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wickwrites · 4 years ago

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Wonder Egg Priority Episode 4: Boys’ and Girls’ Suicides Do Mean Different Things (But Not in the Way the Mannequins Want You to Think!)

So, let’s talk about this for a second. After I got over my initial knee-jerk reaction, I realized I wasn’t sure how to make sense of exactly what the mannequins were arguing for here. So let me rephrase their statements to make the argumentative structure more explicit: Because men are goal-oriented and women are not, because women are emotion-oriented and men are not, and because women are impulsive and easily influenced by others’ voices and men are not, boys’ and girls’ suicides mean different things – girls are more easily “tempted” by death, and therefore, more likely to require saving when they inevitably regret their suicide. While Wonder Egg Priority, so far, seems to agree with the vague version of the mannequins’ conclusion, namely that boys’ and girl’s suicides mean different things, it refutes the gender-essentialist logic through which that conclusion was derived.

The mannequins choose a decidedly gender essentialist approach in explaining the difference between girls’ and boy’s suicides; they argue that the suicides are different because of some immutable characteristic of their mental hard wiring (in this case, impulsivity, emotionality, and influenceability). Obviously, this is a load of bull, and Wonder Egg Priority knows it. The mannequins are not exactly characters we’re supposed to trust, seeing that they’re running a business that is literally based on letting these kids put themselves in mortal danger. As faceless adult men, they parrot and possibly represent the systems that force these girls to continue to be subjected to physical and emotional trauma (it’s probably more complicated than this, but four episodes in, it’s hard to say more). So, we’re probably supposed to take what they say with great skepticism. Also, the director, Shin Wakabayashi, has recently said that in response to these lines, Neiru was originally going to object, “When it comes to their brains, boys and girls are also the same,” (which unfortunately is not exactly true and is somewhat of an oversimplification, but the sentiment is there). While that line ultimately did not make it in, Neiru does reply with a confused and somewhat indignant, “What?!”, a reaction that gets the message across. Neiru is not a fan of gender essentialism, and as a (more) sympathetic character, we’re supposed to agree with her.

That is, the differences between boys and girls is not something inherent to their biology or character, but something constructed by culture and experience. This rejection of gender-essentialism is apparent in Wonder Egg Priority’s narrative, which takes a more sociocultural perspective on the difference between boys’ and girls’ suicides. It says, well of course boys’ and and girl’s suicides don’t mean the same thing, that’s the whole reason why we’re delving into the experiences specific to being a girl (cis or trans) or AFAB in this world – to show you how girls’ suicides are influenced by systems of oppression perpetuated by those in power (ie. the adult, in this specific anime).

And all the suicides we’ve seen up until now tie into that somehow. For instance, Koito is bullied by her female classmates who think that Sawaki is giving her special treatment. This is a narrative that comes up over and over again, in real life as well: that if a young girl is being given attention from an older man, then it’s her fault – that she must want it, or at least enjoy it somehow, and that it signifies a virtue (eg. maturity or beauty) on her part. And if Koito is actually being given such treatment by Sawaki, an adult man in a position of power over her, that is incredibly predatory.

And we all know that child sexual abuse is something that overwhelmingly affects girls, with one out of nine experiencing it before the age of 18, as opposed to one out of 53 boys (Finkelhor et al., 2014). Regardless of whether Sawaki was actually abusing Koito or if the students only thought that he was, Koito’s trauma is ultimately the result of this romanticized “love between a young girl and adult man, but not because the man is predatory, but because the girl has some enviable virtue that makes her desirable” narrative. Similarly, in episode 2, Minami’s suicide is driven by ideas related to discipline and body image in sports, which while not necessarily specific to female and AFAB athletes, is framed in an AFAB-specific way. For instance, take the pressure on Minami to “maintain her figure”. Certainly, male athletes also face a similar pressure, but we know that AFAB and (cis and trans) female bodies are subject to closer scrutiny and criticism. We know that young girls are more likely to suffer from eating disorders. And Wonder Egg Priority situates Minami’s experience as decidedly “about” AFAB experience when her coach accuses her change of figure due to her period as a character failing on her part.

Likewise, episode 3 delves into suicides related to “stan” culture, this fervent dedication to celebrities that is overwhelmingly associated to teenage girls. And Miwa’s story, in episode 4, explicitly shows how society responds to sexual assault. When Miwa does have the courage to speak up about her assault, she’s instantly reprimanded by basically everyone around her. Her father is fired because her abuser was an executive of his company. Her mother asks her why she couldn’t just bear with it, telling her that her abuser chose her because she was cute, as if that’s supposed to make her feel better about it. Wonder Egg Priority shows that this sort of abuse is a systemic problem, a set of rules and norms deeply engrained in a society and upheld by all adults, regardless of gender, social status, or closeness (to the victim). Wonder Egg Priority says that, yes, girls’ and boys’ suicides have different meanings, but it’s not due to some inherent difference between the two, but the hostile environment in which these girls grow up. Girls are not more easily “tempted” by death, they just have more societal bullshit to deal with.

But Wonder Egg Priority goes further than just showcasing how girls’ (and AFAB) experiences are shaped by sociocultural factors. The story also disproves the supposedly dichotomous characteristics that the mannequins use to differentiate girls and boys (i.e. influenceability/independence, impulsivity/deliberation, emotion-orientation/goal-orientation). If the mannequins are indeed correct, and that girls are just influenceable, impulsive, and emotional, you’d expect the girls in the story to be to be like such too. Except, they aren’t. Rather, they’re a mix of both/all characteristics. This show says that, certainly, girls can be suggestible, but they’re also capable of thinking for themselves. For instance, when Momoe asserts her own identity as a girl at the end of episode four, she rejects the words of those around her who insisted that she isn’t a girl. If she were as suggestible as the mannequins believe her to be, that would never have happened – she would have just continued believing that she wasn’t girl “enough”. But, she doesn’t because she is equally capable of making her own judgements. Likewise, Wonder Egg Priority shows that girls can be impulsive, but they can also be deliberate and pre-mediating. When Miwa tricks her Wonder Killer into groping her to create an opening for Momoe to defeat it, she’s not doing it out of impulse – it’s a pre-mediated and deliberate choice unto a goal. And Wonder Egg Priority continues, girls can be equally emotion oriented and goal oriented. Sure, the main girls are fighting because they have the goal of bringing their loved ones back to life, but those goals are motivated by a large range of emotions, from guilt to anger, grief, compassion, and love.

Being emotion-driven doesn’t mean you’re not goal-driven, and vice versa. In fact, in this case, being emotional drives these girls toward their goals. In other words, none of these traits that the mannequins listed are either “girl traits” or “boy traits”. Being one does not mean you can’t be the other, even if they seem dichotomous at first. Wonder Egg Priority’s diverse cast of multi-dimensional female characters allows it to undermine the mannequins’ conceptualization of gendered roles, refuting the idea that these (or any) character traits should be consider gendered at all.

As an underdeveloped side thought, I think Wonder Egg Priority’s blurring of gendered roles is also well-reflected in its style. There’s been a lot of talk about whether Wonder Egg Priority constitutes a magical girl series, and I think that’s an interesting question deserving of its own essay. Certainly, it does follow the basic formula of the magical girl story: a teenage heroine ensemble wielding magical weapons saves the day. But it also throws out a lot of the conventions you’d expect of a magical girl story – both aesthetically and narratively. Aesthetically, it’s probably missing the component that most would consider the thing that makes an anime a magical girl anime: the full body transformation sequence, complete with the sparkles and the costume and all that. Narratively, the girls are also not really magical girl protagonist material – they’ve got a fair share of flaws, have done some pretty awful things (looking at Kawai in particular; I still love you though), and aren’t exactly the endlessly self-sacrificing heroines you’d expect from a typical magical girl story. On the other hand, the anime also borrows a lot from shonen battle anime. We get these dynamic, well choreographed action sequences full of horror and gore, the focus on the importance of camaraderie between allies (or “nakama”, as shonen anime would call it) exemplified through all the bonding between the main girls during their downtime, and in the necessary co-operation to bring down the Wonder Killers. That said, this anime is not a shonen; the characters, types of conflicts, and themes are quite different from those that you’d find in a typical shonen. The bleeding together of the shonen genre and the magical girl genre, at the very least (and I say this because I think it does way more than just that), reflects Wonder Egg Priority’s interest in rebelling against conventional narratives about girlhood and gender.

#wonder egg priority #wonder egg priority analysis #wep #w.writing #my writing #anime analysis #analysis #anime #w.analysis

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shmegmilton · 4 years ago

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Could you do something about how Theo's death changed Burr? You said that her death 'permanently changed Burr’s demeanor' and I can't find much about Burr's later years so I wondered if you could explain it to me. Thank you.

Yeah, that sounds about right. A lot of the info we know about Burr in the last 20ish years of his life (after returning from Europe, so 1812-1836) has sort of been haphazardly cobbled together by historians, so you only really get a ‘clear’ picture across multiple Burr biographies. We know that he continued to practice law in New York, but most of the supplementary information we have comes from other people; first-hand accounts by friends, newspaper articles, anecdotes, etc.  Burr himself was obscenely quiet during this time period, partly (I assume) to lay low from debt collectors & people who want to chastise him for being the evil mastermind who shot Hamilton in cold blood or whatever. And partly because he was depressed for a very long time, it seems.

The first thing that should be noted is Theo’s death came about 6 months after her son (& Burr’s grandson) Aaron Burr Alston, who he was also very attached to & called him Gampy (Burr’s nickname was Gamp so he was Gampy ie. Little Gamp). Gampy’s death effected Burr in an entirely different way, because every instance we have of Burr interacting with children was largely positive—he loved children. After Gampy’s death he seemed to go out of his way to be kind to children & to spoil them with all of the treats and gifts he never got to give Gampy. Something extra sad to note is that he loved to give little coins to children (either out of his own pocket or a pot on his desk), and one of the gifts he had been stockpiling for Gampy was coins…

Now for Theo, I haven’t been able to find any of Burr’s letters to her during this time (I’m not sure if they even survived), but we know that he tried his best to console her & convinced her to be with him in New York. It took about 6 months for her to finally say yes, so he ordered a ship (The Patriot) & a family friend named Timothy Green (who also died on the ship) to escort her from SC to NY. They of course never made it be NY, and to this day not only do we not know what happened to the ship, but we literally don’t even know where the shipwreck is other than its probably somewhere off the coast of North Carolina. There were some theories about a possibly pirate attack (The Patriot was a former privateer ship) but Burr choose not to believe it.

Burr & Joseph Alston (her husband) took up a correspondence during this time (strangely, we have some of Alston’s letters but none of Burr’s seem to have been found) where they confided to each other about their worries. Alston makes a very poignant implication during one of the surviving letters where he says that Burr must feel “severed from the human race.”

Theo wasn’t just Burr’s daughter—she was his only child to survive to adulthood, and one of his closest political & social allies, considering that the majority of the country now hated Burr for the 1804 Duel and the 1807 Conspiracy. She was really all he had for comfort, & Burr constantly mentions how much he misses her (& Gampy) in his European Journal. I can only imagine how devastated he was.

Another note, Charles Burdett (Burr’s adopted son who I’ll talk about in a moment) published a book with some of Burr’s old letters (that he must have been personally given, because I haven’t seen them published anywhere else.) One letter was written during this time period to a woman named “Kate” & he basically admits being too depressed to reply to people.

Burr also allegedly spent weeks or even months visiting the docks every day with the hope that The Patriot might be there. The death of his daughter gained Burr a bit more public sympathy, but the attention was still largely negative. People treated him like a cryptid almost. Not just because he was notorious, but because he was so socially withdrawn that it was rare to see him in public.

—

In 1878, Charles Burr Todd wrote A General History of the Burr Family in America (with Genealogical Records from 1570 to 1878). It’s a handy book with some unique information about Burr that I have yet to see in any other biographies, including a full physical description of what Burr looked & sounded like in his later years ([HERE]), and an interesting essay that Judge John Greenwood, who worked under Burr as a clerk from 1814-1820, presented to the Manhattan Historical Society after Burr’s death ([HERE]).

The Greenwood essay mentions that Burr owned a cat, which he definitely did not own during his 4 years in Europe as there was no mention of it. This implies to me that he purchased and/or adopted it because he was lonely, because there is no other account of Burr owning a pet of any kind before or after this.

Burr also adopted two children around this time, Charles Burdett & Aaron Columbus Burr (Aaron Burr Colombe). ACB is a strange case because, despite having a very public adult life—no one can seem to agree if he was French or American? Or who his mother was? Or his birth year? Some sources say 1808 and others say 1816? It’s bizarre. People also can’t seem to agree whether Charles Burdett was born in 1814 or 1815. There is also a third child (Henry Oscar Taylor, born 1818) who is documented having lived with Burr by 1833.

All of these boys are a mystery because no birth or adoption certificate exists (did they even have those back then?) so it’s unclear where they came from, who their mothers were, or at what point they came into Burr’s life—Burr’s movement & the timelines of their birth make it a bit too hard to say for sure. My personal theory is that (regardless if they were biologically his or not) Burr chose to take these children in to try and alleviate his own loneliness.

One last thing of note about Burr’s later life is that in 1823 he chose to take in Luther Martin (the lawyer who argued his 1807 case), who had recently had a stroke and had nowhere to live. He took care of him until he passed away in Burr’s home in 1827.

Burr would of course die a little less than 10 years after that (the majority of it spent fighting his divorce & dealing with his own strokes). I wish I could write more about this time period, but that is truly all we know about it.

I guess the key takeaway from this is Burr ultimately devoted a lot of his time to charity work & helping others, most likely as a way to deal with grief or find meaning in his life again.

#Aaron Burr #Theodosia Burr Alston #Theodosia Burr #Charles Burdett #Aaron Burr Alston #Luther Martin #Burr Family #Anecdotes

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analyzingadventure · 4 years ago

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I’ve wanted to write about this for ages and Psi has kind of made relevant so

I always thought it was weird if we saw a Digimon die and then come back as the exact same species of Digimon.

(This isn’t specific to any series though I do use Adventure a lot in this discussion. May also contain spoilers for Psi)

Now admitedly there aren’t too many examples of this in the franchise (Patamon and Leomon being one of the few notable ones), but that is mainly because deaths are fairly rare, and even deaths we do see, it’s even rarer to see them come back (even when we know the mechanics of the world should make it totally possible)*. But nonetheless, it always felt weird to me when it did happen (or when us fans assume the Digimon would come back as the same species)

To properly explain why it feels weird to me, I first need to ramble about Digimon as “persons” and evolution as a whole

The thing that makes people who they are, are their memories. It’s their life experiences and their feelings of those experiences. It’s not where you’re born, the community you live in or the culture you’re raised in- of course these do affect who you are, but all they do is influence your life experiences and feelings about everything. They are incredbly imporant, and they play a factor in making you “you”, but those things aren’t “you”; “you” are your memories. And an imporant note here, is that who you are changes as you grow older, as you gain more experiences, feelings and memories. That’s why the “10yo you” is different from the “20yo you” or "40yo you” (etc), and why you will continue to change, even if it was ever so slightly, as you get older. Hell, the “you” who started reading this essay minutes ago is already a different person from the “you” who is reading this sentence right now. “You” are everchanging, ever-evolving.

So what makes a Digimon “them”? Or, more specifically, what makes each Digimon the species they are? Yes, this is a deeply related question for me, because we humans (I swear I’m not a robot) do express “who we are” outside, through our actions, our interests and how we appear to others, though not just what clothes we wear but also stuff like how we do our hair, tattoos, bodymods etc, not to mention things people don’t have control over from eye color, race, bodytype, height, all the way to disablities.

So if we as humans express so much (and so little) of “who we are” through how we appear, how would Digimon do it? How do Digimon express who they are?

It always just made sense to me if that was through evolution. That just as a Digimon experiences things, their evolutions will reflect the person they are, their feelings, memories, who they want to be.

Honestly this is one of the main reasons why I’ve always hated strict, Pokémon-like evolution lines (not even trees, just lines!!) in Digimon, the idea that these non-physical, A.I. data monsters can only appear a certain way through their lifespans based on whatever they were born as is just depressing to me. And while one might argue “it’s just how they are”, that rule only exists if you specifically go out of your way to write it in, otherwise there’s no reason for it to exist, but I’m getting super sidetracked ranting right now

Like just as an example of the kind of freedom I like to think Digimon could and should have, I want you to picture in your mind an Agumon.

