#behind the name dot com my beloved | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mysteriouswolf · 6 months ago

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Hi mysterious

You tagged me in a thing and i believe in the power of me and so now im going to answer all of the questions

1. [Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?] Pandora’s BOX— I use Spotify.

2. [is your room messy or clean?] Messy af, there are so many clothes on the floor and also I need to vacuum since I am literally allergic to dust—

3. [what color are your eyes?] Ooh. Um. Well. There’s actually lore. When I was younger, I told everyone that my eyes were green and they all told me that I was wrong because my eyes looked brown and then I asked my mom and she was like “they’re hazel” and so for a while I believed that they were hazel and then in middle school or late elementary school I just fucking gave up on it and then they were just whole ass brown. BUT ALSO OKAY IM PISSED AT THIS. YOU KNOW PUNNETT SQUARES RIGHT. THEYRE LIES. THEYRE FUCKING LIES. Both of my parents have light green eyes, and mine are literally brown. So for a while, I genuinely semi-convinced myself that I was adopted because the fucking punnett squares lied because there’s no way you get a dominant trait from two recessives. Anyways I have the green life hoodie and when I wore it (its so comfy I would still wear it all the time but it is about a zillion degrees out and I like to sweat significantly less also my school doesn’t have AC which is genuinely criminal. i’m so pissed about it because it’s like literally torture) the green in my eyes was more visible so my eyes were def more hazel then but my clothes palete normally consists of black so they normally look brown. Doesn’t help that my eyes and my hair are normally the exact same color.

4. [do you like your name? why?] like birth name? no. it hasn’t fit me in so long. and when i tried to convince myself i wasn’t genderqueer I reminded myself of when I was in third grade there was this girl in my church choir and I would look in the mirror and wish i had her name because I did not look like my name. like. My name is nice. I wish all the cis girls and trans girls and anyone with that name the best and I hope it suits them. It’s a great name. Just not for me.

current name i go by? it’s okay. It’s my initials, and it works really well as a placeholder and I don’t get dysphoria from it like I do my birth name.

current name I’m interested in? I rly like it. it has some cool lore and thought behind it, and i’m interested in trying it out soon.

internet name? LOVE IT 10/10 I ADORE BEING CALLED ROYAL and just. it’s so nice. also i could go by it irl but i don’t want to? like. i do want that divide between irl and internet. also Royal has some lore connected to it and i’m a huge fan of my whole username because it’s a play on the phrase “morally gray” so i love it

5. [what is your relationship status?] uhhh single, ig. also not ready to mingle. well actually i have a um. is a situationship what you call it? But like we were actually dating, and then we kind of didn’t interact for a while (we both got busy with lives, yknow) but essentially now we’re friends with flirting benefits. she’s the one person i feel rly comfortable making innuendos around and shit and it’s kind of refreshing to have that weird relationship with one person.

Also this is rly long so i’m not doing all of these in one go but Mysterious. You. YOU THAT ONE RIGHT THERE OFFICER—

(i dropkicked that child in self defense)

Mysterious, beloved companion and mutual of tumblr dot com, I shall also ask thee the above questions.

1. Spotify, SoundCloud, Pandora, or some other music streaming service?

2. is your room messy or clean?

3. what color are your eyes, if you’re amicable

4. do you like your name? why?

5. what is your relationship status?

OKAY HAVE A NICE— sleep? you’re asleep right now. probably. if you aren’t, go to bed. y’know what? I might take myself up on that offer.

HAH I KNOW YOUR TIMEZONE I CAN PROPERLY ADDRESS YOU

alright have a nice morning or whenever you wake up and/or whenever you check your tumblr :)

HELLO ROYAL I WILL HAVE A NICE MORNING THANK YOU I GET TO GARDEN TODAY IM SO EXCITED!!!

1- Music streaming service? I use Amazon Music cause that's what my parents have a subscription to-

2- Room status? Uhhh it's kinda in the middle. Actually that's a lie, right now it's really messy because I decided I wanted to make a cardboard dagger before I went to my friend's house so I have little bits of cardboard and hot glue sticks all over the place. But usually I like to keep it clean-ish because my room is pretty smol and it stresses me out if it gets too messy- except my desk. That is always a hellhole.

ALSO ROYAL!! ONE THING THAT HELPS A LOT GET A HAMPER AND JUST PUT IT IN YOUR ROOM. DESIGNATE A SPOT WHERE DIRTY CLOTHES GO.

3- What color are your eyes? They're blue. Sometimes they look more green, but they're kinda like a dark muted blue. Not bright. My eyes are pretty dark. LIKE MY SOUL--

Also Royal you have green eyes. Doesnt matter I have never seen your eyes. You have green eyes. In my head you have green eyes. Always have and always will lol- also I agree not having AC in school is criminal- ours doesn't either and it's just like RAHHHHHHHHHH ITS SO HOT HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO LEARN MAN

4- Do you like your name? Why? Okay I can't go into this too hard because I will DOX MYSELF but there is a REASON because if I told you what my name was you would be like "oh, like ____?" And it constantly gets made fun of and I hate it. Other than that, I like my name, but just dkvkkcjvskdkkw.

Now if I ever changed my name, it would be Raven Nightshade because I think that sounds badass as FUCK but that probably won't happen.

Internet name? YES. I LOVE IT SO SO MUCH ITS ACTUALLY SO AMAZING I LOVE BEING CALLED LITERALLY ANY VERSION OF MY NAME ONLINE. I think I just answered your ask about my name, SO YES ANY OF THOSE I LOVE SO MUCH IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY

5- Relationship status? Also single and WOULD LIKE TO STAY THAT WAY PLEASE.

shit I don't know your time zone how am I supposed to wish you somethinggggg-- assuming you actually did go to bed when you wrote this I hope you have a good morning/whenever you wake up :3

#rambling

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artxyra · 4 years ago

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post hawkmoth gabriel is outed as hawkmoth and no one except mari knows adrien is chat mari gows to batboys and one day adrien comes to visit her and the batboys think that adrien is here to get revenge on mari but imagine their shock when mari squeals and jumps into his arms and hugs him like theres no tomorrow (this isnt my idea but i wanted to see your take on it)

Note: So lack of motivation is a bitch and I’m surprised that writing and rewriting this fic worked. Hopefully, this stands up to your expectations.

“Breaking news, Adrien Agreste, the former head model of Gabriel Agreste Fashion, was seen walking down the streets of Gotham, New Jersey late last night. Tune in later for more Gotham gossip…” The volume slowly becomes muted leaving the person holding the remote sitting in silence.

Soon a series of noises, such as items hitting the floor, a body struggling to move fills the room ambiance sound. It wasn’t long before a phone’s ring tone goes off. More rustling is heard. The music stops, then there was a pause.

“Yeah, I just watched the news. So, what’s the plan. I already have Barb on speed dial.” A male’s voice states into the phone. This is Richard “Dick” Grayson on the four-way call with his brothers.

“Demon Spawn’s in charge of keeping, Pixie, busy. She cannot know that he’s in town.” Jason states before hearing his younger brother tsking at such an easy request. Of course, he could keep his fiancée busy in the meantime.

“Of course, I can keep my beloved busy, you imbeciles.” Damian scoffs at his brothers. In fact, his beloved was most likely in her studio right now working on a commission.

“Good, good, keep her away from any source of news. We all know how Gotham Gossip works. The rest of you meet me at WE and we’ll figure out a way to get Agreste out of here.” Tim explains to which everyone mumbles their agreements and slowly hang up on one another.

“What was all that about?” Kori asks coming out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, you know, the same old same old.” Dick smiles at his wife who raises an eyebrow but shrugs instead and goes into the kitchen.

“Ready for some more gossip Gotham! Former son of the Parisian terrorist was found shopping at Coccinelle de Pixie storefront that was recently vandalized not long after with the words ‘Traitor’ spread painted in black across the window…”

Timothy Drake sat in his executive chair nursing a new cup of steaming coffee. Gotham’s Gossip playing on a radio that he soon turned off and shakes his head. All the more evidence to place Adrien Agreste behind bars just like Paris did his father. For years, everyone thought Adrien was in cahoots with his father in terrorizing Paris, Adrien made no statement and he stayed away from the media.

“Mr. Drake, your brothers are here.” His assistant announces through the coms. Tim quickly replies knowing that his brothers are seconds away from breaking down his office doors.

“You heard the latest gossip?” Jason practically demands. Tim could feel the anger rolling off his predecessors. “Of course, you did, you wouldn’t be listening if you hadn’t. I swear if Gordon doesn’t find the culprit, I will.” Jason slams his fist against the wooden desk, to which Tim simply takes a sip of his coffee and stare directly at his brothers.

Tim would never say it aloud, but he was surprised to see Damian especially after he was given the job of keeping the person that claim as their sister busy for the evening.

“I don’t care what methods you use Todd, as long as the person—” Cough, Agreste, cough, “is behind bars and locked up with the worst of the worst.” Damian gave his brother the answer he needs.

“Back to the issue at hand.” Tim sets his cup down. “Babs sent me Agreste’s itinerary from his hotel location to any phone history. So far, we have gathered he is in contact with someone under the name Buginette, unfortunately, that number is tied to a burner. They are making plans that seem on the verge of making Bean suffer.”

“Great, we have our main suspect and we can’t even call his accomplice,” Jason growls, he hates feeling helpless but that only has so much time before Adrien could make his attempt.

“I wouldn’t say that; Dick you’ll be tailing Agreste, from his GPS location, he should be passing by WE any minute now. Use this and the GG, as we all know she’s in for the latest scoop.” Tim hands Dick a device with a beeping red dot moving. Dick examines the devices before placing them in his pockets.

“We have until eight o’clock tonight to detain him. This Buginette and he plans on meeting at an unknown location. We will intercept them either both or right on.” Tim then takes another sip giving his siblings time to process any information that he just gave.

“Just in, GCPD found a bunch of dead ladybugs in front of the Chordate Hotel, the hotel that Adrien Agreste is rumored to be staying at. Is this retribution to the future Mrs. Wayne as we all know how much she loves ladybugs…?” The broadcaster’s voice carries over the car’s radio.

Damian Wayne could help but tighten his hands around the steering wheel. Someone was after this fiancée and he felt helpless about it. Marinette doesn’t deserve any of this. She has too much to worry about with the wedding and her growing fashion empire.

He pulls up in front of their shared apartment and immediate parks into his parking space.

“Angel, I’m home.” He calls out tossing his keys into the decorative bowl that on the end table next to the front door.

“In the back room.” A female’s voice calls back. Damian smiles practically visualizing the smile on his fiancée’s face.

Walking past a series of boxes, Damian makes it to the back room. Marinette is kneeling next to a mannequin, hand sowing the lace fabric into place. Damian couldn’t help but watch her work in awe. They have known each other for years and even today her working still amazes him.

“Are we still going over to Bruce’s tonight?” Marinette asks looking up briefly to acknowledge her fiancé and give him a smile. Damian was quick to answer her with a yes to which she nods and turns her attention back to the gown. “I should be done in an hour. I also have a couple of stops to make before we head over. Or do you wanna carpool with your brothers while I drive?”

Ding, ding. Damian knows that the messages coming through are from his brothers. “I’ll be fine; getting a ride with Grayson.” He answers before grabbing his phone and unlocking it to view the messages.

“Dami…Dami…” Damian turns away from his phone to stare into the blue eyes of his fiancée. “I thought I lost you there for a minute; you didn’t respond when I had asked whether you’re going out tonight for patrol?”

