#Marjorie Main What a Character!

[hotvintagepoll]

Marjorie Main (The Women, Summer Stock)—a world weary dame who wore her midwestern accent on her sleeve. marjorie main kills it as a reno ranch owner in "the women" (1939) and as warm mother hens <3 she was no shabby actor either! this scene with her and humphrey bogart fucking haunts me [link]

Zero Mostel (A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, The Producers)—Archetypal. Comedian of all time. The worst combover in cinematic history, probably. Could make more laughter with one muscle in a singular eyebrow than 98% of all men across the face of the earth. Hardcore Committer to the Bit. Man of all time, and also told HUAC directly where they could shove it, which is a primally appealing and scrungly quality.

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Marjorie Main:

Zero Mostel:

"The chase scene in FORUM is just. it's fucking iconic. It's one of the funniest pieces of cinema I've ever seen in any context, everything about it is genius, and the heart and soul of it is Zero Mostel as Pseudolus. Casting him alongside a young Michael Crawford (of later Phantom of the Opera fame) really highlights the differences between the young romantic lead and the older, sensible, and yet entirely scrungly middle aged man (Mostel was 55 at the time) somehow manages to come off as even more desirable. He has no shit together, not very good plans, is panicked for most of the story, and the charisma of a champ. His flailing, helpless attempts at fighting the gladiator is so... he's so scrungly. "

"He's not fancy, he's not pretty, he's not good at much of anything, but he is Genius despite that."

"There is a magic to Zero Mostel that he manages to bring to roles where he is simultaneously the worst person ever, and also, compelling in every possible way. He had his biggest period of fame in middle age after he got taken off the Hollywood blacklist, and being a fat middle aged man with thinning hair is what gives every single bit of his characters power. As the original Max Bialystock he would eat the entirety of The Producers except that Gene Wilder as Leo Bloom is a genius casting decision, as Mostel's intensity against Wilder's deep discomfort ends up being the right chemistry. In many ways he reminds me of Buster Keaton, the pinnacle of hot scrungly little guy—a unique and expressive face, an instinctive understanding of comedy, active at the same time, and also they were both in FORUM together. Mostel came from an Orthodox Jewish family, was a trained painter with a degree in art, spoke four languages, and when he was blacklisted during the Red Scare and brought before the HUAC, he didn't just refuse to name names, he made fun of the senators. He was disabled after an accident, and still did dancing in movies and things like stunts in FORUM. He did a ton of work on Broadway too, including originating Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, making the musical more Jewish as he did so. Frankly, I don't think any of those roles (or the eventual later film versions of Fiddler/musical version of the Producers) would work with anyone else. It had to be a fat balding middle aged leftist Jew from Brooklyn. The scrungly is essential.

"the scrungle factor of max in every version of the producers is through the roof but nathan lane does it as suave scrungle. zero mostel does not do suave scrungle. he does old jewish man getting into an argument with the rabbi at the full synagogue passover seder about how much wine has to be in the glass for it to count as "one cup" scrungle; he does old jewish man whose entire fridge is full of pickled herring scrungle. it's offputting in all the ways that make it genius."

[roomwithanopenfire]

WIP Wednesday

Happy Wednesday everyone! I wasn't going to share but so many people did today and I want to join in on the fun!! Thanks for the tags @alexalexinii @artsyunderstudy @monbons @prettygoododds @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

@blackberrysummerblog @fiend-for-culture @shrekgogurt and @drowninginships!! I had so much fun reading what everyone was working on and I'm so excited for all of these WIPs!

I've been working (more or less) on my COBB. I've started my main summer job this week and haven't had as much time, but I'm slowly starting to tackle this last scene of chapter 2 that has been killing me. I need OCs for this fic, and this scene is one that is fairly OC heavy, and I am Not Confident in my ability to make up characters (that's why I write fanfiction lol). But I finally got some decent words on it yesterday, so there's hope.

Here's a bit that scene (Baz's POV), you guys can help reassure me that it isn't terrible:

Marjorie gave me her number before I left last night, and she texted me the meeting place—the actual bar being shrouded from view to avoid the eyes of Mages and Normals alike.  I spot her ahead of me. Her red hair loose at her shoulders, and her height increased by tall black heels that matched her short black dress. Perhaps she’s leaning into the vampire thing, I wonder, taking in her similarly black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “You excited?” Marjorie says, looking excited enough for the both of us, a broad smile appearing on her face as I approach. “It’s your first time!” She hip checks me and keeps up the smile. My hands are deep in my pockets, and I know if I pull them out I won’t be able to stop them from fidgeting. But her happiness is contagious enough, and I smile back a fraction, trying to relax. 

Special thanks to @fiend-for-culture for helping me with names. Marjorie would be GIRL NAME without her.

Tags and Hellos:

@run-for-chamo-miles @facewithoutheart @raenestee @onepintobean @noblecorgi

@hushed-chorus @angelsfalling16 @thewholelemon @brendughh @hertragedyconnoisseur

@beastmonstertitan @valeffelees @horsesarenotdeer @supercutedinosaurs @rimeswithpurple

@cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @arthurkko @rbkzz @skeedelvee

@bookish-bogwitch @brilla-brilla-estrellita @emeryhall

[mondritter]

You know, it's nice to see that I'm not the only one who felt... uneasy(?) about Buckynat getting back together after a decade 🙃

I mean I'm glad, the war is over (permanently I hope FGS), it's been so long but I DON'T LIKE THAT IT WAS WITH THOSE WRITERS and all the circumstances were... Weird and out of the blue? A bit sudden because in Cold War nothing relevant happened... And in Thunderbolts most of the same imo.

I mean why JUST NOW Nat finally decided to go back to him? I want to know her motivations, her thoughts, she's been through so much since The Widow Hunt and yet we don't really know what she thinks about it all.

And apparently those writers are going to write more stuff about them(?)

Look, I would love for an ongoing (I'm a bit tired of minis) for either Bucky or Nat or both separately, with recurring appearances of them in each other's run, appearing at crucial moments, as a cameo or a mention, so that they can be their own characters and not have to be tied to each other, and the reason I wouldn't want a run of the two of them together is because I think there are really very few writers who could handle them both well at the same time.

And I get the impression that if what it turns out those writers are hinting at is a Nat AND Bucky comic, they will end up using her as just a romantic interest and I don't like it at all.

I think I've already commented that I haven't liked how they've written Bucky since Devil's Reign, which happened 2 years ago and so far they haven't given me a reason to change my opinion, if they haven't been able to give a good writing to Bucky which is supposed to have been their main character, most likely they'll end up doing something worse with Nat 😭😭😭

It's as if we can never take a break 😂😭🫠

Well, I just wanted to get this off my chest to see if I could finally calm down a bit LMAO

I can only continue to pray for the miracle of Marjorie Liu writing them both because she is my personal favorite and one of the few I think can put them in a good place 🫡

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 06

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language Word Count: ~8.1K Previous chapter: 05.

Again, the path to the airport was waiting for me. Bags packed at my feet and with them the unsettling feeling of not knowing what was reserved ahead. Seven days were the minimum we had agreed on. Ana had called me twice after dinner to make sure I was going and at the end of the second call, I was won over by her good persuasion tactics and handed her the victory. Hours later, she texted me the ticket.

I didn’t know what to expect. To be fair, I didn’t remember the last time I spent more than a couple of hours with the Sainzes. Time made the memories of summer and winter vacations vague, only smears of memories habiting in my mind — and the ones that remained more solid had a boy with big hazel eyes as the main character and nothing much more important happening in the background.

They were waiting for us at the airport in a disorganized semi-circle near the entrance. Carlos didn’t seem to be paying attention to the conversation his sisters and their boyfriends were engaged in. Rio pointed at them, not noticing my attention was already drawn to the small group standing ahead of us. My brother waved at Carlos and he waved back.

A black backpack rested on his back, which was covered by a white t-shirt. His hair was pulled back, being held by his sunglasses, keeping it from sliding over his forehead. I rested my gaze on his face and allowed myself a second to observe him. Everything about him reminded me of the last time we'd travelled together, especially his tired eyes, sunken in their sockets, beneath which were dim shadows.

The hollow sound of my footsteps and the ruck of the wheels on my suitcase filled my mind as I asked myself one single question — what am I getting myself into?

One week (or more if work allowed) with him and our friends. That was the premise. I kept repeating it in my mind. Just one week. See the sun rise from under the Mediterranean Sea and watch it set over the beach. Late nights in clubs and lazy lunches by the pool. Long dinners in the yacht, under the golden hue of the sunset.

Somewhat of a dream, but one where we would have to share ourselves with each other again. And I was afraid of the feelings it could spark. I had just told him I didn't trust him enough to be his friend, knowing damn well I wanted him on a deeper level than that.

The first thing that crossed my mind was that I shouldn’t be here, but my body, acting on a will of its own, started walking in his direction. He had his eyes on me but didn’t say or do anything until I reached the semi-circle.

“You came,” he said, not too loud, when I approached them. The rest of the group only became aware of our presence after Carlos’ intervention.

“I told you she was going to come, no?” Rio came forward and greeted Carlos with one of their handshakes and a fast hug. Marjorie kissed his cheek and Carlos politely asked her about our drive to the airport and mocked my brother for making Marjorie carry her bags. She didn’t let Carlos take them.

Trying to escape him, I walked over to Ana. She led the way to the boarding gate, making me accompany her while she told me about work and about a book I had recommended to her a couple of months ago. At each stage of the journey, the group met. The topics of conversation were diverse: football, movies, a new series that Marjorie had just started watching and was desperate to talk about – anything but the Formula 1 season that had just come to its halfway point and hadn't been very kind to Carlos. No one seemed to want to address the last race before the break, which had gone much worse than mine. Hungary had been bad. Austria had been much worse.

I couldn’t take the images of the flames and the heart-grutching radio from my mind. No matter what had happened since then.

“You need to see what we did with the place,” Blanca said when she caught up to me on our way to the boarding gate. “When was the last time you went there?”

“2020?” I was not totally sure. My memories seemed lost in time. “Perhaps 2019?”

Despite being a Monday in August, the airport was not too crowded. It was just after 10 am when we arrived at the boarding gate. Only a handful of people were standing in line to get on the plane. And everything felt normal. A group of old friends travelling. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“You’re too tense,” Ana commented, interrupting Blanca that was filling me up on a few changes they had done in their Mallorca house during the pandemic when they spent long periods there since it was hard (and not so safe) travel to other places. “Is it us or do you still hate flying?”

