#can we also talk about how I have so many stamp cards that I sometimes have repeats BC I FORGET THAT I ALREADY HAVE ONE???

[pardi-real]

[AKNK] Butler in Wonderland / Chapter 10 - Can't Go Home Now?

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Hanamaru: "Hey, Yuhan.

Is something wrong? It seemed to me you got stunned there, as soon as you put your hand in your pocket,… Perhaps… There's something inside you can't show to anyone?"

Yuhan: "Fufu… certainly not. There's no such thing. If you have any doubts, please feel free to inspect it as much as you like."

Hanamaru: "Is that so. Well then, let me check it out right away."

Lamli: "And I'll check Nac's pockets! Well, let's~ see... I wonder where he hides the jewel~…"

Nac: "Of course I don't have it.  This is a waste of time, so please hurry up."

Lamli: "Let's see... In Nac's pockets… was a handkerchief, a notepad, a handkerchief, an embroidery tool, a handkerchief, a glasses case, a handkerchief, a handkerchief…"

> "That's a lot of handkerchiefs"

Nac: "Yes, I have a lot of handkerchiefs. I always want to have a clean handkerchief ready. I have handkerchiefs for wiping my hands, for eating, for glasses, for embroidery, for when I find a stain, for my hobby, and for laying out when my Lord sits down… You can never have too many."

Yuhan: "I see…  Now that you put it that way, you may be right. I carry only two with me, including a spare. That's how it was, but.... I must learn from Mr. Nac's attitude."

Hanamaru: "Really-? I think one is more than enough…"

Yuhan: "As for Mr. Hanamaru, you even forget that one piece sometimes, right?"

Hanamaru: "E-enough about me. We're in the middle of Yuhan's inspection."

Yuhan: "I see. So, did you find anything?"

Hanamaru: "Nope...  There was nothing particularly suspicious in your pockets."

Yuhan: "Fufu... right? Well then, I guess this is the end of the inspection."

Hanamaru: "Hm... Right. To finish, I'll check out Yuhan's sleeves first… If I don't find anything there, then it's all good."

Yuhan: "Wha...!  Wh-what are you talking about?"

Hanamaru: "Yuhan~~ You're not very good at talking your way out, are you?"

> "What's in his sleeves?"

Hanamaru: "Well. Earlier, when Yuhan put his hand in his pocket… I saw he had secretly moved something in his pocket into his sleeve. Hehhehheh. Don't even think trickery will work against this Master Hanamaru…"

Yuhan: "Sigh… You are surprisingly perceptive, aren't you? Alright. Then let me show you. I don't really mind if someone sees it… no problem."

With that, Yuhan took out a piece of paper from his sleeve and handed it to Hanamaru.

Hanamaru: "Hmm? It looks like… there are quite a lot of stamps on this paper, though."

Yuhan: "Yes. That is a 'stamp card'."

> "A stamp card?

Hanamaru: "Let's see… 'For every 4 red bean buns purchased, get 1 stamp!' 'For every 10 stamps, get 4 red bean buns for free!' Uh… you've got 10 stamps… I see… Yuhan, just how many red bean buns–.."

Yuhan: ".......... What are you trying to say? Mr. Hanamaru."

Hanamaru: "I didn't say anything! Quit being so intimidating…"

Fennesz: "A-anyway… Mr. Lucas and the others didn't have the jewel either, did they?"

Haures: "Yeah. Now… the one who hasn't gotten inspected yet is…"

Lucas: "The only one left... I guess it's just Lato."

> "Speaking of which, where is Lato?"

Nac: "Indeed... I haven't seen him for a while."

Fennesz: "C-could it be!? Is it possible that Lato… took the jewel…?"

Hanamaru: "Well, It's possible. He might have thought if the jewel was gone, the Lord would not be able to return. So… he could be secretly hiding it."

Yuhan: "Mr. Hanamaru. It's not good to doubt people without a second thought."

Hanamaru: "But, let's put aside the question of whether someone's really hiding it or not. We should also think about what would happen if we couldn't find the jewel, yeah? In that case… What will happen to the Lord?"

Lamli: "M-maybe… they will stay in this world forever?"

Nac: "Lamli...  Whether or not they can return to their world is a matter of great importance.  As our Lord's butlers... You should look a little more worried."

Lamli: "Y-yeaaah of course, I feel worried too… but thinking of being with the Lord all the time… ended up making me feel more happy than worried…"

Nac: "Oh dear… Of course, it doesn't mean that they can't return home forever.  If push comes to shove... All we have to do is to make a new jewel for the ring."

> "A-a new jewel?"

Haures: "Yes, it is a last resort, as it would cost a lot of money.  However, as I said at the beginning… both the jewels and the rings are borrowed for this occasion. I am very sorry to the jeweler who lent them to me…"

Lucas: "That's right. Besides, it takes time to make a new jewel.  Until then, it won't be possible to return to that other world… I think that would cause trouble for the Lord, too."

Hanamaru: "I guess so... Anyway, can't we take it off now without the jewel? By, you know, making the Lord's fingers slippery. Didn't we have soap or yams?

Yuhan: "...Yams are going to make me itch, so please don't ever use it."

Hanamaru: "Don't worry. If it itches, I'll scratch it for you."

The Butlers: "............"

Hanamaru: "Sorry. 

I'll go find some soap."

Haures: "No...  First of all, let's hear what Lato has to say before we do that.  Although, I have no idea where he went."

Fennesz: "Hmmm... Lato, I wonder where he went…"

Trudge… trudge… trudge…

Lato: "Oh… So you were here."

note: Japanese slimy mountain yam is grated yam, and the mountain yam used (yamaimo/nagaimo) is native to East Asia. You can search 'Tororo' if you're interested. The peels are indeed itchy.

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[thegrapeandthefig]

hi!! i was looking through your priapus tag and you talked about how important divination is when worshiping a god we don't know a lot about, i only got into tarot recently and i can't find anything abt this specifically so i was wondering if you had any resources for using it in your worship/to communicate with the gods? alsoo in general thank you!! so much for your posts!! they're all incredibly informative your blog is amazing thank you❣️

Hi!

I mostly use tarot myself, but I don't think the medium matters much as long as it's one you feel the most confident in interpreting.

I don't know of any particular resource, though I'm sure witchtok might have some. My advice comes down to practice and, when in doubt, using an alternative method for double-checking. I tend to use either an oracle tool like the homeromanteion or an oracle deck for the purpose of verifying if I got it right.

Mixing tarot with an oracle deck of your choice can yield more precise results. It's a method I use during the yearly check I do with Dionysus and I've found it very useful to identify epithets. One of the things I ask every year is to have an idea of what will be the focus of the upcoming year in my worship of him, and I will pick a tarot card first, and then pick an oracle card for clarification. This year, two of the oracle cards were "the Rescuer" and "the Liberator". This was obviously striking considering Dionysus has such epithets (Soterios, Eleutherios, Lysios in particular). So, while the tarot card I got with this made sense, the oracle brought up specific "buzzwords" that both clarified the meaning of the initial card but also gave me a very precise idea of what I should be looking up since these epithets have meanings and a history of their own.

Another thing that can help you is paying attention to details in a card, especially if you use decks which use specific imagery. I've noticed that sometimes the gods will choose a card more for what it's portraying rather than the booklet's meaning of it, or a mix of both. To give a concrete example, I am currently in the process of reworking the Artemisia in my calendar to help a member of my family. The aim of this divination session was to present the idea and purpose of the renewed festival and hopefully get some help as to what she wanted out of it. When I asked about it, I got a combination of Strength and the 4 of Wands.

The 4 of Wands here was a great result to have, it's the card of celebrations and well, festivals. Strength was also very straightforward within the context of my request, but it's a card that has so many angles of interpretation that it would be possible to over-interpret and get lost in the possibilities of what it could be about. This is a case where sticking to what the card portrays was relevant: a woman holding a beast in submission.

Here's the thing, I am reworking the festival because this family member of mine has had issues with boars and wolves on their farmland. Strength in this context had the most literal meaning. Not only was it a confirmation that the festival I am brewing for her has her stamp of approval, but the Strength card also led me more precisely to two possible epithets for the event: Agrotera and Pheraia (the huntress and of the beasts).

My last piece of advice is to be kind to yourself. Tarot is like a language, it takes time to learn and even more to reach fluency. Trial and error will be your friend for a while, and that's absolutely normal. If you know another divination method that you can use as a backup to verify your interpretations, you can do that. I find that there is, especially in online spaces, a strange pressure to learn every card one by one as if they were multiplication tables. I personally don't find this approach constructive compared to learning on the spot, with practice.

I hope this helped despite probably not being exactly what you asked for, and I wish you good luck on your learning journey.

[nixienotes]

Hello, how are you? Can I have a free reading please? I wanted to know if my FS will be from a different country or ethnicity than me? Thanks a lot for this opportunity. I'm C 👩‍🦳

Hey C, thanks for letting me read for you! I got the impression you intended for FS to stand for future spouse so I wanted to clarify this before we moved on :) I pulled three cards for you

Getting world card first immediately stood out to me! While I can’t speak on the country or ethnicity of this person I think it’s safe to assume that they will seem “Worldly” to you, and open up many doors to ideas and cultures you might not have had present in your before meeting them. They could be in another country, or down the street with a heavy travel agenda and a lot of stamps in their passport. The World talks about gravity bending change and can suggest travel, balance, and enlightenment. While your FS may be anywhere in this moment I think it’s not far fetched to say they will bring you to many places and you may even start your life anew with them in another city or country. It’s a card based on desire as well, so I would look internally. If your desire is to travel or experience a new culture I think it’s very likely you’re in the process of manifesting this very thing.

The Sun card being reversed instinctually made me think of the southern hemisphere- and this might be significant to you or your future spouse. In general the Sun sings of bright golden success, especially in the areas of joy, enlightenment, and family. This ideal future you have in your mind’s eye is very much a reality you will happen upon but I would also caution not to let discouragement or depression get in the way of manifesting the partnership you’re looking for. Sometimes we see less when we’re looking at one thing than the world around us and I know first hand how hopeless the human need for companionship can make one feel sometimes. Keep your chin up and try to remind yourself that the universe wants you to have what you want so try not to get caught up in the lack of it while you wait. Focus on your day to day and finding other ways to enrich your life and the other pieces will likely fall into place: a watched pot never boils!

The Queen of Pentacles I think indicates you on this journey- generally she is known to be a caregiver and finds joy in bringing comfort to others in many forms. This isn’t to say that you will play a feminine role or that you need to practice cooking and cleaning- this card is telling me that purely by existing you are bringing a comfort to your FS life that will make you a magnet to them. Even if your meeting is brief, it’s not likely that they will go one with their day without thinking of you again. It could also be an indicator of financial/wealth growth and balance. This might be a way that you will meet (business meetings, work environments, etc) or it can be the main language you speak with your partner. Comforts of home are managed by resource and if you both hold value in these things it is likely this will be how you enrich each others’ lives.

Thank you so much again and I really hope this resonated :) I would love to hear your response or correspond with you, and as always any feedback is really appreciated! Feel free to message me or reach out in whatever way feels right for you. Otherwise I hope this finds you well and that you enjoy the journey you’re on!

[nako-doodles]

5 things tag

I was tagged by the sweetie @honeyboijin 💕💕 thank u bub✨

5 things you’ll find in my bag:

my wallet! my mom bought me a coral pink leather wallet that has these 3 card compartments so I can carry all of my store membership cards, my 432548390869240 restaurant stamp cards, the occasional bill, and my debit/credit cards. my mom always jokes I have an entire deck of stamp cards and she is right! I am determined to fill and get me my Free Meal(tm)!!! 

2 pairs of headphones, usually one bluetooth and one wired. im paranoid I would be music-less for the day and I have to listen to the cacophony that is rush hour in a metropolitan city...squeaking breaks and honking and people im trying to pretend I didn't recognize or see.......

my phone...usually attached to life support (my external battery) bc my grandpa phone is just barely hanging in there.....and so am I

a container of liquid -- be it my baby pink contigo water bottle for warmer days or my pastel pink s’well bottle full of tea for colder days, or my ridiculous infuser bottle for when I want to be ~aesthetic~ (or when my fruits are about to go bad lmfAO)

my keys. its attached to a pink cherry blossom S keychain I got when I went to DC, a swiss army knife, a small alarm, and a (you guessed it) pink karabiner bc im scared I would accidentally drop it when im rummaging for sthing in my bag.

5 things you’ll find in my room:

books. shelves of books. piles of books. leaning towers of books. books underneath my folded laundry. books piled on top of my planner. books using my clear case of earrings as a book-end. so. many. books. in fact I once rearranged my shelf of favourite henle music sheets and found another row of piano books right behind it 😭

ticket stubs...from concerts or movies or musicals or festivals

‘smelly goop’ as my mom calls it -- lotions, creams, gels, oils, emulsions, balms, masks etc etc....I just want to feel and smell nice😭

post-it notes. post-its on the wall in front of my desk of due dates, post-its on the doorway to remind me to bring my WPK (wallet phone keys), post-its on my drawers to remind me to fold laundry etc etc

a plethora of decorative pillows and stuffies and throws and rugs. bc I have never grown up past 3 yo and I like snuggling with giant soft things.

5 of my favorite things

food! good food delicious food gourmet food fast food junk food....my single brain cell requires two (2) things to run: bangtan and food

my friends and family and moots and followers 💕 happy valentines day I hope you get showered in love today and also every day 💕

music

any paper crafts...paper patterns, calligraphy, kirigami, origami etcetc

books and reading. obviously. my room back home can probably double as the second library at this point.

