#...but having difficulty putting it to words

[tryxyhijinks]

Pratchett had some words about this:

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

my creative writing prof also HATES fantasy. as in if she asks for an example of symbolism in a book, and you give something from a fantasy novel, she’ll ask for an example from a “non-commercial book” instead.

I dunno man, people can have preferences, but the second you discount the artistic merit of sci fi and fantasy I stop taking your opinion seriously. and there’s such a big culture in Canada of only valuing literary fiction, to the point where one of our biggest authors, Margaret Atwood, refused for a while to classify her books as sci fi or fantasy. she said they were “speculative fiction”, which is entirely separate and very highbrow (sarcasm).

and I could go on about how Octavia Butler and Ursula Le Guin wrote books every bit as intellectual (and honestly, even more so) than their literary counterparts, but I am also an enjoyer of schlock!! I think there’s artistic merit in animorphs, and in isekais where a japanese schoolgirl reincarnates into a magical spider who has to level up like it’s a video game! it’s like with everything, you can’t draw a clean line that separates ‘art’ from ‘non-art’ or even ‘lesser art’, and pretending you can do so just makes you look ignorant and goofy. in my opinion.

[bougiebutchbinch]

ugh UGHHHH I wanna write a sad fucked-up thing from Ning Yingying's POV

Shen Jiu didn't prey on Ning Yingying in any way, but he could literally only sleep when a woman was there and no men. He flatly refused to tell anyone this or the reasons why. Therefore, he has behaved 'inappropriately' with Ning Yingying (i.e., asking her to stay the night out of desperation because he needed to sleep and Liu Qingge had embarrassed him so much by dragging him out of the brothel that even that space no longer feels 'safe'; but obviously not touching her at all and staying well away from her - still highly Suspect to any outside perspective, though!)

And Ning Yingying isn't stupid (despite what some people think).

She was genuinely nervous about what her shizun might want with her (her shizun, who she knows has two faces - the kind face she shows her and the cruel one he shows Luo Binghe and damn near everyone else). But she also trusts him, and when nothing untoward happens, she's more than happy to have a sleepover with shizun whenever he asks!

But of course, this looks really fucking bad.

And during the trial, Liu Mingyan and Qi Qingqi and the little palace mistress and Qiu Haitang and so many more people, they all come to Ning Yingying and sit with her and talk to her gently, and tell her it's okay. They understand she might be uncomfortable with talking about what happened. They just want her to know that they're here for her, that they support her...

From Liu Mingyan and Qi Qingqi's perspectives, they've heard the rumours, and they're genuinely concerned. Little Palace Mistress and Qiu Haitang, of course, have a darker agenda, and pressure Ning Yingying until even she's not entirely sure what happened between her and her shizun. Did he really just make her a little bed on the other side of his room and put up a screen for privacy? Then ask her to sit on the cushion on the floor by his bed and play the guqin for a little while, until he fell asleep? Did anything more happen? Surely she'd remember - but trauma can be strange like that, Qiu Haitang confides, with teary eyes. Sometimes, your memories don't reveal everthing.

I want a story where Ning Yingying did falsely accuse Shen Jiu, but it's entirely understandable why. He shouldn't have put her in that position. He shouldn't have used her for comfort, even if it was entirely non-sexual and innocent. He should've talked to her and explained that he saw her as a daughter (though in what world would Shen Jiu ever be so open with his emotions, lmao). He should've confided in Yue Qingyuan and his Peak Lord siblings about the difficulties he was having sleeping and found some solution together that didn't damage anyone's reputation - but that would be entirely against everything Shen Jiu is.

And I want Ning Yingying to come to the water prison and sit in front of that sad human stick and tell him she's sorry, she doesn't know what to think, it's all so confusing; she doesn't remember him being a monster even though she said she did at the trial, but everyone keeps telling her he was a monster and she doesn't know what to think or what to believe -

And Shen Jiu can't say a word, since Luo Bingge cut out his tongue. He just looks at her with his one remaining eye and lets her speak.

[moe-broey]

Reposting this one on its own bc. It means So Much To Me. It means EVERYTHING TO ME.