I knew that by “us” she meant Carlos. Things had gotten weird after our last talk at my mom’s party. It seemed like both of us changed from water to wine in minutes. Cold looks, an awkwardness every time we were forced to be together with the rest of the group. Perhaps that was what I was afraid of—not being able to simply be close, like a friend, without feeling all my feelings in the depths of my skin, turning it into goosebumps every time he looked at me. I looked back for a second, trying to get a glimpse of the group that was following us.

“Both, I think.”

Ana was the one with whom I had a stronger friendship. Blanca was a few years older than us; she had different interests and friends of her own, so it was only natural that I spent more time with Ana, especially growing up.

From the two families and friends, I believe she was the only one to understand how much I liked Carlos. Ana didn’t care when I visited her at their house and got distracted looking out the window to see Carlos playing football in the garden. She also never said anything about how I used to get completely jumbled up my words whenever he banged on her door to ask for small favours or to just mess with her.

She watched me slowly fall in love with her brother and then she watched us drift apart.

“He’s still the same, you know?” Ana got closer to me, taking advantage of the fact that Blanca stayed behind to wait for the rest of the group. “Maybe just got a bit more handsome now.”

I chuckled at her words and there was no time to answer as the group was fast to catch up to us. Carlos, who was leading the way, was the first to complain.

“You two are in a hurry.”

“A week into summer break and you have already lost your speed?” Ana replied, making the group react with a short laugh.

“Vacaciones son vacaciones,” he mumbled as he put an arm around her shoulders and dragged Ana with him. “Stop rushing. We have time to spare.”

“I wouldn’t need to rush if you didn’t—”

Carlos planted his hand over her sister’s hand, laughing at her. “We were the first to arrive here.”

“We have two babies!” Marjorie screamed from behind. “We have an excuse to be late.”

As we approached the boarding gate, my heart started to race. The plane was awaiting us at the other side of the bridge—I could see it through the window. I made my way over in silence, with a nervous smile on my face and ignored the anxiety making my head full of terrible thoughts and childish fears. The moment I stepped on the plane, I felt a rush taking over my heart. No matter how many times I’d flown before, every time was the same.

“Where are you sitting?” Carlos asked me, looking back as we crossed the hallway.

I checked the ticket on my phone and then looked at the numbers. Fifth row, middle seat. Awful. I mentally cursed Ana for booking that terrible seat for me.

“Right there," I said, pointing my head to the seats. “In the middle.”

“Do you prefer the window?”

“Where are you sitting?” I asked. He pointed with his head to the same row. Ana, behind Carlos, was grinning. Fair, I thought. She didn’t have to know about how… weird things were between us. Neither I wanted her to know. At his request, I handed him my luggage, which he stored next to his.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” I think his smile made the anxiety worse to bear.

I lowered myself into the window seat, shaking my head. “Of course not.”

“Good,” Carlos sat next to me. His arm rested on the armrest between us. “Close your eyes, then. Try to sleep.”

He put on one of his AirPods. It didn’t take long until Rio called for his name and he turned his back to me to answer my brother, sitting across from us. I looked outside the window. The moments until the take-off were torturous, but happily, Carlos was too distracted to notice my distress. To my surprise, the take-off was fairly smooth. As always, I tried to not look outside and failed miserably. I took a deep breath, looked ahead at the tops of the heads peaking out of the seats and just like that we were smooth sailing between the clouds. I closed my eyes. I could use a few minutes of sleep.

My heart thumped as the pilot’s voice crackled in the speakers and the plane shook slightly, and then a little more violently. I opened my eyes, my head hurting from being awakened that way, my pulse quickening and blood rushing in my ears. My hand rushed to the seat belt. It was tightened.

“Now you’re nervous, I imagine,” Carlos’ lips curled in a tiny smile and I rolled my eyes in response.

I grasped the armrest for dear life. My other palm pressed into my thighs. In my mind, a TikTok video about jello and planes was looping. It won’t fall. I kept reminding myself of that. Carlos’ fingertips brushed the back of my hand and he retracted them almost immediately. My breath caught. My heart clenched. Not particularly because of the turbulence.

“Maybe a little,” I didn’t take his hand but didn’t move mine, either. I looked down, at his fingers hovering above my hand. Then, I looked up. “Are you?”

Carlos shook his head; from the way he was forcing a line with his lips, I could tell he was making an effort to not snort at my question. “It will be okay,” he tried to reassure. “And I’m right here, in case you need me.”

I just nodded. My eyes were closed and my head was turned toward the window. I had experienced worse, but each time it was a little living nightmare. I heard a little laugh coming from the man seated at my side.

“Don’t laugh at me, Sainz,” I snapped at him, turning to him. He had his sunglasses on his head and he was not using his AirPods anymore.

“I won’t. It’s just— how many times have you—” I interrupted him by flipping him off. “I’ll stop. Are you okay?”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Carlos laid his hand on top of my arm and brushed his thumb on my skin, so slowly that I had to look down for a second to be sure it was real. Once again, I nodded.

“It’s just that I hate these flying cages,” he let out a little laugh, again. I couldn’t hold mine.

“You are a racing driver, Eva,” there was a stupid smile on his face.

“Last time I checked, I don’t race aircraft ten thousand meters in the air.”

“But you can crash and get hurt…”

“My point prevails.” His smile kept growing, and at the same time, my grip on the armrest got looser. “Even if I crash, I won’t be crashing from this altitude.”

He shook his head, a big smile on his lips. From the pocket of his t-shirt, he took out his AirPods and handed me one. Then, he took his phone out of the pocket of his shorts.

“Sinatra?” I asked after he pressed play on the music. He nodded, as he relaxed his back and laid his head on the headrest.

“I thought you would like to hear this,” he looked at me, head against the headrest, his hair messy on the top of his head.

“That’s Life? I could use something more reassuring.”

His chest shook with laughter, “Will you ever get less weird?”

“You’re the one picking the music,” I fought back, raising my eyebrow.

“And you are the one that made me listen to this in the first place. Now you have to put up with it.” His eyes dropped to the phone and shortly after Fly Me To The Moon started playing.

“You’re so predictable, Sainz.”

“What?” He chuckled. “It’s a great song.”

“Is it, indeed,” at this point, both of us were laughing, and I was not sure why. “Is it just so you to play it right now. That sense of humour of yours…”

“Don’t complain. It always makes you smile,” he pointed at my lips. “See?”

But as I looked into his eyes—those brown eyes that always seemed to see right through me—I started to feel like maybe there was something more to Carlos Sainz than just a silly sense of humour, a love for Sinatra and the awful amount of bad feelings. There was something else behind his eyes that made me want to trust him, even though I had no reason to do so.

He grinned at me, a lazy, satisfied smile. None of us needed to say anything, but I think he gathered something from the smile my lips formed. It was so easy when we were alone. With the music sounding in my ear, making us dwell in the same frequency, I quickly forgot the things I had said to him a few days earlier. We hadn’t spoken since that moment at the party and even if we did, I really doubted it would be of any use, as there weren’t words I could say that would resolve the confusion meddling in my head.

So much was happening. So fast.

The past and the future crashed together and scattered debris everywhere, sending me into eternal dark spirals of thought which I couldn’t seem to get rid of.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep and for his thumb to stop brushing my skin. I wondered about the origin of the dark sockets under his eyes, of what had taken his sleep last night. Above them, the perfect line of his lashes and the relaxed brows grabbed my attention next. An expression of tranquillity. I forced myself to look away as if it was a sin to delight in such a view.

I tried to focus on the vast white that stretched below us towards the horizon, but the weight of his hand on my arm made it impossible to focus on anything but him. I looked down, taking in the sight of his hand resting on my arm, his fingers slightly apart.

The turbulence had long since passed, but he didn’t let go.

~

The weather in Mallorca was better than in Madrid. We left the airport in two cars, windows open and music blaring on the radio. Carlos drove and Rio followed with him in front. Marjorie tried to sing along with the music on the radio, forcing a Spanish accent that despite the years she'd lived in Spain, she still hadn't perfected.

The house was in a private village on the east of the island. I had been there and the route was not totally a blur from the last visits. It was usual to visit them here, especially during the summer holidays, when Rio and I were often invited by the Sainz to come and stay for a few days, with or without our parents. In our early adult years, Reyes and Carlos Sr. chose to stay in Madrid for the first few days, letting us enjoy the island alone.

“This place looks amazing!” Marjorie exclaimed when we parked the car. There was a good view of the sea and the house itself looked like a little paradise on the Mediterranean coast.

Carlos chuckled over her unfiltered enthusiasm and gave me a small pat on the shoulder as he walked past me to get the luggage out of the trunk. I went to help him as Rio took his wife on a short visit around the outside and the rest of the group hadn’t arrived yet.

The house was even more beautiful on the inside. I really needed to step out of my own reality and I realized that place was the right choice the second I looked at the view and absorbed the peaceful atmosphere being brought inside by the big windows, the amount of natural light, the furniture and its soft earthy tones.

“Better than you remember, no?” Carlos asked, proudly, with a smile reigning on his lips. “It’s all Ana and Blanca’s work, they did everything.”

Rio came inside with Marjorie shortly after. Meanwhile, I just walked around the lower floor, recollecting the floor plan that I realized I hadn’t forgotten. When I got back to the living room, the rest of the gang was already there. Blanca and her boyfriend, Guillermo, headed upstairs.

I was then taken by Ana on an official tour of the house. The office was near the living room and had a nice view of the pool and the sea, which I knew would make my work hours a lot harder than I wanted them to be. My room was upstairs, the second door on the left.

That first day was the most peaceful of the week we spent there. We didn’t leave the house. I can’t remember much, as the memories congealed into a cluster of laughter and slow-motion visions of jumps into the sea and tanned wet bodies resting under the sun. That night, Blanca cooked for us. We ate outside, surrounded by the tall trees around the house perimeter and the darkness of the night, which stopped us with ease from caring about the reality we left on the other side of the gate. Only a few memories remained from the dinner — the contour of people’s smiles, heads thrown back amongst the laughs, the taste of the sangria and how easy it was to fall asleep that night.

On the first morning, I went for a jog. For the first time in a while, I had all the time in the world and an unknown road ahead. And it might sound a bit too poetic, but the resemblance to my own life made me clear out some ideas and make a handful of promises to myself.

The roads unrolled themselves like a map once forgotten in time. At every turn, I would find a collage composed of new and old buildings, painted on unsaturated reds and oranges, as the sun was settling in the firmament. With it being so early in the morning, I couldn’t hear much more than the birds and the sea that lazily kissed the rocks of the coast.