“Tt, I am going on patrol with the others tonight. Doing a run before and after dinner.” He answers hoping that she doesn’t question it. Marinette narrows her eyes before shrugging and continuing with her sowing.

Quickly getting changes, it wasn’t long before Damian receives a message from Dick stating that he’s out in front. Damian gives Marinette a goodbye kiss and exits out of the apartment.

“Wha’sup Gotham. Tonight’s segment is saucy. With Adrien Agreste out in the public, the batbros are out and about. I swear I just some red outside the studio window. Now onto the sauce—”

“Are you seriously listening to the crap with the mask on?” Robin questions Red Robin, who waves his in his defense. “Should the target get here by now?” He looks over the building to view the streets.

Behind the two vigilantes, Nightwing and Red Hood appear on the rooftop.

“Agreste should be arriving in five according to his GPS location.” Nightwing states and a ringing sound goes through their coms.

“Nightwing is right. Though is it for certain that Mr. Agreste is the person behind the attacks against Miss Marinette?” Agent A’s voice rings through the coms. The four brothers look to one another all being on the same wavelength. They all think that Adrien Agreste is behind the attacks. There was no other reason to explain it. He arrives in Gotham and then there are attacks against Mari through her storefront and favorite animal/insect.

“We’re sure, Agent A,” Tim responds as the device on this wrist beeps. At the same time, a rental car pulls up across the building and parks. Adrien Agreste gets out of the car and straightens out his collar.

“Target is in place. All we’re missing is this Buginette person and we’ll move in.” Red Hood pulls out an AK-47 and position it to lock on Adrien. He wasn’t going to kill the blonde male, maybe just skim a little off the top or scare him shitless.

Down below, Adrien pulls out his phone and calls someone. Immediate the batbros knew that he is talking to this Buginette person, it’s not because Red Robin has the recording playing as well.

About five minutes later, a familiar dark car pulls up. Robin looks at the car in suspicion. This car was the same model that he has and shares with Marinette from time to time. From the corner of his eye, he could see Red Hood etching his finger closer to the trigger.

Adrien runs over to the car shouting “Buginette” happily to the person inside.

The car door opens and immediately they hear a gunshot. The door closes and Adrien jumps back. Red Hood side-eyes his brothers as Robin silently hopes that he is wrong for once.

This “Buginette” person finally gets out of the car to reveal a Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who was no doubly staring in their direction.

“Well shit.” Red Hood groans just as the rest of the family facepalm or are into much of a shock to do anything.

“Hold on for a second, Adrien,” Marinette states holding out her hand as her other hand goes to grab her phone.

On the rooftop, Red Hood’s phone was going off. None of them wanted to answer it. In fact, there were certain that they didn’t want to answer. Instead of taking it like a man, the brother quickly gathers their items and disappear off the roof.

“Do I even want to know, what’s going on, Buggy?”

“No, Kitten, you don’t wanna know.” Marinette huffs and places her phone back in her purse. “I have an hour to hour to kill before I dinner and you and I have a lot to catch up on.” Marinette wraps her hands around Adrien’s shoulder, who smiles sheepishly at the dark-haired woman. “I hear that you and—”

“Mari!” Adrien interrupts blushing a deep red to which Marinette laughs and opens the door to the building.

An hour later, Adrien stands behind Marinette, who was on a warpath knocking against the large doors to Wayne Manor. They could hear furniture moving, people yelping, and a cough. Alfred stands at the with a greeting smile like no other, though Adrien could sense the double meaning.

“Good evening, Alfred, how are you?” Marinette greets with that sickly-sweet smile; Adrien knows all too well. Marinette never the one to keep the deadly appearance apart of her getup but she knows how to use her best aspects for the worst.

“Good evening, Miss Marinette and you is your guest?”

“Oh, silly me, this is my brother in everything but blood, Adrien Dupain-Cheng.” Marinette gestures for Adrien to follow. She places her jacket and purse down and examines the room. Of course, the couch was being used as a blockage.

“Ooh…boys?” Marinette sings walking past the couch, setting each and everyone right side up.

In the dining room, the four men all look to one another scared to utter a single sound. They did not want to deal with Marinette, especially Jason.

“Whose bright idea was it to allow Hood to shoot at Adrien?” Marinette’s voice echoes throughout the manor’s first floor. Bruce, who was sitting at the head of the table raises an eyebrow at his sons. He wasn’t in the bat cave when they returned but they returned as quickly as they left.

Dick mouths “you don’t want to know�� to his father figure and begins to sweat bullets. “Whatever happens, tell Kor’i and Mar’i that I love them.” The oldest adopted Wayne states as Marinette makes her way to the archway leading into the room.

“You don’t need to worry about that Dickie.” Marinette smiles, “I’m after Jason.” At the mention of his name, Jason darts out of his seat and through the window. Alfred and Adrien watch the scene play out in two different emotions. Adrien was curious while Alfred was just done with everything.

“I’ll place the order for a new window sir. Is any hungry for dinner?” No one answer to afraid to make them the next target to Marinette’s anger.

“Dinner sounds nice, Alfred.” Marinette smiles sending more chills down the remaining three batbros. “So, everyone, meet Adrien, my brother. Apparently, someone tried to kill him this evening, should I know something about that.”

“I’m more concerned as to why you were using a burner phone to contact Agreste.” Damian murmurs to which Marinette heard him and was immediately behind her fiancé.

Lowering herself to make sure her lips were closer to his ear, she whispers, “Why would it matter, Demon?” She leans back and gestures for Adrien to take a seat. “Adrien here was in hiding from the press and it was my idea from the start.”

Damian chokes on air, the feeling of death forever lingering. He knew there was a reason why he loves Marinette, and this was one of them.

“Is it safe to come in?” Jason’s head pops up only to get greeted by a Batarang. “Got still not safe, you know what I’ll just go eat out.” Everyone turns to Marinette, who was still showcasing her sickly-sweet smile.

“Anyone want to join him?” She asks taking the empty seat next to Damian, who was spatting himself down making sure he had no weapon on his being that she can reach.

“No, we’re all good here, um, Adrien tell us about yourself?” Tim ends the harsh silence quickly and for once he was actually awake.

Adrien smiles and begins to talk about his latest adventure.

Moments later, Alfred returns with dinner solidifying tonight’s adventure.

Much, much later…

Damian and his brothers came out of their stupor of last night’s event. “Wait then who was vandalizing Mari’s store and image?” Tim asks before pressing a cup of coffee to his lips.

Before any of them to grab their devices to hunt down the real culprit, Marinette walks into the living room. “It was an old employee of mine. He only did it because someone—by the name of Lie-la—offer him some big money. He never received it so he came clean.”

Marinette then picks up the keys from the decorative bowl and leaves her place.

The three older brothers turn to their youngest, “You better not divorce her.” They all state at the same time. Damian only nods, agreeing with his brothers for once in his life.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #daminette #ml crossover #dc crossover

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chronotopes · 3 years ago

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19 for aivide, 24 for quartz AND will, and 9 for stelad :)

Wow Hello My Dear Beloved Friend Esther

19. What do they wish they knew more about?

Putting aside practical skills here since i think the question refers to knowledge - from the moment she opens sasara's first article, i think the answer is al2rnian political history/theory. I joke about her doing a good place style philosophy crash course on alt3rnia, but I think even very early on, a combination of contact with violets and Sasara (and her general character) is making her want to understand the world and its power structures through a lens that isn't communication theory, the Principles, or the Troll Wikipedia page for suspension bridges.

24. Where did their name come from? Does it have meaning?

"Quartz" means nothing, it's a bunch of syllables i made up in my head

Jokes aside. Doylist reasons: Eleven year old me thought it would be cool to name a character Quartz, felt super smart for naming her something associated with light and clarity when those are themes connected to her. "William" is a name I always liked, and "will" also of course evokes both "will" the noun (willpower), and "will" the verb (implying a state of existing in potentia), which is what sixteen year old me had graduated to feeling smart for.

Watsonian reasons: Quartz's parents were bookish weirdos in a remote mountain village, and chose her and her brothers' names from a book on geology. Will is named by his mother after his absent father, explicitly as an act of revenge on the father, who would have preferred not to have been thought of, let alone named.

9. What was their first kiss like?

FUCKING OUCH. I think it was younger than Aivide's, in her teenage years, in a sort of fourteen-years-old-and-going-steady first high school "matespritship" where you walk each other home and buy each other flowers and kiss each other Without Tongue. A sort of connection Aivide, alone with reddit dot com and Sandcatmom, had never really tried for. Stelad was probably overbearing and a little condescending; the other girl was probably academically behind her but much visibly cooler than her, and ended it with no hard feelings. The second person she ever kissed was probably a college or early adulthood dalliance, not dissimilar in structure from the high school relationship except probably with more intimacy involved, and Stelad more visibly abrasive when it ended. The third troll she ever kissed was Eubala Malcos.

#asks #aivide the prequel

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whataframeup · 3 years ago

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So about the Behind Cut finale.... rambling incoming.... don't mind me..... avert your eyes......

I liked it. But. Wish gi Jin had explained, literally anything??? Or did I just, miss something lol.

I did like the shot of the intersection with the red lights and you hear gi Jin crying. Paralleled with the ending of a intersection and no red lights. Just the two of them on each side lovingly looking at each other. Might make a gif set of that.................. or an edit of some kind............ have been working on a poster remake edit for like two weeks too.......

Also lord do I despise hwang yi bin. From the very! First! Episode! When he was about to kiss gi Jin when he thought he was asleep. And also poking at him. That's the second I started hating him. I will have no hwang yi bin apologists on this blog. None dot com. That is not hWang (황.왕) shit.

All in all. I personally liked behind cut. I loved how it had a parent-child relationship that was soft and loving. So far only, two? Kbls since the gaynaissance of South Korean media that was Where your eyes linger has there been a parent present in any sort of capacity. This is excluding indie stuff like strongberry, I'm not very familiar with their work. Difficult to watch in a legal manner here. Wyel had the terrible father and peach of time had the doctor mum (who wasn't very great either but a step up from wyel father anyway).

Of course, with longer runtime they could actually explore parent child relationships more beyond random mentions of them existing somewhere in the world. Until now no awards for Decent Parenting could be awarded to any mentioned parent in a kbl (looking at color rush yoo han lad family, to my star seo joon lad family, wish you in soo laddo family...). Until now. [Yeong wus father] my beloved. (He didn't have a name according to mdl). I liked how it gave yeong wu a sense of individual and self, how his father was also his friend. Probably because they kinda "grew up together" being that yeong wus parents were teenagers when they had him.

But ye I'm rambling here I'm gonna stop before I loose the plot completely lol.

Wish there had been more ppl in the tags for this drama. Seems like there weren't many. Some but not Many. Hi to those who were here. Hi.

#behind cut #behind cut the series #kbl #whatapost #kdrama #rambling!!!!!!!!

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actordougjones · 5 years ago

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Helen Chavez 1959 ~ 2020

Sitting in silent conflict today, some numbness, many tears, grief, and the happiest memories that make my heart smile. To lose a close friend (whom I referred to as my big sister for the last 16 years) to complications from covid-19 and other health issues, is a blow I could not be prepared for. Yet to sit with my memories of her is a relished joy.

Many knew her as “Hellmistress” on the Sony Pictures Hellboy message boards in 2003. As I was an occasional visitor in those boards while filming Hellboy, I took special note of the witty, gentle, sarcastic, encouraging posts from this woman I found myself wanting to know more of.

