, and from top to bottom, we are following the two-dimensional line that goes from the top of the mountain dynamically down to Hanley, who is centered between the high mountain on the left and the lower mountain on his right side. So either direction we look we are centered on Hannay. At 37:09 the inspector has pointed to the mountain, and then at 37:11 our eyes are drawn to Hanley. The message is that the moors of Scotland themselves are trying to catch Hannay.

Another interesting occurrence in the movie is a religious anecdote, which Hitchcock, a staunch Catholic, manages to find a place for in each of his movies. In this film, Hannay is saved by the hymnbook that was in the pocket of the farmer’s coat, which his wife had put on him to try to disguise him. The line used is, ‘Hymns that have helped me.’

The critical response to the film at the time it was released was very positive. It was voted the best British film of 1935. Its production costs were 60,000 pounds, which was high for the time, but the production company, Gaumopnt-British , paid high salaries to well-known actors Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll to try to attract international audiences.1 As stated in A British Film Guide: It “is both a crowd-pleasing box-office success and an extremely“ influential film that brought the famed director attention from US audiences”, and was considered his first masterpiece.

The Thirty-Nine Steps is a classic tale of the wrongly convicted man. A typical Hitchcock theme is that a man gets mistaken for somebody else, and he has to go on the run to prove his innocence. Hitchcock always had a distrust of authority figures, and police in general. The police are never the good guys, and even if they are, they are never the main characters. Also, he often uses one of his well-known themes where the rich class has come in and corrupted the police. Hitchcock’s obsession with the wronged man and distrust of authority seems to have something to do with an instance in his youth in which his father had him jailed for a few moments. This appeared to leave a mark on him for the rest of his life, and even when he was older he said that he was still not sure what he had done wrong. This theme, coupled with the fear of Fascism that was present in the period leading up to the Second World War in England, makes for a fascinating movie.

#The Thirty-Nine Steps #Alfred Hitchcok #John Buchan #Robert Donat #Madeleine Carroll

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inbonobo · 7 years

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The #Revolution, this argument might run, was a needless and brutal bit of slaveholders’ panic mixed with Enlightenment argle-bargle, producing a country that was always marked for violence and disruption and demagogy. Look north to #Canada, or south to Australia, and you will see different possibilities of peaceful evolution away from Britain, toward sane and whole, more equitable and less sanguinary countries. No revolution, and slavery might have ended, as it did elsewhere in the British Empire, more peacefully and sooner. No “peculiar institution,” no hideous Civil War and appalling aftermath. Instead, an orderly development of the interior—less violent, and less inclined to celebrate the desperado over the peaceful peasant. We could have ended with a social-democratic commonwealth that stretched from north to south, a near-continent-wide Canada.

The thought is taboo, the Revolution being still sacred in its self-directed propaganda. One can grasp the scale and strangeness of this sanctity only by leaving America for a country with a different attitude toward its past and its founding. As it happened, my own childhood was neatly divided between what I learned to call “the States” and Canada. In my Philadelphia grade school, we paraded with flags, singing “The Marines’ Hymn” and “Here Comes the Flag!” (“Fathers shall bless it / Children caress it / All shall maintain it / No one shall stain it.”) We were taught that the brave Americans hid behind trees to fight the redcoats—though why this made them brave was left unexplained. In Canada, ninth grade disclosed a history of uneasy compromise duality, and the constant search for temporary nonviolent solutions to intractable divides. The world wars, in which Canadians had played a large part, passed by mostly in solemn sadness. (That the Canadians had marched beyond their beach on D Day with aplomb while the Americans struggled on Omaha was never boasted about.) Patriotic pageantry arose only from actual accomplishments: when Team Canada won its eight-game series against the Russians, in 1972, the entire nation sang “O Canada”—but they sang it as a hockey anthem as much as a nationalist hymn.

Over the years, we have seen how hard it is to detach Americans from even the obviously fallacious parts of that elementary-school saga—the absurd rendering of Reconstruction, with its Northern carpetbaggers and local scalawags descending on a defenseless South, was still taught in the sixties. It was only in recent decades that schools cautiously began to relay the truth of the eighteen-seventies—of gradual and shameful Northern acquiescence in the terrorist imposition of apartheid on a post-slavery population.