5 things I’m into right now

making sure everyone I know knows that they are loved

baking really complex recipes from scratch...though there really arent any family-sized convection ovens in e. asia...so I just have my aunt’s small microwave oven...or try to use a steamer OTL ya girl just wants to eat a nice and moist Black Forest cake 😭😭😭

art conservation...esp. people removing really dirty and discolored varnishes off old painting

watching/listening to people recreate instrumentals of different pop songs

traditional artisans making their traditional crafts ie. pottery or garment making etcetc

5 things on my to-do list:

get new headphones...my cousin accidentally dropped my earbuds into a boiling pot of congee the other day.....dont ask

catch up on Bangtan Run and Bomb eps 😓 im sorry im a bad army

reply to my emails...actually wait. find my motivation to reply to emails, then actually go about replying to emails

find a new desktop theme bc its the last bit of spring/cny cleaning I need to do but im laaaaaaaaaaaazy

catching up on Jenna Marble videos bc shes just a no nonsense hilarious human and I’m always in need of some ‘oops I fell off my bed but I can’t get up bc my abs are still cramping from my laughter’

i tag: @t0d-oder-freiheit @jinseas @seokjinsult @seokjiniesgf @jinergy @bangpdgf @kimseokjinniestan @odeng1e @jinsapeach @yoooooongiis @jinbeann @geniuslab @jincentvangogh & anyone who wants to do this 💕

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

On Oases

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published

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I’ve talked a lot about the importance of safe places, of how important it is for us to be able to be our true selves. I’ve talked about how our families and the Society provide us those spaces, but I haven’t really talked about those spaces themselves yet, or how they operate. I call them oases. Kestrel calls me dramatic. She needs to lighten up {Editing Note: Does that sound funny or mean?}. As ever, though, I’m an anthropologist, and I need my definitions if I’m going to explain things clearly, so oases is what I’m going to keep calling them.

While I’m being scientific, indulge me in some definitions. An oasis is any place run by ghouls that caters to ghoulish needs or wants. I’ll subdivide those further into open oases and closed oases.

{Editing Note: As far as I know, I’m the first person to formally classify this stuff. Am I naming them right? If this book is as successful as I want it to be, these terms are going to be used forever. Should I stick my last name on one of these? Would that be egotistical?}

Whatever you first think of when you hear “safe place” or “ghoul haven” or whatever, you’re probably thinking of a closed oasis. A closed oasis is a place for ghouls and ghouls only. No humans allowed, and usually no ghouls that haven’t been invited either, given our usual security concerns. These places are usually specifically social spaces, like bars or private clubs, places specifically designed for ghouls to unwind without having to keep our true natures hidden. These places are more varied than I’ve probably made them sound, to be clear. Like, I’ve been to an all-ghoul book club meeting before.

We were reading Dracula, in case you were wondering.

The closed oasis that I’m most familiar with is a members-only poker club, at least in name. Obviously I’m not going to name it here, but a lot more goes on there than poker. They keep a bit of flesh on hand, obviously, but it’s not really an eatery. The proprietor, Goji, has done a little of everything to hear him tell it. I know he’s a damn good card shark, and I don’t know if I actually believe that he was in an all-ghoul circus, but he can actually sword-swallow. And he’s a talented tattoo artist, if a little too willing to work on drunk teenagers. Scarlet’s Shakespeare tramp stamp is exceptional, but for some reason he doesn’t like it when we tell him that {Editing Note: That might actually be too much identifying information. I don’t think that’s a common tattoo}. Spatha, on the other hand, really likes showing off the sword he did for her. I kind of wish she’d gotten it in a less intimate spot, what with how eager she is to flash it.

{Editing Note: Clean that paragraph up. The fine line between relatable and rambling keeps eluding me.}

Other than that, Goji’s place has got some nice couches and beanbags, a pretty good tv, and even a few old arcade machines. It’s just a genuinely pleasant place to unwind. It even has a pretty decent bar. Given the rest of his clientele, I don’t think serving drinks to minors counts as much of a moral quandary for him. I do wish he’d cut Scorpio off sooner, though. He’s of age now, but he gets drunk fast, and when he gets drunk he gets weepy.

Goji’s an accepting guy, though, which is mostly a blessing. Being a ghoul doesn’t make us immune to human prejudices, so it’s doubly nice to get a break from the less instantly deadly kinds of othering. We’ve met a lot of interesting people at his place, a lot of ghouls from a lot of backgrounds with a lot of stories to tell and ideas to share. Not that I’m always entirely comfortable with what they have to say. One of the advantages of a closed oasis is that it gives ghouls a place to vent their frustrations with humans, which is important, but some of the venting from the ghouls less integrated into human society, like the Hunters, goes places that I’m not comfortable with. Even if it’s just hot air, I don’t like hearing about how much better things were when “humans were our cattle.” Especially not from people who choose to kill for their food.

{Editing Note: I don’t know if it’s safe to include that here. I want to present an accurate portrait of us, not an idealized one, but I haven’t even talked about Hunters as a group yet. That might be too much, too soon, too bluntly.}

Open oases, on the other hand, are an entirely different beast. Open oases cater to humans as well as ghouls. Obviously the humans don’t know that ghouls are part of the target clientele, and they aren’t places where we can typically be fully ourselves, but they have other advantages. Open restaurants or candy shops or bakeries give us places we can go with our human friends and not have to eat food that makes us sick. Open doctors can check our teeth and claws for problems, and they can check the rest of our bodies too, for that matter - we avoid normal doctors like the plague for reasons that I hope are obvious. I even know of a few open butchers, though I’ve never needed to go to one myself.

I have, however, spent a lot of time at one particular open oasis: my patron’s shop. She runs it as a small indie bookstore with a cute little cafe attached. The cafe will serve you flesh burgers or sandwiches if you know the right signal, which makes it a decent place to meet new ghouls discreetly. I know Yaga uses it to meet other influential ghouls that she considers dangerous, since it’s too public for them to start trouble. Other than that, the shop floor just operates like a normal book store. Yaga’s fond of her collection and she likes talking to customers and making recommendations.

It’s what’s off the sale floor that makes the bookstore special. In addition to the normal storage space, Yaga maintains guest bedrooms, which she lends out to any ghouls that need a place to lay low, or just to sleep. She’s had all sorts back there - lone fugitives, feral children, sometimes whole families waiting on some fake documents to be ready. She’s especially good at getting ghouls off the streets and integrated back into human society. Kestrel was living in one of those guest rooms when I first joined the household.

I met her the summer before I returned to public school - high school, specifically - and my mom and I were still in the early stages of integrating into the household. Yaga offered to watch me while my mom was at work, and she let me hang out in the bookstore and read whatever I wanted while she handled customers. My mom ended up having to work late, though, so Yaga kept me around for dinner, and introduced me to a girl who was staying with her for awhile. 

Kestrel’s about two years younger than me, we think, and her growth spurt ended up being more of a growth bump when it finally came, but even then she was tiny. She was also quiet, but I’d always wanted a younger sibling, so I didn’t let that deter me. I asked a lot of frankly insensitive questions. I wouldn’t get real answers to most of them until later, and the ones I did get aren’t really mine to share, but suffice it to say that she was a feral orphan before Yaga took her in. Yaga didn’t think she was ready to interact with the human general public unsupervised yet, but I promised to watch out for her like a really good big sister if she got to come hang out with me the next time I visited.

I didn’t get an answer that night, but when my mom dropped me off again a week later, Yaga went and got her. She didn’t really appreciate me trying to be her big sister, but she did want to be my friend. It was a little awkward at first, but I’ve always been pretty good at getting to know new people, and pretty soon she was joining me and Scarlet and Scorpio on our afternoon outings. Turns out she didn’t need the extra family anyway; Yaga formally adopted her a few years later. She’s still one of my best friends, and quiet or not, I swear she’s better adjusted than Scorpio.

Yaga isn’t the only patron out there using an open oasis as a halfway house. It’s not the most common thing in the world - it takes a certain kind of person and a fair few resources - but I think it might be the most valuable thing the oases do. No one needs a space to learn how to be themselves more than the ghouls who slip through the cracks. Kestrel is taking a gap year before she decides on college, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she takes over the shop once Yaga’s gone. I hope, one day, that I can help people like that too.

{Editing Note: I might just be paranoid, but I think that this draft makes it way too easy to find the bookshop, especially since Yaga’s masque isn’t exactly subtle. There can’t be that many indie bookstores/cafes owned by old Russian women with  much younger adopted daughters. I’ll need to do some serious rewrites.}

[alwaysthinkingoutloud]

Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 2, Season 1 (Amuse-Bouche)

Episode starts with Will dreaming about practice-shooting in a range, a place where he is actually allowed to shoot guilt-free. Where shooting is justified, just like the field. He seems to miss his shots though, resulting in shooting again and again. Just like he shot Garret Jacob Hobbs again and again, but was it because he missed his shot then too? It looks like he is trying to convince himself so, since the shooting target turns into Hobbs in the dream. And if he truly felt bad about shooting Hobbs and regrets doing so, why keep shooting him repeatedly even after hitting him in the dream too? Since he goes to the shooting range after the dream for real too, all of this has little to do with his being traumatized and a lot to do with him missing that feeling.

When in the Hobbs’ cabin, the first thing that comes out of Will’s mouth after seeing tens of antlers all over the room is a comment about how well this would fit in Evil Minds Research Museum. Despite being sarcastic, seeing a crime scene where teenage girls have been mounted on antlers and swiftly thinking that kind of thing to say may suggest that he deep down considers it as a precious and beautiful piece of art that belongs in a museum. Short after, we hear about the possibility that Abigail might be a suspect. For the first time, Will rules out that possibility and defends her blindly.

As soon as Will enters the classroom to give a lecture, the students start applauding. First, he says “thank you” and right after that, “stop that”. He does not know how to react but I do not think that’s because he does not know how he feels about it. It is normal to be applauded for saving someone’s life. So why to accept the compliment and then feel not comfortable about it? Maybe it is because, his initial thought was that the applause was not for saving a life but for taking one. And he gave in quickly and said thank you. Then he noticed this was not appropriate at all so he decided to tell them to stop.

When Alana and Jack comes to talk to Will, he states that he found the students’ applause for his ‘success’ inappropriate. Although he saved the life of Hobbs girl and many that could follow, he does not deem killing someone a success under any circumstances. Later in the conversation, we also learn that Will used to work homicide and the reason why he no longer does is that he was never comfortable pulling the trigger. No law enforcement agent is ever comfortable with it though, killing is killing. But sometimes the end justifies the means. So maybe he could never pull the trigger because he knew that if he did, it would lead him in a path that he could not come back from for many different reasons other than a normal person would have. But that is in the past now, he did pull the trigger. So for stabilizing this change, he is unknowingly pushed into the den of the lion: Hannibal’s couch.

The first thing Hannibal does is to rule out the formalities and responsibilities that having Will officially as a patient would bring along. He rubber stamps Will to keep his days full of crime scenes, ensuring the trigger for his instability as well as his requirement to come and see Hannibal. He wants to play Will’s friend more than he wants to play his therapist. So he does that by alienating Jack and making use of their now common denominator, Abigail. He uses the phrase “surrogate daughter”, reinstating the thought of Will’s responsibility of Abigail. A responsibility that may weigh as heavy as a father’s. By telling Will how he feels obligated against the girl, Hannibal hopes his declared feelings about Abigail to awaken the ones in Will. While doing that, Hannibal is not exactly trying to paint a spotless, pretty picture. He is combining what he wants Will to think and what Will wants to hear. While talking about feeling responsible for the girl, Will suddenly brings out the fact that Jack has doubts about the girl’s involvement in her dad’s crimes.  Hannibal not wanting Will to embrace Abigail only under the assumption of her total innocence, he is telling Will that he does feel responsible for Abigail and that it is also possible that she took part in her dad’s murders, implying he can be protective of Abigail and not be so sure about her involvement in the crimes at the same time. Almost to suggest that regardless of Abigail’s innocence or otherwise, she deserves to be protected. To be cared for. To be loved. If Will can protect and embrace a killer now, why could not he do the same again for somebody else?

“The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.” 

I listened to, read and repeated this quote of Hannibal tens of times until it lost all its meaning. What I think he is saying is that empathizing is about the empathetic as much as it is about the person being empathized. That, Will’s mind’s reflections of someone else’s cannot be truly detached from his own. That, Will’s own not-that-bad mind’s mental limits make it not possible to comprehend the worst of someone else to his limits. Because his identity is restrictive about what it is not familiar or comfortable with. But whatever he empathizes, it will be the best version there is for him. Because that will be within his mind’s limits and not restricted by anyone else’s.

Hannibal, in a conversation, suggests that Hobbs is Will’s victim. The use of the word ‘victim’ here is so deliberate since it brings a sense of guilt together, a sense of wrongdoing, an ill-intent. If there is a victim, there is a question of the justness of the act. But to kill a serial killer attempting to murder someone is not that kind of an act. There is no need of questioning the motive because it is so out there and it is okay. But Hannibal needs Will to question. He wants Will to think there may be an another reason or angle to what happened. Then he drops the bomb by asking Will if putting himself in the killers’ shoes and imagining their thrill is now harder, since he is now a way too familiar to the feeling and has very little space to estrange himself from it?

During the dinner of Jack and Hannibal, we learn that Jack is doubting the purity of Will’s mind. Hannibal, in return, calls the way Jack treats Will “delicate” while he is well-aware that it is not, encouraging it with an understatement. He does that while asking Jack if his doubts are about Will’s trustworthiness or the risk of Will breaking in the field, also insinuating that he finds Jack’s doubts unnecessary, but any answer Jack may give to that would promote either distrust against Will or would give Jack the idea that there is still more room to push Will.

Alana and Will meet each other in the hospital room of Abigail. Will suggests that Alana may be reading to a killer, while he is sleeping on the couch and practically in the same position as her. So if he is accepting the possibility but still is here, he may be submitting to that possibility too. Will is obviously trying to flirt with Alana and she kind of reciprocates it with trying to comfort him. She tells him that Abigail is a success for him. He replies saying that she does not look like a success. That, he does not feel sorry but good. He does not feel good because he saved her life, if that was the case he would call it a success. So there must be another reason to why he feels good. And the torment he goes through is of feeling good, not of feeling sorry. Good about a surrogate daughter who he orphaned in the first place and maybe good about killing her father too.

In the last scene of the episode, we see Hannibal playing his card open for the first time. He starts off by justifying feeling good about killing if the person being killed is bad enough. Will differentiating between good and just, Hannibal draws Will’s attention to that his coming to therapy is an attempt to convince himself that he feels good about only saving Abigail and not killing her father as well. Will objects saying if this was true, he would feel the same way about shooting Stammets too. Hannibal reminds him that he did not kill Stammets, so he cannot compare. Then, Will spills out that he is not even sure if he was not trying to shoot Stammets to kill. Hannibal pealing his person mask a little off, tells Will even if he wanted to kill Stammets, that would be understandable since he would do it anticipating the killer’s capabilities, boldly calling it “beautiful” even. Hearing his darkest fantasies he did not even admit to himself spoken out loud, almost with vanity, Will freaks out a little and changes the topic. However, Hannibal does not let him out that easy, not when he got Will right where he wanted him. He speaks clearly now, asks him if the reason he has been feeling down is that he killed a man, or that he killed a man and liked it. Finally, Will breaks and admits to feeling good about killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal, then, swifts in with the simplest yet greatest justification of killing: that God does it all the time. That it is not about feeling good but about feeling powerful.