[dyns33]

Family's dog

The Solomons family is composed of three members and it was time to focus on the tiniest.

A dog's life wasn't an easy life.

Born on the street, hungry, sleeping in the cold, he had been happy the first time he had a master.

Some might say he wasn't a good master. He sometimes forgot to feed him, he didn't let him inside when it rained, considering that the kennel he shared with the others was enough and he forced him to fight when he didn't want to.

But as a dog, he was grateful.

Still, it was a shock to be adopted by his new master.

"Hello, love." the man had said when he saw him, putting his cane behind him and leaning down with difficulty to pat his head. "No, it's not a toy, and it's not a weapon either. I don't want to hit you, you don't hit nice boys. Don't you, Mr. Collins, nice boys like this don't deserve to be hit ?"

"Yes, Mr. Solomons, certainly."

"Certainly, innit ? Then why does he have marks all over him ?"

"The other dogs, sir. For the fights."

"Ah, yes, those barbaric spectacles. In our fair country, what a disgrace. Poor boy, is this where you sleep ? Mr. Collins, it takes no heart to make such a brave dog sleep in such a place."

"I can bring him inside if you…"

"Nah. He's coming with me, on top of what you owe me."

Mr. Solomons gave him a new home. A real home you could say, where he could walk everywhere, with food and water every day, gentle pats on the head, a basket for him, the right to climb on the sofa and the bed, and a name. Cyril.

Well, as for the bed, Cyril wasn't sure he understood. His master growled as soon as he jumped up near him, mumbling 'no', a word he knew well, but then he put his arm around him and fell asleep without trying to get him down or punish him.

Everything was wonderful with Mr. Alfie Solomons.

He also took him outside with him. At first, Cyril was afraid that it would make him fight or abandon him somewhere, but no. Holding him with a leash and swearing obscenities while asking him to slow down because of his back, they only went around the neighborhood or on the beach before going back.

There was the car too.

"Yes, stick your head out, it'll be better for you and me."

"Woof !"

"Isn't that right, love ?"

There were times when his master would have clearly wanted Cyril to be more aggressive. He would sometimes growl when strangers approached in a threatening manner, which was often enough to scare them off.

But most of the time, he would sit next to him, salivating, simply happy to be with his master.

"Cyril, I'm going to ask you to be a perfect gentleman, okay ? A perfect gentleman, even nicer than usual. If there's a bite, a bark, anything that ruins it, I should get angry, and I don't want to get angry."

The request was strange. Tilting his head to the side, Cyril watched as Mister Solomons got ready for an important meeting, as he often did. Except he looked nervous.

Not nervous like he could be, mumbling nonsense or complaining about his back, really nervous. His master didn't seem to be afraid of anything though.

For the first time since he had arrived in his new home, his master brought someone home in the evening.

Y/N Shelby, he introduced her with great ceremony. They obviously knew each other well, because the young woman ignored Alfie's long, wacky tirades to crouch down in front of Cyril with a huge smile, offering her hand for him to sniff.

A lot of humans didn't do that. They touched him without permission or kept their distance.

This pleased Cyril very much, who thanked her by licking her fingers, which made her laugh. A very pretty sound, which enchanted him as it seemed to enchant Mr. Solomons.

Faced with his acceptance, Y/N began by scratching his head, ears, neck, and he ended up on his back, in complete ecstasy, while she took care of his belly.

"You were right, a real menace. A terror. Alfie, I'm so scared of your dog." she joked at the sight.

"I must say he seems to adore you, treacle. It's a good thing, I wasn't joking when I said he was difficult, he only listens to me."

Mr. Solomons called him 'traitor' while continuing to treat him kindly. Strange, because Cyril did exactly what he asked, obeying his new mistress perfectly, probably even better than him. But Mr. Solomons often said strange things without thinking them.

It was the first time that there was a woman in Cyril's life, and in addition to seeming important to Alfie, she treated him with great affection and respect. She also took very good care of the one she called 'her husband'.

So it was very quickly obvious that she was the most important person, the leader of the pack. The one who had to be made proud and protected first.

"He only listens to you, huh ?"

