#greenberg? i don't know

[greenbergsays]

Hellooo since you're into buddie now do you know if you'd ever write for them? Love your writing

maybe!

@sora-netto is the one that got me into 9-1-1, I've basically just been talking to her about it on Twitter since I first started the binge and I was just telling her this morning that while a lot of fics touch on you're exhausting from the grocery store divorce argument, I haven't found one yet that really gets into the MEAT of it and I need one that does

I mean, someone with Buck's background being told he's exhausting??? Someone who thrives on praise and needs so badly to feel like he's wanted, being told that by someone as important to them as Eddie is to Buck????

Honestly, Buck forgave him too easily for that, I need Eddie to work for it. I need Buck to be so fucking hurt and guarded and Eddie to not really understand what's going on and then I need those words thrown back in his fucking face so he APOLOGIZES FOR THEM.

I need Eddie to apologize and I need him to be ashamed that he said it in the first place, because HE SHOULD BE

If someone I cared about that much told me I was exhausting, I don't think I'd ever fucking recover from the hurt

...anyways, so yeah, we were talking about that and HT told me I needed to write it and I just might. I have a lot of feelings about it, as you can obviously tell.

[kedreeva]

I'm gonna need everyone that knows how i feel about my wife @greenbergsays to go send her an ask explaining to her that I love her.

[umbralwaves]

Tinu has died. She had cancer and long covid. Read her thread.

— SaliWho 🏳️‍🌈 (@SaliWho) September 30, 2024

Thread:

Immunocompromised people: Any chance we could mask like, at least in healthcare settings

Liberals who don't mask: HOW DARE YOU REMIND ME I CONSIDER CERTAIN PEOPLE DISPOSABLE!!! IT MAKES IT HARDER FOR ME TO TELL MYSELF I'M A GOOD PERSON!!! THIS IS A BAD TACTIC! YOU'RE DERANGED!!

— Jolenta Greenberg (@jolenta_) August 3, 2024

Meanwhile I come home sick from chemo EVERY month.

My system has deteriorated so much I am now going to chemo on Monday

STILL SICK from the last time I had chemo.

It is literally, actively killing me that people don’t mask. No one cares. 😭😭#WearAMask

You have no idea how lonely the feeling is. If I ask nicely, no one cares. I know that because I asked politely, Now that it is an emergency I alternate between screaming and begging, No one cares. People not masking is literally killing me but if I beg for accommodation, somehow I’m the villain. Only the people already masking listen.

But when I die — people will say I didn’t advocate long enough. I might become a hashtag for a few days and people will move on. My friends will keep dying unnecessary deaths. Because no one cares. Because if people cared about disabled people, about people with long covid, about cancer patients? Instead of arguing with me They’d say let’s mask just in case. JUST IN CASE THE EVIDENCE RHAT IT IS KILLING HER IS EIGHT LETS MASK.

if I do die, this is what killed me, people not masking or believing long covid lowers your immunity and/or the cancer & /or the medicine.

Because you can’t always tell who has cancer, who is disabled, who is #HighRiskCOVID19. We are ALL at risk for COVID & long COVID & flus & colds. And the possibility of never recovering is random. It happens to the healthiest people.

DEATH is up 30% since COVID.

Why can’t I convince you not to play with your own life?

Not just mine? 😭

Because maybe you know someone like me. Maybe someone you love, maybe YOU are just like me but you don’t know yet.

And if I’m wrong, you wore a piece of fiber on your face for a few years while someone came up with something better If you can afford it. And are able. If you’re wrong the world and its ecosystem will be sick for decades. Because of the climate crisis timing maybe we just… die offs

— Tinu Abayomi-Paul aka Empress of Twerk. NO DMs (@Tinu) August 4, 2024

[schizosupport]

Do you know of any books that show psychotic characters in a positive light?

Feeling a bit alone and want to read stuff that doesn’t treat my illness like it’s something subhumans have.

I’ll read anything. Realistic fiction, fantasy, sci-fi, novels, short stories, comic books, etc.

Hey there! I have not been reading as much as I want to for a very long time, so I haven't read most of these myself, but here are some I've come across.

"Challenger Deep" by Neal Shusterman is the only one on this list that I've actually read. It follows a young guy with developing schizophrenia before and during his first hospitalization. I personally quite liked it. The author has a schizophrenic son who allegedly helped him a lot with the book.