It is thought-provoking to consider how early in the series Hannibal actually reveals his tainted mind to Will, but it takes him a whole season and a too high of a number of obvious moves to see Hannibal’s real face that, it makes one wonder if he actually did see Hannibal’s face around this time, but his subconscious longing to be understood chose to sweep it all under the rug.

[thiswasinevitableid]

14(+44?), 16, or 71 for indruck! (71 could also be cute for dani/aubrey)

I went with 14, SFW! I’ll also do 16 at some point.

14: The power goes out in our apartment building, but i’m not prepared for this, and you come to check on me

Duck’s playing his old Tony Hawk game just for the hell of it when the power goes. Judging by the suddenly dark building out his window, it’s not just his building, but the whole block. 

He’s gonna go out on a limb and assume the huge-ass snowstorm has something to do with it. It’s only six p.m, but it’s so fucking dark his brain thinks it’s midnight, so maybe he can just go to sleep. Thank fuck the heat in this place is gas and not electric. 

Duck putters around, refills Taco’s water dish, and changes into his sweatpants and t-shirt, figuring he’ll read on his phone until bed.

There’s a clatter-crash above him, followed by a thud and the kind of curses someone makes when they’re alone. 

He takes advantage of living in an old building with thin walls and floors. 

“‘Drid? Everythin okay up there, man?”

All the scuffling ceases, then, “As much as it can be.”

Duck grabs the nearest sweatshirt and his keys, tossing another blanket over Taco before heading out the door and up the stairs. See, Duck is a guy with lots of soft spots. And one of those soft spots has “Indrid Cold” stamped into it. 

He barely saw the man the first year he lived here, though he heard him plenty. Footsteps at all hours of the night, music that either ping-ponged wildly between genres or stayed on the same song for the whole day, and only ever one voice to go along with it all. 

The first time they met, Duck nearly fell off his balcony. 

“Those look lovely.”

He drops the watering can, whirling to look up. An angular face with red glasses and a mess of silver hair peers over the edge of the railing above him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I, ah, I just meant the plants are very nice. The rosemary in particular seems to be thriving.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. Uh, how long have you been watchin me?” He’s in a tank-top due to the heat, but was shirtless until a few minutes ago.

“A number of weeks. Oh dear, ah, that sounds creepy. I just mean that I can see your deck from mine, and sometimes I end up watching it instead of focusing on my work. I’ve never seen so many pollinators come to such a small space; it’s amazing.”

“Huh.” Duck tongues his cheek, not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed. 

“Do you want a Capri Sun? They're cold.”

He chuckles, “Sure, why the hell not? Send one down.” 

There’s a plastic thunk and then a beach pail comes down on a rope to deliver his drink.

In spite of that odd start, he and Indrid started talking more, to the point the other man would come down and sit on the balcony while Duck gardened or Duck would sit in Indrids chaotic apartment and read while Indrid did tarot card predictions over the phone. During those five months, he discovered Indrid is a disaster magnet; broken glasses, a broken-into car, an almost broken ankle due to slipping in the first frost of the season. Hence his trip upstairs, just to be sure nothing is wrong. 

He knocks, gets a “come in,” and cannot see the other man anywhere. And the apartment is freezing.

“Bedroom!” Indrid calls from down the short hallway. Duck shuts and locks the door, picks his way over crumpled drawings to find his friend no more than a pile of fabric on a mattress on the floor with an unplugged trio of space heaters pointing at him. 

“You want me to turn the heater up?”

“You can’t. It’s broken. The repair man was supposed to come this morning but had to cancel because of the roads.” Indrid’s face appears from a black blanket. 

“Shit, you got no way to heat the place? My little hand-power radio says this might last until tomorrow mornin.”

“I was afraid of that.” Indrid sighs, “I’ll just hope that the blankets are enough. The bang you heard was me tripping over the one I was wearing as a shawl.”

Duck holds out his hand, “Or you could come a floor down where there’s  a workin heater, goofus.”

“I, ah, suppose I could. I won’t be in your way?”

“Just don’t take Taco’s blankets and we’ll all survive the night. Grab whatever you need for the night and I’ll meet you down there.”

As he tromps down the stairs, he reassures himself that he’s just being neighborly; he’d check on anyone in the same circumstances. But his heart still bubbles with excitement when he thinks of Indrid in his house in the snow-covered darkness. 

He’s pulling all the blankets from the closet when the door opens and shuts. Even with his heater working, they’ll need to bundle up. 

“I’ll just put my things by the couch.”

“Works for meAH, what the fuck?” He pulls his foot back from where a box narrowly missed landing on it. Minor scare aside, he can’t think of anything better to fall from the sky. 

“Hey, you like s’mores?”

“...Yes? Though I feel like a campfire, while tempting, is ill-advised.” The other man is perched on the couch, fidgeting with his sweater sleeves. 

Duck shows him the box, “Got this at a white elephant swap at work last year and never used it. Supposed to make it so you can make s’mores inside. Wanna try?”

“Absolutely” Indrid tears into the box and begins setting up what looks like a fondue pot’s long-lost cousin, retrieving the matches from their usual spot on the counter while Duck finds the marshmallows, a half box of graham crackers, and left over hershey minis from Halloween. 

“Is having s’more supplies on hand a requirement of being a ranger?”

“Trade secret” Duck plops down across from him, the flames adding an eeriness to Indrid’s features that does nothing to Duck’s desire to take his hand and hold him until he’s warmed through. 

Indrid makes it through four s’mores in the time it takes Duck to eat one and a half, and is licking his fingers in a painfully appealing way when he muses, “Should we tell scary stories? I understand that goes hand in hand with roasting marshmallows.”

“Havin some summer camp flashbacks?”

“No. I never went, which was probably for the best. I’m not sure accident-prone children with glasses do so well in such places. Though I was always curious about kayaking.”

“Can take you in the spring if you want. There are lakes in the park where it’s allowed. Could even paddle out to Floating Island if you wanted to draw.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Indrid smiles, “I almost finished the drawing for Jane, it will be ready in time for Christmas.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

Indrid licks molten sugar off his fork and Duck searches for a distraction from the way his tongue moves.

“You ever hear the story of the hook-handed man?”

“What?”

“It’s an old camp story. You seriously never heard it?”

“I’ve heard references to it. Now I want the full experience.” Indrid leans in attentively. Duck does his best, but it’s not quite s scary when you’re in an apartment  with three locking doors between you and the outside world and the only place a murder could hide is in the closet Duck was just in. Indrid doesn’t jump at the ending, but he applauds, 

“My turn?”

“Go for it.”

“Hmm. Ah, okay, once upon a time, there was a lonely artist who lived in a barren land. Every day he would sit and stare at an oasis of green, but he could not get too near. Until, one day, the caretaker of the oasis invited him in. The artist felt so happy when he was there, the caretaker was one of the nicest men he’d ever known. And the, ah, the artist wanted to know if, if he would, ah, like to go out with him. Maybe tomorrow?”

It takes Duck’s mind two seconds to catch up with what just happened and in those seconds Indrid looks increasingly like he’s going to bolt out the door.

“Not much of a scary story.” Duck teases gently. 

“I’ll have you know I am terrified right now.”

Duck links their fingers, “No need for that, darlin. I’d love to go out with you.”

They could re-light the whole block with the power of Indrid’s smile. 

“In the meantime” Duck snuffs the flame on the table, “let me keep you warm?”

Indrid tugs him into an embrace, kissing his cheek with an excited hum and laughing when Duck chases his lips for a proper, tender kiss,  “Of course.”

[leupagus]

My Stationery Box, or: The Douche Chest, or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Being A Terrible Parody Of Myself

So I really love to write letters, and have since i was a kid — when i cleaned out my grandparents’ house I found a few I’d written in grade school, and my parents’ files are chocablock full of the weird collage type things I sent to them in college. 

I’ve also been a huge insufferable fucking snob about stationery since way too young (yes I did have a fountain pen phase, no it did not go well) and have been collecting fancy paper and cute cards and assorted weird writing paraphernalia forever. Up until recently, things were just kind of haphazardly stuffed in various drawers and shelves and I could never actually find any said fancy shit when I wanted it; but a couple of months ago I discovered an adorable little chest of my late mom’s that had previously housed, I think, her knitting and has mostly just been collecting dust since. And voila: The Douche Chest was born:

(Pictured with my elderly laptop and coffee with my coffee warmer, which I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE everyone to buy one day when we’re not under worldwide quarantine, seriously it will change your life.)

Keep Reading for some top tier stationerdery

First off, the stuff that helps me write! I still use my family address book, which was purchased sometime in the early 80s and has the name and address of everyone my parents ever cared enough about to want their name and address, which is actually not that many people. I keep it updated and have added a few people, but mostly rely on my phone’s address book. Mostly I like it because it’s got a lot of my mom’s handwriting.

My planner, which has a whole correspondence section where I keep a record of who I write to regularly, when I write to them, and what kind of stationery they usually get (because there are different types and you don’t want to give a correspondence an inconsistent letter-reading experience! Yes I know, I can’t believe I’m like this either) indicated by the m, s, x, l, b notations. That will be relevant later. Also yes the planner is where I scribble down both story ideas and my gratitude journal. This is what I’m saying in re: yikes.

At my own house, I have a whole huge box of letters I’ve gotten over the years, mostly organized by sender and date. Since I’m at my aunt’s house for quarantine, my correspondence is all being kept in my dad’s old... I dunno what to call it, basically it’s a trapper-keeper type thing that I literally never saw him go to work without. (A running theme of this tour is that a whole lot of this stuff is inherited from/given to me by my parents and grandparents.) Inside is also various labels that have come in handy when addressing packages etc, as well as our local neighborhood directory.

Next up is my pen bag, which is — I mean, it has my pens. I prefer writing with a black .5 tip rollerball type pen, and by “prefer” I mean “I cannot abide writing letters with anything else and will go to Staples and buy a new box rather than use a ballpoint pen except obv not right now, which makes the bag real important for keeping track of all my special pens.” Also pictured: my grandpa’s ancient letter opener that I’m pretty sure he stabbed multiple people with, and my blue Le Pen which I use to annotate my letters when I’m reading them through before sending. I KNOW.

This is my assorted letter-writing stuff storage box (no we’re not even at the cards yet this is TERRIBLE); please note that I sort of jerryrigged this box together myself, which will be another running theme of this tour. Glue, roller whiteout thingies, washi tape (which I don’t really use but people keep sending me?) post-its and my address stamp because no matter what I do, the fuckin’ Audubon Society refuses to send me a single donation request with cute stickers showing my address even though they’ve sent my deceased dad like three THIS YEAR. Anyway. Also please note the incredibly awesome initial stamp thing — I came up with the rough design in college and use it in place of my name a lot, but I went to leoniebunch and they transformed it into this super professional and lovely design that I want to use for the rest of my life. Not pictured: the fucking wax seal I also had made with that design, because yes, I’m like this.

WE’RE STILL NOT DONE WITH THE PARAPHERNALIA: here’s the other misc. stuff that I use on the regular. Cup with sponge because we’re not really licking envelopes these days: tons of weird stickers that I’ve collected, YET MORE PENS, including rainbow ones because one of these days I’m going to write to one of my friends with alternating rainbow colors and they’ll have to murder me. Also pictured: the letter opener which I forgot to put back in the pen bag, as well as my dog’s nail clippers and brush because that’s a handy place to keep them. Also also pictured: my dog, who does not help in any way with letter writing.

OKAY FINALLY ONTO THE STATIONERY, Jesus just writing this all out is making me both proud and ashamed.

I’m sure you noticed in the first pic how everything is meticulously, not to say monomaniacally, labeled. Some stuff might require a little bit of explanation; some stuff is pretty wysiwyg though. For example, BEAR CARDS, which:

(These are sent exclusively to my nephews, who go absolutely apeshit over them every time. Come to think of it, I have a LOT of cards/letter stock/etc that is just for one person or one set of people, which maybe I should talk to my therapist about.)

PUN CARDS are likewise exactly what you think they are; they’re the most recent addition to my hoard, having found them at Powells when I went to Portland in February. They are extremely My Kind Of Thing.

Then you’ve got things like BIRTHDAY CARDS, THANKS, POSTCARDS which like — guess what:

(Please note that of these birthday cards, all but two were actually inherited from my grandmother who passed away in 1986. See if you can guess which two are my purchases.) (Also I’m running out of thank-you cards but to be fair I am rarely grateful so this should last me another few years at least.) (Also shit, I didn’t take a picture of the postcards I don’t think? Whatever, they’re postcards that I’ve either inherited from my parents or collected over the years. There’s also a very odd collection of wolf-themed cards that SOMEONE in my family collected, and that I have been using exclusively for allighater because she’s the only one who could ever appreciate them enough.)

Then there’s the BLANK CARDS and BLANK AND WRITTEN CARDS WITH/WITHOUT ENVELOPES, because sometimes I just need to know what I’m getting into before opening the boxes. I’d say a good 50% of these were inherited from my folks, with the cutsier ones being my own purchases. The cards that these boxes originally contained are looooooooong since used up but they’re nice boxes and that meme about adulthood being an endless debate over whether or not you should keep a box because it’s a really good box is accurate as all hell. 

(There are a lot of cards in here that I bought when I was like, in college — those square ones, for example, were purchased at Faces in Northampton when I was in college and I’m probably never going to actually send them which is kind of ridiculous but see: this entire post.)

And finally, the actual letter-letter stationery! Which I also have an embarrassing amount of! First up is what’s labelled MADOC TREE CARD/LETTER because I honestly had no idea how else to describe it; it was inherited from my grandma who everyone called MaDoc (on account of her being both a ma and a doctor, go figure) and it’s really lovely. I doubt it’s the original intention, but I like to unfold the paper and use both sides of it, because I always have a lot to say. These are used only for family members on MaDoc’s side, and of those, only the ones I really like, which accounts for there still being a lot left.

