#ESPECIALLY middle/upper class and from the suburbs

[casterhex]

another thing people will say shit like “there were so many signs! how was nothing done sooner?” as if cops in the states don’t have a proud history of giving young cis white guys a mere slap on the wrist and a “don’t get in any more trouble young man”

[grendel-menz]

youre so right about that last post, i moved from a really rural southern us area to the us northwest and the way that people talk about hicks and poor people is genuinely despicable. ive been poor and known poor people all my life and i hate watching people write off a whole demographic on sight. why do we have to prove we're worthy of living and being protected and loved? why is it not a given?

It's hard to talk in those sorts of circles as well when your from poorer areas, rural or not. You've got the life experience but they've got the bookred words and maneuverings... I've never even been especially north, but middle/upper class people, especially from cities and suburbs, are entirely out of touch with the humanity of others, not just who they see as 'rednecks', or places they see as full of them. Empathy is a practice... important for everyone to remember but I do think there's some specific sorts of people who believe other's cease to exist when they aren't talking to them etc etc

[rotzaprachim]

there’s also just a big problem with differences in culture, aesthetics, and lifestyle that are strongly tied to demographics, geography, and ethnicity- and therefor political orientation- instead being read as indicators of class, with things more common among the urban populations, people of color, young women, and Jews - and therefor liberals - being taken as snobby, elitest and upper class while things more common or associated with rural and white people are real, authentic, middle class, and true. In both cases they’re just ways to spend money that often aren’t inherently progressive OR conservative, because you’ll find urban conservatives and rural liberals, but they are also therefor not sole markers of class, which is why I need people to get a hell of a lot smarter with their class consciousness - I’m sick of liberals doing some woe is me business and leftists repeating conservative logic.

there’s nothing inherently more expensive about having higher value hiking gear and fleeces than hunting gear - but only the first is suss. Hiking is not an inherently more upper class sport than hunting. Yeah you don’t get food from it, but it’s also got a much lower start up cost, and it’s a way for people from densely packed urban areas to become nature. People in cities like coffee shops and cafes because they’re places to meet with friends when your apartment is too small to fit anyone - that isn’t an inherently more resource intensive thing to do than have a house in the suburbs or rural areas big enough for everyone to come over! Ditto support for museums and cultural attractions - these are often free or cut price and safe places to take children or spend time on the city. Ditto things for urban areas, especially working class urban life, like bike paths, bike racks, and bike recharging areas. A top quality urban electric bike is often less expensive to buy and then maintain than a cheap car, esp if you’re a single person and single commuter, as many urban people are. A subscription to a local theatre company or indie movie theatre may well cost less than cable and have something every week. Tofu and hummus may cost less than the most classic meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Good walking shoes and fancy headphones may be essential gear for people who walk miles and take noisy public transport. Overall, a lot of the famous liberal excesses of elitest yuppies and urbanites are often fully logical indulgences when taken in combination with living in much less resources intensive housing, in more tightly packed areas, and with greater walking and public transport.

my point isn’t that any of these things are good or bad ways to spend money. It’s the reverse. (A lot of working class and poor urban dwellers are left out of the above, but a lot of working class and poor rural dwellers are left out of the aestheticisrd Middle America working man miasma of single family homes, trucks, and thanksgiving dinner. In both cases this is about the middle class norms.) Nor is it that there are inherently right wing or left wing ways to spend money. My point instead is that America fundamentally has a problem with thinking that the aesthetics of the more rural areas are “good” and understandable whereas the aesthetics and lifestyles of more urbanized areas are elitest and suspicious for things that are fundamentally just different ways to allocate and spend money in ways that are perfectly logical relative to location. Everyone needs to get a lot sharper if they really want to work out what the problems are.

[janaem]

Let Me Rule You

Jareth x f.reader

This is chapter 1 (Entranced) | Chapter 2 (Wish)

Synopsis: She never imagined that she would once again be drawn into the enchanting world of fictional characters, a place she had not ventured into for many years. However, on a warm summer Saturday night, everything changed as she found herself captivated by the enigmatic goblin king, Jareth, while watching the mesmerizing film "Labyrinth." Word count: 5.4k (20 pages)

Warnings for this chapter: swearing and arguments

Key:Y/n= your name | L/n= last name | M/n= mom name |d/n= dog name

For visual purposes, here is the house you are living in.

Author note: It's sure been a while since I wrote something as long as this. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter as much as I did! I don't intend for this to be a slow burn, but I'm sure not rushing to the climax either. Things will definitely start to progress in the chapters to come at a reasonable pace since I'm aiming for this to be only a few chapters. I will also be publishing this on ao3 and wattpad:)

The dusk was calm, and the only movements were the swaying of the trees in the warm midsummer breeze. The dark green leaves of the trees fell sporadically on the fresh pavement street of Evansville. It is a typical upper-middle-class suburb located on the outskirts of the great city, beyond its beautiful lake. During the summer, Evansville is usually bustling with life. Kids can be seen racing on their scooters while their parents watch from the front lawn of their craftsman and single-family-style homes. Teenagers speed down Sherhigh Avenue by the Lakefront with their windows rolled down, blasting music and singing the lyrics. The beaches are always full from morning till nearly midnight.

Nestled close to the tranquil lakefront was Nordstin Street, which exuded an air of a close community feel. From afternoon till night, the neighborhood was painted with playful children and their parents' laughter on their lawns, the jingle of ice cream trucks, and frequent splashes from small backyard pools.

But once dusk faded away, it was different. The winds picked up abruptly around four thirty and leaves started dancing in a choreographed frenzy while flower petals broke free from their delicate confines. The windows of these sturdy homes rattled, adding a discordant note to the chaos. The tides of the lake were more than violent, threatening to engulf anything in their path. The crashing waves against the cluster of boulders are reminiscent of clashing symbols. 

In the heart of Nordstin, a grand single-family home exudes warmth and elegance. The gray fiber cement exterior, adorned with white accents, perfectly complements the intricately decorated gray brick roof. The beautiful porch is a work of art, supported by sturdy white stone pillars, making it both practical and stunning.

In the vast living room downstairs, an eighteen-year-old, Y/n,  lounged on the cream sectional sofa, surrounded by plush beige pillows of varying textures. With one pillow snug against her torso, she tuned into the news forecast, her gaze fixed on the screen as she observed the latest updates.

The male news reporter's voice filled the room, his words a solemn warning. "The winds are blowing at 26 miles per hour," he announced, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. "It's best to stay home if you don't need to be outside, especially away from water." 

Suddenly, a harsh voice from the kitchen shatters the tranquility, disrupting Y/n's peace of mind.

Y/n’s mother, m/n, walked urgently from the kitchen and halted at the entrance of the living room, wearing an unpleasant expression. She holds a meticulously cleaned empty Tupperware container in her left hand. 

“Y/n,  did you eat the last of the lasagna?” She asked, shaking the container so it was brought to Y/n’s attention. 

Y/n looked over at her displeased mother and replied dryly, "Yeah."

Her mother gives her a repulsed look, “Why? What makes you think it’s okay to eat up everything in this house and not leave anything left for anyone?” 

Y/n gave her a look of offense, sitting up from her leisure posture, her voice remained level, “Those were the only leftovers I ate. And you told me that I could  help myself to whatever I wanted today.”  

“That doesn’t mean you eat a whole thing of lasagna, Y/n. You can’t always think about yourself!” 

“It wasn’t even half of a container mom, relax.” 

“Don’t tell me to relax. I know what was in there.”

“Can you please stop yelling?” 

“I’m not yelling! This is how I talk.”

Already feeling fatigued from the ongoing conversation, Y/n released a small, exhausted sigh, grabbed the remote, and switched from the news channel in search of something else to ease her mind.

However, the fuming woman continued, “You could’ve called me asking if you could save me some because that is a lot for one person.”

“It wasn’t.” Y/n had completely given up.

“Okay, Y/n,” m/n scoffed, walking back into the kitchen, “This is ridiculous, you think about nobody else but yourself.  Your dad and I are already paying for your college, and the least you can do is not act selfish all the time!”