"Freaks like us" by Susan Vaught is a book that I started reading, but had to stop because it was stressful. It's a thriller/mystery where the main character is a teenager with schizophrenia. When his best friend goes missing he becomes a suspect primarily due to ableism and he tries to help solve the case. I've been assured by others that it does have a happy ending, if somewhat bittersweet.

"The book of Form and Emptiness" by Ruth Ozeki follows a young teenager who is having psychotic symptoms after the death of his father, and some other mentally struggling characters as they support one another. Judging from what I've read about it, this book is at least somewhat critical of psychiatry and I believe that it may be a theme that the main character is overmedicated, with questions about what's normal and what's abnormal, etc. I haven't read it but it sounds interesting to me.

There's also a fantasy science series called "The locked Tomb", where the second book is "Harrow the Ninth" where the main character has been confirmed by the author to be dealing with schizophrenia (though this concept isn't recognized in the same manner in the world the story takes place in). It's a sequel to a book called Gideon the Ninth, the main character of the second book is schizophrenic, and they may also have a role in the first book without being the main character. (Edited with a correction from the comments)

"I never promised you a Rose Garden" is a classic from 1977 by Joanne Greenberg (pen name Hannah Green). It is a semi-autobiographical account of a teenage girl's three-year battle with schizophrenia. "Deborah Blau, bright and artistically talented, has created a world, the Kingdom of Yr, as a form of defense from a confusing, frightening reality. " The story takes place in a mental hospital in the 1950s so without having read it, I imagine it might involve some disturbing stuff.

If anyone knows of others, or can speak for or against the books that I have mentioned, please don't hesitate to chime in!

[lunarriviera]

[overthinking about blorbo follows] [quasi-spoiler for uts s2 e3] look okay so here's the thing. shen yi is an insanely gifted classically trained painter who now lbr spends most of his working life sketching holdup mugshots off of grainy cctv footage, an occupation that at this point for him has to be boringly straightforward. maybe once in a while there's a cool serial murderer and he gets to come up with a way to reconstruct an entire person's body from one molar, or invent some new shrimp colors or something. then he goes home and paints his fucking heart out all night and for what, who is seeing it? who is seeing him? (and don't say du cheng bc i love him but we all know he probably wears black because he's red-green color blind.) so here he is, showing his canvases in a little group exhibition and trolling quietly amongst the clueless spectators, and no one even knows who he is because he's not showing up at the gallery opening in a suit du qing poured him into, clutching a glass of room-temperature champagne. instead here's someone standing the correct distance away from the canvas and you can practically hear shen yi's invisible antennae go sproing. idek who this charismatic pointy-faced guy is yet, maybe he's under the skin's answer to sheev palpatine but the point is, no one who can see what shen yi is doing talks to him about his work. so when weasel man says "he's a genius" and shen yi gives that tiny smile that's so frail it's almost invisible— he gave that smile one time before in s1, remember? when du cheng says "it could be that shen yi is wrong—but that's impossible, so we're crossing that one out." it's a beautiful little character note from tan jianci bc very likely shen yi isn't even aware he's doing it. maybe he's even telling himself "oh please how dare this guy, who does he think he is, clement greenberg"—shen yi who literally set fire to his ambition in the service of honing a moral compass so ruthless and unbending you could set greenwich mean time by it. but somewhere down in there, always—inside any person who chooses a life devoted to making things—is the desire for those made things to be seen.

who was the last person who said "he's a genius" not about his police work but about his painting? the last person who looked carefully at all of his values, hues, lines, shapes, gestural movements, mark-making, brushstrokes, depth of field, play of light, and really saw what he was doing, enough to be critical of it? when you're a working artist and someone sees you well enough to critique you intelligently? the pleasure is breathtaking, frankly on a spectrum with the erotic. (you could also argue he's smiling ruefully at the declaration that the painter's having become a cop is what ruined his work; when shen yi possibly thinks: you know nothing, it opened up everything for me. but i'm not so sure about that. because did it? has it? do we know that?) tl;dr weasel man is holding out an opened box of fresh turkish delight and it remains to be seen whether shen yi is going to faceplant into it. but i for one could not blame him. it is exhausting to have an enormous part of your psyche be all but completely invisible for years on end.

[lalalychee]

i finally have a new painting to share with you!! i don't know why this took me two entire months to finish, but it did LOL.

anyway, this is the lovely harvey guillén 🫶

this painting is based on a photo by jill greenberg.

