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foodfightnovelization · 1 year ago

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I Can Find It! Children's Book and Early Storyboards by Gary Clair

Okay, so here's another interlude where I talk about something a little different. This time, we're really gonna dig deep and try to unravel the mystery of how this movie changed throughout its production. As I mentioned in my introduction post, there were other forms of Foodfight! merchandise released outside of the novelization. To be more precise, there was a Deluxe Sound Storybook (basically a children's picture book but with buttons you can press that make sounds representing the various characters) a number of soft toys/stuffed animals, and this- The I Can Find It! book.

Now I don't actually own this book myself, someone on the Internet Archive actually scanned and uploaded their copy and that's what we'll be looking at here. (Someone else out there as obsessed with this movie as I am? What a world!) According to the inside cover, this was published around 2007, which makes sense as that's when all the other merchandise was released, the tie-in videogame was intended to come out, and of course the movie itself was supposed to release at one point. Anyway, aside from having a vastly more appealing artstyle than the finished film (seriously, it's SO much nicer to look at) what's there to talk about with this book?

Well, a WHOLE LOT actually! Let's strawberry jam...into this? As you might remember from our chapter-by-chapter analysis, there's a scene in both the novelization and the movie itself where Dex and Dan get trapped in a dryer and are almost melted alive. However HERE, they aren't trapped in a dryer at all-instead they're trapped in a giant washing machine. This makes a lot more sense- Lady X is a detergent Ike, so of course they'd be trapped in a washing machine. And even in the novelization, the Brand X display in the grocery store is a giant washing machine, explaining how one would end up in Marketropolis. It's a dryer in both the novelization and the movie itself however, so why was this changed? We'll get to it! This is the first of the major differences and it's one that's entirely unique to this picture book (unlike the next one, which is shared with the novelization) On the following page, Dex and Dan escape and find themselves in Brand X's headquarters.

Now this scene is in both the novelization and the movie, but there's a difference here. Can you spot it yet? While you look, I just want to say the picture book incorporating shelves and grocery products into Marketropolis itself is a great idea- it really sells the idea that this is a supermarket come to life. In the movie itself, it far too often just feels like a generic cartoon city, and the supermarket aesthetic ends up lost under regular-looking buildings and streets. Anyway, did you notice what's different here? He's hidden in the binding of the pages but he's here- it's the Brand X Mashed Potato Man!

If you've been keeping up with the analysis of the novelization, you'll know the Brand X Mashed Potato Man is a character who isn't in the movie itself- with there being a character called the Brand X Lunchlady who basically fills the same role. The Brand X Mashed Potato Man is still present in the novelization however, likely due to it being written and published before this character was written out of the film. However, here in this picture book we actually get to SEE this elusive character instead of just reading about him. And...honestly he looks kinda gross! I know that's the point of the Brand X villains, but his head is all lumpy and weird and it's just very unpleasant to look at. But hey, at least now we know what this character was supposed to look like before he was cut from the movie and replaced with the Lunchlady!

Now we reach the picture book's biggest change yet- in both the movie AND the novelization, Brand X is defeated by the Ikes creating lighting rods and starting a storm that destroys all of Brand X's buildings. Here however, that's not the case at all! Instead Brand X is defeated using the store's sprinkler system, which floods the place and washes the bad guys away. This again makes sense with Lady X being a detergent icon- like sure, of course you can wash away detergent with water. Using the store's sprinkler system also fits more with this taking place in a grocery store- that's something supermarkets typically have, whereas I can't remember the last time I went to Walmart and was zapped by a stray lightning bolt. The book is only 10 pages long so that's all there is to talk about here, but have you noticed both changes unique to the picture book's version of the story involve water?

I have a theory as to why. The initial version of the script must've contained both of these- Dex and Dan getting trapped in a washing machine filled with hot water, and Brand X getting defeated by a flood. However when it came to actually animating the movie, the animation software they were using was unable to render water convincingly (whenever we see fluid effects in the finished film they look AWFUL), leading to the script being rewritten to change the washing machine to a dryer and the flood to a lightning storm. This must've been the version of the script the novelization was based off, as it has both the dryer and lightning storm but the Brand X Mashed Potato Man is still present. Then for the version of the movie we know today, a few more changes were made and the Brand X Mashed Potato Man was written out of the story entirely, replaced with the Brand X Lunchlady. You might be saying "Tiffany, that's just a theory. Do you have any proof?" And I say to that YES! Yes actually I do! Linked below are early storyboards for the movie by concept artist Gary Clair.

These storyboards are clearly based on a much earlier draft of the script- among other differences, there are many more real-world brand mascots present in the scenes we see. During the Ikes' attack on Brand X, we see Sugar Bear, the Golden Crisp mascot, and Oscar Mayer, mascot for a brand of hot dogs and cold cuts. On top of that, there's an additional sequence not present in the movie OR novelization where Polar Penguin gets tossed around during the titular food fight, eventually landing next to Dex and passing out.

We also see an early version of the scene where Lieutenant X confronts Cheazel about bringing Dex to them, and aside from the artstyle here being SO much more appealing than anything in the actual movie (seriously, it looks like a Looney Tunes cartoon or something) it ALSO takes place at a canal, just like the novelization's version of the scene does. In the actual movie it takes place atop a building, and once again I put forward my theory that this was changed because they couldn't convincingly render water effects and so wouldn't be able to animate Cheazel falling into the canal at the end.

Not only that, we see an early version of a scene late in the movie where Cheazel attempts to start the lightning storm by cutting the power lines. Only HERE, he's not cutting the power lines at all-he's cutting the cable to the fire alarm, likely so the other characters can set off the sprinkler system and cause a flood without the fire department rushing over to the store.

The Brand X Mashed Potato Man is also present here, confirming my theory that an earlier draft of the script (or at least the one the picture book was based on) contained both of these elements of the story. I can't confirm the reason these scenes were changed is due to being unable to convincingly render water, but why ELSE would all the scenes involving water in a 3D animated movie be conspicuously changed later in production to remove that element? So, with the picture book and early storyboards, the proof is in the chocolate pudding and we now have a definitive timeline for at least some elements of Foodfight's script:

-Dex and Dan trapped in washing machine, Brand X defeated by flood, Mashed Potato Man present (version the I Can Find it! Picture Book is based off)

-Dex and Dan trapped in dryer, Brand X defeated by lightning storm, Mashed Potato Man present (version the novelization is based off)

-Dex and Dan trapped in dryer, Brand X defeated by lightning storm, Brand X Lunchlady replaces Mashed Potato Man among other changes (version the finished film is based off)

Now hey, that's a little confusing and messy- but what IS Foodfight! if not that? And thanks to the novelization, the storyboards, a children's picture book, and my borderline obsession with this film, we've put together the pieces and found out part of how how it evolved (or perhaps, devolved) over the course of production. It's crazy to think we now have so many answers about this movie, all thanks to the novelization. A novelization so obscure only one copy seems to exist, and if I hadn't found and started writing we never would've even heard about. But maybe it's the destination that counts, and not the path we took to get there. In any case, the novelization is still my favorite version of the Foodfight! story, and I hope you'll come back next time when we plough our way through the last chapters of this epic parable. If you made it this far into the blog, I love you, and thank you for sticking with me on my strange, wet journey for answers.

#foodfight #dex dogtective #daredevil dan #christopher lloyd #charlie sheen #lady x #mr clipboard #the brand x mashed potato man #storyboards #concept art

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simon-x-billy · 2 years ago

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Simon x Billy

The Year of OTP: January

Chapter 1: Where’s Giuseppe WTF?

January prompt: Historical au (because 2015 counts as the past)

Note: Simon x Billy is a slow-burn m/m fic; turns NSFW (male/male, consensual) beginning tamely at Chapter 7.

Meet the OTP: Simon Lewis, author and star of The Mortal Instruments, who keeps writing himself into his novels; and Billy Delaney, Irish handsome devil and international chef of mystery; and also Italy. It’s sort of like a threesome. TMI AU: Instead of Simon Lewis being only a character in the best-selling YA series, he is now also the author of that series. TW: References to having been cheated on, bad language, bad humor, Irish-isms, calling young people criminals, making fun of Americans, LGBTQIA+ themes, having to wait for the NSFW chapters to show up.

Masterlist || ao3 || Next

Chapter 1: Where’s Giuseppe WTF?

———/Simon/———

OK, fine, baggage claim was a little rough. Finding baggage claim was a little rough. Finding Customs was a little rough. Customs was Customs. I mean, what’s to know, they look at you suspiciously, and if you smile excitedly cuz you’re in a new country, they look at you suspiciously some more, and you start wondering if they’ve noticed something you haven’t.

At least that’s how I felt. Like, maybe I have a single very long nose hair or something horrifying like that. I don’t know? They’re Customs. They notice shit like that.

On a positive note, they’re just fine communicating with people who only “have” one language. They asked me if I had Italian, and I kept waiting for them to finish their sentence. You know? Like, do I have Italian… Food? Relatives? Then they were like, “Do you have any other languages?” And I’m thinking, maybe I caught one in-flight. Planes are well known for making people ill. Or I could’ve caught something cool, like Norwegian! In fact, I could’ve had it my whole life and it’s just never had any symptoms. You never know.

Meanwhile, the train ran on time. And the Red Sea parted. Two impossibilities amounting to miracles.

So yeah, sure, I’d done some prepping for the trip. I refuse to reveal my sources as they are completely mortifying. OK fine, it wasn’t even an app. It was a book. With pictures in it. More specifically, the one my parents used when they planned their trip to the Amalfi Coast.

I used it to plan Our Trip. The one that became My Trip. Flying solo. In so, so many ways.

Believe me, and you need to trust me on this one: Never propose to a girl you met in costume. And if you did and it turned out great, shut up. And mazel tov. May all your children have bar and bat mitzvahs with a good dj. And puppies.

Just remember, your first impression of her is while she’s cosplaying someone else. You might find you’re falling for a personality that isn’t really her on the inside. The whole thing is exhausting. Because my beautiful but cruel shiki found somebody else to cosplay with.

She revealed this shortly after breaking up with me.

No, Simon. I do not choose you. No, Simon. I never choose you. Said every girl ever.

She gave me lots of reasons why. Constructive observations for my next relationship, she said. So at least I had something to think about on the plane to Naples that made me feel really good about myself. For 22 hours including two layovers and a bonus train ride from the airport to downtown Naples. (Trust me, just fly into Rome. Why didn’t it occur to me to fly into Rome?)

I once read a book where the most flamboyant, exciting character said something of extreme poetry and wisdom. (Because poetry and wisdom can both be extreme. Whatever.) It went a little something like this: “Unsolicited advice is just criticism.” Ok fine, I’ve read it more like 25-30 times. Alright look, I can’t be coy. I wrote it. And 25-30 is how many revisions my editor tried to convince me to take it out. (I won.)

I like stories that stretch out over like 20 books in a series. You get to stay with the characters you love until you finally stop re-starting the series the minute you close the last page of the last book. Again.

I think I’d be a vampire irl. And I have thought a lot about it. I mean a lot of thinking on this topic. And you can’t convince me that fairies and werewolves are even in the running for best paranormal destiny.

I like stories where choosing to be a vampire is one of the safer bets. Because you’re already dead.

Don’t start. I’ve fought table top duels over this and I refuse to go over that ground again. Take my word for it. You want to be a vamp.

She was a vamp. I was a vamp. (D, because who else?) We thought we were made for each other. Until she didn’t. Think that anymore. I guess she’d been not-thinking that anymore for months and months. And here I am, presenting her with a trip to Italy where I was going to propose. I had it all planned out. I mean I had it all planned out. Because that’s how I roll. (A 20-sided die, obviously.) Ugh. So when she says she doesn’t want to leave the city, I’m like, “But it’s Italy! And me!”

Turns out the trip wasn’t the only thing she didn’t want.

Turns out she was also being quite literal about not leaving the city. And so, like the heartless traitor she is, she abandoned Brooklyn for the Upper West Side and a yoga instructor with a man bun and half a million followers on Twitter.

Half a million? What even is that? I mean, I get 100 followers -- wow, friend, you are on fire! I get a million followers -- wow, somewhat famous person, you are on fire! But, like, what’s halfway between the two?

