#fascinated by dee's face during those moments

[spicyvampire]

WANDEE GOODDAY (2024) EP. 2 // EP. 6

[juniperhillpatient]

The Guru Re-watch

I enjoyed this episode a lot more than the last one for 2 key reasons

DANGEROUS LADIES

I've calmed down a tiny little bit from how mad I am about Jet, I just have to move on (but I never truly will)

Let's talk about Zuzu first. I don't have much to say about him in this episode (for once) other than that I agree with @theowritesfiction that Positive! Zuko is unsettling. Reminds me of the brainwashed Joo Dees. I don't like this Zuko.

Oh wait, let me make everything about Azula like I always do real quick - this version of Zuko isn't the real Zuko just like Canadian! Azula wouldn't be the "real" (or at least not the healthiest fullest version) of Azula (& nice teashop Zuko & Canadian over apologetic Azula are very comparable in my opinion.)

Anyway.

I loved Sokka & Hakoda's soft interactions in this episode.

[id: Hakoda & Sokka hugging. Sokka is smiling]

I really love the moment when Hakoda says "Sokka, you don't have to prove anything to me. I'm already proud of you and I've always known you're a great warrior."

Also, we've got Aang & his Guru journey learning about chakras. I've always found all the chakra talk a bit confusing but fascinating, so here's a piece of the transcript partially for my own context.

Aang: So chakras are pools of spiraling energy in our bodies?

Pathik: Exactly. If nothing else were around, this creek would flow pure and clear. However, life is messy, and things tend to fall in the creek. And then what happens?

Aang The creek can't flow?

Pathik Yes. But, if we open the ponds between the pools ... [He removes moss blocking the exit for the water.]

Aang: The energy flows! [The water that was blocked by the moss becomes clear. Aang and Pathik smile at each other.]

Next, we learn about the four chakras & watch Aang open them through visions & meditation (& onion & banana juice.) Aang struggles to overcome his shame for burning Katara, his guilt over leaving the world behind, & his fear of facing Ozai. The visions are an interesting exploration of Aang's internal struggles & we do see a lot of growth from how he was at the start of the series - largely in denial about anything he might need to overcome & reluctant to acknowledge or embrace his responsibility. Aang has grown immensely as a character & this is a good episode for him....Until we get to the part where I have some Controversial Tm opinions.

Pathik: The Thought Chakra is located at the crown of the head. It deals with pure cosmic energy and is blocked by earthly attachment.

Aang: What? Why would I let go of Katara? I love her!

Pathik: Learn to let her go, or you cannot let the pure cosmic energy flow in from the universe.

Much like "The Fortuneteller" this is a strong setup for Aang to overcome his unreciprocated feelings for Katara and the show takes it in another direction. I would have really liked to see this show subvert expectations & show Aang overcoming his feelings for Katara. That's just how I feel. It's a disappointment to me that he just leaves when he's so close to unlocking all the chakras.

Anyway, Katara!!! She is so cute in this episode. I mean, always, but like - she takes Momo to tea! She asks for a table for 2! She jokes during a war meeting that they could send Momo to do some damage because he's knocking over the models! I just adore her.

Katara also recognizes Azula from looking into her eyes & I'm not kidding - we get a Zoom in of Azula's eyes sparkling, then a close-up of Katara's shocked expression of recognition. Before anyone forgets that this is an Azutara blog, I'm collecting those breadcrumbs where I can!

Also, this episode is great because we get to see Azula's genius & devious plans unfolding & we get to see the Dangerous Ladies being an iconic trio. +1000 iconic behavior points each for the Dangerous Ladies. (also I am not even remotely keeping track of these points anymore I'll have to count them up at the end so it'll be interesting to see who wins lol!) We even get some domestic Dangerous Ladies content with them talking & cleaning their Kyoshi Warrior makeup.

[id: Mai with makeup smeared around her eyes halfway through cleaning her Kyoshi Warrior makeup]

I just love Azula, Mai & Ty Lee so much.

That is all I have for this episode!

[char-lotteral]

Trouvaille

It's two days late but what else is new <33 Happy NHmonth everywan!!

"In this age, in this time, and even in the afterlife, will my soul continue to seek for yours."

She was a common servant. He was a regal prince. He wants her. She yearns for him. But fate had other plans for them

Chapter 1: Kindled Spirits

Hinata never believed in miracles.

The concept in itself was ridiculous to bear.

But the moment their eyes clashed with one another, she saw the ineffable stream of the universe, ebbing and flowing in his cerulean.

He smiled. Her heart stopped.

She’s noticed his silhouette lingering in the palace, his aura too bright to ignore. That sunlit smile, those golden streaks of hair, his sapphire eyes.

His eyes.

The same set of eyes that had once stared longingly at her, the same shade of blue that snuck secretive glances her way.

Her, a mere servant. And him, a grand prince.

She grew up in the palace, raised and taken care of. The handmaidens had brought her in when she was left at the palace doorstep in the night chambers.

Her hands calloused, her clothes wrinkled and not a day went by when she hadn’t had a single misplaced midnight tendril hanging in front of her face.

She had been scrubbing the halls in front of the library when fate happened.

When he happened.

“Crap! I-I’m sorry. I didn’t see you or the bucket, I deeply apologize--”

He bent down, their fingers touched, her world spiraled.

The slightest skinship sent tingles through her veins, a sizzling sensation boiled inside her core, inside her soul, an intangible, heady feeling that made her heart pace, her cheeks flush and their eyes gravitate.

Curiosity.

Intrigue.

Magnetic.

His eyes were blue, so, so blue. His hair a field of marigolds, she wondered internally if they were as soft as they looked.

And there seemed to be the same wonderment in his eyes as well.

Time and time again, they bumped into each other at the randomest places in the palace.

At the library when she would be dusting off the bookshelves, in the garden where she attended to the carnations, at the maid’s quarters where he was prohibited to enter.

They hid behind shy giggles and small talk, shielding themselves from the cruel slap of reality.

“Your eyes.” He had said to her once. “They shine like moonglade.”

Hinata never understood his fascination with her eyes. Neither did she know about her own origin. All she was aware of was that she had no place in his arms nor was she ever allowed in them.

One time, he had been too preoccupied with his books while she had been clearing out the library, Hinata’s curiosity soon took over as she chanced a glance at what he was reading, though sadly enough, she hadn’t understood a single word of it.

Servants like her were never given the privilege to learn how to read or write. They were illiterate, condemned to sweep, clean, mop and cook. A slave to the royal family.

The prince saw this, concern glazed his eyes. “You know… I can teach you how to read, if that is what you wish.”

Her eyes twinkled like constellations. “R-Really?”

“Of course! I believe I still have some free time. Do you… maybe want to start now?”

She couldn’t have been happier.

As he had promised, they studied during his free time. They read folktales together, wrote a few poems here and there, he had even narrated to her the tale of an old classic; Romeo and Juliet.

“It’s a rather silly tale.” Naruto told her. “They both die in the end, nothing much to it really. Poets say this story was highly acclaimed but I could never understand the substance behind it.”

Hinata disagreed. “I think Shakespeare was trying to highlight the naivety of the youth, how love can sometimes bring out the fools in us.”

“Well, if you were to put it that way, I hope I never experience love. I’m already a fool as it is. ”

She chuckled. “Love is dangerous. So, I see what you mean. But sometimes, it can be a remedy for the frail. ”

“Remedy? How so?”

“Take for example…” She sought out an explanation but the minute his eyes bore deeply into hers, she blushed warmly. “Take for example, when you are feeling blue, the mere presence of your loved one can wash  away that sadness. They’re like riptides but for your soul”

“Riptides for your soul…” He repeated curiously. “So like when I’m having a really bad day because of all the workload as a prince, but when I see you, I feel rejuvenated all of a sudden. Is that what love is like?”

She could feel her heart pounding.

“Y-Yes, but I believe… Love is whatever you make it out to be, like the love of your mother and father, the love for your kingdom, or-–”

“Or like the love I have for you?”

Her breath hitched. The pacing in her heart grew rapid by the minute. The blush on her cheeks stained red like berries and she could no longer think of anything coherent.

But all hectic thoughts were thrown at the window when he had merely laughed her off.

“I’m joking. I’m too young to know about love anyway. I’m only 19.”

She laughed with him, somewhat disappointed at his joke.

“But… When I turn 20, I hope to know the complexities of it all. Love, I mean.”

He turned to her so swiftly, eyes lighting up like starlight and she could feel her face flush red again. “Come with me to my ball? I know you’d love it there!”

She shook her head. “A servant like me does not have a place in the upper palace. Surely there are other girls who might cater to your interests.”

“Other girls are boring. They’re all jewelries and frilly dresses and questions on when I become king. They have no interest in me.”

Her hand found purchase on his cheek, thumb caressing the whiskered birthmarks in soothing strokes and he leaned into it, relishing her touch.

“You’ll be amazing.”

***

The day of his 20th birthday had arrived and she didn’t feel particularly festive.

Per usual, the servants dusted and cooked, cleaned and scrubbed, preparing every corner with decorations and flashes of color.

The ballroom was coated in exquisite gold, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like fireflies.

Every princes and princesses arrived at the foot of the entrance inside grand carriages, dressed in the most lavishing gowns and suits.

While everyone had been merrily singing and dancing to the songs, the servants underground continued to sweep away.

“Hyuga girl! You’ve been summoned!”

Hinata jumped in horror. Surely, she had done all of her duties, right? Not a single spot on the floor was amiss.

She rushed to the exit of the quarters and was immediately greeted with a very elated prince.

“Hinata! Come with me, I have something to show you!”

“Y-Your highness, what’re you doing here! You must be upstairs attending your party, what if -–”

“It’ll only take a minute, we’ll be quick.”

Grabbing her hand, they snuck through the hallways, footsteps gliding on the marble floor, hearts racing, eyes twinkling and their spirits singing a ballad of songs and cheers.

He brought her to the gardens where there laid a fountain flourishing with bountiful water. She sat on its marble stones, head tilting in curiosity.

“Why are we here?”

“You’ll see.”

“With all due respect, your majesty but you need to go back.”

He’d been too busy with the bushes, he wasn’t even listening.

“Your majesty.” She repeated. “Your majesty.”

“Here it is!”

There at his corner stood a lily, purest of white, shining under the moonlit night. It sparkled akin to the diamonds in the inky heavens, glistening in magical ways she’s never seen before.

Hinata was awe-struck. “How did you… How did you find this?”

He shrugged. “I was walking out here one night and then I saw this. It reminded me of you, so I hid it because I really wanted you to see it. Don’t tell the gardeners though, I think they’ve been saving this up for a centerpiece in my mother’s room.”

Her chest was overflowing. He had snuck out of his party, ran all the way from the ballroom to this garden, possibly gotten himself into trouble for stealing a flower just for her.

Wh y ? Why did he do this?

She was nothing but cinder and rubble.

While he was bathed in all the world’s luxury.

A common servant and a regal prince.

It was treason.

It was torment.

It was wrong.

So why was he here, cupping her face with his gentlest touch as they were shrouded inside the walls of the garden labyrinth, nothing but the moon to pay witness to their illicit affair.

“Hinata… I believe you know why I brought you here.”

She did, but she refused to believe that all of this was actually happening.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He whispered painfully. “It’s like you’ve poisoned me with thoughts of you.”

“You mustn't,” She answered. “W-What will your family think if they saw you settling for dirt like me? These calloused hands were not meant to touch you, these chapped lips were not destined to kiss you, nor is this common servant fated to be with someone as magnificent as you.”

His golden brows creased, eyes stricken with hurt.

Underneath the night shine, he looked ethereal, a celestial being.

He shushed her with his lips.

For a moment, for just a moment, she believed in possibilities. She believed in fate, in magic, in forever.

Lips simply do not touch as softly as theirs does, hands do not move as lovingly as his, kisses do not feel as intimate as this was, nor should souls connect as innately as theirs did.

He paused, gasping for air. “I burn for you.” His eyes drift to her kissed-swollen lips, his thumb rubbing aimless circles on its pliant curves. “I burn for these lips, night and day, dawn and twilight. I fear I’ve quickly become obsessed with them.” He plants a chaste kiss, smiling. “...And oh, how sweet they are, so much sweeter than any honeydew.”

Her cheeks flushed red.

“And these hands…” He reached for them, caressing the insides of her palm, drawing lazy patterns in its wake. “I seek refuge in these hands. Even with the mere contact of them, I am at ease.” Her skin tingles beneath his touch. He kisses each knuckle, wrapping her tiny fingers in his much bigger ones. “Lest not your scars belittle you, Hinata, rather let them be a reminder that you are a strong person.”

Their eyes clashed. Her moonstones colliding with his sky gaze

“These hands have done so much good for me and my family, and I will always love you for that.”

Her heart quickened. “Say that again… please.”

“I love you.”

“O-Once more?”

“I love you. I love you, Hinata Hyuga. I love you and will continue to love you until the sun and moon can endure.”

It was nights with him when her soul felt lighter, freer.

She was floating, soaring , her wings drawing her higher and higher into the heavens, bright and effervescent, her soul was kindling.

He made her soul kindle.

And so she kissed him back, longingly, ardently.

Within the shadows, their love blossomed in the dark, only glowing more and more each day that went by.

In the dark, his kisses blazed brighter, their souls rectifying into one, immaculate divinity.

In their world, there were no boundaries, no societal status, no expectations weighing them down.

There was only them.

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch. 2

Ch. 1

Summary: Cassanda Awkward Asshole Dimitrescu

---

After a couple weeks of doing normal maid chores, Nicole was not expecting to see the dungeons again. Not after Cassandra’s little “failed experiment”. But all good things must come to an end eventually, don’t they? And to an end they came when a faint buzzing reached her ears mid-mopping the floor in one of the main halls.

 Two gloved hands were placed on her hips, pinning her in place, while Cassandra's chin came to rest on her shoulder. She inhaled deeply before finally speaking. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" 

Yes you very much are. 

"Of course not, my lady." 

"Good good. Sadly my study is quite a mess again and I was wondering…" one hand came to teasingly caress Nicole’s cheek. “You aren’t busy tomorrow, are you?”

She wasn’t. In fact, tomorrow was Nicole’s day off, something that she would bet on a lifetime supply of coffee that Cassandra was well aware of. It took every ounce of self control not to let a groan accompany her next words.

“I am not.” Asshole.

She felt herself being spun around, Cassandra’s face uncomfortably close to hers. “Be there by ten then.” And, with the sickle now under Nicole’s chin, “Don’t be late.”

And just as easily as she appeared, Cassandra dissipated into a cloud of flies and made her leave. A sigh of relief got caught in Nicole’s throat when she noticed the other two sisters standing in the doorframe opposite from the one Cassandra flew out of. They both gave her an amused look, seeing the faint blush on Nicle’s cheeks and, to her dread, they both approached her. Bela was the first to speak, thankfully keeping her distance.

“So what exactly is your deal? Immune to all the blood and gore, hm,” she hummed, eyes inquisitive .

“It’s been a while since Cassie was so dead set on scaring someone,” Daniela chirped in from behind and Nicole had to force herself not to snort at the nickname.

So that’s what this was about. Lil’ old Cassie was throwing a hissy fit because one person in this castle wasn’t cowering and bowing at her feet the moment they saw some blood splattered on her otherwise beautiful face. If she had to work in this hellhole of a village, then at the very least she could get some mild satisfaction out of annoying the family sadist. With the other sisters however, there was no point in hiding what her “deal” was. 

“I worked as a medical examiner.” At a raised blonde eyebrow she specified, “I used to examine dead bodies. Autopsies and all that.”

Bela’s face turned from mild shock to amusement, her eyes darting to the younger sister who straight up started laughing while the eldest, at least trying to keep her composure, chuckled. 

“Oh this is gonna be interesting,” the redhead said through giggles.

---

Nicole really had hoped that Cassandra meant 10 pm, with how the Dimitrescus were nowhere to be found during the early day, and she would still have the day to herself until night came. That idea went completely out the tinted windows when, at nine thirty, the head chambermaid came to remind her of the change in schedule. She quickly downed the remaining coffee from her cup while mentally cursing and bolted to her room to change into proper attire, then out the door she went. 

Where was she even supposed to meet the brunette? The doors to the dungeons were bolted shut and she doubted Cassandra would oh so graciously escort her this time. Then again, Lady Dimitrescu did say that she had to be supervised. She got her answer when the doors opened with a click and a drawn out groan from the heavy wood. Cassandra was standing there, eyes scrutinizing as ever while giving Nicole a once over. Then she pulled out a pocket watch that looked at least a century old.

“You’re…” eyes narrowed at the small silver object. “Seven minutes early. Oh you’re as annoying about being on time as Bela aren’t you?”

Well you did make it a point to tell me to be on time, you absolute hypocrite. Instead of voicing her opinions though, Nicole settled for following the other girl deep into the castle’s undergrounds, through damp and oddly warm corridors. The giddiness was back into Cassandra’s demeanor, golden eyes occasionally turning to the small redhead walking behind her with an expression of barely concealed glee. This was definitely not good news. 

It took about .5 seconds to notice what got the brunette so happy when they entered her study. The room was definitely cleaner than the first time, only a handful of devices were dirty and the floor needed some mopping. The tables however... One was covered in fresh blood and the other had a dead body sprawled on it, partially covered by a stained sheet. Oh the irony.

While Nicole was cleaning the unoccupied table, she was facing the brunette, somehow trusting her even less with a scalpel in hand than with a sickle. Not that watching her absolutely botch an autopsy was much better mind you. 

Has nobody taught you about the Y incision?!

That's too dee- congrats you’re making a mess.

That cut needs to go lower. What, are you afraid of some balls?

Oh my god are you trying to take the heart out before even taking care of the guts-

“What is it?” Cassandra’s voice came with a low growl, then a slight cock of the head. “You’re staring.”

“N-nothing,” Nicole stumbled over her reply, realizing too late that her hand had stilled on the rag she was using to clean the blood.

“One thing that I hate more than being disrespected is being lied to.” The warning was clear in her tone. “So I’ll ask again: what is it?”

Nicole was sure that being criticized was something she would hate even more, so she made the split second decision to go with a white lie.