Just a regular ol’ Agumon, living in the Digital World, minding their own business. This Agumon starts travelling for fun, enjoying seeing the world and whatever. During this time they realize they’re not really built for travelling and while their stamina increases as they go on and they get better at hiking, they still kind of wish they were more “built” for this type of activity so that they could enjoy their life more- And eventually they evolve into a Centarmon! Now they can move faster (etc) and enjoy their travelling life more, and they do just that! Life is great! Until one day they come across the ocean, a beautiful, vast “world” of its own, but one... they can’t explore, at least not any longer than they can hold their breath. They still spend their time exploring what they can, near the beaches etc, until one day their wish to explore the ocean is fulfilled and they evolve into a MegaSeadramon! And now they have great access to the oceans!

Like this example is very extreme, but you get what I mean, with the idea that the evolutions reflect the type of person the Digimon is, what they enjoy and who they want to be. It’s the ever-evolving reflection of their heart that I love

**(Sidenote at the bottom)

And this is why I think it'd make sense if Digimon came back as a different species entirely.

Because while death may have reset their evolution stages back to zero, if the Digimon retains all their memories from their previous life, all their experiences, hopes, wishes and dreams, all of their feelings... Then why would all the growth the Digimon had gone through in their previous life be reset? Shouldn’t their new life continue their previous growth and take different forms to reflect any new paths the mon might take in this life?

Just to use the Agumon from above as an example, if this mon died after spending quite some time as a MegaSeadramon, loving being a sea serpent and living in the ocean, wouldn’t it make sense they came back as a Sangomon instead of an Agumon (and yeah I think the Baby forms could be different too, depending on what they were but I’m skipping these)? Now of course, if they were happy living in the ocean and just totally content there, it’d make total sense if they then evolved to Seadramon and finally back to MegaSeadramon, I’m not saying they can’t come back to where they started at. What I do think is that it’d be weird if this mon went through the same Agumon -> Centarmon -> MegaSeadramon lifespan all over again if they wanted to be a sea-dweller from the get-go. And of course, as I alluded earlier; what if this Digimon, while living in the ocean as a Sangomon during their second life actually felt like they had seen what the ocean had to offer? What if they started hoping they could explore the skies? What if that wish helped them evolve to Airdramon instead, and they never go back to being a MegaSeadramon? This is what I mean when I say the second life would be a continuation of their life and their growth, it shouldn’t reset those things.

Now of course, from a simple writing point of view, it’d be confusing if a Digimon we were previously familiar with died and came back as a totally different Digimon, and even more confusing for kids. It’s easier to keep it simple and leave the Digimon the same species as they were in their previous lives

Additionally, most of these characters that we’ve seen die have always been minor characters with limited to non-existant histories; characters like Leomon, Whamon, Scumon+Chuumon, Piccolomon etc, while they’re all really well characterized with distinct personalities, they don’t have histories, backstories, they’re not deep characters. And making this many minor characters with deep backstories for a kids show would be really hard to pull off when you have deadlines to meet and no budget. So showing “the growth” these Digimon have gone through is not really do-able, not with these characters at least.

The Digimon with the most potential here would be Orgamon (the best developed minor character in Adventure) but he never died, Nanomon for sure, and possibly Wizarmon (esp. since his data could be like mildly busted, due to not being a Digimon originally and then dying in the Human World; if anything I think it’d be fun if Wizarmon could “come back” but as a Bakemon or something)

And as far as Patamon goes in Adventure, I do think with him it’s fine he came back in the same Digimon forms. Like my previous examples with “the Agumon”, this would be like natural evolution that happens over long, looong periods of time, years upon years no doubt, as the Digimon grows as a person. But the partner Digimon, they don’t really have the time to grow naturally, their evolutions aren’t really reflections of their growth. Rather, their evolutions are just powered up versions of who they are, with some reflection from their human partners. So with these partner Digimon (especially the Adventure-type “soul fragment” Digimon, less so with other series like especially Xros Wars), the evolutions being super linear does make sense and work just fine. And as an extention of that, these Digimon dying and coming back in the same species works out, like with Patamon in Adventure

Psi however, makes things a lot more interesting, because in Psi, the partner Digimon have backstories of their own.

Now for the most part, since the partners had lost their memories of their time fighting Mille as the Warriors, their growth being totally reset and them going through the same steps all over again does kinda make sense, it’s maybe a lil dull but that’s probably just my bias from being overly familiar with these characters.

But then there’s Patamon and Tailmon, two Digimon who retain their memories from their previous lives and the growth they’ve gone through. That growth, was own their own, from their own lives without any influence from any humans. But now, they have human partners, who influence them and their growth. And Psi has seemingly kind of spoiled the endgame for us, at least to some capacity?

We know in their previous lives Patamon and Tailmon were a Seraphimon and an Ofanimon, but based on the new key visual/poster, it seems Psi wants to use Goddramon and Holydramon as their final evolutions instead! And honestly, even if these evolutions didn’t come as a result of all the stuff I’ve rambled about in this post, it’ll still work for me for those reasons.

Additionally, while we know Patamon was only temporarily taking the form of Pegasmon because he lost his power and was literally unable to evolve to Angemon, for previously mentioned reasons if they had kept the Pegasmon evolution for the rest of the series it still would’ve worked for me, as it could’ve been seen as Pegasmon being a reflection of Takeru’s childlike innocence influencing Patamon’s evolutions

But yeah. I can’t remember if I had like a bottom line when I started writing this but it sure as hell is gone from my mind now, point is, I kinda wish Digimon’s evolution was seen slightly differently and written slightly differently, and explored more, especially through the Digimon who had previously died (who I would also like to see come back when the rules of the universe allow it instead of just ignoring the fact that they should be alive and well). And generally speaking I wish Digimon were written with more depth. Thank you for reading this incoherent mess

*Sidenote; arguably I think this could’ve applied to tri. as well, the Digimon who had their memories wiped completely could’ve totally evolved into different Digimon and maybe even should’ve

**Sidenote, this wouldn’t mean there’s NO limitations to what species a Digimon could evolve into; for example, just because you want to be a super powerful heroic Digimon like Omegamon it doesn’t mean you CAN evolve into Omegamon; if being valiant and heroic at heart were requirements to evolve to Omegamon, then unless you’re truly valiant and heroic at heart then you probably wouldn’t be able to evolve to Omegamon, if anything you might end up as Omekamon instead. Similarly if a certain species have other specific requirements, be it like Jogress requirements or Digimentals etc, then unless those requirements were met the evolution wouldn’t be possible So what I’m getting at is that limitations/requirements could totally still exist (depending on the rules of the specific setting), but being “the right species” to go from A to B wouldn’t and shouldn’t be one, at least not in my heart, but I digress

#Analysis #Analyzation #Holy shit I wrote an essay for this blog #This is like the first one I've written here for YEARS

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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The modern xisangyao I’ve been talking about yay /o/ also on AO3 (and big thanks to the xisang discord for listening to my ramblings a while back + providing a lot of ideas for this!)

Lan Xichen hangs the phone and slumps against the back of his office chair. It is unusual enough to catch the attention of his assistant who looks up from his laptop with a concerned noise.

"Something wrong?" Mo Xuanyu asks

Lan Xichen nods weakly. "It was a fake after all."

Mo Xuanyu immediately understands what he means, and relaxes upon learning it is something he wouldn't count as important. To Lan Xichen though, it is devastating. That painting has been all he's been thinking about for weeks at this point. A lost Nie Huaisang resurfacing is always exciting for the very small circle of people who care about these things. And Lan Xichen cares, of course.

He wrote his thesis on the master, and he has a deal for a book so more people can learn about that forgotten genius. He has been called the leading expert on the Tang era scholar, though it isn't hard when hardly anyone else bothers with him.

That's why when 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', long thought lost to a fire early in the last century, resurfaced on the market, the buyer turned to Lan Xichen to ensure that it is the real deal. It is well known that there's a staggering number of fake Nie Huaisang paintings out there. One of many oddities about the man’s work, since his fame never rose high enough to be so eagerly copied by other artists of all periods, and his paintings have rarely sold for a price that would justify the attention of skilled forgers.

Lan Xichen is also trying to write a paper on that, when his book and teaching leave him the time.

It had been a treat to behold 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe'. There are no known copies of that one, only descriptions which do not do it justice. Lan Xichen could have cried at those delicate lines, fraught with inexplicable melancholy, like a last goodbye to a beloved home. 'Winter moonlight' is the last known work of Nie Huaisang before he dropped off the record, well into his eighties or possibly his nineties, and Lan Xichen did get a sense of finality upon seeing it. It wasn't just a painting, it was a farewell.

As to its authenticity, Lan Xichen had no doubt at the time. The lines, the subject, the sense of light and darkness, everything was perfectly fitting with the master's other works. It really had to be the lost masterpiece, the culmination of a great artist’s life. Lan Xichen had only recommended further analysis to confirm it, certain that it was the true 'Winter moonlight'.

The painting's owner has just called to explain that the paper is too young by a few centuries.

Lan Xichen is distraught to say the least. It's not that he is above mistakes, he is only human after all, but he was convinced that this painting was real.

It's the thing with Nie Huaisang though. Not only has he attracted many counterfeiters over the centuries, they are always forgers of rare talent.

"Well, that's disappointing," Mo Xuanyu agrees, more out of politeness than anything else. "Not really surprising though. How many fakes does it make this year?"

"Three. No, two, 'man with rabbits' was tested last month and confirmed as being authentic after all. He painted that one in his youth so his style wasn't quite settled yet, but the paper and ink are right and it does look exactly like that copy they have in Beijin."

Mo Xuanyu rolls his eyes, and turns back to his laptop.

"I don't know why anyone bothers with that guy's paintings," he huffs, having never shared Lan Xichen's passion for the artist. "Most of the ones we have are fake."

"The estate sale that got us those two fakes also produced several confirmed ones," Lan Xichen protests mildly. “It’s a shame 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe' turned out to be fake, but apparently ‘Mountains longing for snow’ has been confirmed as real, even if it didn’t sell. I’d give anything to have a look at that one too.”

Mo Xuanyu, who clearly lost interest in the conversation the instant he realised it was about an artist Lan Xichen has heard him describe as mediocre at best, turns his full attention back to his laptop when he sound warns him he has a new message.

“Then do that,” he mutters without conviction. “Go have a look or something.”

Lan Xichen stops breathing for a second, and stares at his assistant as if Mo Xuanyu had just handed him the key to the secret of the universe.

It is always a little awkward to contact owners of paintings once they are in private collections, and Lan Xichen has learned the hard way to avoid it. Some collectors are rather defensive, and a few don't want it publicised that they own rare art. But surely the antiquarian who currently holds those works wouldn’t mind letting him have a look? His interest in them, if publicised, could certainly create a ‘buzz’ of some sort in the small community of Nie Huaisang enthusiasts. It is for that sort of things that his little brother has convinced him to get a social media presence after all, so why not use it to his advantage?

Already recovering from his disappointment over 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', Lan Xichen gets to work and starts looking for information about whoever currently holds those unsold paintings. It takes a surprisingly long while, but he eventually discovers that the series of paintings was bought by a man named mister Shanzi, apparently after the death of their former owner whose identity has not been revealed.

It is not the first time Lan Xichen encounters the name Shanzi. The man is a reputed antiquarian and art dealer. Part of his reputation comes from rarely ever being fooled by fakes and copies, and for often being the one to spot lost works from obscure artists. If mister Shanzi was fooled by 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', then Lan Xichen feels a little better for his own mistake. The copy really had to be excellent.

The problem with mister Shanzi being involved is that he is not an easy man to contact. In this digital age, mister Shanzi is an art dealer without an online presence of any sort, though after some probing, Lan Xichen learns from one auction house that in recent years mister Shanzi has hired an assistant, and that young man is slightly less elusive than his employer. Not by much though, and it takes all of Lan Xichen’s persuasion and good reputation to obtain the email of that assistant.

It would be an understatement to say that the assistant in question is unhappy to have had his contact leaked to a stranger. The first email Lan Xichen gets in answer to his painfully polite enquiry is probably the most passive-agressive thing he has ever beheld, and that includes family dinner with his father and his mother’s new girlfriend.

If it were earlier in his career, if he were a few years younger, Lan Xichen would have given up at that point, fearful to disturb. But he’s learned to fight for what he wants when it is needed, and what he wants, right now, is a chance to look at paintings he will otherwise never see unless by some miracle a museum in the country buys them… and he knows how unlikely that is. Nie Huaisang doesn’t attract the crowds and academics.

Not yet, anyway. Lan Xichen’s book will change that.

And the more of Nie Huaisang’s work he gets to see with his own eyes, the easier that book will be to write.

So Lan Xichen replies to that unpleasant email with an essay detailing his hopes of attracting attention to his work, the possibility that prices might rise in the future, but above all his interest in an artist who deserves to be admired along with more famous names.

To his surprise, it works.

Mister Shanzi’s assistant’s reply states that he also has deep admiration for the forgotten master, and that his employer has a private collection of Nie Huaisang’s works. He is unsure whether mister Shanzi would be willing to show those, since they are stored in his own home, but perhaps an arrangement could be made. Hopefully, Lan Xichen might agree to meet in a few days at a café near the university where he works, so that they can more easily discuss what he would need for his book.

Lan Xichen readily agrees, and the day of their meeting cannot come soon enough.

When it does come, at last, Lan Xichen is almost half an hour early at the café. He tries, at first, to grade some essays from a class he teaches, but quickly finds that he cannot focus on that at the moment. It is ridiculous to be so nervous over this, he’s met with plenty of antiquarians and art dealers before, he’s been invited to check private collections as well, but on that late afternoon, his skin is buzzing with excitement, as if he were on the verge of something extraordinary.

That excitement spikes up when an elegant young man enters the café, browsing the table with searching eyes, only to smile when he spots Lan Xichen. The young man, who might be one of the most beautiful people Lan Xichen has ever seen, quickly gives him a short bow.

“You must be Lan Xichen?” he asks.

Lan Xichen can only nod, and gestures to invite the gorgeous stranger to sit across from him.

"I'm mister Shanzi’s assistant,” the other man says as he takes a seat. “Meng Yao, at your service."

#xisang #xiyao #lan xichen #jin guangyao #mdzs #jau writes #counterfeit au

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coeurdastronaute · 5 years ago

Text

Essays in Existentialism: Stud 9

Previously on Stud

“It’s been awhile.”

“Near a decade?”

“Well there was that convention in Prague. Maybe six, seven years ago?”

“And the reunion at the Hargrove Estate.”

“The presentations in Oslo?”

“I think… I think that was right around when m mom--” Lexa furrowed as she tried to place the time that seemed to slip away from them. “I guess Prague was the last time.”

“Five years then,” her old friend from college nodded thoughtfully. “Time is a dangerous thing. I hate it.”

The lounge was intimate, dimly lit and clean, freshly modeled despite being an ancient and ritzy institution in its own right. Dark woods were illuminated by soft lights, large paintings covered the walls in dark gold frames. The chairs were velvet and the drinks were perfectly crafted from the best labels. The clamor of the familiar crowd in suits and ties and diamonds and dresses was just a murmur behind their secluded table

Maggie James hadn’t changed a bit, just matured into a fulfilled version of herself, or so Lexa liked to imagine. She still had deep brown eyes and a heart-shaped face. Still had a soft smile. Her hair was cut shorter now, above the shoulders and wavy. Her demeanor was more assured, more herself, than the unsure girl in college, or even the graduate assistant at a presentation in Prague.

“I have to say, I hadn’t expected to hear from the CFO of one of the largest companies on the planet after reading my lowly article and research.”

“I don’t know about lowly,” Lexa smiled after sipping her drink. “I thought it was a good article. And your research was thorough.”

“I just observe and postulate. Those other companies were the ones doing the hard part.”

She was naturally demure. Maggie was not someone who had to work for a living. Her family owned an ancient merchant conglomerate and she was vaguely related to a Kennedy and a Duke or something. And though she had her phases, Lexa remembered her from school as someone who wanted to do her own thing. She didn’t cut up her black card, but she sure didn’t care to rely simply by biding her time. Lexa always liked that.

They hadn’t been especially close, just gravitated to similar circles and were in the same degree program, naturally leading to an affiliation that boarded somewhere between acquaintances who knew too much and friends with no actual ties.