Y/n turned up the volume of the television, finally finding a show that piqued her interest. Unfortunately, she could still hear the immature mutters of her mother’s complaints.

“It’s all about Y/n, Y/n, Y/n…never thinking about anyone else…that’s sad…this is ridiculous!...eat something healthy…never seen anything like it…eighteen years old…”

“So fucking extra,” Y/n huffed, turning down the volume of the television. She throws the pillow from where it landed with the other pile of pillows on the couch and walks up to her room, considering watching a movie there instead. Maybe she’ll Facetime her friend to vent about how unbearable her mom was acting again. 

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n and her mother to engage in disputes, which seemed to arise almost daily, creating an atmosphere of constant tension. By now, Y/n was used to it, maintaining a more composed demeanor. However, there are times when she'll mirror or even exceed her mother's outbursts. Their relationship wasn't entirely negative, but it was far from fulfilling. As for her father, Y/n's connection with him was characterized by neutrality with a more manageable dynamic. He was currently on a trip with her uncle and a few friends at Turks & Caicos and won’t be back for another five days.

Y/n walked into her room, paying no attention to the insistent buzzing of her phone on her eider white desk. She sank into her plush queen-sized bed, surrounded by a sea of pillows and stuffed animals, and disappeared under the soft covers, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

She didn't want to get too hot under the covers in her oversized hoodie, so she shifted to a more upright position, reached under a nearby pillow, retrieved the remote, and switched on the television. The clock on the top right-hand corner of the starting page displayed 9:45 pm. She then clicked on one of the streaming apps and started browsing through the movies, uncertain of her current mood.

Y/n, with a deep appreciation for classic films, gravitated towards the 80s-90s subcategory. The screen was filled with a vibrant array of movie covers competing for her attention. As she scrolled through the seemingly endless list of movies, Y/n's eyes eagerly scanned the colorful and nostalgic offerings.

She scrolled through rows and rows of movies of all kinds, eventually getting bored and heading over to the sidebar for a better selection. There, subcategories of the 80s and 90s movies appeared: Action, Romance, Documentary, thriller…

Fantasy.

It has been a while since Y/n watched any fantasy-related films, especially older ones with effects that she found to be somewhat uncoordinated and eerie. However, curiosity got the best of her, so she clicked on it, and a series of other subcategories dropped down: Animation, Fairy Tale, Steampunk, Vampires...

Cult films.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at the name, “Cult?” she whispered as if she was sounding it out for the first time.

As she clicked on the remote, a rush of warmth and excitement filled her chest. Her eyes eagerly scanned the screen, searching for a familiar movie. Despite having watched The Neverending Story countless times, she scrolled past it along with other movies like The Dark Crystal, Short Circuit, Big Trouble in Little China, and The Goonies. 

Yet, an inexplicable urge drove her to keep searching. After a few more minutes, she suddenly paused, as if an unseen force prevented her thumb from clicking the arrow button, and her gaze settled on a movie she had never come across before.

Jim Henson’s Labyrinth.

Y/n felt an overwhelming and unexplainable sensation coursing through her body as she gazed at the movie cover and its title. It seemed to evoke a powerful wave of nostalgia, captivating her as she fixed her eyes on the glowing screen.

She clicked on the movie, reading its summary.

“Sixteen-year-old Sarah is given thirteen hours to solve a labyrinth and rescue her baby brother Toby when her wish for him to be taken away is granted by the Goblin King Jareth.”

“Poor girl,” Y/n commented as she pressed play, where the credits roll while a white barn owl flies around. Her dog, D/n, shoved the door open with their nose and climbed into bed with her, lying at her legs.

Y/n was captivated by the film's cinematic elements and grainy aesthetic. In particular, she found the character Sarah Williams, to be incredibly gorgeous. Despite her beauty and gentle appearance, Y/n observed that Sarah's behavior didn't align, from her furious stomping into the house to her tendency to catastrophize minor inconveniences. 

Y/n grimaced at the first appearance of the goblins, all jumbled up as they awoke from their slumber. Their raspy and grating voices matched their grotesque appearances.  When they emerged in the bedroom after Sarah's brother went missing, they appeared in various parts of the room--- under the bedsheets, inside closets, behind the door. Sarah looked around frantically, unable to catch a break. Then, suddenly, the same white barn owl from the movie's beginning barges into the room through the balcony doors and lunges at Sarah. Startled, Sarah shields her eyes, and then a human shadow emerges at Sarah's feet.

The once barn owl had been mystically transformed into a human being. Y/n took in his lithe stature, which stood in a way that excluded flamboyance and regal confidence. His long, dark, and dramatic coat, adorned with intricate designs and embellishments, billowed in the wind as he made his captivating presence known on screen.

"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King." 

The Goblin King tilts his head, offering Sarah a proud smirk. Y/n couldn't help but notice his untamed, tousled blond locks that framed his face, enhancing his unconventional and otherworldly allure.

"Sarah…go back to your room. Play with your toys and your costumes. Forget about the baby."

His voice flowed like honey, smooth and melodious. Y/n had heard that voice before, possessed by others, yet the Goblin King made it uniquely captivating with its rich, velvety timbre.

"I've brought you a gift."

"It's a crystal, nothing more."

The Goblin King outstretched his gloved hand, and a translucent ball appeared out of thin air. Y/n's eyebrows raised in awe as he effortlessly juggled it about his hands in a way she'd never seen before. It rolled from one hand to another, from his fingertips to the palm of his hand.

"But if you turn it this way and look into it, it'll show you your dreams."

As the film played, Y/n was entirely captivated by the intricate and fantastical journey unfolding before her. She couldn't help but admire Sarah's courageous interactions with the strange and repulsive creatures, except the adorable worm at the beginning. Fairies, goblins, and monsters filled the screen, leaving Y/n in awe of the film's grungy artistry.

She started taking a liking to Hoggle, although he is a coward, he truly cared for Sarah and her wellbeing, which is the type of friend that anyone could need in such desperate times.  However, above all the characters Y/n found remarkable, the enigmatic Goblin King, Jareth, captured her attention every time he appeared.

The ballroom scene, in particular, mesmerized Y/n, watching as Jareth's intense yet affectionate gaze lingered on Sarah in a way that set Y/n's nerves ablaze, leaving her breathless. Amidst the dancing figures and smooth song, Y/n couldn't help but imagine herself in Sarah's place, enveloped in the lingering sensation of Jareth's possessive regard.  

As she watched, a soft sigh escaped her parted lips, tinged with wistfulness. She pondered what it would be like to be looked upon with such desire in a crowded room, to be longed by someone you secretly desired, as you sought them out in the hopes of meeting their eyes again. She briefly fantasized about being in Sarah's place, feeling the electricity of Jareth's presence, drawing her closer every second.

Y/n's growing desires and anticipation danced amongst the sea of masked faces and whispered secrets. What would it feel like to be carefully handled the way Jareth did Sarah at that moment as she nearly lost herself in his eyes? She wondered this throughout the rest of the film, as the last scene with Jareth played on screen.

“Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I will be your slave.”

A sickening sweet feeling aroused in the very heart of Y/n’s chest, causing her breath to abruptly become shallow as if it were her first time trying to breathe. Eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, she took in the lithe being presented on screen in front of her. Everything in her room surrounding her began to fall and fade away—all she could see was him. 

“Yes,” she subconsciously whispered, “say yes.”

“You have no power over me.” Sarah’s voice rang triumphantly, as the goblin king gave in, taking the form in his owl self once again.

As the film came to a close and the end credits started rolling, Y/n sank further into her pillows and covers. 

“I feel like there should’ve been more to the film,” she said to herself, “something’s missing. I’m not satisfied.”

D/n stirred in their sleep, not paying mind to a work y/n just said. The girl sighed, seizing the remote once more to watch something different.

That was until the door flew open and her moments of peace were shattered once again by the sharpness of m/n’s tone.

“Why didn’t you help me with dinner,”  she questioned, “let alone, make dinner?”

“It’s too late for dinner,” Y/n replied, “plus I’m not hungry.”