When I stepped inside, the house was still enveloped in deep silence. It was early, not even 8 am. A shower, a quick breakfast and a morning behind the desk. That was the plan.

There was a shelf in the office.

A few racing helmets filled the spaces between the books. I was not counting on finding much memorabilia around here, since I expected it would be stored in their Madrid house or Carlos’ apartment in Milan, but there it was. Two of them were rally helmets, belongings of Carlos Sainz Sr. The other three were Carlos’. On the bottom stood one from his Toro Rosso era, in display on top of Adrian Newey’s How to Build a Car. On the top, a scaled version of one of Carlos’ Ferrari helmets. And in the centre, like it was put there to catch my attention, one of his McLaren helmets.

The beginning of the end.

I couldn’t help but take a step towards it and take a closer look. I took it in my hands. I could see my reflection in the chrome, wondering how many memories this house could wake up in me, how many pieces of us were scattered around the place. It had happened so slowly and so gradually that, looking back, I can't find a milestone from which to draw a before and an after. Maybe those two years were that point. There was a before, where no part of me imagined there wouldn't be an after. There was a during when there was still hope. Less and less, each day, but still there. And now there is an after, which we live desperately trying to elapse three and a half years.

I just needed to keep crossing the rope, head held high. One foot after the other.

As I sat on the desk, ready to get a start on the day, the front door opened. The silence of the house made it easy to hear the steps and the hum of a melody I didn’t recognize. I looked at the door I had left open. The sound of the steps got gradually louder, until a man passed by the office. Carlos, in his black shorts. No shirt — of course, no shirt. A fitness band around his chest.

Not resisting the forces that commanded me effortlessly, I looked over to the window to find him stepping down the stones that lead to the lower area of the garden. I watched him as he took his shoes off and took the fitness band off his torso. His sweaty skin glistened under the sun, his hair was already wet and messy. At his pace, he dove into the pool.

I tried to focus on the laptop’s loading screen, but my eyes kept travelling to the man floating in the water and back to the helmets in front of me.

The day flowed with ease and even when it invited me to take a dip in the warm waters of the Mediterranean, I resisted and didn't leave the office during the day. However, every corner of that house transported me into a limbo between joy and sorrow, which I didn't want to deal with, especially not while working. I tried to ignore all connections to the past and that amounted to ignoring Carlos, even though my eyes were looking for him every moment.

Fortunately, the house was big enough that we could live in our own universes without tripping over any of the lines we had silently agreed to. Our conversation at the end of the dinner party acted like an unspoken agreement and even if he broke it on the flight, we both seemed to forget about that interaction. We went back to the people we were before Mugello — the distant strangers whose paths crossed by chance and were forced to coexist.

Though I was happy about it, knowing how much I feared what the intimacy might trigger in me, I wondered what was making him keep his distance. Was he just being respectful or did the weight of my words create a barrier that no force could break down? Did he think I hated him? Or did he see what was going on inside my mind and decided he didn’t want to take part in it?

I could swear to God those eyes and the touch of his lips were capable of ridding my mind of any shackles and protective casings. All he needed to do was ask, looking deeply into my eyes, and I would tell him my truth. The one I’m ashamed to even admit to myself. That I’ve wanted him so much, for so long, that I’m afraid to make him see it, let alone feel it.

But he seemed happy in his world, where the only things that mattered were his friends, the sea and the sun. I, on the other hand, continued to be a hostage of my own thoughts.

When I left the office later that afternoon, I found the house invaded by a bunch of people whose faces I didn’t recognize. The kitchen was full of life and laughter. Blanca was talking to two blonde girls, Marjorie and Ana were outside talking to a couple. And Carlos… well, Carlos was being his best self, entertaining the crowd. As I approached them, sitting at the table, I realized they were talking about Formula 1.

I stopped a few meters from them, not wanting to intrude, but as I tried to find a way to go back inside and try to find my brother and use him as a shield to avoid unwanted social interactions, Carlos found me in the small crowd of people. With a motion of his head, he invited me to come closer and join the group and I walked over, Carlos found me a chair and dragged it to his side. There was no choice but to sit next to him at the edge of the table and face a dozen strangers staring at us; at least one of them, blonde and tall with a particular medal around his neck, was polite enough to grab me a beer. I found Rio sitting among the guests.

“—and so, when I was about to go on track, I told the guy: ‘I’m not going to be able to do a single flying lap with this’. He just looked at me and said: ‘You’ll be surprised, my man’. So I went out and did a 1’21”. Can you believe it? A 1’21” with a fucked up gearbox!”

“The poor man couldn’t believe his eyes,” my brother joined him. “We spent two hours around that thing trying to understand what happened. Chili, my whole career was changed by that broken gearbox.”

Everyone laughed until a german accent overlapped the sound. “And what was with the gearbox?” The beer guy was German. Noted.

“Turns out the guy who drove it before was so shitty he didn’t know how to drive that car.” My brother explained. “And that gearbox? Yeah, it was fucked, but good or bad? All the same for him.”

I took a sip of the beer, my eyes directed at the other edge of the table where the German guy was now getting up from. He was a rally driver, the same age as Carlos. That was all I could gather. But he was funny, and the accent was attractive and his smile? I saw him walking up to me, the conversation flowing in the background, my brother now telling a story about Silverstone and Carlos’ win. As I put the beer down on the table and turned to my left ready to welcome The Guy, I felt a hand on my right thigh. I turned to Carlos, who slowly leaned towards me, eyes glued to something, someone, behind me.

“Real plays tonight. I forgot to tell you I invited a few people to watch the match with us.” I just nodded. He was now looking at me, his hand was weighing on my thigh. I wondered if he was waiting for me to do something. To move away, maybe.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. No problem.” And with that, he moved his hand away and leaned back on the chair.

When I turned to my left, The Guy was nowhere to be seen.

I looked around.

A few people. There were at least, twenty more people around the house, dispersed around the terrace. Half of them sitting with us at the table. Carlos paid attention to my brother for a few seconds before turning back to me again.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I don’t.” I paused and forced a smile; he frowned a bit. “Carlos. I don’t mind, really.”

“Good.” He grinned, the frown disappearing. That smile could disarm even the most trained soldier. “When I saw you getting here, I thought we disrupted your work.”

It’s not like I was able to pay any attention to it, I wanted to say.

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s all done for the day.”

Some tapas arrived from a bar nearby that Carlos had called in and the table was slowly taking shape. The small portions occupied every stop of the table, and in the small areas available, bottles of beer or wine were placed. A plate of Piquillo peppers, mozzarella and red peppers. A chip of garlic and a sliver of sheep cheese. The scent of garlic and olive oil filled the air, mixed with the aroma of grilled meat that Rodrigo prepared nearby.

When I sat down to eat, no one was already sitting in the places they were previously sitting at, although, Carlos stood in the chair by my side, back turned to me and facing his friends and the projection of the match on the wall ahead. The laughter became intense incoherent yelling, louder and the chink of silverware and the hissing of the burning wood, just some feet away.

Some of the people left the table while the game was still going on and took with them their plates and glasses of wine. The house was big, and so were the terrace and the backyard. Looking around, it felt peaceful. It was chaotic, I can’t lie, but something peaceful lay in the intense yelling and the comradery. I missed this.

Carlos’ English became non-existent. Both he and my brother screamed in Spanish, commending the tactics. I was not particularly paying attention. Not because I didn’t like football, but because I simply couldn’t make myself focus on the players when I was so aware of the man next to me, still smelling like the suncream and sea.

An Estrella Galicia appeared before me with drops of water sliding down the bottle. I turned to the man next to me, whose wet slender fingers were still around the bottle.

"You're not paying attention, are you?" Carlos said, taking the cap off the beer. Our fingers touched for a fraction of a second while I took the bottle in my hands.

“Spent way too many hours in front of a screen, today,” I had a sip. “My eyes are tired.”

“Take a day off, tomorrow,” once again, he leaned against his chair, with a second beer in his hand, from which he had a sip. “Try to enjoy the vacation.”

“It’s not properly vacation,” he scrunched his nose at my words.

“Eh, I didn’t think you would actually get some work done.”

“She’s a workaholic, Chili,” Rio said from his chair, not bothering to turn to us or even looking in our direction. “You won’t see her all week.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“So, you’ll join us tomorrow?” Carlos asked. “To be beach we were discussing at lunch?”

“I don’t know. I need to check my schedule.”

He took another sip, his lips twisting in a smile. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“She won’t say no,” Rio said. “Not to you.”

“Don’t be so convinced,” I told them.

A hint of disorientation but me as Rio turned back to the projection, but Carlos kept looking at me. Deep hazel eyes bulged into mine until the crowd and their exaggerated reactions to the goal stole his attention.

I saw him again the next morning.

I had woken up early as usual and although I had promised myself I would take a break from work and get some rest, I didn’t want to miss my morning routine. The sun was shining in through the window, casting a warm light over the room. The sea was calm and the sun was getting high in the sky.

Stepping down the stairs, I could hear nothing but the soft brush of the waves on the rocks outside, but as I reached the bottom of the stairs and headed to the door, I found him wearing orange shorts and a white t-shirt, bent over near the open door, tying his shoes. Getting back up, he looked behind him.

“You’re up early,” he said as he straightened up and put his cap on.

“Morning run, as always,” I explained, walking towards the door. He walked outside after me, closing the door behind us.

“I see,” he nodded and then silence fell upon us. Only the waves and the sound of our footsteps on the gravel could be heard for a few seconds. “We could go together,” his voice broke the silence and stretched in the air like a question that I wished he didn’t ask.

We stopped near the gate, my mind battling the idea while he opened it up and waited for me to pass. I could feel the closeness of his body and his breath on my shoulder as I passed between him and the gate.

“I was going to do some intervals.”

“I can do intervals.” He rushed to say. I just nodded. “You can just say you don’t want my company if that—”

“No, not at all.” I interrupted him and looked at my watch to start the program.

When I looked back at him, he was already running. Slowly, at first, but then he increased the pace and I had to run to catch up with him. We ran in silence for a while, our breathing falling into sync as we ran side by side. The sound of our footsteps, our breathing and the waves were the only things keeping us company. I was trying to keep my mind blank, but it was hard.

Every time I tried to empty my thoughts and focus on the road ahead, his face would appear in my peripheral vision, or he would point at a funny-shaped cloud or a pretty rock on the sea. Before noticing, I was completely out of the route I’d previously chosen for that morning. We had left the residential area and were now running on a dirt road by the sea.