Then there’s the X-LARGE paper, which isn’t actually that large — it’s just normal computer-sized — but in context is the biggest stuff I’ve got. All of this paper is from my mom, who loved using cute themed paper, and I use this stuff mostly for the friends of hers I keep in touch with (which is actually kind of a lot).

Then there’s the letterhead I use for — okay, so like, we know by now that I’m deeply weird, but this is probably just DEEPLY WEIRD, but whatever, you came this far. So I found a metric shitton of 6 3/4 envelopes in amongst my parents’ office supplies — I have literally zero idea why they had about 5 100-count boxes of these envelopes but I’m one of those people who can never, ever throw shit out, so! I gathered together all the letterhead that they’d also collected over the years from the various universities and hospitals they worked at, cut said letterhead down so that it a) didn’t have University of Tacoma or whatever still on it and b) perfectly fit a 6 3/4 envelope if folded three times. The resulting shape is a little... odd, I’ll admit, but it pleases me greatly and that’s the important thing. In fact this has been my go-to correspondence choice for a couple of months now.

(Also pictured: the cover for this hinky-ass box I made out of a Beekman 1802 box from when we went to their store for their Rose Apothecary popup shop. Zero regrets. Not pictured: the really cute pad of paper I also use for these envelopes that’s a more normal size and shape because where’s the fun in showing you normal stuff?)

And finally, my pride and joy, my Crane Stationery, some of which I have had since I was in high school and my mom bought me a box of it for my birthday (I told you, running theme). It comes in small, medium, and big; yes, I absolutely have rules as to who gets what size of these, too. The medium box kind of fell apart a few years ago so I cobbled a new one together; Crane stationery is notable for not being as exciting as that cover might imply. I’m also kind of pleased that I still have the airmail stationery that I got in college that apparently isn’t sold anymore, which I find baffling because what the fuck is the point of international correspondence if you don’t have to use special stationery? Anyway:

(In re: the lined sheets — I actually have them for every size, because I loathe lined paper but also loathe writing crooked, hence these guides that I put under each sheet as I write. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

So that’s the complete guided tour! If you aspire to have a collection as viscerally unnerving as mine, feel free to send any questions my way. You’re welcome/I’m sorry.

[rosesgonerogue]

Let the Sunshine In Chapter 4

AO3

He was gone. Marinette wasn’t sure how or when, but when she woke up, Jay  was gone, the destroyed house standing as the only evidence that he had actually been there.

She didn’t know what she had expected from the situation. Logically, Marinette knew that Jay couldn’t have stayed long-term. It didn’t make sense, it’s not like she could have let him stay on her couch for the rest of their lives. She couldn’t help but worry though. He wasn’t recovered, not by a long shot. She would be thinking and worrying about him for potentially the rest of her life. 

Even more, though, Marinette burned with questions that now would likely never be answered about him. After Robin had died, Marinette had lost much of her curiosity. She didn’t feel the need to know what her friends were up to at any given time, and sometimes she struggled to stay engaged in their lives. She loved them, she just didn’t have much left to give. 

But with Jay, Marinette was feeling the sparks of that same… nosiness, that same curiosity that she could have sworn died with Robin. But for some unidentifiable, irrational reason, she also trusted him innately. Something deep in her whispered that he was someone important to her, and he needed help. He needed help, but he ran away before she could give it to him. 

The kwamii gave her some space to come to terms with things before she forced herself to her feet.  Cleaning up the house, Marinette methodically separated the damaged things into piles of things to be repaired later, and things that would simply be replaced. She likely could have used the Miraculous Cure, but at the moment she needed the mindless action to ground her. 

It took the majority of the morning and the early afternoon to clean up the room. She should have used the rest of her day working on her commissions, but they would have to wait a while longer. She was fairly sure she couldn’t  handle anything that took considerable mental exertion. 

By some act of mercy, there were no akuma attacks that night. Marinette spent the time trying to bury the emotions that Jay had brought with him. 

It wasn’t working well. 

The next morning, her reprieve was over. She was woken bright and early by an akuma alarm. After so many years, it was routine at this point, and she rushed out to take care of things. 

Marinette should have been able to handle it with no problem. She had dealt with more difficult akuma alone, it was a simple case of indignation over the shortcomings of the mailing system. This was one of the most visually distressing akumas yet, and whenever she ended up finding Hawkmoth, she would definitely inform him that envelopes and stamps were not acceptable clothing material. Once she stripped him of his Miraculous, of course. 

After a particularly nasty collision with a mailbox, Marinette found herself whisked away by Chat Noir. “Are you okay, M’Lady?” 

“Sorry Kitty, I’m a little stuck in my head today.” Ladybug shook her arms out, hoping she would loosen up. “I’ll be okay now.” 

“Are you sure?” Chat Noir looked more concerned about her than he had in years. “I can handle this one alone as long as you purify it.” 

“No, we’re partners.” She shoved herself to her feet. “Let’s go save Paris.”

She could see that his doubt and concern lingered, but he smiled anyway, holding out a hand. “Shall we?” 

“Absolutely. Let’s do this.” 

As she was steeling herself to face the akuma once more, she and Chat Noir were startled by the foreign sound of a gunshot. In that moment she was finally able to push away her lingering emotions, because someone had decided to bring a gun to an akuma fight. 

She and Chat Noir rushed to where they had left the flurry of miscellaneous postage items to find the akuma clutching a shoulder, shocked. “He asked me questions about Hawkmoth, and when I didn’t have answers he shot me!”

The two heroes exchanged looks. They’d seen their share of vigilantism in Paris, but none to this degree. It was concerning, to say the least, but they didn’t have the time at the moment to track him down, and there was no trace of the man. It made more sense for them to prepare and gather what information they could. For now, there was an akuma to purify - and a civilian to heal. Thank goodness for the Miraculous Cure.

The customary swarm of ladybugs was new for Jason. A few blocks away he watched everything that was going on from behind a dumpster. Ladybug and Chat Noir really were no joke, even with whatever had been going on with Ladybug earlier.

He didn’t know how he felt about akuma. It was unsettling how easily controlled these people were. If it was truly based off of emotions, then Jason was a ticking time bomb with the anger that only seemed to get worse every hour since he’d left Marinette. He hoped she was safe and happy, and-

No! It had only been a few hours, and here he was ruminating on the Parisian saint. He didn’t have time for this, he had things to see to, like getting an actual vigilante costume. 

Bruce, being Bruce, had supply houses all around the world, including one in Paris. Jason had visited to get a few guns, a good deal of money, and some food, but the only vigilante clothing options were either the original Robin suit (which was tiny and also awful) and a batsuit (which was a definite no). 

It was definitely time to make a name for himself now. That meant he needed a look to match. Pulling off the paper bag he’d been using to conceal his identity, Jason ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to look as professional as possible while wearing the pajamas Marinette had given him. He probably should have made finding shoes a priority, but it was too late now. 

His destination was a tailor’s shop that advertised custom jobs for reasonable prices. If they couldn’t do it, they might know who could. The secretary was clearly judging him from the moment he stepped in, but Jason couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He looked down at his hand, where he’d scribbled some French phrases. “Bonjour,” he said, before going on to massacre every syllable that followed. 

Unimpressed, the secretary said, “I can speak English. What do you want from me, American?” 

“I’d like to commission a few bulletproof pieces, if you can do that.” 

The secretary gave a long, weary sigh. “‘Zis is a store for custom suits and tuxedos. We do not make anything bulletproof.”

“Have you considered it?  It sounds quite lucrative to me.” 

This time, the secretary simply pretended she didn’t hear him. “Check with a freelance designer, they would likely be closer to what you want. This one is fairly talented, and she likes a challenge. You can send a mail order form with specifications of what you want, or you can do it through her website. Now begone, we have work to do.” 

Jason accepted the business card the woman offered before allowing himself to be ushered out of the store.Outside, he checked out the card. It was simple, elegant with a dash of pink thrown in. He didn’t know who this MDC was, but it was worth talking to her, at the very least.

Taglist: 

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[sunsetpout]

Heaven Sent

Summary:  They're here. Like, for real, with her, in the garage, and they can't believe it.

This is basically a rewrite of the hug scene in 1x09, inspired by something @lukepouterson said in a whatsapp conversation and that made me cry. Hope you enjoy the short ride! (also available on ao3!)

Time has stopped. She was breathing, or maybe she wasn't, but time has stopped, she could feel it.

"I love you, guys." she said, her voice shaking. She didn't know why she suddenly threw herself at Luke, because she obviously knew she was going to end up with her face on the garage floor, but something clicked inside her brain, and she knew that if she didn't at least try to do it now, then they would be gone forever and she would have regretted it for the rest of her life. She just felt it in her heart that she had to do it in that exact moment. Then, time stopped. For all of them.

H e a r i n g She heard a little noise, like something twinkling or sparkling she didn't know, she had a very hard time figuring out what it was. The only thing she was sure of was that her face wasn't on the floor and that she was actually being held by Luke. She opened her eyes, not sure of what was actually happening. But yes, her head was on his shoulder and his hands on her back. She pulled away a little, her hands grazing his arms. She looked up to see Luke, of course it was him and he was still there (she actually felt her heart beat so hard against her chest). Were they- actually touching? "How can I feel you?" she said with a broken voice and actually impressed that she could get those words out of her lips. His face looked just as confused as hers might have looked at this exact moment, his eyes full of tears, but damn, he looked so beautiful and strong and fragile at the same time. "I don't know" he just said, and it clicked. Julie felt like it was the first time she was hearing his voice, or maybe it was the first time she was hearing in her life, ever. Of course, visually pretty much nothing changed for her, even though maybe he looked even more real this way, but she could clearly hear a difference in his voice. Maybe it's the fact that he was crying or maybe it was because he was more real, but this right there felt like music to her ears. More melody that she could hear when she played the piano, more depth than the sound of crashing waves and more emotion that she had ever felt before, all in one little innocent sentence. And all of that even though she just played at the Orpheum. She couldn't control her body, and her hands instinctively went to his hands, eager for more, never wanting him to stop talking ever again.

S i g h t They were actually touching each other. This single fact probably made his brain explode, and the only thing his body was capable of doing was to touch her face, to replicate her every little movements, because he wasn't the captain of this body anymore. As soon as he realized they were hugging, he started crying even more without even realizing, because he was holding her in his arms and he didn't want to let go, ever. He stopped breathing for a few seconds but quickly took a breath again, afraid that he might die a second time otherwise. Now, they were looking at each other, and he felt like being a ghost came with crappy sight because what he was seeing right now was probably the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. Her eyes looked so much shinier than usual, and it wasn't because she had been crying too, but he could see that her eyes were actually sparkling, a portal to her soul that would make him go crazy if he stared at them for too long. Her lips, so close but at the same so far away, were right here, in front of his, and he watched them, longing for the day he could actually touch them (he would never tell her that). And her hands, small, beautiful hands, that he just took in his and placed on his heart. These hands right there were the perfect fit to his and he felt that maybe they were made to be held together all along. "I feel stronger" he said, because in that exact moment, he felt invicible.

S m e l l "Alex, Reggie, come." He couldn't believe what was happening. Everything was messy and cloudy in his mind. The pain, the Orpheum, the euphoria he felt on this stage and now this? How could it be possible? He just stood up, taking the last piece of strength he had in him to join Luke and Julie with Alex, afraid that maybe she wouldn't be able to touch them (maybe their bond wasn't strong enough). But as soon as they all touched each other, he felt something rise in him, and he couldn't figure out what it was, but it felt like maybe he was coming back to some kind of life. He felt so alive again. And not alive as an actual living person, but in this exact moment, he felt a kind of joy that he stopped feeling a long time before actually dying. All of his senses came back to him, and the first thing he felt was actually Julie. He just knew it was Julie. This girl right here, the one person who changed their lives, smelled of vanilla and sugar, and he would start crying all over again over this little detail if he wasn't already sobbing because that was the sweetest smell he has ever known (even better than the smell of pizza). As they hugged, he could smell everything. Alex smelled just like the ocean, a breeze of air, a bit of salt, a memory of his surfer past maybe, a soft touch for a softer heart. Luke, on the other hand, smelled like wood and pine, something he carried with him from the day he left home, sometimes sleeping outside the garage to look at the stars. And lastly, he could smell the garage, and he didn't know what kind of smell it was, but he just know that it felt like he was home again.

T o u c h Of course he was scared. He was dying, again, they just played at the Orpheum, and some evil ghost king put a freaking stamp on his ghost body! He felt so scared that when Julie called them, he almost didn't join them. But his body was driving itself and he was too weak to actually think straight, but before he knew it, he was hugging Luke, Reggie and Julie, and at this exact second, he felt his whole body come back to life (like truly felt it). He could feel the weight of Julie, so tiny, under his right arm, him almost crushing her. He could feel Reggie's hair on the nape of his neck under his hand, and also the fabric of Luke's satin vest suit grazing his left arm. He instantly felt his heartbeat slow down a bit. As long as he could remember, being able to touch things was the only way of calming him down when having panic attacks, the only thing that could keep him on the ground and make him come back to reality. "I don't feel as weak anymore." He heard Reggie speak, and they all pulled away a bit, even though he didn't want it to stop, afraid that this feeling might be gone too soon. "Yeah, me neither." He was impressed he could talk at all, a bit starstruck. That was probably the best time to play the sassy card not to show everyone how he was truly feeling. "Not that, you know, I was ever that weak." But it was true in a way, he didn't feel weak right now. In fact, he had never felt stronger.