The Revolution remains the last bulwark of national myth. Academics write on the growth of the Founding Father biographical genre in our time; the rule for any new writer should be that if you want a Pulitzer and a best-seller you must find a Founding Father and fetishize him. While no longer reverential, these accounts are always heroic in the core sense of showing us men, and now, occasionally, women, who transcend their flaws with spirit (though these flaws may include little things like holding other human beings as property, dividing their families, and selling off their children). The phenomenon of “Hamilton,” the hip-hop musical that is, contrary to one’s expectations, wholly faithful to a heroic view of American independence, reinforces the sanctity of the American Revolution in American life.

Academic histories of the Revolution, though, have been peeping over the parapets, joining scholarly scruples to contemporary polemic. One new take insists that we misunderstand the Revolution if we make what was an intramural and fratricidal battle of ideas in the English-speaking Empire look like a modern colonial rebellion. Another insists that the Revolution was a piece of great-power politics, fought in unimaginably brutal terms, and no more connected to ideas or principles than any other piece of great-power politics: America was essentially a Third World country that became the battlefield for two First World powers. Stirred into the larger pot of recent revisionism, these arguments leave us with a big question: was it really worth it, and are we better off for its having happened? In plain American, is Donald Trump a bug or a feature of the American heritage?

Justin du Rivage’s “Revolution Against Empire” (Yale) re-situates the Revolution not as a colonial rebellion against the mother country but as one episode in a much larger political quarrel that swept the British Empire in the second half of the eighteenth century. Basically, du Rivage thinks that the American Revolution wasn’t American. The quarrels that took place in New York and Philadelphia went on with equal ferocity, and on much the same terms, in India and England, and though they got settled by force of arms and minds differently in each place, it was the same struggle everywhere. “Radicalism flourished in Boston, Bristol, and Bengal, while fears of disorder and licentiousness provoked rural elites in both the Hudson Valley and the English shires,” du Rivage writes. “As radical Whigs gained strength in North America, the political culture of the British Empire became increasingly Janus-faced.”

On one side were what he calls “authoritarian reformers”; on the other, those radical Whigs. (Both were seeking to sway or supplant the “establishment Whigs.”) This isn’t the familiarly rendered divide between Tories and Whigs; the authoritarian reformers were less fusty country squires attached to old English institutions than an élite executive class of intellectuals and aristocrats committed to the Empire and to the reform of institutions that were seen as preventing the Empire from being maximally efficient. It was a group of men who, in spirit and psychology, were not entirely unlike the “reformers” in Communist China, open to change for the purpose of reinforcing their own power in an intact hierarchy. The authoritarian reformers were “not a political party per se,” du Rivage writes. “They were, rather, an ideological vanguard, a loosely organized group of politicians, publicists, and theorists.” (Significantly, no famous names cling to the group; career politicians and businessmen like William Murray, Matthew Decker, and Viscount Bolingbroke were their mostly interchangeable leaders.) They wanted a strong monarch surrounded by a circle of aristocratic advisers; very limited democracy; reform in the Army and Navy; and a tax-heavy system of mercantile trade—all of it intended to make the Empire as profitable as it needed to be.

Extended taxation within the Empire was central to their agenda. They sincerely believed in “taxation without representation,” because they saw citizenship not in terms of sovereignty and equality but in terms of tribute received and protection offered. Pay up, and the British Navy will keep the Frenchmen, pirates, and aboriginals away. Samuel Johnson, who was hired by the authoritarian reformers to write the 1775 pamphlet “Taxation No Tyranny,” captured the argument best: the men who settled America had chosen to leave a place where they had the vote but little property in order to live in a place where they had no vote but much property. With lucid authoritarian logic, Johnson explained that even though the American citizen might not have a vote on how he was taxed, “he still is governed by his own consent; because he has consented to throw his atom of interest into the general mass of the community.”

The radical Whigs, though they, too, were implanted within establishment circles—grouped around William Pitt and the pro-American Marquess of Rockingham, with the devilish John Wilkes representing their most radical popular presence—were sympathetic to Enlightenment ideas, out of both principle and self-protection, as analgesics to mollify “the mob.” They represented, albeit episodically, the first stirrings of a party of the merchant class. They thought that colonists should be seen as potential consumers. Alexander Hamilton, back in New York, was a model radical Whig—trusting in bank credit and national debt as a prod toward prosperity, while the authoritarian reformers were convinced, as their successors are to this day, that debt was toxic (in part because they feared that it created chaos; in part because easy credit undermined hierarchy).