“Where are we?” I asked, slowing my pace and looking around.

“Just keep running,” he said. “How much time left?”

I looked at the watch, “Little less than 5 minutes.” He just nodded.

“It’s enough to get there,” Carlos made a gesture with his hand, asking me to catch up to him again. “Vamos, don’t make me drag you up the hill.”

Slowly, we started to move away from the sea, following a trail on a small hill. Between the trees, the remnants of blue narrowed. My watch beeped just before we reached the highest point of the mountain and Carlos refused to stop and forbade me to do so. I would have complained if the effort of climbing such a steep path hadn't taken my breath away.

“Come on,” he said, holding my hand and pulling me up the last few meters. Warm and sweaty, but firm around my fingers. I looked up at him. “We’re almost there.”

As we reached the top, the blue widened in front of us, revealing an infinite horizon. The sea and the sky melted in a single shade of blue, in a single line that drew the limit between what was above and what was below. Some benches, made of stone, stood in the middle of a small clearing. Carlos let go of my hand and sat on the bench, motioning for me to do the same. I followed his gesture and sat down, my eyes still on the view in front of us.

“I like it here,” he said, after a few minutes of silence.

“It’s lovely,” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the view. The sun was high in the sky now and the heat was starting to be felt, even with the wind.

“You should see it at sunset,” he said. “It’s even better.”

The house was just a white patch among the green at the bottom of the hill. There was a sailboat crossing the sea in front of us and some jet skis creating foam paths in the deep blue. Our accelerated breaths, the sound of birds and the whistle of the wind were our only soundtrack.

It was like the world had stopped spinning and time had frozen in that moment of utter tranquillity. His hands were resting on the bench, his left hand between us. Mine was dangerously close to his, so close I thought I could feel his warmth spreading towards me—that unexplainable pull towards him.

A sensation that I dread with the same emotion that I welcomed. Peace and tranquillity walking side by side with fear like no other. We couldn’t part ways, again. I couldn’t bare to see him walk away and lose this feeling, again. I turned my head to face him, wondering if he felt the same. The sun kissed his already-tanned face; there was a faint rosy line under his eyes and on the top of his nose. His hair curled around the brim of the cap.

“You come here often?” I had to end the silence.

He faced me. “We came here yesterday. I think you were in a meeting. Marjorie said you couldn’t come.”

“Yeah, it was a last-minute call, couldn’t postpone it. But thank you for bringing me here.”

“Just wanna make sure you’re not losing the good parts of being here.”

“Carlos—”

“I’m not in the position to tell you what to do, but you—” he cut me off. I propped my elbows on my knees and after a deep breath, I rose back up.

“Yet you do,” this time it was me who cut him off. When I looked at him, his jaw was tense, eyes locked on his hands, holding the bench. “I have to work. I can’t just decide to not work. I told you before coming here.”

“You need guidance.”

“For work?”

He frowned, shaking his head. “For racing.”

“I have Rio and my dad—”

“Your dad?” His body turned to face me, eyes piercing through mine and meeting all the weaknesses I held inside. I would crumble at his feet if I didn’t look away. “Eva, listen.”

“I don’t—”

“Eva, listen,” Carlos said firmly. “Learn to listen. Stop being like this.”

“Like what?”

“So stubborn, when all I want to do is help. I know it was wrong to turn my back on you but I care about you. Always had.” He paused. “I can’t ignore that, and I know neither can you, but… listen. I just want to do what I couldn’t do until now.”

The duality of feelings was consuming me whole. My chest burning with questions, but not looking to find the answers. My throat aching. Lungs way past the point of their capacity. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Can we talk like grown-ups?” Carlos turned to me, once again.

“Sure,” his gaze softened the weight on my shoulders. “Go ahead.”

“Your dad wants to sell the team.”

Inside my mind, silence.

Around us, the wind made the leaves run on the floor against the grass, composing a low-frequency melody that made nothing to make me calmer. The weight fell back on my shoulders, the knot in my throat getting thigh with all the words I wasn’t able to say.

“How do you—?”

“My dad told me,” he paused. “Your father looks at numbers and follows them. Makes you follow them. And if you need more proof, you should have been the one in F3, not Rio. I love him, but you have more talent in a fingernail than that guy in his whole body.” Amid sorrow, my lips found a way to curve in a small smile, imitating his. “You have so much pot—”

“Don’t say potential.”

“Potential,” I rolled my eyes and he chuckled between his words. “It’s sad to see you stuck in The Challenge or a reserve seat.”

“I’m not stuck.”

“Eva, come on…”

“I can go anywhere else, I have proposals.”

“Why don’t you, then?”

“Because I don’t have that mentality or experience… I’m not you, or Rio. I race because I like it and because I found joy in doing it. But lately? With all these… talks and expectations? And covid, and having my seat in FRECA revoked out of nowhere... You know this takes more than driving the car.” I paused to take a deep breath. “They keep saying I need to do more, but what if I don’t want to do more?”

“I can’t let you give up.”

Deep breath. Blink twice. Look at him, again. To the man with the ebony hair, now without his cap and with his hair being whipped by the wind. He looked at me, squinting his eyes while battling a particularly strong gust of wind. His head tilted to the side, lips parted as if a long sigh is waiting to be let out. I shook my head, weary of the subject.

"It's tiring to repeat it, Carlos," I said and the sigh he was holding was finally released. Carlos moved in his place, gathering his hands in his lap and then resting them on his thighs. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I don’t,” he shook his head. “I look at you and I see an incredible future, as I always did. I thought we would share the track, someday. I imagined that you would follow the same steps that I took and that Rio took... I asked my dad so many times what prevented you from going to F3."

"Sponsors," I said, he nodded.

"He told me the same. But…" he shook his head again, “did they see you racing? Did they see you on the track? Or in the garage talking to any mechanic or engineer?" I shook my head. "You were raised in a garage, but in the wrong stop. You should have been in the car, not following us everywhere and watching from afar.”

“I… It was… F3 is a big deal. And after Rio decided he didn’t want to race anymore? Do you have any idea of mad my dad got? I can’t even imagine how much money he spent with Rio, for nothing… I mean, I get it. Of course, he has reservations, now.”

“I don’t.”

“He’s… I don’t know. I think he expected Rio to be the one doing this, you know?” He nodded slightly. “I mean, I wouldn’t put money on me, not after—”

“I would,” he interrupted me. “Any person who knows enough after racing would. Why don’t you believe it?”

“Because I haven’t seen it!” I said, impatient. “For a while, I believed in it, you know? F3… You were there, you know how hard I wanted it. How much I fought for it. Asking for sponsors, and trying to find a seat, but after years of trying and failing…? Either because of money, or just because I wasn’t doing as well as people wanted me to… It was brutal…”

In silence, he nodded again, lowering his hand and placing it on the bench. I looked down. To the contract between his soft skin and the rough surface, the veins creating bumpy mountains on the tanned skin.

“And now I think,” I looked up at him, again. “What if I fail them all again?”

It was uncomfortable. The talk, the place, the roughness of the bench against the back of my thighs, the sun hitting me hard on the back. Small drops of sweat dripped down my temples, ticker ones dripped down his.

“So you rather fail yourself?”

“God… you almost sound like Marjorie.”

He snorted. “Come on, give me an answer.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to fail myself. I like this. I like racing. But I hate the pressure and this… carnage. And it’s so fucking lonely. I’m… I just want to be home. Have a stable job. Come home after work, with fresh bread and open a bottle of wine, watch a sitcom…” He took a breath and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

Carlos was always so calm, so collected. I’ve always envied that.

“It doesn’t have to be lonely.”

“It is, though.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve been there. I’ve been to the top. Been all the way down. Look at this season… I know what it’s like to feel the fear and the desperation and the hopelessness, and I’ve overcome that. Well…” he hesitated, “I still am. But do you think I’m doing all of this alone?”

“This season…” he continued, eyes down. “Each time I thought it couldn’t go worst, it went. And I know you think I’m this cold, rude person, with no feelings and emotions, like a robot,” I bit my lips trying to muffle a chuckle that I couldn’t stop. He smiled. “It was tough, I really felt it in my skin. And I’m sure it didn’t end here, more will come… But I had and I have my dad, and Rupert, Caco, my friends… my sisters…”

“Rio is leaving.”

“Ah…” He rocked back in his place, rubbing his hands on his shorts. “I thought it may be that.” he stopped. “I feel like I need to apologize for making him leave.”

“Nah, it wasn’t you. He really deserves this opportunity.”

Silence.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but,” his voice softened and he met my gaze. The look in his eyes was so sad, so resigned. It pulled at something in my chest. “I’ll be here.”

Silence.

In my mind, he was already gone. But those eyes? And the way they looked at me like I was some kind of rare work of art? Damn him. My eyes dropped down to the line of his mouth—lips full, and somehow I knew exactly what they’d taste like.

“God forbid you will ever do what I ask you to,” I joked, weakly, and in response, he let out a hoarse chuckle. But as soon as the chuckle died down, his expression turned serious again.

"Listen, I know this isn't the life you imagined for yourself. And this may sound selfish, but this isn’t the life I imagined for you. I know sitcoms and tea are much more likeable than having fajitas for dinner after running 5K in negative temperatures, but… I can’t let you do this. I can’t let you give up.”

I felt a weak smile grow on my lips.

“And if you fail? Then you fail,” he shrugged. “We all have ups and downs. You fall, and you get back up again because, and this is a promise, I won’t let you feel lonely.”

“And what if I’m just… not good enough?”

The corner of his lips pointed up, in a lopsided smile. “You are. That’s the only thing I’m sure about.” He paused. My eyes dropped to my hands, and his hand met my thigh, in a gentle caress. “Look at me.” I did. Of course, I did. “You’ve won races, championships. You were amazing in your WEC debut. Everyone agrees. If you want to do this, you can. Endurance, Formula, just name it… I know you can do it.”

Tension grew heavy. My chest was about to implode on itself, loaded with a strange sense of hope and an ambition I’d felt like I’d forgotten about.

“If I run out of options,” his smile grew, notoriously understanding I was about to completely shift the mood. “I’ll join your dad at Extreme E.”

At this point, I was already grinning. He snorted. “Good luck keeping up with the old man,” he got up and extended me his hand. “Anyways, I’m sure you’d be amazing.”

Five minutes later, we were by the sea again, in a course we trekked at a steady pace, side by side, in silence. If before I associated Carlos with cold and stormy nights, thunder that made the ground shake and freezing snow, now I saw him in the light of the August sun, surrounded by the immense blue, a clear sky and an empty road ahead.