“So, you disregard everyone else in the house after you ate two servings of lasagna?”

“I guess so.” Y/n deadpanned, refusing to fuel the fire with the rebuttal about the lasagna being enough for one person. 

“Unbelievable,”  M/n huffed, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room, “your room’s a mess.”

“Okay.” Y/n replied dismissively.

“No, I’m being serious, Y/n. You’re going to have a roommate in college and I sure hope you two get along through all this mess.” Her mother turned on the lights abruptly, waking up d/n and irritating Y/n. 

“Mom, what the heck,” Y/n fumed, getting out of her bed, and rushing to the wall to turn off the lights, the room went dark once again, “It’s eleven o’clock!”

“I expect you to get up tomorrow and clean this room,”  m/n declared, walking to the food frame, “I’m going to bed, and I want you to think about ways you can use your time more productively.”

Before y/n could fire back, M/n was already gone, shutting the lights of her room off. 

The eighteen-year-old girl couldn't catch a break even before bedtime. M/n, while not overly strict, had this unspoken rule that Y/n should just think like her. It led to endless clashes between them, leaving Y/n feeling weighed down.

Talking to friends helped a bit, but the constant disagreements with M/n still felt like a heavy burden on Y/n's chest. Trying to find common ground with someone who seemed to see the world differently was tough, and Y/n knew there was little to do about it.

"It'll all be over in a few months," Y/n told herself while she returned to her bed, submerging into the covers once more, turning off the television, and falling into a deep sleep, searching for peace of mind.

It was well into the morning when Y/n woke up to the sound of a mourning dove, the clock just nearing 10:45 am. She knew her mother was already awake, perhaps reading a book and having breakfast in her room. She planned to say good morning to her later.

D/n, who was once at the foot of her bed, was now propped up, wagging their tail in excitement to see Y/n, who smiled as she melted into the dog’s soft and loving gaze as she ruffled their fur. 

Y/n decided that this morning she would clean up her room and place all the unnecessary things in a giveaway bag. She immediately went downstairs, grabbed a garbage bag and a glass of water, and rushed back upstairs to get to work in her considerably well-kept room.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to; she was doing this so she wouldn’t be greeted by a nagging mother.

D/n remained on the bed, peering over at Y/n curiously as she continued. Y/n opened the cabinet of her desk and began rummaging through items she’d touched in recent months, setting aside everything except for one particular item. Tucked away at the back of the stacks of read novels and old workbooks rested a pristine bin.

She tossed the workbooks aside, intending to dispose of them, and placed the novels on top of her desk next to her computer, calendar, and another smaller stack of books. She then reached for the bin she hadn’t seen in over a few years. It was a simple clear plastic bin with a turquoise lid.

As she eagerly lifted the lid, a rush of nostalgia engulfed her senses. Beneath the lid lay a jumble of crumpled lined papers adorned with intricate drawings, stacked on top of older notebooks, comics, and mangas, which in turn rested upon other well-loved books from her middle school days. It was a veritable treasure trove of memories that Y/n found impossible to resist. Without hesitation, she reached for the first item on top - a character sheet.

Growing up, Y/n's love for storytelling and creativity knew no bounds. She had especially displayed a remarkable talent for crafting complex characters and their elaborate backstories. While progressing in her budding artistic skills, her true passion lay in building and immersing herself in fantastical worlds. She was engrossed in the worlds of anime, mangas, and fiction which surpassed the typical interests of children her age. Her mind was a treasure trove of knowledge, brimming with insights into various fandoms, literary works, and both contemporary and classic fantasy films.

“No way!” she chuckled, flipping through a notebook full of her drawings of characters she’d seen in anime along with anime characters she'd made up. Each page was adorned with meticulous side notes containing non-canon theories, potential romantic head-canons, and intricately woven backstories that she had crafted from her boundless imagination.

As Y/n spent the next twenty minutes soaring down memory lane, she felt a sinking in her chest, leaving her feeling empty and yearning for that same sense of creativity to ignite within her once again.

She continued sifting through the pile of memories until she reached the bottom, where she found a black velvet notebook with plain white pages. Upon picking it up, she discovered that it was empty. Feeling a bit disappointed, she placed all the objects back into the bin, carefully arranging them in the small compartment.

As she did so, she recalled the various stories she had created in the past - witches, vampires, fairies, and superheroes. She especially missed the sense of accomplishment she felt upon completing each small project, as well as the innocent crushes developed on fictional characters from specific scenes and fan fiction.

Y/n missed how she didn't have a care in the world between what was real and what was fake.

She got up and ascended the stairs once more with the garbage bin at hand and placed it at the bottom of the back door. She figured that once her father came back he’d drive it over to the Salvation Army warehouse. She walked into the kitchen welcomed by the blaring sound of the blender her mom was using to make a smoothie. 

M/n stopped the blender and poured some of the smoothie into a glass cup, handing it to Y/n with a “Good morning sweetie.”

“Good morning, Mom,” Y/n replied, taking a small sip of the berry enriched smoothie, “how did you sleep?”

“Oh, I slept fine,” M/n replied, unplugging the blender and setting it aside on the kitchen’s white valley granite countertop, “the bed feels empty without your dad in it.”

“I’m sure.” Y/n agreed leaning against the counter and taking another sip.

“Did you sleep alright?” M/n asked.

Y/n nodded.

“Good,” M/n noted, about to sip her smoothie once more; she then stopped, “Where’s D/n?”

“Upstairs,” Y/n replied.

“You should always take your dog out for a walk in the morning.” M/n inputted, setting her smoothie down.

“I know, but she was asleep and I was cleaning my room and disposing of things I didn’t need.”

“So, you were up this entire time and didn’t bother to walk your dog or make us any breakfast?”

Y/n studied her mother’s furrowed expression, not sure of what to say.

“Your room would have waited, Y/n. You need to start—”

“Mom, I don’t wanna hear it, it’s too early.” Y/n interrupted, feeling her boiling blood course through her veins.

M/n disregarded her daughter's advances, “It’s nearly noon, Y/n and we’ve barely eaten. I need you to start thinking and be able to multitask and take the initiative. What you’re doing right now won’t get you far in your career.”

Y/n had heard M/n repeat this thousands of times, using as many things to say back in previous times, Y/n was now worn out. 

“Whatever.” She uttered making her way to the kitchen’s exit.

“Excuse me?” M/n’s tone was sharper now.

“Nothing, Mom.”

“Y/n, I tell you these things so you can become more mature. The behavior has gotten too far. You’re eighteen years old and it’s ridiculous the way you act at such a grown age. I constantly have to repeat myself—”

“Then don’t,” Y/n argued.

“Then give me a reason not to,” M/n fired back, “I’ve never seen your age treat her mother the way you do and act selfishly and dismissively.”

Y/n sighed, “This is so unnecessary. All of this over breakfast.”

“You belittle everything, Y/n. Grow up.”

“You can relax now.”

“Grow up.”

“Telling me to grow up won’t do anything.” 

“What I’m saying, sweetie is that you–”

“Okay, mom. I get it. I’ll do better.” Y/n surrendered, not wanting to ignite the flame any further. She was already getting a sickening feeling in her stomach.

She exited the kitchen and rushed up the stairs and back into her room, shutting the door behind her. She set her smoothie down on her desk and paced her room feeling a lump forming in her throat. 

“It’s like she always has to start a problem no matter what I do!” She hiccuped feeling her eyes sting with tears. 

“Can’t she just let me live for once, God, for fucking once!” 

Tears streamed down her face, hanging at her chin, she looked outside at the clear blue sky with the sun well overhead.

“Y/n! Walk your dog!” Her mother yelled from downstairs.

“Okay!” Y/n’s seething voice cracked, “shut up.” she muttered sniffling.

“Now!”

“Give me a minute!”

More tears started spilling down Y/n’s face. She sobbed and hiccuped quietly, continuing to look out her window, which was only a few feet away. Her heart was aching, and her throat was twisted in a knot of sorrow; her chest heaved with exhaustion. She started to cry harder after she attempted to swallow her tears; she knew M/n was going to notice her tear-stricken face. 