So the “hot yoga instructor” -- her words, not mine -- is a person that exists. I told her that she didn’t have to be mean about another, hotter guy. And you know what’s coming next. You totally do.

The hot yoga instructor is an instructor of hot yoga.

But since I mentioned it, she laughed and said he is also a hot instructor, of yoga.

Thanks. I don’t feel angry tears at all when I think about that.

Anyways, I was talking about trains in Italy running on time, and somehow I land on vamps. Welcome to the brain of Simon Lewis, enjoy your stay.

Oh my god. There’s a McDonalds here. It’s like a crime against Italian humanity. “That should be illegal,” I announce to no one in particular. Followed by “Shut up, Lewis, that guy over there is staring.” And yes, I do use my last name when I scold myself out loud in public. Because people find that attractive and charismatic.

So the train in Italy running on time is actually my problem. “My driver” isn’t due for another 30 minutes. Which means I get to spend an additional 30 minutes enjoying my own company some more. And also avoiding talking to any strangers. Which is particularly difficult in the Naples train station. And even more unlikely when you’re standing in the same spot forever and ever.

I’m full of my mother’s dire predictions of criminal young people offering their services to help you find your way around the train station. And when that fails, they’re supposed to start begging for money. And when that fails, Oliver and the Artful Dodger pick your pocket. So put your money and your passport down the back of your underwear or something equally unworkable when you’re dealing with Customs.

That little gem was actually written in the margins of the travel book. By my mother. So I wouldn’t forget to keep it in my pants. “Simon, don’t forget about the criminal young people. Keep it all in your underpants.”

So standing here looking like I’m waiting (and waiting and waiting), I’m an easy target. But as my t-shirt says, I’m from Brooklyn. We do not pay people to tell us where we are and which line to stand in. It’s a matter of pride. Unbelievable. Being from Brooklyn, I understand trains. I can find my way around any train station in the world. Hubris! But it’s true. Even in foreign alphabets. It’s in my blood, it’s in the East River, it’s in the soot-flecked air we New Yorkers are born breathing.

So here I am in the Naples train station with my underwear full of credit cards, IDs, and my emergency contacts laminated in both English and Italian. And now I also have that hot tingling in my eyes and the slight burn in my sinuses that threaten angry tears again.

I’m supposed to see a little old man with a big old mercedes, holding up a sign saying “Simon Lewis.” His name is Giuseppe and he came very highly rated on travelbookie.com. Very highly rated.

So, ok, ummm- This guy is definitely not Giuseppe. He doesn’t look that much older than I am. He’s an awfully chatty Irishman named Billy. So I’m like, “What’s Billy in Italian?”

“Fuck if I know,” he laughs. “They just say Beelee. Which puts me off every time, if I’m honest. God bless ‘em, they’re beautiful people, right, but Beelee is so wrong.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Delaney.”

“So in Italian, you’re Beelee Day-la-nay.”

“Y’speak Italian then, do yeh?” he laughs.

“Fluently. This app taught me how to say ‘dog’ and ‘blouse’ and I leveled up really fast — one of my great talents, by the way.”

“Leveling up, is it? Or Italian?”

“Italian. Certo. That means ‘certainly,’ but you use it kind of like you would use ‘obviously.’ Why is it pronounced ‘chair toe?’ No seriously, I’m asking.”

“Obviously,” he snorts, ignoring my lingual curiosity. “Are you mansplainin the language of the place I live to me?”

“Certo.”

Billy rewards me with a low chuckle. It may have been low and just a chuckle, but it was real. Being a connoisseur and collector of bad puns and dad jokes, I have a finely tuned ear for real laughter, as opposed to the usual laughing-just-to-be-nice.

“So I’m better off with Beelee Daylanay. I’ll have a talk with my boss and ask him to use my full name or nothin at all.” That at least gets a snort out of me. Until he says, “What about you? Are you lookin forward to bein Seemon? Sorry, mate. I think yours might be worse than mine.”

———/-/———

We’ve been talking all this time and I forgot to look out the window. As if I’m not on my dream vacation. Runner-up, actually. I’m holding my best dream vacation (Venice) for when Ms. I Do Lewis actually says, “I do.” And I will not book the rooms til after she does.

“Sorry, what was that?” I’ve been staring into space and ignoring Mr. Daylanay, who is now looking at me funny in the rear view mirror.

“Nothin important. Where’d you go, mate?”

“New York to Frankfurt to Milan to Naples. I flew out of JFK.”

“I’ll pretend to know where that is. No,” he says, “I meant just now. You disappeared behind your face.”

Um… “I did what?”

“I’ve been the only one enjoyin the sound of my voice, apparently, since you went quiet about five minutes ago. So where’d you go? Back behind your face,” he prompts.

“That’s an awfully private question, Mr. Daylanay. I’m not sure we’re good enough friends for letting you behind my face.” I kinda stumble on the word friends, cuz, well, we’re not.

“What. Is that like bein let in to visit the little man behind the curtain? That sounds a bit-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds.” I make sure to roll my eyes loudly so he can hear. My mother always says she can hear my eyes rolling from the next room.

“Cagey one, aren’t ya?”

“Nosey, intrusive one, aren’t ya?” I counter.

He bobs his head and gives me a simple, “Ok.”

And now it’s gone quiet. I decide to disappear behind my face again for a while. I quite like it there. Maybe one day the whole world will join me. (Obscure movie reference, don’t bother.)

“Does she have a name?” he breaks into my sinking mood.

“What- Why?”

“Well, Seemon, because every story worth tellin about people generally has a name or two in it. Unless yer feelin all avant-garde while you're busy behind your face, contemplatin. Things.”

Ok, now I’m starting to get tired of his persistence. “I like to think of her as She Who Shall Not Be Named.”

“Like Voldemort. In a nighty.”

The bark of a laugh just erupts out of me before I can stop it from encouraging him. “That is the most disturbing image I’ve ever had.” My dull ache of a mood evaporates as quickly as it came, uninvited and unwelcome on this trip.

“You’re off the hook for now, but if I see you again, I’ll want to hear more about Ms. She Who Shall Not Be Named.”

And just like that, I’m annoyed again. “No.”

“Ok,” he says again.

———/-/———

While apparently spending more time behind my face, I realize I’ve ignored over 45 minutes of the view in a foreign country. Again I’m annoyed. Isn’t he supposed to be narrating the countryside or something? Giuseppe would be narrating the countryside. I frickin paid for that narration.

“So what am I looking at?” I lob at him.

“Naples.”

“Funny.” I hope he can hear my eyes rolling.

“Hold up, I haven’t finished! That great U-shape, right, that’s the Bay of Naples. The city herself is over there in the distance, all the way at the far end of the bay. All the wee towns strung out and all bunched up against the sea as tight as can be sketch out the shape of the bay and on along to the Sorrentine Peninsula -- where we’re goin. The big blue bit beyond the bay-”

“Is the Mediterranean. Yeah, I got that much.”

“Nah, mate. You don’t. See, it’s the Tyrrhenian Sea, which is just the part of the Mediterranean between the boot of Italy and Spain.”

“Thanks so much for the oceanography lesson.”

“Bit tetchy, aren’t yeh?” he says, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “Look, mate. I’m sorry if I rubbed ye up the wrong way with makin conversation. I’m just not used to fillin in on the guest delivery service. That’s a specific kind of hospitality. Mine might be a bit more suited to conversatin across a bar. In that situation, all of this would have been charming.”

I can see him smiling at me in the rearview, trying to reset the mood.

“So you’re a bartender, not a driver. But you do work at the hotel. Right? Or…”

“Yeah sure’n I’ve been known to fill in at the bar when I’m needed.” He clarifies, “Acourse it’s the height of the high season, and all the staff are absolutely inundated with guests. It’s a busy kitchen, and no mistake.”

“So you’re not a bar-”

“Aaaaand, here we are,” he declares, pulling off the road going way too fast into what appears to be open air. But when I don’t feel us driving off a cliff, I open my eyes to see an ornate iron gate, a tile roof, a million flowering bushes, and more than one fountain.

“Allow me to be the first to welcome yeh to the Hotel Terrazze di Limoni. I’ll just fetch your bags, shall I?”

———/Read More/———

Masterlist || ao3 || Next

———/Disclaimer/———

I’ve stolen liberally from Cassandra Clare, TJKlune, and all m|m authors I’ve ever read.

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lionsdenbooks · 1 year ago

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i have mixed opinions on turn of the screw

The Turn of the Screw is an 1898 Gothic horror novella written by lauded American-British novelist Henry James. It concerns a governess who becomes caretaker to two children, Miles and Flora, and grows convinced they are being haunted by the spirits of former staff, Peter Quint and his lover Miss Jessel. It got a loose adaptation in 2020 in the form of the series The Haunting of Bly Manor, which I've heard was reasonably good.

Screw begins with the frame of a narrator gathering around a fire with friends to hear this story, presented as the account of the late governess, a "manuscript in old faded ink and in the most beautiful hand." The tale is talked up as dreadful and terrifying, which doesn't prevent one guest from asking, "And what did the former governess die of? Of so much respectability?" The severity of this cut only becomes clear after suffering through a hundred-odd pages of "her" writing, but I assure you it's deep.

Like in The Castle of Otranto, another seminal work of gothic horror fiction, James seems here to have adopted an intentionally antiquated/distinguished style of narration to give the work an air of age. (Mysteries of Udolpho is explicitly referenced in the story.) As soon as the governess' tale begins, the style immediately gains the ability to induce headaches at twenty feet verbosity and sentence length.

But it was a comfort that there could be no uneasiness in a connection with anything so beatific as the radiant image of my little girl, the vision of whose angelic beauty had probably more than anything else to do with the restlessness that, before morning, made me several times rise and wander about my room to take in the whole picture and prospect; to watch from my open window the faint summer dawn, to look at such stretches of the rest of the house as I could catch, and to listen, while in the fading dusk the first birds began to twitter, for the possible recurrence of a sound or two, less natural and not without but within, that I had fancied I heard.

This work made it clear to me that James lacked familiarity with periods in both senses.

Sentences like that are not isolated incidents, unfortunately. In them, James will often deploy needlessly baroque language.

We met, after I had brought home little Miles, more intimately than ever on the ground of my stupefaction, my general emotion: so monstrous was I then ready to pronounce it that such a child as had now been revealed to me should be under an interdict.

Look, it's not that I'm unable to read this; it's that, over the course of an entire novella, it feels like contortions on the part of the writer to try and force a certain style, which was annoying.

To James' credit, the novel demonstrates a certain level of pacing and tension. The first apparition, the likeness of a man the governess later learns is called Peter Quint, she first sees atop the estate's battlements, then staring at her through a window. This is a clear escalation (in proximity)—in fact, as the second appearance is happening, the governess comments on his "nearness...that represented a forward stride in our intercourse." After he disappears, she goes outside and investigates, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose, is terrified by the sight of her in turn through the window, causing the chapter to end with the governess musing ominously, "But there's only one [thing] I should take space to mention. I wondered why she should be scared." This is strong horror writing. The governess' fear is vividly described; an intriguing paranormal mystery is set up—she later points out to Grose that she had no way of knowing what Quint looked like, or even that he existed, but the apparition had his likeness—and there is a clear escalation in stakes in the ghost coming closer. So far, so good.

Where the book frustrates me is that, in my estimation, the book largely loses its momentum after these appearances. There are more apparition-scenes, which are uniformly written well, but in between these bouts of interest, the book devotes an inordinate amount of its space to describing the most mundane possible interactions between the governess and Miles and Flora, both of whom are excruciating in their bland sweetness (for most of the book, anyway). This is an issue because the central conflict of the story is ostensibly the governess trying to prevent them from being corrupted by the ghosts of Quint and Jessel. Miles demonstrates a sort of canny intelligence that threatens to be interesting, but it comes late in the story and presents to me more as precociousness than sinister possession. In any case, neither of the children seems to "progress" in their "condition" the way the apparitions progress in their appearances, so the threat of their being taken over by the ghosts is largely theoretical.