She made her way into those message boards by way of her love for Ron Perlman, as she also was a contributing writer for a site called ThePerlmanPages dot com. But once in there, and once we got to interacting, Helen and I both found kindred spirits in each other, about the same age, about the same irreverent sense of humor.

She jokingly described herself as “windswept and interesting.” When we finally met in person the first time around the premiere events Guillermo del Toro had arranged for these fans of Hellboy in April 2004, I found this description of her to be true. All I had to hear was that Helen had sold a cow to finance her flight from Scotland, and I knew I was right about this one! Yes, she and her husband Mark raised cattle on their rural farm outside Aberdeenshire, Scotland. But she was also a highly knowledgeable archivist at the local museum there. With a thirst for learning, and a lover of history, artifacts, classic film, TV, music, literature, science fiction, and all things geekery, she did indeed earn her “windswept and interesting” title.

(Our first in-person meeting after “Hellebration” 2004 with Sony Pictures Hellboy message board regulars, Left to Right: Maurice Mpayamaguru, Dougie, Pat Paone, Helen Chavez - who was so excited to be having a burger with American ketchup!)

She flew away the next day in 2004, but that would not be the last of this Helen. Upon returning home to Scotland, her friend and ThePerlmanPages creator Pat Paone (who had also been on this trip) said something to Helen that lingered in the air... “After this entire ‘Hellebration’ weekend in Los Angeles, do you realize you haven’t stopped talking about Doug Jones?” which struck Helen odd since she was a devout Perlman fan who was gushing about someone other than Ron after a weekend to celebrate a movie in which Ron held the title character.

That’s when I received an email from Helen proposing an official website she wanted to create for me. So was born TheDougJonesExperience dot com, a site that was lovingly poured over and updated by Helen as her pet project that she never let me pay a dime for, no matter how I tried, from 2004 to 2014, when her own life required her to take pause. That pause from the site included finishing up her Masters Degree, still working full time at the museum, still tending the cattle, and now caregiving to her husband’s failing health ... followed by her own health issues.

She was ever the stoic type, though, who never ever, EVER wanted to be a burden on me, so I would rarely hear of her trials in life unless I told her, “I’m not hanging up until you start talking.” She would always brush off her own issues and turn things back around to doting on me like the protective big sister she loved being. She also took in Mrs. Laurie as her little sister with great pride.

To sum up the amount of life shared with this incredible woman would take volumes. Volumes that could be tied together with one thread.... “cheerleader.” She championed me personally and professionally with the kind of care and tireless energy that gave my own mother and Mrs. Laurie a run for their money!

Her cheerleading came in the form of not only that exhaustive website with endless fan correspondence as she wrote with a voice that was uncannily like my own, then later helping administrate “The Tank” forum on DelToroFilms dot com where “FanSapiens” would gather to chat about little ol’ me, but also trips to see me when I was in the United Kingdom for a fan convention in Birmingham, or a make-up trade show in London. She also ingratiated herself to Guillermo del Toro and was invited to visit our Hellboy II: The Golden Army filming set in Budapest with her old friend Pat Paone, spending a large part of that visit with me through my whole day, from make-up, to the Troll Market set, to lunchtime, to afternoon naps in my trailer for all of us, to touring the city on a rare day off.

(During Hellboy 2 set visit 2007 at Budapest, Hungary’s “Hero Square” pictured Left to Right: Pat Paone, Dougie, Helen Chavez)

And I could never tally up the countless hours of phone chats, messenger chats, book-length emails, where she was often celebrating successes with me, calming my nerves when I had failed, giving me some well-needed big sisterly advice on life, or playfully nagging me to sleep and eat more. Boy, was she ever stern about those last two. If I even hinted that I had been pushing myself too hard, not sleeping enough, not eating right, she would give me “the look.” You don’t want “the look.” It was that raised eyebrows, all-knowing eyes searing into me kind of look, with a probing stare over the top of her glasses into my soul kind of look. You could hide nothing from her when she gave “the look.”

I adored hearing all her tales from her museum, getting history lessons all the while about who used what in what century in what country for what purpose, everything from farm tools to ancient toilet paper. To keep me in her loop, one year for Christmas she sent me some ancient Roman coins, after I had mentioned how I love looking at coins, waving it off with, “those things are so easy to come by.” Her gifts were always accompanied by authentic Scottish shortbread cookies. But my favorite story of hers was the mummy head she had no better place for, so he lived under her desk ... for years. And of course, she named him “Marlon.”

I’ve always been a hugger, but Helen is the one who taught me about “Bosies.” The difference being that a Bosie is a huggle that doesn’t need to end anytime soon, where you envelop the other person in a cradle that makes them feel safe. She was masterful at those Bosies.

I could tell Helen stories for hours, as could so many of you puppies whose lives she touched with her listening skills, mentorship, and her tireless encouragement to keep all of us creatives reaching for our dreams.

(Pictued at “Hellebration” 2008 with “FanSapiens” Left to Right: Tim Rosenberger, Katie McGregor, Helen Chavez, Stephanie Metz, Dougie, Kate Daley, Seth Lombardi)

(Pictured at Hellboy 2 premiere after party 2008 with DelToroFilms regulars; Top row: Paul Kindschi, Gary Deocampo, Maurice Mpayamaguru. Bottom row: Helen Chavez, Dougie)

But I’ll leave you with one last story. It was 2008, and we flew Helen out to Los Angeles (I didn’t want her to sell another cow) to join all the festivities for the premiere week of Hellboy II: The Golden Army, and to see the finished product of the film set she visited with me the year before. Everything from having a salon day with Mrs. Laurie to get all done up for the red carpet premiere, and the next day she was sporting a fancy fish-print top to dutifully lead Team Blue (those beloved FanSapiens) at the Del Toro sponsored “Hellebration” party and screening night. Another experience I wanted to give her that week was her first press junket, so Mrs. Laurie gladly went to her own job that day, and Helen went with me down to the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills, where many film press junkets take place on a floor full of press suites. These are high energy days, as one after another, TV, radio, print, and dot com journalists interview us back to back all day. Helen watched from behind the monitors with Publicist John, and every time I glanced over, she was just beaming as she gave me a thumbs-up. At the end of this marathon day, we were heading home in the back of the studio-hired limo, and my eyes were getting droopy in the dark. Helen glanced over the top of her glasses with “the look” and said with all the doting mother, favorite auntie, protective big sister she had in her, “Awe, little brother mine, come here.” I leaned my head onto her shoulder, while she pet my hair and told me how overjoyed she was with this phase of my life, and how watching me handle all the press that day made her “buttons burst with pride,” a phrase she used many a time. She always knew how to bring such peace, such calm, such encouragement, such a safe harbor. The next thing I knew the car stopped in front of the house, and I awoke with her still holding my weary head.

Oh how I wish for one more limo ride. One more chance to soak in her uplifting words, so I might know how to handle whatever comes next.

She went by many names -- Hellmistress, Webmaster Helen, or her preferred “Webmistress” Helen, Auntie Helen, Mentor Helen, Therapist Helen, Dear Friend Helen, Big Sister Helen, but there was only one Helen in this wacky world. She leaves a void that no one else can fill. It’s painful how much I miss her already.

I pray the angels gave her a thrilling ride to her rightful place in Heaven. I can almost feel her gaze again right now, as she sits at the edge of a crescent moon, tilts her gaze down over the top of her glasses and gives me “the look”.....

Alright, Big Sis, I’ll eat something and get to sleep now.

#rip #hellmistress #webmaster helen #sister #dear friend

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girloikawa · 3 years ago

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thank you @chironmybeloved for tagging me! check in tag:

1. why did you choose your url?

because i think it’s very neat & honestly how was it not taken

2. any side-blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

yes i made one today actually @/itadoribf it’s for extra art (probably just anime)

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

since uh? middle of 2018 i think (okay it was actually, after checking memories, early 2019 :/)

4. do you have a queue tag?

yes it’s basic: #q.

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

i’m pretty sure it’s because i read carry on and was like. wow. i want to be there on tumblr dot com too

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

because HINATA!! the art is godly and pretty and pink

7. why did you choose your header?

that movie is like... omg beloved beloved beloved. it brings up nice feelings & just. that movie is so good

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

that annotation one oddly. did not think that would get as many as it did

9. how many mutuals do you have?

who’s to say

10. how many followers do you have?

last time i looked behind me 0

11. how many people do you follow?

251

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

depends on your definition of shit. i mean, the universal definition? definitely

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

toooooo much

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

no conflict is my least favorite con

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

err anxietyyy

16. do you like tag games?

yes!! i used to not do them because i would be like “wait so you don’t look too eager” but then i would forget about them + idk who to tag

17. do you like ask games?

yes i love but barely anyone sends them in

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

uhm well there are like a few i have this one mutual who followed me out of nowhere and they are like. ripped (in the follower count since) i believe

19. do i have a crush on a mutual?

who’s to say

20. tags?

anyone who wants to

#tag games #thank u sunny !!#im trying for the love of god to finish chain of gold... </3 #long post

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elliealdenkamp · 5 years ago

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(grace elizabeth, cis female) - have you seen elizabeth aldenkamp? ellie is in her sophomore year. the theatre major is 20 years old & is a capricorn. people say she is lively, kind, opinionated and idealistic. rumors say they’re a member of calloway society. i heard from the gossip blog that she killed her stalker in high school. (tessa. 23. pst. she/her.)

hi, babes! i’m tessa and i’ve been roleplaying on tumblr dot com for way too long (you couldn’t pull me away if you tried). in short, i love cinema, anakin skywalker, watching tik toks for far too long, and plotting angst, drama, heartbreak, complicated relationships fun! that being said, elizabeth’s bio is below! always feel free to message me on here or discord (stella artois#1745) if you’d like to plot and/or figure out connections! also feel free to ask for a TLDR; bc my bios always end up *much* longer than i want them to be. that being said...

name: elizabeth annabeth aldenkamp nicknames: ellie, ella, elsie age, birth date: 20; december 31, 1999 hometowns: new york city, new york & portsmouth, new hampshire major, university: theatre, yates university sexuality: bisexual

childhood

elizabeth aldenkamp was born late one new year’s eve in new york city. she was the much anticipated daughter of silas—the latest in a long line of prominent new york city architects—and arabella—one of the city’s most successful real estate agents. the aldenkamp’s fingerprints were all over their beloved city. if they didn’t design a notable building, they’d sold it to the 1%. ellie’s parents adored the city and it was their dream to bring a child into that world.

yes, the world of museum openings, private events at the NYCB, and top tier private schools; but also the world of musicians playing at bethesda terrace, the rowboats at the loeb, and beautiful bookstores tucked into the streets around the flatiron building (cough, rizzoli). the little things, often glanced over by the wealthy and common alike.

though both parents were constantly busy with their careers (to the point of hiring a lovely extra set of hands by the name of allie), they prioritized quality time as a family.

they encouraged ellie as she developed a young passion for performing, taking her to see broadway and off-broadway shows whenever possible.