Y/n grabbed her phone and trudged over to her bed and plopped down on her back, sighing in defeat. She figured that before she walked D/n she would at least distract herself from the pang of sorrow that knocked at her chest. 

She opened her web browser and typed in “labyrinth 1986,” and thousands of search results appeared, including links to websites, articles, videos, and even books and comics.

The girl's eyes widened in disbelief as she clicked on the first image that showed the same book with a striking red cover that Sarah had been carrying at the park.

“No way, there’s an official novelization of the labyrinth,” she gasped as she further searched. To her surprise, there were comics and mangas as well.

The pain Y/n was feeling suddenly subsided, replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement as she eagerly read through the summaries and reviews for each comic, book, and archived piece available.

“Finally back in print and for the first time in hardcover is the novelization of LABYRINTH written by A.C.H. Smith and personally overseen by Jim Henson. This is the first in a series of novels from the Jim Henson Archives.”

“Labyrinth: Coronation is a 12-issue comic book series written by Simon Spurrier and illustrated by Daniel Bayliss, published by Archaia from 2018 to 2019. It is a prequel to the 1986 film Labyrinth that takes place in 18th-century Venice and tells the story of how Jareth became the Goblin King.”

“You’re lying” Y/n muttered, enticed by the various series of books presented before her, she clicked on the official novelization first, seeing that it was available in her local bookstore for $30, seeing that there was only one in stock, she made a reservation to pick it up today on her walk with D/n.

“I have to have it.” She said putting in her online payment, which had been successfully authorized. 

Thank you for your purchase! The book you have requested will be available within 20 minutes. You have two days to pick it up.

“Oh, shit I gotta go.” Y/n gasped frantically getting out of her bed. She rushed to her closet and grabbed a pair of gray sweats and a simple scoop navy blue cami top, throwing on white socks. She grabbed her mini purse with her wallet inside and made her way down the stairs, D/n  followed.

“I’m going to the library, D/n is coming with me,” Y/n said as she passed the living room where M/n sat on her computer. 

“Okay. Take the car of course.” M/n replied in deep concentration on whatever was on screen. 

Y/n unlatched the garage door, the sound of its metal creaking filling the air as she stepped inside. She slipped on her comfortable slides and made her way to her car, with D/n following closely behind her. The afternoon sun poured into the garage as she settled into the driver's seat, and D/n took their place in the passenger seat. Y/n rolled down the windows, feeling the warm summer breeze on her skin as she carefully reversed out of the garage and onto the driveway.

She made her way down Nordstin Street, making a right onto Seems Street, she marveled at the vibrant activity around her, knowing that the lakefront was only a couple of streets away. It was nearly one o’clock, and the streets were alive with the energy of people going about their day.

It didn't take long before Y/n reached the library. Finding a snug parking spot near the entrance.

She turned to D/n, letting all the windows up, leaving the passenger’s side slightly cracked.

“I’ll be right back, the window will be cracked for you,” she said leaning in and giving her sweet dog a peck on the nose.

She quickly exited the car and walked up to the library and opened the dark wooden doors, where she paid no attention to her surroundings as she marched straight to the front desk, which was occupied by a lady cashier. They greeted each other warmly.

“My name is Y/n L/n and I purchased Jim Henson’s Labyrinth today.” She spoke clearly. 

As the lady behind the counter heard Y/n's request, she paused, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she searched for the book. With a few swift clicks to confirm the order, she leaned down and carefully retrieved the treasure Y/n had sought. The rich, crimson book with the elegant golden title "Labyrinth" embossed on its cover was presented before the younger girl, its allure captivating her gaze.

“You’re all set Miss L/n, have a good day!” She chirped sweetly. 

“You too!” Y/n returned as she made her way to the front door, her heart hammering in her chest in anticipation as she made her way back to the car. Luckily, there was a park just across the street from the library.

Y/n opened the car door and let D/n out, the leash making a jingling sound as the dog shook its fur. Y/n shut the door and grabbed hold of the leash, holding the book in another hand and the two made their way to Gillson Park.

Gillson Park was one of the more popular parks in Evansville because it was known for its stunning natural landscapes that are cherished by both locals and visitors alike. Characterized by lush greenery, serene ponds reflecting the sky, and winding walking trails on steep hills. Tall trees provide a cool respite from the summer sun, while colorful blossoms add vibrancy to the surroundings. Many may describe it as a meadow away from the bustling suburban life. 

Y/n found a nice bench by an open field, letting D/n’s leash to wander about the grass and flowers. She propped herself so that she was lying across the bench comfortably, her elbow resting on the arms of the bench. She opened the first page and began to embark on her reading journey.

“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child you have stolen.” She read aloud, attempting to capture the determination in Sarah’s voice, she chuckled to herself.   

“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great…”

An Owl glided over the sky unnoticed as it emerged amongst Gillson Park. A creature of pure elegance in the backdrop of the midday scenery. His plumage, a pristine canvas of a bold white, seems to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence, catching the last rays of the afternoon sun like a cascade of fire woven into feathers. He settled on a branch of the tree that was hovered over Y/n, as she continued to focus on the compelling words in the book. 

His large, dark eyes were fixed on her as she sat with rapt concentration. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes moved swiftly across the crisp, white pages. Her hands were holding the book motionless on the crimson red cover as if she was hesitant to disturb the stillness of the moment.

The Owl’s trance was interrupted by the barking of D/n, his heart shaped head turned to the direction of the galloping dog making its way to Y/n, who looked up from her book, set it on her lap, and petted D/n softly.

“This is a good book so far, D/n,” she said with a smile, “I appreciate its detail.” she leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur, smothering her pet with the love and affection they deserved. 

Unbeknownst to them, the owl had been silently observing Y/n's every move from the highest branch of the nearby tree. Y/n shut the book and got up from the bench to grab D/n's leash. As Y/n closed the book and rose from the bench, the owl maintained its vigilant watch, its piercing eyes following their every step. Y/n secured D/n's leash, and the two began their stroll back towards the library's parking lot, the owl gracefully gliding from tree to tree, never losing sight of them.

Once both were in the car, the owl perched on the concrete edge of the library's roof, its keen gaze fixed on the departing car as it merged into the occupied street. 

Only when the car disappeared from view did the owl spread its feathered wings and take to the sky again, disappearing into the horizon.

[leiflitter]

More

Hello from Blighty thoughts about Saltburn

As a continuation from my reply to @armands-eyefuckery because BRAIN

Aight gang let's have a lil sit down because there is a big ol angle to the film that I think is getting missed by a lot of folks who aren't from the UK because it's a very uh...

British Thing.

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT OLIVER IS FROM THE NORTH.

Cut because Length.

Now look. I am not going to go into Thatcher and Her Crimes, but it's worth a google. I do bring it up in You're Almost Home because...

Lots of people are saying Oliver is upper middle class, and honestly? That doesn't track for me. At all. Yes, his parents have a detached house in a nice suburb and they went on holidays, but there's a lot of Very British Context to them that I really want to point out. Also remember, it's 2006/2007. That is also important.

First of all- Oliver's parents probably never went to University.

Really listen to them. How gullible they are- they believe that Oliver can study at Oxford, and be on the rowing team, and be in plays, and be top scholar. He's always been so clever. If Oliver was anything near upper middle class, his parents would be educated professionals. Oliver probably has dockworkers not even three generations back- his dad has management vibes, but he probably worked his way up in the 70s when all you needed was a good attitude and not to be an obvious murderer.

Secondly- let's talk about the house.

As someone from Down South who has also lived Up North, Oliver's Parent's house would not have been as expensive as people think. Let's assume they bought it in the 1980s- we ALL know that house prices are through the roof NOW, but even today there is a huge gap between house prices in the south and the north. 200k down South might get you a one bedroom flat, if you're lucky. 200k in Prescot can get you a 4-bed, semi-detached HOUSE. Check rightmove.