The one exception to this criticism is the final scene, which was actually quite engaging to read. In it, the governess is alone with Miles, and her paranoia over Quint and Jessel reaches a fever pitch. Miles is more confrontational than he has been the rest of the book, and so his cleverness has actual teeth, as it were. "For of course if we're alone together now it's you that are alone most," he remarks to the governess. In the scene's climax, Quint appears at the window, Miles fails to see it, the governess realizes he is no longer controlled, and then Miles' heart stops and he dies. The scene would have had more impact had it felt more actively set up by the rest of the book, but as is it's a good climax, and as the first two seasons of Twin Peaks have taught us, a great deal of poor writing can be excused by a fantastic ending. Screw doesn't escape its own laborious middle, but that doesn't entirely prevent it from ending on a high note.

The book did not successfully make me care about the children, possessed or otherwise. Instead, the parts that will stick with me the most are certainly the scenes in which the spirits appear to the governess; they have a certain snapshot intensity that I found very engaging. There's one in particular that occurs at night upon a stair lit by candlelight—a CLASSIC Gothic setup—and that I simply marked in my annotations as Antigonish. It begins gravely, "I remember that the book I had in my hand was Fielding's Amelia; also that I was wholly awake." The governess walks down the hall, her candle is blown out, and she comes face-to-face with Quint upon the stair.

It was the dead silence of our long gaze at such close quarters that gave the whole horror, huge as it was, its only note of the unnatural. If I had met a murderer in such a place and at such an hour we still at least would have spoken...I can't express what followed it save by saying that the silence itself—which was indeed in a manner an attestation of my strength—became the element into which I saw the figure disappear; in which I definitely saw it turn, as I might have seen the low wretch to which it had once belonged turn on receipt of an order, and pass, with my eyes on the villainous back that no hunch could have more disfigured, straight down the staircase and into the darkness in which the next bend was lost.

I should mention one aspect of this novel that is legitimately interesting, which is its ambiguity. Though Miles, Flora, and Mrs. Grose are familiar with Quint and Jessel prior to their deaths, the apparitions go unseen throughout the story except by the governess. It is entirely possible to read it, then, as a tale written by a madwoman who terrorized two children with her hallucinations, and in my opinion that is much more compelling. Read this way, where the governess is the ultimate threat to the children rather than abstract ghosts, the climax is much more dramatic; in "saving" Miles from an imaginary threat, she frightens the poor boy to death. It also ameliorates the pacing issues of the book with respect to the children, for if they are not actually "possessed" nothing is actually progressing except the governess' mental condition; nothing is getting worse except her derangement.

All in all, I don't regret my time with A Turn of the Screw, even though I find it much weaker than Dracula, Frankenstein, and the like as far as the genre goes. (Being read back to back with Haunting of Hill House, now my favorite Gothic horror novel of all time, certainly didn't do it any favors either.) If you're into the genre, it's worth a read, but your mileage may vary.

Edit: In the time between this post being queued and published, I read The Jolly Corner (1908) and made the terrible realization that this prolix sludge is, unfortunately, his regular writing style. On balance, I think Screw has a more compelling concept overall and a few very strong scenes, which benefits it a lot, but I don't know if I'll be suffering through much more of his work in future.

#literature #gothic horror #fiction #henry james #bly manor #horror #hill house

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mossyquill02 · 2 months ago

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Also, are kids not being taught about assessing a book’s reading level against your own anymore?

When I was in grade school we had a period in the school library every few days and would get to pick books to read, have group story time, and get small skills lessons. Skills like how to address and send mail/use the postal service, how to use a public library vs the school library, how to avoid damaging books (for very young kids), and how to assess whether a book’s reading level is too easy, comfortable, challenging, or too hard.

The librarian told us to take our chosen book and open to any middle-ish page, then start skimming. Count, for 2-3 pages, how many words on each page you’re unfamiliar with and estimate an average number of new words per page. No unfamiliar words means it’s very easy, probably just a for-fun book, and below your overall reading level. One to three new words per page means at your reading level—you may need to look up words on occasion, but should understand the text as a whole and can benefit from reading it by growing your vocabulary. Three to five new words is challenging and will probably require you to frequently look up words to understand the text. It’s more work, but still manageable. You can increase the challenge up to about 10 new words per page, depending how patient you are. The more new words per page the slower your reading speed will be and shorter your reading sessions should be to properly absorb the new information.

Beyond ten unfamiliar words per page, you should consider whether the specific text is an appropriate reading level for your current knowledge/understanding. It is usually better to identify what you can learn/study to increase your skills and knowledge and then come back to this specific resource later.

For children, this can look like the difference between a beginner’s chapter book (lots of pictures in each chapter) and a children’s lit. novel (fewer pictures, longer chapters, more complex vocab).

For adults, though, it’s can still be an important skill to recognize when you’re struggling with a particular text and WHY you’re struggling. For example, you might be trying to read a technical or academic paper in a jargon-heavy field where you are not yet familiar with the jargon, and thus need to look at more beginner oriented resources that define those terms before coming back. But you can also use these guidelines to be a more active reader—choose an easy book when you want to fully relax, but look for something harder when you have the energy and it becomes more engaging to read.

This might be unpopular but I’m not going to use simpler vocabulary in my writing if it’s out of character for the narrator. If my POV character is a botanist, he’s going to call a plant by its name. If you don’t know what it is you can either Google it or move on just knowing it’s a plant of some sort.

I don’t like this trend of readers being angry that not everything is 100% understandable for them. I want my characters to be believable as people and sometimes people use words people outside of their field will not understand. That’s not a bad thing.

You don’t have to understand every word to get the gist of what’s happening. I’m not going to slow down an action scene to describe every weapon because someone might not know them by name. They can just assume it’s a weapon because that makes sense in the context of the scene.

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rumblelibrary · 3 years ago

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The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster. The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler. This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others. Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies. John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven.

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together. He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it. A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp. Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention? To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one. I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon?

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch. I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice. I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts. I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat. The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man.

#dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist fanfic #victorian age #v writes #the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler

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juniperusashei · 3 years ago

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Kiki’s Delivery Service by Eiko Kadono - 5/5

(pictured with some embroidery inspired by the film I did)

I will say I sorely needed this book when I read it, as I am going through a creative drought right now and if I ever get better I will thank Eiko Kadono for helping pull me out of this. I lost my DVD of the film adaptation of Kiki’s Delivery Service, which is one of my all time favorite films because of how relatable it is to me, so I went out and bought the book, which I did not know of until recently. The book compared to the film maybe doesn’t speak to an adult audience as well, as Kiki doesn’t lose her powers in it, but even for a book aimed at children I found a lot of wisdom hidden behind the simple words. To sum this book up in one word would be “joyous,” although there are many complex themes woven in, like tradition vs. progress. Needless to say, it had me in tears after reading just the first few pages.

Studio Ghibli is notorious for not sticking with the source material whenever they adapt a novel to film (see Howl’s Moving Castle) so I was a bit surprised when the first half of this book was almost verbatim with some of the film. This later deviates, but the whole thing is so episodic it doesn’t make much difference to Kiki’s arc. The structure of this book is a bit like Anne of Green Gables, which is why it lends itself so well to adaptation: each chapter is a self-contained arc where the protagonist learns something new about herself, but it works on another level too because there’s an easily traceable arc over the course of the entire novel. In the introduction, Kadono says,

“I decided one thing right from the beginning: Kiki’s sole power would be flying through the sky on her broom… even if you can’t fly through the air like Kiki, you have your own unique power that is equally important… If a person can find their magic and lovingly cultivate it, they’ll truly feel alive every day.”

What an important message for children to hear, but more immediately for me, it’s still relevant in my adulthood. I wish I had this book growing up, but I could not be more thankful for it now.

#kiki's delivery service #eiko kadono #studio ghibli #top books #fantasy #5 #march 2022 #2022

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izzielizzie · 3 years ago

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Rough on the Surface but You Cut Through Like a Knife

summary: When Bronwyn Rojas ends up next to the ever obnoxious Nate Macauley in Spanish class, she doesn’t really mean to hit him with a book. Well, she does, but she doesn’t expect to end up in the principal’s office with him. And she definitely doesn’t expect to find him amusing.

alternatively: Bronwyn hits Nate with a book and a long overdue conversation ensues (AU)

title from Willow by Taylor Swift

I’m about to drop into my regular seat in AP Spanish, my last class of the day, when Señora Trias calls “Don’t sit yet niños, we have some seat switching to do!”

I groan along with the rest of the class and catch Kate’s eye. We’ve sat together the entire year. I don’t even think I know anyone else in my class. She shrugs in a resigned sort of way. Señora Trias is a force to reckoned with, and we both know she’ll never let us stay in the same seats. We follow the teacher’s instructions, and I’m too busy trying to figure out the complicated dance we’re doing - row one to the left, row two to the right, front to back and back to front - that I don’t even notice that I’ve ended up next to a boy in a ratty leather jacket.

Ugh. Nathaniel Macauley. The school’s notorious drug dealer/womanizer/delinquent/major headache.

And this headache is smirking at me.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Nope, I’m all good… partner.”

I hate the way he says that word, it’s suggestive and disgusting and I suppress a shudder, turning instead to the front of the room, where we’re reviewing pluscuamperfecto. As a native Spanish speaker, I can confidently say I have no idea what the heck that is.

“This is pointless,” Nate grumbles.

“Shhh,” I whisper back, taking a glance at his sharp jaw and deep blue eyes. I’ve known Nate from a distance my whole life, we’ve gone to the same schools since kindergarten, but this is the first time we’ve been so close - or exchanged words - in years.

I look back to the teacher, who’s now going over conjugations. I scribble them down in my notebook as Nate tips his chair back on two legs, rocking back and forth.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” I inform him.

“Wow Rojas, I didn’t know you cared.”

I scoff and Señora Trias sends us a sharp look. “Señorita Rojas. Señor Macauley, no talking.”

I give Nate a sharp look. “Now look what you’ve done,” I hiss, feeling the reprimand as if it had been thrown at me. Nate just smirks.

“You’ve never been in trouble have you?” he asks. I ignore him and he barks out a laugh, my silence serving as an answer. “Wow Rojas, I knew you were straight laced but I didn’t know you were that straight laced.”

And we all know you’re not I think, remembering the drug bust rumor Kate was whispering about last week.

Nate clearly can tell I’m not interested in listening to him, so in the time it takes me to pull out the short novel we’re reading in class from my bag and read about a chapter, Nate doesn’t say a word. When I’m copying down the questions our teacher wrote on the board onto my notebook, he starts talking.

“What’s the answer to one?”

“Solo español por favor!” Señora Trias calls from the front of the class. I give Nate a triumphant look, expecting him to be unable to follow the teacher’s instruction of only talking in Spanish. Unfortunately this is Spanish class. And Nate’s not an idiot. He repeats the question in the correct language, and I decide that I’d be better off ignoring him.

After a few moments, I can feel Nate leaning over my shoulder. I look over to see his eyes on my paper.

“Stop that,” I whisper.

“Spanish only,” he whispers back.

“That wasn’t even in Spanish!”

“Neither was that,” Nate points out.

I huff and go back to my paper, flipping through my book to find the answer to my next question.

“Help meeeee,” Nate whispers.

“Shut up,” I say.

“Bronwynnnnnn.”

“Shhh.”

“Rrrrrrojas.”

My sister once told me about out of body experiences when we were children, and at the time I had scoffed because the supernatural does not exist. But when I close my book - marking my page with my finger because I’m not a philistine - and swing it straight into Nate’s face, I swear I’m not controlling myself at all.

“Would you shut up?” I snap as an unnatural silence overtakes the room. I look around for the first time, meeting stricken faces. Kate’s looking at me like she’s never met me before.

“Bronwyn Rojas,” Señora Trias says dangerously. I risk a glance at Nate and feel a flash of sympathy when I see a red mark on his cheek. But he’s smirking at me so maybe he deserved it.

I’m frozen, not quite sure what to say. Señora Trias points to the door. “Principal. Both of you.”

“Both!” Nate and I say at the same time.

“Yes, look at that you’re in sync, no use that rhythm to get to the office.”

Not the best witty comment around, all things considered, but since Señora Trias looks like she’s ready to commit murder so I let it slide.