“I just...find autopsies quite fascinating.” Well, in a way she did.

“...You do?” Golden eyes widened in what was probably the first truly genuine emotion Nicole has ever seen on Cassandra’s face: surprise, and a hint of curiosity. 

When Nicole reaffirmed her reply, the brunette’s eyes stayed on her for a few long seconds, trying to find the traces of a lie. When she found none, she just dismissed the other girl with an awkward cough and a “Those knives won’t clean themselves.” 

A tense silence fell on the room, only disturbed by the occasional clink of metal tools or the sloshing of organs being handled by the brunette. After the table was wiped to a reflective surface, Nicole moved on to mopping the blood trails on the floor. She was grateful for the chance to step away from Cassandra, if only for a bit. After the floor too was clean, it was time to wipe the few dirty blades, thankfully not as many as last time. She took a dagger from its holster on the wall and carefully ran a piece of cloth over the blade, washing away dried crimson clots. 

As much as it was probably a bad idea, she couldn't help throwing a subtle glance behind her at Cassandra. A few organs were placed on the table at the body’s feet, and she was taking notes in a leatherbound notebook that looked well used. The idea that she had any interest in the bodies beyond being food gave Nicole an oddly nostalgic feeling. It sent her right back in high school, when one of her friends who took art history classes was telling her all about how da Vinci used real dead bodies in order to study anatomy. Yeah, da Vinci but the more attractive versio- fuck.

She hissed and retracted her hand as she felt the sharp blade cut her wrist and almost dropped the dagger. The effort to conceal the pain was there, but useless as Cassandra was by her side in mere seconds. 

"Oh did you cut yourself?" She asked with feign concern, and grabbed her hand. "Here let me help you with that." 

"Oh no I'm okay really no nee-" 

Nicole's words died in her throat when Cassandra stuck out her tongue and dragged it, slowly, across the cut, collecting every last drop of blood. To top it off, she let out a low moan and gave the soft skin there a small nip, successfully making the redhead’s breath hitch. Now any normal and sane person would think I still have a knife in my hand, I should use it, but Nicole would be lying to everyone and then herself if she said she didn’t have a thing for danger. And it doesn’t get much more dangerous than this, now does it.

“Mm...you taste wonderful.” 

Was she supposed to thank her?

“You’re lucky you intrigue me, otherwise you would make for some fine wine.” She finished with her trademark cackle.

Oh she was definitely not getting a thanks now. Nicole rolled her eyes slightly, tugging her hand away. She was half expecting Cassandra not to release her, but instead she let go of her wrist and, with a giggle, she returned to her work without another word.

---

That night, Nicole made damn sure to wash the cut until her skin felt like it would have a permanent sensation of pins and needles. Once a bandage was securely wrapped around her wrist she sat down with a cup of tea, not quite ready to sleep yet. How ironic would it be if she died of an infection while living in a castle where people are literally turned into food and wine.

Although in all honesty, she was quite certain her death would be far more entertaining.

[zims-left-shoe]

Hi, I love your works. I was wondering if I could request a Zim x fem during the tak the hideous new girl episode. Maybe she gets jealous and tries to explain the toxicity of the relationship and just gets so frustrated with Zim that she ends up confessing her feelings to him? Thank you!

Thank you so much! This one was a lot of fun, and I had a lot of things I wanted to do so it’s kind of long and skipped around a few times. I still hope it’s coherent lmao. I honestly really enjoy writing Zim fanfic because his personality is so fun to write for.

For a Monday morning, the energy in the classroom was off the walls. It may have been suppressed to the best of everyone's ability, but anticipation was bubbling to the surface. As you glanced around, several feet were tapping beneath the desks uncontrollably, eyes darting from backpacks that smelled vaguely of meat to the looming figure of Ms. Bitters, who looked bothered to be there--something that wasn't unusual. One kid in the back was even vibrating and frothing at the mouth. The only ones who seemed calm were Zim and Dib; a strange occurrence in its own right, usually those two were the ones causing mayhem. You suspected why. After all, this holiday was never kind to the social outcasts. Best for them not to get excited at all, it's just another day.

Your eyes rested on Zim in particular, lingering there. This tended to happen often, even from the start. How could you not stare at him? When a bizarre green kid shows up out of nowhere and yells a lot, what else are you to do? You had approached him several times before, eating lunch with him on occasion. Zim was definitely weird, but you found yourself liking that about him. Maybe he had piqued your interest purely because he was new. You had been surrounded by the rest of your peers since practically diapers, and fresh faces didn't come around very often. Either way, as much as you didn't want to admit it, you had developed a bit of a crush on him. The combination of his flamboyant attitude and his offbeat personality was just so enticing. 

The phone rang, and you could practically feel the collective breath the class sucked in. Moving in an almost supernatural manner, Ms. Bitters went to answer it. Her eye twitched as she held the receiver to her ear.

"No...no. No!" Her voice came out in a hiss, eyes narrowed to slits behind her glasses. "You'll pay for this one." Angrily hanging up the phone, she turned to address the class, paying no attention to the phone that was being consumed by flames. "Class, despite my moral outrage, the principal is allowing you to celebrate Valentine's Day this year."

Those were the only words needed for the classroom to figuratively errupt like a shaken can of soda. Your peers went wild, cheers close to manic screams sounding as kids dumped their bags out on the desks, meat slabs tumbling out. Again, the only two students not excited were Dib and Zim. Dib wore an expression of irritation, just wishing to get the day over with. Zim on the other hand seemed to be completely confused. His eyes flickered from student to student, watching in disgusted fascination as the meat continued to fall from bags as the kids all had dopey grins plastered on their faces.

"Go ahead. Pass out your Valentine's meat slabs. It's traditional." As if on cue, everyone stood up at once, taking their meat to desks all around the room, full of glee. You had never been the biggest fan of Valentine's Day, but you had decidedly been looking forward to the holiday this year. You thought that maybe this would be the day you could drop some hints to Zim and gauge his reaction. Fishing out the special meat slab you had saved and card you made for him, you stood up, pacing over to his desk. There was already a girl there so you stood back a ways, watching the exchange unfold.

The girl gestured the tray she held in her hands forward, offering the neatly arranged heart shaped mini meat slabs. Rather than take it, Zim pushed himself as far back as his chair would allow, his fingers curling against the desk. 

"I-I left my meat at home. Sorry, I sort of forgot it, uh..." Teeth gritted, his panicked gaze surveyed the classroom to see if the majority had their eyes on him. They didn't; they were much too occupied with their own valentines to pay Zim's antics any mind. Regardless of Zim's clear discomfort, the girl laid the meat on his desk with a smile on her face. "Get that out of my face!" He screamed, violently shoving the meat from his desk and into the poor girl's face. He swiped at the air in front of his face as if trying to defend himself from an attacker. The girl scoffed in annoyance, picking up her meat and walking away, grumbling about how he should have felt lucky to receive anything at all.

The slab of meat you held felt heavy in your hands in that moment. He clearly was not into the whole Valentine's meat slab thing.

Possibly a cultural difference? You thought to yourself, grip tightening on the meat. You only wished to give him something he would like, and maybe in turn, he would like you. But what to do with the meat? Turning around, you saw Ms. Bitters hunched over her desk, looking absolutely miserable. That'll do...

You scuttled over to her desk, gently placing the meat slab down.

"What do you want?" Her voice may have been as grating as nails on a chalkboard, but you had learned to never show fear around her.

"Er, happy Valentine's Day!" 

"Tch. Go socialize with your other hopeless peers before you lose the privilege." Nodding, you slowly backed away. You had gotten rid of the meat, so it was a win for you. To your delight, Zim's desk was empty. His eyes continued to dart around the room, staying vigilant in case some other student came bearing horrible meaty gifts. Letting out one final determined breath, you strode right up to his desk, waving slightly. 

"I said I do not want your vile meats!" He hissed, clawing the air once more. 

"I don't have meat, Zim. It's okay." A giggle fell from your lips as you presented your card. "I hope a card is okay?" He eyed the paper suspiciously as you slid it across his desk.

"Zim has nothing for you, Y/n." Regardless of his concerns, he took the card in his hands. 

"That's fine." With one last distrusting look, he opened the card and began to read. It was a homemade card, something you had spent quite a bit of time on the night before. Doodles in marker were scribbled across the front, and the inside held words about how you thought he was worth hanging around despite everyone shunning him because of being a freak. There was also a decent drawing of him playfighting Dib and winning, which you thought he'd like.

"Oh. This is...um. Wow." Zim seemed to not grasp the meaning of the card. Either that, or this was his way of telling you he wasn't interested. You weren't sure which was more hurtful.

"Sorry, I...just forget about it." Suddenly your shoes became the most interesting thing you had seen in years. However, Zim guessed that he had made a mistake of some kind.

"No! I like it! It is a gift worthy of Zim!! I especially like the part where I beat the Dib." His face was split by a massive grin, and you assumed this was his unorthodox way of thanking you for it. "I thought it would explode or something." You laughed, however, he did not. Apparently he wasn't joking. Another reason you liked him. He was just so unabashedly strange--it was a great break from the norm. 

You hadn't noticed Ms. Bitters take another phone call until after she had hung up, turning back to the class. "Everyone! Sit down!"

"But-" The class began to whine, not finished handing out their meaty treats.

"Now!" The old witch snapped, sending you dragging your feet back to your desk. Zim's eyes were on you the whole time, still trying to figure out why you would give him such a thing, especially without something in return. He didn't have much time to give it deep thought though, as the class erupted in whispers at the humongous jet that had just landed outside the window. You couldn't help but wonder just what was going on. Before you could even begin to delve into that train of thought, a girl wandered into the classroom, sharp purple eyes surveying the room. "To celebrate over crowding in Skool, a new student will be joining us." Ms. Bitters gestured to the girl standing at the front of the room. Her hands were folded behind her black striped dress as she smiled. Despite her seemingly pleasant attitude, something about her just rubbed you the wrong way. There was something off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"Hi! My name's Tak. I'm new here."

"Hello, Tak." You joined in with the monotone mumbling of the class, however your words came out in a grumble. 

"My father's the head of the DEE-Licious Weenie corporation. So I brought Valentine's weenies for everyone!" With a wave of her hand, weenies rained down from nowhere that you could see. Almost everyone around you cheered wildly, already thrilled to have Tak as a part of the student body. Just when you were thinking she wasn't so bad, she spoke again. "Except for that kid!" She jumped on top of Ms. Bitters' desk, combat boots bringing a heavy thud. Pointing a finger at Zim, a maniacal smirk was ever present on her face. Whipping your head towards him revealed him to be completely uninterested.

"Weenies, schmeenies! Zim needs no meat!" He waved his hand, leaning back in his chair, a bored expression settling on his features.

Tak ignored his comment, continuing on. "For him, I have prepared a poem." Your eyebrow quirked up, you definitely weren't liking where this was going. She cleared her throat, about to begin, only to be interrupted by Sara.

"Looks like Zim has a girrrlfrieeennnnd!" Her voice was taunting, and although the comment was meant to be just a tease, you felt as if your heart skipped a beat. Your skin prickled as Tak ripped up the paper in her hands, rounding on Sara.

"It's not nice to embarrass people! You should apologize, and, um, eat your eraser!" Zim looked utterly terrified, sinking down so far into his seat that only his eyes were barely visible above the desk. To your shock and amazement, Sara actually proceeded to eat her eraser, even apologizing to both Tak and Zim. Things had officially safely crossed into 'what the fuck' world. You peered at Dib, the usual skeptic and gave him a 'you seeing this shit?' look, hoping he would concur. He seemed fine with what was happening, which was the most concerning part of the whole ordeal.

This is officially the weirdest day I have ever experienced...and it's only nine in the morning... You rested your chin in your hands, worried for whatever was about to happen.

"For longer than I can remember, I've been looking for someone like you. Someone with a head like yours, and a torso too. Birds sing, and you're gonna PAY, the end! Now, here's some meat covered in barbeque sauce!" Tak cackled as she tossed a rack of ribs dripping in barbeque sauce into Zim's face. A horrible shriek of pain tore itself from his throat, and you turned your attention back to Tak. Not only were you irritated that she read Zim a poem, the ending was not normal, and seemed to hide very violent intentions. Something was off. It felt almost as if she had history with Zim.

"Thank you, Tak. That was horrible." Ms. Bitters made room for her to take a seat, sending someone to the supposed 'underground classrooms'. Meanwhile, Zim's face looked as if he had been hit with a scalding hot waffle iron rather than a rack of ribs. His mouth twitched in pain as his fingers dug into the desktop, jaw clenched. The bell rang afterwards, sending kids out faster than the speed of light. You wandered over to Zim, following him out and into the hall. He still grasped at his face, which looked horrible. 

"You okay?"

"Why does it hurt?!" He spoke through gritted teeth, and you sucked in a breath, taking that as a solid no. 

"So...you and Tak. Do you know each other?" You decided to just come right out with it. Might as well.

"No, of course not! I have no idea who she is!" 

"Really? Cause she seemed to know you. People don't just read poems to strangers. And she kind of seemed like she wanted to hurt you, Zim."

"Don't be silly! She seemed to like me. After all, meat is a sign of, what is it...love? Love, right? She's obviously madly in love with me." He grumbled, unhappy about the situation he was in.

"I don't think that's-" He paid no attention to your reasoning, keeping his head down in thought.

"That's it!" His eyes lit up, turning to face you.

"What's it...?" There seemed to be a joke you were missing out on or something. 

"If it's affection she wants..." The word 'affection' didn't roll of his tongue very easy, rather he spat it out as if it were rat poison. "...then it is affection she shall get." Feeling your breath catch in your throat, your heels planted into the floor, sending you into a dead stop.

"What? You can't be serious!" 

"Zim must go! Goodbye, Y/n!" The sound of his heeled boots clicking across the tile further announced his leave as he ran out of the building. This wasn't unusual, he would leave school at odd hours despite school not being over, or sometimes he wouldn't show up at all. 

"Geez, if all I needed to do to get his attention was write a vaguely threatening poem and attack him with meat, I would have done that a long time ago." You muttered while you angrily shuffled to your next class, already hating where the next few days would take you.

-

So far, the day had been going better than you had hoped. After yesterday, you had been waiting for something to happen. During class, whenever Zim would look to Tak, he would laugh under his breath. Apparently you had missed the joke, and so had everyone else. It was concerning at best, and so when the recess bell rang, you took it upon yourself to wander outside, following Zim at an inconspicuous distance. You doubted he would have cared if you were right on his tail, but you had no desire to step in unless absolutely necessary. Of course he had ended up by Tak. She was sitting upon a concrete ledge next to Dib, most likely discussing the possibility of Zim being an alien. 

You exhaled a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding when Zim forcefully shoved Dib off the ledge and into the brambles, hopping up to take his place next to Tak. You knew something was bound to happen, it was just a matter of when. It seemed that time had finally come.

"I have come to accept your feelings for me, I congratulate you for acknowledging my superiority in choosing me as your lovepig. Feel honored!"

"Lovepig…?" You murmured, watching the scene unfold. Yet again, Zim had surprised you. Just the morning before, he had found the idea of Tak being his girlfriend utterly repulsive. Now, he was accepting the offer? Maybe? There had to be a reason. There was always an angle he was playing, but you had to say, this time you were at a loss for what it could be. 

Silence ensued between the two, the only noise being the surrounding din of playing children and birds chirping happy melodies. Without a single word, Tak brought out a bottle of barbeque sauce from seemingly nowhere, squirting Zim with its contents. Almost immediately he screamed, the sound so hideously harsh that it sent all birds within the school yard frantically flying. Zim fell off the ledge and onto the asphalt, rolling around as if he were on fire. Tak cackled, tossing the bottle aside. 

It was incredibly obvious to you that she derived enjoyment from his pain and misery, and you hoped that Zim could see it too. This was the second time this has occurred, he had to understand now, right? 

Pushing himself off the ground, he stood up, brushing dirt and barbeque sauce off of his pink dress. You thought he would be furious, but it seemed that Zim was full of surprises this day. Rather, he spoke calmly for probably the third time in his life. "Now prepare your brain, filthy beast of meat and hair." He grabbed Tak's waist, lifting her from the ledge and setting her down next to him. "Your magical love adventure begins now!"

"Idiot!" You slapped your palms to your face, watching the scene play out in disbelieving horror. Was he genuinely stupid or just a masochist? Tak didn't seem bothered, laughing insanely, Zim joining in. They laughed until Tak took a nearby trashcan, shoving it over his head and kicking him away. You cringed as Dib had crawled out of the bushes, joining in Tak's joy with a smile on his face. 

-

That had been the first incident of that day. There had been many, many more to follow. You had decided to follow Zim and Tak to keep an eye on things, as it was clear that Zim could not handle himself. As you had expected, more pain-based loving ensued. What exactly had went down? Well-

"-he had offered her a muffin, and what does she do? She squirts him with juice and he screeches on the floor like a madman! Oh, then he gifted her a slab of meat in her locker, and she threw him out of skool screaming with the meat tied to his head." Your voice had a growl to it, and was getting progressively more agitated at higher volumes. You slammed your locker closed, the sound so jarring that several students in the surrounding area turned their heads in your direction. 

"I literally have no idea who you're talking about. I'm not even in your grade!" A very frightened looking boy stared back at you incredulously, thinking you to be crazy. The poor kid had just been trying to access the locker beneath yours, but you had pulled him into a very one-sided conversation.

However, you took no notice of his comments, continuing on with your rant. "But there's more! He gave her a gift, but she shoved it over his head. Let's see, she also sicced an attack dog on him when he was trying to give her flowers. He's being so genuinely nice to her, carrying her books and all that! And she just treats him like garbage!" Throwing your hands in the air, you let out a frustrated huff. "She doesn't deserve his affection at all!"

"Yeah, uh...can I get into my locker now so I can go to lunch?" Once again, his words went in one ear and right out the other with you. The only one that stuck was 'lunch'.

"Lunch...that's it! I should try and talk to him! Thank you, Keith!"

"My name's Kevin." He sighed as you ran off towards the cafeteria. Throwing open the double doors, your eyes rested on Zim, who stood at the end of the lunch line looking worse for wear. He was covered in bruises, one eye was swollen, and his skin even seemed to smoldering. His clothes were tattered and dirty from the fresh hell that Tak had been forcing him to endure. He slouched, looking miserable as can be. 