T a s t e The guys suddenly felt a strong pain on the back of their wrists, and for a second it felt like they were about to lose their arms, but no. They were stronger now, because of their bond with Julie, they were stronger than the stamp, stronger than what Caleb was throwing at them, and they felt stronger that anything. But as soon as they felt the pain go away and the stamp disappear into thin air, they panicked for a bit. "What do you think that means?" Julie asked, afraid that for some reason they might poof out in front of her and leave her forever. But Luke smiled at her, and his big eyes were shining so bright, she instantly calmed down. "I think the band is back." Luke could actually see. And she just knew. They all knew. Alex was smiling too, "You guys think we could try that hug thing one more time?" Yes, yes, yes, and yes, they could almost hear each other's voices without needing to talk. Reggie was the only giving his approbation, but they didn't need to talk to understand each other, and then they all touched again. "Hugs are good." Alex could touch. "I like this." Reggie could smell. "Me too." Julie felt alive again, fully alive and happy. And everytime they touched, it felt like magic, hug after hug, never fading away, and none of them ever wanting to stop, ever. Of course, they all had so many questions about all of this and about what would happen tomorrow, or the day after that, but right now, it was just plain magic. They didn't care if they crossed over or not, they didn't care if they'd go to heaven or hell or none. They were just enjoying this moment, savoring it. Maybe playing at the Orpheum wasn't their unfinished business, but they didn't care. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that they were with Julie, the one soul who actually saved theirs. And maybe, it also meant that heaven is not a concrete place. It's not a castle in the clouds with rainbows and trees and whatever else. It's actually want you want most, and in that moment, heaven is Julie, heaven is them. That moment tasted like heaven.

[letterboxd]

Common Language.

With her third feature, Lingua Franca, now on Netflix, Filipina filmmaker Isabel Sandoval talks to Valerie Complex about undocumented immigrant workers, sensual cinematography, taking narrative risks and Steven Soderbergh’s sexiest film.

“I’m not the type of filmmaker that is into crowd-pleasing and I think that resonates with audiences.” —Isabel Sandoval

Isabel Sandoval’s films have an auteur, European appeal; they take their time. Inspired by cinematic film legends including Chantal Akerman, Wong Kar-wai and James Gray, Sandoval is pushing forward in an industry reluctant to change, creating narratives that speak to her existence, and her experience.

After making two feature films set in her native Philippines (Apparition, Señorita), Sandoval relocates to her adopted hometown, New York City—or at least a small seaside corner of it—for her third film. Lingua Franca follows Olivia (played by Sandoval), an undocumented Filipina trans woman who is looking to secure a green card so she can continue to stay and work in the US. Olivia knows the only way to legal status in present-day America is through marriage, but struggles to find the right person to accept her offer.

Green-card marriages also cost money. Olivia takes a job as a live-in caregiver for Olga (Lynn Cohen), an elderly Russian woman living in Brooklyn’s Brighton Beach neighborhood. She soon finds a love interest in her client’s grandson Alex (Australian actor Eamon Farren), and her future seems solidified. Or is it? As anxiety about deportation mounts, Olivia strives to maintain autonomy in a world that continually rejects her.

The slow, meditative nature of Lingua Franca has already found fans on Letterboxd. “Trans narratives are so often couched in dramatic twists and turns, but here we get something so much more gentle,” writes Connor. Sandoval’s turn as a woman searching for her truth while existing at the intersections of marginalization is also hitting home. “This is the hardest I've been struck by a performance since Jeon Do-yeon's masterful display in Lee Chang-dong's Secret Sunshine back in 2007,” writes Joshua. “I really cannot believe this is Isabel's first performance and I certainly believe that it won't be her last.”

Sandoval instinctively injects concepts of immigration, loneliness, and displacement throughout Lingua Franca in a way that doesn’t overwhelm, but does force deep empathy. “Artfully plays with a lot of themes at once,” agrees Letterboxd member Oluwatayo.

Merriam-Webster’s definition of ‘lingua franca’—“something resembling a common language”—can be interpreted in various ways. For Sandoval, she aims to create her own common language of passion, pain and new beginnings. With migrant workers sharing a common language of homesickness in every corner of the world, I had to ask why she chose New York to be the setting for this emotional drama.

Isabel Sandoval (as Olivia) and Eamon Farren (as Alex) on Brighton Beach, New York.

Letterboxd: What is it about New York that made the setting work for you and Lingua Franca? Is it the diversity of the environment or…? Isabel Sandoval: You know, growing up in the Philippines, New York was seen as romantic. I wanted to put my stamp and unique views of life in New York City. I wanted to do two things with Lingua Franca: I wanted to do my own New York movie from the perspective and the gaze of a foreigner and an immigrant, and I wanted to make a different kind of film that was quiet and patient. I wrote the script around the time when Trump got elected president, which painted a perfect storm for the premise, story and view of the film. I was also influenced by the James Gray film Two Lovers, which was filmed in Brighton Beach.

That’s not an easy thing to accomplish in a New York movie, yet you manage to do that with such patience and quiet and subtlety. I was shocked. But, you know, New York is not all crazy. There are places that are quiet. Exactly! Especially in Brooklyn. I wanted to capture the different worlds that exist block to block in the film.

Your movie deals with a lot of themes: family, immigration and romance… I’m always drawn to stories with a socio-political point of view about women who are marginalized and forced to make intensely personal decisions. French filmmaker Jean Cocteau once said: “Filmmakers make the same movie over and over”. As you progress and make more films, and you’re being involved as a storyteller, you’re beginning to polish; your style becomes more evident and sophisticated. That’s just the story I felt attached to because it was one I was passionate about and it was the right time to create it.

How do you feel about being embraced by the film community, both domestically and abroad? Tribeca, Locarno, SXSW and Venice are among the festivals that have premiered your films. It’s vindicating to me. My first feature film shot and produced in the US screened internationally, but, with Lingua Franca, it’s come full circle. I think critics now embrace and know that I have a voice and a sensibility that’s worth exploring more. They want to involve a filmmaker with different views, especially in an industry where you need to conform to certain formulas and certain group things in terms of how we approach certain issues or certain things or certain ideas. It truly makes me feel independent.

Art-house film and cinema has long been associated, or at least for the last fifteen years, with really gritty, social-realist drama. I’ve received reviews of my film that criticize it for not being romantic enough. My film captures emotions that are not easy, obvious and straightforward. I’m not the type of filmmaker that is into crowd-pleasing and I think that resonates with audiences.

You are the director, the star, the editor, and the producer of Lingua Franca. How did you stay organized enough to manage all of those tasks? I have one job and that is to make a film and tell a story. I had a clear vision of what I wanted to accomplish, and honestly, it’s me being a stubborn auteur.

The camera work is really sensual and intimate. What conversations took place between you and cinematographer, Isaac Banks, and what, if any other films, were the inspiration for that look? He and I discussed patience and sensuality often, so that’s why Wong Kar-wai had quite an influence on my work with In the Mood for Love and also Christian Petzold, the German director, who directed Transit and Phoenix.

Lingua Franca places a particular lens on the fragility of Filipino, migrant culture. In the film, Olivia exists at the intersections of race, gender, sexuality, ICE and Covid-19—and you lay that all on the table here. What do you hope the audience will see in Olivia’s story at this time? She’s a trans woman, she is a woman of color, she is an immigrant, but she’s also more than the sum of these individual parts. I know my film demands a lot of intellectual and emotional labor, but it’s important that viewers think deeply and critically about Olivia’s motivations, which may seem contradictory and complex. I want Lingua Franca to be an emotional experience, even if it’s not the most comfortable to watch. If I get one audience member to do the emotional legwork of trying to understand where the main character is coming from, I will feel complete as a filmmaker.

What do you think is the must-see Filipino film, classic or new? [Peque Gallaga’s] Oro, Plata, Mata, which came out in 1982. It is a multi-generational tale set in central Philippines. It’s just a sprawling, dramatic epic, and it’s one of the films that made me want to be a filmmaker. It’s not the most technically polished film, but it takes risks narratively. At the end of the day, it’s not about how big the production is. It’s your willingness to be expansive and explorative as a filmmaker that counts.

What do you consider the sexiest film you’ve ever seen? Out of Sight by Steven Soderbergh.

Out of Sight?! I did not see that coming. Yes! That film doesn’t have any sex scene, but it’s the level of seduction for me. I think sensuality is not necessarily a physical encounter between bodies, but the patience and longing of the moment.

What is your all-time favorite comfort film? A League of Their Own by Penny Marshall. That was the first movie that I saw where I bawled in the last ten minutes of the film.

If I were doing a triple feature with Lingua Franca, what two films would you recommend to watch before or after? I would recommend Ali: Fear Eats the Soul by Rainer Werner Fassbinder, which is another interracial love story between a German woman and a Moroccan immigrant. The other one would be Two Lovers by James Gray, which is set by the beach.

Isabel Sandoval (as Olivia) and Lynn Cohen (as Olga) in ‘Lingua Franca’.

[Spoiler warning: The final two questions concern aspects of the film’s ending.]

I thought the ending of your film was powerful, because we’re right back at the beginning of Olivia’s journey. Sometimes things don’t work out and you have to pick up the pieces and move forward. Exactly! I also wanted to make a point that even though we are focusing on Olivia, I pulled the camera back to highlight bigger sociological themes. She is one of many immigrants in the script and their fates are not resolved by the end of this movie. I wanted that to be a subtle reminder this type of thing becomes cyclical. Life goes on, it’s just another day. Olivia is a displaced immigrant woman in America where Trump is president. Whereas Olga, who’s Ukranian-Jewish, left her home country fifty or sixty years ago in the aftermath of the Holocaust. I wanted people to see this connection.

Based on the meaning of ‘lingua franca’, was that your original choice or for the title? The definition really fits the story. The film is an invitation to the audience to really pay closer attention to language—the language of things said and unsaid. That probably was also a big point of decision for me to open and close the film with words in Tagalog, which is my native language. A lot of people have asked “why didn’t Olivia accept the marriage proposal?” at the end of the film. Sure, that would’ve been practical, but I invite the audience to look at the language between Alex and Olivia. I challenge them to look beyond Olivia as just an immigrant without papers or as a trans woman looking for love, but this is a woman who is taking her agency back and her ability to determine her life moving forward.

Related content

Leonora Anne Mint’s list of Films by Transgender Writers and Directors.

The Top 100 Filipino Films on Letterboxd.

Jojo Kuneho’s lists of Tagalog movies.

Philippines: The Ultimate List.

Follow Valerie on Letterboxd.

‘Lingua Franca’ is distributed by ARRAY Releasing and is available on Netflix.

[edwardsvirginity]

I also work for a nonprofit that has shifted our focus during the corona to allocate some of our hours to delivering food to vulnerable people and it’s been so 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Sometimes it’s just... so upsetting, to hear these seniors talk about... trying to figure out how to use their food stamps when they want to order their groceries online (and of course our country is so fucked up you can’t use your food stamp card online) and then not being able to afford groceries when they can’t use it... or just talking about not having internet (and of course no one lets you order grocery delivery over the phone, and all the free grocery delivery services for seniors are in the rich zip codes..), and not having anyone to take them to the doctor... and having their health insurance get cancelled (who cancels an old person’s health insurance in the middle of a pandemic?!?) 

there are just... so many people who don’t have anyone looking out for them right now. and luckily it’s only about 5% of the people we serve, but it’s still too many. it’s heartbreaking. 

but, i’m happy to be able to help how i can. 

@everyone: call your grandma. because i’ve been talking to all your grandmas and you’re not calling them enough!!

[rotationalsymmetry]

More RoSy shoots her mouth off for no reason.

Most of the time, the end game isn’t deciding whether something is ableist/classist/A Slur/etc or whether it’s Fine, Everything’s Fine, Nothing To See Here.

(For one thing: something “being a slur” isn’t automatically the same as “don’t use it under any circumstances ever” — generally people not in the group being referred to shouldn’t use the slur. But, sometimes reclaimed slurs are a thing, for people in the group, and all sorts of liberating and claiming power and so on can happen under the banner of a reclaimed slur.)

Most things in life don’t actually lend themselves to simple “do this, don’t do that” lists. It’s nice when they do.

More often though, you gotta pay attention and listen and be willing to be in dialog, in relationship.

There’s not a list of things you can personally avoid to get your Not A Racist certificate. It doesn’t work that way. You (hypothetical white person you) fight racism not to get your Not a Racist card, but because racism is bad and you want there to be less of it, and/or because you figure if you fight alongside poc on their issues and they fight alongside you on yours, both causes will be a lot more effective. That’s what antiracism is about. Not attempting to achieve some personal “not a racist” goal. There’s no ethical consumption under capitalism, and there’s no ethical anything under white supremacy, OK? It’s about collective liberation, not individual purity.

Ditto for ableism. The point of fighting ableism is to make the world better for disabled people, not so that abled people (heh, temporarily abled people) can sleep more easily at night! So, if something Is Ableist, ok so what? The point is to reduce the total amount of ableism in the world as much as possible. Sometimes that means ignoring the small stuff or the stuff that just isn’t going to change for now. Sometimes that means letting disabled people rant without interrupting them. Sometimes that means taking time to understand what even is a small vs big thing. Sometimes that means letting disabled people tell you want to do and how to act.

Is (I don’t even know what that is but I assume it’s a bougie thing) classist? Here’s a better question: am I personally aware of what sorts of things are going to cause someone who has a lower income or is from a less wealthy family feel out of place and not welcome? Can I do something to improve my awareness of that?

The end goal is to make the world less shitty for people who have less money and are from families with less money, and ultimately to grow a new world where class differences aren’t really a thing. Making a list of things that are Officially Classist and avoiding those things might not do that. Learning to be aware of what ways you’re not being as inclusive as you’d like, hypothetical bougie you, and making changes to be more inclusive, will. (Including letting friends know how much activities are going to cost up front, so they can politely decline if it’s not in their budget without having to admit to being poor.) Even if that sometimes looks kinda similar to the first thing.

Also: mutual aid. Also: fighting for a decent social services net. Also: not feeding into “welfare queen” type stereotypes. Getting more upset about corporations for freeloading than objectively trivial amounts of food stamp fraud. Also: fighting for higher minimum wage. Also: tipping appropriately. Also: considering whether something you’re unhappy over is worth being a Karen about, especially if the person who would most likely get disciplined is someone with less power than you. (As in: filing a complaint about a therapist who sexually harassed you or complaining about your medical bills until your insurance company caves, is an entirely different thing from making life hard for your delivery person because they were running late or forgot something.)

(I’m talking like I’m good at all this but I’m really not.)

Also: not taking out your frustrations at big impersonal corporations who have policies that seem deliberately designed to make you tear your hair out in rage, on the underpaid service sector employees that you’re actually interacting with.

Also: supporting tenants’ unions.

Also: supporting unions in general. Your fancy serving platter thing is extremely anti-classist if you show up to a picket line with it. But you know, coffee and donuts are probably appreciated too.