The radical Whigs were for democratization, the authoritarian reformers firmly against it. The radical Whigs were for responsible authority, the authoritarian reformers for firm authority. And so on. This quarrel, du Rivage argues, swept across the Empire and, as much as it divided colony from home country, it united proponents of either view transnationally. Those we think of as “loyalists” in the American context were simply authoritarian reformers who lost their war; those we think of as “patriots” were simply radical Whigs who won.

Some of the force of du Rivage’s account of the Revolution lies in his dogged insistence that the great political quarrel of the time really was a quarrel of principles. His book, he tells us in the introduction, is ultimately about “how ideas and politics shape social and economic experience.” This is a more radically Whiggish proposition than it sounds. For a long time, under the influence of the formidable Lewis Namier, the historian of Britain’s eighteenth-century Parliament, the pervasive ideas in the political life of the period were held to depend on clans and clan relations, not systems of thought. Even Edmund Burke, we were told, was no more drawn to Rockingham by ideology than Tom Hagen was drawn to the Corleone family because he shared Vito’s views on urban governance.

Though there is obviously truth in this approach, then and now, du Rivage deprecates it as much as it has ever been deprecated. (His evidence for the power and specificity of this battle of ideas includes a number of political cartoons, drawn by the participants: it is astonishing how often the political figures of the time, from Benjamin Franklin to Paul Revere, communicated in comic images.) Throughout, he makes a convincing case for the view that people quarrelled not about clans but about concepts. In fact, participants in the quarrels could cross clan lines: the radical Pitt’s brother-in-law, George Grenville, himself a Prime Minister, was the leader of the authoritarian reformers in Parliament.

This account cuts against the American specificity of the Revolution—the sense that it was a rebellion against a king and a distant country. No one at the time, du Rivage suggests, saw what was happening as pitting a distinct “American” nation against an alien British one. Participants largely saw the conflict in terms of two parties fighting for dominance in the English-speaking world. The scandalous high-water mark of du Rivage’s iconography occurs in January of 1775, when Pitt (now ennobled as the Earl of Chatham) brought Franklin, then living in London, into the House of Lords to witness his speech on behalf of the American radicals, in effect sealing the unity of the single party across the ocean. This scene—though nowhere captured in the familiar imagery of Franklin flying his kite and inventing bifocals—was, in its day, as significant as that of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

The transnational nature of the Revolution, du Rivage shows, has been blanked out. The promise of transatlantic unity in a move toward modernity was very real. Had the radical Whigs secured their power in Britain, our Revolution might well have taken on a look and feel far more like those of the later Canadian and Australian dissolutions from the Brits: a political break toward “home rule” but without any of the elaborate paraphernalia of patriotism attached to it. We would probably still have had some piece of the British flag upon our own, and Betsy Ross would have sewn in vain.

Du Rivage’s book began as a Yale Ph.D. thesis, and has not lost all traces of its origins. He has the passion for his labels that any inventor has for his own mousetraps: scarcely a page in his book goes by without at least one of the terms “radical Whigs” and “authoritarian reformers” appearing on it. He is so taken with his explanatory scheme that he asserts it even when the lines between the camps were a little blurrier than the neat Ping-Pong division suggests. Although his sympathies are with the radical Whigs, he sees that many of the authoritarians’ claims were not false. As Alan Taylor made clear last year in his mind-opening “American Revolutions” (Norton), the victory of the rebels immediately led to the loss of the protection of the British Navy, leaving American merchant ships defenseless against the pirates of the Barbary Coast, a situation that produced a lot of imprisoned American sailors and, eventually, the Marines hitting the shores of Tripoli, inspiring the song we sang in that second-grade class in Philadelphia. The imperial protection racket really did protect; its withdrawal meant that we had to put together an enforcement squad of our own, which we did, and are still paying for.

(via We Could Have Been Canada - The New Yorker)

#canada #usa #history #revolution #peaceful #slavery

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thebigcitynightsband · 7 years

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ALMOST AWAKE

We knew from day one that we’d never see fame or anything remotely like it with this endeavor, but in the words of Robert Pollard, “we began making records anyway, just to have them.” That’s right. Just to have them. Lord knows we have nothing else. Doomed to obscurity. Born to bar band.

That’s our old MySpace bio, written in 2007 and remaining unchanged for our entire tenure on MySpace, from Tom to Murdoch.

I’ve talked about how much I miss MySpace on this blog before ( “Her Geography” was originally called “MySpace Memories”), but I suspect that I miss that particular time in my life, not MySpace itself.