"Zim, hey." You approached him, taking your place in line behind him. He instantly straightened up, wincing in pain as he did so, clutching a hand to his side while murmuring something about his organs rupturing.

"Y/n, what brings you here?"

"Lunch?"

"Ah, yes. That." One of his eyes twitched involuntarily, and you couldn't procrastinate on your true intent any longer.

"I'm worried about you, you know." Your voice was quiet, and you wouldn't mask your concern for him. You wanted him to know that you wished the best for him, and that Tak did not fit that bill.

"Zim is fine." The line moved forward and you both grabbed trays, but you wouldn't let go of your point.

"Zim is not fine. Tak is hurting you, Zim. She's going to do some real damage to you, either physically or mentally. Although by your appearance, it seems that she's already accomplished that."        

"Nonsense! In fact, Zim has never felt better." He grinned as if to prove everything was okay despite all of the evidence that told otherwise. 

"How she's treating you is wrong." He hummed a response, turning away from you as the lunch ladies glopped mush onto his tray. "I'm serious, Zim. She's a psychopath and it's not okay. At all. I'm saying this as your friend."

Without even sparing you a second glance over his shoulder, he spoke with his back turned to you. "Everything is perfectly normal and under control." And with that he walked over to the table Tak was sitting at, leaving you standing there. Was he seriously just going to brush you off like that? 

Dejectedly taking your tray to your own table, you watched--disappointed but not surprised--as Tak dumped both her own and his tray of food onto his head. His face scrunched in pain as if he were being burned, but he didn't yelp this time; he lacked the energy. It hurt to watch, really. Wiping the barely edible food from his face, he stood up on the table, pulling Tak up with him and grabbing her hand.

"Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Tak!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, ensuring that every student in the room heard him. Tak responded by pushing him off of the table and onto the ground, chuckling to herself afterward. Your grip on the table tightened; that was the final straw. Were you jealous? Sure. But most of all, you were more distressed with the situation. You genuinely cared for him, and you wanted to see him in a happy and healthy relationship, not one that was constant pain and misery. Much to your dismay, he still was unable to grasp the toxicity of his relationship with Tak. 

-

It had been a long day for everyone. Especially Zim. When you had stepped into the courtyard after school, you saw him slowly dragging his feet. He looked like he had been beaten halfway to hell, somehow worse than when you had talked to him at lunch. In fact, you weren't even sure if he was human or a reanimated corpse (in reality, he was neither). Curling your hands into fists, you marched right up to Zim. If it was only day one of being with Tak and he already looked this bad, you weren't sure how much longer he could survive. It was clear that he was in desperate need of an intervention. Reaching your hand out, you laid it on his shoulder, feeling him flinch beneath your touch while he squeaked out a cry.

"Oh. It's just you, girl-thing." He seemed to relax, exhaling a long breath. Perhaps he thought you were Tak. 

"We need to talk." Zim looked tired, staying put, which you hadn't entirely expected. "You need to break up with Tak. Whatever your plan was, it's a bad idea." That statement seemed to set him off. Not necessarily because he was in love with Tak, more so that he was overly defensive of his plans. 

"It's fine! It's a perfectly normal pain-based human relationship." He waved your words off with his hand, yet again tossing your concern to the side. Whether he was just harmfully self-absorbed or truly a masochistic idiot would go undecided. Either way, red hot anger sizzled beneath your skin. How could he be so nonchalant about this mess?

"See, the thing is, relationships aren't supposed to be pain-based, you moron! Your whole dynamic is toxic, she's literally abusing you! Why can't you see that?" 

"Zim is not a moron!" Crossing his arms, he turned his head away from you and stuck his chin in the air, quite similar to a small child pouting. "Besides, everything is going completely to plan!"

"Really? Because your skin is smoldering! Was that part of the plan, Zim?" With each comment, your volume increased, to the point where you were both screeching at the top of your lungs, despite standing right beside each other. 

"It's a fashion statement!" He rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out at you. 

"You are so infuriating sometimes, you know that?!" Your voice thick with exasperation, you stomped your foot on the concrete, internally grateful that no one had stuck around after school to see you two arguing like little children, especially over something so important. You blinked back a few tears that were rising due to frustration and anger, Zim drawing back slightly at the sight. 

"Even if it is as bad as you say, why do you care? It's not your business." Although his voice was more hushed than before, his words were still quite cold. You were at your breaking point, and the floodgate couldn't hold back your emotions any longer.

"Because I like you, Zim! Like, like-like you!" Drawing in a deep breath, you prepared yourself for your rant. There was no turning back now, what's done has been done, those fated words had been said. "I don't care how different you are. You're weird, yes, but weird can be good. You may not think so, but even you deserve a functioning and healthy relationship, one where you do normal things like go out on dates, hold each others hands. You say stuff like 'I love you' rather than 'Go die'. Affection isn't supposed to be torture, Zim. Affection is supposed to invoke happiness, and Tak can't give that to you. I'm not saying I could, but..." You trailed off, your brain finally seeming to get with the program. You had already said too much. 

For the first time in the history of ever, Zim stood there in a dead silence. He appeared to not know what to say or how to say it. You didn't blame him. What was he supposed to do? Scoop you up into his arms and run off into the sunset? You wanted nothing more in than moment than for a pit to open beneath your feet and swallow you whole, never to be seen again. Grabbing at the hem of your shirt, your face felt as if it were on fire. Staring at the ground under your shoes, you attempted to will the previously mentioned pit into existence. No such luck.

"I, uh, see." Zim spoke first, amazingly calm about the whole ordeal. Slowly, his usual air of confidence was returning. "Well, it might interest you to know that I was going to break things off with Tak anyway." Hope rose in your chest. Even if he wanted nothing to do with you, you were just glad he was getting out of that horrid situation. 

"Really?" 

"Mhm." Awkwardly clearing his throat, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, genuinely unsure of what to do with all of this newfound information. After a few moments, a grin spread on his face, which happened to be the tell-tale sign of him having an idea. Whether it was competent or disastrous, odds were about 30-70. For his sake, you prayed that it was much better than his Tak idea. "Say, Y/n. Would you be interested in aiding me in studying a normal human relationship?"

Sure, the way he was asking was strange, and you vaguely wondered if he held hidden motives--the answer to that question was most likely yes, but you still felt okay about your answer. 

"Are you asking me out?"

"...Yes." 

Pearls of laughter escaped you; he was bizarre, always has been, always will be. And yet, he was the one you had fallen for. "Sure. Only after you break up with Tak." It was then that he smiled, not a malicious smirk of a wolf cornering its prey, rather that of a boy who was just pleased to exist.

"Consider it done."

[dustedmagazine]

Punk’d History, Vol. VIII: This Machine [blank] Fascists

Photo by Richard Young

It has the appearance of a worrisome pattern: any number of punk rock’s founding figures embraced the symbolics of Nazi Germany. Ron Asheton, an original and indispensable member of the Stooges, played a number of gigs wearing a red swastika armband, and liked to sport Iron Cross medals and a Luftwaffe-style leather jacket. Sid Vicious loved his bright scarlet, swastika-emblazoned tee shirt, and Siouxsie Sioux, during her tenure as the It-Girl of the Bromley Contingent, mixed her breast-baring, black leather bondage gear with a bunch of “Nazi chic.” And how many early Ramones songs (inevitably penned by Dee Dee) referenced Nazi gear, concepts and geography? “Blitzkrieg Bop,” “Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World,” “Commando,” “It’s a Long Way Back to Germany,” “All’s Quiet on the Eastern Front,” and so on—for sure, more than a few.

“Appearance” is the key term. Poor Sid lacked the sobriety and smarts to have much of a grasp of fascism as an ideology. Siouxsie was just taking the piss, and gleefully pissing off the mid-1970s British general public, for much of whom World War II was still a living memory. Asheton and Dee Dee? Both were sons of hyper-masculine military men. Asheton’s father was a collector of WWII artefacts, and the guitarist shared his father’s fascination. When the Stooges adopted an ethos and aesthetic hostile to the late-1960s prevailing Flower Power rock’n’roll subculture, the Nazi accoutrement seemed to him fitting signs of the band’s anger and alienation. Dee Dee hated his father, an abusive Army officer who married a German woman. Dee Dee spent some of his youth in post-war West Germany, in which Nazi symbols were highly charged with anxiety and vituperation. Casual veneration of Nazis was a convenient way to reject the triumphal ennobling of the Good War, and of the military men associated with its traditions. And (as Sid, Siouxsie and Asheton also noticed) it really bothered the squares. 

None of that makes the superficial use of the swastika or phrases like “Nazi schatzi” any less offensive — it simply underscores that in the cases noted above, the offense was the thing. The politics weren’t even an afterthought, because the political itself had been dismissed as corrupt, boring or simply the native territory of the very people the punks were striking out against. If that’s where the relation between punk and fascism ceased, there wouldn’t be much more to write about.

The post-punk moment in England provided opportunities to rethink and restrategize the nascent détournement of Siouxsie’s fashionable provocations. Genesis P-Orridge and the rest of Throbbing Gristle were a brainy bunch, and their play with fascist signifiers was a good deal more complex. The band’s logo and their occasional appearance in gun-metal grey uniforms clearly alluded to Nazism, with its attendant, keen interests in occult symbols and High Modernist representational languages. TG’s visual gestures were also of a piece with an early band slogan: “Industrial music for industrial people.” Clearly “industrial people” can be read as a highly ironized coupling: the oppressed workers marching through the bowels of Metropolis were a sort of industrial people, reduced to the functionality of pure human capital. TG seemed to impose the same analysis on the middle-managers of Britain’s post-industrial economy, and their uncritical complicity in capital’s cruelties. But it’s also possible to argue that industrial people are industrious people; like TG, industrial people (middle managers, MPs) can get a lot of stuff done. They can produce things. They can make the trains run on time. And what sorts of cargo might those trains be carrying? What variety of conveyance delivered the naked “little Jewish girl” of “Zyklon B Zombies” to her fate?  

To be clear: I don’t mean at all to suggest that TG was a fascist band. Like their punky contemporaries, TG traded in fascist iconography in a spirit of transgressive outrage, expressing their hot indignation with equally heated symbols. And other British post-punk acts flirted with fascist themes and images, ranging from ambiguous dalliance (Joy Division’s overt references to Yehiel De-Nur’s House of Dolls and to Rudolph Hess; and just what was the inspiration for Death in June’s band name?) to more assertive satire (see Current 93’s appealingly bonkers Swastikas for Noddy [LAYLAH Antirecords, 1988]). But a more problematic populist undercurrent in British punk persisted through the late 1970s. The dissolution of Sham 69—due in large part to the National Front’s attempts to appropriate the band’s working-class anger as a form of white pride—opened the way for a clutch of clueless, cynical or outright racist Oi! bands to attempt to impose themselves as the face of blue-collar English punk. And literally so: the Strength through Oi! compilation LP (Decca Records, 1981) featured notorious British Movement activist Nicky Crane on its cover. It didn’t help that the record’s title seemed to allude to the Nazis’ “Strength through Joy [Kraft durch Freude]” propaganda initiative.  

Of course, it’s unfair to tar all Oi! bands with an indiscriminate brush. A few bands whose songs were opportunistically stuck onto Strength through Oi! by the dullards at Decca Records — Cock Sparrer and the excellent Infa Riot — tended leftward in their politics, and were anything but racists. But for a lot of the disaffected kids sucking down pints of Bass and singing in the Shed at Stamford Bridge, it wasn’t much of a leap from the punk pathetique of the Toy Dolls to Skrewdriver’s poisonous palaver.  

In the States, a similarly complicated story can be recovered:

In numerous ways, hardcore intensified punk’s confrontational qualities, musically and aesthetically. The New York hardcore scene made a fetish of its inherent violence, which complemented the music’s sharpened impact. So it’s hard to know precisely what to make of the photo on the cover of Victim in Pain (Rat Cage Records, 1984). If inflicting violence was an essential element of belonging in the NYHC scene, with whom to identify: the Nazi with the pistol, or the abject Ukrainian Jewish man, on his knees and about to tumble into the mass grave?  

Agnostic Front seemed to provide a measure of clarity on the record, which included the song “Fascist Attitudes.” The lyric uses “fascist” as a condemnatory term. But the behaviors the song engages as evidence of fascism are intra-scene acts of violence: “Why should you go around bashing one another? […] / Learning how to respect each other is a must / So why start a war of anger, danger among us?” That’s a rhetoric familiar to anyone who participated in early-1980s hardcore; calls for scene unity were ubiquitous, and the theme is obsessively addressed on Victim in Pain. But the signs of inclusivity most visibly celebrated on the NYHC records and show flyers of the period were a skinhead’s white, shaven pate; black leather, steel-toe boots; and heavily muscled biceps. Those signifiers clearly link to the awful cover image of Strength through Oi! The forms of identity recognized and concretized in the songs’ first-person inclusive pronouns have a clear referent. 

Agnostic Front wasn’t the only NYHC band to refer to and engage World War Two-period fascism. Queens natives Dave Rubenstein and Paul Bakija met at Forest Hills High School—the same school at which John Cummings (Johnny) befriended Thomas Erdelyi (Tommy), laying the groundwork for the formation of the Ramones. Rubenstein and Bakija also took stage names (Dave Insurgent and Paul Cripple) and formed Reagan Youth. But unlike the Ramones, there was nothing tentative or ambivalent about Reagan Youth’s politics. Rubenstein’s parents, after all, were Holocaust survivors. The band’s name riffed on “Hitler Youth,” but specifically did so to draw associations between Reagan and Hitler, between American conservatism’s 1980s resurgence and the Nazi’s hateful, genocidal agenda. Songs like “New Aryans” and “I Hate Hate” accommodated no uncertainties.  

Still, it’s interesting that Victim in Pain and Reagan Youth’s Youth Anthems for the New Order (R Radical Records, 1984) were released only months apart, by bands in the same scene, sometimes sharing bills at CBGBs’ famous matinees of the period. And while Reagan Youth toured with Dead Kennedys, it’s Agnostic Front’s “Fascist Attitudes” that’s closer in content to the most famous punk rock putdown of Nazis.

It’s odd what comes back around: Martin Hannett, whom Biafra playfully chides at the track’s very beginning, produced much of Joy Division’s music, moving the band away from its brittle early sound to the fulsome atmospheres of the Factory records, and to a wider listenership. “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” similarly addresses a formerly obscure, tight scene opening to a greater array of participants, some of whom were attracted solely to hardcore’s reputation for violence. Like “Fascist Attitudes,” the Dead Kennedys’ song itemizes fighting at shows as its chief complaint, and as a principal marker for “Nazi” behavior. Biafra’s lyric eventually gets around to somewhat more focused ideological critique: “You still think swastikas look cool / The real Nazis run your schools / They’re coaches, businessmen, and cops / In a real fourth Reich, you’ll be the first to go.” The kiss-off to punk’s vapid romance of the swastika (it “looks cool”) complements the speculative treatment of a “real fourth Reich.” Both operate at the level of abstraction. The casual, superficial relation to the symbol’s aesthetic assumes a sort of safety from the real, material consequences of its application. And the emergence of a fascist political regime is dangled as a possible future event. That speculative futurity undoes the “real” in “real Nazis.” The threat is ultimately a metaphorical construct. The Nazis are metaphorical “Nazis.”  

Still, it’s the song’s chorus that resonates most powerfully. So much so that the song has found its way into other artworks.

Jeremy Saulnier’s Green Room (2015) is frequently identified as a horror film on streaming services. We could split hairs over that genre marker. The film gets quite graphically bloody, but there’s no psychotic slasher killer, no supernatural force at work. And cinematically, the film is a lot more interested in anxiety and dramatic tension than it is in inspiring revulsion or disgust. It terrifies, more than it horrifies. What’s especially compelling about the film (aside from Imogen Poots’ excellent performance, and Patrick Stewart’s menacing turn as charismatic fascist Darcy Banks) is its interest in embedding the viewer in a social context in which the Nazis are a lot less metaphorical, a lot more real. In Green Room, the kids in the punk band the Ain’t Rights are warned about the club they have agreed to play: “It’s mostly boots and braces down there.” And they understand the terms. What they can’t quite imagine is a room — a scene, a political Real — in which fascism is dominant. Their recognition of the stakes of the Real comes too late. The violence is already in motion. In that world, the Dead Kennedys song provides a nice slogan, but symbolic action alone is entirely inadequate.  

OK, sure, Green Room is a fiction. Its violence is necessarily aestheticized, distorted and hyperbolized. But perhaps the film’s most urgent source of horror can be located in its plausible connections to the social realities of our material, contemporary conjuncture. You don’t have to dig very deep into the Web to find thousands of records made by white nationalist and neo-fascist-allied bands, many, many of which deploy stylistic chops identified with punk rock and hardcore. You can listen. You can buy. (And yeah, I’m not going to link to any of that miserable shit, because fuck them. If you do your own digging to see what’s what, be careful. It’s scary and upsetting in there.) It feels endless. And the virulent sentiments expressed on those records are echoed in institutional politics in the US and elsewhere: Steve King (and now Marjorie Taylor Greene, effectively angling for her seat in Congress), Nigel Farage, Alternative für Deutschland, elected leadership in Poland and Hungary. Explicit white supremacist music also has somewhat more carefully coded counterparts in much more visible media (the nightly monologuing on Fox News) and in very well-positioned, prominent policy makers (Stephen Miller, who’s on the record touting “great replacement” theory and is a big fan of The Camp of the Saints). It’s a complex, ideologically coherent network, working industriously to impose and install its hateful vision as the dominant political Real. 

Sometimes it feels as if no progress at all has been made. Maybe we’re moving toward the reactionaries. Contrast Skokie in the late 1970s with Charlottesville in 2017. And now if the Neo-Nazis have licenses for their long guns, they can strut through American streets wearing them in the name of “law and order.” It’s even more disturbing that a subculture that wants to clothe itself in “revolution” and “radicalism” is so tightly in league with institutional politics. Say what you will about Siouxsie’s Nazi-fashion antics, no one suspected that her prancing echoed political activity, policy-making or messaging in Westminster.