The real surprise had been when Maggie actually returned the phone call Lexa gave after a few weeks of obsessing over the research and generally annoying her girlfriend with facts and tidbits, filling up a notebook with her own questions, ideas, and things she’d read. She’d garnered a lot of attention with her article and research. It almost wasn’t worth it for her to return the call of a somewhat acquaintances, somewhat friend that she hadn’t seen or heard from in upwards of six years. But Lexa’s last name was on buildings in almost ever major city, and regardless, she got a return call.

“I did call you about the article, but also to catch up,” Lexa promised.

“And remember those good times in college?”

“We did have a few of those, didn’t we?” she grinned, looking over her glass, earning a shaking head and heavy sigh and smile.

“Much to my girlfriend’s chagrin.”

“You actually told her some stories?” Maggie raised her eyebrows and chuckled. “And she let you come tonight?”

“Encouraged it actually. She’s sick of hearing me rave about your work and research. I’m allowed to have an intellectual crush on you, and that’s it.”

“She’s a saint.”

“You have no idea,” Lexa agreed and signaled for another round. “Last I heard, you were engaged to some Lockeridge. Didn’t work out?”

Maggie held up her hand and wiggled an empty ring finger.

“He didn’t particularly care that I was interested in anything other than the usual marriage retirement activities like kids and needlepoint or whatever.”

“A shame.”

“I heard you decided to go outside of the pool or acceptables,” Maggie shrugged. “I only have a few questions: How, and how did your father take it?”

“You know my dad. He wouldn’t know acceptable if it shook his hand. He actually adores Clarke. And it was sheer luck. She just happened to be best friends with a mechanic I use to fix up old cars.”

“Kismet.”

“How did your parent’s take the loss of a Lockeridge hyphenation?”

“Mom went into full mourning, black outfits for a week and three weeks in Italy,” Maggie recited as Lexa laughed. “Dad complained about his lost deposits on venues.”

“And now?”

“Now, I research sustainable and ethical management in corporations.”

“I meant--”

“I don’t even own a car, so I haven’t run into any mechanics, and I was almost hoping you’d broken up with your saint and that’s why you’d called.”

“It actually our three year anniversary next month.”

“Disgusting. You’re buying the drinks.”

They both shared a smile and shook their heads, amused at themselves and the situation of their lives, both wondering how they hadn’t taken the time to be better friends, although a few drunken make outs had certainly ended any hopes of that back then.

“I’m assuming you want to talk to me about the article and your company?”

“I was having fun catching up, but I take sex off the table and now you’re all business.”

“I know your time is valuable, and I don’t want you to think you have to waste it catching up,” she explained, leaving Lexa slightly baffled.

“Your time is valuable too, and honestly, I am kind of having fun catching up. I kind of fell out with the old gang after Mom.”

“I heard you did the falling.”

“Probably,” Lexa nodded in agreement as she swapped out her empty glass for a new one. “I worked myself raw for three years straight.”

“But you still hear some of the rumblings from the old guard?”

“Some. Care to fill me in on more before I proposition you?”

“Intellectually?”

“Strictly.”

Maggie took a large sip from her drink and eyed the girl across from her, at ease and amused at their conversation, ever charming and wildly sexy without even meaning to do it, Lexa was someone who made her attention feel like nothing else mattered, and anyone would want to be within her company to experience it. All were welcome, but it was a blessing to hold her focus for an extended period of time, in any capacity. Maggie remembered making out with her in the bathroom of a club. She remembered making out with her at a party on the Lower East Side. She remembered Lexa’s messy waves, leather jacket, and fiery eyes that remained, even a decade later. But they weren’t for her anymore, and she was alright with the disappointment if it meant working with her.

“Did you know Emma Hunton-Blather?”

“Not biblically.”

“I wouldn’t imagine so. She’s an ultra-religious mommy blogger now.”

“Yikes,” Lexa winced.

“And Francine Christenson already divorced twice.”

“I think I saw one of those.”

The evening was easy. The drinks flowed and the two caught up with their previous acquaintances. Lexa was grateful that it was going well considering how nervous she was about approaching an almost stranger.

The drinks kept coming and before she could talk shop, Lexa was drunk and just enjoyed having fun.

XXXXXXXXX

“I love her.”

“Oh god, not this again,” Clarke groaned, rolled over, and tugged the pillow with her over her head.

“Not like I love you. I just am fascinated by her research.”

“Is that what you call her boobs?”

“Oh no,” Lexa shook her head, wobbling slightly as she plunked down on the edge of the bed and began awkwardly tugging off her shoes. “I can’t even seen boobs that aren’t yours boobs. I am boob-blind now.”

Despite herself, Clarke smiled at her drunken girlfriend. It wasn’t often that she came out, and when Drunk Lexa did, she often enjoyed it. There wasn’t any jealousy against Maggie James, just that Clarke liked a little more attention than she was getting with this new project. She also wished this old project hadn’t made out with her girlfriend, but that was neither here nor there. She’d feel the same way if Lexa was obsessed with recycling. She’d hate it and vote for global warming to make her stop fixating.

Before she could finish with her shoes, Lexa flopped backwards, fully clothed and half on the bed.

“Clarke. Hey, are you sleeping?”

“No, darling. I’m up.”

“I wish I’d never made out with Maggie, because I think we could have been have friends.”

“Good. Keep not making out with her and you can be.”

“Ahhhh,” Lexa pointed at Clarke and laughed before letting her arm fall back down.

“Plus, you could use more friends.”

“Nah. I don’t.”

“You do.”

Clarke moved, putting the book she’d fallen asleep reading on the night stand and moving her way around the bed to help the pitiful thing that couldn’t get undressed. She stayed at Lexa’s strictly because it meant sloppy drunk needy Lexa. She also expected her about two hours earlier.

“You need more friends. It’s good to have them.”

“I have Gus,” Lexa listed, counting on her fingers as her girlfriend tugged off her shoes for her. “And Aden, and Anya, and Dad, and Indra, and um. And Maggie. And, um… uh…”

“Only one of those are age appropriate, not related to you, and not salaried.”

“And you! You’re my best friend. Who needs more than that?”

She didn’t mean to, but Clarke smiled at that as she moved to unbutton Lexa’s shirt, earning a smile and laugh despite already closed eyes.

“Oh, are you getting me naked, Ms. Griffin? Naughty naughty.”

“How much did you drink?”

“A little bit.”

Clarke just shook her head and pulled Lexa up so she could pull off the shirt. She moves to the pants next, instructing her to lift her butt so she could tug them off. Lexa remained fairly still as Clarke searched for a spare shirt for her to sleep in.

“Hey, hey, Clarke. Hey,” Lexa called in a whisper.

“Hm?”

“You really are my best friend.”

Clarke smiled, her cheeks growing warm as she slid the shirt over the drunk’s arms and head, careful not to poke an eye or pull hair. Tenderly, she got a rag from the bathroom and wiped her face as best she could, earning almost purrs of contentment with the treatment.

“Are you ready for me to fuck you?” Lexa ventured, wiggling her eyebrows. “I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re beautiful.” Clarke pushed her girlfriend’s shoulders so that she fell back in bed easily. “Perfect. You can be on top.”

“Get under the covers. It’s time for bed.”

“Fine, but you should know that I am a good lay.”

“I’m aware,” Clarke grinned as Lexa climbed in obediently.

“I’m like really good at giving you orgasms. And you seem to like them.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m tired and you’re drunk.”

“Those are two true facts,” Lexa nodded and yawned, rolling into her usual spot. Her arm was held open until Clarke joined her in bed.

The lights off and the pair finally ready for bed, Clarke snuggled into her spot and felt Lexa’s warmth, enjoying the feeling of having her back.

“Hey Lex?” Clarke whispered as arms held her tightly.

“Change your mind about sex?” Lexa returned. “I’m still down.”

“No. I just wanted to tell you that you’re my best friend, too.”

“Good.”

Her arms pulled tighter and Lexa kissed Clarke’s shoulder before falling into a very contented drunken slumber.

XXXXXXXXX

Lexa loved her office. She loved that it was quiet and that even though she had taken a smaller role in th day to day operations, it was still there for her to work, uninterrupted and unimpeded. She loved her desk. She loved her view. She loved the certainty that came behind sitting her name plate, as if it told her who she was. There was a certain power that she took from it all.

“Thanks for coming down,” Lexa offered as Maggie took a seat across from her desk. “I think i forgot to explain what interested me most about your research at drinks the other night.”

“Yeah I think the fourth round of whisky made it a little difficult to keep track of complex ideas.”

“I had a good time.”

“Me too.”

“My girlfriend let me know that I need more friends. The problem being that I don’t particularly like or trust most people.”

“Or you’re too busy to put the effort into it. I get it. Trust me,” Maggie nodded, relaxing slightly as Anya brought in some coffee and placed it between them. “Thank you.”

“I was told that all my friends work for me or are related to me,” Lexa explained as she sipped her coffee. “And even though I would consider us friends, or potentially friends. I want to hire you.”

“I already have a job.”

“Yes, but I have lots of money.”

Maggie snorted at that, smiling, amused at Lexa’s candor.

“I have lots of money too.”

“I knew you would say that. I also knew that there wasn’t much I could offer you to sway you away from a fun research and doctoral position at a great university. I’m sure you find teaching rewarding.”

Lexa stood from her desk and grabbed a folder from the corner, carefully looking it over in her hands.

“The interesting thing I found in your report was that you were advocating for a system that not one single major corporation would even contemplate putting into existence.”

“I’m sure some--”

“Free housing? College tuition? Four day work weeks? Work from home? Private insurance? Officer salary cuts? Who in there right mind is going to do that?”

“I thought you were interested in my research.”

“I am. Because my job was killing me. And I have a hypothesis for you.”

“I think that’s my job.”

“You haven’t accepted yet,” Lexa reminded her as she leaned against the front of her desk. “If I implement your suggestions, will I not hate my job anymore?”

“There’s no way for me to measure that.”

“True. Will I feel better if we are a more ethical and knowledgeable company?”

“Yes.”

“Will we turn a profit?”

“According to my data, yes. Although the scale of your business,” Maggie shook her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start hypothesizing on when.”

“Hypothetically,” Lexa continued, smiling at how easy it was to get her interested. “What would you need to start testing your hypothesis? In real time. At this company.”

There was a quiet that settled as Maggie stared at the CFO. Long and tall, Lexa crossed her arms over her chest, the mystery folder tucked under her arm. Her shirt was folded precisely up to her elbow, her collar pressed and pointy, her glasses perched perfectly and her hair coiffed with enough effort to look like it wasn’t trying at all. She didn’t betray a thought though.

“Off the top of my head, I’d need access to everything. I’d need months of internal research and auditing, plus at least a handful of accountants and assistants. I don’t think you understand what you’re asking.”

“I do.”

“You can’t.”

“In this folder,” Lexa grinned, and held it in front of her friend. “Is one of our middling branches based in London. I want to give it to you.”

“A company?”

“Kind of. I want you to hire your team. I want you to help me implement your changes. I want to create a better world. I had to think of something that no one else could give you, to entice you. Is it working?”

“Consider me enticed,” Maggie nodded, slowly accepting the folder and flipping it open, her mouth slightly agape.

The buzzer on Lexa’s desk sounded and she pushed off, walking back to her chair.

Ms. Woods, the car is here to take you to the airport.

“Thanks, Anya. Give me a few more minutes.”

“Going somewhere?”

“Three year anniversary weekend,” Lexa smiled. “I had a bit of a rough year last year, but it’s all coming back around.”

“You are incredibly good at multitasking. You’re pitching me while planning an epic event and doing how many other things.”

“Take the week to think about it. Everything you need is in that folder.”

“I’m going to need more than a fifteen minute meeting with yout see if this is even for real.”

“It’s real,” Lexa promised. “We can figure everything else out together, when you accept.”

“If.”

“I’ve been told I’m very persuasive. Take the week. I’ll be back next Tuesday and we can talk more then, if you’d like.”

“I thought maybe a consultation, but this is…” Maggie shook her head and stared at the folder before shutting it quickly. “Hell of a friend.”

“Come on, I’ll walk with you out,” Lexa offered as she grabbed her bag.

XXXXXXXXXX

The ranch was still slightly visible in the sunset, the timing only slightly off with their arrival for the romantic weekend escape. Tall pines and cedars eclipsed it while the mountains stood tall and purple in the distance against a firestorm of clouds in the fading summer light. The cabin was one of her favorite places on the planet, and she couldn’t think of anywhere more secluded and perfect to hide away from the world with her beautiful girlfriend to celebrate three absolutely life-changing years.

“I would have been happy with just a hotel room downtown,” Clarke chided as she entered the giant house. “This is too much.”

“I figured it was a good excuse to use this place. It’s been years since I’ve been out,” Lexa explained as she dropped their bags in the foyer.

She made sure everything was stocked and prepared and the staff wouldn’t be around. The caretakers didn’t mind a week off, and she was just excited to be away from the city and back somewhere quiet.

“Is this the ranch your mom liked?”

“Yeah, she’d make us spend a lot of spare time out here.”

“I can see why. It’s beautiful.”

“She designed it. Found an old hunting lodge and decided to convert it to a modern home. It was her labor of love.”

“Thank ou,” Clarke smiled and hugged her girlfriend before kissing her cheek. “Show me around.”

Lexa wasn’t particularly good at feeling so good, but she’d been excited and planned everything for the past month. So she took Clarke by the hand and showed her the grand room, the high ceiling and giant windows that looked out at the trees and the mountains as far as the eye could see. The fireplace was already roaring and inviting, but she took her toward the pool and hot tub area that went from outside to inside. She excitedly told her stories about being a kid, and all the stuff her and Aden would do.

By the time they made it to the bedroom she wanted, Clarke flopped onto the bed and gave up trying to figure out where she was in the maze of a house.

“So we get this whole place to ourselves for the next few days?” Clarke asked as Lexa gracefully slid beside her in the giant bed.

“Mhm, so go ahead and just take your clothes off now. I actually should have told you that at the door.”

“But I brought very cute lacy things you like me to wear.”

“Oh, wait, yeah,” Lexa nodded eagerly. “That’s all you can wear.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

“And sappy.”

“Incredibly.”

But it was perfect, and Lexa didn’t care that her girlfriend was mocking her. She leaned forward and kissed her. She pressed Clarke into the bed and went about the task of celebrating.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I need you to carb up because I have a few more things planned for you,” Lexa explained as she reached forward and took another slice of pizza.

“Shut up.”

“I mean it. Dad keeps the W stored in the garage and I have waited three years to--”

“You can’t be serious,” Clarke laughed and shook her head, pressing her palm over her chest with how amusing she found it.

They were tangled in the sheets. They were tired and sated and happy and now nearly full from the dinner of pizza and beer.

“That’s the real reason I decided to come here,” Lexa grinned. “The romantic, candlelight bath and fireplaces, and privacy were all a ruse. You’ve been ruse-d.”

“I can’t believe I’ve kept you around for three years.”

“Me neither.”

“I should get a medal.”

“I agree completely,” Lexa decided as she hopped up from the bed. “Wait right there.”

Nearly tripping over herself, the CFO took the corner out of the room so quickly, Clarke was certain she hit the wall. The sound of padding bare feet could be heard in the bed, and for the life of her, Clarke wasn’t sure why it made her fall a little more in love, if that were even possible.

In a flash, Lexa returned, hopping into the bed, quick to hide whatever was in her hands.

“This was supposed to be a year of no gifts,” Clarke chided.

“I’m terrible at following directions. I don’t know if you knew that or not yet, but it’s a harsh truth you should start to understand.”

“You should listen to me.”

“I should,” she nodded and held out a velvet box. “I’ll start tomorrow.”

Clarke eyed her girlfriend warily and frowned at the blatant lie. But Lexa shrugged and smiled, nudging her to open the box.

“Oh, Lex, this is…”

The keychain was a tiny logo of Lexa’s company. It was plain and simple and cost exactly $2.95, and now it was dangling from Clarke’s finger as she furrowed and smiled at it despite all else because it was certainly not what she was expecting.

“It’s too much. You shouldn’t have.”

“You deserve the best,” Lexa explained, scooting closer. “Last time we did this, I wasn’t read. You weren’t ready. It wasn’t right. But now...I think it’s right. I think I want to be with you all of the time. I want to come home from business trips and see you. I want to cook dinner together. I want to sleep with you every night. I want to live together.”