I’ve also written about internet nostalgia before and how strange it feels. The architecture of the internet makes the experience of being online feel seamless from day to day because the changes are small and rarely jarring. A feature added here, another feature deleted there. A new interface, a new button. Small novelties are revealed in comfortable increments. But small changes add up to big ones over time, and although the pace of this accumulation might seem glacial, often I glance up at my computer screen and think about how fucking different the internet was ten years ago.

But, as you know if you’ve followed this band for any length of time, my tendency to look back with wistful longing is not reserved for the internet. Nostalgia is the defining condition of my life.

Back in 2011 me and my friend Russell released an album called Brampton Comes Alive under the moniker The Flower City 3, a band we’d been trying to start since I emailed about it in 2006. We tried to enlist Ryan Hacker and make an album about Brampton, but Hacker was less enthusiastic about the idea. Russell and I saw it as a challenge, writing song about Brampton, but Hacker saw it as a constraint. So we told people that Brampton was the third member of the group and made an album. I’m really happy with the finished product, even if the second half gets a little depressing, care of a tune called “Never Gonna Be Back Home” that I wrote. We did the vocals in a room I stayed in briefly on Cecil with a testy roommate who hated noise, so we only had one take to do the song before he came home and told us to stop recording, and I was happy that I got the screams right in the chorus. You can hear the song here: https://theflowercity3.bandcamp.com/track/never-gonna-be-back-home-2 For the packaging, we got Russell’s brother Luke to drive around Brampton and take photos. We chose one of Shopper’s World for the front cover, but the physical record had a booklet with five or six other photographs. The lone review we got for the record, by a blog called iheartmusic, was savage. He said it was the worst record he’d ever heard, which hurt a little, but I was glad that we made it. It was a nostalgic collection of song, to be sure, our mission statement being: this album is dedicated to Brampton, not as it is, or even as it was, but as we remember it, echoing the old maxim that what happens isn’t as significant as how you remember it.

I thought that finishing and releasing that Flower City 3 record would finally cure me of my nostalgia, but it didn’t. I became more and more introspective, to the point where most of BCN songs are about the loss of friendship or the loss of youth. I don’t just want the band to be a self-therapy vehicle for me, but it’s hard to fight what comes naturally. Metal bands write about ancient medieval battles or zombies climbing mountains. Punk bands write about pizza and girls. And The Big City Nights Band writes songs about nostalgia and friendship. So here we are, with a new record that serves as a callback to the past.

We have an old song on Deep Space Bistro called “Almost Awake,” an off-kilter, shoegazey kind of thing, with a lot of delay on the guitar. The song was recorded in late spring 2008 around the same time I was finishing up the final mixes for A Steamroller Named Desire. I was with Jessica at the time, and I remember meeting her somewhere in Chinatown to grab food. She'd taken the bus down from Brampton while I'd spent the day recording the song. We brought the food back to my attic bedroom and ate while I played her the mix. I tried to get her to sing on it, but she wasn't comfortable with it. Previously she'd been excited to sing on songs, and we did a lot of recording together. Her voice can be found on "Be Mine This Xmas," "Hockey Night In Canada," "Greensong," "Canadian Baseball," "I'm A Skymaker," "Until They Smile," "Between Important Syllables," "Jawbreakers," "Summer Sports," "Carry Me Ontario," "Happy Man," and probably a few more I'm forgetting. But she wasn't down with singing on this one, and it was a turning point in our relationship. After that afternoon, it was much harder to get her to sing on my songs. She was struggling with depression and malaise at the time. She dropped out of school and spent most days in bed watching The Office. We moved in together in September 2009 in an attempt to salvage the relationship but it didn't last long. We broke the lease and went our separate ways in June 2010, a few days before the band released Might Minutes.

Almost Awake is our twenty-first album, meaning our discography could now legally drink at a bar in the States if it were a sentient being. The idea sparks one's imagination. If our discography were a person, it’d be an older man, NOT a gentleman but a bellowing boor lurching down the sidewalk, trying to make friends with people who have their headphones on. Friendly enough, and not a bully, but a guy who has a surplus of things he wants to say and a deficit of sympathetic ears. Enthusiastic, to be sure, yet caustic and poorly dressed to boot. He stands upwind while smoking at the bus stop. He's maddeningly inconsistent to employer and friend alike: no one knows which version of him will show up, the slick professional or the shambling, drug-addicted hustler. Always interesting though not always inviting interest. Loving but not loved. Fetid, not feted. Musical garbage. Gasoline rainbows. Yesterday's slice of pizza. Tomorrow's heartburn. A pile of newspapers in a language lost to the world. Twenty one albums of shambolic, mono, sometimes beautiful, sometimes acerbic, rock 'n roll from the metaphorical garage.