So what’s a punk to do? It’s certain that a vigorously free society needs to preserve spaces in which unpopular speech can be uttered and exchanged. Punk should pride itself on defending those spaces. But speech that operates in conjunction with an ascendant political power and ideological agenda doesn’t need defense or energetic attempts to preserve its right to existence. In October of 2020, that speech (in this case, speeches being written by Miller, texts by folks who have spent time in Tucker Carlson’s writer’s room and songs by white supremacist hardcore bands) has become synonymous with political right itself.  

So now more than ever, it’s important to be active in the public square, to stand up to the fascists and to say it, often and out loud:

Jonathan Shaw

[monabela]

I'm back! well I guess on this blog it's not odd that I don't post for a while but still. I'm back! and since it's @aphrarepairweek2020 and I made best friends with a little girl on my mail round when she followed me through two streets and helped me put mail in mailboxes, this is the perfect time to indulge this ship that I'm not sure is actually a thing or I made up myself, and some kidfic (sort of)! this is for day 2, thunderstorm :0

~~~

(rain’s a part of) how life goes

pairings/characters: Poland (Feliks)/Sweden (Berwald), Sealand (Peter), Ladonia (Lars)

word count: 2419

summary:

Even if Feliks is still unsure of how he fits into the lives of Berwald’s sons, there is only one thing he can do when one of them is afraid of a thunderstorm.

~~~

Feliks is just about to put in his earbuds to listen to a podcast, when he hears a small, unfamiliar sound over the rain clattering against the windows, crashing into the sea somewhere near. He puts his phone down next to his crossed legs. Listens.

He can still hear the shower, barely, so it can’t be Berwald already. Maybe he dropped something, in there. His depth perception is awful without his glasses; Feliks wouldn’t be surprised. Hopefully, he’s almost done cleaning by now, anyway. Taking a shower during a thunderstorm isn’t the best idea, and Feliks feels a little guilty, since he was the one who dropped his drink on Berwald.

Thankfully, they’ve been dating long enough now that he doesn’t feel the terrible embarrassment he’s sure would have overwhelmed him in the beginning.

It seems to be silent now, or relatively so, given the downpour outside.

A clap of thunder, and another noise just out in the hall. Feliks half-turns to look over the back of the couch as the living room door opens, and a small, pale face peers through the gap, single blue eye wide. Ah, of course.

“Dad?” comes the usually so loud voice of Berwald’s eldest son, now just above a whisper. Feliks laces his fingers together in his lap, and takes a deep breath.

“Your dad’s taking a shower, Peter,” he says, smiling in what he hopes is a reassuring way when the boy spots him. Both Peter and his younger brother Lars know him well enough by now—he’s spent enough time around their father lately—but Feliks can’t deny that being around the boys still makes him a little nervous, if only because he knows they mean the world to Berwald and he’s terrified of somehow doing wrong by them. Having kids was never something he seriously thought about, because he just didn’t think he would be any good with them. The little Oxenstierna family is doing their best to prove him wrong.

“Oh,” Peter is saying, and he is already closing the door when the thunder rolls again, and he practically sprints into the living room instead, halting next to the couch. He’s clutching the hem of his pajama shirt with his small fingers, knuckles whitening. Feliks shakes his thin hair out of his face, meeting Peter’s eyes.

“Are you…” He tilts his head, assessing how Peter appears to be trying to control his fear. “Did you want to check on your dad, Peter?”

Peter nods vigorously, grateful, and Feliks can’t help but smile.

“Is he afraid of the thunder?”

Nodding again, Peter shuffles a little closer. His pajama shirt has a pirate ship on it, and the pants are printed with tiny rapiers and skulls, but he is no longer wearing the eyepatch and hat he had on this evening, when he insisted the trampoline in the backyard was his pirate ship and tried to get his brother to walk the plank multiple times, in increasingly loud pirate brogue. Lars kept refusing, of course, and Feliks had been tasked with distracting Peter. He could probably do so again, even if there’s no way he’ll go out and try to do tricks on the trampoline again like he’s seventeen and still dreaming of a career in gymnastics. Not in this weather.

More thunder.

Peter winces, hands wringing into his shirt. Feliks’s heart clenches.  With how boisterous he is, it’s easy to forget that Peter is still just a six-year-old boy, who wants his father to comfort him during a storm even if he’s too proud to admit it.

“I’m afraid of thunder, too, you know,” Feliks tells him, which isn’t true—thunder is one of the few loud noises he actually doesn’t mind—but that doesn’t matter.

“I’m not!” Peter insists, even as he climbs on to the couch next to Feliks, who grasps his shoulder to steady him. “I’m a pirate, an’ pirates are never afraid!”

“Yeah? You must be worried about your ship, like, with all this rain, right? The waves must be huge.” Feliks holds his breath while Peter sits close to him, pulling his legs up on the couch and wrapping his arms around his knees.

“My ship is undestroyable,” he declares. “It’s called—it’s called Storm Dee-mise!”

That one’s Feliks’s fault; he inadvertently taught Peter the word demise just this afternoon as he tried to think of a name for his trampoline ship, and the boy has used it in all the names he’s come up with since then, of which there have been about twenty. He’s got a very vivid imagination.

“An’ it’s got cannons that’re louder than the thunder, an’ the sails—” He cuts himself off at a particularly loud roll of thunder that seems to shake the house and follows the lightning almost immediately. He scoots closer to Feliks, who tentatively holds out his arm at just the right height for the boy to duck underneath it. After a second, he does so, nestling himself against Feliks’s side.

God, if his twenty-year-old self could see him now, Feliks thinks. Or even his thirty-four-year-old self of two years ago, when he’d first been introduced to Berwald through mutual friends, most of whom had been as surprised as Feliks himself when they started dating. Partly because Berwald had children, and Feliks supposes he’s never been known for his great social skills, whether with children or adults, and partly because everyone still remembered that he had been very intimidated by the tall man when they’d first met. And Feliks says strange things when he’s intimidated.

There’s only so much time you can spend awkwardly standing next to each other not knowing what to say while your friends blather on, though. And once they started, it proved difficult to stop.

“Hey, Pete,” he says, softly, and he thinks it’s the first time he’s called the boy that, the first time it’s felt appropriate.

Peter looks up at him from underneath his arm, blue eyes mirroring his father’s. Feliks has no idea where those dark eyebrows he’s currently drawn into a frown have come from, though.

“Are you still scared?” Peter asks manfully.

“A little.” Feliks shakes his hair away again. “Do you think I could come onto the Storm’s Demise?”

“’Course.” He burrows further into his side and the couch cushions at another clap of thunder, following the lightning flashes ever closer now.

“I bet you can’t even, like, hear the thunder belowdecks, right?”

Peter nods against his ribs. Still cautious, Feliks reaches for the mop of blond hair hiding his face, and cards his fingers through it. It’s all sticking up even more than usual. He must have spent some time tossing and turning in bed before this. For a young boy, it’s far too late to be up, especially after all that trampoline excitement. It’s not something Feliks thinks he would have even known a year ago, but he’s concerned about it now.

“Your dad would like to be on the ship too, I bet.”

“Lars can come too,” Peter mumbles through a yawn, and he glances up with half-lidded eyes when Feliks can’t help but chuckle at that.

“Good! That’s good, Pete. You look after your little brother.”

“He’s only five. He’s a baby.” The words are mumbled into his hoodie. Well, Berwald’s hoodie. Maybe Peter finds the fact that it smells like laundry and wood as comforting as Feliks does. “I’m six years old.”

“Yeah, you are. Do you know how many years old I am?”

Peter looks up appraisingly, silent for a long moment save for the rain pounding against the glass like an unwanted stranger. The sound of the shower has stopped, but Feliks couldn’t say how long ago that happened.

“Dad’s forty years old,” Peter eventually says, thoughtful. Berwald is thirty-nine, but it’s almost his birthday, so that’s fair. “You must also be forty.”

Fair enough.

“Almost,” Feliks replies, and Peter smiles proudly, probably glad to have worked out that puzzle, and he still winces when there’s more thunder, but is still smiling when it’s over.

“Uncle Søren is thirty-seven,” he starts recounting, “an’ Ashleigh is six also and Refik is seven an’…”

Feliks tunes him mostly out while he lists the ages of all the neighborhood children, his grandparents—which he’s pretty sure are wrong, because he’s met Berwald’s parents and doesn’t think either of them looked anywhere near a hundred-and-twenty—and then who knows who else. He just ruffles the boy’s hair every once in a while, when there’s more thunder, even though Peter barely seems to notice at this point, caught up as he is.

Not for the first time, Feliks catches himself thinking that Peter has inherited his father’s logical mind, to be so fascinated with numbers, and then, definitely for the first time, he thinks, well, there’s something I can help him with when he’s older, because Feliks likes numbers too. They’re nice and straightforward, don’t change values depending on context. He thinks about helping Peter or Lars with math homework in a house he designed, at a kitchen table Berwald has built, and it’s a bit of a terrifying thought, but not so scary that he refuses to think it. Not so scary that it can’t be a silent hope.

He would have locked it away, not so long ago. The Oxenstiernas are teaching him things in more than one way. Or maybe he’s just finally growing up as he nears forty.

“Feliks?” A heavy hand on his shoulder. Feliks startles out of his daydream. Looks down at Peter, who is silent now, and—oh, he has fallen asleep tucked against him, one hand grasping the hoodie.

Swallowing heavily, Feliks shifts his gaze up, to where Berwald is smiling down at him. His eyes are bright in that way that Feliks has realized by now suggests warmth. It’s easy to mistake it for judgment, or indifference, but he knows now that Berwald cares deeply about many things, his sons above all. You just have to know to look for it.

“Everything okay here?” he’s asking now. He reaches over to where Feliks is still absently stroking Peter’s hair and pushes it out of the boy’s closed eyes. “Pete couldn’t sleep?”

“I convinced him I was the one who was scared of the thunder,” Feliks whispers, briefly wondering if maybe that was the wrong thing to do—because surely, it’s important for Peter to learn that it’s okay to be afraid of things himself—but Berwald smiles, familiar laugh lines forming around his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure, like…” He doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks down at the boy peacefully sleeping against his side. “Of course. He’s… Of course.”

Berwald walks around the couch silently and gazes down at the two of them, seemingly similarly lost for words. He has already changed into his pajamas. Quite unexpectedly, Feliks is out of breath at how quaint this all is, and how much he wants to keep it. He blinks rapidly as Berwald crouches down. The man rests one hand on Feliks’s leg while he gently touches his son’s forehead with the other, callused thumb smoothing away a frown as it appears. Peter doesn’t wake. Berwald looks up at Feliks, who chews on his lip until he reaches up and cups his jaw.

“Okay?” Berwald asks, his voice deeper than the rolling thunder but infinitely more soothing.

In response, Feliks smiles, and untangles his fingers from Peter’s hair, careful not to jostle him, to run both hands through Berwald’s short hair instead until he’s cupping the back of his head and Berwald is leaning up with his leg as leverage to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He smells like shampoo now. Feliks smiles, ruffling his hair this time.

“Alright,” Berwald mumbles, pushing himself to his feet, dropping a kiss on top of Feliks’s head as he goes, “let’s get him back to bed. ‘S too late to be up.”

Nodding, Feliks shifts so Berwald can gather his son into those strong arms of his. He could probably pick Feliks up with the same ease, but it’s never come up. Peter sniffles and curls into his father’s broad chest, but doesn’t wake even as thunder rolls again.

As Berwald moves towards the stairs, Feliks decides to follow, turning off the lights in the living room and carefully closing the door so it doesn’t rattle in the wind that will inevitably creep in. While Berwald tucks his son back into bed, Feliks brushes his teeth, changes into his pajamas, and uses the bathroom, and they meet again on the landing in front of Berwald’s bedroom, where Feliks smiles softly and starts to whisper something about Peter, when Berwald leans over and kisses him, grasping his face with those big hands.

Feliks hooks his fingers into the man’s old T-shirt, smiling into the closemouthed kisses pressed against his lips.

“Thank you,” Berwald mutters, again.

“It’s nothing.”

“’S not, Feliks.” His gaze is intense in the low light coming from his bedroom, blue eyes nearly transparent behind his glasses. “You know it’s not.”

Of course it’s not, but…

Not sure what to say, Feliks just presses his face into Berwald’s warm neck, standing on his tiptoes, breathing in his clean scent and listening to his steady heartbeat. The man rests his chin on top of his head, folding him into his arms. It feels secure, in a way that few things have done in Feliks’s life, and he think he might understand how Peter felt, safe from the thunderstorm. He isn’t the boy’s father and will never be, but maybe, maybe, Feliks could mean something similar to him.

Thunder rolls. Feliks swallows.

“You’re doing great,” Berwald says softly.

He wants to muffle words into the man’s neck, wants to tell him he loves him, and may very well love his sons too, but Feliks can’t bring himself to say it quite yet. It’s a truth he didn’t think he’d ever get to say, so it can wait a while longer. Just a while.

It won’t be long.

A small noise, down the hall. They both look at the wide blue eyes underneath a mop of ginger hair, peering around the bedroom door with Lars painted on it in a child’s clumsy hand, the s backwards.

“Dad?”

Berwald kisses Feliks’s forehead and trails his fingers down his arm as he walks over to his youngest son. Feliks smiles, and wanders after him.

[ladyherenya]

Books read in April

I probably spent more time reading but I also read a handful of novellas and a couple of children’s novels, which means I read more books than usual.

Many of these were, if not outright retellings, than heading close to that sort of territory: faeries and fairytales, Sherlock Holmes, Jane Austen, and Norse gods...

Favourite cover: Masque, maybe.

Reread: Nothing, too busy reading new things...

Still reading: Cinder by Marissa Meyer.

Next up: There’s a new Murderbot novel out in early May!!!

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing and Dreamwidth.)

*

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams (narrated by the author): Adams’ descriptions are clever and unexpected, and he strings together a series of events even more bizarre and unexpected than his descriptions. Sometimes I felt exhausted on behalf of his poor protagonists, bounced from one mishap to another, but I was impressed by Adams’ ability to turn this madness into such a coherent story.

Flamebringer by Elle Katharine White: A solid, tense conclusion to Heartstone and Dragonshadow. However, I suspect it would have made more of an impact had I read the first two books recently. It assumes that the reader remembers more worldbuilding details -- about history and family connections and magical folk -- than I did. And because I found such details confusing, I didn’t pay close attention to some of the history and politics revealed in this book, and those things turned out to be unexpectedly important. A trilogy in much need of a glossary.

Hamster Princess: Harriet the Invincible by Ursula Vernon (aka T. Kingfisher): A very amusing take on ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Upon learning of her curse, Harriet accurately concludes that she must be invincible until it strikes -- and when the time arrives, she’s determined to avoid falling into an enchanted sleep. This is heavily-illustrated. The pictures are great, but were often awkwardly displayed in the Libby e-book. 

The Art of Theft by Sherry Thomas: More of a heist story than a murder mystery, which may explain why I found it less compelling than The Hollow of Fear, although admittedly, it has its suspenseful sequences. Thomas does some interesting things in expanding her portrayal of the era as well as Mrs Watson’s story, taking Charlotte Holmes and her trusted associates to France on a mission along with someone from Mrs Watson’s past. I liked that Livia gets to play a more active role in those adventures. But I expected to like this more.

Love Lettering by Kate Clayborn: Meg is desperate for inspiration and company. She comes up with a project, looking for hand-lettered signs around New York, and invites along a former client -- who has turned up to question Meg about the hidden message in the wedding program she designed for him and his ex. A story about signs, secrets and the importance of having difficult conversations. I liked how those themes are explored in different areas of Meg’s life: making an effort to get to know Reid, setting boundaries with a new client, and trying to stop her best friend from drifting away.

Once Upon a Marigold by Jean Ferris (narrated by Carrington MacDuffie): Christian was brought up in a cave by Edric the troll, who discovered Chris hiding in the forest. Now Chris is in love with the princess Marigold, with whom he has exchanged letters carried by pigeon but has never met.  If I had discovered this in 2002 when it was first published, I suspect I’d have been delighted by its gentle, whimsical, almost-fairytale-ness. These days I tend to want more complexity and more emotion and, often, more critical engagement with the genre’s tropes. But this was still pleasant company while I did a few hours of housework.

The Shards of a Broken Sword novella trilogy by W.R. Gingell: 

Twelve Days of Faery: King Markon’s son appears to be afflicted by a strange curse, because accidents and misadventure befalls any girl the prince flirts with. When an enchantress offers to deal with the curse in exchange for the expected reward of the prince’s hand in marriage, Markon gets swept up in her investigation. This is so much fun. I liked the way it focuses on a middle-aged father, rather than any of the more usual candidates for this sort of story, like his son or any of the young women affected by the curse. And I enjoyed Althea’s confidence and practical competence.

Fire in the Blood: Another story interested in twisting fairytale tropes. A prince sets out to rescue a princess from a tower, but neither of them are the protagonist -- that’s Rafiq, the prince’s enslaved dragon, forced into human-form. Rafiq has been dragged along on this quest and quietly hopes that his vicious master will fail to unravel the tower keep’s protections. I enjoyed this. The tower keep, with its magical puzzles, was an intriguing setting, and it was rather satisfying to see Rafiq and the princess’s serving girl subtly undermine the prince’s efforts without drawing his ire.

The First Chill of Autumn: The first two standalone and take place over a few days. This does not. It begins with Princess Dion’s childhood. At seventeen, Dion is sent on a tour of her country and discovers the truth about the Fae’s influence. She ends up joining forces with characters from the previous books. I liked each of these sections. However, this could easily have been expanded into something novel-length and been stronger for it. If more time had been given to Dion’s relationships -- with her sister, Barric and Padraig, and maybe her parents -- the ending would have made more of an emotional impact.

“A Tale of Carmine and Fancy”: This short story takes place during The First Chill of Autumn. I didn’t care about Carmine one way or another when he turned up in the trilogy, so I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this.