It is also important that the house is relatively new-looking, because over here Upper Middle Class people aren't really into new build houses- if Oliver was upper middle class, he'd be living in something Victorian or Edwardian. Probably somewhere with a good link to London, especially in 2007. It also means that Oliver's parents may not have even bought it outright- my parents got on the housing ladder via a shared ownership scheme. Oliver's parents aren't rich.

Now, the holidays. Mykonos. Another fun Brit thing is the package holiday. Here's a pretty interesting article about them;

Two adults and three kids could absolutely have gone to Mykonos every year in the late 80s/90s for far less than you'd expect, especially if they paid in installments each month.

I also mentioned about Ollie being from Merseyside specifically, but again. CONTEXT. Although Oliver isn't Liverpudlian (it's important, he's from NEAR Liverpool but not Liverpool itself) the North of England as a whole has routinely been fucked over by those in power. The government AND the royals and the very wealthy. It's still ongoing today- again, another fun source.

Remember when Mr Eats-Crunchies-Sideways called him a Bootlicker? That's fucking IMPORTANT. To many folks he IS a bootlicker. He is highly unlikely to have been raised to grovel at the feet of those with hereditary titles and wealth, and honestly he doesn't. I've written before about how Oliver Denies Felix Things and how that dynamic is important. Oliver likely hasn't been raised with any real deference to The Rich (except Princess Diana).

It also effects Oliver's response to Felix, because goddamn it THATCHER again- it is HIGHLY likely that Oliver has lived through a lot of homophobia. Internalised a lot of it. Felix's parents do not give a shit, but that was not the norm. Again, tried to hit on it in YAH, because times have changed since the 90s/2000s and people change with them, but no fuckin wonder Oliver never responded to Felix chirpsing him like a maniac. He's fucking REPRESSED when he's in Oxford, pals. It also makes sense with that weird Tumblr Dom shit he pulls; he's still fuckin weird about it, he's just being In Charge so he doesn't need to be vulnerable in any way. He is only vulnerable for Felix, and even then he can't SHOW felix that, that would be gay.

Leiflitter over'n'out

[isfjmel-phleg]

So the context for the pages below is that Dick has called in Tim to help him with a case that requires tech expertise, and of course Tim agrees to help. But it's evident from his expression that he's not especially enthusiastic. He looks tired. A bit downcast.

At this time, there was a plotline in Tim's solo series in which the Drakes lost a lot of money and had to make some pretty significant lifestyle changes. Tim had to leave his boarding school and sell his beloved Redbird, and his family moved out of their fancy house in the suburbs to a more modest apartment in the city. The Drakes aren't destitute; they've just gone from upper-class to upper-middle-class. But it's a big change by their standards, and Tim, although he puts on an optimistic and compliant front for his dad's sake, initially panics about how the downgrade might impact his very expensive job as Robin.

Dick seems to sense that something is bothering Tim, so he puts a hand gently on his shoulder and asks--not how Tim is doing, he'd never get a straightforward answer for that, but rather "how's life in the big city treating you?"

Note that Tim does not answer that question. He makes a vague statement about how Gotham is and then changes the subject to how his dad is doing. And it's true; Jack Drake is not handling the new circumstances well. But that has nothing to do with how Tim's doing, at least not directly.

What Tim seems to be trying to say here without directly saying it is that he's worried about his dad and doesn't know how to help him. Being emotional support for depressed father-figures is normally Tim's thing, it's why he's Robin in the first place, but it's different with his dad, who isn't easy to connect with even at the best of times.

Dick offers him some fairly generic reassurance that might also be meant for Tim himself. But what really gets me here is Tim's little "Yeah..."

He wants to talk more. He wants to tell Dick all about how he's doing, what he's struggling with. But that's wading in too deep, getting too vulnerable for someone who's there to offer support, not be supported himself. So he quickly changes the subject back to the case, Dick has to move on to the next task at hand, and Tim is left alone with his feelings.

(Nightwing 1996 #68)

Just a short interaction, but it says so much about Tim's reluctance to open up about anything too personal, even with someone whom he's particularly close to, who genuinely cares about his well-being and wants to know how he's doing.

[leoblooms]

Paul family lore dump

woooo ok here's the lore dump about his parents and sister under the cut! It's a little stream of conscious but yea maybe I'll edit it a smidge

Amelia and Isaac

Amelia Allen (maiden name- Kaminsky) met Isaac Allen at the same community college. He was getting his start studying for a law degree while she was getting a liberal arts degree. While somewhat differing in views, they hit it off fairly well. He found Amelia well-spoken, not putting up with getting talked down to. Both came from Jewish households, but Isaac had a more traditional upbringing that showed in his approach to religion in Paul’s childhood up until their divorce.

They eloped in 1957 after Amelia graduated, and had their first child at ages 21 (Amelia) and 23 (Isaac), Jennifer. Both were incredibly excited to have their baby girl and Amelia took to taking care of her as Isaac continued his law degree studies. Over the next six years, Isaac saw success as a corporate lawyer and their quality of living only grew. Needless to say, they were comfortable, living in a New Jersey suburb as an upper middle class family. So much so, they decided to have their second child in 1963, Paul. 

However, a year or so later Isaac grew colder and more distant. He spent less and less time with his family much to Amelia’s annoyance. 

Amelia became more outspoken of her own beliefs, becoming interested in keeping up with politics along with developing an affinity for the folk scene. She was what some would label a hippie. Isaac had little interest in politics, humoring her but not feeling one way or the other. He felt things were pretty good in terms of the opportunities he’s had even with some obstacles and hardships. He’s a believer in the bootstrap ideology and claims a lot of people should just suck it up and get a job.

This would cause heads to butt more and more especially as he withdrew from his role in the family. On nights, he’d come home and isolate in his study, listening to records and keeping to himself. Amelia on the other hand, would do her best to be there for both of their children but it wore her down. The fighting increased but they tried to not do it in front of the kids, but that wasn’t always successful. Isaac would begin to take his frustration out on Paul, as he viewed him to be too soft (despite being a child) because of him mostly hanging around Amelia and Jen. This would result in verbal abuse that made it so Paul avoided him as much as possible. Amelia of course found this to be horrible, but did little to intervene in the moment. 

This would all accumulate until around 1970 when the two filed for divorce, Amelia getting full custody of both children. Isaac had no interest in fighting her on that, ultimately being  absent from their lives post-divorce. 

Amelia did everything she could to make things as painless as possible for her kids, and through alimony they were able to still live a fairly comfortable life and send both of them to college. She didn’t try to keep much contact (outside of any legal obligations) with Isaac after everything until he reached out in 1987 to tell her he had been diagnosed with cancer and wanted to make ammends. She would let him stay with her in 1989 up until his death, cared for by hospice nurses in the guest bedroom.

Jennifer

Jennifer Allen is Paul’s older sister (6 year gap), she took on a lot of responsibilities after their dad left including babysitting Paul a lot. She’s always been protective of Paul and of course never wanted him to believe he had to fight his battles alone. After an assault in college, Paul begged her not to tell their mom and she obliged. A part of her still wishes she had, wondering if she only made things worse by not pushing him to seek help. As he got older, a rift began to form between them especially after their dad was back in the picture. Jen does her best to keep them close, and Paul similarly but there will always be something lost.

The one thing her and Paul truly disagreed on was their dad. Jen had 6 years on Paul and thus, had a different experience of their dad before things went downhill. Blinded by nostalgia, she can’t bring herself to fully hate him like Paul can so when he tries to make ammends, she scolds Paul for refusing. This has always been a thing between them, even as kids when she blamed him for the divorce. In her early teen mind, he came along and caused strain and she wasn’t afraid to tell him that. She grew past this as she got older and feels guilty for how she treated him, but doesn't broach the subject.

Jen studied fine arts and now runs her own small studio. She also volunteers a lot to help foster kids find homes, having a soft spot for them despite having no interest in having her own.

She also cannot stand Patrick and has voiced her views of him to Paul in private. But really, it's not very subtle anyway. She's happy Paul's not as in the closet but he could do better in her opinion.