Her hair was a mess, and when she was nervous, she talked with her hands. Clarke watched the entire thing without moving a muscle, because she might scare Lexa if she did. Instead, she looked at the key chain in her palm and listened.

“You’ve been making a lot of moves lately, Woods.”

“Well, the girl I love keeps pushing me to do better.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“I won’t.”

“What if I get sick of you?”

“We’ll get a big place, so you can ignore me when I bug you,” Lexa promised.

“You’re ready for this?” Clarke asked, giving her a hard look.

“Very. Are you?”

“Very.”

Before she could say anything else, Lexa launched herself at her, and Clarke was tackled and kissed happily.

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years ago

Text

Read into Me Chapter 4: North and South

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 4,753

Warnings: Swearing, bullying, i reference the plot of Wuthering Heights and that has some icky stuff in it idk what to tag that though

Author’s Note: How’re you guys liking the series so far? I’m really enjoying it, I’d love to hear what you guys think, good or bad! Also, is over 4k too much for you guys? I used to strive to hit that mark when I first started but the fandom’s changed so much, I feel like an old fart lmao

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @unusuallchild @alwaysstressedout @linkispink1995 @asharpkniffe @a-big-ball-of-idk @mochminnie @used-avocado @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie

You didn’t hear from Steve after that, save for him returning your essay with minimal markings and a graded ‘A’ on the top. He’d gone back to his people as quickly as he’d left them, letting Vicki talk his ear off from across the aisle. You didn’t mind too much, her voice was grating on the ear, but her hair was pretty and she actually seemed to ask him questions. You didn’t know why it mattered to you that she seemed genuinely interested in Steve, but you decided that he deserved someone who cared enough to know him. Everyone deserved someone who cared enough to know them. Tina just talked about herself for the whole class when everyone was supposed to be discussing the book at hand, Wuthering Heights, and it got very annoying. You just filled out your discussion questions and did your best to be invisible. No one seemed to notice except for Mr. Lawrence, who’d scolded you twice now for not participating in group discussions.

“I know that you know this stuff, but I can’t give you participation points if you don’t participate with others.” He handed you back your discussion sheet for chapter four. You’d gotten everything right; Mr. Lawrence was lobbing low balls at the class to try to get them to read the book. You didn’t change your tune; you didn’t want to talk to your peers. It didn’t matter anyway, no matter what you said to them you’d still write down the same answers and get the same grade.

You didn’t hear much about your failings to participate after he handed back your first essays. You weren’t surprised that you’d gotten a low ‘A’ on the paper; you hadn’t tried that hard on it. You noted that he’d given you a good grade on your editing, which Mr. Lawrence noted on the page that he could count it for your participation for the class, since you did so well with it. You couldn’t complain because it was a decent way to pass.

When the bell rang, you made your usual break for it, excited to be on your free period and free to sit in the sun for the afternoon. Tracy Lords was in Samantha’s gym class and with the weather so lovely they’d do class outside, giving you a chance to work on front profiles with her flat, pretty features.

Steve was dreading getting his paper back. He didn’t trust himself to get a decent grade and even with your help he was certain he’d pull above a ‘D’. Mr. Lawrence always handed out pairs face down, so no one got their grades till they were ready to flip over the page. This was the moment that he always dreaded. He found that it was easiest to rip it off like a Band-Aid, just flip it and see so it can be over. He never read comments, he just needed to know if he failed, but the bright red writing on the top of the page caught his eye immediately-‘I’m impressed, Mr. Harrington’ with a 81 percent seeping through to the back of the page. He stared at the grade until the bell rang, unsure if it was even real, if he was even awake. Once he woke up from his beautiful dream, he knew he had one thing to do.

He burst in the hallway like a golden retriever out an open gate, searching for you without really knowing where to begin. He spotted you at your locker. “Y/N!” he called. You flinched, your shoulders hunching into your neck. You could feel people looking at you, which turned you beet red, almost purple, from embarrassment. You didn’t move from your space, hoping that the tile under you would pull back into a trap door and make you disappear from the scene. It didn’t, of course, and Steve found you quickly.

“Look at this!” he held up his paper to you, beaming like a child. You looked at the paper slowly, taking in the grade and the note at the top of the page, then his face.

“Oh…that’s great.” You said, unsure how to really respond. How was supposed to respond to someone else’s B?

Steve didn’t take in your uncertainty, continuing on “Thank you,” he said earnestly, lowering his voice to add “This is probably the best grade I’ve ever gotten in that class.”

“I’m glad I could help.” You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in how you’d helped him out. Usually, the only people around that you could help was your grandparents with chores or Samantha with getting out of her house for an afternoon and while you enjoyed helping them out, you didn’t get the same joy from it, having done it for so long. Helping Steve made you feel full in a way.

Tommy Hanson had been trying to call the new kid, Billy, over to him when he saw the whole scene go down. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit. There was a hierarchy to Hawkins, rules to follow until you graduated and either solidified your choices or moved the hell out. Steve was popular, the home town hero, the sports star. That kind of power was not something to throw away on a little nobody. Tommy wished he could be that popular, to have that sort of accessibility and he got close when he kept his friends in the right station. Steve had already fucked up once, that little Nancy Wheeler bitch had already demoted him from sex god to weepy heartbroken sad boy, but that was still working for him. And he needed his backup plan to still be cool.

Tommy stalked up to Steve, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Hey, dude, come over here, Stefanie Tomlinson’s panties are showing, you’ve gotta see this shit.” He whispered at him, loud enough to make you cringe and look away, turning back to your books and the stickers on your locker door.

“Dude, don’t be gross.” Steve said, turning his attention back to you “Like I said, thanks for the help.” Tommy kept trying to pull him away, but Steve was taller than him and harder to move around.

“Yeah, like I said, no biggie.” You kept your gaze firmly locked on your locker door. You refused to be mocked by Tommy Hanson. He practically pulled Steve away from you, looking you over with a sneer as they walked off. Tommy didn’t like you, which you already knew. It wasn’t easy for him to hide his hatred in a small town. You didn’t know why, but he’d always been like this, ever since you were kids. He used to push you into the mud and chase you off the swings in elementary school. Since you’d grown up, his cruelty had mostly subsided, but the animosity remained, especially after your mother had threatened his family with albeit an unrelated law suit, which succeeded in getting the whole family away from yours. That was the last helpful thing your mother had done for you.

Tommy kept his arm locked around his friend’s shoulders, escorting him away from potential social suicide. Steve held up his arms in defeat, laughing all the way. “Come on dude, she’s not anything to waste your time on.” Tommy said in a voice loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough to seem like a whisper.

You shrunk in place, unable to pull your eyes away from the scene, a silent plea echoing in your mind for him to look back if he wasn’t a dick head like Tommy, left unspoken but felt in the depths of your soul. You didn’t know why it hurt you as badly as it had; you knew in your head that he no better than his friends. But your heart had hoped that he was different, that he could be better than him. You turned away before it hurt too badly, collecting your books in your arms and rushing off towards your spare period, hoping to find a bit of quiet to recover from what you’d just experienced.

Steve turned back to see you walking away, his laughter dying in his throat, what Tommy said bouncing around his mind. As soon as Tommy released him, he smacked the freckle faced boy hard in the ribs. “Can you try to not be a dick for five minutes?” he asked, getting a laugh out of Carol, who’d been filing her nails without much interest in the whole thing.

“What? Who gives a shit about her?” Tommy asked, doubling back with his hand on his chest.

“She’s a nice girl, dude, don’t be an asshole.” Steve replied sternly. That piqued Carol’s attention. She turned up from her chipped red nails to look Steve over with a discerning eye.

“Oh god, don’t tell me that you’re trying to bring in another Wheeler type chick into this.” She groaned, brushing away a strand of red hair from her cheek.

“Jesus Christ…” Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose “I don’t know what Nance did to you, but you need to calm down on that crap.”

“But you’re not dating her, right?” Tommy asked.

“Dude, all she did was help me with an assignment, that’s all.” Steve groaned. He felt like a dick, being so dismissive of you, he did like you, but he didn’t really even know you and neither did his friends. He didn’t like anyone assuming who he was or wasn’t with, and yet he still felt like a shithead. He didn’t know why but he did.

When you came home from school, your grandmother was waiting for you by the front door, red plaid kitchen rag draped on her shoulder, apron hanging low on her hips. “Your mother called when you were at school, wanted to see how you were.” She said, wiping her hands on the apron. She shook her head, obviously annoyed at the thought of her absent daughter.

“What’d you tell her?” you asked, kicking off your sneakers and putting them back onto the rack. You didn’t hide your distaste in your mother’s asking about you.

“That you were at school and to call back for you later. She told me to tell you that she’d be back in June and that she was bringing back someone special.” Your grandmother replied, turning back into the kitchen to return to whatever she was making. Your grandfather was passed out on the couch, his snores emanating from the living room almost comforting to you as you trekked up the stairs. You knew that your mother wouldn’t call again for you. She could never remember to call you at a time when you might be at home. She certainly wouldn’t be able to remember to call back.

Before you could even set your bag down, the phone on your desk blared from your desk. Samantha was at soccer practise, so you didn’t believe it was for you, but with your grandmother busy in the kitchen and your grandfather passed out, you grabbed the phone, asking “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Steve,” from his own room, Steve had thought about talking to you again for most of the day, but he’d only found the confidence what the day was over and he was home, where he didn’t have to look at you to speak to you. “I’m sorry if Tommy was weird to you today, he’s an idiot.”

You frowned, brow furrowing “It’s cool, no worries…” you replied. You didn’t feel like explaining how you already knew how much of an idiot he was.

“Yeah, so I was kind of wondering…if you’re not busy…would you mind maybe helping me with the readings? I don’t get this shit at all.” He chuckled awkwardly. In truth he’d had no plan to actually read the novel they’d been assigned, that’s what Cliff’s Notes was for, but he wanted to be around you more, so if homework was a reason to get to be around, then he’d actually read.

“Um…sure, I guess I could.” You didn’t really know what the right answer was for you. You weren’t sure that you trusted him, especially after what had happened that afternoon with Tommy, but your gut told you to say yes.

“Great! What’re you doing right now? Could you meet me somewhere, the reading for the tenth chapter is due tomorrow and I don’t even know what’s happening.” He felt a tad desperate, which was not a feeling he was used to around girls.

“I mean…where would you wanna meet?” anxiety was creeping up the back of your neck. You tried to wipe it away like sweat, but it was stuck to your brainstem.

“You could come over to my place or like I could meet you at the library or something.” Steve didn’t exactly have an answer to that one, he wasn’t even sure he’d get this far. He looked around his messy room, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

You didn’t exactly want to be in his house, but you didn’t have a car and it would take you forever to walk back into town to get to the public library. With a heavy heart, you accepted your unfortunate fate. “I could come over to your place.” You said, squeezing your eyes shut. You hoped that he wasn’t going to take that the wrong way.

“Yeah?” Steve hoped the panic wasn’t evident in his voice. His mother was still out of town and his father spent more time at his office in Carmel then he spent at home as it was. He’d let the mess pile up a bit and he didn’t want to look disgusting.

“Yeah, sure.” You tried to sound casual, but your blood had run cold and your hands had gone clammy. You gripped the receiver far too tightly, your eyes shifting around your room.

“Alright, cool, yeah cool…” Steve said, trying to sound casual “How long do you think it would take to get here?”

“I mean…you still drive the rust coloured BMW, right?” you asked, pulling your curtains back to peer out your window.

“Yeah?” Steve asked.

“I can see your house from my window, I’ll be there in like a minute.” You said.

Steve’s head turned upward, looking around worriedly. He bid his goodbyes quickly, turning his full attention to his messy bed and dirty floor, trying to get every pair of boxers laying on the floor into a basket. He hadn’t expected you to agree to come to his house, and his stomach churned at the idea of freaking you out. He didn’t want to scare you away because he was messy and gross.

You felt as if you’d swallowed your tongue. You rushed for the door, uttering a quick goodbye to your grandparents and pulling your backpack straps tight on your back. It was only five feet away. Five feet. Cross the street and up the driveway and you’re there. You took in a deep breath through your nose and took the first tripping step down your driveway, your body not co-operating with your mind and trying to escape where you were trying to bring it. You needed to calm down, your palms were starting to sweat and your knees had turned to Jell-O. You stopped in the middle of the empty street, huffing out another breath, trying to remind yourself that nothing could hurt you over there. That you could handle anything thrown at you.

Somehow, you made it to the front door without blacking out. You went to knock on the door, but it opened before you made contact. Steve looked frazzled, his hair flopping into his eyes, his expression panicked. “You’re here!” he said, his body blocking the doorframe.

“Am I not supposed to be?” you asked, your hand coming to clutch the top of your opposite arm.

“Nah, nah you are I just-never mind. I’m going crazy I think, come on in.” Steve stuttered, moving his arm out of the way, letting you inside. He didn’t know why he was nervous, he was never nervous to have a girl over. But you weren’t like the usual girls he would invite to hang out by his pool.

You stepped into his house cautiously, entering the dark space like it was a well-preserved colonial mansion. The Harrington household was cold. Everything was navy blue, steely grey, and white. He’d left the lights off in the entryway and the kitchen, although the lights above the grey brick fireplace were on, three white pot lights lighting the whole space. It made his house look ominous. Nobody was around either, you knew that Steve was an only child, but in your house your grandparents were always milling around; sound and voices were everywhere. Steve’s house was silent. The white vertical blinds were left open, and you could see the pool outside, which hadn’t been cleaned yet that day. The carpeting throughout the downstairs muffled your footsteps, adding to the eerie silence. Overall, the house looked expensive. They had all the latest technology and aesthetically the house was very stylish, it made you want to not touch anything in fear of breaking something. You shivered involuntarily, letting your eyes wander around the house, taking in the massive TV and the matching stereo. All his money didn’t make the space feel like home.

“My stuff’s just upstairs.” Steve pointed a thumb up the stairwell by the front door. You hadn’t realized that you’d wandered out of the foyer and into his house. You swallowed, nodding hard and bounding up the steps ahead of him. You noticed that there weren’t any photographs around the house. That felt a bit homier to you; your grandmother kept most of the photos in intricate albums, only keeping a singular family photograph on the mantle of the white tiled fireplace. That felt a bit right to you, that it really was a home and not a showcase home.

Steve’s bedroom was also blue and dark. His walls were dark blue plaid, with matching curtains. The colour was only broken up by a few posters and a floating bookshelf, which held a couple small trophies and a couple books held between black metal bookstands. His bedspread was a navy quilt, and his desk was dark wood and heavy looking. The signs of childhood were clear in the plaid wallpaper and curtains, clearly still remaining from a younger life. But beyond it, the room lacked a bit of personality. The only signs of life were the full laundry hamper and the papers on his desk. Everything else in the room could be in anyone’s room. It looked like a guest room or a hotel room. You dropped your bag on the grey carpeting, unsure where to put yourself in the space. Steve was much more casual, pulling out his desk chair and taking a seat, gesturing for you to sit across from him on the bed. You did so, sitting gingerly on the wrinkled bedspread. It was strange to sit on a boy’s bed, much less it be Steve Harrington’s bed.

“Alright, um…where to begin?” you asked, more to yourself than him. “I guess we should go over what happened in the chapter, yeah?”

“Yeah sure…” Steve replied, picking up his copy of the novel, flipping it open to the chapter. “Uh…so the main chick is in love with Heath and she loves him and they all live happily ever after?”

“That’s…not the plot of either this chapter or the novel.” You said slowly, not looking down to flip your own copy of the book to the marked chapter.

“I mean…that’s what I got from the Kate Bush song.” Steve muttered awkwardly.

“So, you haven’t read the book? Like nothing at all?” you asked. Steve shook his head. “Cliff’s Notes then?” you guessed, looking back to the shelf to see a few of the black and yellow striped covers of the versions of Little Women, Robinson Crusoe, and King Lear. You’d used the reference guides yourself, albeit not as a replacement for the novels themselves.

“You got me…” Steve muttered. He felt like an idiot. It had only taken a minute for him to get caught in his fib.

“Then what’d you need me for?” you replied, setting your book down on the bed next to you, looking him over carefully. Cliff’s Notes would cover everything he needed, they’d answer the questions for him.