“So let me get this straight,” Principal Gupta says, staring at Nate and I, sitting side by side in the uncomfortable chairs in Gupta’s office. “You two were partnered in Spanish class, Bronwyn you were annoyed with Nathaniel, so you hit him with a book?”

Nate tips his chair back and I kick at his ankle. He kicks back.

“Bronwyn.”

“Yes, sorry. This is correct,” I say. Principal Gupta stares at me. I’ve been getting a lot of stares lately. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, the secretary appears at the door.

“There’s a problem in the cafeteria,” she informs Gupta, who sighs. She looks sharply at us.

“I am going to be gone for ten minutes tops. Please refrain from murdering each other.”

I nod vehemently while Nate tips his chair back farther, his smirk growing. I count backwards from fifty in my head just to make sure Gupta is really gone before wheeling back towards him. I push down on the arm of his chair with all my might. Nate crashes to the ground, a look of shock on his face.

“Jesus Bronwyn.”

“Stop tilting your gosh darn chair” I hiss, my face only a few inches away from his. I can see myself reflected back in his dark blue eyes. I look mildly deranged. He smirks again and I raise my hand. He flinches away. Ha. Take that.

He holds up his hands in surrender, leaning away from me. “Would it make you feel better if I sat on the floor Rojas?”

“Yes, yes it would.”

Nate slides to the ground, and before I can realize what’s happening, he’s pulling me down by the waist. “What the heck?” I ask.

Nate shrugs. “If I have to sit on the floor, then you do too.” He pauses for a beat. “And your legs look good in that skirt.

I slap his shoulder. “Jackass!”

Nate laughs. “She swears!” he announces to an audience of… no one.

“Why is that notable?” I ask, self-consciously tucking my legs underneath myself, ignoring my tingling waist where Nate’s fingers ended up under my shirt.

“Because a minute ago you said ‘gosh darn’ and not even grandmothers would say that Rojas.”

I can feel my face flush, but I cross my arms anyway. My little sister always teases me about how I don’t swear. Not that she swears either. “Is it really a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

I flush more, irritated at myself that Nate’s opinion matters this much to me. He senses that I’m done talking because he looks straight ahead at Gupta’s desk, where we can just make out a picture of her and her daughter.

“How’s your sister doing? Maeve, right?” Nate asks, and I turn to stare at him in shock. My sister Maeve left elementary school with cancer a long time ago. Nate was just starting to know her - they were on the same soccer team - and I don’t expect him to remember her, let alone her name.

“Yeah, it’s Maeve,” I say, my tone considerably softer. Nothing makes me happier than my sister. “She’s okay.”

“She’s in remission right?”

I turn my body so I’m looking straight ahead at him, a concession maybe. My anger is ebbing, and I’m sort of guilty about that bruise on his face. “She is. Thank you for asking.” Not many people do.

“You’re welcome.” What he says next surprises me so much I almost miss what he says: “Want to talk about it?”

I look at him for a moment, at his dark eyes and smattering of freckles and his closed off expression, and I can’t help the feeling that he’s being serious. And I don’t know why that’s so off putting.

I shrug, trying to figure out what to say. “It just sucks, you know?” I finally land on.

Nate nods. “I know.” I think back to his mother’s funeral, the dark, rainy morning where he stood in an old suit, his father too drunk to even show up. I kept thinking about Maeve, about how some day I might have to stand in the same place, shouldering the burden of a million worlds.

I imagine that’s how it feels to lose someone.

I feel the need suddenly, to make those eyes light up so I shift slightly closer to him and pluck at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Hey, remember when we were locked in that music room at St. Pi?” I ask.

Nate glances over at me through hooded eyes, his eyelashes unnaturally long. He nods, a half smile on his lips. “I remember. Sixth grade right?”

“Yeah.” I remember that day like it was yesterday. We had been arguing - much like today - in the middle of a music class, and our teacher sent us to the storeroom to sort flutes until we calmed down or something. But we - and the teacher - had forgotten that the door to the store room door locked from the outside. Nate and I were locked in for nearly an hour, which to twelve year olds, felt like forever.

“It was a pretty good day you know?”

“Really? I thought I threw a clarinet case at you.”

“Well you did,” Nate says. “But you know… it was nice. You’re nice.”

“Aww.”

“But you are violent.”

“Touché,” I admit.

He smiles at me, his eyes soft, and I smile back. I’m about to reach up to touch the bruise on his face when Gupta comes back, breezing through the door like she’s floating. She groans when she sees us.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Heat rises,” Nate says with a shrug.

“It’s November."

Nate and I just look at each other and smile. We climb back into our seats, and when he tips his chair back, I don’t say anything. And when I say “gosh” instead of “god” when I’m assuring Gupta that “I swear to gosh I didn’t mean to hit him I’m so sorry” Nate doesn’t even bat an eye.

Truce, I guess.

Gupta spends ten minutes talking about pressure and how sometimes we cave but if Nate forgives me it’s okay before she lets us leave. Nate and I mockingly shake hands before we get up and it’s… nice.

The bell has already rung, so we turn in opposite directions, me to physics and him to gosh knows where when he turns to me.

“Hey, want to go to the mall on Saturday? You can buy me a pretzel for my troubles.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll throw something at you?”

Nate grins his Macauley grin. “I think I’ll risk it, Rojas.”

My smile is his answer.

#bronwyn rojas #nate macauley #natewyn #one of us is lying #izzielizzie's fics #queued

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kirkodiletears · 3 years ago

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Star Trek: The Motion Picture | Chapter 2 (with complete Kolinahr scene and Spock mentioning Kirk as "his t'hy'la"). Well worth reading.

This is the complete chapter 2 from Roddenberry's Star Trek The Motion Picture novelization, which covers Spock's Kolirahr scene, including his hearing Kirk's thoughts and calling him "his T'hy'la".

Worth reading. The whole book is. But this particular chapter is very important for understanding crusual thing about the relationship between Spock and Kirk and Spock's feelings about Kirk.

THIS IS HOW RODDENBERRY CREATED THEM TO BE.

From here: https://booksvooks.com/fullbook/star-trek-the-motion-picture-pdf-gene-roddenberry.html?page=6

Chapter Two

The stonework where Spock knelt was so ancient that its origins could not be traced in even the oldest Vulcan legends. Spock’s long robe bore the same patterns as those carved in the ancient stone. The meanings of these symbols were known only to the Vulcan Masters whose abode was here on the high plateau of Gol. Spock had come here not long after the starship Enterprise had completed its historic five-year mission.

It had seemed to Spock that he had no other choice. It was only through the Masters here on Gol that one could achieve Kolinahr. And it was only through Kolinahr that he could once and for all time unburden himself of his human half, which he believed responsible for his pain.

“Spock, son of Sarek of Vulcan and of Amanda of Earth, are thee prepared to open thy mind to us?”

This would be the closest human translation. The words were actually in Old Vulcan and spoken by the Master T’sai. To each side of her stood lesser Masters whose lips moved in an ancient chant in praise of reason.

“I am prepared.”

Spock gave the traditional and expected response. But he was troubled. Had his answer been the whole truth? As late as this very morning, he had felt fully prepared to be examined by the Vulcan Masters. During the past nine Vulcan seasons,1 he had not only survived the disciplines of Kolinahr, but also the harsh trials had taken him to those consciousness levels which are beyond the reach of confusion, fatigue, and pain. He knew that he had pleased the Masters, even the ones who had at first hesitated over permitting a mere half-Vulcan to become an acolyte in Gol. But no one doubted him any longer—no one but Spock himself.

Until this very morning, Spock had been certain that he had finally and fully exorcised his human half and its shameful emotional legacies. An hour before the rising of the Vulcan suns, Spock had made his way to the high promontory he had chosen as his own and there he had greeted the red dawn of this important day with mind-cleansing meditation. He had known that today he would face T’sai herself and that the High Master would invite him to enter with her into mindmeld so that she might place around his neck the old symbol which proclaimed his mastery of Kolinahr. In searching his consciousness this morning, Spock had been especially alert for any trace of pride in his accomplishments here in Gol. Kaiidth! What was, was! He had done only what he had been meant to do and had the good fortune to be able to do. With this thought, Spock had looked up at the red dawn sky in the direction where he knew Sol and Earth to be and had begun a respectful, but brief, farewell to his mother’s planet and the part of his life that it had represented. He had long ago decided that he would neither return to that place nor move among its people ever again.

Jim! Good-bye my . . . my t’hy’la.2 This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again.

It was at this exact instant that a shockingly powerful consciousness imposed itself unexpectedly into Spock’s mind. It was almost as if some powerful entity had been searching the galaxy for some long-needed answers about Earth and humans and had become aware of Spock’s mind at the very instant he was saying his farewell to Earth and Kirk. Although Spock had no idea at the time what it meant, he felt himself being examined almost as if he were a living “Rosetta stone,” capable of understanding both logic and human irrationality, and thus a possible key by which a totally logical entity might understand Earth and humanity.

Most shocking of all, it had frightened Spock. On the morning of the very day that he was to be pronounced free of emotion, he had felt . . . fear. Fear, not so much for himself, but for Earth and for those Earth humans whom he had known for so long and so well.

How was it possible that he felt this? Not only was fear indisputably an emotion, how could he feel that emotion for a planet and a people which he had already exorcised from his consciousness and from his life!

“Here on these sands, our forebears cast out their animal passions, hence forever devoting their minds to logic. . . .”

The chant of reason was coming to an end and a troubled Spock remained kneeling before the High Master T’sai. Whatever the entity which had invaded Spock’s mind this morning, its presence seemed gone now. Perhaps he had misunderstood and had not felt fear—perhaps it had merely been surprise. Even a full Vulcan might be forgiven feeling some surprise over so powerful a consciousness touching his mind. Spock reminded himself that he had met every test of Kolinahr; the Masters themselves were acknowledging this by their very presence and participation in this ancient ceremony.

Spock could feel that T’sai was turning toward him as the ceremony approached the invitation to mindmeld. He knew that he must accept, and then enter T’sai’s mind, and she his. As part of her mind, Spock would be able to view himself and his place in the universe with the wisdom of a Master. And T’sai would become part of the consciousness that was Spock.

Forget Earth; think only of Vulcan. You were born here of a Vulcan father, raised here as a Vulcan son . . . and Vulcan children, like children everywhere, can be unthinkingly cruel. Strange, I have never been aware until now that it was my boyhood on Vulcan which had ultimately driven me into Starfleet. I had to prove to myself that those times of tears and laughter had been only a child’s errors. It was to prove my mastery over myself that I went out among humans and defied them to make me less Vulcan than I am.

But what was it that Jim Kirk had once said? “Spock, why fight so hard to be a part of only one world? Why not fight instead to be the best of both?”

“Spock!”

This from one of the lesser Masters. T’sai herself was looking down at Spock, puzzled.

“Spock, our minds also have felt that far-off ‘presence.’ Has it special meaning to you?”

There was nothing Spock could do but to nod . . . and to feel shame. Here, now, in the very midst of the Kolinahr ceremony, the mysterious alien consciousness was returning to probe his mind again. Again, he felt its interest in Earth . . . and then again he felt fear! And he felt shame too. As if struck by a bolt from an unseen ambush, Spock knew in this instant that the human half of him was far from extinguished. That half had simply been capable of human guile and had learned to hide itself even from his own notice. He had foolishly and carelessly underestimated it and believed it to be gone. But like the enemy it had always been, his human half had merely lain in wait in order to assault him while he was defenseless.

“Spock, your thoughts. Open them to me.”

Spock could not refuse the High Master T’sai, not even at this moment of shame. As she touched him, Spock let his mind open, in the giving and receiving of mindmeld Oneness. Kaiidth! What was there was there, and it was T’sai’s right to learn the complete truth of it.

The Klingons weren’t destroyed. It feels like . . . like they’ve become “wall exhibits in Hell.” And it’s headed for Earth. Spock, I wish you were here to help me understand.

Spock looked up, puzzled. That had felt like Jim Kirk’s thoughts. And yet it was T’sai who was standing here and to whom he had opened his thoughts. She was now releasing Spock’s consciousness and retrieving her own. Then her lips opened, and before she spoke Spock already knew what her words would be.

“Your answer lies elsewhere, Spock.”