Both her and Amelia know Paul's gay. Amelia walking in on Paul kissing a boy he had over in high school and Jen finding out shortly after. His mom was embarassingly supportive and both tried to coax him into living as his authentic self (something Paul doesn't truly feel he can ever have if he wants to keep his current lifestyle). Jen being bisexual can relate to Paul's conflicted feelings about this, but is nowhere near as in and out of the closet.

Other things about Paul

Paul got carsick a lot as a kid. Like he threw up more than once to the point where his mom would have to pack plastic bags and medicine.

He has curlier hair, but would straighten it in high school. In college, he let it go and by his late twenties he gelled it down.

Since he was a teen, Paul was a huge hair metal/ heavy metal fan. His favorite bands being Motley Crue and Judas Priest.

Paul would sometimes read comics with Jen, who was much more into them than Paul was.

Despite not having much of a connection to religion, he does get together with his mom and sister for Yom Kippur, Passover and the weekend nights of Hanukkah. Mostly because their mom wants to celebrate and be with them like when they were kids.

He'll never say, but he always worries about becoming his father. There are moments he can see such a thing happening, but he can't stand thinking about it too long.

[justmeinabigolworld]

You guys remember Schoolhouse Rock? That stuff came out before my time, but I watched it in school, especially in third grade, since my third grade teacher had it on DVD and loved to show it to us whenever there was free time. One song that really stuck in my mind was "$7.50 Once A Week", which was about a boy who gets 7.50 a week for his allowance and has to balance his budget. This always made me a little jealous, because back then, I only got five dollars a week (technically for completing the chores listed on my weekly "chore chart", but eventually I stopped actually doing most of the chores, and so the 5 was basically just allowance).

Not too long after that, in fourth grade or so, my dad put his foot down and decided to stop giving me and my cousin 5 a week, since we weren't doing our chores. Now, it wasn't like I bought stuff regularly anyway, since I never really went anywhere without a parent -- there was nowhere to walk to in the boring suburbs (not that my parents would let me walk anywhere without supervision), and it was frequently too hot to go outside anyway, so if I wanted to go anywhere, I had to be driven there by a parent. In those days, I couldn't split up with my parents at the mall or anything, so really, I didn't have much of a chance to buy stuff for myself. I had to ask my parents for everything. But even though I wasn't exactly a shopper, I was still upset at not getting an allowance anymore. It did help that my great-uncle started sending me checks every Christmas (with another one attached for my birthday, which came four days after). Come to think of it, though, I don't really remember actually using that money until high school. I think I just forgot about it, and my parents didn't remind me...

I know I shouldn't blame them for anything, but I've been doing some thinking about that "7.50 Once A Week" song, as well as a bit of internet research. The song came out in 1992. Using an inflation calculator, I found out that that lucky boy was getting almost $17 in today's money every week! That's huge for an allowance, right? Now, as for me, it was around 2014 when I stopped getting my allowance. Five dollars then is about $6.64 today.

Also, the boy's allowance can be supplemented with money he gets from doing chores and helping around the house, as he notes in the video. He can get more than his weekly allowance! Damn, that boy is rolling in dough.

When I heard (around seventh grade or so) that other kids my age were getting paid for their good grades, I was confused, and I brought it up to my dad. He said, "We don't pay for good grades, we expect them."

That does track. I did well in elementary school, but since we didn't use traditional letter grades there, I'm not sure exactly how well I did. In middle school, however, I got all As every single quarter all three years, and I was taking advanced classes. When my grade in one class briefly dipped to a B in sixth grade, my mom said she wasn't mad or disappointed or anything, but she wouldn't stop bringing it up, and she kept questioning me about the details of the assignment that lowered my grade down to a B. I think it was actually one of those things where the students would grade each others' things, which was weird, as I remember it being an essay, something that's much too subjective for eleven-year-olds to grade for each other...

It's not that my parents didn't have money. I mean, the only time I was ever outright told we couldn't afford something was one year when we didn't do our customary watching-The-Nutcracker-Ballet thing. But we lived (and still live) in a nice house out in the suburbs, with two cars and a dog, and that was on my dad's income alone! My dad even called us "upper class" once when he was talking about how I didn't know how good I had it, although I doubt that. Even so, money has always made me really nervous, and in the past, my dad has used that fear to guilt me out of asking for things. For example, one summer, I was going to do a three-week teen Shakespeare program, but then my dad told me how much money it'd be at the dinner table, like, "Are you sure you want this?" and of course I said I didn't want to do it anymore. No mention of how good we had it then!

(I wound up doing the teen Shakespeare thing the next two summers, and it was amazing.)

Another time, more recently, my phone broke and I was trying to decide which one to replace it with. I was shown two phones in particular. I liked one better than the other, and I kept remarking about how nice it was, to which my dad kept responding, "It'd better be!", and when I said that it was the phone I wanted, my dad pointed to the price (he wanted me to get the somewhat cheaper one). I panicked a little and changed my mind, saying that I wanted the other one. Then, however, my parents changed their minds, saying that I should get the first one after all, and when I kept saying the second one was fine, they acted like I was just being weird. I wound up getting the first one, but the whole scenario left a bitter taste in my mouth.

What am I even getting at here? I just started ranting...

I guess my takeaways are that:

My parents (or at least my dad) weren't too keen on giving me and my cousin money when we were kids

Some things I thought were normal were actually the result of having strict parents (god, it's still feels weird to call them strict; surely truly strict parents would be much worse, right?)

That kid from "7.50 Once A Week" is loaded by today's standards

Ugh, I feel bad writing all this about my parents without the full context of all the nice things they've done for me and how great they usually are. I feel like I'm slandering them for things that don't really matter and shouldn't have ever made me upset...

Where am I even going with this? I'm gonna stop now

[fadeintocase]

Was reading a thing about how Homestuck was a coming of age story for people growing up entirely on the internet and that it was one of the earliest stories to do so.

One detail I think that people miss about it is how in that era, early Homestuck seemingly unwittingly was dripping with its roots in the sheltered suburbanite domination of online culture pre-2010. Not just with the memes, but with the demographic assumptions. That the initial characters are all spoiled brats from beginning to end.

It begins in a way that is meant to be relatable and comfortable to upper middle class kids in the mid 00s, back when that was most of the only demographic that had the privilege of having their own computer in their own room.

It creates a setting in which these kids in well-off families are not just isolating themselves, where there is supposedly this otherworldly emptiness to the world around them that keeps them isolated, and where the privilege of their situations are like underplayed, seen as an annoyance or an obstacle. Dave and Jade have especially fantastical living situations, but John lives in a big generic suburb and Rose lives in a contemporary architecture mansion. It doesn't allow for uncomfy questions like "do they have friends at school?" because a deeper pain point for kids who lived on the internet back then is that no, they didn't, and never tried to. "is there anything material this character is lacking" in the beginning, no, they are surrounded by basically everything they enjoy. And "how did their family afford all that?" tends to be answered with "in a way that annoys me, ugh", which in my recollection was also the default attitude of spoiled brat suburbanite kids i knew in school.

And it creates that world as a default appropriate for that spoiled suburbanite demographic in that era, where like, obviously if you're on the internet all the time, your family is probably rich. Obviously if you're on the internet all the time, it's because the outside world is bleak and hostile to you in comparison. You don't mind the crazy wealth or the means to isolate away with everything around you that you want or need. Don't mind that. Think about how sad you are that you're on your computer all the time. Make that the bleak atmosphere you're trying to escape.

And make it so that when you're in a world that is supposed to be challenging you, you still have the means to make enough in-world money and surround yourself with everything you want. And every character gets this ability right away, and that sense of suburbanite material spoiled comfort is never challenged. Watching people die and facing heroic decisions are more fathomable in this story of coming of age challenges than having less than your privileged childhood provided you.

In a world a decade later where everyone and their grandmother in all walks of life from all continents has roughly equal ease of access to the internet, that fandom grew desperate to reinterpret the characters because they felt too bland and generic.