TW: DEATH — it was all quite lovely until, at the age of thirteen, both of the girl’s parents passed in a car accident on the way home from a dinner meeting. the last memory ellie has of them is her father ruffling her hair and mother bending down to press a kiss to her forehead before heading out the door and saying they’d see her and allie later.

new hampshire

ellie’s entire world collapsed. the next few months were a blur of little black funeral dresses and packing things into suitcases, with her ultimately moving in with her aunt and uncle in new hampshire.

the next several years were spent living with them and her four (!!) male cousins—now, affectionately, “brothers”—in their multi-million dollar waterfront house.

without much of a choice, ellie traded walks in central park for sailing. private schools in the city for phillips exeter academy.

not that she could complain—though she greatly missed her parents and friends she left behind in new york. so when she entered high school at the academy she did all she could to fill the void in her chest.

ellie was great at making friends and getting involved. like her family, she didn’t flash her wealth (there’d be little point, anyway, since everyone she encountered came from money) and relied heavily on cultivating a positive personality in order the move forward.

she maintained her love of acting and, by the time she’d graduated high school, had performed in too many productions to count.

her secret

TW: DROWNING. the last semester of senior year, ellie discovered she had a stalker from school. at first he was subtle, but “chance” encounters turned into eerie texts with photos of her that were taken unknowingly. corning her in the hallway. letters he somehow managed to get into her room. at one point he even showed up at her house—ellie walking in on him sitting at the dining table with her uncle, claiming to be her boyfriend.

it all culminated the night of their graduation. late into the night after the party her aunt and uncle allowed her to throw, ellie decided to take the boat out onto the water alone. call it premature nostalgia, but she would be moving to vermont soon for college. after summer, she didn’t know the next time she’d be able to do this.

once she’d gotten out onto the water and stopped the motor, he stepped out of the lower compartment.

(rightfully) shocked and afraid, ellie immediately went into defense mode. in short: he insistingly approached her, she dodged, he fell overboard into the water, and she sped off.

two days later his body was found, washed up. she never told anyone of her involvement (save for one felix lesser she called in an absolute panic).

not soon enough, she packed up her things and went to yates. many expected her to go to juilliard or tisch, but she chose yates—her father, mother, and uncle’s alma mater.

personality + facts

+ soft as fuck, lively, kind, easygoing, honest

- opinionated, a bit stubborn, positive to a fault

tik toks for the vibe!! one, two, three

you’d probably expect her to be pretty aloof, but she really isn’t

outgoing, outdoorsy, and adventurous thanks to living with her rowdy cousins

idealizes just about everything, including people

loves love. wants a relationship like her parents had. crushes aren’t hard to come by, because she wants to see the good in everyone and genuinely loves people

would probably marry you if you asked, idk

sarcastic banter with someone she knows truly cares about her that’s only reinforced by the joking around? her type of friendship.

has a lot of inner turmoil and buried emotions, but why be transparent about that when you can act like everything’s okay?

wants to pursue a stage career back in new york, if not a film career elsewhere

connection ideas

honestly, i’m down to plot just about anything. i live for the angst. that being said, here are some ideas if you can’t think of something!

childhood friends; since quite a few muses grew up in new york, it’s not a stretch to say these two probably ran in the same circles. perhaps they went to school together or their parents were friends. regardless, they were close until elizabeth moved away.

did they maintain a strong bond and keep in touch? write each other letters and take weekend trips to each other’s cities?

did they lose contact? did communication die out when one or both of them entered high school? does one of them feel ghosted? so many possibilities!!

did one of them have a crush on the other and now they’re reconnecting as young adults??

romantic exes; maybe they weren’t feeling the relationship as much as she was?

ex friends!!

mutual confidants; one of the only people, if not the only person, she lets see her ugly emotions. or maybe they confide in her, but she finds in hard to open up in return and ???? it’s a whole thing ???? like “take off the mask when you’re talking to me” ???? wow

you probably know all the typical rest. but, really, if you have any ideas and want to toss them at each other, let me know! let’s go freaking wild -shrug-

fin

#yatesintro #tw: car accident #tw: death #someone should've cut me off after 10 sentences #i am so sorry lmao #death tw #car accident tw

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p-artsypants · 5 years ago

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Longest Night (6)

The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge.

But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug’s identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns.

Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ.

Ao3 | FF.net

Warning: This chapter contains public humiliation. I will continue to mark the chapters that contain torture if you wish to skip them. Adrien gets his arm dislocated, but that’s the worst of the violence. I would recommend reading this one for plot at least.

—

Ladybug woke up, thankfully still transformed, in a dark room. Her hands were bound behind her back and a gag was in her mouth. Her vision was blurry in the low light, and she couldn’t quite parse two thoughts together. Did she have a concussion? She had hit her head, right? That’s why it hurt so bad?

She tried to make some noise, but it just came out as a muffled moan.

A similar sound came from behind her, and she felt something move against her hand. Chat Noir, she supposed. She hoped. She was with him last…probably. At least, last she remembered.

A harsh light flicked on in her eyes, and she winced against it.

“Well well well, looks like you two finally decided to wake up. Good thing too, or you would have missed all the fun.” It was a woman speaking, an Akuma? But they had just been fighting one! A huge, wrecking ball Akuma. Did Hawkmoth change tactics mid fight? Why couldn’t she remember what happened?

“Don’t worry, you take all the time you need to catch up. After all, GHB tends to wipe some memories.”

GHB? Wasn’t that a date rape drug? Had they been ambushed?

Another voice spoke. “We’re all set ma’am.”

“Wonderful, everyone in positions.”

Ladybug’s chair was turned around to face her partner. He looked just like her, bound and gagged. Confusion clouded his eyes, along with concern.

“Good evening Paris.” The woman was speaking, her back to them. “Please excuse me for interrupting whatever pointless drivel you were consumed with. My name is Salo. I’m not an akuma, but you’ll soon wish I was. I have succeeded where all the others have failed.” She stepped back to show Ladybug and Chat Noir, bound and gagged.

Now Ladybug could get a good look at her. Red hair tied up in a bun, black leather suit, and reflective sunglasses. She looked physically fit, but there was no notable expression on her face. Slight wrinkles around her lips, so she was older. Maybe in her forties?

There was a hand gun at her hip.

“I have captured the so called heroes of Paris. In ten minutes, I will be revealing their identities on ‘make ladybug suffer dot com.’ Be sure to tune in, you won’t want to miss it.”

“Transmission ended.” Called the man’s voice again.

The light dimmed, and Ladybug could see a little better. The room was small and bare, save for several cameras, screens, lights and wires. The only furniture were the chairs they were currently occupying, a table behind the mysterious woman, and a table in the corner with computer monitors. There were no windows, and the only door was heavy iron. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all cement. In short, no escape.

“Starting to remember things yet?” This ‘Salo’ woman asked.

Ladybug just stared her down, anger in her eyes.

Salo and another man ripped off the duct tape over their mouths, and pulled out the gags.

“Who are you?” Was Ladybug’s curt reply.

Salo smiled and prepared to answer, but she was interrupted by Chat’s shout of, “Catacly—!” But the woman stuck her fingers down his throat, gagging him mid-word. He heaved, coughing up some fluid.

“Oh shush kitty kitty, we can’t have you leaving now, can we? Now that we have so much planned.” She nodded her head to the man standing nearby.

He was huge, just about the same size as the Gorilla, and he took hold of Chat’s arm. With a yank and a sickening crack, Chat cried out in pain as his was arm was ripped out of socket.

“Chat!”

Salo smiled, “to answer your question, my name is not important, but you can call me Salo.”

“What do you want?”

The woman grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks hard. “What do I want? I want to destroy you, Ladybug.” She said her name with venom. “You’ve had it too good for too long. You’re the hero of Paris, the idol! You can do no wrong! But you’ve gotten cocky. Started working outside your job. Superheroes take down super villains. You should have stuck to those silly akumas.” She let her face go, smiling with untapped anger. “But you didn’t.”

“Our job is to keep Paris safe, whether it’s from akumas or petty thieves.”

Salo slapped her cheek, right over her bullet wound, making white flash under her eyelids, and her ears ring.

“You’re cute, Ladybug. Real cute. I thought you were fun. A Parisian idol, our very own Mickey Mouse. So did my Ed. You were bright and flashy, a wonderful distraction for the media. But you crossed a line, little insect. And now all of Paris, all of France, is going to watch you pay.”

Ladybug swallowed, obviously nervous. There had to be a way out, but in the dark room and Chat’s Cataclysm out of commission, things were beginning to look bleak.

“What did I do?”

The corner of Salo’s mouth twitched. “Let me jog your memory.”

The screen behind her lit up, and Nadja Chamack appeared with a news ticker underneath. “Don’t be bemused, it’s just the News. Ladybug and Chat Noir have done it again, with the capture of an elusive criminal. Top of the ‘Most Wanted’ lists in six countries, a Monsieur Edward Savauge. Ladybug and Chat Noir had an altercation with Savauge at the docks last night around 12am, resulting in the death of a young man identified as 25 year old Charles Exavier. Police arrived at the scene to find Savauge bound in Ladybug’s yo-yo, several bodyguards unconscious, surrounded by illegal firearms, and the body of Exavier on the ground. Savauge was taken and charged with murder and illegal firearm possession. He has also been wanted for drug trafficking, illegal gambling, human trafficking, and 19 counts of murder. Edward Savauge was the boss of a Camorra crime syndicate. Ladybug and Chat Noir were unavailable for comment.” The recording ended there, and the woman shut off the TV.

“He was my lover. A wonderfully powerful man...but because of you, he’s in hot water. If he goes to prison, I’ll never see him again...so you will never see your family, friends, or your beloved fans again.”

Ladybug’s eyes were blown wide, horrified. This was why she hadn’t wanted anyone to find out their identities, in case someone went out for revenge.

“500,000 users are streaming the site, including three users at the TVi News Station.” Another man stated from a computer in the corner.

“Excellent.” Salo smiled. “Time?”

“T minus one minute.”

“You hear that? One minute until I reveal your name to the whole world. I’ll let you have that minute to escape. Go ahead, go.”

Frantic, Ladybug wriggled against her bindings. Come on! She was supposed to be stronger in the suit. But pull as she did, she was only making her wrists hurt, and the ropes to tighten.

She glanced over to Chat to see what he was doing. His shoulder looked lumpy and unnatural. He was biting back tears as he tried to wriggle too, though one arm was not moving. She realized it was the arm with his ring.

“Time’s up! Aw, you two do want to have fun! You stayed!”

Furious, Ladybug spit at the woman. “You won’t get away with this!”

“Oh, but I already have.” Salo tapped her on the nose. “You see, the Ladyblog really is an amazing resource! Every video of you two ever shot was on there. Theories and facts, all the information we needed was on there. I studied it carefully. All you had to do was show up for an akuma, and we took care of the rest. Though, I should probably thank that hulk, since he did the hard part for us. Seems like you’re not so lucky after all.”

Ladybug’s lip trembled.

“We have over a million users online,” spoke the man from the computer again.

“Then let’s begin.” Her voice was cold and merciless. “Let’s start with Mr. Noir, shall we? Your ring, sir!” She reached for it.

“Cataclysm!” He shouted, finally activating his power. He couldn’t move his arm, but it would give him a few minutes of protection.

“Oh you think you’re so smug.” Salo smirked. “But you see, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.” She snapped her fingers, and the large man standing by touched Chat’s hand with a metal pole. The metal rusted and turned to dust. Chat’s hand was useless once again.

She took hold of the ring between her fingers.

“Please,” whispered Chat. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I don’t, pussy cat. But it’s my great joy that I get too.” Slowly, deliberately, she pulled his ring off his finger, watching as his transformation fell away in a flurry of green light.

Ladybug looked in horror as her long time crush and good friend Adrien Agreste sat in front of her, still bound and in immense pain without his suit.

Salo leaned on his bad shoulder, making him cry out in pain. “Well well well. A famous model and a superhero! How intriguing! Adrien Agreste…I bet your father would pay a pretty penny to have you home safe and sound, don’t you think?” She dragged her fingers over his cheek.

