#Notes on Modern Irrationality

[quotes-for-the-soul]

I find it especially vital to remember that political dogmas become dogmas expressly because they are repeated with fervor. When a politician or pundit starts to sound more like a commercial jingle or broken record than a scholar, that's a cue to listen more closely--to bear in mind that knowledge isn't always meant to go down like a nursery rhyme.

The Age of Magical Overthinking: Notes on Modern Irrationality by Amanda Montell

[secretmellowblog]

The thing is, Jean Valjean’s “nineteen year prison sentence for stealing a loaf of bread” from Les Mis isn’t actually unusual….not even today! I see people talking about it as if it’s strange or unimaginable when it happens every day.

In modern America — often as a result of pointlessly cruel (and racist) habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws— people are routinely sentenced to life in prison for minor crimes like shoplifting or possession of drugs.

The ACLU did a report in 2013 detailing the lives of various people who were sentenced to life in prison without parole for nonviolent property crimes like:

•attempting to cash a stolen check

•a junk-dealer’s possession of stolen junk

metal (10 valves and one elbow pipe)

•possession of stolen wrenches

•siphoning gasoline from a truck

•stealing tools from a tool shed and a welding machine from a yard

•shoplifting three belts from a department store

•shoplifting several digital cameras

•shoplifting two jerseys from an athletic store

• taking a television, circular saw, and a power converter from a vacant house

• breaking into a closed liquor store in the middle of the night

And of course, so so so many people sentenced to life without parole for the possession of a few grams of drugs.

And we could go on and on!

Gregory Taylor was a homeless man in Los Angeles who, in 1997, was sentenced to “25 years to life” for attempting to steal food from a food kitchen. He was released after 13 years. The lawyers helping to release him even cited Les Miserables in their appeal, comparing Taylor’s sentence to Jean Valjean’s.

And there’s another specific bit of social commentary Hugo was making about Valjean’s trial that’s still depressingly relevant. He writes that Valjean was sentenced for the theft of loaf of bread, but also that the court managed to make that sentence stick by bringing up some of his past misdemeanors. For example, Valjean owned a gun and was known to occasionally poach wildlife (presumably for his starving family to eat.) . So the court exaggerates how harmful the bread theft was—he had to smash a windowpane to get the bread, which is basically Violence— then insist the fact that he owns a gun and occasionally poaches is proof that he is habitually and innately violent. Then when Valjean obviously becomes distressed traumatized and furious as a result of his nakedly unjust sentence and begins making desperate (and very unsuccessful/impulsive/ poorly thought through) attempts to escape…. the government indifferently tacks more years onto his sentence, labels him a “dangerous” felon, and insists that its initial read of him as an innately violent person was correct.

And it’s sad how a lot of the real life stories linked earlier are similar to the commentary Hugo wrote in 1863? Someone will commit a nonviolent property crime, and then the court insists that a bunch of other miscellaneous things they’ve done in the past (whether it’s other minor thefts or being addicted to drugs or w/e) are Proof they’re inherently violent and incapable of being around other people.

A small very petty fandom side note: This is also why I dislike all those common jokes you see everywhere along the lines of “lol it’s so unrealistic for the police to want to arrest Valjean over a loaf of bread, there must have been some other reason the police were pursuing him. Because the state would never punish someone that harshly and irrationally for no reason. so maybe javert was just gay haha”. (Ex: this tiktok— please don’t harass the creator or poster though, I don’t think they were intending to mean anything like that and its just a silly common type of joke you see made about Les mis all the time so it’s not unique in any way.) because like.

As much as I don’t think Les Mis is a flawless book or that its political messaging is perfect….the only way that insanely long unjust sentences for minor crimes is “unrealistic” is if you’re operating on the assumption that prisons are here to Keep You Safe by always only punishing bad criminals who do serious crimes. And that’s just, not true at all. Like I get that these are just goofy silly shallow jokes, and I’m not angry or going to harass anyone who makes them. but it feels like there’s an assumption underlying all those goofy jokes that “this is just not how prison works!” “Prisons don’t routinely sentence people to absurd laughably unjust pointless sentences!” “Prisons give people fair sentences for logical reasons!” When like…no

Valjean being relentlessly hounded and tortured for a minor crime in a way that is utterly ridiculous and arbitrary in its cruelty is not actually a plot hole in Les mis. It’s a plot hole in …..society ajsjkdkdkf. And the only way to fix that is to fight for prison abolition or at least reform, and (in America) stand up against the vicious naked cruelty of habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws.

But yeah :(. I hate how Les Mis opens with a prologue saying the novel will be obsolete the moment the social issues it describes have been resolved— but two hundred years later, the book is still more relevant than ever because we’re dealing with so many of the exact same injustices.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Ace's Story - 2

Source for the pic

Firestarter 2

Word Count: 2769

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader, slight NSFW (It's mature, not explicit), slightly sugestive behaviour, flirting, jealousy, frenemies, sexual tension, miscommunication, unresolved tension, slight angst, slow-burn, romantic comedy vibes, alternate universe modern setting, swearing, drinking, fluff, feelings realisation, denial of feelings.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

Notes: There's a reference to the very first chapter of the introductory chapters. I really advise reading those before diving into this Ace series, for context. Thank you so much for reading! If anyone want to be added to a tag list, feel free to say so! ❤️

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The door bangs and trembles on its hinges once you set foot inside the house. Shank’s red head pops from the kitchen with a raised brow and a scowl. 

Crap, you thought he was still outside. If there is one thing your father hates, it is doors banging. You learned that the hard way when you were younger and a pre-teen. 

Hiding your head in your shoulders, you grimace and apologise. “Sorry, dad.” 

“You thought I wasn't home.” He smirks and you nod with a shrug. 

“What happened?”

“The car broke down for good. Ace says the engine is fried. Can you give me Kid's number, or actually, if you wouldn't mind calling him yourself?” Showing him puppy eyes, you actually hope he calls him because you're not up to dealing with another infuriating man at the moment. 

“I'll call him.” As you follow Shanks into the kitchen, he stuffs a strawberry into his mouth and chews loudly. “Is that why you’re so upset that you almost broke the door?” His frown deepens as you pilfer one strawberry from his share. 

“Er… Yeah, sure.” The last thing you want to do is go into details with your father about how insanely jealous and irrationally bitchy you behaved earlier. Obviously he doesn't buy your act. 

“Did Ace do something?” He asks indignantly. 

You pull the strawberries closer to you and Shanks just gives up and lets you have them.

“Dad…” You sigh. “Ugh, never mind.”

“Bug, you can tell me anything.” And before he fills a cup of coffee for himself, he asks if you want some. 

You decline with a shake of your head. “Is Ace a flirt?”

Shanks’ eyebrows raise almost to his hairline and he coughs as he tries to swallow the coffee. “What do you mean?”