“Look…I’m shit at this stuff. I don’t get it. I don’t get why we’re reading this, the book is so boring, even the notes are boring!” he groaned.

“The book is shit.” You replied, deadpan. “Mr. Lawrence is having us read it because it’s one of like three books the county mandates that we read and they gave us Robinson Crusoe last year.”

“What am I supposed to get from it then if he doesn’t even like it?” Steve chuckled, turning to address you fully.

“Well…it’s a tortured love story.” Steve raised an eyebrow at you. You pressed on “Catherine and Heathcliff are in love, but because Heathcliff’s of a lower station than her, they can never be together. And even though Catherine marries someone else she can’t bear life without him.”

“Aren’t they like siblings or something?” Steve’s lip curled upwards in a disgusted expression.

“Adopted siblings and if Emily Bronte doesn’t think it’s weird then we have to ignore it.” You explained with a shrug. You leaned back on your palms, kicking your feet casually. With the windows open, his room was warm and sunny. It faced the woods behind his side of the road, and they looked beautiful from up near the treetops. You’d heard the rumours of Jonathan Byers taking photos of little Nancy Wheeler on the same bed you sat on from the woods. It made you feel icky at the time and uncomfortable now. You didn’t like the idea that anyone could be watching you.

“Then what is Kate Bush singing about? She makes it sound like they get together.” Steve asked. He watched you with a careful eye, his nerves making it hard to even try to catch your eye. You seemed happy, calmer too, and your hair was catching the sunlight from his window, making a pretty crown of light around your head.

“I mean…Catherine dies trying to return to Heathcliff across the moors, Kate Bush is like being her ghost, trying to come back to her love from beyond the grave.” You said simply. Steve pulled out his notebook, the questions written out in wide, square letters. He quickly began scribbling down what you’d said. He pulled out his copy of the Cliff’s Notes and flipped to chapter ten, filling out the questions. You wondered if you should stay or go, but Steve’s profile was partially shaded by the angle he sat at, and the way his jaw jutted out made him look like the statue of David. You slowly pulled out your sketchbook and flipped to a new page. Graphite in hand, you slowly began drawing out his sharp, angular jaw and strong neck.

“So, when did you find the time to read the whole book?” he asked; only briefly looking up from his notes to look at you. Your hair was still pulled up in the bun you’d put it in that morning and your gaze was focused on whatever was behind that heavy looking spiral bound pad.

“It was on, like, the seventh grade summer reading list.” You replied, not looking up. You could feel his eyes on you and the copy of lips weren’t matching the real life counterpart. You pulled your lip between your teeth, using your thumb to blend out a thin line.

“You remembered all that from middle school?” Steve asked.

“Well…I mean the book is kind of weird. Like, it doesn’t make sense, the narrator keeps changing and the speaker isn’t always made known. It was really hard to read, but the story itself was pretty run of the mill. I don’t really get why we have to read it at all…” You explained quietly, switching to a piece of charcoal to add thin, textured lines to the lower lip.

“It’s really shit, eh?” Steve chuckled, turning his attention back to the thin book. “Who’s Isabella again?”

“It is crap. And Isabella’s Catherine’s sister-in-law. She has a crush on Heathcliff, you can write on that, that’s revealed in this chapter.” You explained. You didn’t blame Steve for not understanding the book, you absolutely hated the book when you read it the first time and it was by no means an easy read.

“She’s in love with him, but he’s in love with Catherine?” Steve was scribbling fast, writing down whatever you said.

“Yes and Catherine’s in love with Heathcliff but married Mr. Linton for status.” You replied. Steve and you worked in silence for awhile. Mr. Lawrence expected answers in full sentences and provide reasoning for everything you sourced. Meanwhile, you set a high standard for your art. While you didn’t expect perfection from yourself, you wanted to try to do good work, even just for yourself.

You’d never drawn Steve Harrington before. You’d done pictures of tons of your classmates, Steve just never seemed like someone who needed to be drawn. He had tons of people looking at him and praising him all the time, to his face and behind his back. He seemed like a little celebrity in Hawkins, but sitting on his head, with the sun hitting half of his face and making pretty shadows in the hollows of his face, you saw the small beauty in his features. You knew that he was attractive, that was a universal truth, but now sat on his bed alone in his room, you understood that he really was beautiful. Maybe not on the inside, you didn’t know if he was a truly good person, but on the outside he was golden. Your hands demanded to recreate his features. You felt as though you were carving one of Greek gods of Hawkins high, the best of the town’s beauty.

Steve finished his work soon after and looked to you with a lopsided grin. “I say, and you can totally disagree, that we work better together than apart.” He said triumphantly, jabbing the cap onto his pen.

You looked up with a smirk from your drawing. It was nearly done and you weren’t mad at the work either. It certainly looked like Steve and the shadows were intriguing. It would’ve made a better painting, but the little sketch was nothing to sneeze at. “I mean, you certainly do.” You replied easily. Steve chuckled, you weren’t wrong; he knew that you were much smarter than him.

“But sure, if you need the help then I’ll help. No big deal.” The words left your mouth before you’d thought them through. But they were true. Despite not knowing him, despite being freaked out by every phone call and conversation, you found yourself still coming back. Your mind was pulled in two very different directions, between adrenaline laced panic that made your hands go clammy and shake and genuine curiosity and intrigue.

Steve couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. He was certain that you’d already on the porch steps, running towards your house as fast as you could. Something in his gut told him not to expect anything. But you agreed. He broke into a lopsided grin, brushing a piece of long brown hair out of his eyes. “Cool, yeah, that’d be great! So, I’ll call you?” he asked tentatively, trying to still give you an out to his own request.

“You already know the number.” You smirked, a yellow sticky note catching your eye. You could see your name and number written in Steve’s wide handwriting stuck to the wall in front of his desk. It made you smile, the small detail of him even looking you up made you laugh. You’d been across the street from him your whole life, but him trying to find you made you strangely happy. You gathered up your things quickly, heading back across the street as another car came into his driveway, an immaculately made up woman in the front seat. She didn’t look you in the face as you passed, focusing on the opening garage door in front of her. You made a mad dash for your house. Everything felt…calm. Strangely calm. You didn’t know if you liked it.

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ucflibrary · 5 years ago

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November in the United States is Native American Heritage Month, also referred to as American Indian and Alaska Native Heritage Month. It celebrates the rich history and diversity of America’s native peoples and educates the public about historical and current challenges they face. Native American Heritage Month was first declared by presidential proclamation in 1990 which urged the United States to learn more about their first nations.

Join the UCF Libraries as we celebrate diverse voices and subjects with these suggestions. Click on the Keep Reading link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links for the featured Native American Heritage titles suggested by UCF Library employees. These 16 books plus many more are also on display on the 2nd (main) floor of the John C. Hitt Library next to the bank of two elevators.

An American Sunrise by Joy Harjo In the early 1800s, the Mvskoke people were forcibly removed from their original lands east of the Mississippi to Indian Territory, which is now part of Oklahoma. Two hundred years later, Joy Harjo returns to her family’s lands and opens a dialogue with history. In An American Sunrise, Harjo finds blessings in the abundance of her homeland and confronts the site where her people, and other indigenous families, essentially disappeared. From her memory of her mother’s death, to her beginnings in the native rights movement, to the fresh road with her beloved, Harjo’s personal life intertwines with tribal histories to create a space for renewed beginnings. Her poems sing of beauty and survival, illuminating a spirituality that connects her to her ancestors and thrums with the quiet anger of living in the ruins of injustice. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Bird Songs Don't Lie: writings from the rez by Gordon Lee Johnson In this deeply moving collection of short stories and essays, Gordon Lee Johnson (Cupeño/Cahuilla) cements his voice not only as a wry commentator on American Indian reservation life but also as a master of fiction writing. In Johnson's stories, all of which are set on the fictional San Ignacio reservation in Southern California, we meet unforgettable characters like Plato Pena, the Stanford-bound geek who reads Kahlil Gibran during intertribal softball games; hardboiled investigator Roddy Foo; and Etta, whose motto is “early to bed, early to rise, work like hell, and advertise,” as they face down circumstances by turns ordinary and devastating. From the noir-tinged mystery of “Unholy Wine” to the gripping intensity of “Tukwut,” Johnson effortlessly switches genre, perspective, and tense, vividly evoking people and places that are fictional but profoundly true to life. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

Coming Down from Above: prophecy, resistance, and renewal in Native American religions by Lee Irwin An introduction to an important strand within the rich tapestry of Native religions, this shows the remarkable responsiveness of those beliefs to historical events. It is an unprecedented, encyclopedic sourcebook for anyone interested in the roots of Native theology. From the highly assimilated ideas of the Puget Sound Shakers to such resistance movements as that of the Shawnee Prophet, Irwin tells how the integration of non-Native beliefs with prophetic teachings gave rise to diverse ethnotheologies with unique features. He surveys the beliefs and practices of the nation to which each prophet belonged, then describes his or her life and teachings, the codification of those teachings, and the impact they had on both the community and the history of Native religions. Key hard-to-find primary texts are included in an appendix. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Fools Crow by Thomas E. Mails; assisted by Dallas Chief Eagle Set in Montana shortly after the Civil War, this novel tells of White Man's Dog (later known as Fools Crow so called after he killed the chief of the Crows during a raid), a young Blackfeet Indian on the verge of manhood, and his band, known as the Lone Eaters. The invasion of white society threatens to change their traditional way of life, and they must choose to fight or assimilate. Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

Four Souls: a novel by Louise Erdrich After taking her mother’s name, Four Souls, for strength, the strange and compelling Fleur Pillager walks from her Ojibwe reservation to the cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. She is seeking restitution from and revenge on the lumber baron who has stripped her tribe’s land. But revenge is never simple, and her intentions are complicated by her dangerous compassion for the man who wronged her. Suggested by Jada Reyes, UCF Libraries Student Ambassador

House Made of Dawn by N. Scott Momaday He was a young American Indian named Abel, and he lived in two worlds. One was that of his father, wedding him to the rhythm of the seasons, the harsh beauty of the land, the ecstasy of the drug called peyote. The other was the world of the twentieth century, goading him into a compulsive cycle of sexual exploits, dissipation, and disgust. Home from a foreign war, he was a man being torn apart, a man descending into hell. Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

Keepers of the Morning Star: an anthology of native women's theater edited by Jaye T. Darby and Stephanie Fitzgerald This is the first major anthology of Native women's contemporary theater bringing together works from established and new playwrights. This collection, representing a rich diversity of Native communities, showcases the exciting range of Native women's theater today from the dynamic fusion of storytelling, ceremony, music and dance to the bold experimentation of poetic stream of consciousness and Native agitprop. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

Native Southerners: indigenous history from origins to removal by Gregory D. Smithers Long before the indigenous people of southeastern North America first encountered Europeans and Africans, they established communities with clear social and political hierarchies and rich cultural traditions. Award-winning historian Gregory D. Smithers brings this world to life in Native Southerners, a sweeping narrative of American Indian history in the Southeast from the time before European colonialism to the Trail of Tears and beyond. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

Nature Poem by Tommy Pico This work follows Teebs―a young, queer, American Indian (or NDN) poet―who can’t bring himself to write a nature poem. For the reservation-born, urban-dwelling hipster, the exercise feels stereotypical, reductive, and boring. He hates nature. He prefers city lights to the night sky. He’d slap a tree across the face. He’d rather write a mountain of hashtag punchlines about death and give head in a pizza-parlor bathroom; he’d rather write odes to Aretha Franklin and Hole. While he’s adamant―bratty, even―about his distaste for the word “natural,” over the course of the book we see him confronting the assimilationist, historical, colonial-white ideas that collude NDN people with nature. The closer his people were identified with the “natural world,” he figures, the easier it was to mow them down like the underbrush. But Teebs gradually learns how to interpret constellations through his own lens, along with human nature, sexuality, language, music, and Twitter. Even while he reckons with manifest destiny and genocide and centuries of disenfranchisement, he learns how to have faith in his own voice. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

On the Rez by Ian Frazier This is a sharp, unflinching account of the modern-day American Indian experience, especially that of the Oglala Sioux, who now live on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in the plains and badlands of the American West. Crazy Horse, perhaps the greatest Indian war leader of the 1800s, and Black Elk, the holy man whose teachings achieved worldwide renown, were Oglala; in these typically perceptive pages, Frazier seeks out their descendants on Pine Ridge―a/k/a "the rez"―which is one of the poorest places in America today. Suggested by Larry Cooperman, Research & Information Services

Shapes of Native Nonfiction by Elissa Washuta Just as a basket's purpose determines its materials, weave, and shape, so too is the purpose of the essay related to its material, weave, and shape. Editors Elissa Washuta and Theresa Warburton ground this anthology of essays by Native writers in the formal art of basket weaving. Using weaving techniques such as coiling and plaiting as organizing themes, the editors have curated an exciting collection of imaginative, world-making lyric essays by twenty-seven contemporary Native writers from tribal nations across Turtle Island into a well-crafted basket. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Surviving Genocide: native nations and the United States from the American Revolution to bleeding Kansas by Jeffrey Ostler An authoritative contribution to the history of the United States’ violent path toward building a continental empire, this ambitious and well-researched book deepens our understanding of the seizure of Indigenous lands, including the use of treaties to create the appearance of Native consent to dispossession. Ostler also documents the resilience of Native people, showing how they survived genocide by creating alliances, defending their towns, and rebuilding their communities. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

The Man to Send Rain Clouds: contemporary stories by American Indians edited by Kenneth Rosen Over a two-year period, Kenneth Rosen traveled from town to town, pueblo to pueblo, to uncover the stories contained in this volume. All reveal the preoccupations of contemporary American Indians. Not surprisingly, many of the stories are infused with the bitterness of a people and a culture long repressed. Several deal with violence and the effort to escape from the pervasive, and so often destructive, white influence and system. In most, the enduring strength of the Indian past is very much in evidence, evoked as a kind of counterpoint to the repression and aimlessness that have marked, and still mark today, the lives of so many American Indians. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

Humanity has nearly destroyed its world through global warming, but now an even greater evil lurks. The indigenous people of North America are being hunted and harvested for their bone marrow, which carries the key to recovering something the rest of the population has lost: the ability to dream. In this dark world, Frenchie and his companions struggle to survive as they make their way up north to the old lands. For now, survival means staying hidden … but what they don’t know is that one of them holds the secret to defeating the marrow thieves.

Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

Thunder in the Mountains: Chief Joseph, Oliver Otis Howard, and the Nez Perce War by Daniel J. Sharfstein Recreating the Nez Perce War through the voices of its survivors, Daniel J. Sharfstein’s visionary history of the West casts Howard’s turn away from civil rights alongside the nation’s rejection of racial equality and embrace of empire. The conflict becomes a pivotal struggle over who gets to claim the American dream: a battle of ideas about the meaning of freedom and equality, the mechanics of American power, and the limits of what the government can and should do for its people. The war that Howard and Joseph fought is one that Americans continue to fight today. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Where the Dead Sit Talking by Brandon Hobson With his single mother in jail, Sequoyah, a fifteen-year-old Cherokee boy, is placed in foster care with the Troutt family. Literally and figuratively scarred by his mother’s years of substance abuse, Sequoyah keeps mostly to himself, living with his emotions pressed deep below the surface. At least until he meets seventeen-year-old Rosemary, a troubled artist who also lives with the family. Sequoyah and Rosemary bond over their shared Native American background and tumultuous paths through the foster care system, but as Sequoyah’s feelings toward Rosemary deepen, the precariousness of their lives and the scars of their pasts threaten to undo them both. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

#featured bookshelf #ucflibrary #native americans #native american heritage month #booklr #reading #tbr

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morwensteelsheen · 4 years ago

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I’m starting grad school this autumn and honestly I’m getting nervous. Like yes I am v excited about the whole prospect overall and I do miss being a student but am intimidated by 3 hr long seminars and thesis writing and massive amounts of reading… everyone keeps saying it’s gonna be very different from undergrad so okay, but how specifically? Is it the large amounts of reading? I already had insane amounts of reading (humanities degree hurrah) especially in my last two years but could you expound on your own experience and how you take notes/read quickly/summarize or just how to deal with first time grad students?

Oh, yeah for sure! A necessary disclaimer here is that I'm at a certain poncy English institution that is noted for being very bad at communicating with its students and very bad at treating its postgrad students like human beings, so a lot of these strategies I've picked up will be overkill for anyone who has the good sense to go somewhere not profoundly evil lol.