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dumdumsun · 4 years ago

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Of Starlight

A/N: One more chapter!

Warnings: none that I'm aware of

Word Count: 4200

—————————————

Chapter 19: The White Violin

To say that Five was nervous would have been an understatement. Not only would he be meeting the children of the love of his life, but her mother as well. Just hours ago, he was trying to prevent an apocalypse, and fought for his life for the past eight days. Now he was worrying about whether or not Michael and Jada would like him? What a rollercoaster this week has been.

(Y/N) had made a pit stop at her home, mentioning she had to grab something. When she invited Five inside, he hesitated, but she insisted. So, he unbuckled himself and left the car, joining her at her doorstep. Once she unlocked the door, they stepped inside and then she left his side not too long after, telling him to “make himself at home”. Five instinctively shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts as he watched his love disappear down the hall to her bedroom. Letting out a quiet breath, he let his green eyes wander around the living room.

It was clear that (Y/N) had been living quite a comfortable life. Her home wasn’t as grand as their childhood mansion, but it wasn’t a small home either. All around her walls were framed abstract paintings, awards her novels had won, and family photos. On her wall across from the long leather couch was a seventy-two-inch flat screen television. On either side of the television was a bookshelf. Upon further inspection, Five noticed that the bookshelf on the left consisted of children’s story books, while the other was full of novels. As his eyes roamed, he noticed Vanya’s book in the ‘H’ section of the alphabetized system. He hummed and stepped back, wandering further into her home. He noted that the general theme of the interior was navy blue and white. A nice, calming touch. Something tranquil to come to after a hectic day. He shook the thought from his head as he approached the dining room. On the glass table was a cup that was knocked over. Five tilted his head and set it upright, wondering why (Y/N) hadn’t taken care of that. She didn’t seem like the type to leave a single speck of dirt around her home, but then again, she hadn’t been able to look after her home in days. He had himself to thank for that.

His attention was brought to the small table in the corner of the dining room, where a framed picture was facing down. Curious, he walked up to the table and picked up the photo, his stomach twisting in knots only slightly. It was a wedding photo of (Y/N) and Anthony. The man’s golden tan skin bathed in the sunlight, lighting up his lovestruck facial expression. He had dark black hair and full brows, sporting a well-groomed extended goatee the same color. His full body wasn’t in the frame, but it was clear he had somewhat of a muscular build and the way he held himself radiated confidence. His hazel eyes were gazing at (Y/N). Five couldn’t believe what puberty had done to her. She was the picture of perfection. Her (e/c) eyes sparkled naturally in the sunlight, the way her dazzling smile reached those eyes told nothing but the truth of how her life had truly changed for the better. The only time he had seen (Y/N) as an adult was the apocalypse, where he never had the chance to see her smile. The woman in this picture was a woman who had escaped the horrors of her childhood, who made something of herself, who didn’t let those horrors define her. A sense of pride swelled in Five’s chest the longer he stared at the photo. She had achieved true happiness.

And here he was, bringing all of that negativity back to her.

“Okay, I’m back.” (Y/N) announced as she stepped into the dining room. Five quickly set the picture down in its original place, but it was too late. The smile she wore faltered a bit, but when it returned, it was more melancholy. Her steps towards him were slow, cautious. “He reminded me so much of you, Five,” She whispered, her shoulder brushing against his as she turned the photo upright again. “He was so patient with my baggage, so gentle and careful. Like I was this porcelain doll to him. Not a single scratch could be left on me, it was so unbelievable sometimes.”

“Are you trying to say I’m gentle and patient?”

“With me, you are.” She giggled. She let her elbow nudge his as she shifted her arm. “I miss him… he couldn’t fill the void you left, but he was so wonderful to have known in life. A wonderful partner…”

Five’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry about Anthony, (Y/N)... He must’ve been pretty great if he was able to pull you out of… the dark? Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, the dark,” She whispered before her gaze shifted to his, which was already fixed on her. “Five, I-I hope you know I… I love you. I can never fully heal from Anthony’s death, but… I’m not going to just ignore this. What we have. Or had…”

“What we have.” He whispered back, stepping closer to her. Absentmindedly, (Y/N) set the photo back down as their lips grazed each other. Five’s hand gently gripped her arm and her free hand reached up to caress his cheek. Without another moment of hesitation, the two closed the gap between them, their lips colliding in a slow kiss. The feel of her soft, warm lips against his was almost enough to send his knees buckling, but Five held himself together. It was hard to, though, when the hand on his cheek moved into his hair. Tilting his head into the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer. Five could have time travelled and spent forty-five years in the apocalypse over and over if it meant he’d come back to this. Come back to this person who could be the beginning and the end of him, who could easily end his life if it meant hers was saved, who could tear down his walls simply with the warmth of her graceful smile. His beautiful Starlight.

His lips chased hers when she slowly pulled away and she quietly chuckled at him. The moment their lips were separated, their gazes met. Nothing, absolutely nothing but pure love and adoration. And if her confession seconds ago didn’t tell him, the look in her eyes certainly did. Her hands slid from his cheeks down to his arms, gently patting his elbows as she raised her brows. “Well… shall we get going?”

-------------------------------------------------

“So, we’re telling them everything? The truth?” Five asked as (Y/N) pulled up in front of her mother’s small home. The girl, after turning off the car, slowly sat back with her lips in a thin line.

“Yeah… That was the original plan,” She whispered. Five frowned in confusion and when she looked at him, she sighed. “We’re gonna pretend to be neighbor kids…”

Five blinked. “You’re not serious, are you? I thought the whole purpose of this was to be honest with them.”

“Well, yeah, but just think of how they’ll react. If it actually registers in their minds that I’m a kid… Oh my god, Jada will bawl her eyes out… Michael’s gonna have a panic attack, I just know it. A-And then they’re not gonna let me comfort them and then my mom’ll have to do it and they barely even let her do it-”

“Starlight-”

“And then if I introduce you as my lover, they’re gonna think I’m trying to replace Anthony-”

“(Y/N),” Five took hold of her hands that were flailing about. She stopped and stared at him with frantic eyes. “We’ll go with your plan. Does your mom know?”

She nodded.

“Okay…,” He slowly freed her wrists, watching as she began to relax. “Ready to go?”

She nodded again.

She was not ready to go. The second the teenagers stood in front of Michael and Jada, (Y/N) froze. Five gently nudged her to start off. She blinked rapidly and cleared her throat, waving shyly. “Hey, there… Um, we just moved in next door and… wanted to meet the neighbors.” She awkwardly nodded. Michael perked up and held his hand out to shake.

“I’m Michael! And I’m six!”

“I’m Jada!” The little girl laughed as Five gently shook the boy’s hand.

“I-It’s nice to meet you, Michael and Jada…” (Y/N) whispered.

Jada bounced on the couch, widening her hazel eyes in curiosity. “What’re your names?” (Y/N) immediately turned to Five in alarm. The boy placed a hand on her arm to calm her. He very slightly smiled at the girl and nodded.

“Well, my name is Five and-”

“Five?!”

“Yes-”

“Like the number?!”

“Yes, and this is… Star.”

This only made the children even more excited, their faces lighting up.

“Star?!”

“Yes.”

“Like the shiny things in the sky?!”

“Yes.” Five sighed and stared down at his feet. (Y/N) giggled. She then slowly knelt down in front of the two. She gulped and took a deep breath before lifting her head to look them in their faces. This was so much harder than she thought.

“How have you two been?”

Jada was the first to speak, “Oh, uh, good! I miss Mama. But she’s at work…”

“Yeah, but we don’t know when she’s coming back,” Michael scratched his cheek. “Because um… I remember one time when Daddy went to work and then, uh… he didn’t come back. I think he was hit… by a car. And I hope Mama didn’t get hit by a car.”

Five looked to (Y/N), who was shaking. He quickly knelt beside her and took her hand in his. “Your mom is fine, Michael, trust me.” He whispered.

“How do you know?”

“We saw her… before we moved. We met her. And she said that… she misses you two a lot. And… there isn’t a second that goes by when she doesn’t think about you. She hopes you’re happy and healthy. She… told us you two are her favorite people in the world.”

“Oh, yeah, she wrote a song about it!” Jada squealed. “She wrote a song about us and she sings it all the time!”

“It’s Jada’s favorite song.” Michael smiled and tried to hold his sister close so she’d cease her bouncing on the couch. (Y/N) let out a laugh as she watched her kids with tender eyes.

“She also said,” She started off, inhaling deeply. “That she didn’t want to leave you two. And if she could, she’d bring you two with her everywhere she went. But she can’t because- Well, she can’t… A-And she,” She stopped to wipe the tears cascading down her cheeks. “She hopes you two don’t hate her f-for leaving you for this long. And that she loves you… so, so much… You two fill her with so much joy and she doesn’t know what to do without you a-and-”

“Why are you crying, Star?” Jada hopped off the couch and hugged her mother tight. (Y/N) immediately wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Why are you crying?”

“N-Nothing, Jada, I just… I just feel bad because she misses you so much…”

Michael plopped down onto the ground in front of them, joining the hug. “Don’t feel bad. She’ll be home with us soon. That’s what she sings every night. That she… um… she’s gonna wipe our tears away when she comes back.”

“You’re right, Michael,” (Y/N) tearfully laughed. “My god, you’re so right…”

Michael turned to Five with a small smile, reaching his arm out. The time traveller looked around with a frown before pointing to himself. The little boy nodded and motioned him closer. Five shuffled over to the three and was going to ask what he needed, but Michael only pulled him into the hug. He was shocked, to say the very least. He considered leaving the hug, but when Jada tugged on his jacket to pull him closer, he gave in and wrapped his arms around the little family.

All the while, (Y/N)’s mother watched from the side, grinning through her tears.

-------------------------------------------------

“What’d you think of the kids?” (Y/N) whispered as she and Five strolled down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand. After the tear-fest, the two decided to get some fresh air and walked around the neighborhood. It was abnormally normal for Five to simply walk down a sidewalk without a task at hand, without answers to find. But right by his side was the answer to all of his questions.

“I think… Jada looks exactly like you,” The two shared a laugh. “But I must say, they are very intelligent children. And so kindhearted, as well. I mean, they just met me and were so comfortable with me.”

“I don’t know where they get that from.” She chuckled. Five gently tugged on her hand, causing her to step closer.

“You’ve got to start giving yourself credit for things like this. They’re your kids. Where do you think they got it from?” He smiled, raising her hand to his lips. “You’re the most caring person I know, Starlight.” He pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles as she leaned into his side. This beautiful and peaceful moment was squashed, however, when Five glanced over at a newspaper stand and dropped (Y/N)’s hand frantically. He rushed to the stand and took out a newspaper. “No, no, no…”

“Five?” (Y/N) stepped closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder. “What’s wrong…?”

“(Y/N)... we need to get back to the Academy.”

“W-What? Why-”

“The apocalypse is still on.”

Her car sped towards the Academy, the two hoping to god no lives had been taken in their absence. Arriving at the Academy, there was… Well, there was no Academy. It was in shambles, fire acting as a source of light in the night. Thankfully, in the midst of all the wreckage, (Y/N) could count four of her siblings standing around. Unfortunately, she didn’t see Vanya anywhere. The two teens charged out of the car and towards their siblings. “Guys!” Five grabbed (Y/N) by the hand and pulled her with him. The four all turned to them with exhaustion written all over their faces and bodies. “This is it. The apocalypse is still on. The world ends today.”

“I thought you said it was over.” Luther stepped closer to them. Five held up the newspaper he’d been clutching in his hand since he found it.

“I was wrong, okay? This newspaper, I found it in the future the day I got stuck. The headline hasn’t changed.”

“No, that doesn’t mean anything.” Diego shook his head. (Y/N) detected tears in his eyes and walked closer to comfort him, but he only held his hand up in dismissal. Backing off, she turned back to Five. “Time could’ve been altered since that newspaper came out this morning.”

“You’re not listening to me. When I found it, I assumed this place came down along with everything else,” Five glanced around at the wreckage. “But here we are. The moon’s still shining, the earth is in one piece, but not the Academy.” Five was nearly cut off when Klaus snatched the newspaper from him, flipping through its pages.