“Is he a womaniser? Does he sleep around?”

“Why? Did he try something with you, baby?” Shanks loses his footing and grabs the counter dramatically, making you roll your eyes at the exaggerated display. His voice gets so high that it makes you flinch. 

“No, dad. It's just… I… forget it!” You throw your arms in the air and turn, ready to leave and go change your outfit. 

A grumble as Shanks clears his throat makes you stop and turn to listen to what he has to say. “He's trustworthy, bug. But he never had a steady girlfriend. He likes to… have fun. So please, be careful.”

You notice the strain in Shanks’ voice. You can tell he likes Ace, but the veiled warning behind his words tells you that you should steer clear. Just like you thought. 

But you were obviously going to steer clear. You do not want to have anything to do with any man. 

Right? 

-*-

The rest of the day passes pretty fast with chores and housework, but at night sleep eludes you. You toss and turn in your bed but can't find a good position and it definitely doesn't help that a certain raven-haired flirt keeps popping up in your head. 

You turn on the light, defeated, and scroll through your phone, trying to distract yourself from your traitorous thoughts. You finally delete your ex’s socials, you’ve had enough of that, and now you casually flip through Nami’s and Robin’s. You see some likes on their posts from familiar people and you follow some, those who you know won’t bother, and others you have met in the short time you’ve been back.

Then, suddenly, you find Ace’s social. It’s private. Should you? Will you?

Screw it.

You request a follow and gulp while staring at the screen. You did it.

Inhaling deeply, you lock your phone, throw it on the bed and close your eyes, arms dropping dramatically over your face. Why, oh why have you given in to this particular whim? Why is he getting under your skin like this?

Friends! You can just be friends! That’s the answer. You know he’s a good guy so it’s really easy to be friends with him. Except you have to stop acting like an idiot. The time you have spent tossing and turning has actually served a purpose. The purpose of showing how much of an idiot you really are. 

So now you know you have to apologise to him. It’s only fair. Because you reacted like a jealous girlfriend without any reason to. Okay, fair is fair, you wanted to feel special. You know yourself enough to realise that your breakup and being cheated on did a very ugly number on your self-esteem and sense of self-worth. Therefore, Ace’s attention felt like you were actually worth something. Like you were special, pretty, fun and… enough.

But that pressure on him is not fair. He should not be the one you take your frustrations out on when you’re actually frustrated with yourself and your inability to cope properly.

Your phone buzzes slightly and lights up. You cautiously remove your head from the makeshift arm cocoon you were hiding in, and grab it. 

He accepted your request and requested to follow you back.

He’s awake.

You snap yourself upright, your legs crossing quickly over one another and you press the accept button, all while wondering what you’re going to say and how you’re going to say it, because you need to apologise for your childish behaviour. 

Yet, he beats you to it.

You can’t help but stifle a giggle against your hand. This ‘friends’ thing sounds nice. Yawning and rubbing your tired eyes you decide you’re actually sleepy now. 

You turn off the wifi on your phone and the light at the nightstand, cover your legs and lie back. All the while, with the most stupid smile playing on your lips. 

A smile meant for a friend. Just that.

-*-

“Good morning, daddy!”

You enter the kitchen with a light spring in your step as your dad arches an eyebrow. 

“Morning, bug. You seem pretty cheerful for an early morning.”

You chuckle as you pour a cup of coffee. He's right. You woke up happy and rested, even though you barely slept five hours. You even managed to get dressed without your first cup of coffee - knee-length leggings and a sports bra! You had mentioned to your father that you missed your morning jogs and that you were thinking about running again. So he immediately dismissed you from the early morning chores so you could do just that. 

“I slept well.” You give him a small peck on the cheek after you finish your coffee. “I'm going on a little run. Be back soon to help you!” You shout as you open the door. 

After he replies, you use the porch to stretch your muscles and you're ready to go. In Grand Line City you used to run with headphones because the engine and chatter noise was deafening. Here, all you can hear is the song of the birds and nature. And you love it. So no headphones today. 

You do a fast jog from your house and across the pathway to the main road just to get your heartbeat racing and then you resume your usual slower pace. You remain quiet and tranquil for a moment before you hear footsteps behind you. You're not worried. It's the country, no one would harm you. 

“Morning pri-... You!”

Repressing a chuckle you turn your head to the side without stopping. Sure enough you're met with a cheeky grin and a - shocker! - shirtless Ace. 

“Morning, Ace.” Rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you release a snort. “Don't you own t-shirts?”

He guffaws and you let your eyes wander while he's distracted. He must've just started running since he barely has a drip of sweat on him. 

“Laundry day!” He replies with a wink. “Can I join you?”

You notice he slowed down his pace to talk to you, but you were still going slow, anyway. 

“Can you keep up?” Smirking, you don't even let him answer as you sprint forward at your usual pace. 

His low chuckle follows him close to you in a heartbeat. “Can you keep up?” He says sheepishly. “Maybe we can make this interesting…”

No, nope! Don't fall for it! It's a trap! 

“Sure, name your price.”

You fell for it. Weak… 

“First to drop wins.”

“Terms settled. What's in it for me?” Your grin takes up your whole face. If it's a trap, you're about to take advantage of it. 

“What do you want?”

“Honesty.” You reply, deadpan. 

“I resent that! I have been nothing but honest with you.” He says your name with seriousness and you believe him. 

“I believe you, but I want to ask some hard questions and I need you to be truthful and not evade the answer with jokes.”

His pace falters and you smile triumphantly. 

“Agreed.” He nods. “But I want a kiss. If I win.”

Now it's your turn to falter. Your heart does a little stop-and-go motion and you're already regretting this. 

Coward. No backsies. 

“It's a deal!” You're about to kick his butt anyway. 

You both set a steady pace, wanting to keep your strength and your breath, but not lagging behind. 

“I can't believe you actually agreed.” He smirks. “I was not expecting that.”

“That's how confident I am.” You're not. You're already starting to be a bit breathless. Since you found out about your ex, you skipped a lot of morning runs and now, you're resenting it. 

“I can see you struggling.” He turns and starts to run backwards, his arms crossing lazily in the back of his head, just to show off and you roll your eyes. “I'm getting my kiss.” He states and raises his eyebrows three times in a cocky manner. 

“Don't count your chickens yet, mister!”

Hadn't you made a resolution last night that you two were to remain just friends? Then why do you want that kiss so badly? 

Still, you want to ask him some questions and you mean to hear real answers instead of cheeky comebacks. Like, why is he still living with his grandpa when even Luffy has already moved out? You know he and Mr. Garp don’t have the best relationship and you remember him saying that, as soon as he got a job he would leave that house without looking back. You might also ask why he never got into a serious relationship, but that’s mere curiosity. 

Right? 