Adrien was in tears. Not outright sobbing, but a few drops rolling off his chin. Whether it was the pain from his shoulder, or facing the reality that his freedom had just literally been stripped away, he wasn’t sure himself.

Salo scoffed. “What a baby.” She smacked his face just hard enough to sting. Then she stood and walked over to Ladybug. “Your turn, missy.”

Ladybug struggled, not willing to go without a fight. She thrashed in her chair, kicked her legs, and frantically shook her head, so Salo had put her into a choke hold. She fought for breath and cried out with a choking gasp.

The earrings were plucked from her ears and sad little Marinette Dupain-Cheng remained. Adrien stared at her, a gasp bursting from his lips.

She didn’t dare look at him.

“And who the heck are you?” Salo snorted. “We lucked out with Mr. Whiskers, but who knew Ladybug was just a nobody?” She leaned in closer. “Oh wait, I recognize you…yeah, you’re a friend of the Ladyblogger, in some of her videos. Mmmm….Marinette, right? Yeah. How sad! You’d think the person most dedicated to finding out Ladybug’s identity would have seen her sitting in front of her! You must either be too pathetic in your real life, or totally unimportant to the Ladyblogger.”

Marinette sat still and quiet, not willing to let the words of this vile woman get to her. She just stared at Adrien, apologizing with her eyes, and begging him not to hate her. He stared back with fear and desperation.

Marinette pushed her fear aside, and summoned Ladybug’s courage. “Alright, you’ve taken our Miraculous, and now everyone knows who we are. Can we go now?”

Salo slapped her cheek and sent her sprawling on the floor, the chair pressing awkwardly on her arm. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re never getting out of here. You’ll never see daylight again. I intend to keep you here and torture you over and over. One day, you won’t even know your own name anymore, but you’ll beg me for death!”

This couldn’t be happening. There was just no way.

She was roughly yanked off the ground, the chair settling back on the floor.

“Let’s see, first thing first is to get you into uniform.”

Uniform? Thought Marinette, with fear.

Her bindings were cut, and she was forced to her feet. She rubbed her wrists carefully. There were several men standing around, watching, plus Salo had a gun. She didn’t know if it was loaded, but she wouldn’t take that chance.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” Said Salo. “Now strip.”

Marinette was keenly aware of the camera pointed at her, and the spot light on her, forbidding any hiding. With trembling hands, she took off her jacket, purse, and shoes.

Salo crouched and picked up her purse. “Let’s see, just as I thought.” She took out her phone, looking at the screen. “18 missed calls? My my someone is worried about their baby.” Then she dropped the phone and smashed it under her heel. “Not to worry. We’ll let mommy know how much fun your having.”

She then went over to Adrien and frisked him, finding his phone. “2 missed calls. Hmm, I wonder who’s more loved?” She smashed his phone as well. The remnants of both were collected and tossed in a bucket of water, just to make sure all the circuitry was fried.

Salo gestured Marinette onward.

She then took off her shirt and pants, standing alone, trembling in her underwear.

“Well?” Said Salo. “The rest of it too.”

So Marinette unhooked her bra and shimmied out of her panties, standing completely naked in front of all of Paris. And her crush.

Adrien wasn’t looking at her, keeping his eyes politely on her toes.

“Oh what a gentleman!” Salo laughed, noticing. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. “But I know where you really want to look. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Adrien couldn’t help it, he glanced her up and down, and then met her eyes. “…I’m sorry.”

“Did I say you could talk, pussy cat?”

He shook his head, immediately snapping to obedience.

“Aw, he already knows how to behave so well. This will be so fun!”

Marinette continued to stand there, trying in vain to cross her legs or wrap her arms around her chest. It was doing little good.

Salo gestured to someone in the room, and without warning, a bucket of cold water dropped over her head, soaking her through. “Ugh!” She yelped, in shock.

Next, Adrien was forced to his feet too, and also freed of his bindings, but his arm just hung limply at his side.

“He might need some help, Ladybug. So why don’t you help him.” Salo shoved her forward, as she tripped into his chest.

Any other day, she’d be blushing madly and apologizing. But right now, she just wanted to hug him and hide in his embrace.

“Tick tock, you two.”

It became apparent that any movement caused Adrien pain, as she helped ease his arm out of his over shirt. His t-shirt followed, but with a lot more fumbling and wincing.

She had to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans, which was painfully awkward and uncomfortable for both of them. Especially with the snickers and wolf whistles from the shadows.

Then they were both naked, in front of Paris.

“Wow, the suit really holds everything in, doesn’t it, Adrien?” Salo laughed, looking between his legs.

He was in too much pain to be embarrassed.

But just like with Marinette, a bucket of cold water drenched him. He tensed up, wincing all the while.

“Here,” Salo spoke, dropping a folded cloth into Marinette’s hands. “Your uniform.”

Holding it up, she found it was just a hospital gown. And a short one at that.

She quickly put it on, tying it as tightly as she could in the back. As long as she didn’t have to raise her hands, she would be covered.

“Now Mr. Whiskers.” Salo gave her another gown, to help Adrien into.

She bunched up the sleeve to make it easier, and eased his hand into the sleeve, his other going in just fine. She pulled it up to drape over his shoulders and then stepped to go behind him.

“Uh uh uh…” Salo stopped her, “you can tie him from in front.”

Marinette obeyed, reaching her arms around him and tying the strings tightly. She pressed against his chest, though she tried not too.

“My lady,” he whispered oh so quietly. “It’ll be alright.”

She felt awful. She should be the one reassuring him. Wordlessly, she cupped his cheek and wiped his tears away.

The gown was short on him too, just barely keeping him covered.

Salo grabbed Marinette’s arm and yanked her back. “Alright, that’s enough. I’ve got some new jewelry for you, since I took your old ones.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Where did you put our miraculous? What did you do with them?”

Salo smiled, “Oh, you didn’t notice? Why, they’re right here.”

There was a small safe on a table behind her. The lid was open, and Salo held it up to show the ring and earrings sitting dormant inside. Then she closed the lid and flipped the combination. “I don’t worry showing you this. Because there’s no way you’ll be able get them. But I’d love to see you try.”

Marinette clenched her fist, looking at the safe, the door, and the gun.

She had never felt so absolutely hopeless.

Salo picked something up from the table next to the safe, and came towards Marinette. “Alright bug, I’d stay still unless you want to get pinched.”

She clamped on two wrist restraints, and then one to her neck, all connected with chains.

Then she did the same with Adrien, even clamping his bad arm.

“Now aren’t you two just precious? All gussied up for your first day of camp! Smile for the camera! Let your parents know how much fun you’re having!”

The camera swung in close to them, capturing their expressions of absolute humiliation and horror.

“I said, smile!” She pinched the underside of their arms, causing them both to wince, which they both tried to turn into a smile.

“Alright, now let’s take you to your bunks. We have a really nice set up for our new campers. You’ll just love it!”

They were both led from the room, chains rattling with each step.

Marinette paid attention to the direction of the hallways. Although, the walls were bare and grimy. It was unbelievably dark too.

Finally, they came to their ‘cabin’. A room without a door, but two large metal ducts. The kind used in buildings for Air Conditioning, but they looked old and rusty. Crude doors had been sawed out of them, and chains welded to them.

“Take your pick.” Salo giggled. “There’s just enough room in there to sit.”

Marinette took the one on the right, but Adrien just stood at the door.

“Well, go on.” Salo pushed him forward.

Marinette watched with growing concern as each step he took was slow and shaky. He looked absolutely terrified. Finally, he took his place on the left, and turned to face the door.

The doors closed, but little slots opened in the middle, big enough to fit their wrists through.

“Arms up.” Salo demanded.

Through the slot, their chains were removed, though the shackles remained. Then, the slot closed and several padlocks clicked into place outside.

“Get some sleep you two. Tomorrow we have a day chocked full of activities.”

Several footsteps led away and then, silence.

Marinette grit her teeth. “Tikki can you��“

Tikki wasn’t there. For the first time in three years, Tikki wasn’t there. She was all alone.

Well, almost.

“Kitty?” She asked softly.

“I’m here.” He answered, his voice broken.

“I...I’m going to figure a way out of this. I promise.”

He didn’t respond.

“Chat?”

“I’m...I’m sorry...” He was crying, and hyperventilating. “I…I don’t like being locked up.”

“Oh Kitty…”

“If only I had cataclysmed the wrecking ball, or—or arrived at the docks earlier—“

“Chat.”

“I could have—Maybe we—“

“Adrien.” She rested a hand on the cold metal of the cage. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But...I promised to protect you. And I failed.”

“Don’t do this to yourself. I need you right now, okay?”

He was quiet, and then finally agreed. “Okay.”

“How’s your arm?”

“I’m...getting used to it.”

“Can you pop it back in?”

“I don’t know how. I’ve never dislocated anything before.”

“Me neither.” She sighed. Slowly, and ever so carefully she sat on the ground, leaning against the metal walls. It was pitch black, she couldn’t even see her own hand in front of her face. She reached forward, finding the door to the cage. The metal felt pretty thin, and if she was lucky, it would have some give. The door was several inches from the floor, leaving a gap large enough to reach her arm out. She grabbed hold of the edge, and trying to force it out, but she wasn’t prepared for the sharp edge and cut herself.

She hissed in pain.

“Marinette?”

It was at that moment that she was struck with the realization that this was Adrien talking to her, and that he was Chat Noir, and that he knew who she was. Perhaps it was shock or adrenaline, but it didn’t click until just this moment.

“Are you okay?” He asked, still sniffling.

“I just…yeah…be careful with the edges of the door, it’s sharp.”

“Yeah, I cut myself just sitting down. There’s an edge along the wall.”

“Oh…” She settled down then, not really knowing what to do.

Ladybug was out of ideas.

“My lady?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Would...would you still think I was super cool even if I said I was scared?”

She managed a single laugh. “I’m…I’m terrified.” She admitted. “Chat, we…we failed. Everyone knows who we are.”

“Yeah…”

“My family…your dad…Alya and Nino…they all know. And they’re all in danger…and th-there’s nothing—“ She choked out a sob. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Adrien didn’t respond but she could hear him sniffling.

“I don’t know…what are we going to do?” The last part was barely a whisper.

“Salo said she thought my dad might pay a hefty price to get me out. Money hasn’t ever been an object to my father, so...I’m sure he’d pay your ransom too.” There was a piece of doubt deep in his soul that wondered if he would. Gabriel Agreste was a good man. Sometimes.

“No.” Marinette shook her head. “I can’t allow that to happen. These people are dangerous. If your father gives them money, how many more people will die? What other crimes will they commit? We can’t…no matter how scary it is…we can’t let them win…”

It was a beat before Adrien agreed. “…yeah. I guess all our hard work goes away then.”

She leaned her head back, the metal groaning as she did so.

“You know…” He spoke, taking a massive sigh. “We’ve spent the last three years saving Paris. I think…I think Paris can protect our loved ones for us.” She could hear him moving, the metal groaning as he pushed against it. “Can you reach under the door, towards me?”

She scooted down too, laying on the ground on her side, and as she reached under the door, she found a warm hand, with strong fingers that quickly wrapped around her own.

“My lady….my beautiful lady…”

“Kitty cat…”

“We’ll find a way out. Together.”

“Partners?”

“Partners.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #ladynoir #fanfiction #longest night

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ucflibrary · 6 years ago

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Women’s History Month began as a week-long celebration by in Sonoma, California in 1978 which was centered around International Women’s Day on March 8. A year later during a women’s history conference at Sarah Lawrence College, participants learned how successful the week was and decided to initiate similar in their own areas. President Carter issued the first proclamation for a national Women’s History Week in 1980. In 1987, Congress (after being petitioned by the National Women’s History Project) passed Pub. L. 100-9 designating March as Women’s History Month. U.S. Presidents have issued proclamations on Women’s History Month since 1988.