“I’m confused…”

“Then listen to me, you idiot! Vanya destroys the Academy before the apocalypse. I-I thought Harold Jenkins was the cause, but he was the fuse-”

“Vanya’s the bomb...” (Y/N) sighed in realization. Five gestured towards his love with an exasperated huff.

“Someone gets it… Vanya causes the apocalypse.”

“We have to find her.” Luther muttered as the sound of helicopter blades and sirens could be heard above them. A blinding light shone on all six of them from one of the helicopters. Diego stood and shielded his eyes from the light.

“We have to get the hell out of here!” (Y/N) grabbed a hold of Five’s arm. The siblings began to disperse, Luther commanding them to regroup at the Super Star Lanes. Pulling her close, Five blinked both he and (Y/N) there.

The boy would have pulled off the employee’s head and shoved it up where the sun didn't shine when she told him they needed to pay to get in, but (Y/N) stepped up and slammed some money onto the counter. It was more than enough for them and their siblings. She quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him to one of the lanes, sitting him down in a chair. The boy’s leg was bouncing rapidly and she had to place her hand on it in order for him to look at her. “I know it seems next to impossible, but please keep a level head, bub.” She leaned in and pecked his lips. He let out a sigh and gently pulled her to sit beside him without a word. The two patiently waited for the four to show up and when they did, they all gathered in the seats provided. Silently. No words spoken amongst each other. By this time, (Y/N)’s legs were swung over Five’s lap, the boy resting his hands on her knees as he stared forward, deep in thought. He didn’t break out of his trance until Luther spoke up,

“Look, I hate to be the one to say this, but everyone needs to prepare.”

“For what?” Diego furrowed his brows.

“To do whatever it takes to stop Vanya.” His answer earned him a smack to the chest with the notepad from Allison. Luther stammered and sighed.

“We may not have a choice, Allison.”

“Bullshit,” Diego mumbled as Klaus picked up the newspaper once again. “There’s always options.”

“Yeah, like what?” Five tested, but only received an ‘I don’t know’.

“Look, whatever we decide, we need to find Vanya. And fast, okay? She could be anywhere.” Luther stood from his chair.

“Or… here.” Klaus’s voice turned everyone’s head in his direction. He shook the newspaper a bit before they gathered around him. In the paper was an advertisement for the performance of the Saint Pluvium Chamber Orchestra, with Vanya as first chair. (Y/N) leaned forward to read it, Five placing his hand on her back to keep her from falling over.

“That’s right. Her concert is tonight.” Diego whispered.

“Hello,” The same employee from earlier approached the family, everyone irritably turning to her. “I hate to intrude, but my manager says if you’re not gonna bowl, you gotta leave.” She shrugged, walking off as said manager slapped a pair of bowling shoes on the counter. Luther, absolutely over this whole situation, grabbed a bowling ball and carelessly threw it. The ball bounced a couple of lanes over before knocking all ten pins down.

“Strike.” (Y/N) lazily cheered. She looked over when she heard Allison tapping on her notepad she’d just written on.

SHE’S OUR SISTER

“We’re the only ones capable of stopping this,” Luther stared intently at her. “We have a responsibility to Dad.”

“To Dad?!” Diego raised his voice. “No, I’ve heard enough about-”

“He sacrificed everything to bring us back together.”

“I’m with Luther on this one,” Five spoke up. “We can’t give her a chance to fight back.” When he felt his love move her legs off his lap, he turned to see her frowning in distaste. “What, are you against this?”

“Of course, I’m against this, Five, I don’t want to have to hurt Vanya.”

“What other choice do we have?” Luther raised his brows at her.

“There are billions of lives at stake. We’re past trying to save just one, (Y/N).” The boy gently held her hand. The girl sighed and turned her head away from him.

“It’s just that we’ve hurt her so much already…”

“Hey, you know, guys, uh… maybe I could help.” Klaus suddenly spoke, hopefully glancing around at his siblings. Luther blinked and shook his head.

“Now is not the time, Klaus-”

“No, let him finish,” Diego interrupted Luther. “He saved my life today.”

(Y/N) stared up at Klaus with a small smile. “Really, Klaus? You did that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did… take credit for it. In fact, the real hero… was Ben.”

The silence between the family was deafening. Diego, Five and (Y/N) were intrigued while Luther and Allison were doubtful. Klaus sighed and walked in front of them. “Today… Listen. Today, he punched me in the face. Remember, I told you, (Y/N), you saw it!”

“Well… I didn’t actually-”

“And earlier at the house, he was the one who saved Diego’s life, not me.”

Luther scoffed. “You’re unbelievable, Klaus.”

“You want proof, is that it? (Y/N), did you or did you not see Ben punch me in the face today?”

The girl stiffened when she felt all eyes on her. Her own darted from Five, to Luther, then to Klaus, who waited with a hopeful smile. Inwardly sighing, she nodded. “Yes, I saw it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Luther hissed. “You’re always defending his reckless behavior-”

“No, Luther, maybe I’m just the only one who listens to him-”

“No, you encourage him!”

“Fine, I’ll give you some real proof!” Klaus interrupted and grabbed a bowling ball. Readying to throw it, he stared at the space behind (Y/N). “Showtime, baby. Catch!”

Five quickly pulled his love into the other seat with him before the ball could get anywhere near her. She felt her heart sink when the ball smacked against the floor, slowly rolling away to the next party lane. She looked to Klaus in disbelief, now feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Her brother slowly lowered his arms as he stared back at her apologetically. “Is there any way to silence that voice in your head that screams out to be the center of attention? Or the voice that encourages it.” Luther leaned towards (Y/N), who nearly lunged at him.

“Fuck off, Luther!”

“You know, I liked you a lot better before you got laid,” Klaus immediately regretted that when seeing the shock on both Allison and Luther’s faces. “Which was a complete… It- It wasn’t his fault, ‘cause he was ridiculously high, right? And- And the girl, she thought he was a furry-”

“Stop!” Luther shut him down. He then slowly turned to Allison, who grabbed her notepad and walked away from them. Luther called out to her and followed quickly. To make things even more awkward, a woman suddenly walked over to the siblings with her son.

“Excuse me!” She beamed, the four turning to her. “Excuse me, it’s my son Kenny’s birthday today, and… uh… wouldn’t your kids be happier playing with kids their own age? Assuming it’s okay with your two dads.”

(Y/N) got quite the kick out of this, burying her face into Five’s shoulder and quietly laughing as the boy tensed in anger. “I would rather chew off my own foot.” He spat. The woman’s face slowly fell before she escorted her son away. (Y/N) was still laughing as she leaned away when she felt Five get up from his seat.

“If I was going to date a man, you’d be the last man I would date.” Diego stated. Klaus, offended, turned to his sister.

“He’d be lucky to get me.”

“Oh my god, I love you guys.” She snorted into her hand. When her laughter finally died down, she turned to where Five now stood. He was clutching something in his fist and something in her knew he was about to blink away, so she stood quickly. “Five.” She called out and rushed over to him. He turned to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Starlight, I have to take care of something.”

“But Five, you can’t.”

“I have to.”

“But where?! Where do you have to go?!” Her voice broke as she latched onto his sleeves. He glanced down at her hands before meeting her eyes.

“It’s The Handler. I need to… discuss something with her.”

“Five-”

“Starlight, I promise I will come back for you guys. I’ll come back to you,” He gently rubbed her shoulders. “Okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Five smiled warmly and leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss. She pressed hers right back to his as her grip on him loosened. When he pulled away, he gave her one last smile before blinking away. She willed herself to return to her seat by her brothers. They picked up on her anxiety immediately, watching her tap her fingers to her knee repeatedly as she bit her lip harshly. The two sat forward with concerned looks.

“(Y/N)?” Diego called, but she hadn’t heard him. Klaus reached over and grabbed her working hand.

“He’ll be back, dear. He wouldn’t just leave us, leave you.”

“I-I know,” Her voice broke, the girl cursing at the sound. “I just… e-every time he leaves, I’m terrified it’s the last time I’ll see him.”

—————————————

Taglist: @unfortu-nate-ly @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @narikyuwu @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @call-me-starstorm @rev-enviadhell @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie @rhain3 @himikaphoo @zerocanonlywriteshit @xxeiraxx

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight

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linkspooky · 4 years ago

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hey, can you share your thoughts and opinions on dazai osamu's no longer human?(just the book and not in connection with bsd) i read it, i liked it, but i couldnt really relate to it. so im wondering if i should read the setting sun or not. what do you think abt this book?

I don’t think books really need to be relatable to be impactful, but context can help you understand it. In general my advice is the best way to understand a book is to read more books like it. Always, read more books.

Sure, I can write a repsonse to the text though. The book, not the anime. (Ignore the picture of Dazai, he’s just there to look cute.)

The biggest and most important idea in No Longer Human (Ningen Shikakku). The most literal translation of the title being (人間失格) "Disqualified From Being Human. I bring this up, because use of the character in the title has specific meaning.

人 (hito) : human, person 人間 (ningen): human Generally speaking, 人 is used for people, while 人間 is used for humans as a taxonomic classification.

Much like English, the fact that a person is a human is usually a given, because in our world, we call those who are humane “people,” and only humans can be humane. Just like you wouldn’t usually count humans with “three humans” and say “three people” instead, the usual way to count three humans in Japanese would also be 三人 instead of 三人間. “Human society” is 人間社会, etc.

Or to shorten 人 (hito) : human, person 人間 (ningen): human, biological.

So, there’s an extra nuannce there in the translation. The title of the book uses “ningen” as in the sense of taxonomical classification. So, it’s like saying “disqualified from being considered as a part of the human species.”

I go this far in my intro because most consider Dazai’s work to be a response to Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, (he name drops both Dostoevsky and the novel itself). Both of these novels portray society as a whole as an antagonistic force to one individual, who is considered an outsider to that same society. There’s a lot of similarities between the protagonists, both Raksolnikov and Yozo are terminally ill, show signs of mental illness, and both are characters who show incredible self-awareness and moments of self reflection while at the same time being unable to connect to the feelings or identify with the people around them in any healthy way.

To connect back to my little rant on the translation of the title though, what could disqualify a person from being considered a human being? Well, they could commit a crime for instance. Then they’d be classified as a crimminal.

Both protagonists of both novels are crimminals in a sense. However, that’s about where the similarities end. NLH is centrally about the main characters egoism. Society matters so little in NLH, society is just something that hangs ominously in the background to the outsider.

Now there’s another novel by Dostoevsky that similiarly is recorded in a journal format, and is mainly about the main characters Ego. Notes from Underground is considered to be one of Dos’s first existentialist novels. Existentialism (to oversimplify) in a sense of what does existing in this world mean?

That’s why I say the central conflict is not with society itself, but rather within the character’s own head. The outsiders of society only exist within their own heads. Their main challenge is not to grapple with society, morality and law like Raskolnikov but rather to figure out what is inside their own heads and what they live for.

Which is why the protagonists of both novels are terrible egoists. Their main personality trait is their egocentrism, or rather their inability or unwillingness to try to see or understand the feelings or experiences of others. They are first person narrators who only see the world from their own point of view, but they are not objectve narrators. The only thing they can see, the only thing they can relate to, the only thing they can convey is their feelings to the reader.

F. Scott Fitzgerald writes a similiar novel from a similiar point of view in This Side of Paraidse, which shows the journey of one young man born into a rich family who grows up to not only lose the love of his life, but also to squander all his fortunes at the end of the story. However, Fitzgerald drops all pretense on what the story is about. The chapter titles are things like, the romantic egoist, the egoist considers, narcissus off duty, all the way to the egoist becomes a personage.

The book ends like this.

He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.

“I know myself,” he cried, “but that is all.”

It’s an egoists journey to developing a personality. To way oversimplify again, ego is yourself that exists in your own head, personage is what you show to others. At the end of This Side of Paradise, the main character gains himself, while at the end of NLH the protagonist loses himself. It’s the same journey but in reverse, it’s a net loss, it’s tragic.

NLH, This Side of Paradise, and Notes from the Underground are all about egoists who are aware of their own feelings, but aren’t aware of the feelings of others. They’re all ridiculously self absorbed individuals. That’s actually, like, the unreliable narrator trick of the novel.