[official-linguistics-post]

I read somewhere that Greenberg's classification of African languages is being questioned. Do you know anything about that?

i don't but i'm a lyle campbell stan anyway so fuck greenberg!!

[takingchences]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𖤟 prologue

Where Savanna Rios, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills High, learns that while she may be at the top of the social food chain, she's not the only predator prowling the campus

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

series masterlist + playlist + m.list

*** Friendly reminder that this chapter takes place in season 1 to give you a glimpse of their relationship. The rest of the story will follow season 3 ***

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

How does one describe Savanna Rios? She's like Regina George, but meaner and hotter. Love her or hate her, Vanna commanded respect. She was the only student at Beacon Hills High Coach Finstock couldn't intimidate. The man likened the teen to his younger, female counterpart. He enjoyed watching her terrorize Greenberg and all the other idiots and delinquents that annoyed him.

Stiles Stilinski worshipped the ground she walked on. He'd been head over heels for the girl since she'd moved to town in the second grade. Vanna, Stiles, and a girl named Heather had all been close as kids, but drifted apart as they grew older. Nowadays, the three hardly spoke at all. Vanna socialized with the popular clique, Heather transferred schools, and Stiles was always getting into trouble with his best friend Scott McCall. Speaking of which....

"Oh, God. Look at them," one of her cheerleaders, Mallory, nudged Vanna's side. She snickered, pointing at the two dark haired boys talking animatedly. Scott quickly lowered his shirt after Stiles reached out to touch the bandage around his waist, glancing around nervously.

"So lame, right?" Harley from her other side joined in. Vanna ignored them. The girls were more like followers than friends. They trailed after her like ducklings that imprinted on the first thing they saw. With no free will or opinions of their own, they only said what they thought the ravenette wanted to hear. Just like everyone else.

"That is freakin' awesome," they overheard Stiles Stilinski saying. "I mean, this is seriously going to be the best thing that's happened to this town since Vanna Rios moved-"

"Stiles," his friend Scott McCall sighed, spotting the Devil herself in her uniform walking towards them with two other cheerleaders by her side. Stiles noticed her too, brushing a hand over his buzzed hair. "She doesn't even know your name."

"She knows my name, okay?" Stiles argued, straightening his shirt. "Hey, Vanna!" The boy called out, holding his hand up with a goofy grin. "You look... like you're gonna ignore me." He continued, his voice growing quieter as she strutted by without a glance.

Vanna stopped at the bottom of the steps and turned, looking straight at them. "Bilinski!" The ravenette called out, her straight, chest-length hair blowing softly in the breeze. Stiles and Scott froze, their eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Vanna snapped her fingers and pointed down at her spotless white cheer shoe, where one of the laces had come loose.

"On it!" The pale boy tripped over himself from how quickly he ran over to help her. He crouched down and retied her shoelace as she braced her right foot against his knee. Her two minions giggled above him, exchanging smirks. Vanna smiled down at the boy condescendingly with her arms crossed.

"Thanks, Biles." The head cheerleader walked away with her two shadows as they laughed and shook their heads in pity.

Stiles returned to Scott's side with a sigh, refusing to acknowledge the look of see what I mean? on Scott's face. "See? Just like I said. She knows most of my name." The pale boy finally admitted, his hazel eyes locked on Vanna's figure.

"Uh-huh." Scott quietly agreed, the two climbing the steps and entering the school. "I don't get it. Why do let her walk all over you like that?" Scott asked as they headed for their lockers.

"I don't know what to tell you, Scott. Alright? Pretty privilege is real." Stiles gestured wildly with his hands. "She could back over me with her car and I'd pay for any damages my body may have caused her paint job." The boy stared off into the distance, where Vanna could be seen giggling with Danny Mahealani. Vanny and Danny. The two, like Scott and Stiles, had developed a deep, sibling-like bond over the years and were rarely seen without the other.

"And why 'Biles,' anyway?" The tan boy shook his head with a confused look.

"Because," Stiles rolled his eyes, putting in his combination code. "When we were kids we went on a field trip to the zoo and she dared me to eat one of the food pellets. I did it—like an idiot—and barfed in front of the entire class."

The shaggy haired male snorted. "Why the hell did you agree to that?"

Stiles pursed his lips, pulling out his textbooks for first and second period. "She's very persuasive."

⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶

Beacon Hills was always a little out of the ordinary compared to Vanna's memories of San Diego. But lately things in the small California town were getting too strange to turn a blind eye.