A Posse of Princesses by Sherwood Smith (narrated by Emma Galvin): Sixteen year old Rhis is one of many princesses invited to attend festivities held in honour of a crown prince. My first impression -- a nice-but-unremarkable story with an irritating audiobook narrator -- quickly changed. I got used to the narrator’s voice. I really appreciate Smith’s portrayal of social interactions and of group dynamics from the perspective of someone who is trying to understand why others are competing for attention. And once the plot took off, I was hooked. I have mixed feelings about the very end but that didn’t change how much I liked the rest of the story.

The Two Monarchies sequence by W.R. Gingell:

Clockwork Magician: Several years after Blackfoot, Peter starts at university. Because Peter ends up messing around with time-travel, there are scenes from his future in the previous books. It’s interesting getting those moments from Peter’s perspective and fitting the puzzle pieces of his story together. I also felt invested in Peter’s journey even though he spends a lot of time being arrogant and oblivious, because I knew that there must be a significant change up ahead. The way his dawning realisation is handled was unexpectedly satisfying. I also enjoyed seeing more of Poly and Luck, and getting to know Glenna.

Masque: A murder mystery which turns into a Beauty and the Beast retelling. Lady Isabella Farrah is determined to investigate after a friend is killed at the Ambassador’s Grand Ball, even if doing so annoys the official investigator, the masked Lord Pecus. Isabella is excellent company. She’s quick-witted, resourceful and uncowed. I really enjoyed watching her banter and meddle. The Beauty and the Beast elements are cleverly woven into the story, and even without the murder investigation, there’s enough to make it a unique take on an old tale. A delightful standalone companion to this series.

Frankly in Love by David Yoon: Frank Li has watched his parents react to his older sister’s choices and he knows they will never accept him dating anyone who isn’t Korean. So he and a family friend, Joy Song, pretend to date. Fake-dating is one of my most favourite romance tropes but I’m not a fan when it’s a cover for actually dating someone else -- I don’t like others getting hurt by the deception. Despite that, I found this YA novel engaging and unexpectedly moving. And an absolutely fascinating look at being the child of immigrants.

The Night Country by Melissa Albert: The Hazel Wood was excellent, sharp and compelling, but I didn’t enjoy the sequel much at all. In the first book there’s a much stronger thread of hope running through the darkness.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone: The letters exchanged between Red and Blue, two agents on opposing sides of a time war, are vibrant and memorable, playful and poignant. I particularly enjoyed their different names for each other. (“Dearest Blue-da-ba-dee”, “My Dear Mood Indigo”, “Dearest 0000FF” -- that one made me laugh, “Dear Red Sky at Morning”...) The scenes in between leave many questions unanswered about the war being fought. I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that if I actually understood what was going on, I wouldn’t like the characters. Nevertheless the letters are brilliant, and I can deal with uncertainty for the space of a novella.

A Dead Djinn in Cairo by P. Djèlí Clark (narrated by Suehyla El-Attar): This novelette is too brief to involve what I enjoy most about murder mysteries, like carefully prying into people’s motives or characters forming supportive relationships in the face of an atmosphere of suspicion and unease. It is possible I’d like this worldbuilding in a different story, and that I would care more about Special Investigator Fatma el-Sha'arawi if I spent more time with her.

The Jane Austen Project by Kathleen A. Flynn: Rachel and Liam, a doctor and an actor-turned-academic, are sent back to 1815 to befriend Jane Austen and uncover an unpublished novel. Time travel allows for portraying Austen’s world with historical accuracy from the perspective of a woman with contemporary attitudes, and creates interesting challenges and anxieties. There’s a high degree of wish fulfilment in meeting Austen, but also realistic complications and consequences. This book impressed me even though -- or perhaps because -- it wasn’t always comfortable or to my taste. I’d have adored it, had things been slightly different, yet it’s nevertheless gripping and thought-provoking storytelling. I respect that.

[littlebitoffanfic]

Never

Fandom: Little Nightmares Characters: Roger the janitor, the chefs, the lady Relationships: Roger/reader Request: could you write an x roger the janitor from little nightmares? I don’t know but something really angsty. Its totally up to you A.N: 1) I love little nightmares. I spent hours playing it and getting the hard to the core trophy so I am pretty familiar with them and I find roger to be rather endearing as well. the grannys purpose in this is from a theory I read a while back. She is Rogers grandmother who he bought when he came to the Maw and was originally the nanny for the children and was banished becuase she was abusing and/or killing the children. This is also based on the theory that the children are not eaten, but are kept to be turned into Nomes to keep the Maw running and that they are children who were abandoned in the ‘real’ world and were brought here to keep them alive in one way or another. If you want to read a bit more into this theory (and I highly recommended it) search for theory on the Granny and on the song that plays on the TV by the woman. There will be a part 2 You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button on the wall and turning to let the shutter close and the machine lower you into the lowest areas of the maw. It had been a long day to say the least. You were tired and a little sore but that didn’t stop you from going to see the janitor. Nothing could stop you from seeing him. You had first ran away to the Maw as a teenager. The world was cruel and unkind in every way to you until you heard of a place where strange things could go and call home. To this day, you weren’t sure if you came here voluntarily or if you were called. You liked to think the latter and that the Maw needed you for something. Like many of the inhabitants, it would only accept new ‘staff’ when it really needed them. When you arrived, the Lady was waiting for you, her porcelain mask immediately making you feel uneasy since you couldn’t read her expressions, but she welcomed you into the Maw nonetheless as her maid. Of course, this was a bit of a dated title, since you were more like an assistant to her. She was a very private person, and relied very little on you for things a maid might do, like helping her change. No, you were more of the run-around for her, making sure everything was running smoothly. She gave you quarters within her own, on the lower floor near the elevator that connected hers to the guests. You had a small bedroom, bathroom and living area, which was cosy and more than you ever wanted. The twins were the first two you met. Dee was the oldest and more intelligent of the two. He had a bit of a mood about him most days, but he was generally nice in a tolerable kind of way. His brother, Dum, was a little slow but kind and gentle. You had asked the Lady about their names and she simply answered that they had given it to themselves. She didn’t know if those were their real names or if they had changed their names when they ran away here. You normally got along with them both, often having to be a communication method between them and the Lady. Then you had met Roger. It was a little over a month since you had been there, and you had heard from the twins about the disformed janitor. He mainly kept to the lower levels, but would sometimes come up when needed. You weren’t that fortunate. The lady had ordered you to go to him and speak about the floorboard in the pantry of the kitchen, because the chiefs were complaining that the nomes were using it to come and take food. Of course, this had made you whole body shake at the idea of meeting another member of the Maw without the protection of the Lady, but you couldn’t say no. you had went and he had been waiting for you. You were a little relieved he couldn’t see, because it allowed you to fully inspect him for any danger and keep a close eyes on him. Although you were fascinated my his appearance, you were there for a reason. He didn’t speak, only nodding and tapping his fingers as if impatient. The lady then decided the best way for you to learn absolutely everything about the Maw, you would have to spend some time with Roger. On a Tuesday and Thursdays you would accompany him on his checks, learning the lay out of the Maw as well as how it runs. At first, he seemed to resent your company but slowly, he found himself waiting for you to return. You respected his silence and didn’t try to make awkward small talk like the twins. You would speak sometimes, telling him things about you or stories you found funny and he would chuckle. In fact, the first time he spoke to you, you were surprised. You had thought he couldn’t speak. But you had just finished telling him about how you were almost finished your book and you wondered about asking the Ferryman if he could bring you something. You had thought of the irony of maybe reading Moby Dick but then you admitted to Roger that the Ferryman scared you. There had been a brief moment when Roger had stopped, obviously thinking about something as he moved his jaw from side to side before beckoning you to follow him. He took you to his quarters and into his vast library. You had stared in awe and even more so as you watched Roger guide himself around the shelfs and reach up. His fingers trailed along the books, either counting or taking in the marking, or both, until he pulled down one and offered it to you with a long, outstretched hand. Moby Dick. You had let out an audible gasp, taking it out his hands and flipping through the pages. You had promised him you would return it as soon as you were finished. “Keep it.” He had said in a low, raspy voice. One which sounded like it hadn’t been used in years. From then on, a bond was formed. You went to see him most days after you were finished and you would sit with him in his living quarters. One room, which was a living area, had an arm chair and couch. You would often lie across the couch reading while Roger was content to sit in the chair, relaxing. You joined him for his evening meals, eating with him and helping him clean up. In the space of 6 months, you had become a common part of his life, a scheduled companion which he could rely on and it had been this way for years now. Roger would never have thought that someone might want to spend time with him, much less seek him out in their free time. Nor did he think he could become so accustomed to the company that evening when you had to work late seemed to be slow and boring. He started to crave your company more than he thought he ever would. But he was surprised when you seemed to mirror his own desires to stay with him. Some nights, you would fall asleep on his couch or you would find a way to go see him during your lunch. Roger had even started leaving all his lights on for you. He had little use for them, so you wouldn’t mind searching in the dark for the switch. But now, he kept them on just for you. After being on the Maw for the best part of 5 years now, you were fully comfortable and at home. “Roger?” You called out into the dark, a small smile on your face. He knew when you finished and often would wait for you at the elevator. Stepping out into the darkness, you couldn’t help but feel valuable. For the most part, Roger had done well adapting to have a companion around who could see. He kept most of the lights of, only really working in the dark if you weren’t around. You were about to call out his name again when something touched your back. You let out yelp as you twisted, about to try and stumble away from whoever had snuck up on you, only to come face to face with Roger. He was smirking, a soft chuckle filling the area. He had been in the rafters and had lowered himself behind you. “That’s not funny.” You pout, playfully pushing his shoulder but he could hear the small laugh you let out. When he stood at his full height, he was about 3 or 4 inches taller than you, but he normally sloughed so he could use his long arms and elbows for support meaning he was about the same height. He guided you into his living room, which housed a small TV, a sofa, armchair, table and a few piles of books. It was a little before his bedroom, which you had only been in a handful of times before. His quarters were different to everyone else’s because they seemed spread out across the level. There was a walk from the elevator to the loungeroom then from here to the bedroom and the library. You had offered before to help him move his things into a few rooms closer by, but he refused. He seemed to enjoy it this way. As soon as you were close enough, you collapsed into the sofa, your body exhausted. You heard Roger let out a small hum, often used to enquire about your actions. “With the guests coming soon, the lady has been more demanding and a little more irritated than normal.” You explain, a shiver running through your body. “Is the heating on?” Roger shook his head, a soft growl leaving his lips before he spoke. “radiator was broken. Fixed now, but will take time.” He explained, using as few words as possible. He didn’t like speaking, and his voice often sounded horse and sore so you never pushed him. Besides, after so long, you knew his replies by his body mostly. “damn.” You grumbled, a small part of you wishing you were in your room. The Ladys quarters were always rather warm and cosy. Roger went to his armchair and pulled the blanket he normally draped over his legs off the chair. On his way back to you, his reached his long arm out and to switch on the TV which was playing a children’s lullaby. Roger offered you the blanket, and you couldn’t refused. But when you took it, your fingers brushed against his own and you felt how cold they were. Jumping, you quickly let go of the blanket to grab his hand in both of your own, feeling how the skin was like ice. “You’re freezing.” You mumble, your eyes venturing up to look at Roger. He shrugged his shoulders, but his hand never tried to pull away from your own. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the warmth of your own. Standing up, you picked up the blanket. “I cant let you get ill. Not with the Maw surfacing soon.” You pulled him closer as one of your hands stayed in his own while the other reached out and maneuverer him to sit on the sofa by his shoulder. The sofa itself was low and close to the floor, so he didn’t have to use his arms to help him up. He sat at the end so one of his sides was against the armrest. You sat down directly beside him with your right arm pressed against his left and pulling your legs up onto the sofa, dropping his hand so you could lie the blanket across both your lap and his own. Once it was done, you moved his left arm up so you could crawl underneath and cuddle into him. You could feel how cold he must have been, judging by the chill in his clothes. His left arm quickly wrapped around you and made you smile. You enjoyed it when he did this, even though it was few and far between because his arm would go along your shoulder with his elbow bend about the same level with your own then down your arm and wrap around your legs, his hand rest on your bend knees. You smiled, taking his hand in your own to try and warm it up. His free hand pulled the blanket up himself a little as he slouched, obviously already comfy enough to fall asleep right here and now. you rested your head on his chest and closing your eyes as you felt his other arm come under the blanket and then to join your hands. You smiled, taking a hand in each of your own and squeezing, unable to put into words how right this felt as you drifted off to sleep. ------------------- You hauled the bucket over to the chute and poured the dead fish into it, a shiver running through your spin. It was Dee who had told you who was down there. The Granny, an older woman who was Rogers grandmother and had came with him when he arrived. She had originally looked after the children, but then she turned and started to hurt them. While the children’s fate on the ship was not to be considered the nicest, it was for a purpose and to keep the Maw running. It had to stay running. But the Granny was selfish, and she started to kill the children, whether to ‘save’ them or punish them, Dee didn’t know. But Roger had found out and had turned on his family, telling the Lady of her betrayal. She was banished to the bottom of the Maw. Roger had taken over he duties, caring for the children until they were old enough to ‘work’. He didn’t like it, because he grew close with a lot of the children, but he knew it was unavoidable. This was why the Nomes were often so fond of him, leaving little drawing for him to find. Although he couldn’t see them, he kept every single one of them. It made you smile at the thought of it. you took the bucket back to the kitchen but the chiefs hadn’t started working yet so you were able to remain in your thoughts. Last night, you had fallen asleep in Rogers arms and you couldn’t remember ever being more happy. It would be easy to just say you saw him as a friend, but you didn’t. He meant so much more to you. You were completely and utterly in love with the janitor of the Maw. Smiling, you realised that the feelings may never be returned and in fact, they may never be brought to light. But knowing you loved someone this much was incredible to you. You had never been around anyone enough to develop any sort of feelings, love or otherwise. So the fact that you were able to feel this emotion was more than enough for you right now. Especially because Roger seemed more than comfortable with your presences and touch, you could easily keep your feelings for him to yourself. You heard a bell ringing daintily from the upper levels and knew who was calling you. Washing your hands to rid any smell of the fish, you made your way up to the Ladys quarters. As you entered the entry hall with the stairs, you saw she was standing at the door which you had discover lead to shattered mirrors. She had her back to you so you cleared your throat. “You called me?” You asked, staying at the bottom of the stairs. You found she tended to react better when your head was below her own. Even now, after years of being by her side, she preferred it. You were the closest she could consider to a friend here, and she had certainly changed the way she treated you to be more favourably over the last few years. She was more caring, and treated you more like an acquaintance (or even friend) than an employee. But the last few weeks, she seemed a little on edge. You had just assumed it was because the Maw was going to rise again in a few weeks and she carried the stress on her shoulders. “You did not return last night.” She spoke, apparently not surprised by your presence behind her. “No, I fell asleep in the lower levels. I apologies.” You glance away from her, a little embarrassed she had even noticed. “Where?” She turned her head ever so slightly to the right, and you could just see the white of her porcelain mask. “In Rogers quarters.” You specify, wondering if she might have thought you had just passed out on the floor somewhere. “The janitor.” She said in a quiet voice, more like she was speaking to herself than to you. You frowned, unsure of where this line of questioning was going. You were free to roam the ship as you needed. You had once fell asleep in an empty guest bedroom because you and Dee had had too much wine and you didn’t want to wake the Lady. She had never asked you before. “From now on, you are to remain on the upper levels at all times. You may not go into the lower ones. You will not socialise with other staff, you may not venture into the kitchen or further without my prior request and you are to never see the janitor again.” She spoke quickly but with such authority it made you jump. She had not demanded something in this way from you in a long, long time. But as her words worked into your mind, you suddenly realised what her words demanded you do. “You, you cannot be-“ you were about to question her, ascending a few steps as you tried to process everything. “Do not question me.” She half snarled, making you jump as she started to walk up the stairs to the upper levels of her quarters. She was saying you couldn’t see the others again. But they were your friends, your family. And Roger, why him specifically? What had happened to warrant her to demand such a thing from you. When you first arrive, she had promised you as much freedom of the ship as you wanted. But now, she was stripping it away. you could never see Roger again. Never. Your heart broke in your chest as you gasped for breath as you looked up at after her. “Miss, please.” You ran after her, tears flooding your eyes and streaming down your cheeks as your voice broke. You reached out to grab her arm, to beg her to reconsider. That was when it hit you. Physically. She twisted, and then it felt like a wrecking ball had slammed full force into your chest and you were thrown backwards. Your back collided with the wall, sending the pictures of the wall flying. Your body fell to the floor in a wreck. you hadn’t realised but you had screamed from fear and pain. Your world was falling apart before your eyes as you looked up and saw the Lady. She was grasping onto the handrail of the stairs, gasping for breath and almost doubled over as she looked down at you. For the first time since you had first came here, she looked almost weak. When her eyes met yours, they snapped away as she twisted away from. “my orders still stand.” She called over her shoulder, but her voice wavered. One thing was for sure, you weren’t going to disobey her. Not after this. She could very easily kill you. She left you gasping on the platform between the two sets of stairs, your head against the wall as you tried to focus on something. But your head was spinning, your mind blurry. You heard the ding of the elevator and footsteps. The first to come into view was Roger then Dee then Dum behind him. You were too close to passing out to even process what they were saying, but you did feel Roger lift you up. You closed your eyes and the next thing you felt was the soft bed under you and a hand on your cheek. His long fingers asked a silent question which you couldn’t answer. then you heard her voice. It was screaming, like nails on a chalk board. “GET OUT.” She screamed, making you jump with fear and open your eyes. She said it three times in quick succession which was enough to scare the twins out of your room. But Roger stayed, growled as he turned his head away from you. She wasn’t in the room, but her voice and presence was. “GET AWAY FROM MY MAID!” She screamed again but Roger stayed close, not moving from you. “Go, please.” You reached out and grabbed his hand, begging him to leave you. The lady was angry, and this would only end in one way. No sooner had he shook his head in reply to you, he was thrown away from your bedside towards the door like a rag doll. You winced as you tried to move to him but your body was so weak you couldn’t even move out the bed. “Please, leave.” You cried to him, begging him. If she was willing to hurt you the way she did, you didn’t know what she would do to the others. You were by far her favourite. Roger turned his head towards you, faltering. “Leave.” You screamed at him, your heart breaking. This was the last time you would see him, and you couldn’t even tell him how you felt. You could tell him how much you adored him and why you wanted to stay by his side. You couldn’t even take his hands and rub then softly, a gesture which was reserved for only you two. It was too dangerous. Rogers hands found your bedroom door and he vanished out after the twins. You heard a distant ding of the elevator door closing and it descending with your family to the lower levels. you collapsed in a sobbing mess, occasionally letting out a soft scream of pain which felt like it was ripping your insides. You had never been this broken or torn before. Never.