Airport Carlos + Sun Kissed Carlos + Motivational Speaker Carlos + was that Jealous Carlos? 👀 Thank you all for the support! Please, keep leaving comments and messages, they mean the world! All the love, Bru

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #51 – Monstress Volume 8: Inferno by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda

This is the last volume of Monstress that’s currently published and (since vol. 9 is coming out in November) the second-last I’m going to read this year. Which could be either a good or a bad thing, I suppose. This is the first volume I can say I genuinely didn’t enjoy, not even grading on a curve fro the highs of the rest of the series but in general. Not awful, but not good either – by far the most ‘comic-bookey’ plot arc so far, and I really don’t mean that as a compliment.

Through a variety of contrivances involving Maika’s friends journeying to the centre of her mind to try and wake her up from her coma and finding a massive and seemingly living statue of Adara Farclaw – the previously semi-mythical ancient hero-sage of the cats – our main cast (plus the ghost of Maika’s childhood self created by the sheer intensity of her own self-loathing) find themselves on the prison world where Zinn trapped all his kin to keep them from devouring the world we’re more familiar with back in pre-history. They’ve adapted surprisingly well, adopting humanoid forms and farming for the food they need. Immortal but sterile, their history since has been dominated by an endless race war between the first generation Fallen Houses (Zinn’s peers) and the second-generation and much reduced in grandeur (but increased in numbers) Defiled. Zinn, Maika, and the fragment of the Shaman-Empresses’ mask they brought with them are a chance to upset the balance of power, or perhaps even escape – and both sides are willing to do anything it takes for that chance.

Though all that plot aside, the actual point of the volume is to a) provide great reams of lore on the Monstra in general and Zinn’s past and present relationship with the rest of their species in particular and b) give Maika a chance to work on her self-esteem issues and guilt over accidentally killing and eating her mom as a child by providing a tulpa of 10-year-old her to scream at, protect, and reconcile with. Also a bunch of stuff about cats.

I can see the version of this story that works for me, at least in broad strokes. But yeah, the one that actually exists really didn’t. The largest part of that is just allocation of narrative resources, I think? As the book goes on, it has become steadily less interested in the themes and aesthetics I find more compelling to focus on it’s deep lore mythohistory and melodrama among the elder gods, to the point of just leaving the actual setting with its fascinating politics and societies entirely for basically the last two volumes. It begins to make me question why I’m still reading. Maika as a character is profoundly interesting, but having her just clearly announce her issues to a literal embodiment of them is not, to me, particularly compelling reading.

On an aesthetic level, the strange and alien prison planet let me deeply unimpressed. It was all so..familiar. Even the two warring nations of eldritch god-monster have ended up basically human-sized and human-shaped, farming and eating and using tools and building structures in instantly recognizable ways. There’s an excuse offered, but I’m still left wondering why even bother if it’s going to be so unspectacular.

I also found myself disappointing in how...monotonous, I suppose? The aesthetics of technology are growing to be. The guns, tools and armour of these cat worldwalkers who’ve been living underground on this prison world for centuries look almost identical to what technology of the Shaman Empress and the toys the Blood Court uses and- Even if you can torture and justify it all to make sense, it just gets boring and samey eventually, you know? Makes the world feel small.

Which is related to my thematic issues with the volume, in a way. The story is clearly much more interested in the grand, superhuman drama of the monstra, the exploration of multiple worlds and lost continents, space age high technology, more species and relics and myths and just – it all piles up so much that the result just ends up feeling more generic and boring than the more focused and detailed world of the first few volumes was. This is made far worse (for me, anyway) by the fact that Zinn seems to have been personally involved with literally every major historical personage that was mentioned at any point.

The most concise way to put it is that at the start of the story Maika et al really felt like people inhabiting a world, and now it’s at Star Wars levels of the world feeling like a canvas for a specific set of people’s melodrama. Nothing wrong with that, in the slightest – I just prefer the other, and feel a bit cheated by the shift.

On a different thematic level I kept waiting for some real, like, narrative pushback or reversal about how the Defiled are treated as these disgusting morally abhorrent abominations for the fundamental crime of being genetically impure and ‘spiritually mutilated’ and...never really got it?

Anyway, pacing wise the arc is much too short to be a complete, satisfying version of the story it wants to tell, and much, much too long to be a part of the longer story it is a detour from. The story never becomes offensively bad, but I am honestly reading as much out of inertia as anything by now.

[vickyvicarious]

Beetle Bracket

The substack is over now, it's time to be honest. None of us truly needed The Beetle in our lives. And do you know what we need even less? That's right:

The Beetle Sexyman* Bracket!

*gender, species, and probably even sexiness-neutral

That said, let's subject ourselves to this anyway.

There will be a grand total of five rounds, at the end of which the burning question will finally be answered: who is sexiest in Richard Marsh's The Beetle?

The Beetle Bracket is complete! See below for our final competitor's trophies, and below the cut for number breakdowns/writeups of each round.

Round One Breakdown

In the exact opposite of a shocking twist, Mr. Lindon was absolutely demolished by Train. Out of 130 votes, he got only 0.8%, compared to Train's whopping 90%. Excluding em-dash votes, that adds up to 117 for votes for Train and a measly 1 for Mr. Lindon.

Perhaps the biggest challenge this round was telling the contestants apart (at least in the wonderful accompanying art). However, people pulled through for Edwards, deeming that his ability to survive Sydney is the sexier quality. Out of 55 votes, Edwards won with 52.7%, compared to Peter's 27.3%. Excluding em-dash votes, that's 29 votes for Edwards, and 15 for Peter.

Brick Guy aimed his stones at the voters' hearts, it seems! Out of 58 votes, he won handily with 87.9%, while Mrs. Henderson netted a mere 5.2%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 51 votes for Brick Guy, and 3 for Mrs. Henderson.

Another easy victory! The Flirty Constable was confirmed far sexier than Louisa Coleman, who could only disapprove out her window. Out of 47 votes, he got 83%, against Louisa Coleman's 8.5%. Excluding em-dash votes, that's 38 votes for Brick Guy, and 4 for Louisa Coleman.

We always knew this would be the real nail-biter of Round One, and it didn't disappoint! The vote was the closest by far, and both contestants exchanged the winning spot multiple times, but in the end Cat narrowly eked out a win... true to life, at least in my experience of cat vs. carpet battles. Out of 152 votes, Cat won with 44.7%, against Carpet's 42.1%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 68 votes for Cat, and 64 for Carpet.

One last gimme to finish us off this round. Out of 65 votes, Glove Seller won with 80%, Matthews trailing at 15.4%. Excluding em-dash votes, that adds up to 52 votes for Glove Seller, and 10 for Matthews.

Round Two Breakdown

Look, he's no Superman - Robert Holt stood no chance against this runaway Train, it seems. Out of 102 votes, it barreled to victory with 58.8% against Bobert's 31.4%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 60 votes for the train, and 32 for Holt.

Nearly everyone agrees that No One is sexier than Augustus Champnell! No, not like that. I mean, the detective is significantly less sexy than the mere concept of no one at all. Out of 64 votes, No One handily won with 81.3% against Augustus's 9.4%. Excluding em-dash votes, that is 52 votes for No One, and 6 for Augustus Champnell.

Marjorie Lindon may have three men canonically head-over-heels for her, but neither Edwards nor Tumblr count among those numbers - though this was the closest match this round. Out of 41 votes, he quickly defeated her with 48.8% against her 31.7%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 20 votes for Edwards and 13 for Marjorie.

Percy Woodville doesn't want to fight - but luckily the voters were willing to do so for him! Out of 43 votes, he took 58.1%, compared to Brick Guy's 30.2%. Excluding em-dash votes, that becomes 25 votes for Percy, and 13 for Brick Guy.

The Beetle has many mystical abilities. Chief of these, it seems, is being literally the only main character to survive their first round in the sexyman contest! Speaks to the (lack of) sexiness in Marsh's writing, I suppose. Out of 104 votes, The Beetle won easily with 66.3%, while the Flirty Policeman only had 13.5%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 69 votes for Theb (nice), and 14 for the policeman.

He survived it twice, thanks to Edwards and The Beetle (more worthy competitors according to this round), but the third time seems to have been the charm. Sydney Atherton was absolutely slaughtered by Atherton's Magic Vapour! Out of 47 votes, the murdergas got 72.3% compared to Sydney's 17%. Excluding em-dash votes, that adds up to 34 votes for the vapour, and only 8 for its creator.

The Cat is no longer just lurking outside Paul Lessingham's house in hopes of pets and food. Oh no, it's shaping up to be a fierce competitor indeed! Out of 58 votes, it won easily with 58.6%, versus Paul's 29.3%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 34 votes for our favorite feline, and only 17 for the erstwhile statesman.

Glove Seller took an early lead, and Dora Grayling simply never caught up. Honestly, she'd probably be fine with it, she only cares about Sydney anyway. Out of 74 votes, Glove Seller easily won with 47.3%, Dora only getting 33.8%. Excluding em-dash votes, that equals 35 for Glove Seller, and 25 for Dora.

Round Three Breakdown

In any other sexyman bracket this matchup might not have meant so much, but I think we all understand these were some top contenders who both deserve our respect. Still, only one could continue on... and with the narrowest margin of victory in the entire bracket thus far, that turned out to be the Train! Out of 56 votes, it won with 46.4% against No One's 41.1%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 26 votes for Train, and 23 for No One. (Cat vs. Carpet had a difference of 4 votes, being the second-closest match. I'm loving that the fiercest battles are the ones with no people involved.)

Percy Woodville's charms carried the day once again, this time with a rather dramatic lead. I'm sure he's much more surprised than we are. Out of 38 votes, he had 78.9%, leaving Edwards in the dust with 10.5%. Excluding em-dash votes, that adds up to 30 votes for Percy, and 4 for Edwards.

Perhaps it's The Beetle's sheer unbridled charisma, perhaps it's the fact that the vapour has 'Atherton' in the name... Either way, this round was a slam dunk for our favorite coleoptera, proving that at least in this case canon was onto something. Out of 83 votes, The Beetle took 72.3% while Atherton's Magic Vapour could only muster up 13.3%. Excluding em-dash votes, that equals 60 for Theb, and just 11 for the vapour.

Well, it had a good run... but in the end the Cat just didn't know what to do in the face of that many gloves, just like everyone else Glove Seller has come up against. (It's fine, I'm officially declaring that she adopted it. These matches only end in death when the loser sucks.) Out of 52 votes, Glove Seller won with 53.8% versus Cat's 40.4%. Excluding em-dash votes, that would be 28 for Glove Seller, and 21 for the kitty.