So I'll just preface this by saying that I am a very poor student in terms of doing what you're supposed to. I'm very bad at taking notes, I never learned how to do it properly, and I really, really struggle with reading dense literature. That said, I'm probably (hopefully?) going to get through this dumb degree just fine. Also — my programme is a research MPhil, not taught, so it's a teensy bit more airy-fairy in terms of structure. I had two classes in Michaelmas term, both were once a week for two hours each; two in Lent, one was two hours weekly, the other two hours biweekly; and no classes at all in Easter. I also have no exam component, I was/am assessed entirely on three essays (accounting for 30% of my overall mark) and my dissertation (the remaining 70%), which is, I think, a little different to how some other programmes are. I think even some of the other MPhils here are more strenuous than that, like Econ and Soc Hist is like 100% dissertation? Anyways, not super important, but knowing what you're getting marked on is important. I dedicated considerably less time than I did in undergrad to perfecting my coursework essays because they just don't hold as much weight now. The difference between a 68 and a 70 just wasn't worth the fuss for me, which helped keep me sane-ish.

The best advice anyone ever gave me was that, whereas an undergrad degree can kind of take over your life without it becoming a problem, you need to treat grad school like a job. That's not because it's more 'serious' or whatever, but because if you don't set a really strict schedule and keep to it, you'll burn yourself out and generally make your life miserable. Before I went back on my ADD meds at the end of Michaelmas term, I sat myself down at my desk and worked from 11sh to 1800ish every day. Now that I'm medicated, I do like 9:30-10ish to 1800-1900 (except for now that I'm crunching on my diss, where, because of my piss-poor time management skills I'm stuck doing, like, 9:30-22:30-23:00). If you do M-F 9-5, you'll be getting through an enormous amount of work and leaving yourself loads of time to still be a human being on the edges. That'll be the difference between becoming a postgrad zombie and a person who did postgrad. I am a postgrad zombie. You do not want to be like me.

The 'work' element of your days can really vary. It's not like I was actually consistently reading for all that time — my brain would have literally melted right out of my ears — but it was about setting the routine and the expectation of dedicating a certain, consistent and routinized period of time for focusing on the degree work every day. My attention span, even when I'm medicated, is garbage, so I would usually read for two or three hours, then either work on the more practical elements of essay planning, answer emails, or plot out the early stages of my research.

In the first term/semester/whatever, lots of people who are planning on going right into a PhD take the time to set up their applications and proposals. I fully intended on doing a PhD right after the MPhil, but the funding as an international student trying to deal with the pandemic proved super problematic, and I realised that the toll it was taking on my mental health was just so not worth it, so I've chosen to postpone a few years. You'll feel a big ol' amount of pressure to go into a PhD during your first time. Unless you're super committed to doing it, just try and tune it out as much as you can. There's absolutely nothing wrong with taking a year (or two, or three, or ten) out, especially given the insane conditions we're all operating under right now.

I'll be honest with you, I was a phenomenally lazy undergrad. It was only by the grace of god and being a hard-headed Marxist that I managed to pull out a first at the eleventh hour. So the difference between UG and PG has been quite stark for me. I've actually had to do the reading this year, not just because they're more specialised and relevant to my research or whatever, but because, unlike in UG, the people in the programme are here because they're genuinely interested (and not because it's an economic necessity) and they don't want to waste their time listening to people who haven't done the reading.

I am also a really bad reader. Maybe it's partially the ADD + dyslexia, but mostly it's because I just haven't practiced it and never put in the requisite effort to learn how to do it properly. My two big pointers here are learning how to skim, and learning how to prioritise your reading.

This OpenU primer on skimming is a bit condescending in its simplicity, but it gets the point across well. You're going to want to skim oh, say, 90% of the reading you're assigned. This is not me encouraging you to be lazy, it's me being honest. Not every word of every published article or book is worth reading. The vast majority of them aren't. That doesn't mean the things that those texts are arguing for aren't worth reading, it just means that every stupid rhetorical flourish included by bored academics hoping for job security and/or funding and/or awards isn't worth your precious and scarce time. Make sure you get the main thrust of each text, make sure you pull out and note down one or two case studies and move right the hell on. There will be some authors whose writing will be excellent, and who you will want to read all of. Everything else gets skimmed.

Prioritisation is the other big thing. You're going to have shitty weeks, you're probably going to have lots of them. First off, you're going to need to forgive yourself for those now — everybody has them, yes, even the people who graduated with distinctions and go on to get lovely £100,000 AHRC scholarships. Acknowledge that there will be horrible weeks, accept it now, and then strategise for how to get ahead of them. My personal strategy is to plan out what I'm trying to get out of each course I take, and then focus only on the readings that relate to that topic.

I took a course in Lent term that dealt with race and empire in Britain between 1607 and 1900; I'm a researcher of the Scottish far left from 1968-present, so the overlap wasn't significant. But I decided from the very first day of the course that I was there to get a better grasp about the racial theories of capitalism and the role of racial othering in Britain's subjugation of Ireland. Those things are helpful to me because white supremacist capitalism comes up hourly in my work on the far left, and because the relationship of the Scottish far left to Ireland is extremely important to its self definition. On weeks when I couldn't handle anything else, I just read the texts related to that. And it was fine, I did fine, I got my stupid 2:1 on the final essay, and I came out of it not too burnt out to work on my dissertation.

Here is where I encourage you to learn from my mistakes: get yourself a decent group of people who you can have in depth conversations about the material with. I was an asshole who decided I didn't need to do that with any posh C*mbr*dge twats, and I have now condemned myself to babbling incomprehensible nonsense at my partner because I don't have anyone on my course to work through my ideas with. These degrees are best experienced when they're experienced socially. In recent years (accelerated by the pandemic, ofc), universities have de-emphasised the social component of postgrad work, largely to do with stupid, long-winded stuff related to postgrad union organising etc. It's a real shame because postgrads end up feeling quite socially isolated, and because they're not having these fun and challenging conversations, their work actually suffers in the long term. This is, and I cannot stress this enough, the biggest departure from undergrad. Even the 'weak links' or whatever judgemental nonsense are there because they want to be. That is going to be your biggest asset. Talk, talk, talk. Listen, listen, listen. Offer to proofread people's papers so you get a sense of how people are thinking about things, what sort of style they're writing in, what sources they're referring to. Be a sponge and a copycat (but don't get done for plagiarism, copy like this.) Also: ask questions that seem dumb. For each of your classes, ask your tutors/lecturers who they think the most important names in their discipline are. It sounds silly, but it's really helpful to know the intellectual landscape you're dealing with, and it means you know whose work you can go running to if you get lost or tangled up during essay or dissertation writing!

You should also be really honest about everything — another piece of advice that I didn't follow and am now suffering for. The people on your courses and in your cohort are there for the same reasons as you, have more or less the same qualifications as you, and are probably going to have a lot of the same questions and insecurities as you. If you hear an unfamiliar term being used in a seminar, just speak up and ask about it, because there're going to be loads of other people wondering too. But you should also cultivate quite a transparent relationship with your supervisor. I was really cagey and guarded with mine because my hella imposter syndrome told me she was gonna throw my ass out of the programme if I admitted to my problems. Turns out no, she wouldn't, and that actually she's been a super good advocate for me. If you feel your motivation slipping or if you feel like you're facing challenges you could do with a little extra support on, go right to your supervisor. Not only is that what they're there to do, they've also done this exact experience before and are going to be way more sympathetic and aware of the realities of it than, say, the uni counselling service or whatever.

Yeah so I gotta circle back to the notes thing... I really do not take notes. It's my worst habit. Here's an example of the notes I took for my most recent meeting with my supervisor (revising a chapter draft).

No sane person would ever look at these and think this is a system worth replicating lol. But the reason they work for me is because I also record (with permission) absolutely everything. My mobile is like 90% audio recordings of meetings and seminars lol. So these notes aren't 'good' notes, but they're effective for recalling major points in the audio recording so I can listen to what was said when I need to.

Sorry none of this is remotely organised because it's like 2330 here and my brain is so soft and mushy. I'm literally just writing things as I remember them.

Right, so: theory is a big thing. Lots of people cheap out on this and it's to their own detriment. You say you're doing humanities, and tbh, most of the theory involved on the humanities side of the bridge is interdisciplinary anyways, so I'm just gonna give you some recommendations. The big thing is to read these things and try to apply them to what you're writing about. This sounds so fucking condescending but getting, like, one or two good theoretical frameworks in your papers will actually put you leaps and bounds beyond the students around you and really improve your research when the time comes. Also: don't read any of these recommendations without first watching, like an intro youtube video or listening to a podcast. The purists will tell you that's the wrong way to do it, but I am a lazy person and lazy people always find the efficient ways to do things, so I will tell the purists to go right to hell.

Check out these impenetrable motherfuckers (just one or two will take your work from great to excellent, so don't feel obliged to dig into them all):

Karl Marx and Fredrich Engels (I'm not just pushing my politics, but also, I totally am) — don't fucking read Capital unless you're committed to it. Oh my god don't put yourself through that unless you really have to. Try, like, the 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoleon for the fun quotes, and Engels on the family.

Frantz Fanon — Wretched of the Earth. Black Skin White Masks also good, slightly more impossible to read

Benedict Anderson — Imagined Communities. It's about nationalism, but you will be surprised at how applicable it is to... so many other topics

Judith Butler — she really sucks to read. I love her. But she sucks to read. If you do manage to read her though, your profs will love you because like 90% of the people who say they've read her are lying

Bourdieu — Distinction is good for a lot of things, but especially for introducing the idea of social and cultural capital. There's basically no humanities sub-discipline that can't run for miles on that alone.

Crenshaw — the genesis of intersectionality. But, like, actually read her, not the ingrates who came after her and defanged intersectionality into, like, rainbow bombs dropped over Gaza.

The other thing is that you should read for fun. My programme director was absolutely insistent that we all continue to read for pleasure while we did this degree, not just because it's good for destressing, but because keeping your cultural horizons open actually makes your writing better and more interesting. I literally read LOTR for the first time in, like February, and the difference in my writing and thinking from before and after is tangible, because not only did it give me something fun to think about when I was getting stressy, but it also opened up lots of fun avenues for thought that weren't there before. I read LOTR and wanted to find out more about English Catholics in WWI, and lo and behold something I read about it totally changed how I did my dissertation work. Or, like, a girl on my course who read the Odyssey over Christmas Break and then started asking loads of questions about the role of narrative creation in the archival material she was using. It was seriously such a good edict from our director.

Also, oh my god, if you do nothing else, please take this bit seriously: forgive yourself for the bad days. The pressure in postgrad is fucking unreal. Nobody, nobody is operating at 100% 100% of the time. If you aim for 60% for 80% of the time and only actually achieve 40% for 60% of the time, you will still be doing really fucking well. Don't beat yourself up unnecessarily. Don't make yourself feel bad because you're not churning out publishable material every single day. Some days you just need to lie on the couch, order takeout, and watch 12 hours of Jeopardy or whatever, and I promise you that that is a good and worthwhile thing to do. You don't learn and grow without rest, so forgive yourself for the moments and days of unplanned rest, and forgive yourself for when you don't score as highly as you want to, and forgive yourself when you say stupid things in class or don't do all of (or any of) the class reading.

Uhhhh I think I'm starting to lose the plot a bit now. Honestly, just ping me whatever questions you have and I'm happy to answer them. There's a chance I'll be slower to respond over the next few days because my dissertation is due in a week (holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but I will definitely respond. And honestly, no question is too dumb lol. I wish I'd been able to ask someone about things like what citation management software is best or how to set up a desk for maximum efficiency or whatever, but I was a scaredy-cat about it and didn't. So yeah, ask away and I will totally answer.

#asks

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terradisirene · 4 years ago

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Recently I saw an essay about how Hima’s portrayal of the Italy brothers was racist and xenophobic, in addition to being poor and one dimensional, and I couldn’t agree less.

Link to google docs version

Also although I prefer Romano I honestly think North Italy is a interesting and well developed character although that is easy to miss for some. Both of them are developed and shown wonderfully in canon and I continue to be eager to see more. In this essay I will show why I believe their portrayals are well done and how they are accurate to the situation in Italy as well as to it’s history and culture (That being said if you prefer a different interpretation that’s fine, there can be many different narratives)

North Italy does seem at first glance to be more talented, kind, and politically inclined. However this is not the entire story. Likewise Romano seems more rude and undesirable, but this is not everything in canon regarding him. In one strip Romano is noted to have a good deal of potential by Prussia and Germany, showing that he can be hard working and talented if he makes the effort. In the strip where Romano goes to America he also is quite confident in his cooking talents which America is actually impressed by. In another strip America even calls his cooking the best, and Romano himself is in later decades proud of his cooking, showing that yes he is good at things, and yes he is talented.

The problem is is that Romano does not have to motivation often to use his talents and work ethic. There are many reasons for this that Himaruya both states and alludes to. Firstly Himaruya states that being owned by various powers had a negative effect on Romano and that mismanagement by his rulers lead him to seem lazy since their mismanaged ruling rubbed off on him. Basically political control, corruption , and mismanagement stymied south Italy’s growth, which is true depending on the era and time period and true regarding modern day. Also in one strip after Romano makes an effort to work hard, but all his efforts come to nothing and he eventually grows resigned. I believe this is a reflection of the fact that there is an attitude among some south Italians of resignation towards politicians and things improving for themselves, such as shown in the song La Citta di Pulcinella (translation). Himaruya also touches on this when he notes the harmful affect the Mafia has on south Italy in his notes and even laments that fact.

Basically Romano has the potential to be just as good as north Italy but is unable to be because of historical circumstances and due to the harmful effect of corruption. Romano’s rudeness and lack of evident kindness and cynical worldview is also a result of this as he has been at the mercy of the mafia both in real life and in canon. Hima notes his cynicism is due to the harmful effects of the mafia and how they have hurt him . Romano in my opinion has reason to be rude, he has reason to be unkind, he has reason to be cynical, the mafia continues to be a serious issue and was even worse in the past, and thus his world view has been affected by how he has suffered at their hands. He also has to deal with the fact that he feels he is compared to north Italy, and openly feels and says he is not good enough or talented enough compared to him. This is based in reality. The north is often seen as better than the south and indeed it is more wealthy, does have better infrastructure, x does have more industry and renown and Romano is clearly sour because of this. Himaruya showing someone reacting negatively towards adverse circumstances i think is not a negative stereotype but just showing the harmful effects of the situation of the south. Romano is not totally unkind either. Despite their conflicts he does care about his brother, he often shows a lot concern for Spain and worries about him, he is kind to women generally , and has some nations he is friendly with like Japan Netherlands and Belgium . So in sum hima does not show Romano as unkind, but as a complex being who can be both kind and unkind like many people.

The south is seen as a land of little opportunity, dirty, unclean and full of crime by the north that is true, however sadly that perception has some perception in reality. For example many southerners leave the south to find work up north and stay there. This even happens to one of the protagonists of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels and it is seen as escaping Naples to make a better life for herself while the other protagonist stays stuck in Naples, stunted by the lack of opportunity and male oppression that she struggles against all her life. Naples also sadly has a serious trash problem as does Rome, there is even a facebook page titled “Rome is disgusting” in Italian showing the trash problems of Rome. The mafia also dumps toxic waste around Naples, leading to high rates of sickness and cancer in the population compared to other parts of Italy due to the fact that the toxic waste seeps into the ground water and the plants grown around the area.

Romano feels interior to North Italy and seems so at first glance because that is a reflection of the sad situation of the divide between north and south. However again note I said ‘at first glance’, because while many write off the south at first glance there is a richness and beautify behind that with its rich culture and the beauty of it’s people, as there is with Romano, which I note with his hidden and subtle kindness in canon .