"What can I say, damn woman ? Lovely witch. You seduced my dog, just like you seduced me. There's no other explanation, otherwise why would we both be staring sadly at the door until you come home, then following you everywhere ? One day, we'll fight for your attention, and you know what's worse ? He'll win. He's already stealing my place in the bed and you're not saying anything."

"I don't see you punishing him much either."

"I'm a criminal, love, not a monster."

It wasn't even true that he was stealing Mr. Solomons' place. Cyril couldn't sleep until both his masters were present, curled up against each other with him at the foot of the bed. He only stayed close to Y/N to keep her company until Alfie arrived.

If he didn't mean it when he called him a 'traitor' because he was nice to his wife, Cyril heard real indignation in his voice when he accompanied them to see Y/N's family.

Lots of children, and many men he didn't know, who seemed quite hostile to Alfie while welcoming him with smiles and gifts. How could you not love them ?

"Your dog is much better educated than you, Mr. Solomons."

"Ah yes, dear Thomas, they say that dogs are a reflection of the life their masters could have had, which explains why this one is so pampered."

"Say right away that I mistreat you."

"Absolutely, treacle. Every day. You check that I have done my work, that I eat, that I have my back cushion, it is real daily torture. Hoy ! Cyril, no !"

"He's playing with the kids, everything's fine."

"That little fool doesn't know his strength, Thomas. Don't come blaming me when he makes your boy fall."

Cyril didn't make the boy fall, nor any of the toddlers who were running with him, making all the Shelbys present laugh, while his master was still mumbling under his breath.

He didn't seem interested in being congratulated for having trained his dog so well.

With her sweet smile, Y/N whistled for him to come to her, which he immediately did while wagging his tail.

"Good boy. It's time to go home now. Alfie, stop sulking, come on."

"I'm not sulking, treacle. I whistled for him three times without him listening to me, everything is perfectly normal."

"You love it when he obeys me so well, like you love it when I give you orders."

"In your dreams, crazy woman."

"Alfie, in the car."

"… I'm not going to walk home from Birmingham, that doesn't mean I obey you !"

Cyril barked happily to support his mistress, because he saw Mr. Solomons obeying his wife perfectly all the time, pretending to be offended while staring at her with sad puppy eyes waiting for a caress in return.

Not a reflection of the life he could have had, but of the life he had, Cyril thanked his master for picking him up at the corner of the road when everything was going badly, walking a bit together before having the chance to be both cuddled by Y/N.

"Anyway, I know you prefer him to me." Alfie grumbled, lying on his back, while his wife scratched the dog's head, settled between them.

"He doesn't complain all the time."

"I don't complain all the time, love. If I did complain all the time, you would have smothered me in my sleep a long time ago."

"Hmm. Never mind. I taught him a new trick."

"Let me guess. Steal the cane ? Hide the rum ?"

"Cyril. Please, living room."

Reluctant but not wanting to disappoint his mistress, Cyril jumped out of bed to wait on the couch, as his mistress had taught him, until she called him again so he could come back.

According to her, it would be a nice gift rather than forcing his 'daddy' to get up all the time to let him out and then open the door for him when he wanted a special cuddle.

"A special cuddle. Treacle, he's a dog, very intelligent no doubt, but he's not like kids with their sensitive ears, you can say fuc…"

"Alfie. I can tell him to come back if you want, and send you to the sofa instead of him."

"No, I want my special cuddle. I almost didn't tease Arthur during the party, I deserve it."

It wasn't the mating season, so Cyril didn't understand why his masters and especially Alfie were active so often in the year, but they were happy, and as promised they always called him when they were done so that he could join them, so they forgave their oddities.

It really wasn't easy being a dog, but Cyril Solomons didn't complain.

[a-spes]

Before the Storm. (N. R. x W. M. x R). — Part One, 'Invisible Torments'. (2,293 words).

" From the ashes of a fallen kingdom, a threat that everyone thought was defeated shall rise once more, sentencing a second realm to the same fate. The prophecy foretells that the apparition of a young woman where she never belonged will herald the end of everything. Can the impending doom be forestalled, or will the destruction of Earth become inevitable? "

| Tags & Warnings — Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Enhanced!Reader. Mention of Suicidal and Depressive Thoughts (Natasha), Canonical Violence, Brief Mention of a Car Accident.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES.