Or use if you use your fancy serving platter thing to feed the homeless in ways that offer respect and dignity in addition to sufficient actual food — not joking about that.

Or if you’re a college professor, because you’re not sure which of your students are having trouble covering food and which aren’t, so you’re just going to feed all of them. I had a professor who did that — show up every class with an array of fruits and nuts and other foods that just happened, without making a big deal about it, to be vegan and I assume kosher and halal because no preparation was invoked, and at least clear on whether people with allergies could eat them or not because there weren’t any hidden ingredients, just the foods as they were. He was the best.

Well, him and the one who made sure we never had to buy a textbook, even if that meant him photocopying all the relevant chapters himself. Solidarity in action.

My first thought for a “more reading” link was for someone who’s apparently got into trouble for sexual harassment, but I’m sure there’s other stuff out there. Feel free to either reblog with “living with poverty/not being a jerk to people living in poverty” blogs/articles, or make suggestions via ask or message. In the mean time, there’s always Not Always Right. (Content note: so many ads.)

[lilover131]

New CCS Oneshot

I’ve been on and off writing this oneshot for several months now, and I’m so glad to finally have completed it, just in time for Syaoran’s birthday, so I can share it with you all!! 

TITLE: Closer

SUMMARY:  While Syaoran is away in Hong Kong taking care of the things he needs to do, Sakura struggles to deal with the pain of their separation, and only his letters are able to quell the anguish. Will the letters be enough to help her hold on? Or will they find themselves drifting even farther apart? Takes place after the original series and before the Clear Card arc.

LINKS:  AO3 and FANFICTON.NET

You can also read the story under the cut if you do not feel comfortable with links! 

Closer

There was always this feeling of anticipation when the school day was over. Every day, Sakura would come home and eagerly open the mailbox just outside the house, and she would hope and pray that she would find what she so longed for.

 Ever since Syaoran went back to Hong Kong, they had had relatively little communication. Sakura imagined it was because he was busy doing whatever it was that he needed to do that had brought him back in the first place, but amongst his busy schedule, he still found time to write to her, and it was through those letters that she would feel revitalized. She wasn’t exactly sure why this was, but there was just something about it that made him feel closer to her. Maybe it was his handwriting. Maybe it was the way he described his day or how he seemed to ask so many questions about her as if they were having a conversation in person. Or perhaps it was even just the fact that the letters smelled faintly of him.

 Sakura would wonder silently while reading ‘I wonder what the weather was like when he wrote this?’ and ‘What sort of expression did he have? I wish I could have seen it…’. She hoped that Syaoran had the same thoughts about her when reading her letters, and her heart fluttered just at the idea of it.

 Much to her delight, a letter addressed to her with a stamp from Hong Kong was waiting for her. She rushed upstairs to her room and immediately opened it.

 Dear Sakura,

 I hope you are well.

 The summer is quite hot here in Hong Kong, and I hope you are staying cool in Tomoeda.

 The house is lively as always, especially with Meiling and my sisters spending more time together. They ask about you all the time and send their regards.

 The bear you gave me has gotten a lot of attention here, and everyone who has seen it has remarked at how well made it is. You’re really amazing at so many things, and it is almost hard to believe it was handmade! ‘Sakura’ sits on my desk so I can see her whenever I write to you.

 I’m working hard every day to finish the things I need to do so I can return to Tomoeda, though it has kept me very busy and I apologize for not writing more.

How are things at school? Are you and Daidouji still in the same class?

 I hope everything remains peaceful for you, but please let me know right away if strange things start to happen again.

 Sincerely,

 Li Syaoran

 As Sakura finished reading the letter, her fingers stroked over the surface of the paper, just above his name. Seeing his name at the bottom made her heart flutter, as it felt that he had somehow imbued a part of himself within the characters. Kero had told her once that this was not unusual, as there was magic even in a person’s name, and that by knowing a person’s name, you had access to their soul.  This was one of the reasons why she had to write her name on the cards after she captured them.

 The girl safely tucked away the letter in the drawer of her desk, the same place that she often kept the cards. Sometimes the cards would glow in response, as if to tell her that they were happy to see her in such good spirits.

 Sakura wasted no time pulling out her favorite stationery, a pale pink paper with star designs littered along the borders, and started to write her response. She could not hide the blush on her cheeks as she wrote, and it wasn’t as if she were writing anything embarrassing. Just the thought of Syaoran brought warmth to her cheeks, and she was asked frequently if she had a fever by those who saw it out of context. Kero saw her like this more than he’d like to admit, but ultimately he only wanted her happiness, and until the ‘kid’ was back in Tomoeda, this was the best way to keep Sakura happy.

 Dear Syaoran-kun,

 The summer has been very hot here in Tomoeda as well, but we’ve done everything we can to keep comfortable. Yesterday, Otou-san and I made shaved ice and had lots of different flavors to try! It was so delicious! I wish you could have tasted it. Maybe when you’ve come back to Japan, I’ll make some for you! You like lemon flavored things, right?

 I’m glad that your sisters and Meiling are doing well. I’d really like to see them again, and every time I receive a letter from Meiling, it makes me really happy! She’s been teaching me a bit of Cantonese in her letters, and it’s made me realize how difficult it must have been for you to read Japanese at school. There are a lot of characters that look similar but have completely different meanings! Meiling told me I should write this for you the next time I sent you a letter.

 一百個心都裝唔晒我對你嘅愛。

 I’m not sure what the direct translation is, but Meiling said it would make you happy if I wrote it and that it means something like “I care for you a great deal”.

 The ‘Sakura’ bear is not really that well made, but I’m glad you like it! I only had an evening to make it, and I’m happy that it didn’t turn out looking like Kero-chan this time! ‘Syaoran’ I feel is much better made and sits on a drawer in my room, right beneath my bulletin board with the post cards of Hong Kong you’ve sent me. I love the pictures on them, and they remind me of the time I visited and got to see your home. Your family was so kind, and your house felt very warm and inviting. I hope I can return someday and see more of it!

 I’m sure you must be working very hard in Hong Kong, but please don’t overwork yourself. I will wait for you, so please take as long as you need to finish the things you need to do.

 Summer break will be starting soon at Tomoeda Elementary, but there’s no shortage of summer homework for sure. It seems like there is more than usual, but Onii-chan says it’s probably so they can prepare us for the middle school entrance exams. I’m really nervous, but at least we have several months before the exams! I’ve never been great at math, so I’m worried that I’ll struggle with those parts of the test. But Tomoyo-chan does really well in all classes and said she will help me study, so I am sure everything will be all right! We’re still in the same class right now, and I hope that stays the same for Middle School too. Even still, I feel like school isn’t quite the same without you sitting behind me…

 I’ll be looking forward to your next letter!

 Sincerely,

 Kinomoto Sakura

 Sakura finished with her signature and gently blew on the wet ink to dry it before carefully folding the paper and placing it within the envelope. She’d send it out first thing tomorrow and couldn’t wait for her next letter to arrive.

 A few weeks passed, and summer had ended. Autumn was on the horizon and the heat was starting to die down, much to her relief, and thankfully along with the end of summer also left the rainy season. It seemed that every day during that time, Sakura could look out the window and the sky would be covered in gray clouds. However, even the gloomiest of seasons, she felt she had Syaoran’s letters to look forward to, and continuing the same pattern every day, she checked the mailbox after school. The rainy season unfortunately passed without a single letter, but just as the sun returned, the letters did eventually as well.

 Sakura immediately rushed upstairs to read it, and not even Kero dared to bother her. This letter had come a bit later than usual, and it seemed Syaoran’s communication was becoming more and more spaced out. It was concerning to Sakura, and even Kero didn’t like the silence, but he disliked seeing her sad face even more.

 Dear Sakura,

 I hope you stayed dry in the rainy season! It appears that the sunshine is back again, so I hope it’s the same for you in Japan! I recall the weather being similar in some ways to Hong Kong at this time of year, though not quite as hot and humid!

 I wish I could have had some of the shaved ice you made with your father in the summer time, and I’m sure it was delicious. I tried to imagine it whenever the heat was starting to get to me, and I think it helped a little bit.

 My sisters would certainly love to see you again, and Meiling talks about going back to visit Japan frequently. I had no idea she was teaching you Cantonese, and admittedly I was a little surprised at what she had you write.

 一百個心都裝唔晒我對你嘅愛。actually translates as “A hundred hearts would be too few to carry all my love for you”

 Sakura stopped reading briefly and cupped her face, which was beat red at the realization of the Cantonese words Meiling had advised her to write. She couldn’t believe she had her put down such a thing! The girl also couldn’t help but notice that Syaoran’s handwriting appeared to look a bit irregular and shaky in that particular part of the letter, and she wondered what had caused his hand to become so unsteady. After regaining her composure, she continued to read.

 I’m sorry she asked you to say such an extravagant thing without explaining the meaning, but I spoke to her about it to make sure it doesn’t happen again. She says it was all in good fun. But…regardless, I know what you intended to say and the feelings behind them, and it did make me very happy. You’re my most important person, and I’m doing everything I can to come back to Japan like I promised. I will try not to keep you waiting too long, and knowing that you’re waiting for me makes everything worth it. Thank you for that.

 I’m glad that ‘Syaoran’ bear has been so well taken care of, and I hope he’s been watching over you in my stead. ‘Sakura’, who I still insist is very well made, is always with me, and I feel like I have you by my side and am encouraged and made stronger by it.

 I’m sure someday you will come back to visit Hong Kong, and I’ll show you as much as I can when you do. There are lots of beautiful places that aren’t printed on post cards.

Don’t be worried about the entrance exams. You’re plenty smart, and as long as you keep working at it, you’ll do just fine. Study a little bit each night, and it will come naturally to you when the time comes.

 School in Hong Kong also does not feel the same without you sitting in front of me, but I’m glad to hear that Daidouji is still in your class. She is a very good friend and I’m sure she will encourage you all the way through.

 Keep working hard!

 Sincerely,

 Li Syaoran

 The rest of the letter made her heart flutter, and her fingers brushed over his name once again. She would have to write him back right away! Without wasting another moment, she got out her favorite stationery and pen and started to write what was in her heart.

 Dear Syaoran,

 Like you said, it was raining here a lot, but I didn’t mind it. The rain can be very calming at times, however it definitely limited the amount of things we can do outside. The sunny days are back now, so I’m excited to be outside more! 

 Fall is starting here, and Onii-chan said that now that the chestnuts are in season, he’ll bring home some dorayaki from the bakery he works part time at. I’m sure it’s delicious, but there are a lot of other really yummy desserts there too! When I think about it, Onii-chan really does have a lot of part time jobs. He says he’s working so much because he wants to pay for college on his own, but I think there’s more to it than that. He may be a jerk sometimes, but he is really hard working and is always looking after me. I have the feeling your sisters care a lot about you too and are always looking out for you. It must be nice having such a big family!

 I had no idea that the words Meiling suggested I write meant that, and I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. It’s so embarrassing! But I am glad that it made you happy, because you are very important to me as well. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.

 ‘Syaoran’ bear has also encouraged me, and anytime I feel like I am struggling, I can look at it and imagine you’re here with me, cheering me on! School has been getting a little bit easier, and I’m not as nervous about the entrance exams anymore. Tomoyo-chan and I have been taking a little bit of time each week to study, and I think I’m finally starting to understand Math a bit better.

 I’m sure everything will be all right, and I’m looking forward to becoming a Middle School student! I know that everything will be all right for you as well in the important things you need to do, and I’m cheering you on from Japan!

 Sincerely,

 Kinomoto Sakura

 Sakura smiled as she signed the letter and sealed it in an envelope for mailing. She hoped that she would receive another message from Syaoran as soon as possible, but she also hoped that he knew she was encouraging him even from a distance, just as he had done for her.

 Several months passed, and there was no letter. Sakura became worried that something had gone wrong, but every once in a while, she would get a small text message from Syaoran. The conversations they had via text were often short and more frequent than the letters, but they just didn’t seem as satisfying as those letters written by hand. They were special…

 The lack of hand written letters gave her this agonizing sense of distance between them that appeared to be growing. Of course there were already many miles between them, so it’s not as if the feelings were completely out of the ordinary, but the letters had made her feel as if they were just the tiniest bit closer, if only in their hearts. 

 It was finally when the autumn had come and gone and winter began to emerge that the next letter arrived, and Sakura let out a sigh of relief at the comfort that they were not over. There was a warmth that grew in her and made her forget about the bone chilling cold temperatures outside, and she made her way to the kitchen table with a fresh cup of tea and the letter in hand. 

 Dear Sakura, 

 I am sorry that it took so long for me to send this letter.

 I hope that the autumn was peaceful for you! I remember the season being very beautiful in Japan, but here in Hong Kong it is difficult to see the changes in the seasons from the middle of a large city. Even so, there are still some spots I can retreat to that remind me that nature is never far. 

 The winter in Hong Kong is thankfully warmer than in Japan. I always struggled with the cold, but the scarf you made me feel much more comfortable, almost like it’s made with some sort of warming magic. I believe this is simply because you made it. 

 However, of all the seasons, spring is my favorite. Nothing really rivals the beauty of the blooming cherry blossom trees in Japan, and I hope to see them again soon…

 I’ve never been quite sure how to act around your brother. I feel like he dislikes me still for how I treated you when we first met, and I don’t really blame him for that. He clearly cares about you a great deal and I believe that he is a very good brother to you. I hope I can apologize someday properly for my behavior back then. 

 As for my own family, it is just as you said. It is nice to have a large family, and I can’t really imagine what my life would be like without them. My sisters, although very lively and sometimes loud, are very smart, strong, and kind women. I know they care about me too, but I wish they could show it without being so...suffocating. By ‘suffocating’, I mean that they hug me so tight I can’t breathe! 

 As Sakura read the letter, she briefly glanced down and saw the bright smile that reflected in the tea within her cup. She blushed a bit upon seeing herself, and it was almost strange to see herself react like that to something written. Was this what love looked like from the outside? 

 She continued to read the next part of the letter, and her face quickly changed to a different expression; one that was far different than one glowing from feelings of love. 

  I have thought about you the entire time and kept your letter close until I had the opportunity to respond, but I am afraid this will be the last letter I will be able to send. 

Please keep the ‘Syaoran’ bear close to you and remember that I am still always supporting you. Don’t forget your invincible spell. 