A few moments pass and Ace is barely breathing hard, while you are panting and huffing and sweating embarrassingly! He keeps talking but you barely have the brainpower to breathe let alone answer him. 

“You want to give up?” He suddenly asks when he catches your heavy huffs. 

Clenching your teeth together, you let out a feral growl. “Never!” 

Yet your bravado is short lived, because your legs falter and you set your foot wrong, causing your previously bruised ankle to send an unending ache up your leg and down your foot as you yelp and lose balance. 

Luckily, Ace is right there to catch you in his strong, sweaty arms. “Whoa, hey! Are you hurt?” You both stop as you dig your nails into his arms for support. You are panting from the run but also from the fact that you have your breasts flush with his chest. And the thought of your sweat mingling with his, is lewd and sinful and it's making your head spin. 

“Fine, I'm fine!” You answer between gasps and pants but you're lying because he smells like a forest and you are dying for a retreat in those woods. 

Get a grip! 

“Your ankle?”

You wince as you pull away from him and support one of your hands on the fence, lifting your leg and rotating your ankle to test it. “I think it's fine. I bruised it the other day, it must still be tender.”

“You sure? I can check it out. I have EMT experience and I know first aid!”

Oh, you don't doubt that in the slightest. He's a firefighter. Obviously he knows basic first aid skills. But you don't want his big, strong hands wrapped around your leg. 

Do you? 

“I'm fine!” 

He raises his hands in mock defence as you test your foot against the ground and check your watch. You should be heading home already if you still want to help your dad around the property. “I think I'll head home, are you going to keep running?”

He shakes his head but his smirk never leaves his lips. “Nah, I'll go with you. Who knows if you might need my help again.” Nodding you start to walk towards your house and he follows. You're still pretty tired from running and you don’t want to further aggravate your ankle, so walking is all you manage. “Besides, I won. I need to claim my prize.”

There's a sensation travelling from your stomach to your legs, leaving them numb, and it has nothing to do with the run. “Right. You're right. You won.”

You take a deep shaky breath as you stop and he stops near you. You feel your face growing hotter by the second but you're not sure if it’s from the effort, or if it's anxiety. Your legs falter again, so you lean against the fence, trying to make it look casual, but you're pretty sure it just looks pathetic. 

You haven't given or gotten a first kiss with someone for over four years. Do you still know how to do this? How much tongue is too much tongue? And were you going to kiss with tongue or just a peck? 

Shit, all this thinking is driving you crazy. 

“Go on.” You urge him and force yourself to stare anywhere but at his lips. Which is, obviously, where you end up staring. He looks smug as he approaches you, his taller frame shielding the sun away from your face and shadowing his. You can feel your heartbeat in your eardrums. 

Is that freaking normal? Are you dying from embarrassment, anticipation, or want? 

He places both hands on the fence behind you and you can feel the heat coming off his chest in hot waves. He's almost flush against you and you keep panting, your breaths escaping your lips in trembling gasps. You expect him to mock you for it, to grin or smirk and make fun of your inexperience or embarrassment. Instead you see his eyes darkening and his grin disappearing as he sets his gaze on your parted lips. 

One of his hands releases the fence and grabs your chin, slowly tilting your head upward to meet him. You feel a feather-light touch on your side as his fingers trace a pattern on your skin and settle firmly on your hip, gently caressing your hip bone. Now your eyes can't leave his. He's intoxicating.

Any moment now he's going to lay his lips upon yours and you'll understand why those girls giggled so hard when they saw him. Any second and you'll be just another girl. Just another conquest, just another kiss. 

You close your eyes in anticipation, and your lips tingle when his hot breath mingles with yours. 

Any second now. 

You sense the bare touch of his lips, for the slightest of seconds, before they land on your face. Very, very close to your mouth. 

But a million lightyears away. 

The world suddenly starts spinning again and you had barely noticed that it had stopped. Ace removes his hands from you and steps back. Your eyes snap open as you eye him quizzically. The knitted brows give away your confusion but he doesn't mention anything. 

If he's rattled, he's hiding it perfectly well behind that well trained smirk. 

“There, it's paid. Are you coming? I'm sure you're rested enough for another run. We'll go slower.”

It's slight. It's a reach. But it's there. There's a hint of raspiness and tension in his voice. You affected him. This affected him as much as it did you. 

Why didn't he take your lips? You feel like asking, but you're not sure you want to know the answer. Perhaps you're not as perfect as the girls he's used to kissing. Your ex used to say that you could try harder. Dress sexier, paint your nails and hair, put on fake boobs. Maybe he doesn't like the way you look. 

“Yeah, let's go.” You croak out without making any more eye contact. 

That has to be it. 

And now you don't know which hurts the most: being kissed and then being just another girl, or not being kissed and being… Nothing. 

[fantastic-nonsense]

im soso curious, i need to know... why is tim a child of apollo? bless u for not going with fanon<3

[referencing how I decided who the Batfam's godly parents were in my PJO AU WIP]

People like to sort him into Athena because DC has spent the last few years emphasizing how smart he is and how he's better at the more “cerebral” and detective aspects of the job. But Tim’s most prominent pre-reboot traits are not actually his detective or tech skills: they’re his reckless, impulsive bravery, his ability to analyze and think very quickly on his feet in dangerous situations, and his "power of friendship" idealism.

He's a people person; it's one of his greatest strengths. Tim is like...physically incapable of going somewhere and not making at least one friend while he's there. Hell, when he ran off to travel the world on his "fuck you, I'll find Bruce on my own" trip he still managed to pick up his own little crew of assassin friends along the way. Making connections and talking to people and relying on others for help is how he successfully navigates being a hero, as he himself notes on multiple occasions:

"Did you think I was going to run all around the city, desperately trying to save everyone all by myself? I'm not Batman. I have friends." -Red Robin #12

Tim loves his family and friends, and losing so many people he's close to within such a small timespan sends him off the deep end in multiple ways (trying to clone Kon, fighting Dick to get the Lazarus water, isolating himself from everyone, fighting with Dick and running off to find proof that Bruce was alive on his own, etc).

At his core, Tim is an idealist who becomes a hero for no other reason than a) a broken man needs help and a broken family needs mending and b) if Dick won't go back to being Robin he might as well do it, because someone has to be Robin. He sees what will happen if Bruce stays on the path he's on and says "no. I'm not going to let that happen." He's a hero because someone has to help, and he's able and available to do so. He doesn't work on cold hard logic and facts. He works off of gut instinct and then uses his big brain to go find facts and logical conclusions that support those instincts.

Tim was never going to be an Athena child.

So I started thinking. At first, I wanted him to be a Hermes child; it seemed right to frame his parentage around being the child of the messenger of the gods given how he became Robin. But that's not really him, either. Apollo, within the scope of both classical mythology and the PJO-verse's depiction of him and his children, fits him better.