Despite the whole team being gathered in the room, it was silent.

An unusual, heavy silence, caused by the gravity of the situation, and that left no room for the jokes and teasing that would usually be exchanged between the heroes.

None of them knew what was going on, but the minutes seemed like an eternity while they were waiting for the director to eventually arrive. None of them needed to know the details to feel the urgency of this meeting. Fury was a wise man, despite what some may say, and he knew better than to pull the ringer for nothing. Crisis meetings were rarely held, and it had never been for anything less than a threat to the very existence of humanity.

If no one was talking, it is because they were busy remembering the events that had followed the last meeting of this kind — A catastrophe. Something that had happened many years ago, but the memories were still imprinted in the minds of those that were already a part of the team at that time. It was impossible to forget the chaos and destruction that had ensued. They may have won, but at what price? The lives they lost, and those that were destroyed, still weighed on their minds, and they had spent the following years hoping that they would never find themselves around this table again.

But here they are, several years later, with the same fear that knotted their insides.

If no one spoke, it is because they were all trying to guess what lay ahead. Yet, the possibilities were endless, often surprising, and none of them could have guessed the words spoken by Fury when he entered the meeting room.

The job was exhausting, and the heroes could never rest. Their victories were never more than temporary, each threat being quickly replaced by a far more dangerous one. The Avengers, despite their title of saviors of the earth, were playing a game they couldn’t win. As the years went by, and the battles followed on another, it became harder for the heroes to convince themselves that it was all worth it. The dead were numbered in the thousands, and it seemed that they were only delaying the inevitable destruction of humanity.

This possibility was even more difficult for the former spy to accept.

This job was supposed to be her redemption, a way of eventually wiping the red off her ledger, but if the woman wanted to use her skills to do some good, it seemed that only destruction followed her every step. Every threat was immediately replaced by another, and every victory inevitably stained by deaths and destroyed lives, a cost she no longer wanted to pay. 

And then, somewhere in that infinite loop, the redhead eventually lost her hopes.

If she hadn’t yet resigned herself to leave the team, it is because her fears were holding her back. After all, the woman knew nothing else in the world except this job which, despite its difficulties, offered her the comfort of familiarity. But recently it has become harder to accept that being a heroine, and saving the world, was nothing more than a pipe dream.

The world can’t be saved, and neither could she.

The redhead had eventually learned that it was pointless to hope, because it is nothing more than a way of putting off the inevitable, and so, as she watches the man entering the room, she prepares herself for the worst — The destruction, pain, and deaths. 

Maybe hers this time, if she is lucky enough.

She hasn’t told anyone about the thoughts that sometimes arise in her mind, and she won’t even admit it to herself, because it is definitely easier to pretend that everything is fine. She doesn’t want to think about how the job that saved her life, by giving her a second chance, is the one that is now tearing her away from that same life.

When Fury, the man that they were all waiting for, eventually enters the room, Natasha tries to read his next words in his features, but it gives her no clue. He looks serious, and tense — He looks the exact same as he always does.

“So, are you finally going to tell us what this is all about?” Steve asked. It is rare to see the man lose his patience, but the situation was beginning to weigh on the minds of even the wisest members of the team.

“I am going to do better than that,” the man said, pausing for a moment before continuing, “I am going to show you,” and as he says these words, the lights go out. 

And there, projected large on the wall they were facing, the Avengers could all contemplate the reasons for their presence here, the great danger that was threatening humanity, captured by one of the city’s video surveillance cameras.

The former spy’s sharp eyes immediately searched the poor-quality image they were shown for any clues. At first sight, it was nothing more than an ordinary moment of a day that was like any other, just a view of a street of New-York that looked exactly like any other street would. Despite the early hour, a never-ending parade of cars and pedestrians was already taking place, bringing the street to life — The city that never goes out. It was not a myth, and the city was just like its heroes; it knew no rest.