Round Four Breakdown

He put up a good fight, and managed to close the initial gap somewhat, but in the end Percy just didn't have the requisite sexiness to defeat the mighty Train. Out of 63 votes, it won with 60.3%, against Percy's 28.6%. Excluding em-dash votes, that equals 38 votes for Train, and 18 for Percy.

Glove Seller may be many things (to us; she is admittedly very few things in canon), but apparently those do not include immunity to The Beetle. Winning with their narrowest margin yet, they still easily took over half of all votes! Out of 47 votes, Theb won with 63.8% versus Glove Seller's 23.4%. Excluding em-dash votes, that makes 30 votes for the Beetle, and 11 for Glove Seller.

As per vast majority vote, there will now be a third-place match next round. Apologies to the three of you who didn't want it, feel free to seek out your nearest hypnotist bugperson and ask them to erase the memories of whatever the results may be from your mind.

Final Round Breakdown

It seems that we are all the Train fiends today. At least for this one particular train. Out of 128 votes, it took the win with a solid 56.3%, against The Beetle's 31.3%. Excluding em-dash votes, that adds up to 72 votes for Train, and 40 for the Beetle. It seems some things are just meant to be. Theb will simply have to fly away with the silver, for now...

While the finale results were accurate to canon, that's not the case for third place! Percy Woodville made one final effort and overtook Glove Seller's early lead. Out of 57 votes, he won with 47.4%, against Glove Seller's 31.6%. Excluding em-dash votes, that equals 27 votes for Percy and 18 for Glove Seller. Honestly, I think she'd be proud of him, and if my official stance means anything to you, then you should know that Glove Wins (aka Persally aka this ship) is beetle bracket canon in my heart.

[awkwardiplodocus]

Memories of Edward. (Sneak peek)

This isn’t particularly well written, but here you go! The main characters -

Edward Beckett (Pale af, English boi)

Joseph Miller (American Boi)

March 25th 1944

Joseph sits in the wooden booth, a pint sat in front of him. The pub is relatively quiet tonight. No gentle piano music playing which he solely misses.

Where’s Edward?

A gentle sigh falls from his lips, bowing his head not noticing as a woman slides next to him. Not until she speaks.

“Wondering where Edward is?” The voice startles him.

“Marjorie?” He splutters out.

She hums softly staring at him with a knowing expression, it’s like she see’s through him. Knows something he doesn’t even know about himself. “That’s me.”

“Was Edward sent ba-“

“Back to war?” She shakes her head, “no, no. He’s here actually.’

Joseph glances around, excitedly trying to spot Edward’s frame in the empty pub, only to twist in confusion when he can’t spot him. “Where?”

Marjorie chuckles, “Oh no no, not in here joe.”

“What?”

“Just follow me.”

Marjorie slips off the seat, heading towards the bar calling something over to the barkeep. “Gareth, my dear. Me and My friend here would like the special.”

The barkeeps, Gareth looks over to Joseph skeptically. Unsure of whether or not to trust the well built American. “Are you sure ms beckett?” He askes quieter out of Joseph’s ear shot. She nods gently, “I’m positive.” She glances back to him. “Come on you.”

“Where?”

“Just follow.” She chuckles.

He does, confused as they head behind through a concealed door, descending down the stairs that follow. Marjorie speeding ahead, clearly excited.

“Wait.” He called to death ears as she disappears through another door.

Joseph stops, looking through the door. His mouth fallen slightly agap, the room is full of young men and woman. The familiar sound of a gentle piano in the background, Edward is playing. A peaceful expression adorned his face as he watches men dance with other men. Others might call it contempt, yet even from afar Joseph can see the hidden longing behind his dark eyes.

Marjorie grins, “Well?”

Joseph hates having to drag his eyes away from Edward. But he cannot ignore the woman who brought him to this safe haven. “How did you?”

She smiles, her arm slipping around his, linking them together as she begins leading them through the room. “We people have to stick together.” Marjorie offers as her only explanation sending a coy wink in his direction. He doesn’t know how to respond, an overwhelmed feeling washing over him. Marjories gloved hand rubs his arm in a calming manner, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“Edward.” Her soft voice calls.

Edward’s eyes glance towards them, widening slightly as they land on Joseph, tripping him up, stunting the beautiful tune he was playing. Though, he recovers quickly and ends the song shorter than expected.

“Joseph?” Edward stands, unsure of what else to say. As Marjorie pushes the handsome American soldier in his direction. “Edward…” the name leaves his lips in nothing more than a whisper as he holds out a hand, “dance with me.”

Edward doesn’t utter a word his hand sliding into Joseph’s, their fingers intertwining. Slotting together in away that tells the one another that this is exactly what the other was missing. Heading to the dance floor as Marjorie slides onto the little bench, ready to take over on piano duty to play her favourite tune.

Joseph pulls Edward close, his hand resting on the small of his back. The corner of his lips turning up, as they fall easily into step with each other. Neither fighting to take lead as they move around the floor, body’s flowing together in perfect harmony as Marjorie begins to sing.

Edward who’s never been the strongest dancer is shocked at just how simple it is with Joseph, unaware of how he’s able to dance in such a way. With others he could never find a flow, constantly tripping over his own two feet falling into the other man or occasional woman he danced with. But with him it’s so easy. Edward stares, taking in every detail of the mans face with each moment that passes, falling a little more in love with every second.

Joseph, despite being younger than Edward by 4 months, appears older, with kind eyes that are dark like his own and gentle creases coming off the corners as he stares at him with such a tender expression, smile lines present on his forehead and the bump on Joseph’s nose is hard not to love, so up close.

Neither of them speak a word, the truth is they don’t need to. Enough was said with ease of the dance. Following each other’s steps without hesitation or quarrel. Getting lost in the music taking no notice of how much time has truly passed. Edward even resting his head on Joseph’s shoulder at one point, showing his comfort with him in a way Marjorie nor Patrick, for that matter had ever seen before.

Patrick had been sat in the corner since the start of the evening, he did this on occasion always wanting to see his grandchildren for who they really are, hating how they had to hide themselves in everyday society. It was the reason he built this place in the first place. Having no other truly safe space for them. They flourished. Marjorie had always been the flirtatious type, though her true feeling were often masked. Here, she could respectfully and safely flirt with whichever woman she liked.

Edward for the majority of the time played his music, the raw forms of songs he could not sing to general public without changing the pronouns or subject entirely. Patrick always enjoyed them no matter the topic or whomever the subject. The piano melody always complemented the lyrics in such a fashion nobody honestly seemed to fully understand. Only Edward. He enjoyed watching people dance to them it brought him joy, he’d confessed that much to Patrick on a quiet day when prompted.

Though, Patrick always feared a deeper reasoning to Edward’s reluctance to join in on the festivities. A broken heart often crossed his mind, unrequited love. The possibility of him falling in love with a man who might even throw several punch’s in his direction, if he ever found out the truth is all Patrick feared for his grandson. So seeing him dance so freely with Joseph is like a breath of fresh air to the older gentleman, a smile gracing his expression as he observes.

[styxbugg]

Have some basic ideas and concepts for my fraggle rock human au, cause I’ve thought a lot about it (i like it :) ) but have yet to write anything down

UNDER THE CUT CAUSE THERE’S A LOT OF STUFF!!!!!!

FIRST OF ALL it’s a college au, cause ive always imagined them to be about that kind of age. They’re all either freshman or sophomores— they’re in the same grade, just either one would work. They’re room assignments are also the same as in the show, with boober having scored a single

As for majors/minors/activies/character roles:

Gobo: majors in anthropology, and minors in music. Wouldn’t be apart of any official band programs, but would be that one guy who carries his guitar everywhere

Red: majors in creative writing and/or media studies. She’s on the hockey team, the swimming team, and does track (at least). Maybe she does percussion for one of the school bands

Mokey: double majors in creative writing and art. Very involved in all the theater companies on campus, and will eventually write a play for one of them to perform. Will hold impromptu jazz jam sessions

Wembley: undecided. His current strategy is to take classes in as many different majors as possible (it’s not really working out). Is in the pit for the marching band

Boober: majors in hospitality and culinary (maybe one of those is a minor?) He helps out with theater sometimes and would definitely get an on campus job in one of the dining halls

Cotterpin: majors in architecture and engineering, minors in art, and would later get a masters in buisness management. Shes also in the marching band pit. She is overworking herself

Wrench: majors in engineering. Im honestly not sure what else hed do :(

Marjory: that one old history professor that everyone loves. Philo and gunge are her teaching assistants

Architect: runs the architecture and engineering programs

Uncle matt: an alum of the school who got somewhat famous and now regularly donates to it. There’s a lot of wings and benches named after him

Other stuff:

Mokey is the only one from the main five that cotterpins not friends with, even though shes the only one cotterpin has classes with. They just never talk

Gobo regularly forces his friends on hikes around campus

Marooned happens when red is trying to distract boober from his surprise party and shoves him in a storage closet. They both get locked in there over night. Boober effectively freaks her out by telling her how easy itd be for them to starve to death in there (they’re fine tho)

That’s most of what i got :) suggestions for doc or the gorgs would be appreciated, ive got very few ideas

[marjorie-ann-miller-1949]

Hello. I'm Marjorie. I guess. Joined this "rotumblr" website because my book club thought they were going to "Promote themselves on social media" or whatever it's called. Whatever. I'm here now. Might as well introduce myself, right? That's what you weirdos do here?

Marjorie. Already said that. That's me. Live in Sinnoh. I train Grass and Bug types. Hobbies include reading, gardening, and occasional painting. Was a gym Challenger back in my prime. Still up for a batttle if you come by. Though I'd rather you didn't. Come by, I mean.

Here's my Trainer Card. it is here twice. Unsure why it is there twice.

Terry the Tangrowth was my first partner. This asshole's been around almost as long as I have. Love him.

Carla is my Yanmega. Too kind, too empathetic, and too loyal. Pet her ONE TIME and she'll never leave your side.

Martha is my Vileplume. She keeps people away from my house - Would YOU go up to the house of the mean old lady with the sneezy old plant? She's a sweet girl though. More patient than I could ever be.

Antonia is my Scolipede. Incredibly full of herself. Do NOT compliment her. She won't leave you alone. Kind, strong, powerful, dignified, and eternally humble. (I am being sarccastic. she is the least humble Pokémon I know.)