While modern culture tends to zero in a lot on Apollo's status as the god of music, poetry, and the arts (for good reason), Apollo in classical Greek mythology was first and foremost known as the god who (for lack of a better term) helps his people. He's the god of the sun, of light, of medicine and healing, of prophecy, of truth.

Tim comes into Bruce's life at a time when Bruce is at his absolute lowest point. Jason is dead. He's estranged from Dick. He's failing in his mission to save Gotham. He's highkey passively suicidal. And Tim takes it upon himself to fix that. And he does it by being a solid, bright, stable presence in Bruce's life and an extremely blunt, truthful messenger of the future he sees: Batman needs a Robin, and if Bruce doesn't have one he's going to die.

And I didn't abandon his intelligence in the calculations: Apollo is also the god of rational thinking, order, and knowledge, contrasting and working in harmony with Dionysus (the god of irrationality, chaos, and passion). He was also known to be the god whose job it was to interpret the will of Zeus to humankind, which I thought was appropriate for a boy who spends quite a lot of his time being the living communication translator between Bruce and everyone around him.

So. Apollo child.

............also I thought it was funny to make the god of youth the father of the boy DC refuses to allow to age.

[whatwouldsylwrite]

hockey!Abby x dancer!reader pt2

Tags: modern au, fluff, fem!reader, shy reader, Abby is a sweetheart, switching pov

pt1

Notes: author doesn't know enough about hockey, so if you find any inaccuracies just ignore. This description of the hockey game based on my own experience.

In the next few weeks Abby learnt about the dance classes more than she'd ever care to learn. Even though the dance class had a "hockey guys" list, it actually didn't mean that you'll always dance some routines with perfect choreo and attitude for them.

However, if Abby thought she'll be cool and, um, appreciate the art of your dancing when she came from practice with Manny to your dance class, she wasn't prepared to watch you repeat the same sequence again and again and fucking again because your hand movements were not right.

(As if anyone would watch your hands instead of watching your…everything. Abby couldn't really pick a place to look: your ass spins were amazing, but when you arched your back lying on the floor? God bless. Or when you were strutting forward, swaying your hips from side to side? Or when-)

It was a sweet torture for her, watching you do the same move: it felt like hell and heaven combined.

So she stayed and watched and ignored Ellie, who caught up with what was happening. She would grin teasingly at her and make small talk with her (fucking small talk, can you believe?), but wouldn't actually introduce Abby to you.

Abby felt like Ellie did it on purpose, a petty revenge for making fun of her crush on Dina, but Abby was patient - she knew the chance would present itself.



You've noticed the new addition to the usual sofa audience, and you'd steal curious glances at the hockey girl, as you've got used to calling her in your head. She was always so serious, watching everyone, almost as she was your choreographer.

You'd feel yourself blush every time the hockey girl would look at you with her usual intense stare, and you couldn't muster up the courage to go and say hi to her, even though you'd banter with others. You were curious what she thought of your dancing, if she noticed any mistakes or if she thought something was lacking in your performance.

Something about the hockey girl made you flustered and shy, so you've stayed away for a while. Sometimes you'd stand just in the right angle so that you could look at her with a good excuse that she was plainly in your direction. You liked the aura she had around herself, all serious and powerful, like she wouldn't take any shit from anyone.

You've also noticed she was friends with Ellie, but you were too shy to ask Ellie anything about the hockey girl, let alone to ask her to introduce you to her.

This evening you were working on a new group choreo, which meant Ellie was being bossy and sometimes annoying, but it didn't really bother you - at least you all had someone to tell you what you did wrong.

"We need to do it again." Ellie said, irritated.

"Fuck no." Dina said where she was laying on the floor, her head in your lap.

"Tough shit, we don't live in a democracy." Ellie took her place in the formation and everyone stood up too. Ellie was right, you needed to practise.

After three attempts it got better, but you felt like Ellie would kill everyone if it wasn't perfect in a week. Thank god for Manny, who peeked into the dance class and all attention shifted to him.

"Ladies, we've decided it's time for you to watch us, as it's only fair. We have a game this Friday, come watch."

"Watch you getting slammed into the boards? Gladly." Dina laughed.

"And we're having a party after, you're all invited." Manny winked, and you got hopeful all of a sudden.

Maybe that would be a chance to talk to the hockey girl?

-/-/-/-

When Friday rolled around, Abby wanted to strangle Manny for his stupid mouth. She knew you'd be in the audience, and it made her irrationally nervous, like she needed to make you like her, just the way you made her like you with your dancing.

Good thing she was one of the best on ice and the Scars were not the strongest team they've played against. She would be fine. Of course she would, she was Abby fucking Anderson.

Abby put her helmet on and went to the ice for the warmup. She felt hyped, her nervousness turning into competitiveness - it made her shots sharper, her skates faster, their teamwork better. Manny was praising her, but she just scoffed at the ridiculous asshole and carried on with her stretching.  

In the middle of the warmup Abby skated to the boards to take a breath, and she noticed the dance crew taking their seats. 

Abby immediately got hyper aware of your presence, her eyes locked on you. You were dressed in thigh-high socks and a skirt. Abby was so used to you wearing crop tops and joggers she was absolutely not ready to see you in a fucking skirt; her heart started to beat twice as fast as she looked at you, as you sat next to Dina and Ellie, smiling and talking to them. Abby felt her stick falling out of her hands and she barely managed to catch it before it fell on the ice, breaking the spell you had on her. 

"Careful, Anderson." Eric said sternly. "We don't need this kind of stupid fuckups during the game."

Abby rolled her eyes and skated over to others, purposely avoiding your side of the arena and focusing on her warmup - she was afraid if she looked at you she'd lose all her composure and her head wouldn't be in the game. 

You've never been to a hockey game before, so as soon as you sat with Ellie and Dina (not separating them, you didn't have a death wish), you started looking around with childish curiosity. You’ve noticed players on the ice, probably warming up, and you immediately found the hockey girl in the crowd - even though they all were in the same uniform, you knew who the hockey girl was right away. 

She was so damn cool and so damn hot while she skated, and it was only a warmup. 

Dina showed you how to fold a clap banner and you clapped it against your palm - it was a fun noise and you laughed, doing it a few more times, delighted.

Then the seat next to you got taken.

“Hi, (y/n).”

You turned your head to the voice and smiled - it was Finn, and you shared one class together. He was always seeking out your company - god knows why - but he wasn’t a bad guy, so you were friendly with him. He clearly wanted to talk to you, but the noise signalled that the game had started and you turned all your attention to the rink.

The hockey girl was magnificent on ice, all confidence and cold aggression and determination. She refused to let anyone stand in her way, making her shots practically flying on her skates. You watched her, absolutely mesmerised by her skills on ice and how her team relied on her. Fuck she was incredible. When she scored, you screamed your lungs out, jumping in your seat in excitement. Ellie screamed too (fuck yeah, get them Anderson! Holy shit it was cool) and Dina was aggressively hitting her clap banner on her thigh.