Firstly, half of a girl's dead body was found naked in the woods. There weren't any leads to go off of just yet, but the police believed the Jane Doe to be a victim of an animal attack. Secondly, benchwarmer Scott McCall was suddenly a lacrosse god. Word has it that he actually flipped over his teammates to score a goal at tryouts. Then, days later, a half-dead man was found mauled in the back of a bus at the school. Yeah, things were definitely getting hairy in Beacon Hills.

"We'll figure it out-" Stiles tried to reassure a panicked Scott. Suddenly, they were joined by a third person.

"Figure what out?" Lydia sat down, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing with every movement. The two boys stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes, dumbstruck by her arrival.

"Uh-" Scott glanced frantically between Stiles and Lydia. "Just, uh... homework."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed lamely. He leaned across the table. "Why is she sitting with us?" He whispered to the werewolf, who shook his head in bewilderment.

Allison and Greenberg sat down next. "Hey," Allison greeted the table with a bright grin.

Danny appeared a moment later, noticing all the available seats were by Stiles. The lacrosse goalie sighed heavily and sat down, purposefully leaving a chair between them as he avoided eye contact with the pale boy. Stiles nearly choked on air as he realized what was happening. Because if Danny was sitting with them then-

"Why the hell are you sitting over here?" Vanna stopped at Danny's side with a grimace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "We don't like these people."

"Play nice, Vanny." He pulled the chair next to him out from the table with a small smile. "Sit down." The cheerleader rolled her eyes but obeyed. She pulled a box of Reese's Pieces out of her bag and tore the tab open.

"Oh," Danny's expression grew smug. "Chocolate and peanut butter. I see your secret admirer is back." He held out a hand and she poured some into his palm.

"Duh." Vanna tossed her long, glossy hair over her shoulder with a perfectly manicured hand, a genuine smile on her face as she spoke with her best friend. "I'm the hottest piece of ass at this school."

Stiles made a noise of agreement, his cheeks turning red as he continued to stare at his dream girl sitting inches away from him with a hand over his mouth. "S-secret admirer?" His voice was a few octaves higher than usual. He cleared his throat, fidgeting in the hard plastic chair.

"Oh, yeah!" Allison gasped. "Lydia mentioned something about that. Somebody puts candy in your locker on Wednesdays, right?"

Vanna nodded, crossing her legs. The movement caused her skirt to ride up her thigh. Stiles forced himself to avert his eyes. "Get up," Jackson stormed over, glaring down at Greenberg.

"Why do you never ask Danny to get up?"

"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin slot or up his ex's skirt." The goalie sassed.

Vanna groaned with a grimace, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "God, did you have to remind me about that dark time in my life?" Greenberg reluctantly moved and Jackson claimed the spot at the head of the table. "It was a two week fling in middle school. Do I have to carry that shame with me for the rest of my life?"

"Yes." Stiles answered aloud. She narrowed her eyes threateningly at the buzz-haired boy. He chuckled awkwardly, making finger guns.

"So, I hear they're saying it was some kind of animal attack." Danny bit into his apple.

Allison frowned. "Another one?"

The boy shrugged. "It's probably a cougar."

"I heard mountain lion," Jackson argued.

"A cougar is a mountain lion."

"A cougar is a mountain lion, dumbass."

The table went silent.

Lydia and Vanna shared a look before the redhead backtracked. "Isn't it?" The Latina rolled her eyes before tossing a candy into her mouth. Was there a better combination than velvety milk chocolate and creamy peanut butter?

"Who cares? The guy's probably just some homeless tweaker looking to die anyway." The lacrosse king said dismissively.

Stiles sat up, looking at his his phone. "Hey, I just found out who it is. Check it out." The group all leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the video playing on his phone. Stiles stopped breathing as he felt Vanna's hair brush against his cheek. Having the scent of coconut and peaches so close made him blush furiously.

Any other day, Scott would've laughed at how fast the poor boy's heart was racing from such a small interaction, but he had other things on his mind at the moment.

"I-I know that guy." He explained how he knew the victim, looking understandably freaked out. After hearing more details of the alleged animal attack, the mood was pretty bleak. It was only made worse as Lydia suggested a double date. Vanna watched, amused, as Stiles made hilarious faces during the couples' conversation. He looked physically pained the longer it dragged on. She giggled quietly.

"... you know what else sounds fun? Stabbing myself in the face with this fork," Jackson deadpanned.