The University of Central Florida community joins together to celebrate Women’s History Month across the multiple campuses with a wide variety of activities including workshops, film screenings, and WomanFest2019. Visit the Office of Diversity and Inclusion’s #visionarywomen page to learn more about the scheduled events, and stop by the library to view the display wall, Portraits of Empowerment: Womanhood & Activism, which includes bras decorated at our Honor, Remember & Support workshop. UCF Libraries is featuring a faculty author talk by Dr. Kimberly Voss called Women's Page History in Florida in the 1950s and 1960s on Friday, March 8 at 10:30 am in John C. Hitt Library 223.

Here at the UCF Libraries, we have created a list of suggested, and favorite, books about women in both history and fiction. Please click on the read more link below to see the full book list with descriptions and catalog links. And don’t forget to stop by the John C. Hitt Library to browse the featured bookshelf on the 2nd (main) floor near the bank of two elevators for additional Women’s History Month books and DVDs.

Becoming by Michelle Obama

When she was a little girl, Michelle Robinson's world was the South Side of Chicago, where she and her brother, Craig, shared a bedroom in their family's upstairs apartment and played catch in the park, and where her parents, Fraser and Marian Robinson, raised her to be outspoken and unafraid. But life soon took her much further afield, from the halls of Princeton, where she learned for the first time what if felt like to be the only black woman in a room, to the glassy office tower where she worked as a high-powered corporate lawyer--and where, one summer morning, a law student named Barack Obama appeared in her office and upended all her carefully made plans. Here, for the first time, Michelle Obama describes the early years of her marriage as she struggles to balance her work and family with her husband's fast-moving political career. She takes us inside their private debate over whether he should make a run for the presidency and her subsequent role as a popular but oft-criticized figure during his campaign. Narrating with grace, good humor, and uncommon candor, she provides a vivid, behind-the-scenes account of her family's history-making launch into the global limelight as well as their life inside the White House over eight momentous years--as she comes to know her country and her country comes to know her.

Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Berenice Abbott: a life in photography by Julia Van Haaften

The comprehensive biography of the iconic twentieth-century American photographer Berenice Abbott, a trailblazing documentary modernist, author, and inventor. Berenice Abbott is to American photography as Georgia O'Keeffe is to painting or Willa Cather to letters. She was a photographer of astounding innovation and artistry, a pioneer in both her personal and professional life. Abbott's sixty-year career established her not only as a master of American photography, but also as a teacher, writer, archivist, and inventor. Famously reticent in public, Abbott's fascinating life has long remained a mystery―until now.

Suggested by Christina Wray, Teaching & Engagement

Broad Band: the untold story of the women who made the Internet by Claire L. Evans

Join the ranks of the pioneers who defied social convention to become database poets, information-wranglers, hypertext dreamers, and glass ceiling-shattering dot com-era entrepreneurs. This inspiring call to action shines a light on the bright minds whom history forgot, and shows us how they will continue to shape our world in ways we can no longer ignore.

Suggested by Dawn Tripp, Research & Information Services

Eleanor Roosevelt by Blanche Wiesen Cook

Eleanor Roosevelt was born into the privileges and prejudices of American aristocracy and into a family ravaged by alcoholism. She overcame debilitating roots: in her public life, fighting against racism and injustice and advancing the rights of women; and in her private life, forming lasting intimate friendships with some of the great men and women of her times. This volume covers ER's family and birth, her childhood, education, and marriage, and ends with FDR's election to the Presidency--the years of ER's youth and coming of age. Celebrated by feminists, historians, politicians, and reviewers everywhere, Cook's trilogy is an unprecedented portrait of a brave, fierce, passionate political leader of our century.

Suggested by Larry Cooperman, Research & Information Services

Miss Ella of Commander's Palace: "I Don't Want a Restaurant Where a Jazz Band Can't Come Marching Through" by Ella Brennan & Ti Adelaide Martin

Meet Ella Brennan: mother, mentor, blunt-talking fireball, and matriarch of a New Orleans restaurant empire, famous for bringing national attention to Creole cuisine. In this candid autobiography, she shares her life. From childhood in the Great Depression to opening esteemed eateries, it’s quite a story to tell. When she and her family launched Commander’s Palace, it became the city’s most popular restaurant, where famous chefs such as Paul Prudhomme, Emeril Lagasse, and James Beard Award winner Troy McPhail got their start. Miss Ella of Commander’s Palace describes the drama, the disasters, and the abundance of love, sweat, and grit it takes to become the matriarch of New Orleans’ finest restaurant empire.

Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

My American Dream: a life of love, family, and food by Lidia Matticchio Bastianich

For decades, beloved chef Lidia Bastianich has introduced Americans to Italian food through her cookbooks, TV shows, and restaurants. Now, in My American Dream, she tells her own story for the very first time. Born in Pula, on the Istrian peninsula, Lidia grew up surrounded by love and security, learning the art of Italian cooking from her beloved grandmother. But when Istria was annexed by a communist regime, Lidia’s family fled to Trieste, where they spent two years in a refugee camp waiting for visas to enter the United States. When she finally arrived in New York, Lidia soon began working in restaurants, the first step on a path that led to her becoming one of the most revered chefs and businesswomen in the country. Heartwarming, deeply personal, and powerfully inspiring, My American Dream is the story of Lidia’s close-knit family and her dedication and endless passion for food.

Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Notorious RBG by Irin Carmon

Notorious RBG, inspired by the Tumblr that amused the Justice herself and brought to you by its founder and an award-winning feminist journalist, is more than just a love letter. It draws on intimate access to Ginsburg's family members, close friends, colleagues, and clerks, as well an interview with the Justice herself. An original hybrid of reported narrative, annotated dissents, rare archival photos and documents, and illustrations, the book tells a never-before-told story of an unusual and transformative woman who transcends generational divides. As the country struggles with the unfinished business of gender equality and civil rights, Ginsburg stands as a testament to how far we can come with a little chutzpah.

Suggested by Peter Spyers-Duran, Cataloging

Re-evaluating Women's Page Journalism in the Post-World War II Era: celebrating soft news by Kimberly Wilmot Voss

Re-Evaluating Women’s Page Journalism in the Post-World War II Era tells the stories of significant women’s page journalists who contributed to the women’s liberation movement and the journalism community. Previous versions of journalism history had reduced the role these women played at their newspapers and in their communities—if they were mentioned at all. For decades, the only place for women in newspapers was the women’s pages. While often dismissed as fluff by management, these sections in fact documented social changes in communities. These women were smart, feisty and ahead of their times. They left a great legacy for today’s women journalists. This book brings these individual women together and allows for a broader understanding of women’s page journalism in the 1950s and 1960s. It details the significant roles they played in the post-World War II years, laying the foundation for a changing role for women.

Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

She Persisted: 13 American women who changed the world by Chelsea Clinton

Chelsea Clinton introduces tiny feminists, mini activists and little kids who are ready to take on the world to thirteen inspirational women who never took no for an answer, and who always, inevitably and without fail, persisted. She Persisted is for everyone who has ever wanted to speak up but has been told to quiet down, for everyone who has ever tried to reach for the stars but was told to sit down, and for everyone who has ever been made to feel unworthy or unimportant or small.

Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot Her name was Henrietta Lacks, but scientists know her as HeLa. She was a poor black tobacco farmer whose cells—taken without her knowledge in 1951—became one of the most important tools in medicine, vital for developing the polio vaccine, cloning, gene mapping, and more. Henrietta's cells have been bought and sold by the billions, yet she remains virtually unknown, and her family can't afford health insurance. This phenomenal New York Times bestseller tells a riveting story of the collision between ethics, race, and medicine; of scientific discovery and faith healing; and of a daughter consumed with questions about the mother she never knew.

Suggested by Rachel Edford, Teaching & Engagement

The Only Woman in the Room: why science is still a boy’s club by Eileen Pollack

A bracingly honest exploration of why there are still so few women in the hard sciences, mathematics, engineering, and computer science. Based on six years interviewing her former teachers and classmates, as well as dozens of other women who had dropped out before completing their degrees in science or found their careers less rewarding than they had hoped, The Only Woman in the Room is a bracingly honest, no-holds-barred examination of the social, interpersonal, and institutional barriers confronting women—and minorities—in the STEM fields. This frankly personal and informed book reflects on women’s experiences in a way that simple data can’t, documenting not only the more blatant bias of another era but all the subtle disincentives women in the sciences still face. The Only Woman in the Room shows us the struggles women in the sciences have been hesitant to admit, and provides hope for changing attitudes and behaviors in ways that could bring far more women into fields in which even today they remain seriously underrepresented.

Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

The Radium Girls: the dark story of America's shining women by Kate Moore

The Curies' newly discovered element of radium makes gleaming headlines across the nation as the fresh face of beauty, and wonder drug of the medical community. From body lotion to tonic water, the popular new element shines bright in the otherwise dark years of the First World War. Meanwhile, hundreds of girls toil amidst the glowing dust of the radium-dial factories. The glittering chemical covers their bodies from head to toe; they light up the night like industrious fireflies. With such a coveted job, these "shining girls" are the luckiest alive ― until they begin to fall mysteriously ill. But the factories that once offered golden opportunities are now ignoring all claims of the gruesome side effects, and the women's cries of corruption. And as the fatal poison of the radium takes hold, the brave shining girls find themselves embroiled in one of the biggest scandals of America's early 20th century, and in a groundbreaking battle for workers' rights that will echo for centuries to come.

Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

The Secret History of Wonder Woman by Jill Lepore

The Secret History of Wonder Woman is a tour de force of intellectual and cultural history. Wonder Woman, Lepore argues, is the missing link in the history of the struggle for women’s rights—a chain of events that begins with the women’s suffrage campaigns of the early 1900s and ends with the troubled place of feminism a century later. This edition includes a new afterword with fresh revelations based on never before seen letters and photographs from the Marston family’s papers.

Suggested by Rachel Edford, Teaching & Engagement

The Woman Who Smashed Codes: a true story of love, spies, and the unlikely heroine who outwitted America's enemies by Jason Fagone

In The Woman Who Smashed Codes, Jason Fagone chronicles the life of this extraordinary woman, who played an integral role in our nation’s history for forty years. After World War I, Smith used her talents to catch gangsters and smugglers during Prohibition, then accepted a covert mission to discover and expose Nazi spy rings that were spreading like wildfire across South America, advancing ever closer to the United States. As World War II raged, Elizebeth fought a highly classified battle of wits against Hitler’s Reich, cracking multiple versions of the Enigma machine used by German spies.

Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Visionary Women: how Rachel Carson, Jane Jacobs, Jane Goodall, and Alice Waters changed our world by Andrea Barnet

This is the story of four visionaries who profoundly shaped the world we live in today. Together, these women—linked not by friendship or field, but by their choice to break with convention—showed what one person speaking truth to power can do. Jane Jacobs fought for livable cities and strong communities; Rachel Carson warned us about poisoning the environment; Jane Goodall demonstrated the indelible kinship between humans and animals; and Alice Waters urged us to reconsider what and how we eat. With a keen eye for historical detail, Andrea Barnet traces the arc of each woman’s career and explores how their work collectively changed the course of history. All told, their efforts ignited a transformative progressive movement while offering people a new way to think about the world and a more positive way of living in it.