[spaceorphan18]

Spaceorphan’s Movie Reviews: Batman (1989)

Before settling down to watch (and rewatch) all the films related to Marvel properties, I thought it’d be fun to take a look back over at DC.  Batman was probably the first superhero I was aware of? Since he (and Superman to a lesser extent) were the most well-known superheroes in the cultural zeitgeist.  I still say DC’s merchandising is far more prominent among children than Marvel, so of course, even in the late 80s, when I was a very young little person, I knew who Batman was.  

Of course, before 1989, there were other iterations of the character, most notably the Adam West series (and TV movies) of the 60s.  I remember catching those old episodes when it reran on Nick-at-Nite in during the 80s - I mean they were ridiculously campy, which of course also makes them family friendly, and so we had them on all the time.    Then Tim Burton came along and updated Batman to be dark and gritty.  (Like the comics! Actually, I have no idea, I’ve never read any Batman comics, so I can’t actually comment on that.)  Of course, being six at the time of theatrical release, I didn’t know what a big deal this would be.  

I don’t remember when I first watched the film.  It wasn’t in the theaters (I was too young - but not too young to see the sequel!), but I did see it a lot once it came out on VHS.  And I’ll be honest with you, it straight up scared me as a kid.  The Burton-esque imagery, mixed with dark cinematography, and the horror-esque elements of the film really seared into my young brain.  It wasn’t a film I sought out (though I don’t remember my parents watching it either, even though we owned it, I wonder if my brother watched it) but it was one that had a lasting impression, much like Ghostbusters and Back to the Future - it’s a film that I vividly remember from my childhood.  

The interesting thing (to me) is that I haven’t seen it (until now) since I was a kid.  I can think of no time as an actual adult that I’ve had the chance to pop it in again and watch it.  But, interestingly, there wasn’t a single moment of the film that I had forgotten - watching it again after, maybe, fifteen-twenty years, I really do remember every beat of this film.  However, maybe for the first time, I really understand the film as it’s intended - cause, yeah, it’s not a kids’ film (even if there was a ton of merchandising for kids - which there was, we had a toy batmobile and batwing).  

So, how does this film hold up all these years later? Surprisingly well - for what it is.  

So, maybe this is the analytical person in me, but I think this film is, maybe, more fun to talk about than to actually watch.  Of all the super fascinating things going on - the plot is the least interesting part of it, even the film itself seems to loosely hinge on the random things The Joker decides to do and is a little, meh, don’t think too hard about it.   To sum it up quickly - Gotham is being run by a crime ring and mob bosses and Batman is single handedly taking them down.  Meanwhile, The Joker is a crazed guy who wants to be bigger than the mob bosses who whole him back, and after he nearly dies in a vat of acid - he decides to become even more of a psychopathic killer and tries to kill everyone.  Because why not?

First, standing out to me much more as an adult, is all the Tim Burton-ishness about it.  Which I don’t say as a bad thing.  He has a certain Gothic, horror, cartoon-ish style, which I may say, is slightly toned down in this film than a lot of others.  Visually, I think he was a good choice of director, I think the film has such a captivating stylized look that it holds my attention when the plot doesn’t.  I think what stood out to me the most was that Burton went a drearily dark, with an occasional splash of white that made the whole film almost seem like it was in black and white - which was purposefully contrasting to the colorfulness of The Joker.  I mean, Burton is purposely giving artistry to the cinematography in a way that I don’t necessarily see in superhero films anymore, and I think that’s kind of cool.  There are times when the film is, maybe, too (literally) dark - but I feel like had the technology been just a bit better, it would have helped.  

Burton also seems to be aware of the special effects limitations of the time, because at no point was I taken out by how cheesy the graphics looked (it helps that there weren’t very man), and some of the scarier images from when I was a kid, like when The Joker kills the guy by incinerating him, hold up pretty well.  Some of the fight scenes seem weaker and stiff, not helped by the fact that I don’t think Michael Keaton could move much in that suit, but the action isn’t overdone.  The action sequences aren’t what they are today, by any means, but I think they work fine given the era of the film - I don’t really judge them for that.  

So - Michael Keaton’s Batman.  Does he do a good job? I say mostly.  As Bruce Wayne, I completely buy him.  He’s a bit charming, a bit reserved, a bit mysterious, and a bit crazy - and when Keaton is actually allowed to do something with the character, he comes alive pretty well.  The unfortunate thing is that this film really isn’t about Batman - it’s about The Joker (which I’ll get to in a moment) and therefore we don’t get to see much of Bruce Wayne doing anything - except staring off into the distance thinking about things.  I get The Joker is iconic and everything, but Keaton has made Bruce Wayne interesting enough that I do wish there had been more - because his character doesn’t get to move much beyond ‘brooding about my parents; murder thirty years ago’.  

As for Batman himself, he’s… fine.  I don’t really have any complaints, but he feels incredibly limited - more so because of the suit, and the constricting ability to do much while wearing it than anything in Keaton’s performance.  It makes sense that Batman would be a near silent warrior, but not being able to see Keaton’s expressive face holds this version back a bit.  

Meanwhile… The Joker.  Before I rented the film again, I was looking through some old reviews - and many of them mentioned that this film seemed to be more about The Joker than Batman.  And I was a bit taken aback.  I hadn’t remembered it that way.  However, it wasn’t like I was paying that much attention as a kid.  But yes, it’s true, this film really is not Batman’s film.  It’s The Joker’s.  And I understand why - The Joker is possibly one of the most intriguing characters and villains in all of literature.  He’s a character who merges tragedy, comedy, and psychopathy all in one - and yes all three are in this film.  I’m sure there are hundreds of think-pieces on The Joker as a character - understandably so.  So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at how much of the film he takes up.  

I’m not invested enough to say who played The Joker the best, I hardly think comparisons are necessary (even if inevitable), but I really like Jack Nicholson in the role.  More so now than what I remembered.  Nicholson really embodies that whole crazed-lunatic pretty well, and I think he’s captivating enough that he does steal the show from Batman himself.  I feel like there are so many people who discuss The Joker, much better than I can, that I won’t elaborate much more.  But yes, Jack Nicholson’s Joker is pretty amazing, and I think it holds up relatively well.  

Rounding out the limited cast is Kim Basinger’s Vicki Vale.  And, well, she’s… there.  Despite being the literal stand-in for the audience during most of the craziness - an outsider coming into Gotham and being a conduit between Batman and The Joker.  She doesn’t get much to do and is the pretty standard obligatory love interest.  Keaton and Basinger don’t have that much chemistry - but I don’t blame them, they really only have one big scene to sell the romance, and for me, that’s just not enough.  You just really aren’t given any reason why these people would like each other more than they’re supposed to.  

Meanwhile - during the scene where The Joker is dancing around with Vicki - I kept think about that one test where if the woman is replaced with a lamp, would it change the scene?  And no - no it really wouldn’t.  I get the time period of the film, and how the ‘romance’ angle is kind of beat by beat what you would find in most films around this time, so I’m not judging too harshly.  But still, she’s almost third wheel to the more entertaining and layered dance Batman and The Joker are having throughout the film.  

Smaller Thoughts: 

Prince was the official artist of this films’ soundtrack - and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.  The film has such a 40s-esque feel about it that when something slams it into the modern 80s, it feels a little jarring.  At the same time, the dirtiness of 80s New York, and the cultural materialism is all over this film, so the Prince songs fit nicely in.  It’s a weird dichotomy.  

Music, in general, is also what sells this film - and keeps it at ‘Classic’ level.  Danny Elfman (Tim Burton’s go to director, and a personal favorite of mine) does amazing things with the score - and helps deliver the atmosphere Burton is going for.  

I have a soft spot for Alfred - even if he weirdly decides to bring Vicki to the Batcave unannounced.   She’ll disappear next film anyway - so ultimately it won’t matter. 

I kind of enjoy the fact that Jack Nicholson insisted the actor who played Bob be in the film - and that Bob is unceremoniously and somewhat randomly killed off.  

This film is very murdery - even Batman is murdery.  He tries to kill off The Joker whenever he gets the chance.  

Billy Dee Williams is here as Harvey Dent - so that’s a super interesting thread that was never pulled on again.  

Most of the government/police force was kind of meh - and I couldn’t even really tell who Commissioner Gordon was.  

I did really like the flashback to Bruce Wayne’s parents’ deaths.  That guy who they had play a young Jack Nicholson? Spot on.  

There’s a lot of mask symbolism throughout the film.  Again, I’m impressed by Burton as an artist - and as someone who’s willing to tell a more layered film within a superhero film.   

Things that scared me as a kid: The mimes, the parade floats, The Joker’s girlfriend wearing that mask, the two dead models, the dead mob guy being burnt to a crisp, The Joker’s grin, The Joker’s laugh, really every time Jack Nicholson was on screen, and that laugh box that kept going after The Joker had died.  This film really did use to scare me.  

Final Thoughts: This film was incredibly interesting and enjoyable to come back to as an adult.  I don’t think it’s entirely rewatchable - it’s plodding along at a snail’s pace during some sequences, and I don’t think the plot is that engaging.  But I do think there’s a lot of artistry here given to us by Burton, and worth coming back to every now and then to see a film that would inspire superhero films for decades to come.  

[alltheworldsrpg-blog]

WELCOME TO ROSWELL, ELARA REGIIS!!

ADMIN CAMERON: I didn’t expect to see such a fragile portrayal of The Astrea, but damn did I fall in love with Elara regardless. She’s such a perfect combination of hard and soft and the extra connection expansions really gave me a feel of where she’d fit in. 

You’ve been accepted as THE ASTREA with the faceclaim of AISHA DEE. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS:

Chris, she/they

AGE:

Sixteen

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY:

EST. I’m out of school so I should be on a lot, unless my mental health is trying is fist fight me. I also work 7 pm to like 11:30 pm ish at least four days a week at my local drive in so I might not be the most active at night.

TRIGGERS:

Not that I can think of.

ANYTHING ELSE?:

N/A

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE:

The Astrea

FULL NAME:

Elara Titiana Regiis

GENDER + PRONOUNS:

Demigirl, she/they

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

Bisexual, Biromantic

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE:

August 23rd, 2040. Age nineteen.

OCCUPATION:

Heir to Luytan. Poli Sci major.

FACECLAIM:

Aisha Dee

BIOGRAPHY:

Unlike most, you entered the world quietly. Doctors, Luytans, of course,  rushed to make sure your heart still beat when barely a cry left your mouth.  Further examinations showed that you were perfectly healthy, despite the initial concerns over your quiet nature. In your early childhood, you remained quiet, more concerned with playing and reading than offering your voice to others.  During formal events, you smiled and waved at the people you would one day rule over but unless you had to speak, you rarely chimed in on the many conversations all around you. Even as you listened to your parents argue, you remained silent, barely there, as they threw insult after insult at each other and as you and your parents ventured into the outside world, only to be met with protests that quickly devolved into riots. You are eight when you finally learn to make a sound. Early in the morning, before the sun rose, you wandered into your parents room after a nightmare. Yet, you walked into a worse nightmare and a scream, perhaps the loudest sound that ever left your mouth, escaped your lips at the sight of your parents’ corpses.

Years after your parents assassinations, you forgot the specifics of finding their corpses, everything, other than the fear that burrowed itself in your stomach and the crimson staining their clothes and bed sheets, lost to you. Yet, you remember the investigation in near perfect detail. Your voice raw from screaming, guards and Luytan investigators questioned you endlessly. “Did you see anyone leave the area?” No. “Was anything out of place?” You didn’t know. “Do you know anyone that would want to kill your parents?” Almost everyone.  Despite the vacant look in your eyes and the vague answers that left your lips, they asked and asked until Cassiopeia stepped in and pulled you away from them and the many prying eyes, citing that there was any more information an eight year old could give them than you already had.  She smoothed your hair and hid you away in her child’s playroom.

Perhaps worse than even the investigation itself was the media. Journalists and reporters tried to schedule countless interviews with you and the tabloids published covers with fake scandals about your parents. Then, news leaked of the troubles facing your parents marriage. Now, every time you glanced at a news source, you heard accusations that it had been a murder-suicide rather than an assassination. Even worse, conservative news sources and blogs twisted this tragedy and made it into a victory. It seemed impossible for you to go on with the constant slander you saw on the news and the constant coverage of the worst thing you would ever experience. Yet, once the royal advisers forced you to finally speak with reporters and journalists, only a year after your parents death, you found your voice as you answered questions. In that time, you mastered the emotionless face that Luytans were known for and you spoke of your parents’ assassination without any emotion that humans and non-luytan extra terrestrials could pick up on. However, you pressed the ends of your fingernails into your thighs, only noticeable if anyone paid more attention to your behavior than your words. The problem with expressing emotion in a way humans don’t understand is that you are often por as heartless, as not caring about the tragedy that was your parents’ deaths. After a while, you tried not to care about the snap judgement of human kind and eventually, it no longer had you doubt yourself but, instead, summoned an anger within in you.

After your parents’ assassinations, there was the question of who would raised you. Some petitioned for Cassiopeia to raise you, best for a royal to raise another royal, yet, she vetoed the idea before it truly was considered. Others thought it would be best for a group of people to raise while others argued it was the job of the nanny your parents had chosen to raise. Despite the quick speed the situation called for,  the royal advisers spent weeks debating the issue. You spent those weeks hidden away in the royal estate with the servants looking after you. Eventually, they came to the decision to invite a distant cousin to raise you, yet, that didn’t change your life much. The cousin,  Alycone, did little to raise you, rather, they left you to run around the estate, much like the previous weeks. As you grew up, you began to view the servants as family more than Alycone, especially the maid that was assigned to you, Nashira. While you would deny it if asked, you’ve seen her as a motherly-figure for most of your life.

Tutors taught you every you could need to know when you were a child. They taught you science, the history of Luytan, math, art, English and the native language of Luytan. You rarely had need to leave your estate and that’s what Cassiopeia preferred, best to keep you isolated and safe rather than to allow her to run around risk meeting the same fate as her parents. Until you were fourteen, you barely knew life outside the royal estate and only left when you were invited to galas and other political events. Every fiber of you craved to see the outside world in more than the brief glimpses you received.

At age fourteen, your wish was granted and you were sent to a boarding school, established for the wealthy of the Centaurians, Luytans, Tau Cetians and humans alike. Even though guards accompanied you everywhere you went and it was against the school’s policy to leave school grounds, you adored the opportunity to see a world outside of the estate you were raised in and to meet people other than the servants that worked for and the officials that frequented the estate. However, you quickly wanted to run back to the safe walls you’d known your entire life. Despite the high status of all of the students at the school and the inclusion of all three alien races that settled on earth at it, humans still made up the majority of the student population and they were never one to hide the hatred they felt for aliens. You often found the security that surrounded you increased as humans, fellow students, tried to throw fists at you, spit at you and shove you into walls. After a only a few months into the four years you would spend at the school, you learned to expect the anger and the violence, it was all the humans seemed to know.

You expected to find something other than anger and violence in the Luytans that you called classmates. Yet, they seemed to hate you nearly as much as the humans did. Ignorant, snobbish, isolated, disconnected from reality, stupid girl, they spat at you. Eventually, you steeled yourself to their insults with the knowledge that one day, they would bow down to you and beg for their transgressions against you. However, that didn’t make your heart ache any less for companionship.

All around you, you watched people make friends and enter relationships. But you had none of that. Potential friends shunned you when they found out who you were, if hadn’t known from the moment they saw you, they knew when your name left your mouth. To let them know that they hurt you would be to let them know hurt you, so you learned only to cry when no one watched and in the safety of the private dorm you were awarded. Even the Centaurians and the Tau Cetians looked upon you with disdain and turned the other way when you approached them. You remember when you decided that making friends was impossible for you and an emptiness that has filled you since.

While you might not have the easiest time in the social life of the school, you excelled in the academics. Without much effort, you glided through the language classes you they placed you in and you learned the science and math taught to you within days of the material being taught to you. History fascinated you the most out of all the subjects. You found few things more enjoyable than learning about the history of not only the planet of your species but the planets of the other species. Countless hours were spent pouring yourself over the history books of the classes.

Eventually, even that was ruined for you. In a class focused on the recent history of Luytans, the teacher, unfortunately human and too lazy to bother to remember the names of any of his students, spoke of the assassination of the king and the queen of Luytan. Without any tact in his voice, he explained in vivid detail how the king and the queen were killed and he taught the many conspiracies that surrounded their deaths. “Doesn’t anyone else find it suspicious that they were killed around the time the current queen turned thirty? Yet, the Luytans simply brushed off the possibility because who would rule if she was imprisoned?” As he spoke, you felt all eyes on you, the non-Luytans waiting for a more human expression of pain and sneered when they didn’t find one. Yet, for the first time, the Luytans showed an almost sympathy to you and stopped insulting you at every turn. They understood what you actions meant, nails digging into your palms with you drew blood, eyes empty and locked on the space in front of your desk, and for the first and last time, they saw you as more than the Rapunzel-esque heir to the Luytan throne. After that day, you spent a week hiding in you room, faking an illness to avoid hearing more about an event you experiences first hand. That summer, when you returned home, you thought of the theory you heard of Cassiopeia being involved in your parents’ deaths as fiction yet, that didn’t stop you from seeing the woman as the false leader of your people.

At seventeen, you graduated a year early and enrolled in the University of New Mexico. If it had been up to you, you have gone to college somewhere far away from the council or not at all. However, the royal advisors insisted you stay in New Mexico.  So, you did. Over the next two years, you insisted to know more about the politics that would affect your future reign over the Luytan people and stopped caring much about the opinions of the royal advisors and Cassiopeia.