The first period ended and you suddenly remembered how underdressed you were - you were so nervous picking your outfit that you completely forgot you were going to the ice rink, meaning the sleeveless shirt you had on didn't really keep you warm. You rubbed your arms and checked the time - the moment the second period starts, you’ll be too lost in the game to care for your comfort.

“Are you cold?” Finn asked. 

“Yeah.”

Finn took his jacket off and put it around you. 

“Thank you.” You smiled, truly thankful and not picking up any subtle intentions. Finn started talking to you about the game and the sports in general, and you chatted with him until the second period started.

Fucking asshole, Abby thought, getting filled with rage by milliseconds. She acted before she thought, boarding the idiot so hard he probably blacked out for a second - that’s what you get after trying to check her. Referee sent her to the benches and Eric shook his head at her, but all Abby wanted to do was to flip him. She didn’t do it, but the desire was strong.

Abby sat at the benches and took her helmet off, stretching her neck. She finally decided she’d be fine if she looked at you. You, sitting next to some guy with (probably) his jacket around your shoulders. The jealousy filled her - who the fuck was this guy? God, what if you were straight? That thought never crossed Abby’s mind. In her book you definitely had some fruity vibes, so maybe bi? Not the point, who this guy was to you? Was he your boyfriend or was he some of those guys who flirted with you? Abby noticed all these people hitting on you in university and making you uncomfortable - but you seemed pretty comfortable with him. A friend? Shit, she had to find out. 

Her five minutes on the bench ran out, Abby put her helmet on and went back in the game, taking her frustrations out on her rivals, leading her team to victory.

God she hoped she’d see you at the party tonight.

[centrally-unplanned]

Richard Hanania is one of my poster child writers for the "he is an complete idiot and also very smart" genre. I disagree with him on virtually everything, particularly core beliefs, but he nonetheless is an actual critical thinker who will come up with and explore interesting ideas, and so he is valuable to follow for exposure to good discussion from a world you are otherwise not gonna touch (and for a good laugh the other half of the time).

This is definitely one of those posts - the US right (not that the left is immune to this by any stretch, this is just about the right) is so infused with an instinct towards perpetual victmization that it becomes easy to buy into their own framing that the Right has been losing front after front in the culture war. This is the foundational premise of The Cathedral, the Moldbug-coined New Right tenet that "Cthulhu Always Swims Left" aka the left's structural advantage in controlling ~institutions~ means that in status-quo modernity culture will shift left over and over, endlessly...and therefore you need to violently overthrow the state and purge the corrupt neoliberal bureaucratic order to realize the will of the silent volke embodied in a CEO-Monarch to turn back the tide. Anyway, Hanania does a good job of pointing out that its really kinda bullshit. Tons of our culture has turned right over the past decades; gun control, education, and economics are the big topics that he mentions, and of course more exist, and its been a result combinations of public opinion shifting and the power of the state implementing agendas, aka normal politics.

Some of this is a bit of an overstatement - victories on like abortion for example haven't shifted minds, but instead exploited the US's ludicrous legal system to back-door legislative reform through the courts, its not a replicable experience in many other contexts or any other country. But the point overall stands, which gestures at the real problem - the only topic where the New Right's analysis 'holds up' is onthe sexual revolution and queer rights, revealing a movement irrationality obsessed with the sex front of the culture war. Here Hanania stumbles into his stupidity on why the right hasn't been successful fighting this, not really grappling with the fact that for example gay marriage is just really popular, this is a bottom-down fundamental sea change in how people view sex and society's role in policing it.

The mistake The Cathedral devotees make in analyzing society is that they take a single sip from a branch of the river of History and assume they have drunk it dry; Society swam left from 1950 to 1980, and the New Right cannot help but obsess endlessly over that transition as The Future. Note how common this is - so many people harken to "the 1950's" as the steady-state idyll of American society, the American economy, identify as 'traditional' everything from holiday songs to food recipes that were all invented around this time and have no older origin than that. Its all myths, and The Cathedral is an extension of that trend - by identifying US society in 1950 as a centuries-old continuity of tradition, it sees the changes of the ensuing decades as a radical discontinuity, and therefore a terrifying new normal.

It is wrong the same way nostalgia-memes are wrong; history never had a steady state, and people's ideas of even the 1950's themselves are primarily myth. Turns out historical conceptions of queer relationships have varied widly across time and space - none have been as progressive as today, but societally sanctioned spaces for queer relationships are legion. There has never been a steady state on sex and society.

But! Modernity *is* different from the past, and certain things have changed irrevocably - there is a verison of The Cathedral that is true. Technology & economic development have radically changed how we lived, from a society of farmers and their rulers to a society of urban professional workers. Cultural norms around sex & society varied all over the place; but (to radically simplify, there are a bunch of other factors) marriage for children to work the farms was near-universal, it was a structural necessity culture was built upon. This was a harsh limiter on sexual norms - said marriage for children needed to undergird it. That limiter is gone, forever, today. To not dive into it because its not the focus, with the limiter gone I don't think the 'sexual revolution', feminism, and queer rights is going to revert in a major way in the future.

Which will permit the right, as long as it stays maniacally obsessed with the idea that people don't have 1950's sexual morality anymore, to claim that they Always Lose. This is why Hanania stumbles, making the opposite mistake - seeing the failure to fight the sexual revolution as just a failed southern offensive in comparison to a successful northern attack on the front of education. The real trap is to not understand that culture is not freely malleable, only some of it is 'up for grabs' from the perspective of activists. Within the new status qup equilibrium of modernity, shifts right and left are not only possible but inevitable - but the rules of game have to be understood. Hanania may have only gotten halfway there, but props to him for opening my eyes to the contradiction.

[dk-thrive]

Our mission, it seems, has to do with the mind.

We’re living in what they call the “Information Age,” but life only seems to be making less sense. We’re isolated, listless, burnt out on screens, cutting loved ones out like tumors in the spirit of “boundaries,” failing to understand other people’s choices or even our own. The machine is malfunctioning, and we’re trying to think our way out of it. In 1961, Marxist philosopher Frantz Fanon wrote, “Each generation must, out of relative obscurity, discover its mission, fulfill it or betray it.” Our mission, it seems, has to do with the mind.