Almost Awake has some rock n roll on it, especially the first half, but it’s got plenty of balladry too. As an album it can stand on its own, but it might need assistance walking. It's helper and brother is High Hopes, our other record that came out in 2016. The two records are bookends that mine similar sonic and lyrical territory. I've been battling a drug problem for a few years now and finally starting to get the upper hand, though there have been falterings here and there. I write a lot of songs regardless, on drugs or off them, drunk or sober. A recurring lyrical themes of the early albums was friendship. I wrote a lot of songs about my friends.

"Born to Bar Band" is about my friends who were in bands, working all day and week so they could play music at night and on weekends, hence the line "days seem long waiting to sing our songs." "Murray Street" is about Emon. We had a fight summer 2006, so I wrote a song about it. It's not Shakespeare, obviously. I preferred to put it bluntly back then: "Please don't not call me your friend." "Wedding Day" is about a friend of mine who had gotten engaged to another friend of mine. They started acted differently, didn't come out as much, which was fine and understandable, except that when they DID come out, they were awkward and kinda rude to us. It was as if they thought we were all immature losers and they were better than us because they had decided to do something adult while we were still playing in bands and drinking in bars. So I wrote a song about how I was mad about it."Why I Didn't Hate Summer 2003" is another friendship one. "Tell your friends this summer I'm just stuck working.""She Dreams Of Airports" was about my friend M___. Any song on Born to Bar Band that isn't about friendship or hanging out with friends is about love and/or relationship problems. "Bicycle Man," "Waiting," "Mathematics," "Don't Tell Me" and "Don't Fuck With Me," written about my ex-gf D____, "Run Home" and "Big Ears" about my gf at the time, N_____. "Leave Your Man" was directed toward a girl I really liked at the time. "Soda Song" is also about her.

Later on, starting with Might Minutes I'd say, and in FULL swing by the time we got to Under the Overpass and Gimme Gardens, our songs were about nostalgia, and this nostalgia was brought on by the dissolution of many of my friendships. I'm not saying my friendships had ALL crumbled by 2010, but there had been a fundamental change to each one of them, I still don't know why, that started to drive wedges between me and my friends. These wedges were creating distance between us, inches that grew to canyons, until eventually some people disappeared altogether from each other's lives. Me coming to terms with this has not yet happened. I'm still upset over it, and I still think about it all the time, which is pathetic because I'm 31 years old. I should be married with children by now, instead of living with my parent and yearning for my lost youth.

Ember Nights

Taken from a collection of demos written last summer. The title was "Memba Thenz" for a while but I changed it to something less silly. An ember night could be any night in September, November, or December, take your pick, or a night that burns and glows, which is more poetic I guess. The song, lyrically, is about coming to the end of a long period of debauchery, and your brain is dead and your nerves are shot. The lyric is deliberately dumb, “mind like a DOA,” to match the brain deadness of the subject or something. I dunno. I like the line so I kept it. I like the lead guitar lines too and Kuehn drummed the song well. Love that tapping on the top of the bass drum, which James does sometimes too, often to great effect, as in "In The Street."

Two Packs A Day Also from last summer. This one turned out a LOT faster and punkier than I expected. The vocal is not strong at all, but it has a charm to it. There's a friendship vibe to this one, a territorial one, as in things are like this “round our way."

Summers End Wrote this one last April. Again, turned out way different during the tracking of the drums, so we went with it. There is a vocal melody but, as with "1985," I really liked how punchy and strong it sounds without any singing, so I left it alone. I still might get Ryan to sing on it and put a version with vocals on the next record. We'll see. More & More Mortified Recorded this one with Courtney on vocals. A sad song about dashed expectations and getting older. I love the blend of our voices. My mother loves this song and made me play it for my sister and her boyfriend on Christmas Eve, which was awkward, but my Mom said she still had the song in her head three days later, which is a good sign. When your Mom, who has previously not expressed much interest in your band, has a hook in her head three days after hearing a song, it gives you more confidence in said song. There’s a bit of Twin Peaks vibe.