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

After her parents death, Elara stopped celebrating her birthday in any meaningful way. Rather than have the lavish dinner and cake her parents insisted she had each year, even when they fought and screamed at each other almost constantly. Instead, she had a party, more of a ball than a party, that the royal advisors insisted she have. She spent the ball mingling and making small talk, even if she never felt more lonely than she did when she was at such events. When she decided to go to college, she wanted nothing more than to stay in the royal estate and commute. However, her advisors insisted that she live among the people she would later be ruling over. They suggested she live in the dorms, however, they compromised and allowed her to live in an apartment in Albuquerque. When in school, Elara was encouraged to focus on science and history more than other subjects, given that science was generally an important Luytan interest and history as a good ruler knew the mistakes committed in history and knew how to avoid repeating those mistakes in their own tenure as leader. While she excelled in the sciences, she developed an adoration of history.

PLOTS + CONNECTIONS:

Plots:

I’d like for her to find out that Cassiopeia killed her parents. She’s already suspicious of her parents deaths and she doesn’t really think of Cassiopeia as the rightful ruler of Luytan, even if the law states that she is for just over another decade. Let’s severely injure her. Say there is an anti-alien protest that turns into a riot or an attack from anti-alien extremists and bam the heir to Luytan is injured a bunch and no one really knows if she’ll be okay or not and imagine the tension. I imagine she’s kinda been pretty absent from the political scene because she’s has so long until she actually takes over as the leader of Luytan but I’d like to see them  find out more about politics because she certainly has an interest in finding more out and she’s been trying since she enrolled in college to get more involved.

Wanted Connections:

I’d love for her just to finally make friends and maybe even a best friend. The last thing she needs is more enemies but she lacks any real friends other than the cache, who I’d be wary to actually label a friend. She’s wants friends and for people to like her and wouldn’t it been interesting if someone tried to exploit her because of it? She befriends them and trusts them and they suddenly they betray her and she’s alone again. Growing up, Elara didn’t have parents because they died, obviously, and I think it could be really cute if she had a relationship that  mimicked the relationship she never got to have with her parents, just someone who looks out for her and give her advice and is generally just like a parent to her.

ETC:

here is her mock blog and here is her pinterest.

Connection Expansions:

(The Cache) In truth, you are not sure what drew you to befriend them. They abandoned the morals and the techniques of those many great Luytan scientists before them and they should be enough for you to look upon them with disdain. But, they don’t hate you and that’s enough for you to look past that and try to forge a tentative friendship with them.

(The Nebula) You often wonder how they could so easily abandon the traditions that your people have upheld for nearly your entire history. It makes your blood boil at the thought and they always seem to be around you, even if it’s clear that you both hate each other. If they want to abandon your culture, you hope they are prepared to never ask the crown for a favor.

(The Tesseract) At times, you think he hates you and other times, you think you hate him. Nothing close to love will ever blossom between you two. However, Luytan tradition dictates that you must marry a noble and he is better than most in the sense that he will never expect to be anything more than a necessity to claim your throne and fulfill tradition.

[oneweekoneband]

Anderson vs. Abrahams

Let’s face it: the Velvet Underground were basically Lou Reed’s band. And also: Roxy Music were all about Bryan Ferry. Those two guys were frontmen, singers and songwriters, and they’ll always be at the forefront of people’s impressions of their relative bands.

But both featured secondary figures without whom our impressions of these bands would be drastically different. In the Velvet Underground, it was John Cale: the classically-trained avant-gardist without whom we might not have had the noisiest, best version of the band that turned out White Light/White Heat. And in Roxy, it was Brian Eno, whose tape loops and synths give the first two albums the otherworldly feel that the later ones lack.

Jethro Tull nearly had a Cale/Eno figure in Mick Abrahams (left, in the image above), the talented blues guitarist who turns in John Mayall-worthy performances on Tull’s debut. But where Cale and Reed played together for four years before the former got the boot, and Eno lasted three in Roxy, Abrahams was only able to fight his corner in Jethro Tull for a single year before seeking opportunities elsewhere. (He sounds more at home in his subsequent band, Blodwyn Pig. Though I’m tempted to think that band’s records are period pieces in much the same way that This Was is — but without the fascination of knowing that they’d eventually make Aqualung and Thick as a Brick.)

Here are two highlights from This Was that share an important characteristic. First, “Cat’s Squirrel,” a standard that found its way into many British blues bands’ rep in these years (Cream’s is the definitive electric version, Doctor Ross’s excels both by miles):

Abrahams acquits himself well, here, doesn’t he? He avoids the pitfall of being compared to Clapton by inserting a whole midsection that is (to my knowledge) unique to this version of the song. The way that he builds tension gradually towards the return of the main riff is a lovely bit of musical stage management. A period piece it may be, but this is a track I look forward to every time I put on This Was. Which, admittedly, isn’t often.

Next up, an Abrahams original, “Move On Alone”:

Yes, that’s Abrahams on the lead vocal. Here’s a track that seems to have one foot in the British trad jazz craze that was bubbling just below the British blues craze at this time. Dee Palmer’s brass band arrangement has something to do with that — Abrahams was initially against it, but some wise person snuck it onto the album and he ended up loving it. The arrangement emphasizes the most skillful bit of Abrahams’s song: the way it just sort of floats for two bars shortly after the line “got tired of crying,” before time picks up again and finishes the (two-line) chorus with “guess I’ll move on alone.” It’s clever — it’s a buoyant little song that I actually like a lot.

Of course, the important characteristic that these two tracks share is a complete lack of Ian Anderson. (I’m 90% sure I’m right about this. I don’t see what he could possibly be up to on either of them, but if somebody’s out there who knows he’s off playing tambourine in the corner somewhere, please step in and correct me.)

Anderson being absent on two tracks is enough to cause a certain amount of cognitive dissonance to any fan of mid-70s Tull. It really does make it clear that Abrahams had fundamentally different reasons for being in this band the one year that he was than Martin Barre did for the subsequent 44. I suppose there’s an alternate universe where Anderson left the band instead of Abrahams. In that universe, Jethro Tull probably occupies a similar place in music history as Ten Years After: a British blues rock band from a time when blues rock was at the heart of British music — and whose work is remembered as part of a specific and dated niche. Maybe in that universe, Ian Anderson is Roy Harper.

But in this universe, Anderson held onto that band for dear life. Exhibit A: the liner notes of This Was. They’re credited to Jethro Tull as a whole, but Occam’s Razor suggests who specifically may have been responsible. I’ll reproduce a few choice segments:

Cat’s Squirrel is here because people like it. Terry [Ellis, the band’s manager] has just muttered something about ‘representation of our musical style’ (which is bull).

Anderson would select one of the tracks that doesn’t have him on it to denigrate, wouldn’t he? And how about this:

A Song for Jeffrey — he is one of us but doesn’t really play anything — makes bombs and things.

“Jeffrey” is Jeffrey Hammond, of course, who wouldn’t make his Tull debut until Aqualung. He played in some prototypical bands that coalesced into Tull gradually, but how was the record-buying public to know that? We’re already being alienated by in-jokes, and it’s only 1968. And then there’s this coup de grace:

This was commenced on Thursday 13th June and finished on Friday 23rd August (1968). This was how we were playing then — but things change. Don’t they.

Well, he’s right. Albums only capture a band during a brief moment in time. As we’ve seen, you only have to listen to “Dharma for One” in performance two years later to see how fleeting this particular moment was. But still: there’s an intensely cavalier attitude at play here. Note the full stop after “Don’t they.” That period is like the door slamming in Mick Abrahams’s face. I’ve often thought that Don’t They might have been a better title for Stand Up.

This Was is the only album I know of that put itself in the past tense on the day of its release. In doing so, it also dared to shrug off an entire, massively popular idiom of British blues rock as something whose time had passed. This Was isn’t wholly Ian Anderson’s record. But the title is his inaugural act of sublime perversity.

[torentialtribute]

Royal Ascot 2019 Day 3: Robin Goodfellow’s tips for Thursday, June 20

Frankie Dettori will celebrate his seventh victory on Thursday in the £ 500,000 two-and-a-half mile Ascot Gold Cup position on

Dettori landed a 75-1 double from Crystal Ocean in the Prison of Wales & Stakes and Lottery Prize in the Queen Mary Stakes to match his career from Royal Ascoto wins to 62.

<img id = "i-dc9d61dec5f66c02" src = "https://dailym.ai/2WgE5KP /19/20/15002534-0-image-m-19_1560974068301.jpg "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" Jockey Frankie Dettori and Stradivarius can strike immediately in the Royal Ascot Gold Cup.

Jockey Frankie Dettori and Stradivarius can equalize again in Gold Cup at Royal Ascot

But his trainer John Gosden has t warned that the rain that fell on the Berkshire track has been the acceleration of the five-year-old chestnut, which recommends being the first back-to-back winner of the Ascot Gold Cup since Yeats had four consecutive successes from 2006 to 2009.

Gosden said: “It is not ideal, but we will start running. He is at his best in the summer. This ground is loose at the moment, but it will be tackler tomorrow.

& # 39; He is a horse that can accelerate, but it will become more like a struggle. That is the problem. & # 39;

Stradivarius, owned by Bjorn Nielsen, won the mile-long bundle on Long Distance Cup at Ascot in October on soft ground, but Dettori & # 39; s tactical nous and nerve are likely to attempt to exploit tested rivals

Opposition is led by Dee Ex Bee, Mark Johnston-trained winner of both the Sagaro Stakes and Henry II Stakes – both over two miles – this season.

Johnston said: & Of those races, the only indication we got was all the better. We enjoy the extra half mile, we are not worried about it. & # 39;

ROYAL ASCOT

ROBIN GOODFELLOW

4.20 Dee Ex Bee (nb)

5.00 Awe (nap)

]

5.00 King Ademar

3.40 Star Catcher

4.20 Strad ivar ius (nap)

SUNDAY SOVEREIGN first appeared on the radar for this meeting at Curragh last month when banging the subseque no Coventry Stakes winner Arizona and it will be disappointing if he the picture that he cannot be a smart foal today.

Blessed with speed and endurance allied with a skill to handle terrain easily, the selection made a smooth debut in the colors of its new owners, King Power, on Tipperary while routing a small field and he appeared Everything to have covered bases for a race of this nature.

It's hard to judge how Maven will perform under today's conditions, but A & # 39; Ali will have learned a lot from his Ripon debut and is feared, along with Air Force Jet, who bravely gathered to score on Navan last time and move forward fast.

3.05 HAMPTON COURT STAKES

The multitude of potential improvers disputes this intriguing event and a long shortlist is narrowly led by AWESOME SCOT.

Last time favorite in defeating Fox Champion in the German Guineas, the Requinto stallion was over before he ran the rally late and finished third. Having won a mile on a deep ground as a young person, there could be significant progress now that he is tackling 10 stages for the first time and underground conditions would not be a problem.

Roseman had no answer to the turn of foot by King Of Comedy in Sandown but there was no shame in that, given the continued effort of his conqueror in the St James & # 39; s Palace Stakes.

DANGER: ROSEMAN 8-year-old

SELECTION: AWESOME SCOT 10-1

The decision to complete FLEETING for this event seems to be an important step for Aidan O & Brien, as his mare probably has endured a tough race at Epsom in the Oaks .

The advance in travel certainly fit into the selection that day that she failed to beat a rival in the 1,000 Guineas on her return, but nevertheless placed a career best behind Anapurna.

She is holding onto Frankellina while running, but may have something to fear from Queen Power, who will be fresher than most who come in this race. She looked like she would appreciate an extra pair of furlongs when grinding Newbury & # 39; s success last time (10f). SELECTION: FLEET 7-4

The mighty Stradivarius is a difficult horse to resist its life performance , but there is a chance that we have not seen the best of DEE EX BEE and, if this great innovation becomes a debilitating endurance test, the mini-surprise may be on the shelf.

The prospect of an easy surface does not relate to connections, because Stradivarius is a horse that is blessed with great speed and there is a chance that it will be the colors of one or two older stayers in this case 12 months ago has reduced. This afternoon he faces an opponent other than Melbourne Cup-winner Cross Counter and Derby-third of last year, Dee Ex Bee, who represents the four-year generation and the latter could improve again for an exaggerated endurance test.

It is fair to say that Dee Ex Bee is a diaper than a teenager during their summer vacation, and that she needs a lot of encouragement from an ever-diligent Silvestre De Sousa. But his nonchalant and blasphemous manner suggests that there is quite a bit left under the hood and it will be fascinating to see what he thinks when Stradivarius is produced to challenge. Raymond Tusk and Thomas Hobson could exceed their chances for value seekers in every way.

DANGER: STRADIVARIUS 11-

AWE suffered a tortuous passage landed in a stylish Haydock handicap by Beatboxer (Victory Command third, Certain Lad fourth, Baristan The Bold fifth, Aweedram sixth and Masaru 12th) but was compensated at Newmarket last time when he saw the 7f strong for a competitive heat down to put.

Now that he is getting a bit calmer, the mile should be within his reach and last month he ran a blinder after being touched by Motafaawit, despite having done much wrong.

Motafaawit appears to be a leading candidate, judged by its effectiveness on soft surfaces and on this circuit, while Dunkirk Harbor is highly respected given the rarity of its trainer's handicaps representatives at this meeting.

SINJAARI could have been drawn a bit nicer, but high numbers have traditionally been drawn in recent years. well done during the trip, so maybe I can overcome a modest job position.

The selection yard ended with this first day meeting and the son of Camelot seemed ready to rise to 12 stages when he was a meritorious leader of Headman in a prestigious Newbury handicap. .

Sinjaari could not match the change of equipment of the winner that day, but he cut it back to the line and there should be more improvement compared to today's trip, provided he covers the ground. Good Birthday raced away from the clients as third that day and should go well again, even if Silvestre prefers De Sousa Fox Premier.

SELECTION: SINJAARI 7-1 HOLLIE DOYLE: LAST SONG IS A BORN WINNER

HEADMAN caught my attention, I had a great time when I was traveling very smoothly and then defying his top weight to beat Sinjaari in a Newbury handicap last month and he can step up in class to take the Hampton Court Stakes.

He is a big horse and I think he has to get a lot for that run.

Hope for Norfolk Stakes SUNDAY SOVEREIGN really impressed me in winning races at the Curragh and Tipperary and seems to improve with every run.

STAR CATCHER goes out for the Ribblesdale Stakes and that certainly seems to do her good.

STRADIVARIUS will be hard to beat if he goes for a second Ascot Gold Cup. He loves it here. In fact, he seems to love it, because you simply can't find anything about what he does.

There is a big race in MOTAFAAWIT.

Hollie Doyle is an ambassador for Sky Sports Racing, he was immature last year, but has improved this season and has a track winner, which he can use well in the ultra-competitive Britannia Stakes. View all Royal Ascot action live on Sky Sports Racing. CAPTAIN HEATH

FLEET (nap)

4.20 DEE EX BEE

5.00 TURGENEV

5.35 FOX PREMIER

3.40 FLEETING

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[footyplusau]

Four points: Nathan Buckley and the blame game; a Dusty deal, Alastair Clarkson continues to impress and Saints star in Maddie’s match

The moment the Magpies’ executive and board had hoped would not arrive is upon them. Nathan Buckley said post-match on Saturday that his coaching “had reached a tipping point with the players”, with those same players appearing to have “lost hope”. For president Eddie McGuire, chief executive Gary Pert and football department boss Geoff Walsh, it’s now their turn to decide whether that tipping point has arrived. And that could be as soon as McGuire arrives home from an overseas break.

Buckley remains a favourite son and one of the club’s greatest players. He has worked assiduously to become the tactical coach and man-manager the Pies had hoped he would be. No doubt, he is a better coach today than he was when he controversially replaced Mick Malthouse after the 2011 grand final. But, as Buckley notes, this is a “win-loss” business, and the graph provides gut-wrenching reading since the handover that McGuire orchestrated became a reality.

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AFL plays of round 16

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Bombers belt Pies to keep season alive

Bombers belt Pies to keep season alive

Five-goals to Orazio Fantasia have helped Essendon stay in touch with the finals race, defeating Collingwood by 37-points at the MCG.

AFL plays of round 16

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AFL plays of round 16

AFL plays of round 16

Crow’s McGovern flies high, Langford’s miracle bounce for Hawthorn, first-gamer Nyhuis explodes onto the scene and even a contender for goal-of-the-year from Petrevski-Seton couldn’t hold off Carlton’s blues.

Port bring it home in the fourth

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Port bring it home in the fourth

Port bring it home in the fourth

Port Adelaide moved up to fourth on the ladder with a win over the West Coast Eagles.

Dees hold off brave Blues in thriller

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Dees hold off brave Blues in thriller

Dees hold off brave Blues in thriller

Melbourne avoided falling outside the top eight with a last gasp win over Carlton.

Clayton Oliver has words with fan

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Clayton Oliver has words with fan

Clayton Oliver has words with fan

Melbourne Demon Clayton Oliver has let rip at a Carlton supporter after a ball spilt out to a boundary at the MCG.

Higgins’ goal of the year contender

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Higgins’ goal of the year contender

Higgins’ goal of the year contender

Kangaroo Shaun Higgins – with no other options – grubbers from the pocket and scores a goal of the year contender.

Fremantle edge Kangaroos in tense finish

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Fremantle edge Kangaroos in tense finish

Fremantle edge Kangaroos in tense finish

Todd Goldstein missed a last minute set shot, allowing the Dockers to escape with the win.

Saints embarrass tame Tigers

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Saints embarrass tame Tigers

Saints embarrass tame Tigers

St Kilda have burst into top-four contention with a thumping 67-point win over Richmond at Etihad Stadium.

Bombers belt Pies to keep season alive

Five-goals to Orazio Fantasia have helped Essendon stay in touch with the finals race, defeating Collingwood by 37-points at the MCG.

It’s hard, almost impossible, to see how he can come back from here, for the Pies have dipped from fourth in his first year in charge to eighth, 11th, 12th and 12th. With only five wins this season, and finals ambitions gone, the end is surely nigh. It’s a ruthless business, and McGuire said last year, when Buckley was initially under pressure, that he is prepared to do what’s best for the club.

What needs to be made clear is that Buckley alone is not to blame.