— Amanda Montell, The Age of Magical Overthinking: Notes on Modern Irrationality (Atria/One Signal Publishers, April 9, 2024)

[tartagliaxx]

。SINKING IN SQUARE OCEAN

━━ PAIRING: tartaglia/reader

━━ CONTAINS: modern!au, usage of childe's real name, briefly mentioned college!au, childe is over 20, exes to open interpretation, not beta'd

━━ WORDCOUNT: 0.9k

━━ NOTES: figure it's childe who drags me back here. enjoy whatever this is that i thought of at 2am and wrote while half-asleep. anyway, don't be like them who wait for or send messages to your exes xoxo

━━ CHILDE'S BIRTHDAY 2023

A taunting red circle with the number 46 written on it (in some random Sans Serif font he couldn’t care less about) mocked him. He thought about it—played with the idea of tapping the irrationally vibrant gradient of the app and just copy-pasting a half-assed 'thank you' message stored and minutely edited in his notes app before tapping send and rinsing and repeating and—in the end, he chose to cling immaturely to the sincerity hidden under the wraps of his fragile humanity. He thinks of it this way; like the unsettling emptiness that sinks in when the bouncing Sony logo doesn’t hit the corners of the television screen. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to be half-hearted to anyone when they went through the trouble of greeting him on his special day. It’s a lonely feeling to be disregarded. He knows that. He’s the special boy of the day but he feels disregarded, and it’s a lonely feeling, and he’s reminded of it all over again so he groans into his pillow, suffocates himself a little before he’s back again to staring at the taunting red circle. 46 messages but none of them were from who he wanted it from the most.

He’s prepared himself for the inevitable disappointment at least three days ago. He’s psyched himself up saying ‘C’mon Ajax! It’s just a message! You can do without it!’ because yes, he can do without another repetitive, standard greeting that may or may not have confetti or cake emojis. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t count. He doesn’t hold it against anyone if they didn’t tag him on an Instagram story with a picture of him and their person together. It was fine. Pleasantries are overrated anyway.

So why? Why did this one—or the lack of it—hurt?

He’s not the perfect boyfriend. He thinks he’s particularly an even worse ex-boyfriend because ex-boyfriends cut you some slack and give you some space and never think about your shared times together at 11:45PM the night before an early shift. Good ex-boyfriends don’t stare at their phones, refreshing profiles and friends’ profiles for even the faintest shadow of their ex. Okay ex-boyfriends don’t make burner accounts like a freaking stalker just so he can still press the tiny heart button at the corner because he does like-love it. The photo. You. Who knows. But what he does know is that even bad ex-boyfriends let go and that’s the thing. Letting go is the one thing he can’t do and it all comes rounding back to his predicament. He’s staring at the taunting red circle that remains unchanging even as he blinks and swipes and opens and exits other apps. It stays the same.

Someone knocks on the door and he mumbles an unintelligible reply. He thinks he hears a ‘Good night, ‘Jax. Happy Birthday’ from his mother. When her footsteps recede and leave him back to the solitary confines of silence and his yellowed walls, it was 12:02AM. His entire arm feels cold and it’s partly because the fan was hitting it and partly because blood has moved down from how he’s been holding his phone while lying in bed. It’s uncomfortable. He feels his palm turning sweaty too.

So he drops it.

It falls and hits his hip and he winces while it clutters to his side over rumpled Spiderman bed sheets that he’s had since he was eight. Honey-ginger fans against his freckled cheeks before it settles, closing finally and accepting the nihility that comes with the darkness.

But then he snaps them open again and he blindly reaches for his phone, furrowing his brows as he’s assaulted by the light from his lock screen—a family picture taken on a very bright sunny day. He ought to change it for midnights like this. Later though, after he sets an alarm because he has to earn some way and tomorrow, he’s on the early shift.

It’s 12:08AM when he freezes. A taunting red circle with the number 47 written on it (in some random Sans Serif font he couldn’t care less about) mocked him. His thumb hovers over it, controlled by his mind that chastises his heart for feeling ecstatic when it can be anything but the thing he wished for when he blew his birthday candles. In the end, he steels himself from disappointment all over again, tapping the corner and feeling ice-cold water pour over him as he sees your nickname.

“Happy Birthday. More birthdays to co”

He knows that—knows you, knows that the ‘o’ in the keyboard is close to the ‘send’ beside the text bar so before you could try to exit the app or pretend to be offline, his fingers that were tensing from the cold aftermath of the rain were fumbling to type a reply.

“Tank u but mt bday is yestrday :P”

He cringes at the typos and the reply and the emoticon and he never wanted to die as much as he did today, a day after his twenty-something birthday. He lost count. Time stopped for him at twenty—at the day he moved back into his family home after dropping out of college and leaving you.

With his eyes squeezed tightly, he mutters hopes and wishes to a god he didn’t believe in. Still, he was willing to convert if they spared him the aftershocks of birthday magic. It’s only ten minutes after his birthday. That’s got to count for something, right? 

Seconds trickle by slowly but it appears. Three dots circle and dance cyclically and hesitantly but they do and he knows, at least, that the conversation’s not over yet, and that for now, that’s enough.

© 2023 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐗𝐗. all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, repost or translate in any platforms but reblogs are appreciated.

[acotars]

books read in 2024

⋆ ⭒˚.⋆ january ⋆.˚⭒ ⋆

one dark window (the shepherd king #1) by rachel gillig

the murder on the links (hercule poirot #2) by agatha christie

pageboy by elliot page

house of sky and breath (crescent city #2) by sarah j. maas

rogue protocol (the murderbot diaries #3) by martha wells

cult classic by sloane crosley

malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid

the beauty of your face by sahar mustafah

exit strategy (the murderbot diaries #4) by martha wells

animal farm by george orwell

everyone in this room will someday be dead by emily austin

carrie soto is back by taylor jenkins reid

a court this cruel & lovely (kingdom of lies #1) by stacia stark

the rules do not apply by ariel levy

poirot investigates (hercule poirot #3) by agatha christie

yellowface by rebecca f kuang

every heart a doorway (wayward children #1) by seanan mcguire

house of flame and shadow (crescent city #3) by sarah j. maas

read: 18

* · ✦ · * february * · ✦ · *

beautyland by marie-helene bertino

bride by ali hazelwood

network effect (the murderbot diaries #5) by martha wells

fugitive telemetry (the murderbot diaries #6) by martha wells

faebound (faebound #1) by saara el-arifi

the raven boys (the raven cycle #1) by maggie stiefvater **

read: 6

.✦.· *. march .*· .✦.