 Sincerely, 

 Li Syaoran

 Sakura stopped before the tea cup in her hand was rested back down onto the plate on the table. Her face had gone pale, and her emerald eyes were burning with tears threatening to fall. She read the line again, feeling a pain in her heart as she did. 

 I am afraid this will be the last letter I will be able to send. 

 Sakura read it over and over, trying desperately to understand its meaning. Did Syaoran mean to say that he was too busy to write any more letters? Was he telling her that he no longer wanted to write them? If he wasn’t able to come back, he’d tell her, wouldn’t he? Her mind was swirling with the possibilities, but even if it were something innocent, the thought of losing those precious letters was almost too much to bear. The letters and the teddy bear...they were all she had to remember him by…

 The girl made her way upstairs and opened the drawer of her desk containing the letters and sadly rested it atop of the others. From the privacy of her room, she allowed a few tears to fall and was thankful to see Kero was in the middle of a nap so he could not see her in such a state. The Sakura cards began to glow a soft pink, floating up from their stationary position and surrounding her, as if to try and comfort her in her apparent distress. She continued to cry until she gazed to the ‘Syaoran’ bear that rested on the small table across the room. 

 Slowly, she made her way to it and held it tightly in her arms, remembering the last words in the letter. 

 Please keep the ‘Syaoran’ bear close to you and remember that I am still always supporting you. Don’t forget your invincible spell.

 Sakura slowly nodded, her tears beginning to fade and her heart starting to understand the meaning. He was telling her to hold on...to keep waiting for him. 

 “Everything...will surely be all right…” 

 She whispered softly, still clinging to the bear and making a desperate wish that soon, they would be together again…

 Sakura rushed back to her desk, eagerly writing her next letter. She had to let him know...she must let him know…! 

 Dear Syaoran, 

 I promised to wait for you, and I will continue to do that, even if it means I won’t receive any more letters from here on out. 

 I will keep waiting, because you are my number one person. 

 Everything will surely be all right! 

 Sincerely, 

 Sakura Kinomoto 

 The girl held the short letter close to her chest, muttering a wish and hoping to engrave her feelings in the small piece of paper. Surely, her feelings would reach him...and the distance between them would lessen. 

 Several months passed since the heartfelt letter was sent, and just as Syaoran had said, no more letters were received. Although Sakura was generally very cheerful, the slight sadness had not gone unnoticed by those close to her. Even the text messages they shared had become farther apart in frequency, and Sakura couldn’t help but wonder if those too would soon disappear. 

 Even still, she had decided to wait, and she continued to believe that everything would be all right. She focused on the other aspects of her life to distract herself, and the middle school entrance exams soon came and went. Thanks to her hard work and encouragement from Syaoran, Tomoyo, and those she cared about, she passed with flying colors. Starting in April, she was going to be a student at Tomoeda Middle School, and this change made her realize just how much time had truly passed. 

 It would be so strange to be in a completely different school with new faces and Syaoran not beside her through it all. The time they shared in Elementary school was almost starting to feel like simply an old memory that would fade with time, and she prayed that no more time would pass before they were able to make new memories. 

Even still, life went on. She received her middle school uniform, and she attended the middle school entrance ceremony. Sakura said goodbye to her Elementary school life and prepared for the next step in her life. Why didn’t anyone ever tell her that growing up could be so...scary?

 Her birthday arrived, and she grew another year older; another reminder that as she waited for Syaoran, time would continue to flow forward without their consent. 

And then the first day of her middle school life finally came…

 Even if it was scary, she was still excited by the new opportunities and friendships she would find as a middle school student. It was a new adventure, and she’d tell Syaoran all about it when they saw each other again...if they saw each other again.She shook her head at the thought. No, Syaoran promised, and he never broke a promise...

 The cherry blossom trees were in full bloom and brilliantly lined the streets she walked, and they always managed to put her in a good mood. She remembered how Syaoran had spoken fondly of the springtime in Japan as well, particularly because of the trees. Sakura spoke to herself cheerfully about the springtime plans she had, excited for the good times to come. 

 “I should go flower viewing with everyone! I should ask Tomoyo-chan and…” 

Her footsteps halted as she thought of what she had wanted to say next. 

 ‘I wanted to see them with Syaoran-kun too….this year’s cherry blossoms’

 The feelings of loneliness washed over her again as she thought of possibly going through another year without him. His favorite season was here, and he wasn’t even here to enjoy it. 

 Then, her eyes fell upon a figure standing at the end of the street, almost not visible behind the flurry of falling petals that rained like snow. The silhouette seemed so familiar, and she could almost swear that it looked like Syaoran...was she seeing things now? Perhaps she had wished for him so strongly that she was now beginning to see him in places he was not. 

 However, as the blossoms settled and her sight became clearer, so did the image of the figure before her, and it now looked too real to be an illusion or dream. She saw Syaoran, wearing the Tomoeda middle school uniform and holding in his arm the ‘Sakura’ bear she had so painstakingly made for him. Her vision had now pulled her in so deep that she could not help but speak to it. 

 “Syaoran-kun…?” 

 It was when her vision spoke back that she suddenly began to realize that this was no fantasy, and the tears instantly welled up in her eyes. 

 “We finally wrapped up the business in Hong Kong. From now on, I’m a permanent resident here in Tomoeda”

 The words had shaken her so violently that she almost could not comprehend it. 

 “Really…?” 

 “Yeah” 

 Almost needing more reassurance that this was not some sort of cruel dream, she asked more questions to verify the reality before her. 

 “You mean I don’t need to settle...for letters or phone calls anymore?” 

 Syaoran smiled at her, and it was then that she could no longer deny it. Even a dream could not replicate the effect her beloved’s smile had on her. This was the real thing...

 “Yeah” 

 In a sudden rush of emotion, she flung her briefcase down to the ground and charged towards him, quickly embracing him in a tear filled hug. He felt so warm, and the solidness of his body and strong arms wrapping around her in return further grounded her to reality, which still at moments seemed so surreal. The happiness she felt was overwhelming, and having him close to her again was something she almost didn’t believe possible. 

 “Now we can be together forever!” 

 The painful waiting was finally over, and the part she felt she had been missing for the past year was now back, making her feel whole again. Sakura now understood what his words had meant...the reason he had told her that he would not be able to send her any more letters was because he knew that they would be together again soon. He must have worked so hard in those last few months, especially since he said it would take a long time to come back. She hoped that he would tell her all about it. 

 Sakura felt so connected to him now, but what she found most incredible of all, was that even with the physical distance and seasons that passed, it was through the letters that they somehow found a way to become even closer, and it took them reconnecting now for her to recognize it. The distance was never really there, was it?  Now that they were together again, there was nothing in their way and so many memories to make and seasons to experience. They would do this all...together. 

 ‘Everything will surely be all right…’

 THE END

[nat-20s]

Death and the Queen headcanon: for a few weeks after they leave Gorotania (or however the heck you spell it) Ten is very wary when Donna speaks to men because he’s shit scared she’s gonna end up leaving him again like she did with Rudolph. Yeah, I’m down for clingy/protective Ten basically 💁🏻

hey so you did NOT mean this as a fic prompt but my brain took it as a fic prompt anyway so please enjoy this almost 1.7k words of nonsense

The Doctor came up from behind so that he could wrap his arms

around her shoulders and rest his chin on her head, which should’ve

been nice and comforting and warm. However,

Donna could hear the pernicious grin on his face as he said, “Donna!

There you are, we were just leaving, weren’t

we?”

This had been the third goddamn

time this week he’s pulled

this sort of stunt, and, would you look at that, it’s once again

just as Donna was having a nice flirt after the danger had passed.

Never would’ve worked out,

not the least because Donna just isn’t a fan of that many eyes on a

face, but the interruption was far from welcome nonetheless. Two

instincts war inside her, but she ultimately decides that it will be

more productive to give The Doctor a right and proper talking to in

the TARDIS over just yelling right here and now. Matching the

(assumed) sharpness of The Doctor’s grin, Donna schools her gritted

teeth into an imitation of a smile and says, “That we were! Sorry

to take off so quickly, but you know how it is. Things to do, places

to see, running to tolerate, all that!”

Four of the alien’s eyelids

flutter rapidly with a loud clicking noise that, thank you TARDIS,

automatically translates to, “Ah, my apologies, Lady Noble. If I

had known you were already

partnered, I would not have made overtures. I hope I have not to

greatly offended your mate.”

Before Donna could open her mouth

to give a perfunctory “Definitely unpartnered,

not my mate,” The Doctor

comes forward and grabs her hand to pull her away, cheerfully telling

her conversational partner, “Oh, no offense taken old chap! We

really must be off

right now though, give us a holler next

time we’re in the solar system!”

Like that, he has her running again

despite the fact that they are not, at the moment, in any actual rush

that she’s aware of. Not able to really talk while being half

dragged back home, she settles for an incredulous side eye that The

Doctor willfully (?) ignores.

Luckily, they weren’t parked

too far away, so it’s only

a matter of minutes before they’re back in the TARDIS. The Doctor

is already talking a mile a minute and asking a million questions he

clearly doesn’t expect an answer to and Donna has had enough.

“What. The Hell. Was that.”

The Doctor freezes, one hand grasping a

mallet mid strike and the other hovering over a keyboard. In a

display of false innocence, he asks, “What the hell was what?”

Strolling over to take the mallet from

his hand before he hurts himself or, who knows, opens a sort of space

vortex or something to get out of the ensuing conversation, Donna not

at all calmly tells him, “That whole horse and pony show back

there! I mean, Christ, you can be clingy and melodramatic at

the best of times-

“Oi-”

“but this is a whole ‘nother level!

This is jealously whenever I so much as look at another

person, and I you don’t cut that out I swear to god I’ll-”

“Leave? For good?”

There’s a bitter flash of a smirk on

his face and it throws Donna completely off her rhythm. Not enough

for her to completely stop yelling, mind you, but enough that some

gears are starting to grind in the back of her mind. “What? No. I

was gonna say lock you in the TARDIS for a week so you can

think about your actions and I can actually spend time with people

that are not you without some hovering but I’m starting to think

that’d only exaggerate the problem.”

The Doctor sets about busying himself

with…something on the console and pointedly does not make eye

contact when he replies with, “Mmmm.”

For about a minute or two, Donna

passively watches him work, taking the time to connect the dots

before hollering, “Goritania!”

Still puttering about with who knows

what, The Doctor replies, “Huh?”

“You’ve been acting like this for

about a month, aka when we left Goritania. Considering that whole

speech you gave about oh how you’re so lonely and woe is me

everyone leaves, which, by the way, if you had let me get a word in

edgewise you would’ve known I wasn’t going anywhere, not

permanently, I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence that you’ve

been acting like anyone I make eye contact with is going to, I dunno,

whisk me away to some other planet for an interalien soul binding or

some other nonsense.”

The Doctor thwacks the side of the

monitor with a little more force than necessary and his breathing

gets heavier as he spits out, “Well it’s true isn’t it?

Everyone does leave, and just because “Rudolph,” he says

the name with a sneer, “wasn’t your person doesn’t mean that

you’re not going to find your person and run off and get married

and live a happy life just like you wanted.”

Funnily enough, just as the Doctor

starts to get riled up, Donna feels all the fight leave her. “I’ll

admit, there was a time where I did really want that big

fairytale wedding followed by, hopefully, a big fairytale marriage.

Somewhere along the line I had learned that’s what was synonymous

with a happy life. But then I got a glimpse of the universe and that

all fell to the wayside. For Christ’s sake, I think I had more fun

running around like a madwoman as my wedding reception got destroyed

that I did with the wedding itself. I mean, sure, I still think

having “my person” makes things better for me, but luckily, I’ve

already found them.”

The Doctor finally stops messing around

with instruments so he can actually look at her. His jaw works

back and forth a few times, and then he schools his face into

something that utterly fails to not be crestfallen. “Oh? Do I..do I

know them?”

“Oh no, you’ve never met them,”

She lightly flicks his forehead, “It’s you, stupid. For a

supposed genius you’re rather thick sometimes. How ave you survived

this long?”

“Oh! Also, I haven’t. I’ve

already died nine times Donna, keep up. Also also, supposed genius?

Who was saying that? I should send them a card.”

“Absolutely not. Your ego would

explode and we can’t have that. It’d kill you a tenth time.”

“Mmm. Suppose it’s for the best,

I’m out of stamps anyway.”

There’s a beat of silence before he

blasts her with the full force of the universe’s dopiest grin.

Voice filled with inexorable pleasure, he asks, “I’m really your

person?”

She could call him out on asking

questions he full well knows the answer to, but instead she gives a

one shouldered shrug and says, “Well, yeah. You’re my best

friend. Who the fuck else was it gonna be? I guess it’s a bit

odd that you’re a nine hundred and seven year old alien,

wouldn’t have called that in my 7th grade journal, but

I’ve accepted much weirder things at this point.”

The Doctor’s grin settles softly into

a smile, quietly replying, “I do love nothing in the world so well

as you- is not that strange?”

Donna gently elbows him in the side and

admonishes, “What did I say about Shakespeare quotes during serious

conversations?”

“Sorry,” The Doctor says, not sorry

at all. “If it helps, my best friend is an alien that’s not even

half a century old. So young. Pretty freaky if you ask me.”

“Oh for real? Do I know them?”

The Doctor gives Donna an unimpressed

look, but she luckily has had an immunity to all of his Looks from

day one. She bumps his shoulder with her own and says, “Seriously

though, you think I could ever trade seeing galaxies and

bringing hope to people and stopping the forces of evil for what? A

mortgage and office politics? My baseline state traveling with you is

joy. Even the miserable, horrible times aren’t so

miserable and horrible because, on a bone deep level, I’m

deliriously happy. That’s never been true before, and it means the

only way that you’re getting me out of this little blue box is in a

casket. So. You know. Something to think about when you get it in

that messy little head of yours that I’m gonna tell you to sod off

and run away with the nearest 6’ 3” vaguely humanoid person able

to lift me.”

“In my defense you did, in fact, once

tell me to sod off and ran away with a 6’ 3” Tree of Cheem.

Lovely woman by the way, you should’ve kept in contact.”

“It was for a day oh my god

chill out. It’s not our fault that we had better tastes in

amusement parks than you.”

“I see your point. I will…chill

out. And I’m sorry for how, uh,-”

“cloying?”