Dorcas is my Cradily. She's like an old Liepard - a little persnickety, a little mischievous, but eternally loyal.

Sadie is my Ariados. She's an old-timer too. Retired at this point, doesn't battle. Still as feisty as ever - challenge her and you WILL be webbed to the wall. Don't expect me to help, either. Your fault for getting stuck.

I have a service Espeon, since I'm not exactly the best at getting around. Opens doors, grabs things for me, finds help if I fall. SO much energy. Seriously. Love him, even if he's eternally annoying. Doesn't really have a name, I just call him "You."

//ooc under the cut!

hello! this is doof! i run @pokemoncenterofficial and @curses-and-curiosities, and you can find me outside pokeirl at my very-neglected main @doofisconfused. thought it might be fun to make an older character! i had a lot of fun makin marjorie, and i hope you all like her, too! marjorie is 74, but she'd never admit it. she lives in eterna city, but she refuses to give out any more info on her location than "sinnoh."

marjorie's supposed to be kind of a mean character, but if i'm overstepping it please let me know! magic anons are OFF for her but will be for theo (@pokemoncenterofficial)!

[zannenilsson]

hi sorry to annoy but since you appear to like musicals (well at least 1776) and Metropolis ,I was wondering if you have ever watched "Just Imagine"?

Hello and don't worry, this isn't annoying at all, I love answering questions!

And OH MY GODS YES, I have seen "Just Imagine," and I'm so thrilled someone else here has heard of it!

For everyone else: "Just Imagine" is a Hollywood musical from 1930 that perfectly embodies the pure chaos of first-gen movie musicals (circa 1929-1932). For those first few years Hollywood was basically throwing everything at the wall in this hot new genre and seeing what stuck, which in the case of "Just Imagine" meant someone going "Hey what if we did a musical comedy set in Metropolis but the main character was played by an ethnic comedian that nobody likes?"

And trust me when I say this film has it all. Futuristic cityscapes from the distant future of 1980 which were long mistaken for lost stills from "Metropolis." A Scandinavian stereotype frozen in 1930 who's brought back to life as an experiment then abandoned to his own devices. Prohibition jokes. Baby vending machines. A dystopic marriage-dictating council that's played for laughs. A trip to Mars halfway through the film that derails everything. Gay Martians. Martian evil twins. A dance orgy on a giant statue. NONE OF WHICH IS EVER EXPLAINED.

I first heard about this film in a book called "The Hollywood Musical" by Ethan Mordden, who said it was probably the worst movie musical ever made, which was more than enough to make me seek it out on YouTube. It's absolutely wild to watch, especially for the love interest's comedic sidekick D-6, played by Marjorie White. She made me laugh out loud in every scene she's in, and also sang the film's best song (which is about flies having sex because of course it is).

I have unironically watched this movie several times and also got my wife to watch it and we both reference it way too often. If you want to see how truly batshit old movie musicals can be, start with "Just Imagine."

[thethirdromana]

I went down a bit of a rabbit hole on Victorian inequality.

I posted about this recently in the context of Dorian Gray, but it keeps cropping up in the literature of the 1890s, as we meet a series of characters with deep inequalities of wealth and income.

In Dracula, inequality ranges from Jonathan, a middle-class solicitor who was probably earning around £100 annually while he was still a clerk, to Arthur, an nobleman whose income is at least £5,000 annually. (My post on that).

In the Beetle, inequality ranges from Robert Holt, a middle-class clerk, currently unemployed, but otherwise subject to the same pay scale as Jonathan without the promotion, to any of the other main characters: Sydney, Marjorie, Paul and the newly introduced Hon. Augustus Champnell. We don't know any of the wealthier characters' incomes but those who work do so by choice rather than necessity. I think we're talking four-figure incomes for all of them.

In the Picture of Dorian Gray, so far, inequality ranges from the Vane family, for whom £50 is a lot of money, to Lord Henry, who is another nobleman, with another four or even five-figure income.

Inequality warps the world that these characters live in. OK, not so much the world of the Beetle, because Richard Marsh isn't a good enough writer to recognise it. But Arthur smoothes the way for the Crew of Light simply by throwing around colossal amounts of money. And Dorian's relationship with Sibyl is immediately defined by the fact that he is so much richer than she is.

So what I've been trying to figure out is, just how unequal was Victorian Britain? How much of this impression of inequality is because all three novels include nobleman - the Victorian 1% - vs reflecting the reality of the society their authors lived in?

First step was trying to find some comparable data. This tremendously helpful article estimates a Gini coefficient of wealth inequality of 94 in Great Britain in 1890. (100 would be total inequality; 0 total equality). That's higher than any of the 25 countries for which they provide data for 2010 (the most recent date given). Great Britain comes in at 69 in 2010, compared with Poland at 58 at the lowest of the countries listed, and the USA at the highest at 88.

The same article also looks at share of wealth of the wealthiest 10%. For Great Britain in 1890, that's estimated at 89%, compared with 54% in 2010. Across the other countries listed, Poland is again lowest at 37% (go Poland!) and the USA highest at 73%.

So very crudely, the gap in wealth equality between Victorian Britain and modern Britain is pretty similar to the gap in wealth equality between Poland and the USA today.

I also had a bit of a look at raw income numbers to see how this might feel in practice. £1,000 a year is about the top end of middle-class salaries and the bottom end of what a member of the aristocracy might expect to live off. (Jonathan might well earn that much on inheriting Mr Hawkins' estate and legal practice). It's enough to employ three or four servants, though it's certainly a lot less than any of the wealthy characters I listed at the start of this post are living off. It's nearly 20x the adult male average salary of £56 a year, and more than 20x the average salary for all workers in the UK, which was £42/14/- in the mid-1880s.

In the UK today, the median salary for full-time workers is £33,000. (I know I'm comparing means with medians and so on, but I've got to make do with what I've got, and I suspect it wouldn't make that much difference anyway). By the same ratio, our wealthy characters would consider themselves just scraping by on what - by comparison with a normal worker - is an income of £660,000 annually, and based on my best guess for their actual income, is more like the equivalent of £33m per year. Or roughly the annual income of Lady Gaga, one of the 100 top-earning celebrities in the world.

So that's what this level of income inequality feels like. Sibyl Vane is like a normal actor who has Lady Gaga flirting with her, with comparable implications for how much this could transform her life.

[gentlelass]

Updates~

Hey there!~ Yes, this is the second time I post in… 40 seconds. If you haven’t seen the other post I just made yet, go through my blog to see it. It’s a redraw of an old drawing of Marjorie. And it’s cute. Because she’s cute. Like always.

Yes, this is an order, you peasants. Go.

But by the way, I’m making another post for two main reasons—

First, the poll I made a day ago!

(Translation: final result from 15 votes)

With a 46.7% of majority of votes, in the name of democracy, convention won over dubious originality probably stemming by multiple head traumas suffered as an infant by the undersigned creator GentleLass aka Isabel, and #morderie is the official name we will use to address this equally dubious and unlikely pair living rent-free in my head for the last three months at least!

But I said the reasons I was making this post were two, right?

Well, I recently have been repeatedly mentioning a ‘bigger project’ I’ve been working on, and since I am far too sensitive for my own good and feel cruel for ‘teasing’ you all like that for an extended period of time, I want to give you a couple sneak-peaks on the mess I’ve been (horrifically slowly) working on for the last few weeks:

Yes, as I have not even bothered concealing, it is Marjorie’s character sheet and the artwork to pair with it.

I actually have her description ready already (hey, it rhymed!), but the aforementioned artwork and the editing of her name with that strange but beautiful font of Tracy’s which is NOT downloadable are… slowing me down. Terribly so.

Yes, the program is Ibis Paint X, and yes, I literally draw with my bare finger, which is one of the many reasons I’m slow as heck.

Margo may or may not be on a boat.

It may or may not have been inspired by the Savoys’ character sheets… for undefined reasons I ain’t disclosing just yet.

I take back what I said, maybe I do am a tiny bit cruel, after all.

-GentleLass.

[veliseraptor]

October Reading Recap

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun: vol. 3 by Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou. Still in the territory of a part of this book I remember fairly well, and while the whole underworld arc is good it's not my favorite part of the book and mostly I come away from it going "Rong Jiu has rights." which is true! and I do think Meatbun knows it actually but it still hurts how his arc goes here. Me: continually getting too wound up in the fates of side characters and distracted from what's going on with the mains.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to moving into the next parts of the book, which I don't remember as well. Though I know it's a while before it gets really painful, aka what I'm most excited to reread.

Dark Carnivals: Modern Horrors and the Origins of American Empire by W. Scott Poole. I was so frustrated by this book. I wanted it to be an analysis of horror films and their relationship to American imperialism; what I got was a lot of overwrought prose and repetition of the titular metaphor that was very light on the analysis of the actual texts and heavy on the scathing opinions about what is "good" (politically) horror and what is "bad" (politically) horror. Which, fine, my politics are technically the same as his politics, but it was annoying to read in a book that I thought was going to be more analytical. I had high hopes for this book and it failed them; makes me more hesitant to read his other book about horror and World War I, which I have had on my list for a while. But I liked his book on Lovecraft, funnily enough, so not totally sure what went wrong here.

Paradise-1 by David Wellington. I did not realize that this book was first in a series and I'm a little bit annoyed about it. It was decent horror but it doesn't need to be a series and the lack of resolution bugs me, because now if I want resolution I have to read the next book and I don't think I really want to read the next book. Space horror seems like it would be such a rich land full of possibility and yet I keep being disappointed by space horror. (If, in this case, less disappointed than I was by Dead Silence.)

Remnants of Filth: vol. 1 by Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou. She's done it again! It's a differently fucked up relationship, to be sure, but boy am I already here for it, despite feeling like I know very little about what's going on. Gu Mang is my jam as far as character type, and I really like the dynamic as its laid out as having been previously between him and Mo Xi, and also how it is now. Dedicated friends/lovers turned to bitter enemies turned to one of them fractured to a shadow of himself leaving the other bereft of resolution...mm, good stuff. Can't wait to find out more about what's going on under Gu Mang's surface. Looking forward to reading more of this one and glad that I already have the second volume to go to. (And the rest, technically, but I do like reading cnovels in print when I can more than reading on a computer.)

I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. Look at me! Reading classic sci-fi knowing only the bare minimum about it. I liked it more than I expected to, and was less bothered by the way the women were written than I expected to. I didn't realize that it was more a string of short stories tied together by a frame narrative than a novel, but it was really fine that I didn't know that going in - didn't affect my enjoyment, I don't think. And I did enjoy it! I might not have read it on my own, but I read it for a sci-fi book club and ended up liking both it and the book club. Not sure I'd give it, like, a strong recommendation, but I'm glad I finally read it. It'll be interesting seeing what echoes/traces of it I can now pick up in other robot/AI-related writing.