interesting facts about space by emily austin

penance by eliza clark

the book that no one wanted to read by richard ayoade

pride and prejudice by jane austen

unlikeable female characters: the women pop culture wants you to hate by anna bogutskaya

the shame by makenna goodman

greta & valdin by rebecca k. reilly

read: 7

✷ · ✶ · ✧ april ✧ · ✶ · ✷

this spells love by kate robb

out on a limb by hannah bonam-young

gwen & art are not in love by lex croucher

a lady's guide to scandal by sophie irwin

the friendship study by ruby barrett

the boyfriend candidate by ashley winstead

the pumpkin spice cafe by laurie gilmore

business or pleasure by rachel lynn solomon

how to end a love story by yulin kuang

this could be us (skyland #2) by kennedy ryan

the honeymoon crashers (the unhoneymooners #1.5) by christina lauren

we could have been friends, my father and i by raja shehadeh

how to stop time by matt haig

how to fake it in hollywood by ava wilder

with love from cold world by alicia thompson

funny story by emily henry

love radio by ebony ladelle

old flames and new fortunes by sarah hogle

just for the summer by abby jimenez

don't want you like a best friend by emma r. alban

love interest by clare gilmore

the exception to the rule (the improbable meet-cute #1) by christina lauren

worst wingman ever (the improbable meet-cute #2) by abby jimenez

with any luck (the improbable meet-cute #5) by ashley poston

last call at the local by sara grunder ruiz

happily never after by lynn painter

the ex talk by rachel lynn solomon

i kissed shara wheeler by casey mcquiston

the love wager by lynn painter

morning glory milking farm by c.m. nacosta

will they or won't they by ava wilder

read: 31

.　° * ☆ may ☆ * °　.

when the sky fell on splendor by emily henry

on earth we're briefly gorgeous by ocean vuong

blizzard by marie vingtras

bright young women by jessica knoll

the age of magical overthinking: notes on modern irrationality by amanda montell

the flatshare by beth o'leary **

read: 6

⋆ ˚.⋆ june ⋆.˚ ⋆

not in love by ali hazelwood

the way of kings (the stormlight archive #1) by brandon sanderson

words of radiance (the stormlight archive #2) by brandon sanderson

read: 3

. · ☆ . july . ☆ · .

edgedancer (the stormlight archive #2.5) by brandon sanderson

blue iris: poems and essays by mary oliver

woman, eating by claire kohda

oathbringer (the stormlight archive #3) by brandon sanderson

a novel love story by ashley poston

chlorine by jade song

how to read now by elain castillo

please stop trying to leave me by alana saab

beautifully broken life by catherine cowles

the god of the woods by liz moore

edgedancer (the stormlight archive #3.5) by brandon sanderson

the dead and the dark by courtney gould

a most agreeable murder by julia seales

the murder of roger ackroyd (hercule poirot #4) by agatha christie

read: 14

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁august ݁. ⊹ ₊ ݁.

the bluest eye by toni morrison

more, please: on food, fat, bingeing, longing, and the lust for "enough" by emma specter

the ministry of time by kaliane bradley

system collapse (the murderbot diaries #7) by martha wells

emily wilde's encycolpedia of fairies (emily wilde #1) by heather fawcett

emily wilde's map of the other lands (emily wilde #2) by heather fawcett

catalina by karla cornejo villavicencio

roadside picnic by arkady strugatsky and boris strugatsky

read: 8

reading goal: 93/100

add me on goodreads !

[argyrocratie]

In reconstructing the Degenerate Art debates, we shall see that Susa’s belief that the Egyptian surrealists of the Art and Liberty group were “blindly enslaved” to “Western art and its latest blunders” (which is to say, European modernism) is at the heart of much of al-Risala’s criticisms. Such remarks point to the growing nationalist concern among the Egyptian liberal intellectual elites that cosmopolitanism in arts and ideas was a form of European cultural imperialism and dependence. The al-Risala writers who spoke out against Art and Liberty regarded it as a mouthpiece for “foreign” ideas that would interfere with the development of an independent “Egyptian for Egypt’s sake” national style of art.

What is interesting to note, though, is how the liberal-nationalist attitudes at al-Risala closely paralleled those of anti-surrealist critics in other nations. Surrealists’ valorization of incomprehensibility, uncertainty, irrationality, and desire (as well as their repugnance for civilization’s coercive objective conventions for determining what is “real”) drew contempt from all corners throughout the 1930s. They were denounced as Germanophiles, Bolsheviks, bourgeois snobs, and social-fascists by a variety of commentators in France; in the US, they were mocked as silly, trendy foreign aesthetes whose theories were suitable only for high fashion and department store advertising (and, later in the 1940s, for FBI surveillance); in Yugoslavia, Romania, and Peru, surrealists were thrown into forced labor camps; in Denmark, they were vilified by the press as pornographers and jailed for morals offenses; and the Soviets condemned them as “anti-proletarian” for their criticism of socialist realism. The Japanese Imperial Higher Special Police monitored and arrested them and forced them to recant their deviant views; they were persecuted in Salazar’s Portugal, Franco’s Spain, Mussolini’s Italy, and Hitler’s Germany; and they were forced into clandestine activity by constant threats of arrest and execution in Greece and Czechoslovakia. In response to a 1938 exhibition in London of Belgian surrealist René Magritte’s work, one newspaper critic reported himself “almost persuaded to be a Nazi,” since “Goebbels, at any rate, will not tolerate such stuff.”

In this sense, at least, the anti-surrealist writers at al-Risala were themselves more cosmopolitan than they liked to believe.

-Don LaCoss, “Egyptian Surrealism and ʻDegenerate Artʼ in 1939″

[judgingbooksbycovers]

The Age of Magical Overthinking: Notes on Modern Irrationality

By Amanda Montell.

[quotes-for-the-soul]

We cannot perceive self-doubt as a weakness, and we shouldn't demand undying certainty even from experts, or they will surely bullshit us in order to meet that expectation. WASPs in turtlenecks will overpromise eager investors. They'll press launch before the rocket is ready.

The Age of Magical Overthinking: Notes on Modern Irrationality by Amanda Montell

[wordsifelt]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "wordsifelt "?

Hello! To be honest I don't really read much fanfic cause it I get irrationally upset when it doesn't go exactly how I want it to. I had to dig for the ones I HAVE read (which is why I'm late to reply), but in the end I could only find five:

Natsu no Hina(Summer Hatchling) by OAZUKE (Type: Doujinshi, Ship: Miyusawa, Genre: Angst, eventual fluff ig?)

Sorry For All the Trouble by user @ganen-cheese (Type: short fan comic, Ship: Wangxian, Genre: comedy)

Laundry Room by anewkindofthrill (Type: ao3 fic, Ship: Miyusawa, Genre: angst, smut) {side note about this, I read it after a particular manga chapter dropped cause I was desperate for fics abt a scene, and I loved it, despite the fact that I don't really read smut, because of he way the characters were portrayed}

The Student Prince by FayJay (Type: Published? long form fic, Ship: Merthur, Genre: Modern AU, rebirth, High school) {read this after I watched Merlin and got denial after it ended. I don't remember it too well but I think I liked the relationship dynamic}

Peter Darling by Austin Chant (Type: Published adaptation of fairytale, Original Source Material: Peter Pan, Genre: angst, romance, personal growth and healing (also transmasc MC, tw: dysphoria and transphobia tho))

There's others but I either couldn't find them or I couldn't remember their names. I gotta start keeping track of my fics.