And that's because they were. They were based on a very nilla wafer type of existence that was all there visibly WAS on the internet at the time they were created. That's why the game is called Sburb. They were created to be relatable to the most suburbanitis-laden kids of its time. Alternia explores more kinds of status and living situations and how those ppl interact with online communities. However, the story doesn't seem to be sending up tropes about suburbanite existence, it seems to avoid pointing out it's obvious hallmarks to be more comfortable to a sheltered, suburbanite audience. As self aware as it got, I don't think it displays much of a will to question one's own ideas of default.

[majorbaby]

i’m not asking to anyone to entertain headcanons or write fic exploring the unconscious biases or flaws their faves might have due to their class/race/gender etc. but i do think that if we can politely refrain from saying “that’s a bit of a stretch don’t you think?” to someone for saying “hey, BJ is from San Francisco wink wink” (i am also winking) then I think we can do the same when someone points out “BJ is a mid to upper middle class WASP from a suburb of San Francisco” especially when there is canonical evidence that supports this.

and i’m not stopping at BJ either. i understand why no one, myself included, imagines hawkeye would go home and end up a hardcore right-winger the way that larry gelbart joked (joked!) about. it’s not the hawkeye we know or want to know. 

but i think the writing on MASH was more class-conscious than today’s audience realizes. approaching character meta from an angle that considers their class and race (even when that race is ‘white’) is completely fair to do. you don’t have to agree with every idea that’s put forward, but to ignore class entirely means you’ll miss out on just how progressive a show it was. and also the ways it fucked up, but i get the sense that former (the hits) should appeal to most people at least. 

[warblingandwriting]

Another goodreads review, below the cut. About a book I actually liked this time!

Link: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5372144437

Not Highsmith's best, I prefer Strangers on a Train and The Talented Mr. Ripley, but an enjoyable thriller nonetheless. It has the same male lead with deep-seated, misogynistic anxieties and insecurities to be found in those novels, as well as the likes of Ira Levin's A Kiss Before Dying, and Dorothy Hughes' In a Lonely Place, but the killer goes for men and not women, a somewhat refreshing change of pace. In spite of that though, I still prefer these other novels, and would recommend checking them out before this one. This book's setting, though, is not in the seedy city, but instead deep in suburbia. Vic and Melinda, and their daughter, Trixie, are a typical suburban family of three save for Melinda's affairs and Vic's eventual propensity to murder her partners. And you can feel those 'typical suburbs' closing in around these characters. Melinda, for instance, takes all her dates to the same hotel bar, and to the same parties hosted by their ever-constant friends. At every turn gossip follows both characters when they carry out their immoral acts; their friends closing in on them more than the private investigators eventually hired to watch Vic. With the same people always attending the same parties, and saying the same things, it's not hard to see why Melinda, flagrant as she is, is desperate for some excitement. Impressions are perhaps the most important thing in this small community, and Vic is hyper-aware that he makes good ones. Even Don Wilson, who is at first suspicious of Vic, seem to doubt himself when they visit the family and Melinda forgets to pick Trixie up from the movie theatre. Simply put, the more conservative people in this suburb (which is most of them) like Vic better, so they protect him. Much like In a Lonely Place, the men around the main character are unwilling to believe he can do wrong, especially in the face of his wife's indiscretion. But we know he does do wrong, and he pulls us in anyway. Vic, with his independent printing press, and increasingly intense thoughts about the snails he keeps (and loves) is suffocated in his own way by the sameness of the life around him. Although we see things entirely from his perspective, and he insists that he is content (or would be without Melinda's affairs) it becomes increasingly clear he too has trouble going to dinner parties every week and playing at being the perfect family. His outlet is different, however. He raises snails, grows plants, and publishes poetry, things that come across as far more sympathetic. And yet, he is still pushed to murder, first in fantasy, then for real. In a way this book feels almost like The Stepford Wives in the way that it's about the ennui of upper-middle class suburbia, and male impotence. As the walls of mundanity close in around the characters they become desperate for some relief as the tension mounts. And when it explodes, someone has to die.                                              

[whiskeyswifty]

Swifties hate it when you point out that well… Taylor’s a millionaire lmao

Lol yeah it’s a weird hang up they have and I don’t fully get how they are able to ignore that it exists. Being a multi-millionaire is a neutral thing on paper, like it does not inherently mean that you’re a villainous person. When I bring up her immense wealth I’m usually referencing it to highlight how her life is very unique. Fiscally she has different concerns than her fans. Her everyday life insofar as what she thinks about when she wakes up and how she accomplishes normal tasks is vastly different from all of her fans. people who have extreme wealth like she does live in a totally different world, sometimes they don’t even realize how far removed from the normal world they are. Again it doesn’t make them bad people by pure virtue of having immense wealth. People in her case especially who earned that wealth through their own ingenuity are not evil for having it. It’s just a fact and it affects so much of her life and how she is able to lead a life that would be almost unrecognizable to a lot of her fans in ways they have probably never even conceived of. Full disclosure, I grew up around people who have extreme wealth like hers and for some of them it was even more gratuitous because it was old money. Me and my immediate family are very middle class and I grew up comfortably middle class in the suburbs. But these wealthy people and the way they move through the world, it’s not the same world for them as it is for the rest of us. For someone who’s art you believe to be very personal, it’s very strange that you would discount this very major factor in her life when engaging with it. I think it helps ground her that she grew up middle class, towards the upper end of middle class but she was not extremely wealthy to the point that it separated her from the world. But for the past 10 or so years her life has been the bubble of the supremely wealthy and that affects your worldview, especially if you are not self-correcting.

I think you can see how aware she is of her privilege now and how she talks about her problems, like in the antihero bts video where she is very aware that her problems are unique to her very privileged position. She’s not saying that she doesn’t have problems but she is saying that the problems of very wealthy, famous people are extremely manageable, comparably. As much as money and fame can bring about new problems, that money also allows them to manage those problems easily if they’re willing to accept help for those problems. And she is asking for her fans to not worry because she’s aware of far more pressing and dire problems in the world and doesn’t feel like her own problems are worth anyone else losing sleep over. There are going to be some things that she refuses to concede on because she believes they help maintain her safety. Things like her use of the private jet and buying up all of the neighboring apartments in her building in New York are great examples of money being able to help assuage her fears and anxieties. And you can also argue that they are less about greed and more about her trying to minimize threats to her personal safety from psycho people. So I would even say that I don’t think she is egregious with her wealth. She simply has it and is enjoying the fruits of it, as is her right having earned it herself. She is not abusing the power her wealth gives her in harmful or neglectful ways on the whole, so her wealth is not a particularly evil attribute, and yet her fans have a very weird relationship with it. I guess it gets in the way of feeling like she is just like them, which a lot of her fans use as the linchpin for their connection to her music and her as a celebrity. It’s fine if they feel that way, live your life however you need to to cope. but I am very much going to continue to acknowledge her wealth as it is not a secret nor is it shameful lol. it’s just a fact of her life.

[silvermoon424]

I was following this youtuber I won't name. He was making educational videos informing audiences about stuff going on in their world. But like? He doesn't understand he was born into the family lottery? Dad was a surgeon and bought him everything, fancy family trips, gave him money for anything and basically gave a story similar to trumps quarter of million shit. He claims he's not privileged that his family worked hard...but his dad literally had idk how many felons and what not and omg I won't name anymore cause its triggering. I feel like he doesn't understand he's living the epitome of white privilege. His dad having that job helped tremendously and the fact he got a slap on the wrist for so much shit that POC wouldn't doesn't sit right with me. I'm sorry for ranting. It's just annoying I enjoyed someone and then he dropped all this stuff.

I feel like that's such a famous person thing in general, lmao. Especially YouTubers for some reason??? Like the Paul brothers always make such a big deal about how they "came from nothing in Ohio" but it turns out they're from Westlake, a suburb where the median income is over 90 grand.

I'm totally gonna admit it, I was born in a family lottery, too. We're not millionaires but we're upper middle class and I had a great childhood. I've had many opportunities other people haven't and I'm very grateful for that. It's so cringey how other people in my position don't acknowledge the leg up they've been given. My parents do work hard and I think I work hard too, but there are millions of other people in this country alone who work a lot harder and have a lot less.