"Do we all get a turn?" The lacrosse captain flipped off the ravenette.

"Vanny, Danny" Lydia pipped up, batting her eyes innocently. "Do you want-"

"No way," she denied. "I'd choose death by mountain lion before going on a group date with you losers." Her best friend nodded in agreement.

⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶

Another animal attack. Another dead body. This time, Lydia and Jackson were witnesses.

Now, Vanna wasn't exactly close with either of them. Jackson and her butted heads more times than not, which forced poor Danny into the roll of peacemaker. Lydia could be nice when she wanted to be. Some days the two girls got along fine, while others they were at each other's throats. There wasn't any personal beef (contrary to popular belief). The two girls simply didn't know how to get along. They were pit against each other so often, constantly compared to the other that it drove them both crazy. It wasn't a competition. They could both be beautiful, intelligent women. Having one there didn't take away from the other's value.

Then, as if things couldn't get any more fucked up, Vanna was then trapped inside the school with Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson. Oh, not to mention a psycho killer was also in the building, hunting them down.

Despite the late hour, Vanna had still been at the school. The cheerleaders had been tasked with helping make decorations for the winter formal. Most of the squad had stayed after practice to help, but Vanna eventually sent them all home while she swept up the glitter on Coach's floor and laid the posters they'd painted out to dry.

She'd run into Scott and Stiles after going to investigate the strange sounds coming through the intercom. She'd floored the young werewolf with a strong uppercut, mistaking him for a burglar in the dark hallway.

After scrambling to find an excuse for breaking in, Scott left to find Allison after receiving a text while Stiles guided Vanna back to the lobby. All night, even while they were running and hiding from whatever it was that was chasing them—because it sure as Hell wasn't human—Stiles kept her within reach, constantly adjusting so that he was placed slightly in front of her.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Vanna didn't try to bite back her smart comments. It was obvious that Scott and Stiles were lying through their teeth about the killer's identity and why he was now targeting them. The only pieces of their story that rang true were the parts about the janitor being dead and someone being after them. There was real shock and fear there. It was obvious when they'd screamed at the sight of her in the hallway earlier that they'd been fleeing something or someone.

"What are we gonna do? Throw acid at him?" Stiles had joked once they'd taken shelter in a chemistry classroom on the second floor.

"No, like a fire bomb. In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail." Lydia corrected him, moving towards the locked cabinet.

"Self-igniting...?" Stiles frowned.

"Molotov cocktail." The group stared at Lydia in confusion. "What?" She fidgeted. "I read it somewhere."

Stiles sighed, gesturing towards the cabinet. "We don't have a key for that either..."

He was cut off by the sound of glass shattering. Vanna set down the barstool she'd used to bust out the glass and reached into the empty panels in the cabinet door to remove the chemicals they would need. She shrugged. "I found a key." Her expression dared someone to say something. The teens wisely chose to remain silent.

Jackson snorted, stepping over the broken glass to help her grab the needed materials. The rest shook off their dazed expressions and got to work measuring out whatever chemicals Lydia instructed them to use. "Jackson, hand me the sulfuric acid." Lydia held a hand out. Her boyfriend hesitated before grabbing the bottle next to the one he'd originally reached for. Vanna narrowed her eyes from beside Stiles. Lydia mixed it all together before handing the weapon off to Scott.

"No," Allison blocked his path as he moved to leave. "No, this is insane. You can't do this. You can't go out there, Scott."

"We can't just sit here waiting for Stiles' dad to check his messages," the shaggy-haired boy argued.

"You could die," she stressed tearfully. "Don't you get that? He's already killed three people."

"And we're next," he reminded her, gently nudging her aside. "Somebody has to do something."

"Scott, just stop!" The brunnette panicked. "Do you remember... do you remember when you told me you knew whether I was lying or not? That I had a tell? Well, so do you. You're a horrible liar and you've been lying all night." She's not as oblivious as I thought, Vanna observed the scene from where she was perched on the edge of her usual desk.

"Just, please, please don't go. Please don't leave us," Allison pleaded. "Please?"

Scott stared at her for a moment before looking at Stiles. "Lock it behind me." His girlfriend pulled him into a desperate kiss, making the cheerleader roll her eyes in disgust. Scott left the classroom in total silence.

"So... we're just not going to talk about how painfully awkward that was to watch?" Lydia bobbed her head, swaying from side to side. "Okay."