The woman observed the people that were walking in a hurry, and she had no trouble imagining the car horns that must have sounded as soon as someone took a bit too long to start up at the green light — Where did these people go, to be so impatient?

And, as the scene drags on for several seconds without anything happening, she allows her thoughts to wander a little from the reason for her presence here, joining the ballet of these strangers for the span of a few minutes. No one noticed that, behind her sharp gaze, her attention was absent. Instead of watching the video, Natasha was thinking about where she would go if she got a chance to walk alongside these strangers. 

It is a question she had asked herself many times before, one that had kept her awake at night, enveloping her soul in an oppressive feeling as she was thinking about all the possible answers. She could have been so many things if she had been nothing more than just a name, a face among so many others, one that people wouldn’t even be able to recognize in the streets. She would have settled for little. She would have accepted even the most mundane life, the most boring to those who had it, if it meant that her life would have the normality she craved. She would not be a heroine that they would admire, nor a spy that they would hate, but nothing more than a little girl that could have followed her dreams. Yet, life can be cruel, and it had taken away all choice from her before she had even taken her first steps in this world — Who would she have been? That is a question she will never find the answer to.

A sudden change in the monotonous scene they were being shown drew her attention back to the screen. It was a sudden agitation that, by breaking the routine, had managed to capture her attention once again, chasing away the thoughts that had preoccupied her a few moments earlier. No one had noticed her absence, and it was almost as if she had never wandered off, the woman now observing the scene with rapt attention.

Events unfolded with such rapidity that she would have missed them if she had blinked at the wrong moment. A young woman had entered the camera’s frame, and she would easily have blended in with the rest of the crowd if she hadn’t been acting weirdly. Although she seemed to be in a hurry, her quick steps were nothing like the ones of someone hurrying to work, and they were far from the calm pace of a sportswoman. Her run was frantic, and erratic.

Natasha could not see her facial features, but she didn’t need it to guess the fear that this young woman was feeling. All she had to do was to observe her body language, and the way she was constantly looking at her surroundings was enough of a clue. It was as if she was scared of someone, or something, but she was the only one to see the threat. Indeed, the crowd remained relatively calm, and new-yorkers only stopped their relentless march when she jostled them.

Everyone expected the reason for her panic to appear on the screen at any moment, but it never did, and the ‘monster’ never showed up, the threat to humanity remaining faceless and formless for time being, much to their disappointment. Yet, in concentrating on that, the heroes almost missed the really important events.

A few seconds later, the young woman’s run came to an abrupt, and tragic, halt. As she tried to cross the road, without looking left or right, without using a crosswalk, the inevitable happened. She was lucky enough that the first two cars in her path managed to avoid her, but it had its limits, and the truck that came after didn’t have time to brake, or divert, that it had already hit her head-on. The impact had been so violent that the girl had been propelled several meters. 

The shock is so swift that it left everyone blissfully surprised, even the spy. The video may have no sound, but she can easily make out the screams of the passers-by. They finally stopped for a moment — Perhaps they were in a hurry, but their business could wait if it meant meddling with others’. The video stops as some people start moving towards the truck, which had ended up in a storefront, and all the heroes’ eyes are now on Fury.

They were hoping for answers, but they only found more questions.

“So, you bothered us for… a crazy woman?” Tony spoke, and he is the first one to do so — Probably because he is the only one who is never at a loss for words, the others being too surprised to say anything. “Damn it, Fury! We are the Avengers, not a hospice,” he added in response to the other man’s silence.  

However, the director remains calm and impassive in the face of the billionaire’s impatience. Yet, Natasha is certain that there was a lot more to this video than just a ‘crazy woman’, why would he have shown it to them otherwise? She knew Fury, and he is not the kind that does things at random, let alone waste resources — S.H.I.E.L.D.’s time and money are too precious to him. There must have been something else, some detail they had missed and that would explain everything they couldn’t understand until now.