Yozo is sympathetic yes, he’s an outsider to society, but at the same time Yozo is not the helpless, miserable victim he portrays himself as. He is not the victim to a cruel society, one he comes from a place of privilege and two he becomes a perpetrator. Hence, the whole... crime and punishment allusions. It’s this added complexity to Yozo that’s what makes the book as brilliant as it is. Yozo is someone who is both victim and perpetrator, but he only sees himself as a victim and the story he tells paints him exclusively as a victim.

But Yozo’s central problem isn’t society its himself. His conflict and greatest obstacle is always his own ego. The reason we read the book biographically, is because we see him grow up, or rather fail to grow up. As a kid he is sympathetic, as an adult he’s a pretty serial user of people.

Yozo constantly asks for sympathy, but at the same time he’s not really one to sympathize with others. When he tries to commit suicide with a woman, he reports these events with no remorse at all.

I removed my coat andput it in the same spot.

We entered the water together.

She died. I was saved.

He seems real broken up about it.

That’s also a pattern that repeats again and again with Yozo. If you want to see the real nature of Yozo’s character you should see how he treats both women and children. They exist to make him happy, to soothe his misery, and when they don’t he leaves them.

Like, out of context. What does this sound like.

What a holy thing uncorrupted virginity is, I thought.

I had never slept with a virgin, a girl younger than myself. I’d marry her.

The few times we do meet outside characters we see that Yozo is someone referred to as a crimminal, but refers to himself as a victim.

“Don’t be cheeky now, I for one have never been tied up like a common crimminal the way you have.”

I was taken aback. Horiki at heart did not treat me like a fully human being.

If you read No Longer Human as a response to Crime and Punishment, you could even read the many women that Yozo falls into flings with and then promptly abandons as a response to Raskolnikov and Sonya. For Yozo, each woman he meets is his Sonya, they are meant to redeem him and bring him peace, and whn they don’t he leaves. Yozo someone missing the point that, Raskolnikov loved Sonya because he sympathized with her circumstances and suffering while Yozo really only ever cares about his own suffering.

To bring the discussion back to Notes from the Underground. It’s a story divided into two parts, that really doesn’t work without the second part of the story. In the first part, as we are just fed the main character’s thoughts he looks like some kind of revolutionary philosopher. Then in the second we follow the character though a day in his life and he’s just sort of... socially awkward. He’s not some brilliant thinker, he’s just an outsider who can’t connect with others, like Yozo. The second part is necessary to underwrite the first because in the first part of the journal he looks like a champion, and in the second he’s just pathetic. He’s just some guy. Notes from the Underground also has one of my favorite lines in all of fiction.

"They won't let me ... I can't be good!" I managed to articulate; then I went to the sofa, fell on it face downwards, and sobbed on it for a quarter of an hour in genuine hysterics. She came close to me, put her arms round me and stayed motionless in that position.

The protagonist encounters a young prostitute name Liza, he tries to save her at first, but then turns around and starts to treat her terribly and has a mental breakdown in front of her that ends in this line. She finds him pitiable, and comforts him in that moment.

However, after this moment of comfort he then he goes back to treating her terribly once more. He yells at her, and she grows tired of him. He pays her and she leaves and that’s the end of that relationship.

See it’s a moment that’s simultaneously, a moment of human connection, but also it shows how the protagonist regards other people and why he can’t connect to them. If you only use other people to comfort your loneliness, you’re going to end up alone either way. The same way the Narrator uses Liza, Yozo chronically uses women.

However, at the same time.

“They won’t let me... I can’t be good.”

Is what I consider the most striking lines in all of fiction. It is both an avoidance or responsibility, and at the same time an utterance of the baisc human desire to be good. It's always everyone else's fault, the problem is with other people. Yet both Narrator, and Yozo want to be good people, they want to connect with others.

Yozo and the Narrator are crimminals. They are bad people. (A person who has committed a crime isn’t necessarily a bad person but..) However, being a crimminal does not disqualify you as a human being. They are still people who are suffering. The secondary goal of a novel like Crime and Punishment is to show St. Petersburg as a city where everyone is human, and everyone suffers, good and bad people alike. Yozo and the Narrator are miserable, and there’s humanity in that misery. You don’t have to even connect to their feelings, isn’t it bad to see a person suffering? Doesn’t that elicit an emotional response because nobody wants to see other people suffering and in pain. That’s the basic humanity in these characters. Yozo and Narrator aren’t inhuman. They’re just like... normal people. They are anxious, avoidant. They are terminally insecure. They’re socially awkward. They understand themselves better than other people. Those are all just normal human sentiments shared by everyone, it’s just Yozo and Narrator are so egocentric they act like they’re the only people in the world.

Yet the same, just like the moment Liza sympathized with a man who treated her terribly and only saw her as a prostitute, people still sympathize with miserable people and want to ease the suffering of others. That’s why Dazai writes stories for miserable people.

I am writing a tired story for young readers,

not because I want to be different,

or because I am unconcerned with young readers’ tastes.

I write it rather because I know it will please them.

Young readers are tired and old themselves these days,

and my story can bring them no discomfort and no surprises.

It is a story for those who have lost hope.

(Osamu Dazai, Of Women)

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jackoshadows · 3 years ago

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So, some speculation on how Bran Stark can become King of Westeros.

The series is called A Song of Ice and Fire and not Game of Thrones as GRRM reminds us - “ And it is important that the individual books refer to the civil wars, but the series title reminds us constantly that the real issue lies in the North beyond the Wall. Stannis becomes one of the few characters fully to understand that, which is why in spite of everything he is a righteous man, and not just a version of Henry VII, Tiberius or Louis XI.”

It is the fight against the Others - this existential apocalyptic threat to ALL mankind - that is more important than petty wars between humans over the Iron Throne. That is the central theme of the books unlike in the show. “When dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits on the Iron Throne - Jeor Mormont”.

The Long Night is a horrendous event and Old Nan’s description of it sounds nightmarish.

“Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods”

The Others … Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks. In that darkness, the Others came for the first time … They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding pale dead horses, and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes, found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through the frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children.

tldr - this shit is scary.

Unlike in the show, the Long Night is not going to last for 10 minutes near Winterfell and solved by Arya jumping from behind a tree and stabbing the Night King. The Long Night will probably be the central story of the last book and cover several months of dark winter and affect the whole of Westeros. In the books, Winter has already come to the North - Snowstorms so bad that even armies in the North are finding it hard to move and Winterfell’s walls are no longer seen. No army is crossing the neck into the North. Winterfell will most likely fall and the fight against the Others will continue down south.

Dany dreams of fighting the Others at the Trident -

“That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

The last time, the first men were only able to win with the help of the Children and it was the Last Hero - possibly Bran - who gets their help. Bran is the only character in the series heavily involved in this part of the story and he has already met the Children of the forest.

What if the only way the Others can be defeated is some kind of pact where Bran has to become the leader of Westeros for either the Children’s assistance or for the Others to retreat? We really need to know more about the Others and what they want - we probably get this in the next book - to get an inkling of why Bran could be king. We know absolutely nothing about them.

Similarly, the Children hate the Andals, faith of the seven, the lord of the seven kingdoms etc. considering the Andals burned down Weirwoods and destroyed them - what if they want Bran and the Old Gods in the south as a condition for help?

Wouldn’t the whole of Westeros agree to this considering their very survival is what’s at stake? Again, “When dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits on the Iron Throne”.

I also very much doubt that the prophecies of Azor Ahai/PTWP are literal - they are about heroes who undertake great sacrifice to save the realm. The key being ‘sacrifice’ - for ex. Nissa Nissa. Giving up something they care about dearly. What if Dany has to give up the Iron Throne for the greater good? Wouldn’t she do it? This could be why Dany and Jon leave Westeros behind - sacrifice - and head for the lands beyond the wall.

Or it could be some kind of conflict between Bran Vs Jon/Dany?

I think Jon, Dany and Bran are the three heads of the dragon, three parts of the prophesied leader and each will play their part in humans winning the Battle for the Dawn. It would be a sacrifice for Bran as well to leave his home and the North for the south.

Will Bran as king undermine GRRM’s entire point about Aragorn and taxes? Yes, it does. Maybe this is where Tyrion comes into the picture. Without Jon and Dany, he’s the next best person to actually rule - and he does this for Bran, as Hand of the King. Maybe Bran is the figurehead and Tyrion the actual ruler - “ When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king”. - AGoT Jon .

We still have two books left and a lot of story to cover and I think Bran will be getting a lot of POV chapters as GRRM delves more into the fantasy aspect of the series.

So possible character endings: Arya plays an important role being a leader of her people against the Others and ends up being the Stark in Winterfell. Bran ends up as King on the Iron Throne as a condition for either defeating the Others or getting them to retreat, Tyrion ends up Hand of the King/Defacto person actually involved in adminstration and ruling, Jon/Dany leave for beyond the wall and the rest of Westeros assume the Targaryens are dead and gone.

So King Bran is possible - this is high fantasy after all - but how GRRM gets there and whether it makes sense is indeed important and I guess we will have to wait and see if the seeds are getting planted in the next book. According to GRRM’s editor, he told her Bran’s endpoint so they could edit and plan TWoW better:

George is a very secretive fellow, and guards his secrets well. I do know a few things from AWOW, but mainly because we had to shorten a few elements in the book as it was already getting too long, and he had to reveal a few secrets so I could help him redirect parts of the plot a bit. I do know the endpoint of Bran’s story line—and Daniel Abraham, who has been adapting the graphic novel of AGOT for me, knows where Tyrion ends up. - Anne Groel.

#Bran Stark #Tyrion Lannister #Daenerys Targaryen #Jon Snow #Arya Stark #TWoW speculation #ADoS Speculation #Asoiaf

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foodfightnovelization · 1 year ago

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Introduction

So here it is, here's the book we're going to read together. I'm aware this is a Junior Novelization and is basically a book for small children, but it's interesting for SO MANY reasons so please just indulge me on my bullshit for a little while.

First of all, the fact that it's a novelization of the movie Foodfight!. I'm sure if you're reading this blog you've already heard of the movie so I'm not going to spend too much time going over the basics, but to cut a long story short, Foodfight! is a 2012 animated children's movie directed by Lawrence Kasanoff, centering around a supermarket that comes to life at night. Said city is populated by "Ikes", icons of the various brands of grocery store product e.g. Mr Clean, the California Raisins, Charlie Tuna, as well as original characters like Dex Dogtective and Daredevil Dan. In many ways, you could say this movie is like Wreck-It Ralph if it took place in a grocery store instead of an arcade. You could ALSO say this movie is like if a cartoon dog fought Nazis, poorly attempted to recrate the "La Marseillaise" scene from Casablanca, and hung around with a racist caricature played by Wayne Brady who regularly talks about wanting to ejaculate in/on various women. And all of that would be true, because this movie is crazy loco. Because of that, it's hard to imagine what it'd be like in book form, but it's interesting for other reasons too:

The film itself had a long and painful development. Originally intended to release in 2003, the release date shifted to 2006, then 2007, until it FINALLY came out in 2012. Over the years, the animation was redone so many times that it went from looking like this:

To looking like this:

Around 2006 (one of the initial release dates for the movie) various merchandise for the movie was in development, ranging from picture books, to plush toys, to even a videogame that had a playable demo at E3 2006. The game was never released, but the picture books eventually made into stores, and the plush toys were sold off to various arcades, claw machines and carnivals as prizes. However, there's one piece of merchandise I've never seen discussed ANYWHERE online- and that's the novelization.

I found it on eBay a few weeks ago and just HAD to buy it. There were so many questions in my head right away: Why was the novelization was published in 2008, four whole years before the actual movie came out? Okay, it's probably just because the movie was planned to release around that time at one point, but how is there no other information about this anywhere online? If this was published in 2008, is there a chance it's based on an earlier version of the movie and has vast differences from the finished film? (if you can even really call the film "finished"...) The book says it contains 8 pages of color stills from the movie- again, how can that be when this was 4 years before the movie came out?