“overly protective I’ve been

these past weeks. Sometimes I just get so..”

Donna leans against him, pleased when

he leans back, and tells him, “Hey, I get it, I really do. I’m

plenty scared of losing you. Christ, I’ve had plenty of nights

working myself into sleeplessness convinced you’re gonna

ditch me for somebody who’s ‘better’ than me, whatever the hell

that means.”

“I wouldn’t ditch you!”

“I know that. Logically. Just

like you know that I’m not gonna trade you in for a white picket

fence and 2.4 children. Hence why, despite the occasional irrational

actions, I think we should move forward so we can be afraid of real

threats, like the many, many things that try to kill us on a near

daily basis. Speaking of, what thing trying to kill us are we gonna

go barreling into now?”

“I was thinking the mesmerizing

mountains of Yountor.  They sing so beautifully as to be rumored to be

populated by angels.”

Donna raises an eyebrow at him. He

continues, “or maybe sirens.”

Sarcastic tone at odds with the grin on

her face, Donna says, “Ah. No way that could backfire. Let’s do

it.”

[innuendostudios]

Research Masterpost

This is my research list for The Alt-Right Playbook. It is a living document - I am typically adding sources faster than I am finishing the ones already on it. Notes and links below the list. Also, please note this does not include the hundreds of articles and essays I’ve read that also inform the videos - this is books, reports, and a few documentaries.

Legend: Titles in bold -> finished Titles in italics -> partially finished *** -> livetweeted as part of #IanLivetweetsHisResearch (asterisks will be a link) The book I am currently reading will be marked as such.

Media Manipulation & Disinformation Online, by Alice Marwick and Rebecca Lewis Alternative Influence, by Rebecca Lewis The Authoritarians, by Bob Altemeyer*** Eclipse of Reason, by Max Horkheimer Civility in the Digital Age, by Andrea Weckerle The Origins of Totalitarianism, by Hannah Arendt On Revolution, by Hannah Arendt Don’t Think of an Elephant, by George Lakoff The Shock Doctrine, by Naomi Klein How Propaganda Works, by Jason Stanley*** This is an Uprising, by Mark and Paul Engler Neoreaction a Basilisk, by Elizabeth Sandifer This Nonviolent Stuff'll Get You Killed, by Charles E. Cobb, Jr. Mistakes Were Made (But Not By Me), by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson Healing from Hate, by Michael Kimmel The Brainwashing of my Dad, doc by Jen Senko On Bullshit, by Harry Frankfurt The Reactionary Mind, by Corey Robin*** Stamped from the Beginning, Ibram X. Kendi Fascism Today, by Shane Burley Indoctrination over Objectivity?, by Marrissa S. Ballard Ur-Fascism, by Umberto Eco Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, by Lindsay C. Gibson Anti-Semite and Jew, by Jean-Paul Sartre Alt-America, by David Neiwert*** The Dictator’s Handbook, by Bruce Bueno de Mesquita & Alastair Smith Terror, Love, and Brainwashing, by Alexandra Stein Kaputt, by Curzio Malaparte The Anatomy of Fascism, by Robert O. Paxton Neoliberalism and the Far Right, by Neil Davidson and Richard Saull Trolls Just Want to Have Fun, by Erin E. Buckels, et al The Entrepreneurial State, by Mariana Mazzucato

Media Manipulation & Disinformation Online, by Alice Marwick and Rebecca Lewis (free: link) A monstrously useful report from Data & Society which- coupled with Samuel R. Delany’s memoir The Motion of Light in Water - formed the backbone of the Mainstreaming video. I barely scratched the surface of how many techniques the Far Right uses to inflate their power and influence. If you feel lost in a sea of Al-Right bullshit, this will at least help you understand how things got the way they are, and maybe help you discern truth from twaddle.

The Authoritarians, by Bob Altemeyer (free: link) (livetweets) A free book full of research from Bob Altemeyer’s decades of study into authoritarianism. Altemeyer writes conversationally, even jovially, peppering what could have been a dense and dry work with dad jokes. I wouldn’t say he’s funny (most dads aren’t), but it makes the book blessedly accessible. If you ever wanted a ton of data demonstrating that authoritarianism is deeply correlated with conservatism, this is the book. One of the most useful resources I’ve consumed so far, heavily influencing the entire series but most directly the video on White Fascism. Even has some suggestions for how to actually change the mind of a reactionary, which is kind of the Holy Grail of LeftTube.

(caveats: there is a point in the book where Altemeyer throws a little shade on George Lakoff, and I feel he slightly - though not egregiously - misrepresents Lakoff’s arguments)

Don’t Think of an Elephant, by George Lakoff An extremely useful book about framing. Delves into the differences between the American Right and Left when it comes to messaging, how liberal politicians tend to have degrees in things like Political Science and Rhetoric, where conservatives far more often have degrees in Marketing. This leads to two different cultures, where liberals have Enlightenment-style beliefs that all  you need is good ideas and conservatives know an idea will only be popular if you know how to sell it. He gets into the nuts and bolts of how to keep control of a narrative, because the truth is only effective if the audience recognizes it as such. Kind of staggering how many Democrats swear by this book while blatantly taking none of its advice. Lakoff has been all over the series since the first proper video.

(caveats: several. Lakoff seemingly believes the main difference between the Right and Left is in our default frames, and that swaying conservatives amounts to little more than finding better ways to make the same arguments. he deeply underestimates the ideological divide between Parties, and some of his advice reads as tips for making debates more pleasant but no more productive. he also makes a passing comparison between conservatism and Islam that means well but is a gross and kinda racist false equivalence)

How Propaganda Works, by Jason Stanley (livetweets) A slog. Many useful concepts, and directly referenced in the White Fascism video. But could have said everything it needed to say in half as many pages. Stanley seems dedicated to framing everything in epistemological terms, not appealing to morality or sentiment, which means huge sections of the book are given over to “proving” democracy is a good thing using only philosophical concepts, when “democracy good” is probably something his readership already accepts. Also has a frustrating tendency to begin every paragraph with a brief summary of the previous paragraph. When he actually talks about, you know, how propaganda works, it’s very useful, and I don’t regret reading it. But I don’t entirely recommend it. Seems written for an imagined PhD review board. Might be better off reading my livetweets.

Neoreaction a Basilisk, by Elizabeth Sandier A trip. Similar to Jason Stanley, Sandifer is dedicated to “disproving” a number of Far Right ideologies - from transphobia to libertarianism to The Singularity - in purely philosophical terms. The difference is, she’s having fun with it. I won’t pretend the title essay - a 140-page mammoth - didn’t lose me several times, and someone had to remind which of its many threads was the thesis. And some stretches are dense, academic writing punctuated with vulgarity and (actually quite clever) jokes, which doesn’t always average out to the playfully heady tone she’s going for. But, still, frequently brilliant and never less than interesting. There is something genuinely cathartic about a book that begins with the premise that we all fear but won’t let ourselves meaningfully consider - that we will lose the fight with the Right and climate change is going to kill us all - and talks about what we can do in that event. I felt I didn’t even have to agree with the premise to feel strangely empowered by it. Informed the White Fascism video’s comments on transphobia as the next frontier of bigotry since failing to prevent marriage equality.

On Bullshit, by Harry Frankfurt Was surprised to find this isn’t properly a book, just a printed essay. Highly relevant passage that helped form my description of 4chan in The Card Says Moops: “What tends to go on in a bull session is that the participants try out various thoughts and attitudes in order to see how it feels to hear themselves saying such things and in order to discover how others respond, without its being assumed that they are committed to what they say: it is understood by everyone in a bull session that the statements people make do not necessarily reveal what they really believe or how they really feel. The main point is to make possible a high level of candor and an experimental or adventuresome approach to the subjects under discussion. Therefore provision is made for enjoying a certain irresponsibility, so that people will be encouraged to convey what is on their minds without too much anxiety that they will be held to it. [paragraph break] Each of the contributors to a bull session relies, in other words, upon a general recognition that what he expresses or says is not to be understood as being what he means wholeheartedly or believes unequivocally to be true. The purpose of the conversation is not to communicate beliefs.”

The Reactionary Mind, by Corey Robin (livetweets) Another freakishly useful book, and the basis for Always a Bigger Fish and The Origins of Conservatism. Jumping into the history of conservative thought, going all the way back to Thomas Hobbes, to stress that conservatism is, and always has been, about preserving social hierarchies and defending the powerful. Robin dissects thinkers who heavily influenced conservatism, from Edmund Burke and Friedrich Nietzsche to Carl Menger and Ayn Rand, and finally concluding with Trump himself. There’s a lot of insight into how the conservative mind works, though precious little comment on what we can do about it, which somewhat robs the book of a conclusion. Still, the way it bounces off of Don’t Think of an Elephant and The Authoritarians really brings the Right into focus.

Fascism Today, by Shane Burley Yet another influence on the White Fascism video. Bit of a mixed bag. The opening gives a proper definition of fascism, which is extremely useful. Then the main stretch delves into the landscape of modern fascism, from Alt-Right to Alt-Lite to neofolk pagans to the Proud Boys and on and on. Sometimes feels overly comprehensive, but insights abound on the intersections of all these belief systems (Burley pointing out that the Alt-Right is, in essence, the gentrification of working-class white nationalists like neo-Nazi skinheads and the KKK was a real eye-opener). But the full title is Fascism Today: What it is and How to End it, and it feels lacking in the second part. Final stretch mostly lists a bunch of efforts to address fascism that already exist, how they’ve historically been effective, and suggestions for getting involved. Precious few new ideas there. And maybe the truth is that we already have all the tools we need to fight fascism and we simply need to employ them, and being told so is just narratively unsatisfying. Or maybe it’s a structural problem with the book, that it doesn’t reveal a core to fascism the way Altemeyer reveals a core to authoritarianism and Robin reveals a core to conservatism, so I don’t come away feeling like I get fascism well enough to fight it. But, also, Burley makes it clear that modern fascism is a rapidly evolving virus, and being told that old ways are still the best ways isn’t very satisfying. If antifascism isn’t evolving at least as rapidly, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to win.

(caveats: myriad. for one, Burley repeatedly quotes Angela Nagle’s Kill All Normies, which does not inspire confidence. he also talks about “doxxing fascists” as a viable strategy without going into the differences between “linking a name to a face at a public event” and “hacking someone’s email to publicly reveal their bank information,” where the former is the strategy that fights fascism and the latter is vigilantism that is practiced widely on the Right and only by the worst actors on the Left. finally, the one section where Burley discusses an area I had already thoroughly researched was GamerGate, and he got quite a few facts wrong, which makes me question how accurate all the parts I hadn’t researched were. I don’t want to drive anyone away from the book, because it was still quite useful, but I recommend reading it only in concert with a lot of other sources so you don’t get a skewed perspective.)

Healing from Hate, by Michael Kimmel (Michael Kimmel, it turns out, is a scumbag. This book’s main thesis is that we need to look at violent extremism through the lens of toxic masculinity, so Kimmel’s toxic history with women is massively disappointing. Book itself is, in many ways, good, but, you know, retweets are not endorsement.)

A 4-part examination of how men get into violent extremism through the lens of the organizations that help them get out: EXIT in Germany and Sweden, Life After Hate in the US, and The Quilliam Foundation in Europe and North America. Emphasizing that entry into white nationalism - and, to an extent, jihadism - is less ideological than social. Young men enter these movements out of a need for community, purpose, and a place to put their anger. They feel displaced and mistreated by society - and often, very tangibly, are - and extremism offers a way to prove their manhood. Feelings of emasculation is a major theme. The actual politics of extremism are adopted gradually. They are, in a sense, the price of admission for the community and the sense of purpose. The most successful exit strategies are those that address these feelings of loneliness and emasculation and build social networks outside the movement, and not ones that address ideology first - the ideology tends to wither with the change in environment. The book itself can be a bit repetitive, but these observations are very enlightening.

(caveats: the final chapter on militant Islam is deeply flawed. Kimmel clearly didn’t get as much access to Qulliam as he had to EXIT and Life After Hate, so his data is based far less on direct interviews with counselors and former extremists and much more on other people’s research. despite the chapter stressing that a major source of Muslim alienation is racism, Kimmel focuses uncomfortably much on white voices - the majority of researchers he quotes are white Westerners, and the few interviews he manages are mostly with white converts to Islam rather than Arabs or South Asians. all in all, the research feels thinner, and his claims about militant Islam seem much more conjectural when they don’t read as echos of other people’s opinions.)

Terror, Love and Brainwashing, by Alexandra Stein A look at totalitarian governments and cults through the lens of attachment theory. While not explicitly about the Far Right, it’s interesting to see the overlap between this and Healing from Hate. Stein stresses that the control dynamics she discusses are not exclusive to cults, and are, in fact, the same ones as in abusive relationships; cults are just the most extreme version. So you can see many similar dynamics in Far Right organizations, like the Aryan Nations or the Proud Boys. It’s made me curious how many of these dynamics are in play in the distributed, less controlled environment of online extremism, and makes me want to look further into the subject before drawing conclusions.

(caveats: book is, as with How Propaganda Works, sometimes a slog and rather repetitive. I clocked a 4-page stretch in chapter 8 where Stein did not say a single thing that hadn’t been said multiple times in previous chapters. also, when talking about people coerced into highly-controlled lifestyles, she offhandedly includes “prostitutes” among them? it’s that liberal conflation of sex work and trafficking which is really not cool. this isn’t a major point, just something to notice while you read it.)

Alt-America, by David Neiwert (livetweets) A look at the actual formation of the Alt-Right, and the history that led up to it: the Militia and Patriot movements of the 90′s, the Tea Party, the rise of Alex Jones and Glenn Beck, and so on. Having been steeped in the rhetoric and tactics of the Far Right for so long, someone doing the work of sitting down and putting it all in chronological order is immensely helpful. Generally clear and well-written, too, and would be an easy read if not for how goddamn depressing the content is. Has an unfortunate final 7 pages, where Neiwert starts recommending actual policy. Falls into the usual “have empathetic conversations with genuine conservatives to turn them against the fascist wing taking over their party,” not recognizing the ways in which conservatism is continuous with fascism, nor the ways that trying to appeal to moderate conservatives alienates the people whose rights they deny. Means an extremely valuable book leaves a bad taste in the final stretch, but everything up to then is aces.