The man proves her right when he plays the video again. However, while they could all recognize the scene of the accident, the angle of view was a bit different, being zoomed in on a silhouette that was in the background, one they could barely see in the original video. Despite the poor quality, they can distinguish the young woman who is lying on the ground. For several seconds, nothing happens, and everything seems to stand still — Until she stands up, resuming her run as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t been hit by the truck less than a minute before. As the scene unfolds in front of their eyes, the heroes realize that the threat has been there all along, hiding under the guise of a ‘crazy’ looking woman.

“And what do we know about her?” Natasha immediately asked. She was slumped back in her seat, arms crossed as she glared at the director. Yet, despite appearances, she was taking the mission very seriously; if the man had a hunch about this girl, the woman knew it was best to trust him and act accordingly.

“That’s for you to find out, Romanoff,” he replied with a wry smile. As he talked, he waved a folder at her, the one he would hand over to her later, when the meeting was over and the questions had been answered — Or at least some of them, because the heroes soon realized that the information available was meager.

And indeed, when she opened the file several hours later, she realized just how complicated this mission would be. The night had fallen on the city, and she had settled into one of the common areas. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and she made herself comfortable with a blanket and some hot drink. Some people liked to read to relax, but what she really enjoyed was immersing herself in a new mission, reading files and trying to make connections between the different pieces of evidence. It was a familiar and easy activity. 

However, she didn’t have much to read in this one. There were only a few wills collected from passers-by who happened to be near the scene of the accident, but nothing they said was interesting, and most of them hadn’t even laid eyes on the victim long enough to be able to describe her. There were also screenshots of the surveillance video that they watched, but also of others that attest to her presence in different parts of the city. 

But that was all. There was no name, no story, just a pixelated face that seemed to belong to no one — Almost as if the woman appeared from nowhere.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES.

| Tag list — @queen-of-chaotic-surprises

[tomorrowusa]

First a heads-up. Nobel economics laureate Paul Krugman has retired from the New York Times. But he is now fairly active at his Substack. Occasionally we'll be linking some of his work there.

In this piece, Dr. Krugman argues that the MAGA war on the "deep state" is also a war on America's health.

One enduring theme of the MAGA movement has been hostility toward the “deep state” — what people outside the movement might call professional civil servants. Trump and company believe that the deep state is out to get them, which is paranoid. But they’re not wrong to believe that public employees who see themselves as working for the nation rather than for whoever currently occupies the White House pose a problem for their agenda. So what will MAGA do, now that it’s in power? Many observers, myself included, have focused on plans to convert a number of civil service jobs into political appointments. But just a few days into the new regime it’s clear that the assault on professional government will be much broader than that — that it will involve an effort to intimidate and politicize civil servants, too. And early indications are that one prime target will be agencies devoted to protecting public health. [ ... ] Public health agencies, even more than the rest of the government, are in the firing line. You can’t talk seriously about health policy without taking race and gender into account; yet according to the New York Times, one contractor collecting demographic data for the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services has already been told to stop work, and the results of an already completed survey won’t be released. But wait, there’s more: federal health agencies, including the Food and Drug Administration, the Centers for Disease Control and the National Institutes for Health, have been ordered to pause all external communications, including health advisories and scientific reports. NIH, in particular, appears to have been effectively put in lockdown, with even routine meetings canceled and employees forbidden to travel.

He concludes...

If MAGA had been around at the time, do you have any doubts that it would have opposed all of these public health measures and accused their proponents of being part of some dark conspiracy? And when — not if — the next pandemic strikes, do you expect our battered, politicized public health agencies to keep Americans properly informed? If Trump is still in charge, do you expect him to respond effectively, as opposed to minimizing the threat and muzzling anyone who might contradict him? It’s hard to feel optimistic about any of these concerns.

Did I just hear the word "pandemic"? There is some distressing news out of Uganda from the Washington Post.

Uganda announced Thursday that a nurse, 32, had died of Ebola in the capital, Kampala, amid a new outbreak of the deadly virus there — the first in two years. The country has activated emergency response procedures, officials said. Uganda registered 164 cases and 55 confirmed deaths from Ebola over four months in late 2022. That outbreak ended early the following year. The patient died after experiencing fever-like symptoms and seeking treatment at several hospitals and from a traditional healer, Diana Atwine, permanent secretary of the Health Ministry, said in a statement on Thursday. His fever, chest pain and breathing difficulty progressed to unexplained bleeding, a common symptom of a severe case of Ebola. Forty-four close contacts have been cited for tracing, including 30 health workers and patients from a hospital and 11 family members.