[siennaspeaks]

Scenes from my Italian restaurant (s)

“A bottle of white, 

a bottle of red?

Perhaps a bottle of rosé instead?

We’ll get a table near the street,

In our old familiar place

You and I, face to face”

Here’s the introduction of a song that talks about catching up. Here’s a song that caught up with me tonight. Here’s a song that catches up with me every now and then.

The theme is exactly that: catching up. For quite a while now, the theme of my life has been catching up with myself and people. Going back to my roots, coming back and checking in has been a recurring theme for me these days, just like my diving-ins and coming-outs during the free summer days that I long for.

Oh, my Italian restaurants.

The first one that I remember distinctly was Gezi Istanbul in Gokturk, not only an Italian restaurant but also a pâtisserie, with my memories dating back to 2008 or so. Back when where I was living was an actual suburb(1) with horses and forests right around the corner, the center of the suburb was very very limited, and there was a tiny Italian restaurant, the second of a chain(2). 

That restaurant hosted so many memories: birthday of a friend, learning that there’s a cocktail called margarita different from the pizza Margherita that I fell in love with, but most of all, so many family events were celebrated there.

“A bottle of red, a bottle of white

It all depends upon your appetite

I’ll meet you any time you want

In our Italian restaurant”

The second that I deliberately choose to remember fondly is the one in Flanders, Dolce e Salato. Even thinking about that restaurant hyper-activates my lacrymal glands. 

This restaurant means a great deal to me, for it was one of my refuges when I was about to go coo-coo from not having enough human interaction or change of environment, in plain covid period, especially when they reopened the bars around mid-May and my exams were until June.

This restaurant was there when I learned about Belgium, when I wanted to practice my crippled Italian, when I just really was tired of cooking, or just wanted a coffee and/or someone to chat with.

It’s still there. The fact that it’s still there gives me incredible strength, especially in these times where all of my fortresses are collapsing or have already collapsed.

The third one, I had known its existence since quite some time but hadn’t experienced a meal there; until a few days ago. It’s not perfect, none of these restaurants are/were. But sometimes, these days, it feels more home than my own apartment. I get to chat with people, I get to try new food, I get to practice my Italian (more than I got to do so in Ixelles (surprisingly(?)).

One little touch made it more home. The frogs. The frogs that I can hear now that they are back. That sound is one of the official sound of late spring and summer of my childhood and early adolescence. I almost felt home again. I almost felt like everything was fine.

And most things are going to be fine. Hope shall overcome.

I’ll meet you anytime we both want, in our Italian restaurant.

(1) My parents haven’t moved (yet). It’s still the same house, but everything has changed. I deliberately choose to not get into that, to choose to put the curse You-Know-Who cast on my childhood and adolescence aside.

(2)A rather upper-middle class one at that. It was tiny back then, now I don't really know what's become of it.

[lionews]

"Iris must be one rich 19 year old if she has 18 horses. Almost like she could buy GB with that money if she had it instead of begging. Especially when she has so many rare and expensive breeds like she claims to."

Coming from my knowledge (my father worked as a groom for years when he was younger and his whole dream is to have a horse after he retires, hes explained all the financials cause i begged for a horse when i was younger) there's like NO way they could own 18 horses and not be able to get GB. I dont even have a proper job yet and I could afford buying GB with my own money if I really wanted and im ~1 yr younger than them. I can say that I'm relatively well off (not like rich but upper middle class, we could live in a suburb if we wanted to but the commute to work for my father and soon me as ill be working at the company he works at would be over an hour) and we couldnt even reasonably afford one horse rn,,,

First you need to buy the horse, then you need the board, then you need the vet, and then vet insurance cause horses get themselves into so much trouble with their single braincells and will possibly cost you thousands if they flip once on accident or god forbid get stuck in a fence or something, then you need the farrier for horse shoes and hoof maintenance, then you need the food, not to mention the groom and caretakers if you can't get to their board every single day, sometimes multiple times a day. There's also a lot of other expenses like tack and stuff.

.

[alovelydesolation]

As a white veteran with a "middle class" upbringing at the time I was recruited, I can shed some light on these apparent contradictions. First let me preface that this is not a defense of anything the US Armed Forces have done or are doing; this is just a commentary on recruiting and service demographics, and on how statistics can be interpreted multiple different ways.

First, the above table shows neighborhood income levels, not family or individual income levels. The majority of recruits live in areas where the median household income is $42-88k, but this does not necessarily reflect the service member's income background. (Not to mention that a $60k household income means something totally different outside Wheeling, WV vs a NYC suburb but this chart treats them the same). The three central income quintiles on this graph represent the floor of the middle class in much of the US (salary range of middle class by state), and only include the lower bound of upper middle class in the poorest states.

Much of what is now lumped in with the middle class is deeply economically precarious. My family struggled to consistently put nutritious food on our table, never took vacations, never had cable TV or high speed internet, and rarely participated in any of the markers of "middle class" life. I moved out before I signed up, and I spent a few years living on bare subsistence working a variety of low wage part time jobs. I frequently had calorie deficits and struggled to pay rent, even with roommates. Yet the neighborhood median income (or even my parents' income) would have put me near the middle of this graph.

A major reason lower incomes are underrepresented in the US armed forces is eligibility: people with lower incomes are more likely to be overweight (poor diet, lack of opportunity for physical activity), suffer from disqualifying physical health issues (due to poor diet, environmental conditions, and lack of adequate healthcare), suffer from disqualifying mental health issues (poverty is stressful and access to mental health resources are limited), have a criminal record (because American society criminalizes poverty), and are less likely to complete high school. Something like 70% of US 18-year-olds are ineligible for military service, and this is more true among the lowest income than among the highest.

Of course a higher percentage of recruits have completed high school than the general population - a high school diploma or GED is a prerequisite for recruitment. According to the Department of Defense, only 1.5% of service members lack a high school diploma or equivalent (link), vs 8.9% of the adult population in the general public (census bureau link).

Also, the same site that provided the income graph also provided graphs showing the racial and ethnic diversity of the US Armed Forces, and how in many cases it exceeds the diversity of the general population (noting that Enlisted personnel make up 82% of the US Armed Forces).

Given that recruits from the poorest quintile still outnumber those from the wealthiest quintile, that recruits are more likely to be non-white than the general population, and that much of the middle quintiles of the neighborhood median income graph are financially precarious and do not indicate high levels of economic opportunity, the statement that "the average recruit is much closer to white, upper-middle class, educated, and with plenty of financial opportunities" either doesn't hold true compared to the general population of the US, or isn't especially meaningful where it is true (education).

Having said all of this, individual motivation for joining the Armed Forces is difficult to track. My own choice was partly economic, but it was also informed by a family tradition of military service and the sense of patriotic duty I felt at the time (noone is immune to propaganda, and I become an adult in the era of 9/11). On different days, I might have answered a survey asking my reason for joining differently, based on how I was feeling and without any intent to deceive.

It is also worth noting that public perceptions of military service are deeply unrealistic and disconnected from the reality of military service. Only about 20% of soldiers in the US Army are in primary combat occupations (e.g., infantry, armor, artillery). The rest are in some kind of support role, like driving trucks, repairing equipment, handling paperwork, or cooking. The proportion of combat arms has been shrinking over time (source). Of course, all of these other occupations are theoretically in service of making those in combat occupations more effective and capable, but most people don't think "line cook" or "truck mechanic" when they think soldier, even though there are more of them than there are infantry. It is very easy for a recruit (like I was) to justify to themselves that because their military specialty wasn't combat focused that they weren't a part of the worst actions and policies of that military, just as it is easy for most US citizens to justify to themselves that they aren't responsible for the actions of the military despite their part in voting for and funding its policies.

TL;DR military recruiting does unequally draw from lower incomes and those that perceive a lack of other options, and many of those that join are able to justify it to themselves even if they disagree with military policies or past actions because they are separated from the immediate harms of those actions and policies and because they don't feel like they have meaningful alternatives. A society that provided the necessities (nutritious food, shelter, and health care) to all its members would have a much tougher time recruiting than the US does.