Suggested by Christina Wray, Teaching & Engagement

#women's history month #ucflibrary #ucf library #ucf #book suggestions #booklr

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one-ishmael · 6 years ago

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Chapter 7: The Chapel

Let’s move on to some capital-T Theology in this next run of chapters in Moby-Dick; or, the Whale! I’ll say ahead of time that I am, at best, an amateur theologian, having taken only a few classes on the subject in college, and none of them even remotely relating to 19th century Christianity.

But, having been raised in a denomination that encourages scholarship of the Bible, following @benito-cereno for many years on this site, and listening to his wonderful podcast @apocrypals, I know a thing or three about the following of ol’ Oily Josh.

SUMMARY: Ishmael returns to the inn after his morning perambulations, then leaves again to visit the famous Whaleman’s Chapel of New Bedford. The weather has turned bad, sleeting heavily, but he makes it there, crusted over in ice. The chapel is already half full of various worshipers, each sitting apart and silently in their grief, gazing at the memorial tablets on the wally behind the pulpit. Queequeg is there, but because he can’t read he is unaffected by the gravity of the scene.

So, we transition ever so smoothly from Ishmael extolling the merits of the whale fishery, rhapsodizing about how it has made New Bedford a paradise on earth when it was previously a blasted waste, straight into this, a contemplation of the cost of that wealth. Not only the lives lost in gaining it, but the grief of those left behind, the shipmates and relatives who now suffer eternal grief.

Ishmael explains that the deaths of whalemen in the process of their craft is especially harsh, as their bodies are usually unrecoverable. A boat is simply carried off over the horizon, and everyone on it is accounted as dead. A man is dragged beneath the waves after not cutting a rope soon enough, never to be seen again. He goes overboard during a squall, and only noticed in the morning’s accounting.

Thus, the grief is more keenly felt by those in this particular chapel. Which is a real place, it turns out, but is called the Seaman’s Bethel and not the Whaleman’s Chapel. It is preserved exactly as it is described in this book, and you can go there, in New Bedford, and gaze at those tablets yourself, if you so wish.

Not knowing where your loved one’s body ended up is tragic, because how will you find them when the resurrection comes? Indeed, Ishmael posits that this is the reason the grief is all the deeper and intractable in this place. It undermines the very faith of the grievers, how can they believe in Eternal Life if the bodies of their beloved lay at the bottom of some ocean, thousands of miles away?

This is referring to the concept of Jesus returning to grant eternal life to all who have died. The idea being that when you die, you don’t just go to heaven immediately, but have to stay dead for a while, until Jesus returns to Earth to raise the righteous dead and bring them with him up into paradise. So the placement of bodies after death becomes a very important thing, in Christianity.

There’s a whole Thing about what these resurrected dead will be like, and be able to do, which is buck-fucking-wild, but I’m not gonna get into that here. Check out episode 5 of the aforementioned podcast, Apocrypals, for more info on all that.

Getting back to the text, I really didn’t understand this bit at all the first time I read it, but now it makes more sense, being aware of the whole second-coming-resurrection thing. Ishmael gets more philosophical here, wondering why people care so much about where the bodies lay, or why people care about their loved ones being dead at all! After all, they’ll be back as immortal spirits in no time. They’re not even really dead, just resting until the second coming.

And yet, there is grief. There is sorrow eternal, over the placeless dead. There is fear over the idea of resurrection itself. Ishmael seems to be picking at a contradiction here, that people don’t really believe in these things. Or, that the faith itself only sustains itself by offering hope to those in the depths of despair. You may say, taking advantage of those who are desperate for a shimmer of hope.

But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.

Then, Ishmael gets really philosophical, right in the last paragraph.

After contemplating the tablets seemingly foretelling his own death in his forthcoming voyage, he decides to take the whole thing in stride. Sure, maybe he’ll die in some ignominious way in some random accident, but so what? He’s just getting it over with, getting a promotion to an immortal spirit, shedding his earthly form early.

Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me. And therefore three cheers for Nantucket; and come a stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, Jove himself cannot.

So, what we see as the world is not necessarily the truth of it. Ishmael is going full Descartes here, saying that the only thing you can know for sure is that you exist. The true nature of the world is not revealed to us by appearances.

That is definitely gonna show up a lot in this book, as an ongoing theme. The world that presents itself to our eyes, at a glance, is not even a fraction of the whole story when it comes to whales. Why should it be so for anything else? What appears to be the important things in life, the physical things, are just impermanent shadows, compared to the eternal nature of the soul!

Sounds an awful lot like Gnosticism to me, frankly. Melville was a bit of a heretic! Not that he ever claimed not to be. Gnosticism being the off-shoot of christianity, going way back to the very early days, which posits that the physical world was made by an evil being called the Demiurge and exists only to corrupt the pure, spiritual essence of mankind.

But, really, Melville isn’t being specific enough to be slotted into any particular theology or philosophy. The whole point is that knowledge is impossible. You can try and try, but to really get to the true truth? The real reality? It is completely unknowable whether you’ve ever reached it.

I warned you it was gonna be a big one, for such a short chapter. And this isn’t even getting into all the meaning I could wring out of that line about faith being like a jackal. I’ve basically made that quote the basis for this indie game project I’ve been working on, and even used it as a prospective name!

The deep stuff in this book comes out of nowhere, sometimes. One chapter Ishmael is opining about how pretty the girls of New Bedford are in the spring, and the next he’s saying it’s okay if he dies because this physical world is but an illusion. Go figure!

As always, you can follow along with the full text of the book FOR FREE on Gutenberg dot org. Or, there are many free or very cheap editions available on amazon dot com. And if you really want to get fancy, check out the illustrated edition by one Evan Dahm, the author of the webcomics Rice Boy and Vattu.

Until next time, shipmates!

#moby dick #Moby-Dick; or The Whale #ishmael #new bedford #gustave dore #seaman's bethel #gnosticism #philosophy #theology #resurrection bodies

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toddlazarski · 4 years ago

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Last Suppers

Shepherd Express

“Please let me go ‘round again.”

— John Prine

I thought the apocalypse would be more exciting. Some kind of heaven-sent fireball, a mushroom cloud of malaise, Mad Max dune buggies. In this far off light I’d always pictured myself bearded, barricaded, adroitly philosophical, suddenly quite adept at swinging a sort of spiked bat or other homemade zombie stopper. Instead, so far, some five weeks in, nobody I know has gotten sick. Nobody in my orbit has died. Even being accosted by our neighborhood Jehovah’s Witness on the street, being told of end times and other corporeal human collapses I couldn’t stand or fully hear—being as they were, uttered by a man six feet away, while a two-year-old pent-up from quarantine perched on my shoulders and periodically bonked my head urging movement—took place from a mindful, strangely respectable social distance.

Mostly these days just find me as an iPhone-glued glut of dissociated dread. A musty sack of torpor filling out ironically-named Champion jogging pants and a Totino’s-stained hoodie crowned by a hastily shaved head. What I’m currently reminded of, for some reason, from somewhere deep within the lizard brain that was weaned on world-end movies, is Deep Impact, and the way it all ends for Tea Leoni’s character: in front of a beloved beachhouse, with brave acceptance, facing truth and demise in the form of an imminent asteroid death, with her—father, maybe? (This recall may be way off, as I only saw the movie once, maybe 20 years ago, but I have a current therapist-mandated pause from internet research as the slightest twitch toward dot com-ing leads inevitably, instantly to a Milla Jovovich in Fifth Element-like doom scroll of terror). Regardless, this is how I view my resignation when being generous: a soft, somber, single tear strong-willed nod and jutted-chin acquiescence. I’ve had my restaurant meals, if they never come again. I’ve had too many, at too many bars. I’ve lived. So, here I am, at the freezer again, my own beloved beachhouse, mustering strength, wondering how much Ben and Jerry’s will pass before life maybe resembles normal again, or else until I see St. Pete, or St. Paul, or whichever is the one at the gates. Measuring the days till Quetzalcoatl in pints of Chunky Monkey. Wondering if I’ll ever again eat Cherry Garcia as a little reward, for a jog and some push ups maybe, instead of a desperate substitute for therapy, lobotomy. My biggest preoccupation is really Instacart deliveries, and the thought of them, the threat of them, where we let the bags sit on the porch like sentinels with tales from the front lines, or like badges of middle class virus-avoidance privilege. We hope the wind cleans off the Corona, I suppose, and then we let the same bags sit inside, eyeing our wares cautiously, suspiciously by the door, weighing the three articles advising cleansing groceries is unnecessary versus the one—always from Medium—that states everything inside a grocery store will likely give you and your grandmother the plague. Then, between the subsequent wiping—of course—and the beginning to plan six days out for the next Instacart delivery, and then the moisturizing of hands out of necessity from washing hands far too much, there has been such a background din of quiet second-coming contemplation. With little to do but wipe the door handle again, with the closest social contact being yet another episode of Cheers, there’s been too much time to think on all this, on all that went, all that was snuffed by a brutal harsh Monday morning reminder—all our kicks, our joys, our dinner plans and drink diversions, all that was maybe never really deserved in the first place.

For one or another—or none at all—reason that I choose to not consider too closely, the last normal weekend in contemporary American existence was a big one. A Friday night trip to Enlightened Brewing to check out Derek Pritzl and the Gamble was a promising prospect, sure. They had recently introduced me to, made me fall deeply in love with, play over and over again, John Prine’s “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness.” Still, as things were, it was largely run-of-the-mill in those distant days of social possibility. Just line up one of a few willing babysitters, jot on the calendar absent-mindedly, leave it peppered, like always, with the growing-old adult notion of if I feel like it. The self-importance of a modern American. The expectation, the world owing me it’s pearls and it’s oysters and it’s artisanal double India Pale Ales, for some reason. There for taking, when we wished. It’s like we were all Mad Men men, coming home from work where you expect your dinner to be waiting, your children cleaned and polite. You did a little bit of work and now you are owed something, the other half of your existence, calm and orderly and “here are your slippers, dear.” Now there is no choosing or taking or rewarding yourself with a night out, or rewarding yourself with a night in. It’s simply like our parents have given us an indefinite timeout, with more whiskey, yes, but also more, much more, morbidity. And also our parents are not coming to our room, eventually, to tell us it will all be ok. Rather, now, they might come, and stand on the sidewalk, while we stand on the front porch awkwardly, not knowing what to do with our hands, with no Easter hugs even considered, and mom might leave sugar cookies in a bag on the sidewalk, as if we were in prison, and she was the jailer that had to slide our sustenance gruel through a slot in the door. Only her said bag came with a real wonder: do we have to disinfect that now? I ran into a friend at Enlightened, then another, then a friend of a friend, and then a work friend—hugs for all the normal tangly tendrils of an adequate social life, amplified by guitars and rollicking songs of regret and craft suds and jocular end-of-week revelry. The band was twangy and driving and jostly, and I wanted it to be louder. Actually my spoiled fragile ego knew I deserved it to be louder. Meanwhile I talked importantly about basketball and somebody told me about their trip to New Orleans. “I’ll be there in a month,” I said. Like an ignoramus, like tempting fate, like I was one of the kids on the playground in Sarah Connor’s nuclear apocalypse nightmare in Terminator 2. There was no Purell in sight, in mind.