Ebola makes COVID seem like a fun disease. The mortality rate for the 2014 outbreak of Ebola in West Africa was around 40%. The Obama administration took decisive action to limit Ebola in the United States. Thanks to quick science-based action, the number of Ebola cases in the US was limited to 11 (eleven). Out of the 11, just 2 cases were contracted inside the US. 2 of the 11 died – 18.2% or less than half of the international rate.

At the end of the Obama administration, his National Security Council staff authored a guide called "Playbook for Early Response to High-Consequence Emerging Infectious Disease Threats and Biological Incidents" and left it for Trump to use. Of course Trump ignored it.

Trump team failed to follow NSC’s pandemic playbook

The first COVID-19 case appeared in the US on 21 January 2020. Instead of taking decisive measures recommended in the Obama pandemic playbook, Trump said this to his favorite CNBC host.

While Trump dawdled and did the usual Trumpian things like rage tweet about the 2020 Oscars, the virus spread throught the US. He only got around to declaring a pandemic emergency on Friday the 13th of March – a day after the stock markets crashed.

^^^ dark red = deaths, orange/pink = infections

By March 13th, COVID-19 had spread to 49 states and DC. Ultimately, at least 30% of the US population became infected and 1.14 million deaths were reported.

If Ebola spreads to the US while Trump and RFK Jr. are in charge, expect a catastrophe.

[secret-sector-antag]

🦇⚔ Dhampir Hunter V ⚔🦇

Intros/Profiles Part 3/?: Veni, vidi, dictavi [Potential CW for mentions of death and the following grief, as well as brief (albeit fictional) political stuff. Nothing overly detailed/gory, but just in case]

"Ingannamorte" Surname of Italian origin. Translates to "deciever of death" ("inganna"= "to decieve"/"decieves", and "morte"="death".) A rather fitting name for a creature of the night...

The Ingannamortes of Schprekenheim, at least loooooong ago, were the absolute rulers of the land. Being a subtype of vampire known in the area as StrigOwie, they lived up to their name: bring about immense suffering and misery, feeding off of it, and continuing the family name for generations to come.

However, despite the threats of torture, exile, and/or annihilation for any sort of political dissidence, the peasants of the land began to band together and fight back. After several attempts at a coup, the family have since fallen to a more underground, "figure-head"-like status. 

The then-current heads, Havaska and Polaris Ingannamorte, had a full plate on their hands: keeping the power of the family flowing throughout the land (but with a less...heavy-handed approach), other standard royal duties...and now, bringing up the next heir: Syberia (pronounced "Sĭh-Bĕ-reeyah").

For a while, things were actually...relatively okay. Syberia was growing into her role of one day becoming the head of the family...but as she began to learn about her family and the absolute power that they used to hold. She wanted a piece of that pie; none of this "figureheads-who-stand-in-the-background" business. And she was vocal about it. As she grew and had more of a hand in things, she became louder and louder- despite her parents doing what they could to try and quell that fervor.

Then disaster struck.

Havaska, mother to the latest heir of the Ingannamortes, had been murdered. While the "heat" between the royal vampire family and the peasants had disspated quite a bit over the years, a small extremist group wanted to make their mark...by doing what the several coup attempts back then couldn't: getting rid of the vampirs for good. While the group was quashed incredibly quickly (c'mon, you're fighting against vampires; and it wasn't like these guys were professional hunters), the toll it took on the remaining two Ingannamortes. While they grieved, Syberia saw this as an opportunity for them to bring that "iron-fistedness" back into play...but Polaris, her poor old Papa, was heartbroken. No matter how much she tried to convince him, he would not go all scorched earth and bring the entirety of Schprekenheim to heel. This, of course, led to increased tension in the already emotionally-bedraggled household.