Romano’s Arabic blood and darker appearance is due the fact that Arabs from north Africa invaded Sicily, ruled there for about two hundred years, and left a lasting cultural legacy behind there. It makes sense he has Arabic blood, as well as the fact that some, though not all, southern Italians do have a darker complexation (some also have red hair, blonde hair, hazel eyes, or blue eyes, due to Norman influence too). However that doesn’t mean they are poc (in Italy persone di colore is used instead) and even though Romano does have some Arabic blood frankly he would not be seen as non white in Italy. I don’t really think it’s right to bring up a poc argument in regards to him given that. In addition to that Italy also has a problem regarding xenophobia and racism in regards to African immigrants and Romani and many suffer and are marginalized there, something Romano would not experience in that regard. Romano is also noted to have a “Darker” nature, but this is again because of the mafia. He is affected and blighted by them, it’s not a reference to his coloring but to his cynicism and how they have drained him and his people of the prosperity they could have had otherwise. He is also noted to be “dirtier” not in the sense of being messy or unclean but in how his image looks, and the expressions he makes, this is a reference to the south’s rougher and more intense nature. It’s often said that the more south you go, the more intense and more of the nature of Italy you get and indeed the south of Italy is often said to be a love it or hate it place.

There is also additional canon reasons for Romano’s bitterness and darker personality like how he feels Rome favored north Italy (There may be historical reasons for this but I am limiting this essay to what is stated openly or alluded to more obviously in canon) and how he seems to feel haunted by his legacy. And as for other nations favoring North Italy over him, some do not like Spain and Belgium, and the the fact that some seem to is also sadly reflective of reality as many people only pay attention to or visit the north of Italy, neglecting or avoiding the south and only looking at the cities of Venice, Florence and Milan and not Palermo, Naples, or Caligari.

While the two brothers did not meet in Rome’s lifetime there is no indication this lasted until the Italian wars during the 1500′s portrayed in the canon strips . In fact during Spain’s rule of south Italy shortly after Romano is shown mentioning he is going to travel to visit his brother so they clearly had met by this point. Due to the nature of canon himaruya jumps across time periods often and so we do not always see everything that occurs within or before a certain time period. Sometimes he returns later, and sometimes he does not, though he could in the future. As for North Italy’s reactions to his struggles people have different reactions to hard situations, and that is not wrong, not everyone will struggle in the same way. It’s not something that indicates a lack of character but just a personality facet. Not everything has to contribute to development and that doesn’t mean a uninteresting or uncomplex character. Some people are simply affected differently by traumatic events. That being said I find it interesting he seems to hold a deep fear of angering others as well as some fear of abandonment .

We will turn to North Italy again. Yes he is cute, but that is not all his character is. He is far more than that. He is kind , he is intelligent , he is noted to be good at business, he is also fashionable and knows how to get what he wants out of people, he also can be a bit vulgar sometimes. He also was good at warfare when he was a child, and if one looks into the time period of the strips it seems he lessens in his ability the longer he is under Austria’s domain. He is also good at art, he is good at cooking, and he is even also not exactly the nicest person .

I have noticed that many people miss this but sometimes he is actually a little sneaky and mean . This is most evident with Romano actually. In one of their first appearances together when Romano asks Italy to complement him Italy outright refuses, backs away, and as a result makes Romano cry more than he had before and he flies off. In another comic Italy goes up to Romano, seems surprised he is working, and Romano is visibly hurt by this, he also seems to even doubt Romano’s ability to even do so, offering to do work for him which Romano is bothered by . Finally Italy has been shown to get outright angry at Romano at times, in one drawing he is yelling at Romano over the Venice independence referendum, saying Romano doesn’t want him around anyways . While North Italy does love his brother he clearly is not the nicest person to him at times which does little to motivate Romano to do much of anything, and sadly North Italy does not treat him as a equal really given how condescending he can sometimes be. He also is a little rude to Japan at times, like when they are in the bath, sort of hinting he thinks Japan has a small dick. In addition to this he is pretty sneaky and sometimes even flirty in regards to Germany and is able to really get Germany to do whatever he wants, though this is more evident in World Stars .

As for everyone liking him in the past he and Turkey were antagonistic, with Turkey stating he hated kids as a result of him (And Greece), and Austria was often angry and frustrated with him. In modern times Belarus has shown aggression to him when he tried to feel her chest and was visibly angry with good reason to be. The other girls didn’t allow him to do so either, but all had various reactions. From Monaco and Belgium not taking him seriously and gloating over their superior gambling and waffles respectively to Wy giving him rather done look and telling him to buzz off, to Taiwan being upset and telling him off, Vietnam having none of it and glaring at him, to the most surprising of them all, Ukraine openly flirting with him and giving him a seductive gaze he is a little intimidated by . His relationships are clearly not predictable but are interesting and fun to see and clearly not everyone thinks he is cute or is willing to put up with him especially the girls ironically. Switzerland too shows little tolerance for Italy’s antics, but is willing to spend time him civilly as long as he behaves himself , Russia too has gotten impatient with him at times, and so has Japan. And as for France he’s a interesting case, since at times he can be brotherly towards Italy but at the same time is also willing to tell him off, like when he actually hit him for asking for the Mona Lisa back. People like Italy, but not everyone does and even those who like him don’t like him all the time.

Frankly I think their characters make perfect sense. Romano’s anger and resentment is rooted in many things. In how people compare him and his brother, on his brother’s lackluster treatment of him, in the oppressions of the mafia, the years of being ruled over by other nations, and by poverty, neglect, and corrupt politics. North Italy for his part is frustrated by Romano and often doesn’t understand him and thinks his brother his weighing him down, though he fails to see how he is also contributing to his brother’s resignation and lack of self worth. He instead tries to work hard and do his best, while sucking up to others and making himself seem charming and pleasing to get what he wants and not make others angry at him. In fact he seems to have a deep and pressing fear of others being angry at him.

In sum I think canon does a good job with both of their characters. It shows them in a humorous nature in accordance with the genre of the strips while still leaving room for character complexity along with historical and cultural references and allusions, as well as reflecting both aspects of the historical and modern situation of north and south Italy depending on what time period the strip is set. Romano is shown to be rude, difficult, sometimes violent, and darker, however these are only traits that come as a result of the abandonment of Rome, the poverty and corruption of his land, and the malign influence and harm of the mafia affecting him. In addition to this he is also sometimes kind, fun loving, emotional, sensitive, a hard worker when he tries to be, is shown to be a talented cook, someone with a good deal of potential, and someone who has people who like him like Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, and Japan. On the other hand Italy is shown to yes, be kind and cute, but canon also shows him to be flirty, sneaky, angry, resentful, intelligent, and even a little rude at times. Many people like him, but not all do, for example Belarus, or many do not like him all the time and show impatience with him like Wy, France, Romano, and Switzerland. The difficulties he has experienced have not affected him in the same way they have Romano but that’s to be expected, for the two did not go though the same things and it’s only normal for people to have different reactions to trauma, some handling it better than others. This does not denote a lack of character complexity or development but just a different kind of person and temperament. I think that this shows that both Italy and Romano are interesting and complex characters and that himaruya in my opinion has done his work and research in trying to develop them and do strips for them. He does not indulge in colorism or xenophobia but merely seeks to show the good and bad of both sides of Italy and the complex reality of the south today and in history which has it’s bad and good points.

As a side note in Valentino strip is unfinished and Germany and Italy never discuss their respective feelings or misunderstandings and Italy is less uncomfortable and more confused and worried that Germany is angry at him.

#hetalia #aph romano #aph south italy #hws romano #hws south italy #(i'll be back soon btw just revamping some blogs)

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thedeaditeslayer · 4 years ago

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Bruce Campbell talks ‘Evil Dead,’ ‘Spider-Man,’ ‘Xena’

The first time Bruce Campbell came across Sam Raimi, they were students at Michigan’s West Maple Junior High School.

“Sam was a year younger than me,” Campbell recalls, “and I remember him dressed as Sherlock Holmes playing with dolls in the middle of the floor. And I remember going way around him. And I found out later that it was Sam Raimi. We didn’t really come into contact until we got until high school.”

What a connection they made. After bonding over D.I.Y. filmmaking, Campbell and Raimi went on to do 1978 shoestring horror-short “Within the Woods” together, which they evolved into 1981 demonic thriller “Evil Dead.”

Campbell would periodically reprise signature “Evil Dead” character Ash Williams in various sequels and offshoots. And appear in Raimi-produced “Xena: Warrior Princess,” portraying slippery “king of thieves” Autolycus on that ’90s-iconic TV fantasy epic.

And then there’s Campbell’s memorable cameos in Raimi’s blockbuster, Tobey Maguire-starring “Spider-Man” film trilogy: the ring announced in the first, 2002 film, “snooty usher” in the 2004 sequel and a maître d’ in 2007′s “Spider-Man 3.”

Of course, Campbell’s made a mark outside that dynamic duo. He drew raves for his portrayal of a nursing-home-bound Elvis Presley in 2002 indie comedy-horror gem, “Bubba Ho-Tep.” Then there’s his role of Sam Axe on USA Network spy drama “Burn Notice.” Not to mention numerous other film, TV, voice acting and even video-game work.

The cult-fave actor will make his first ever trip to Huntsville this week, for Oct. 24 events at Von Braun Center’s Mark C. Smith Concert Hall featuring “Evil Dead” screenings followed by a Campbell-led chat about the film, his life as an actor and beyond. Tickets for these 3 and 7:30 p.m. events start at $32, via ticketmaster.com.

His upcoming projects include a comedy album with actor Ted Raimi, Sam’s brother, called “The Lost Recordings.” Campbell also is readying a book of essays called “The Cool Side of My Pillow,” which finds him riffing on subjects ranging from noise to the environment. He hopes to have both released by the end of this year. More info at bruce-campbell.com. On a recent afternoon, Campbell checked in from his Oregon home for a phone interview. Edited excerpts are below.

Bruce, when you do an “Evil Dead” screening event, do your discussions turn up new things about the film or that you haven’t thought of in a long time?

Every show turns up something new because it puts you on the spot. Someone will say something that will then trigger something that you had forgot. I just sat down the other day before one of these shows with my guy who is my frontman and I was like, “OK, l’m just going to tell the story of making this movie.” It’s not for questions I’m just going to tell you basically what you’re about to see. But yeah, every show triggers some new thing. I’ve seen the movie. I know how it ends. But that is the challenge, finding some new, weird tidbits.

Back in high school how did you and Sam Raimi first bond? Did you share a class or something?

Basically I got into typing class, that’s what started it. I could not believe I was stuck in this stupid class where everyone around me seemed to know how to type. I’m like, “How do you know this?” It was very frustrating. So I went to a counselor for the first time ever – I’d never gone to try to get out of anything.

So I go there and I say, “Hey can I drop this dumb typing class?” She goes, "Yeah, what do you want? I go, “What do you got?” So she comes up with “radio speech.” And I’m like, “Radio speech? Wait they do the morning announcements (at school) and stuff?” and I’m like yeah let me get all over that.

So I got into a class and Sam Raimi was also in the class. And the guy who taught radio speech also directed all the plays. We didn’t know how critical that was. The first year I couldn’t get in anything in my high school. I was auditioning for everything but I didn’t have a class with this guy. By the next year I had a class with him, and then me and Sam were in basically all the plays after that. We found out how the deal worked.

So I met him in radio speech and we’d do the morning announcements together and got to talking about what we do in our neighborhoods. I was making little regular-8 (millimeter film) movies and Sam was making Super-8 movies. So we started to join forces during the course of that high school run, that two or three years in there.

We were very productive. We didn’t really get into trouble because we were too busy like filming parties. We wouldn’t go to the parties we’d film the parties and use them in some way in our little films so it was a great guerrilla filmmaking period.

A celeb or well-known person you were surprised to learn they’re an “Evil Dead” fan?

I heard Charlie Sheen, one of his favorite things was to smoke a doobie and watch “Evil Dead 2,” and Alice Cooper’s favorite horror movie is “Evil Dead.”

If it’s good enough for Alice Cooper it’s good enough for me. You host the quiz show “Last Fan Standing.” What do you make of the mainstreaming of nerd-culture?

Every generation has its deal. In the ’40s most moviegoers were in their 40s and so the actors were in their 40s. Humphrey Bogart and Spencer Tracy and all the guys were in their 40s. You didn’t have to be 21. And then as the audience got younger the actors got younger and the people who run the companies get younger and so they’re really just catering to what’s popular.

Comic books have always been popular but now they’re really popular. Not really sure what that’s all about but yeah social media has certainly helped but I think it’s another form of escapism. Whenever times get weird, people want escapism. During The Depression they did the Busby Berkeley splashy musicals where everyone was happy all the time, when life was really miserable. And some decades where we’re really doing okay, the movies turned introspective and we go after ourselves and figure out why we’re like this and like that. And so I think we’re in a phase where we just want to be taken away to another galaxy and Marvel is very happy to help.

And you’ve been a part of that. In Sam’s “Spider-Man” trilogy, which of your cameos did you have the most fun with?

Well I don’t know it’s hard to lineate because they’re so critical. The first one I named Spider-Man. If I wasn’t in the movie a billion dollar franchise would be called The Human Spider. He wants to get in the theater in the second one, past the snooty usher who won’t let him in because he’s late, because it will spoil the illusion, so I think I’m technically the only character who’s ever defeated Spider-Man. And in part three, a superhero comes to a mortal for help. He wants me to help him propose to his girlfriend so it’s sort of a landmark case where a superhero goes to a mortal for help which is pretty rare. So I can’t delineate because they’re all critical to the “Spider-Man” universe.

Do you have any cool mementos from "Evil Dead or elsewhere from your career? Maybe something like the chainsaw from “Evil Dead 2”?

You know, it’s weird I’m not a hoarder, I’m not a collector. My brother, he has the shotgun from “Evil Dead,” but not because he loves movie trivia, he just likes guns. My brother also has I think the set of keys to the original cabin. That’s a pretty good one. Not sure how he got that one.

I have weirder ones. Like I have a prop from a 1989 movie called “Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat.” I have Van Helsing’s holy bottle where he shakes the holy water at them. And I have what I call my tchotchke shelf, where most people would look at it and they couldn’t identify what importance each item is, but there’s a story for each one.

Some of your favorite actors outside the horror genre?

Oh, I l love a lot of the old time actors. William Holden, he starred in “Bridge on The River Kwai” one of my favorite movies. I like the guys who had to work a lot. In the old days and actor would finish a job on Friday he was under contract, he took two weeks off and started a new movie a couple weeks later. Actors kind of just do one or two movies a year if they’re lucky these days and it doesn’t help them refine their craft.

I feel like the guys who worked a lot got good because they got really used to the process. I’m a fan of the studio system. Not all movies were good and not every actor was happy under the studio system, but I think a busy actor’s a good actor.

For your role in “Bubba Ho-Tep,” what was your process for tapping into Elvis’s vibe?

What guy doesn’t want to be Elvis, you know? So I worked with an Elvis impersonator for about a half an hour and then he gave up on me. He goes, “Look, man, you’re never going to get it.” I’m like, “Wow either I suck or you suck as a teacher but somebody here sucks.”

No, but I watched a bunch of footage and documentaries. There’s a good one, all his Memphis Mafia who worked with him, a filmmaker basically got them all drunk one night and interviewed them all and that’s where the good stories are. You learn a little more of the human side of him. But that’s pretty much it. I’ve never been a stage performer so mercifully there wasn’t that much of it, just in quick flashbacks.

And there’s a part of me, in the back of my mind, I want to know that Elvis' descendants, somebody, a daughter, niece, somebody has watched that movie and approved. We’ll see.

I thought it was a cool creative take on that whole Elvis thing.

I agree. That’s why I did it. It was one of the weirdest scripts I’ve ever read But yet it wraps up though. It has a weird premise but it has a really interesting theme of what do you do with old people. Do we forget these old people? And are they still useful in society, old people? And I thought it had a sweet ending, that these two old guys they kind of rally themselves one more time.

What’s a well-known role you’ve turned down?

Turned down? I don’t have a lot of those. I don’t operate in that rarified air of saying, “Oh I turned ‘Titanic’ down.” I tried to get a part in a studio movie called “The Phantom” and Billy Zane wound up getting the part." And it was down to me and Billy, I was number two for the job, but I didn’t really enjoy the process very much because it seemed more political than actually acting. It was amazing how many people you had to audition for, and you had to go up the ranks and each time it got a little more tense as you move up. So I’m good doing these weirdo little movies.

I read the budget for “Within the Woods,” the predecessor of “Evil Dead,” was a princely 1,600 bucks. What was the most expensive line item, you think?

Food and probably fake blood. Tom Sullivan, who did the special effects, probably needed to mold a few things, so he probably spent a couple hundred bucks on molds. A lot of it was footage because Sam Raimi likes to shoot footage, so we probably bought a lot of rolls of film. And we did go to a cabin to shoot it, so had to get in the car and travel so maybe a little gas money in there too. That’s about it.