Later, at the Newport, the bartender handed me a beer list, and I didn’t even note that, or contemplate my mortality on the fact, he wasn’t wearing latex gloves. I leaned close, doing the thing you have to do at crowded bars where you wedge between two seated patrons, brush one or both, amplify your voice to the hunched-forward Sam Malone, spittle and open mouths and casual “excuse me, I’m sorry, man” contact with strangers not an issue or thought, let alone transgression against the whole of humanity’s existence. The bummer about the NBA that night was that the Bucks were losing to the Lakers. The saddest part about John Prine was the line: “How can a love that'll last forever, get left so far behind?” What would any of us say, had we knowl—in 5 days the entirety of the NBA machinery would be suddenly halted, a broom handle stuck in the grinding gears? That I would have no chance at seeing live music again, for the foreseeable future? And that, weeks later, due to the same crippling circumstances, John Prine would be dead?

The next night, somehow, as if acting on some last-chance latent level, I found myself barreling south for a Saturday night in Chicago. I rode a crowded Amtrak. I held the steel handle up the steps, followed along close in line, plopped unworriedly right on the worn blue cloth seat, I ordered a Lyft, I closed a packed bar with out-of-town big-city tenacity. Old friends shared birthday cake in a corner. I flushed a toilet, maybe didn’t wash my hands for a full 20 seconds, poked at the jukebox, clinked glasses, performed once-normal finger and hand functions that would now cause me to douse both extremities to the elbow in alcohol and ask for a light. My buddy and I kept drinking like we were Goodfellas, bound shortly for a stint in the can, which, in hindsight, we sort of were. Then we ordered another Lyft back to his place, like signing the tab on the last real Saturday night. Sunday was disarmingly sunny, soft, pleasant, the kind of warm early spring sliver that catches you off balance, leaves you without the right clothes or your sunglasses. So we sat inside, at the bar at a place called the Moonlighter, where we nursed hangovers with micheladas and shared fiery chicken wings and sloppily severed a grease-dripping American-cheesed burger and shoved it down our gaping gullets and licked fingers and laughed at the bartender’s Nascar sweatshirt, bitched about his lassitude. It was still a day where you could like a bartender or not like a bartender, and you didn’t have to wonder if all bartenders had simply vanished, poof, gone on the wind, Leftovers-style. You could do your drinking business and move on to the next one. Which we did, literally, deciding on pizza and homebrews at a spot called Bungalow that takes—that took—itself probably a bit too seriously. We’ve often fallen into this habit of double lunch-ing, not so much because we are slobs, fat and greedy and gluttonous. And not as some kind of intuitive acknowledgment that we were approaching end times. It also wasn’t just a love of time together, collapsing the 100 miles that separates our lives with a collective unspoken vow of ceaseless Epicureanism. Well, maybe exactly because of all those reasons. Either way we ate, glad they take, took, themselves so seriously with each bite, sip. And I got a pie to go, tucking it under my arm through Union Station, cradling the box like a toddler’s favorite stuffed dinosaur during my ride home nap, a last pepperoni and sausaged vestige from the world of living, togetherness, an experience slice from before we began to view each other as potentially poisonous flowers.

My final restaurant meal was the day after, at Copper Kitchen, my neighborhood greasy spoon of fluffy omelets and watery coffee that you can never get half down before a refill magically appears tableside. A welcoming diner with video poker, and some staff that still eye me a bit questioningly because I’ve only been coming here for two years, and not 30, like most patrons always around me. By now though, with some work, our regular waitress is beginning to know the score, my daughter and I having seemingly earned the corner booth I always steer her toward. I grab the high chair myself, never need a menu, she orders her own “Mickey Mouse pancakes, please” in an impossibly tiny voice. In many ways, actually, it feels small town-worn, lived-in, like a John Prine song. A surreal slowdown, a place with a cook with a “short order face.” A spot of warm plates and unjudging respite. “If I came home, would you let me in? Fry me some pork chops and forgive my sin?” Our daddy-daughter day this early March Monday was flowing in a far more friendly manner though: another successful trip to the Domes behind us, we had full-stomach cold afternoon warm bed naps ahead. I wanted to tell her some news I was suppressing too, having just briefly talked to my wife on the phone about her recent brief phone call with the doctor. The info was just beginning to gel and bacon-grease coagulate down around my ham and cheese omelet and double-buttered rye. “You’re going to have a sister,” I almost said. Instead I let her eat more bacon, I let the waitress squeeze her arm affectionately as she poured me yet more benign coffee that I would sip and sip until it was time to leave. I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t time yet. But maybe I missed the time. How could I have known, that now, weeks later, Copper Kitchen and restaurants like it, all restaurants, are in real danger of never fully opening again? How was I to know that soon there would be no business anywhere for good news?

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 7 years ago

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Can a fancy new video feature make Match cool again?

Everything old is new again. So maybe it shouldn't surprise us that the next big thing in dating might be Match... Dot com? Uh huh.

As anyone who’s spent any time on dating apps lately knows, the endless parade of matches — and all the chatting and ghosting and guessing that comes with it — are getting old. Every player in the game is, of course, busy searching for the next magic algorithm or mind-blowing feature that will give users a better way to sort through the masses and find the one. But it looks like good old-fashioned Match may have cracked the code.

Yes, the OG dating site, which was founded back in 1995 (gasp!), is still alive and well. It's definitely not regarded as the hip app of choice for thirsty millennials, but it does still have a sizable user base of people actively looking for love. And now they’re going to move all those singles into the brave new world of video.

A wall full of successful matches in the Match office

Image: match

In an interview, Match CEO Mandy Ginsberg, told us the product will be called Match Stories and will launch this summer. The point, in a nutshell, is to give people a chance to convey who they really are — in their own voice.

A focus on storytelling

Match has been working over the last several quarters to perfect a proprietary tool that lets users stitch together short profile videos with minimal effort. They’re intended to help you tell your story, but Ginsberg says, "There’s no way we can expect everyone to be a filmmaker, so that’s why we wanted to make sure it was light and easy."

To that end, these stories will be limited to 60 seconds, and you’ll be able to drop in a combination of photos and videos. You can also throw a voiceover on top of that, to talk through what’s happening.

A glimpse of what Stories will look like

Image: match

The name may sound similar to those casual snippets we’ve come to know and love on Snapchat and Instagram, but Match’s version will be a far more composed affair. In some ways, while it's more formal, it’s lower stakes.

Posting a regular stream of moments from your day is fine when it’s your friends who are seeing it, but when it’s a potential romantic interest, there is pressure to look good in addition to being funny and interesting. And that’s a lot to ask — dating is exhausting enough as it is.

SEE ALSO: Hey tech bros, we don't want your gimmicky dating apps

Match’s approach, though, doesn’t require a constant feed of content. It’s meant more as a quick intro that gives fuller sense of who you are. You can look at pictures all day and chat deep into the night, but just a few seconds of someone talking can often tell you everything you need to know.

"It gives people flexibility," Ginsberg explains. "Hearing someone talk about their photo is far better than just seeing the photo. Seeing a video and hearing their voice is, I think, the holy grail in terms of figuring out your attraction.”

She stresses, though, that these are not meant to be like those often creepy, direct-to-camera style video dating profiles that were once mailed around. (Yes, mailed on VHS tapes!) While you certainly could sit down and give a brief rundown of all your great qualities and what you’re looking for, that’s probably not your best option.

vimeo

If all goes according to plan, Match Stories should be an efficient way to convey what your life is like and what matters to you — "Here's me fishing with my brother," or "I love to travel and have been all over the world," or, even better, "Here are my seventeen beloved Pomeranians." And while a photo and video compilation by itself doesn’t exactly feel revolutionary, the voice over is really the game changer.

It obviously lets you hear the person’s voice, which, if you’ve ever fallen for someone over chat only to realize they had an annoyingly high-pitched giggle in person, you know is crucial. In fact, in their most recent Singles in America survey, Match found that 72% of singles think "someone’s voice makes a person attractive." So if you can gauge that right off the bat, you’ll be able to save yourself a lot of trouble.

It’s also a really good way to get a sense of how someone strings together their thoughts. Are they a good storyteller? Are they funny? Are they off-puttingly taken with themselves or too reserved for your taste? It’s a lot to ask of a minute-long clip, but in the high stakes numbers game that is online dating, this is exactly the kind of sorting tool many people are hungry for.

The right place at the right time

There’s no doubt that moving into video is a big gamble for Match. They’re certainly not the first app to offer a video platform, but as of now they’re the first of the massive dating apps to take on this particular beast. (Bumble did announce a plan to launch of disappearing, 10-second videos earlier this year, but thus far it hasn’t actually materialized.)

While video has fast taken over the rest of the internet — and social media, in particular — dating apps have been slow to come on board. Partly because there was no need to fix what wasn’t broken. People were happily swiping away, so why add something that was complicated and expensive and not necessarily in demand?

For new apps that have attempted to make video their main attraction, it’s proved difficult to build up a sizable user base and moderating all that content to keep the inevitable creeps off the platform is a behemoth task.

SEE ALSO: A new app sends you on a first date immediately. No swiping, no messaging allowed.

Match is in many ways uniquely positioned to succeed where others have failed. They already have scale. And unlike Tinder (which is owned by the same parent company as Match) and other more casual apps, Match has a pretty dedicated community of people who are there looking exclusively for serious relationships.

Those people, especially when they are paid subscribers, are more inclined to invest the time — even if it’s only requires a few minutes — to craft a video profile. Whereas if you’re just looking for hookups, you probably aren’t interested in telling your life story to your potential matches.

Match also has an existing infrastructure for moderating a massive amount of user-generated content, so throwing video into the mix will not be back-breaking amount of work. And if they need to develop a more sophisticated method for automatically screening tons of videos, they’ve got the resources to do it.

Clawing their way back to dominance

Ginsberg is the first to admit that Match lagged behind during the massive shift to mobile, and they’ve spent the last few years playing catch-up. But she now believes "We’re as good or better than any other dating app out there."

They’ve now turned their attention, she says, to setting themselves apart from the competition and exciting their existing users. Stories is a big part of how they plan to do that, and to that end, they’ve gone in hot. They’ve dedicated somewhere between 20 and 30 percent of their development capacity to the project, which they’ll begin testing in a few markets this summer and will roll out nationally later this year.

Ginsberg at work with the Stories development team

Image: match

Stories comes on the heels of another successful product launch earlier this year: Missed Connections, which matches you based on locations you've both frequented. So far it’s had a very solid adoption rate. Somewhere around 60 percent of users have opted into it since its debut in January, and Ginsberg has similarly high expectations for Stories.

She says, “I will be shocked if not everyone watches video — because how can you not?” Video does seem irresistible as the next frontier in online dating, but will this particular way of doing it be enough to help Match capture people’s hearts again?

SEE ALSO: Wingman is the dating app that lets you play matchmaker for your friends

Ginsberg is under no illusions that they’re going to morph into Bumble, but that’s not her goal:

"We’re really clear on what we are and what we’re not. We’re not going to be for the 19-year-old college student. That’s just not who Match is for. But if you’re 28 and you’re ready for a real relationship. Or you’re 42 and you’re divorced and you’re ready for a real relationship, then we are probably the place you go to."

That’s why Match is highly focused on creating "features that allow you to create real connections," and Ginsberg is committed to pushing even further with video in the future. She says, "The best situation is that by the time people go on a date, it feels like a second date. Anything we can do to give people a better picture of their chemistry, we’ll do."

As the millennials who came of age on Tinder age and get more serious about settling down, they’re a real get for any app. Offering them a real way to read chemistry without having to invest the time and energy of actually meeting IRL could be enough to make them take a second look at the old standard.

WATCH: A water park designed for people with disabilities has invented an air-powered wheelchair

#_author:Cassie Murdoch #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_uuid:8cab3a95-301d-3236-976e-865c977311ab #_revsp:news.mashable

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