I just couldn't leave all these questions unanswered, and so here it is in my hand (next to the Daredevil Dan plush I own because I'm NORMAL about this movie), Foodfight!: The Junior Novelization. As far as I can tell, this was the ONLY copy of the book available for purchase anywhere (is it maybe even the only copy in existence? Why is this book so vague and unknowable?) so I'm really at the forefront as far as discussion of this is concerned, on account of being the only person to even know it exists. Once I'm done talking about it though, I'll be uploading the entire book to the Internet Archive so everyone can get a chance to read it themselves. But for those yearning for a page-by-page analysis comparing the novelization to the finished film, I'm your girl! Stick with me and we'll strawberry jam our way through this enigma of a book.

Chapter 1 analysis coming soon!

#foodfight #dex dogtective #charlie sheen #eva longoria #wayne brady #novelization #analysis #daredevil dan #christopher lloyd #book review #mr clipboard #lady x

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dahlia-coccinea · 4 years ago

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Every once in a while I like to see how websites like SparkNotes interpret different stories, normally its not terrible though is understandably simplistic. What makes it interesting though is it generally synthesizes the most common interpretations. This one about Isabella and Catherine is one I’ve heard a number of times before - and unsurprisingly I believe the truth is not this simple.

First of all this falls into a common trap - critics and adaptations often go a little too hard on the idea, “Wuthering Heights = wildness, freedom, passion” and “Thrushcross Garage = refinement, society, wealth.” Not that this idea is untrue - there is poetic symbolism and parallels throughout the book, but it should also be remembered we are still talking about the two nicest houses in the area and Catherine doesn’t grow up in a hovel. The 2011 adaptation is a good example of taking this idea too far. While watching it I just kept asking myself: why are the Earnshaws so dirty? The root problem is very similar to the pitfall of many metaphysical interpretations - they can be great but they need to allow for nuance, or they end up glossing over many of the complexities of the novel.

Anyway, I’ve seen comments like this many times before that contrast Isabella and Catherine. In my opinion it almost always ends in unfairly classifying Isabella as weak, stupid, and the picture of lady, while Catherine is a wild, uncouth hoyden - often rendering them into two dimensional characters. I think this simplistic image of them is in part created by Nelly Dean’s descriptions where see again her bias against Catherine, her possibly stronger alliance with the Lintons, and I believe some classism.

It’s noteworthy how early in the story while Heathcliff tells Nelly of how he and Catherine spied on Isabella and Edgar to see if they lived in a similar state of abuse and neglect, she says, “They are good children, no doubt, and don’t deserve the treatment you receive, for your bad conduct.”

Of course Heathcliff scoffs at this, because what they had witnessed is this:

“Isabella—I believe she is eleven, a year younger than Cathy—lay screaming at the farther end of the room, shrieking as if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them.”

When we look at this and other scenes her behavior doesn’t scream “refinement” or show any “weakness.” Though it is true, both her and Catherine are very different, Isabella is also high spirited, wild, sometimes unkind, and shows great strength at many points. Just considering the single fact that she runs away with Heathcliff proves really she has all of these traits.

Isabella is certainly naive but reducing her to being an overly refined, silly, and weak girl is an unfair assessment. They must have forgotten Isabella scratching Catherine and calling her a “dog in the manger” (Chapter 10), her tantrum over being cast from Heathcliff’s company and mini hunger strike, or later telling Heathcliff to go stretch himself over Catherine’s grave and “die like a faithful dog” (Chapter 17). You can’t also discuss her character without pointing out how she literally has a knife thrown at her which hits her neck, and she still runs four miles home in the dark. Even though Heathcliff obviously terrifies her she insists on still speaking her mind to him, which is also an impressive testament to her strength. Nelly’s description of her “keen temper” is certainly accurate, although besides a few short words like that, most of the more disagreeable aspects of her behavior receive little negative inflection from Nelly, and certainly there is no long lasting ill affect on her opinion of Isabella. Notably, negative aspects of Catherine’s are never overlooked or go unremarked upon by Nelly.

Honestly, I think the occurrences of her “bad” behavior are equivalent to Catherine’s - but her’s is coated in an exterior of fine clothing and perceived gentle breeding. Nelly describes her as, “a charming young lady of eighteen; infantile in manners, though possessed of keen wit, keen feelings, and a keen temper, too, if irritated.” I think for many readers that is our lasting impression of her.

As I said earlier this I believe is in part because Nelly prefers the peace and comforts of the Garage and Linton family. At the very start of the book when she’s speaking to Lockwood and talking about the Earnshaw family he asks if they’re an old family and she says, “Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of us—I mean, of the Lintons.” I don’t think anyone could blame her for her preference. Besides her fond memories of Mr. Earnshaw and during the short period of time she cares for Hareton, it doesn’t seem she gets on well with anyone at the Heights. Can’t imagine Joseph would be anyone’s idea of a good coworker, or Hindley a good master. Either way, by the end of the book her feelings toward the house are clear, “I don’t like being left by myself in this grim house: I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it and shift to the Grange.” I believe that is another important detail to remember - by the time Nelly is telling this story the main drama is in the past - and it would make sense this would only increase her negative views of Catherine, Heathcliff, and many of the other characters. How could that whole wretched situation not taint someone’s memories?

#wuthering heights #isabella linton #catherine earnshaw #nelly dean #analysis #emily brontë #tw violence #tw animal harm #thoughts

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seriouslysam8 · 3 years ago

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For the ask game, would you please answer questions numbered 2, 8, 14 (all of your titles have such cool names), 18 (I hope Abditory isn't one of them as that story rocks), 21, 24, 29, 30, 33, 34, 44, 51, 62, 76, 82, 85, 88, 90, and 98.

Sorry for asking so many, but I love your work! Entombed gave me so many feels! I found your stories because author Breanie said to read them in her author's notes. Best rec ever! Thank you for answering.

Wow, that is a lot of asks! Thank you so much for wanting to know so much about little ole me. I think I hit them all in this and my apologies if I missed one. Let me know if I missed one. @breaniebree is awesome and my writing BFF. She is amazing, and I love her.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

So, I’ve written for The X-Files, Supernatural, and Harry Potter. I currently only write for Harry Potter. I would say Harry Potter has always been the most fun.

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Random shit. Brontide came to me because I was browsing the HPFanfiction subreddit looking for a story suggestion and someone asked for a story where Harry was addicted to Felix. Only one unfinished dimensional time travel story was listed. It idea sparked me to write my own version. Entombed came to me because I was rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Buffy was buried alive. I knew I wanted to bury Ginny alive. As I stated in the author’s notes of last Kalopsia chapter, I drew inspiration from the Djinn storyline in Supernatural. I write about things I know, too. I have young kids at home so I like writing the Potter children as young because I can mimic their mannerisms in my writing. I’ve even asked my kids to say certain words to emulate their speech pattern in my writing if I’m writing that age group.

14) How did you come up with the title for the XXX? You can ask about multiple stories.

I HATE coming up with titles. My newest trend has been to literally Google “unique words”. There are a ton of Pinterest accounts who make fancy word and definition pictures. I scroll through all these little unique words and pick out ones I think fit a story. Sometimes I Google a unique word for BLANK and see if I can get a cool version of that name. @breaniebree actually helped me with Entombed.

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

Sadly, I would put Abditory in this category. Never say never though. I think about it from time to time. Honestly, I abandoned it due to such a negative response I was receiving and the lack of positive response. I became discouraged. It wasn’t even negative response due to my writing, it was literally a bunch of “why would you waste your time writing a story about the biggest plot hole in the books? JKR butchered the whole SK storyline and it’s unbearable to read.” So, basically, my reviews and PMs were filled with JKR hate over that plot point in the books. They heavily outweighed the positive reviews I received. Honestly, I think that’s why a bulk of stories get abandoned - lack of positive reviews or enthusiasm for a story. If I didn’t get so many great reviews for my stories, I don’t know if I’d be able to finish them or continuing writing new ones. Fanfiction is free, (as it should be) but it’s a lot of time and hard work. A little appreciation goes a LONG way. So, my advice, review everything you love reading and encourage writers to keep writing. I always say in my authors notes that reviews make me want to write and inspire me. That’s the truth. The moment I stop getting reviews will probably be the time I take a writing break again.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

@breaniebree. I mean she’s dedicated years to a single story with so many plot lines and characters that I’m amazed she did it. She’s a fantastic writer, and I definitely consider her my writing BFF. I feel like I’ve learned a lot from her and enjoy talking about writing with her so much. I’m so glad we’ve become friends.

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

Horrified. Anytime I get a little steamy in my stories, it goes immediately to @breaniebree who usually adds way too much smut and then I cut it down to still be somewhat PG-13 in order to appeal to a wider audience.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

I feel like Kalopsia isn’t getting as much love as my other stories. I’m way behind in my normal review count per chapter. I wonder if it’s just the confusing storyline or if it’s just not as fun to read? But I was definitely worried it wouldn’t get the love I thought it deserved when I started writing it and it’s lived up to that expectation.

30) In contrast to 29, is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

Cronus Rising. People still recommend it occasionally and I still get random reviews. I’m like, “why????” Its horribly written and a stupid plot line. I literally was getting back into writing after not writing for a good five years, so it’s abysmal. I’ve often wanted to rage delete it.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

When someone tells me I should write an original novel and they’d buy the hell out of it. I do have some original novel ideas floating around (one I’ve been writing since I was like 15), but crippling fear of rejection from publishers have stopped me from ever actually finish an original novel.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

I got some criticism in Brontide for having drama for drama’s sake with no real purpose or goal for said drama. I felt my drama served a purpose, drove the story along, and I add a lot of fluffy and cute family moments. I feel like in real life, when you to your loved one is going through sometime, it feels like nonstop drama and bad news and like a dark cloud just follows you. I wanted to emulate that in real life. So Harry’s POV was often drab because HE was the one going through something horrific and it was all doom and gloom for him.

44) What is the last line you wrote?

“You never think I listen to your ramblings, but it’s kind of hard to block out, mate.”

51) From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

Um... I’d say a 3. I think I have some good and unique plots for stories but sometimes I struggle on how to execute those on paper effectively. I struggle with descriptions, action, and showing rather than telling. But I do think I’m good at dialogue and capturing a character’s personality. So, 3.

62) Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

A lot! I have a Teddy/Victoire stalker story in the works that I’m excited about. I have (this is going to sound weird) but an outsider rom-com planned where Ron/Hermione breakup right before Hinny’s wedding and Hinny struggles to get them back together before the big day. I have a Potter family vacation fluff/comedy story planned. I have a game night one-shot planned. I have a short story about Luna’s wedding. So many that I want to write and don’t know which one to write first!!

76) Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

I’d say no. I’ve always tried to write my ideas down. Some I’ve never finished because inspiration peters off and some I plan on finishing once my newest big project is done.

82) Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

Harry goes through some shit, and Ginny is his soulmate.

85) Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I don’t understand why people don’t ship Harry/Ginny more. I don’t understand the Harry/Daphne obsessions (like just why???) or the Harry/Hermione ship at all. I always see people asking for story recommendation and they specific say “no Harry/Ginny”. They are literally perfect for one another and they are soulmates.

88) If you could ask one other fanfic author three questions about their writing, writing process, or works, what would they be and who would you ask?

@breaniebree .

1.) How do you organize all your charts? Send me the ALL the charts. Because I don’t understand how you keep everything straight!

2.) How do you write so much? You’re like a little writing machine in a cute little package.

3.) Where do all the ideas come from? In a dream? Just thinking? Driving? Do you write everything out in your head like meeee? Can I have some of your writing mojo?

90) How do you process and deal with negative reviews?

I obsess over them. I analyze them. I may get bummed out and not write for a few days. If you don’t like what I write, then don’t read or review. It’s a hobby. I do this for free. I’m not asking you to critique me. Give me a nice review or ask me a question, but don’t be cruel or mean because you can hide behind a keyboard and be a bully to make yourself feel superior.

98) If you had to give up either snacks and drinks during writing sessions, or music, which would you find more difficult to say goodbye to and why?

Music. I grew up with three older brothers. My house was always rowdy and loud and obnoxious. I need it to be loud. I can’t stand the silence or focus when it’s silent. I need music to help me think and write. When I’m home alone, I always turn on the TV or music, because I can’t stand when it’s silent. I think I’d go insane.

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