What can you tell us about the status of the next installment of the “Evil Dead” franchise?

We’re honing-in, circling the building now trying to lock in a partner. We have a couple of bidders and we’re trying to just find the correct suitor and we have a script written and a director picked. Sam Raimi hand -picked a guy named Lee Cronin, who’s a very good Irish filmmaker. And it’s got a very good modern tale. It’s a modern-day urban “Evil Dead,” it’s called “Evil Dead Rise.” And we’re hoping to do that next year.

You were a producer on 2013 “Evil Dead” remake. What’s the key to making a reboot effective?

Well rebooting can be very confusing and frustrating and not always successful. Reboot, sequel, remake we have all these crazy terms. What we’re doing now is we’re saying," Look, this is another ‘Evil Dead’ movie and that book gets around, a lot of people run into it and it’s another story." The main key with “Evil Dead” is they’re just regular people who are battling what seems to be a very unstoppable evil, and so that’s where the horror comes from. It’s not someone who’s skilled. They’re not fighting a soldier. They’re not fighting a scientist. They’re not fighting anybody more than your average neighbor. This one is going to be a similar thing. We’re going to have a heroine, a woman in charge, and she’s going to try and save her family.

Speaking of a female protagonist, when you’re at a con or meet fans somewhere, who has the most passionate superfans: “Evil Dead” or “Xena”?

“Xena” hits them at an emotional level. Like, they’ll come up to me and Lucy Lawless (the actor who played the show’s title role) and just burst into tears, because her character helped them get through a difficult time. “Xena” is more representative of overcoming your struggles in life. “Evil Dead” fans are pretty fervent but they don’t cry as much.

#Bruce Campbell #Evil Dead Rise

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first-son-of-finwe · 5 years ago

Text

So this is my “leaving the fold” essay, which I mentioned some time ago. I wrote this mostly for myself because writing things down always helps me make sense of them, but quite a few people expressed interest in it, so here it is.

I was raised as quite a strict Orthodox Christian, and the religion is a huge part of my mum’s life. This is mostly my experience of its ideas and processes, and how and why I ultimately decided to leave. It’s a bit rambling, all over the place and very long, but I kinda wanted to post it somewhere, so 🤷

TW for mentions of abortion, alcoholism and general conflict.

When I was twelve or thirteen, my parents and I set off on one of our regular trips to Russia. We used to do this every year before time and money became restricted, and one of our compulsory stops was always a large, sprawling monastery on the outskirts of the city of Nizhny Novgorod.

It’s a place of smiling nuns but very strict rules, where God forms a part of every sentence and church is mandatory for both mornings and evenings. It’s a place of communal meals, harvesting vegetables and milking cows, ringing bells, and lots and lots of praying. For me, it was a taste of pure rural life. I loved running through the fields, swimming in the pond and helping out with the manual tasks of running a communal settlement. I gasped in delight when I saw the lone horse in the field. Deep down I was never meant to be a city kid, and being at the monastery fuelled my dream of living the simple life.

But the fact that we were there purely for religious reasons? That was only an afterthought. An obligatory thing I had to go along with, because the adults expected it. Perhaps I tried to feel the same spirituality they seemed to experience, but I never quite got there.

I put on the headscarf, held the candle, wrote the names of my loved ones on prayer notes for the living. I bowed to the icons, made the sign of the cross when everyone else did. But I never truly connected.

One year on the day of a particularly significant celebration, a huge icon was carried over a horde of kneeling worshippers, and my mum told me to kneel down and pray for my dad to recover from his alcoholism. And so I did.

This is something I’d been praying for for a long time. It’s something I was told to pray for at every holy site, and before every relic. And no, he’s never quit drinking.

But I already knew that he wouldn’t, even as I knelt, closed my eyes and begged whichever saint was on that icon to help my dad quit drinking. I simply knew that it didn’t work that way.

I knew it the same way I knew that Santa wasn’t real. Every child seems to have experienced a shock-horror moment upon learning that they’d been deceived, but I recognised him for what he was right from the start - a story. For someone who’s always thrown themselves wholeheartedly into stories and fantasy, I’ve always had a very clear distinction between fact and fiction - though I’ve also not been so close-minded as to think that there isn’t a grey area in between.

No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I don’t think I ever truly believed in their version of what was supposed to be happening.

But I think my moving away from Orthodoxy truly began the day I heard my mum on the phone to her friend, who was at the beginning of a difficult pregnancy and was considering an abortion. She and her husband were on different pages with regards to this, though I don’t quite remember who wanted what. My mother’s advice was this: “Well you should really listen to your husband, because you know that a husband’s word is God’s word.”

Even being the believer that I was then, my immediate reaction was complete shock, followed by a thought process that went something like “Are you joking?? SERIOUSLY?”

And of course, it was hard not to think of my own father in his worst moments of drunkenness. So it seems “God’s word” is actually a whole lot of slurred, barely comprehensible nonsense occasionally sprinkled with some insults. That’s really the logic we’re going with here? And beyond that, how can you hand such a deeply personal decision to someone else??

When I went away to university for three years and spent considerable chunks of time away from my mother’s influence, my skepticism only deepened with every day. I couldn’t reconcile the science-driven environment I saw around me with the ideas being propounded in church. Sincerely believing in the Adam and Eve story, in this day and age? It didn’t compute.

Having said that, I would certainly not call myself an atheist even now. I think it is just as presumptuous to assume your absolute knowledge of the infinite universe and declare it contains nothing, as it is to declare that your religion is the only correct one. I find many things about the Christian God to be extremely convenient (just so happens to be an old white bearded man, oh fancy that), but I am certainly not convinced that there are no intelligent forces in the world, whatever shape they take. We are simply not in a position to know these things, and I’m okay with that.

In turn, I treat anyone who claims to know them with intense suspicion.

Ultimately, leaving Orthodox Christianity was a long and painful process (I say ‘was’ in the past tense, but the truth is that it is still ongoing) filled with guilt, second-guessing, deliberate habit breaking and an extremely distressed and persistent mother. But my reasons for it boil down to four key things.

Their ideas did not match my ideas. I will never believe that women are obliged to be submissive to men. I will never believe that being gay (or in any way not straight) is a sin. I will never believe that Eastern Orthodoxy is the one true faith among all the other hundreds and thousands of faiths that exist on this planet. Living with your partner without being married is not a sin. Eating some chicken on a lent day is not a sin. A woman on her period is not “unclean.” Their ideas of good and bad, right and wrong seemed so incredibly outdated and arbitrary that it became hard to take anything they said seriously. And I felt so uncomfortable standing there, surrounded by people who I knew believed in all of this wholeheartedly.

Despite the religion branding itself as ‘Christian’, I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of the priests or worshippers talk about helping others. It is not on the agenda. People walk into church and think that because they’ve said their prayers, abstained from meat and dairy and then said their prayers some more, they’re now good people. But what have they done to make anyone’s life better? Who have they helped? Who have they listened to, cared for, understood? It’s not about that. It’s about making yourself feel good because you recited the Lord’s Prayer before eating your lunch.

The process of participating is extremely rigid, and trying to remember all those rules and traditions is honestly just stressful. Which hand do I kiss? How many times do I have to make the sign of the cross before approaching that super special icon? Do I have to touch the floor, or is that optional? Oh, everyone is kneeling...I guess I should kneel too. Once, I accidentally addressed the Archbishop as ‘Father’ and got a slew of disapproving looks from everyone around me. I think perhaps people find a certain kind of comfort and stability in routine, but having one imposed on you when you’re constantly unsure of the rules is not a pleasant experience.

Sometimes there is a very thin line between a religion and a cult, and Orthodoxy is toeing it a little too closely for comfort. I’ve seen it overpower people’s rational thinking and tap into their most powerful emotions in a way that’s honestly quite frightening.

The first step to leaving was progressively going to church less and less. I’d only ever really gone because my mum demanded it, but now, I put up a bit more resistance. I got screamed and yelled and cried at, and at first, of course I gave in. But little by little, I began to get the message across that I was simply not interested anymore.

Then, I deliberately made the choice to break certain habits. We always faced a row of icons on the wall and made a sign of the cross before leaving the house, and coming back in. It was such an ingrained habit that I did it automatically, and for the first few months, I had to physically catch myself in order to stop. That came with its own sense of guilt and hesitancy, and with the feeling that hey, now God is mad at you - hope a brick doesn’t fall on your head when you’re out there without his blessing.

The next step was removing the cross I’d worn around my neck ever since I’d been christened as a baby. Even now I can’t not wear something around my neck, so I have a little key necklace there in its place. Having a bare neck just looks too weird to me.

That cross came off and went back on at least three times. Each time I’d be persuaded, guilted, given the simple but effective phrase of “just do it for me.” I’ve removed it for what I hope will be the last time, and “just do it for me” won’t cut it anymore. If I converted to Islam tomorrow, would it be okay for me to ask someone to wear a hijab “for me”, even though they don’t share my faith? No, it wouldn’t. Religion and expression of religion is a personal choice, and not something you can strong-arm your adult children into.

Now, I’m in a fairly comfortable place where I’ve shed most of that initial guilt and am happy with my choices. I’ve even been back into church a couple of times just to meet a family member, only catching the end of the service - and even then, I’ve been reminded of exactly why I left. My mindset is simply too far removed to find any spiritual value in Orthodoxy.

Does my mother still try to get me into church? Yes. Are the attempts extremely mild and infrequent, compared to what they used to be? Yes. On one hand, I’d like to have a deep conversation with her and explain all the reasons why I have no interest in the religion anymore, but on the other hand, I know it’ll likely make her extremely upset.

Perhaps it’s better to just let it be.

#out of silmarils #religion #personal

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lesbianlovelanguage · 5 years ago

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can I request 25 from the fanfic prompt list? from stranger-steeb 🧡🧡🧡

Of course you can hun! Thank you for it💛💛💛 @stranger-steeb

25. “I could tell it was your favorite book because of all the notes you wrote in the margins.”

—

Steve hated English class.

Not only was the teacher a spawn of Satan himself, but he didn’t get it. At least math had rules. He wasn’t good at following them, but he knew where he went wrong.

In english he never understood what he got wrong, until Billy Hargrove came along.

They had been in the same third-period english class for almost half of a semester when Billy suddenly decided to take an interest in Steve’s academic life.

He sat directly behind Steve, and when Ms. Lillith passed back their book reports on Great Expectations, he peeked over Steve’s shoulder to see the bright red F.

“Damn, Pretty Boy. All looks and no brain huh? How did you fail a paper like this?” He shook his own book report, which proclaimed Billy had earned an A+ in the same red script.

“Like you said Hargrove. I’m a fucking dumbass. Now piss off.” Steve turned around and resolutely ignored Billy’s constant pestering for the rest of the period. When the bell rang, he was the first one out of his seat and out the door.

Robin was home sick, and Steve still couldn’t be around Nancy and Johnathan for too long without feeling a piece of his heart break, so he was sitting alone in the library during lunch, attempting to decode Ms. Satan’s comments on his paper between bites of ham and cheese.

He was so invested in trying to understand the jumble of letters her cursive always turned into that he hadn’t noticed someone else slid into the chair across from him until he felt a boot push against his shin and a whispered voice.

“Stevie. Psst. Stevie.” Billy was terrible at whispering.

“What do you want Hargrove?” Steve snapped, already feeling a headache forming.

“Such venom Pretty Boy! I just wanted to see what King Steve is doing eating lunch by himself. Must be important to drag you away from your adoring fans.” Billy had an innocent smile, but the glint in his eye was teasing as he snatched the paper out of Steve’s hands. “Is this that book report?”

“Yeah, dickhead. It’s also none of your business.” But Billy wasn’t listening to Steve any more, instead reading over his paper and making a face Steve couldn’t read.

“Damn Stevie. You didn’t tell me you had dyslexia. Now I feel like a real asshole,” Billy said, setting the stack of papers down.

“You are a real asshole. And I don’t have some disease, so fuck off.” He expected Billy to finally leave, but he was never one to do what Steve expected.

Instead of walking away, Billy seemed to settle further in his seat, and pulled out a green pen. He looked at Steve with a raised eyebrow and grabbed the paper back.

“Do you even know what dyslexia is Steve?” Thrown off by the use of his actual first name, Steve just shook his head quietly. “It’s a learning disorder. Doesn’t mean your stupid though. Means your brain works differently.”

“Thank you Dr. Phil. Can I have my paper back? I need to figure out what she wrote so I can work on the next one,” Steve made another attempt to grab his paper back, but Billy leaned back in his chair and held it over his head.

“I could help with that. I could be, like your tutor, or some shit.” Steve stopped reaching across the table and stared at Billy, puzzled.

“You, Billy Hargrove, want to be my tutor?”

“Why not? We’re amigos after all. Can’t have you flunking out, where’s the fun in that?”

Steve bit his lip as he thought about his options. Billy was a grade A asshole, but he did have like straight As too.

“Sure. But just tutoring. No funny shit, alright? And I’m not paying you.”

And thus it began. They agreed to meet at Steve’s house twice a week at 7pm, one day to work on Steve’s essay, and one where Billy helped Steve with the assigned reading. Those were the worst days.

No matter how much Steve protested and whined and bitched, Billy insisted on taking turns reading it out loud. He would read a chapter, smooth and easy, and then make Steve read a chapter, where he stumbled over easy words and mispronounced the hard one. By the end of those nights, Steve was lobster-red and as grumpy as a wet cat.

Despite the protests and embarrassment, it was actually working. Steve was able to speak up in more in class discussions, which led to a rising participation grade, and his ‘reading journal’ was actually somewhat legible since Billy could help him put thoughts into words.

They were celebrating the fact that Steve had managed to get his D up to a C with pizza and beers when Billy got a call and had to rush home with a hurried “I forgot to pick up Max.”

He ran out the door and was roaring down the driveway before Steve even noticed that Billy had left a book behind.

It wasn’t the book they were reading for class, but instead a beat-up book with yellowing pages. The cover said that it was a collection of poems by Sylvia Plath.

Steve had never heard of her, but Steve’s interest was peaked purely because Billy didn’t seem like the kind of guy who read poetry unless it was assigned for class. He picked it up gingerly, as if the tattered pages would turn to dust in his hands and then wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. He put it on the small breakfast table before filling up a glass and returning to sit down and peruse through it.

Inside was absolutely covered in different colors of ink, all in Billy’s handwriting.

Notes, Steve realized. Notes Billy had scribbled along the margins as he read the poems. Most of them were pretty generic, underlining words and thoughts about the metaphors, except one poem.

The titled said that the poem was entitled “Mad Girl’s Love Song” and in the margins, Billy had scribbled two words. Words Steve had come to associate with a mocking tone and crooked smirk.

Pretty Boy.

Steve couldn’t understand what Billy meant, and instead of trying to unravel the mystery, Steve decided to go to bed and return the book to its rightful owner tomorrow.

Steve didn’t get the chance to give it to Billy until after english, where he followed the boy to his locker.

“You forgot this at my place. I could tell it was your favorite book because of all the notes you wrote in the margins.”

“Shit. Thanks Pretty Boy,” Billy said, and Steve couldn’t help but think of the Pretty Boy scrawled next to a poem about a Mad Girl’s Love, wondering if it meant something.

“No worries Billy. Seemed important.”

“Did you look inside?” If Steve hadn’t been spending two days a week with him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell that the white knuckle grip on his locker and the creases in his eyebrows meant Billy was nervous.

“Yeah, just flipped through it really.” Steve was almost certain that Pretty Boy and Billy’s sudden and uncharacteristic nervousness meant one thing, which is what gave Steve the courage to lean forward. “I really liked Mad Woman’s Love Poem, except I have to disagree with the ending. I don’t think she made anything up in her head,” Steve’s voice was low and pitched. Billy’s eyes widened and he dropped his hand from his locker door.

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” but before Steve could lean in more to close the distance, the bell rang for their next period.

They decided to hide in one of the furthest bathrooms and discuss the poem further.

—

They totally made out in that bathroom btw. Also I love Sylvia Plath, please read the poem! It’s like perfect pining Billy.

tag team: @lostnoise @gideongrace @stevefuckingharrington @a-magey @trashmouth-hargrove @catharrington (lmk if you would like to be added/removed from the list!)

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #tay writes

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