...Then a little bit of light entered back into their lives...or, at the very least, Polaris's. A peseant woman known as Cerealia, who had brought it upon herself to continue to plant flowers on the deceased queen's grave, as well as keep the area surrounding area looking nice, was spotted by Polaris. Initially, he was a bit testy (how dare some...some commoner intrude on his land!), but seeing what she was doing, the ice that had come to surround his heart began to slowly melt. For the first time since he lost his wife, he had begun to feel...happy. Syberia, being Syberia, was suspicious. Who was this plebian, and what did her Dad see in her?! She was trying to usurp the throne, she just knew it!!

This, of course, wasn't true. Cerealia had no hidden intentions and genuinely cared about the forlorn king. Though one could argue that this took place very quickly, Polaris and Cerealia were soon married. And eventually, they welcomed another child into the kingdom.

Syberia was furious. Okay, yes, she was still the next in line to rule, but who the hell was this...this half-blood to come in and usurp what was supposed to be her time with her dad?! She wasn't acknowledging that peseant woman as family- even if she now bore the royal last name. But of course, under the treat of being sent away to the lower part of Schprekenheim to live out her life (or at least until she calmed the eff down and worked out her rage and resentment) in, potentially, a tall tower all by herself (almost like a "grounded for life" kind of scenario), Syberia let that hatred simmer. And simmer. And simmer. With her sister, that hatred did occasionally manifest as the standard acts of sibling rivalry, but her..."stepmother", eugh... was understanding, having been one of several siblings herself. However, even with the assurance that both kids were loved equally, it didn't mean she went unpunished for acting the way she did sometimes.

Things were going okay, it looked like.

Until they weren't.

Polaris and Cerealia had mysteriously perished on a trip to another village, as a show of goodwill. Some say that Syberia had a hand in it, but no one can be 100% certain...especially now since she's taken on the role as the head of the Ingannamorte family and will silence anyone who questions her. Playing to the public, she uses the death of her parents as her "reasoning" for bringing back the harshness that the family was once known for long, long ago.

Schprekenheim has been under her dark rule for who knows how long, and S.C.A.R.E. seeks to bring her and her army of monsterous creatures of the night down- to restore some semblence of peace to the region.

Can they do it?

Will she bring the band of freedom fighters to heel and recruit them to her undead army?

And more importantly...where's this sister of hers? She wasn't with the then-king and queen on their trip...she seems to have mysteriously vanished...

----------------------------------------- Syberia Ingannamorte Voice Claim: Eden Riegel

Codenamed "Nightside" by the organization, she is a fierce vampire that has plunged the region into darkness and misery. She is a manipulative creature that will stop at nothing to keep the iron grip she has on the area from loosening. With the passing of her parents and now as the official head of the Ingannamortes, there's nothing getting in her way to stop her....or so she thinks.

But of course, what is a queen without a bit of help?

"Faust" Voice Claim: Steve Valentine

Codenamed "Phantomblade" by the organization, Not a lot is known about this kid. It was shortly after Syberia's parents' passing and the disapperance of her sister that he came into the picture.

Acting as the confidant to the new ruler, 'Faust' does what he can to maintain order and acts as a "one man band"- directing creature hordes to deter any do-gooders, directing who keeps watch over the Ingannamorte hold, acting as Syberia's bodyguard and informant, among other roles. In short, Faust would give his life to save Syberia. ...He...doesn't exactly have the choice to not. At least, not anymore. That half-face burn (covered by the half-face mask) had to come from somewhere after all...

[risingchaos]

Vulcan is just an ideal autistic society.

[dkettchen]

[vivispec]

.

[dsudis]

Stop referring to characters as dumb and idiots and stupid for having difficulty deciphering their own or others' emotions/attractions challenge 2k23!

[sundryfish]

you know what i mean, right? please tell me you know what i mean

[puppppppppy]

who up seeing their disorder in a fictional character but feel like its not their place to put a name on it

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

(genderly) chill as hell if i was only ever glimpsed / detected like this

[miupow]

slowly teaching myself that writing is supposed to be fun and to not take it so seriously, that my writing is good and enjoyable even if it isn’t my best, and that people enjoy my work even if i don’t feel confident in it