Monstress: vol. 5-7 by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda. This comic is so good you guys. So. Good. I don't really know what else to say here, except that she continues to step up her game even more with every volume, and I don't know how she's keeping all the balls in the air that she is with this story as deftly as she is. I have no idea where this story is going, either, and I can't wait to find out. I don't know. Themes of monstrosity and agency and lack of agency and how to be a good person (or try) in a terrible world. With a whole lot more than that. Also there's gay betrayal, if you're into that.

Ariadne by Jennifer Saint. Why do I continue to read Greek Mythology retellings when at best they end up making me go "eh, it was okay I guess"? Not sure. But this was okay, I guess. I liked the same author's Electra better.

Pathogenesis: A History of the World in Eight Plagues by Jonathan Kennedy. More of a "history of the western world categorized by periods of time in which there were various diseases" which...was not quite what I was hoping for, but it was still a good, solid book about epidemiology and the impact of disease on history. A lot of it was familiar to me (how disease enabled the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs and Incas, for instance, but also British colonization in North America), but I did learn some new things, particularly in the sections about Paleolithic/Neolithic diseases. All in all a book I read because I'm particularly interested in the subject but not probably one I'd recommend as the one book that they'd have to read about it.

The Hollow Kind by Andy Davidson. I made it a goal in October to read some spooky books and ended up only reading three, but this was easily my favorite of those - and my favorite non-Darcy Coates horror I've read in a while, too. I wasn't totally sure what to expect from this one, and the slow reveal in the first two thirds particularly was very well done. I found myself slightly more compelled by the portions set in the past than by the present storyline, but not so much as to ding the whole book for it. And I liked that the monster was left pretty vague and undefined, too; that's always my preference. Some very gross descriptions and body horror, as a caveat for those who might be interested but are sensitive about such things.

Die: vol. 1-3 by Kieron Gillen and Stephanie Hans. I'm finally rereading (and finishing) this series and...I forgot how much I like it. Not only because the art is gorgeous (and the art is gorgeous) but Kieron Gillen's writing remains as sharp as ever, and the way he is playing with fantasy as a genre is very fun for me as a fantasy nerd. My favorite issue remains the one about The Lord of the Rings, though. I don't know that this one is quite as good as The Wicked and the Divine as a whole, but I'll have to reread that one taken as a whole, too, before making that determination.

And the art really is gorgeous. Stephanie Hans remains a fave.

Homegrown: Timothy McVeigh and the Rise of Right-Wing Extremism by Jeffrey Toobin. A decent narrative about the Oklahoma City bombing, certainly competently written, but he interrupted himself a little too often drawing parallels to January 6th, in my opinion, and I don't feel like I took anything particularly new or fresh away from this. Which is maybe an artifact of the fact that I've read a number of better books about the rise of right-wing extremism in the 90s, and this one wasn't one of them, but I'm going to go ahead and damn with faint praise when I say "it was fine."

currently I'm rereading Banewreaker by Jacqueline Carey which is a fascinating text in ways that I'm going to need to chew on for a bit, so that I can finally read the sequel. but then a bunch of stuff came in for me at the library, so I'm next probably going to be reading Silver Nitrate by Sylvia Moreno-Garcia, and then Godslayer by Jacqueline Carey, and then The Art of Prophecy by Wesley Chu, and then Children of Memory by Adrian Tchaikovsky, and then Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez. or that's the plan, anyway. we'll see how fast it gets derailed.

also somewhere in there planning on reading more Female General and Eldest Princess and most likely the second volume of Remnants of Filth. I'm trying to spend less time on the internet in general (you absolutely could not tell I am sure) so let's make it a busy reading month instead.

[hoopearringsunlikemine]

Supa team 4:

Supa team 4:

I have never felt more seen by any show.  

I would like everyone to know something about me, and my physical form out side of tumblr (yes I do have one actually). I am African-America,  and I shaved my hair. I also struggle with the feeling like I’m not black enough, one of those reasons being because of the fact that I don’t have enough hair to lock or braid. ‘Why am I telling you all this?’ You may ask, because with all this, a single show managed somehow help me and my struggle. When I tell that this show in eight episodes talking about teen girls becoming superheroes made me feel more seen than any (black,lgbtqia+, neurodivergent) focused show I’v seen so far I am telling you the TRUTH. For me it’s a 10/10 and I will recommend to anyone. 

Characters.

I’ll be honest with you. I see no flaws with the characters. In fact dare I say, this show has some of the best made characters i’v ever seen. With like actual depth, since the character are not only used for representation; writers can focus on the characters themselves. Which is rare to find, especially with black characters. 

Marjory

Right now my favorite character is Marjory. For multiple reasons but the main one being that she has no hair. Her hair is actually similar to mine, the only difference being I use designs (so people can differentiate me from others boys). The other being, she’s so rude(/affectionate). She always has something to say and often comments on the four main girls and of the girls don’t really like but never comment on her hair because it’s normal. We don’t see much of her character through out the first season but I’m (REALLY!!!!) hoping that we get to see her more and have the writers add more depth to her character. 

The main 4/ The Supa 4/ Momma K’s team 4

I love them all so much. They are all such amazing characters. The Supa 4 consists of Komana, Monde, Temwe, Zee, and Mama K. These writers KNOW what they’re doing, this is  a middle school; this is the experience. Each of the characters feel like an extension of myself and it hits hard.

First up we have Zee. Zee is the tall, skinny, athletic girl which I love because her body type is basically mine. I can understand her when her episode comes up and she becomes over confident, in a way it shows that in the future she might be insecure, because people who get overconfident that quickly are often insecure. Zee plays for the schools football/Soccer team and is very good at. She also seems to love it as well because that is her weapon when they power up! 

Next we have Temwe! Temwe our short queen, she is represented as an empty hole who is willing to eat anything. Apart of her character is that she has some anger issues and is a bit of a troublemaker. In middle school I felt/feel like I always was doing something wrong even in primary school it was always me doing the wrong thing. I do headcannon that she has ADHD sense in one of her episodes she had to studying to prevent getting kicked off the team. I also believe that she maybe a favorite of the principal, despite how hard he is on her.

even in the last episode he states how he sees himself in her. 

Monde is nextttt! Monde is the plus size queen.  This is once again a thing with the character designs, she is chubby not slimed down, not sexualized(she is in middle school btw.) she is just chubby, and this one character probably impacted so many people. She struggles with feeling left out in the friend group because of her being new to the school which is quite relatable. I also love her relationship with her sister, she lives with her sister meaning she is growing up with a strong woman! She is also the most involved with my favorite character: Marjory. 

Last but not least Komana. Komana is the second shortest, and the smartest of the team. She brings her A game when it comes to her smarts and does lack in the creativity department. She also is the only character (so. far/excluding Monde sister) with a ‘love interest’ which I love. She struggles with her self worth, thinking that everything she does has to be great and if it isn’t then she failed. She spent an entire episode feeling like she wasn’t good enough showing so much of her character! 

How does this make me feel?

I feel so very seen by these characters. In a way I feel like I’m being talked to threw these characters and I feel heard. Zee being similar to my body type is just like clarification, that the writers see me and others like me. Temwe is not only a character that I feel like the watchers can put themselves into but can match a person too.  It has been far too long where (kid) shows have been to afraid to represent any sort of body type that’s similar to Monde’s, but not this show. Komana is the one showing not everything will be easy for you and that feels good to see. 

[ducktracy]

The way ppl talk about Sniffles you’d think he was just as harmful and bad as Buddy 😭

TELL ME ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!! Sniffles activates my “Porky Pig Defense Brigade” gene—i think out of all the characters, he isn’t among my very favorite, but i will 100% go out of my way to defend and prop him up if the opportunity arises. i adore Sniffles and hate he has such a bad reputation!!! “he’s not funny” Have You Thought To Consider That His Main Goal As A Character Wasn’t Exactly To Be Hilarious!

it’s mainly an issue regarding how people view Chuck Jones’ pre-1942 cartoons as completely disposable trash made in the vein of Disney. there are certainly some duds (i will be happy when i can abstain from Curious Puppy shorts for a long time) but he actually grows at a remarkable pace. it’s actually startling how quickly he found his footing, as it didn’t take long at all for his shorts to look the best out of anyone’s in, say, 1940. i think so much of that is dismissed because people are looking for the wrong types of growth. they look for the growth in humor, rather than looking at what Jones himself was explicitly setting out to achieve. for what his mission was and what he was intending to convey, he excelled very quickly.

and i think Sniffles is just caught up in this cycle of ignorance. Sniffles is synonymous with early Jones, which, of course, is synonymous with the aforementioned drivel so many people assume his cartoons as. but there is a REASON Sniffles is associated with early Chuck! because he was SUCCESSFUL enough to be associated with early Chuck!

likewise i doubt many people have seen the Sniffles shorts where he’s voiced by Marjorie Tarlton instead of Margaret Hill-Talbot; those shorts are explicitly fashioned to portray him as a more comedic character and they are genuinely funny! i challenge you not to at least smirk politely during The Unbearable Bear! does a hint of a smile not cross your lips listening to Sniffles completely butcher “worcestershire” in Lost and Foundling (which is an amazing cartoon and is 1 out of 2 Sniffles shorts whose endings have made me tear up because i am a sap)

there are definitely some Sniffles shorts that are better than others and obviously it would be foolish to expect everyone to like him! but yeah it’s crazy how often he’s painted as this HORRIBLE UNFUNNY UNTALENTED ANNOYING CLOYING STUPID LITTLE GREMLIN when in reality… i normally express an aversion to such a saying but i will make an exception here. he is, truly, just a little guy.

how can you hate this. sincerely

[larena]

Genuinely was not expecting going in that Guild Wars 2 would be as focused on queer characters as it is. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a "queer game" - I don't think the narrative is intensely or really visibly focused on queer themes from what I've played midway through Heart of Thorns.

But like, Caithe and Faolain are there as major background figures from the jump, you see a few other queer relationships here and there as minor NPCs. Then Living World introduces Marjory and Kasmeer and the two of them and their relationship have remained a pretty important component of the main cast dynamics so far.

It's just neat, it still feels so rare to play a big mainstream game like this where heteronormative relationships aren't the default. To the point where I'm like... maybe put a couple straights in here for variety, idk