The question also remains as to what heat must go on McGuire and Pert as they engineered the handover in 2009. A major club review, conducted by businessman Peter Murphy, is already on the go. It will be fascinating to see if the handover is revisited. Is McGuire so aligned with Buckley that he must reconsider his position? Remember, McGuire famously said after the loss to Carlton last year that he had done just that but was persuaded by his two sons to continue.

Buckley said Saturday’s loss to Essendon had been a “regression”. Turnovers, poor decision-making and an indirect game plan have damaged this side. Players say skill errors don’t surface at training. The question that begs then is: why aren’t they handling the game-day pressure? Have they recruited the wrong players, or is the game plan not right?

When the Pies go direct, they look good. When they fiddle with the ball, as has too often been the case in the first half of matches, it becomes ugly. In this area, the buck stops with … Bucks.

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He hasn’t been helped by having five football managers – a role almost as important as a coach, particularly if that coach is in his formative years. Buckley has had Rodney Eade, Neil Balme, Graeme Allan briefly and, in two different incarnations, Geoff Walsh. That’s not fair on any coach.

Nathan Buckley: Has he reached the tipping point at Collingwood? Photo: Getty Images

Hard questions must also be asked about recruiting, which is Derek Hine’s brief. There have been successes, particularly in the midfield, now led by Adam Treloar. Jeremy Howe has also been a revelation. But Chris Mayne, Jesse White and Daniel Wells have been failures. Travis Varcoe has been serviceable.

Darcy Moore is a forward on the rise, but has had no support. His best work has been further up the ground. A replacement for Travis Cloke has not been found.

So, where to now?

The Pies have immediate, short-term and long-term questions to debate. The consensus view in the football world is that Buckley would soon step down, such is the character of the man. The danger in allowing him to see out the season is that players, already without the lure of finals, have even less to play for if they know the coach won’t be there next year. The Pies have interim senior options.

Paul Roos can expect a phone call. So should Alastair Clarkson, if for no other reason than due diligence. The same with Brad Scott.

There are also implications in terms of trades. Would free-agent Tiger Dustin Martin want to know who will be in charge next year?

Paul Roos can expect a phone call. So should Alastair Clarkson, if for no other reason than due diligence. The same with Brad Scott.

The Pies have the money to woo Roos, the Swans’ premiership coach who most recently helped to rebuild Melbourne’s list. He is in the media and not tied to another club, as are Clarkson (contracted at Hawthorn through to end of 2019) and Scott (contracted at North until the end of 2018).

John Barker, a level-four graduate in the AFL’s official coaching course, came close to winning Carlton’s top role. The other graduates were Adam Kingsley (St Kilda), Stuart Dew (Sydney), Robert Harvey (Collingwood), Simon Lloyd (Geelong) and Matthew Nicks (Port Adelaide). Is Brett Ratten ready to again apply for a head coaching role? Is there an experienced football boss in the manner of Chris Fagan wanting to be a senior coach?

Without question, it promises to be another highly charged week at the Holden Centre.

IS ALASTAIR CLARKSON AT THE PEAK OF HIS POWERS?

Playing catch-up: Alastair takes a grab during warm-up at Clarkson University of Tasmania Stadium in Launceston. Photo: Darrian Traynor

Speaking of Alastair Clarkson, is there anyone coaching better than this man? We know he has four flags to his credit, and will be remembered as one of the greats. But his efforts in the past two months are those of a man desperate for more success. The Hawks may still be fighting to remain in contention for the finals, and the innovative Clarkson – and his assistants – have played a key role in resurrecting a campaign that threatened to be disastrous.

He has challenged his men to be better, and to take on different – and greater – responsibility. Daniel Howe has become a tagger. He has been given the tasks of curbing Rory Sloane (23 disposals), Scott Pendlebury (21) and Dylan Shiel (31) in recent weeks, and done a good job. Taylor Duryea has become a defensive forward, Jack Gunston a wingman and half-back.

Clarkson devised a plan against the Giants on Saturday where two half-forwards would begin the centre bounce at the back of the square, thus crowding the Giants’ attacking 50. The Hawks had been concerned by the height of Jonathon Patton, Jeremy Cameron and, particularly, Rory Lobb. The Giants would eventually counter this move but Lobb and Cameron would finish with only one goal apiece. However, it was Patton who got off the chain, booting five.

As Clarkson pointed out after the Hawks and Giants drew, his back line is almost unrecognisable from last year’s. Ryan Burton, who almost pinched victory with a clever tap over the goal line but was denied by the siren, and Blake Hardwick have been the young standouts, while James Sicily continues to impress. Kudos also to midfield general Tom Mitchell, who became the first man to enjoy 30 or more touches for 12 straight weeks.

Fittingly, their season is on the line against Geelong on Saturday when Luke Hodge celebrates his 300th game. These clubs have been the league’s best modern rivals – can Clarkson recreate one more “kill-the-shark” moment? For the Giants, with successive draws, it’s a matter of holding the fort while they have only 27 fit players. Steve Johnson and Toby Greene are among those missed.

One last point – does the siren need to be louder in Launceston? It’s not the first time this has been questioned. Just ask Grant Thomas and Chris Connolly.

TIGERS TUMBLE BUT INTRIGUE OVER DUSTY GROWS

Earning his stripes: Richmond’s star midfielder has boosted his value this season, but the Tigers face a tough run to September. Photo: AAP – Julian Smith

The manager of Dustin Martin is said to have shared a few light-hearted texts with a Richmond board member in recent weeks when the star midfielder has booted a goal, declaring the price to retain Martin has gone up per goal. Martin is worth every cent he is after but there was little to cheer about for the Tigers on Saturday night in what was one of the worst performances in the Damien Hardwick era now into its eighth season.

This wasn’t a team struggling near the foot of the ladder. Rather, the Tigers had been touted after their win over the Power as a legitimate premiership threat. Hardwick has taken umbrage with a Kane Cornes tweet that the Tigers had “got ahead” of themselves. Whether there was complacency, only each individual Tiger will know, but their lack of “elite” pressure was obvious. “Sometimes it’s good to get a wake-up call,” Hardwick said. The Tigers need only look to the Bulldogs to see that if the on-field pressure is not there, trouble follows.

That skipper Trent Cotchin was booked on a stomach-punch charge (the second time this season he has needlessly found himself in trouble), and defender Dylan Grimes was forced to the bench in the second half after a crude head knock from Tim Membrey (who is set to be cited by the match review panel) which left him with a nasty lump on his cheekbone, is a worry for a side we know can fall back into old habits.

The Lions are next up, then a true challenge awaits against the Giants. Incidentally, the texts from Martin’s manager have been interpreted by some as a sign that Martin will stay. If he was at loggerheads with the Tigers or on the verge of leaving, some say, it’s unlikely there would be any mirth between the parties. 

RIEWOLDT STARS ON A NIGHT DEDICATED TO MADDIE​

Purple reign: Roof projection to promote the Maddie’s Match theme during round 16 at Etihad Stadium. Photo: Michael Dodge

​It wasn’t just Clarkson who made a bold tactical move. Nick Riewoldt has undergone change in recent years, going from a specialist forward – one of the greatest of all-time – to often being used as a wingman pushing into attacking 50. On Saturday night, coach Alan Richardson gave him the task of being used in a negative role where his job was to subdue Alex Rance by limiting his intercept marking, from which the Tigers regularly counter-attack.

Richardson’s move came a week after the Power employed Jackson Trengove to do the same job. So good was Riewoldt on a night when funds were raised for the foundation named in honour of his late sister Maddie that he was actually a positive force – and one of the best afield. Keen to play on next year, but with no guarantees over a contract extension, Riewoldt would finish with 15 disposals, three goals and 12 marks. Rance had only three disposals to half-time, when the contest was all but over, and would finish with 11. It’s that type of tactical nous which can carry the Saints into September.

There is much to like about the Saints, as shown with their 9.5 to 0.1 second term – their best quarter ever against the Tigers. Their ball use and the midfielders’ recent willingness to defend have improved. They are enjoying four straight wins for the first time since 2011 but, please, resist the urge to declare they can win the premiership.

“I think we can be a danger to any team if we play that sort of footy,” Richardson said. That’s true. But it was only a week ago Hardwick said the Tigers’ best footy was to come, amid claims they were a premiership fancy. And remember what happened to the Demons after their win over West Coast. Let’s see how the Saints go on Friday night against Essendon, with the surging Swans (SCG) and Port Adelaide (Adelaide Oval) to come.

The post Four points: Nathan Buckley and the blame game; a Dusty deal, Alastair Clarkson continues to impress and Saints star in Maddie’s match appeared first on Footy Plus.

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Blues larrikins and legends: New AFL book does justice to Carlton’s grandest days

Between 1979 and 1982, Carlton dominated league football, winning three of the four premierships on offer, and winning 76 of 98 games, a strike rate of 78 per cent.

It’s a record that stands up very well against other great teams of the modern era, Brisbane in the early 2000s, Geelong between 2007-11 and Hawthorn’s recent three flags in a row. Yet for some reason, the Blues aren’t often mentioned in the same breath.

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McLachlan: MRP have tough decisions to make

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AFL plays of round 9

AFL plays of round 9

Dangerfield sets the standard, Tiges lose again at the death, Eddie banks another GOTY contender, Bucks bark sparks Pie revival and North run and carry undoes the Dees.

McLachlan: MRP have tough decisions to make

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McLachlan: MRP have tough decisions to …

McLachlan: MRP have tough decisions to make

AFL CEO Gillon McLachlan believes the Match Review Panel will have some hard choices to make from Round Nine.

Plays of round 6

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Plays of round 6

Plays of round 6

Dangerfield sets the standard, Tiges lose again at the death, Eddie banks another GOTY contender, Bucks bark sparks Pie revival and North run and carry undoes the Dees.

Dockers into top eight

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Dockers into top eight

Dockers into top eight

After a wet start Fremantle pulled away from Carlton in the second-half to win by 35 points.

Bernie Vince goes down

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Bernie Vince goes down

Bernie Vince goes down

Ben Cunnington took his frustrations out on Bernie Vince, sending the Demons star crashing to the turf with a gut punch.

Kangaroos hold off Demons

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Kangaroos hold off Demons

Kangaroos hold off Demons

North Melbourne have notched their third win of the season, defeating Melbourne 104-90 at the MCG.

Essendon crush West Coast

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Essendon crush West Coast

Essendon crush West Coast

The bombers took the Eagles to task at Etihad stadium, dominating them from the outset to win by 61 points.

AFL plays of round 9

Dangerfield sets the standard, Tiges lose again at the death, Eddie banks another GOTY contender, Bucks bark sparks Pie revival and North run and carry undoes the Dees.

Perhaps that has something to do with the reputation those champion Carlton teams forged away from the football field.

The Blues were big drinkers, hard partiers, and tales of their exploits, like an infamous visit to The Lodge when the players walked away with the silver service cutlery, or the late night adventures of the likes of Wayne Johnston, Jimmy Buckley and Val Perovic, have become the stuff of football legend.

But on Tuesday, the football deeds of those famous Blues will be as front and centre as those stories at the launch of Larrikins and Legends, a new book taking an in-depth look at Carlton’s finest era, the function held, very appropriately, at Peter “Percy” Jones’s North Fitzroy Arms hotel.

Author Dan Eddy has spent considerable time interviewing not only the stars of those triumphant days, but it seems, many of the bit players as well, and the result is fascinating reading.

After Carlton won the 1972 premiership, its third in a five-year span, the Blues drifted for several years despite a glut of individual talent and roll call of instantly recognisable names. It was Alex Jesaulenko’s appointment as captain-coach six rounds into the 1978 season that whipped, almost literally some would argue, an under-performed group into top gear.

Jesaulenko’s torturous training sessions, in which players would run ridiculous numbers of laps, sprints over and over again, and drag tyres filled with bricks around behind them, themselves became the stuff of legend, a story from Carlton cult figure Vin Catoggio typical:

Jubilant Carlton players run a lap of honour after winning the 1979 grand final against Collingwood. Photo: Peter Cox

“Wayne Harnes was competing with somebody else, and he was that tired that he fell to the ground and couldn’t get back up,” Catoggio said.

“Jezza went up beside him and said, ‘Harmesy, get up!’ He said ‘I can’t,’ and Jezza said again ‘get up!’ to which Harmsey said, ‘Fuck you, I can’t!’ ‘If you don’t get up we’re going to stay out here as long as you want,’ so everyone was yelling ‘Harmesy, get up!’ He dragged himself to his knees, then got up on his feet and went for the next ball and again fell flat on his face. It was incredible to watch.”

Wayne Harmes, Ken Sheldon and Jimmy Buckley (the latter pair having swapped guernseys) celebrate the 1979 grand final win. 

After a rare loss in 1979, Jesaulenko had promised his players a tortuous Tuesday evening session and duly delivered. It began with three 1500-metre time trials, then 10 x 800’s,10 x 400’s, 10 x 200’s, and then man-on-man contesting for the rest of the night. “We started at five o’clock and we got off the track at twenty to eleven,” Harmes recalls.

But Carlton, already a skilful side, reaped the benefits of the extra physical and mental resilience their brutal coach had instilled in them, particularly Harmes.

In the grand final against arch enemy Collingwood, it was he who not only won the very first Norm Smith Medal, named after his great uncle, but who delivered one of football’s most famous moments, chasing his own errant kick to the boundary, diving full-length and fisting the ball into the path of Ken Sheldon, who kicked what proved to be the match-winning goal in the five-point thriller against Collingwood.

True to the club’s reputation of the time as loud, boisterous and perhaps arrogant, what ensued was not a basking in the premiership glow, but a civil war, when during a bitter boardroom split, Jesaulenko backed the incumbent, George Harris, lost, and promptly departed for St Kilda.

Jesaulenko’s old mate Percy Jones, asked to fill the breach in 1980, got Carlton to second on the ladder, only for the Blues to go out of September in straight sets. He, too, was unceremoniously tipped out. But the next man for the job, former Hawk David Parkin, would prove a masterstroke.

Carlton powered through the 1981 season, finishing on top of the ladder, comfortably beating Geelong in the second semi-final to earn a second week off, ready to face Collingwood, again playing the role of underdog, preparing for its fourth final in as many weeks.

Parkin was meticulous in his planning, his side perfectly prepared and a warm favourite. But grand final nerves remained an issue.

“Before the game, I went into our rooms and only five blokes were ready for the pre-match warm-up,” he recalled. “So I went into the medical room and there were seven players who were receiving a local anaesthetic, and I had known nothing about their ailments prior to that.

“That made 12, so where were the other eight players? I wandered through each room, and finally I found them. They were all lying on the floor holding hands in a darkened room listening to the psychologist, Laurie Hayden. … I staggered out of there thinking, ‘We’ve got seven physically, and eight mentally, who are incapable of doing the job today. As bad as Collingwood are, we’re not going to win with five players.”

For a time, it looked like the Blues wouldn’t, either. But two late third-quarter goals to Buckley and Rod Ashman pegged back a 21-point Collingwood lead. And in the last term, Carlton came right over the top to win by 20 points.

“My greatest memory is when Jimmy Buckley slotted the goal, and as we were going to the huddle he said, ‘Boys, they’re fucked! I can see it in their eyes, we’ll beat this mob’,” recalls rover Alex Marcou.

“I immediately turned to watch the Collingwood players at the huddle and they were arguing with each other because we’d kicked a couple of quick, late goals. I thought to myself, ‘Yep, Bucks is right.’ We were pretty fired up.”

Eddy was able to speak to virtually everyone connected with Carlton of the era. Except, perhaps not surprisingly, the famously reclusive Bruce Doull, who left him an apologetic voicemail. Not that the author was short on tributes from his teammates testifying both to his champion qualities as a defender, and the extent of his shyness.

Warren “Wow” Jones, who would play the game of his life in the 1982 grand final, recalls a moment involving Doull from that very game.

“He hadn’t spoken to me in about five years, and at quarter-time I’ve grabbed a couple of oranges out of the bucket and I’m counting the pips as Parkin’s talking. Suddenly, Brucey tapped me on the shoulder and I thought ‘Shit! Bruce is going to ask me for some advice or something.’ I said ‘Yes Bruce?’ and he said, ‘Mate, you’re standing on my toe’!”

And it was that 1982 back-to-back triumph over Richmond, one of the most brutal grand finals of the modern era, which set the seal on this Carlton side as one of the greats.

The Tigers had finished on top of the ladder and dispensed with the Blues in the second semi-final. Carlton had struggled to get over Hawthorn in the preliminary final.

Parkin, sensing he would need a different plan of attack for the re-match with the warm favourite, took some gambles. Richmond key forward David Cloke had kicked five goals on Perovic in the second semi-final. Parkin decided to go with the much lower-profile Mario Bortolotto on Cloke with Perovic taking Michael Roach instead.

He also started a potential match-winner Peter Bosustow on the interchange bench alongside Marcou. Both gambits paid off big time, Cloke and Roach quelled, and the “Buzz” and little man Marcou playing big second halves in a bruising, draining game played in difficult conditions.

Carlton were known for their big third quarters. It was no exception in the game that mattered most, the Blues booting 5.4 to Richmond’s 0.6 to take a 17-point lead to the final break, the historic win sealed by Marcou’s goal on the run late in the final term.

Nine Carlton players, Doull (who’d played in his first flag back in 1972), Sheldon, Buckley, Harmes, Johnston, Marcou, Mark Maclure, Peter McConville, and skipper Mike Fitzpatrick played in all three premierships. They were heady days that wouldn’t last.

Carlton wouldn’t win the flag again for another five years. Indeed, the Blues have won only another two in the subsequent 35 years, and endured, through the mid-2000s, their darkest hours, and their only wooden spoons.

But the Blues of 1979-82 aren’t remembered so fondly by the faithful only because they were representative of the last great era Carlton have had, nor just for their exploits around the various pubs, bars and nightclubs of Melbourne.

They were a super football team, full of bona fide stars and which played eminently watchable football, and one which in hindsight was only a breath or two away from winning four consecutive premierships.

Theirs is a legacy that deserves more acclaim and it’s one Eddy’s book does a fine job in delivering.

Larrikins & Legends, by Dan Eddy (Slattery Media Group). Books available at books.slatterymedia.com.

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