No Window My first bedroom in Toronto was in a basement and it was windowless. I felt trapped and encumbered. No window = no escape, obviously, but also nothing to look at. Some Glum Alumni

Another song about days gone by. Before Instagram, nobody had photos of the truly good times, because everyone was having too much fun to take photos. In The Dark This is a really old cover of a Paddington song, recorded in Orangeville in 2005 in my Dad's basement. That was the first iteration of Little Ghost Recording Co and I was just learning how to record. I could barely play the drums but I got through this song okay. If it were any longer I surely would have faltered and made mistakes. The drumming as it is, is really tight-fisted on the hi-hat, which was how I played back then. I'm a much better drummer now than I was then, but still not very good. The Paddington album this song is on is called These Monsters That You've Been Chasing, which is a fantastic title. You can hear the (superior) Paddington version, which is a prom date waltz, at the following ancient MySpace page: https://myspace.com/paddingtonband/music/songs Paddington was a cool band I played in for four or five months back in 2004. The bass player Jordan hated me. A year later, frustrated at the glacial pace with which Andrew preferred to rehearse, record, and organize live dates, he organized a coup. Although he claimed that he left the band, along with Lindsay Gibb, the singer/keyboard player and the drummer whose name I forgot, what they really did was kick Andrew out of his own band and reform under the name Bedtime, Sleepyhead, which is BS if you ask me. Lindsay never cared for me much either. I didn't speak much at Paddington practices because the other members had known each other for years and had all the accrued inside jokes and experiences that come with close contact, but anytime I did try to speak or contribute to a conversation, Lindsay would wait a beat and then go: "...well, anyway..." then continue speaking as if I'd never said anything. After a while I stopped speaking entirely. I left the band unceremoniously in July or August 2004. Like The Beekeeper’s Society, another coed indie band with a polite approach to songcraft that I once played in, I never played on any recordings, so my time in those bands is lost to the ages. High Hopes A full band, electric version of the title track of our last record. I prefer the other version, but this one has its moments, particularly the break down when the bass goes for a walk and the whole band smashes back in on the A chord, those three hits, then back in. The harmonies are off kilter, but I didn't have much time to do them, so I just hoped for the best. People & Places I was digging through old demos last year, demos I'd done in autumn 2013 while living at my Dad's in Guelph and attending the University of Waterloo. I found so many forgotten gems in that pile of songs. and this was one of them. Others include "Cocations," which has already been recorded sans vocals and will be on our upcoming double album, and "Throwing Copper," which will also be on Keep It Beautiful. Sad Shitty Supermarket Holds Senior Citizen Day Again, in keeping with the theme of the album, a song about getting older and having one's expectations dashed. One & Only A love song to drugs. Western Sweepstakes This was going to be a demo, part of the collection of songs I did in autumn 2013, but I liked the song enough to dress it up with synth strings and harmonies, the usual BCN fare. I tried to record this one with Ryan Mills when James and Ryan had taken a short break during the Chords for the Bored sessions, but it didn't come out very good, so I kept that song off that album. I knew I was going to use this version on an album eventually, it was just a matter of finding the right fit.

Make It Mine A reviewer of our first album described "She Dreams of Airports" as a "hobo strum" which has "enough brio about it to win you over." He also said the song had a great title. "She Dreams of Airports" was written in a feverish afternoon during a Neutral Milk Hotel phase, so I was trying to ape Jeff Mangum by strumming loudly on an acoustic and trying to jam as many words into the song as I could, using the specific topic of travel. But the whole “hobo strum” thing wasn’t true...I wrote the song in the comfort of the basement of my Dad’s house in Orangeville. “Make it Mine,” however, was written while I was busking at the northwest corner of Queen and University last April, a transient month spent mostly on the street, trying to get enough money to get by. I’d usually make at least $20 if I played for three or four hours. I’d get bored doing CCR and Oasis though, and write my own stuff. I wrote this one on the spot, which is probably why the lyrics are so repetitive. I couldn’t write them down so they had to be basic. There’s another version on High Hopes but it’s not much better. Both version fail to get the essence of the song, which is an authentic “hobo strum,” not an ersatz one like “She Dreams of Airports.” I’d like to try it out with the full band someday soon. One Last Rodeo A song about doing drugs one last time. And doing them again the next day, just one last time. And the next day, one last time, the cycle continuing for months until you're barely alive. Drug users call the last night the "last rodeo," depressingly enough. Big City Nights Radio Report #1 A bunch of demos sewn together and presented as a radio station. A radio station I'd put on my presets, indubitably. Look for more BCN Radio Reports in the future, $2 and #3 and so on. Why not, eh? Some of these songs will be on our upcoming double album, Keep It Beautiful.

#thebigcitynightsband #almostawake #keepitbeautiful #nostalgia

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