As for your second question, when I created this account I was in a low, hollow sort of space. Detached from everything and feeling kinda empty. The only thing that let me feel alive was stories, and I devoured them. My username was a sort of declaration, an epitaph in a way, that I wasn't unfeeling or empty, and that there is something that makes me too want to live.

Thank you for the ask! I'm sorry I couldn't answer properly 😅

[linesonscreens]

Let's Read Peanuts (Yes, all of it) - January 1951

Got some feedback and I'm changing the format a bit. I'll be discussing fewer comics overall but they will all have copies of the strip directly attached (around 8-10 per post). I may still do honorable mentions from time to time but only if a month is particularly packed with important strips.

There are lots of great strips I just don't have room to comment on. I strongly encourage everyone to read the full month at the official GoComics page. Today's month starts HERE.

Jan 1, 1951

This is probably my favorite strip from the 50's and I'm not even sure why. I guess I just find everybody calling Charlie Brown a fat piece of shit to his face as he gives his best thousand yard stare to be really funny for some reason.

Jan 4, 1951

Ah… the ways language changes.

Jan 8, 1951

I'm in this photo and I don't like it.

Jan 12, 1951

Settle down, Beavis.

Jan 16, 1951

capitalism.png

Jan 22, 1951

One of the things I love about these early strips is that Charlie Brown is kind of an asshole and dishes out as much as he takes.

Jan 23, 1951

So now Snoopy is not only sentient but literate as well. I see… [adds a note to the conspiracy board]

Jan 25, 1951

No insightful commentary on this one. I just thought it was pretty funny.

Thoughts:

Welcome to 1951! In the event of nuclear fallout please hide under the nearest cardboard box for protection.

I'm just going to come out and say it: I like Goofy Chaos Gremlin Charlie Brown more than the version you get in the more modern strips. Yes, the classic iteration has it's charm but this primordial version is just so much more fun to spend time with. He still gets depressed, but it's not his baseline. Bad things happen, but he's an active participant and often the author of his own misery rather than a passive victim. His friends are little shits, but he's arguably the biggest little shit of them all. It's just so much better on every front.

Also, I get why Patty and Shermy (especially Shermy) eventually got sidelined into oblivion in favor of Lucy and Linus, but it still makes me irrationally angry when I read these early strips. They were ~so~ important early on and by the end they are just completely gone without any fanfare. Even in the more modern media they're rarely more than background extras.

You did them dirty, Schulz! Shame on you! [shakes fist]

[discet]

Hmm, here's my own Owl House AU pitch for you, an Caleb/Philip Swap.

Caleb kills Philip during there final confrontation instead of the other way around. Aside from the immense guilt, this ends up putting the seed in Caleb's mind that peace between the Human and Demon realms is impossible and if his former countrymen where to ever managed to find a way onto the Boiling Isles in force....

This ends up growing into an obsession that alienates him from his wife and children. He has to find a way to save everyone, even if it requires some... regrettable... necessities.

This sounds neat! The way you phrased it makes it sound like Caleb turns evil in your AU but I think I would make him just antagonistic.

I think in a swap AU Caleb ends up kidnapping people. Which may sound extreme, but let me explain.

Witch hunts were prevalent in the Americas obviously in Caleb's day, but they never really... stopped. I think Caleb uses the portal door (maybe doors by the modern day) to just save men women and children who are accused of witchcraft and just yoinks them to the boiling isles before they are killed. Which has the adverse effect of kind of making their accusers look correct but by then the innocent have been ferreted away.

On the other end of the portal we see a boiling isles much changed. Without Phillip there to segregate the witches into the covens or lock up weirdos there's a much more equitable world. I think probably ruled by a council with a seat for witches, demons, and one for displaced humans. The last of which is headed up by caleb, a glyph covered immortal human.

Humans taken in are offered lessons in glyph magic to help adjust to their very scary home.

Which is where Luz comes in, set up near the start of the story is the same. Luz is an outcast, obsessed with magic, and about to be sent to reality check camp. I think after her mom leaves Luz makes an overly dramatic remark about how 'my life is over' and 'what's the point' 'gonna be bored to death' (you know typical teenage whinging) and out of the corner of her eyes she catches sight of a mysterious woman (its eda, obviously its eda though with her original hair color) doing just a little bit of magic.

Luz follows her a bit curious and Eda asks if she would be interested in going to a new magical world. S1 naive head in the clouds Luz obviously says yes (with maybe a belated 'wait, should I really trust some strange woman in a-' and then Eda yoinks her through the portal)

Luz is obviously blown away by this magical world, a shining magical civilization, in many ways a lot more welcoming than the one canon Luz finds herself in canon. Closer to that PG-13 world she always imagined.

Eda shows her around happy for once to not have someone scared out of their wits to save. Everything seems great even gets to meet Eda's great great great grandfather Caleb, one of the most prolific humans on the boiling isles who of course welcomes her.

The shine comes off the apple when Luz mentions that she can't wait to tell her mom about all this. Show her that magic was real that it wasn't an impossible dream. An awkward pall falls over the gathering as Caleb explains that Luz won't be allowed to return to the human world.

After all, there are open minded folks like himself and Luz, who see wonder in this world, in the boiling isles. But there are those who would also irrationally fear it and seek to destroy it. Which was why no one was allowed to return back to Earth.

Luz suddenly very fearful that she'll never see her Mom again says that well its been neat, but she was ready to head back. Caleb regretfully informs her that was impossible, now that she had seen everything that was impossible

[As a note, humans are allowed to leave, but they need to have all of their memories of the Boiling Isles removed and burned. A procedure that could only be consented to once they were an adult. So that wasn't an option for Luz cause that's 4 years of her life that would evaporate. Also the option to bring Luz's mom over, but Luz is hesitant to uproot her mother's life like that]

Trying to move things on, Caleb asks Luz whether she would like to be placed with a foster family for her stay in the dorms, even offering a room in the Clawthorne family home, genuinely apologetic for the misunderstanding. Luz ultimately opts for the dorms (I think her roommate may be Vee? dunno I'd need to think on it.)

Ultimately after half a season of Luz looking for ways back home and being stonewalled by every organization and path, she's almost ready to give up. Only to get a new offer. Someone who tells her that they could get her home, if she was willing to help them out. After all, they knew all too well it could be trapped someplace against their will :)

[bloodmaarked]

➸ reading list

just added:

the manicurist's daughter, susan lieu

all in her head, elizabeth comen

the age of magical overthinking: notes on modern irrationality, amanda montell

the black girl survives in this one, desiree s. evans + saraciea j. fennell

the house of broken bricks, fiona williams

and so i roar, abi daré

finding me, viola davis

that peckham boy, kenny imafidon

butter, asako yuzuki

pachinko, min jin lee