Vanna picked at her chipped nails. Tonight's harrowing events had destroyed her manicure. She'd have to get them redone before winter formal. "I mean, I almost volunteered to take his place just to get away from your whiny as-"

"Van." Stiles shot her a look that she understood to mean behave. Her nose crinkled in annoyance.

Allison didn't react, far too busy pacing the room. "I don't get this. I don't get why he'd go out there and leave us. And I can't-" she dropped her hands from where they'd been fiddling with her hair to stare at them. "I can't stop my hands from shaking," she whimpered. Jackson moved to comfort the girl, under the watchful eyes of Lydia and Savanna. The redhead quickly turned away with a pained expression.

Jackson Whittemore had ruined Lydia Martin. He'd taken a strong, smart, confident girl and broken her down emotionally. She was forced to hide parts of herself that he didn't like or appreciate in order to receive the same affection he'd given the new girl for free. Savanna tore people down because they mostly deserved it. Jackson made people miserable for the hell of it. And now, he'd set his sights on someone that was already taken with zero regard for the girl whose heart he owned completely.

At least Lydia looked as fed up with the situation and Allison as Savanna herself felt. It wasn't often that the two agreed on something, but this was one of those rare moments where they could come together and support each other. Coffee brown eyes met green and the two girls shared a look of understanding.

Stiles was scared shitless. His best friend was out there, alone, risking his life. The Alpha was lurking somewhere in the shadows waiting for him. His dad could check his phone and arrive any minute. He was currently trapped in a classroom with the biggest douchebag he's ever met, an emotional wreck, the secret genius of Beacon Hills High, and his tormentor/crush.

"Hey," he slid into the spot next to her on the desk. Vanna side eyed him but chose not to comment on his proximity. "I just, uh... I want you to know that there's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried." She lifted her brow pointedly. "I can handle myself."

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "I saw the way you took down that cabinet door." She bit her lip to contain her smile, but the boy still noticed. "And that right hook you threw at Scott earlier?" He nudged her arm with his elbow. "Badass." It completely took them by surprise how the petite girl had knocked a werewolf flat on his ass with one blow.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. It wasn't her usual cruel or smug smile, either. This one was genuine.

"Turns out you have a pretty nasty right hook yourself." She jerked her chin in Jackson's direction. His jaw was already starting to bruise.

"Ah-yeah, that." Stiles blushed, flexing his stiff knuckles. He'd definitely have to ice them if they ever got out of here. "It actually felt pretty good."

"It's not Derek that's after us, is it?" Savanna whispered, not wanting to be heard by the others. Stiles stiffened, his hazel eyes going wide.

"Wha-what?" He stuttered, avoiding eye contact. He shook his head with a look of disbelief. "Scott said-"

"I know what Scott said." Stiles felt trapped by her intense stare. "But as we've already established tonight, you're both terrible liars. So who's really out there? The Alpha?"

"How-" he gaped, looking at the others warily before leaning closer. "How do you know about that?" He whispered.

"I heard you and Scott talking in the cafeteria."

The two teens were locked in a battle of wills. Stiles crumbled under her knowing gaze. "You can't tell anybody." He stressed, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

"Who would I tell? I don't even know what we're talking about." She rolled her eyes. "But it sounds gang related. So, who is this guy?"

Stiles exhaled through his nose, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know."

Savanna always thought of herself as superior, but it wasn't because of a complex or anything. She really was different from everyone around her. Her senses and reflexes were far better than your average person. She could smell things others couldn't, like the pack of mint mojito gum Stiles always carried on him. She could hear things, too... and this was the first time all night she hadn't heard his heartbeat spike.

Stiles was telling her the truth.

The seven students were now scattered across the parking lot of the high school. Stiles' dad had shown up just in time with reinforcements after Scott had locked them in from the outside, sealing them inside with no chance of escape. Vanna finished giving her statement to the kind officer and headed towards her car. She'd just tossed her cheer bag in the backseat when Stiles appeared. "Hey," he smiled breathlessly, having run all the way over to talk to her. "About earlier..." he started, leaning awkwardly against her car.

"I didn't say anything to the police, if that's what you came to ask." She crossed her arms.

Stiles blinked, mouth gaping like a fish for a moment. "No, that's... I didn't-"

"Then we have nothing to talk about. Good night," she interrupted, dipping under his arm to slip into the driver's seat. The pale boy watched with sad eyes as she drove off. He'd really thought they'd gotten somewhere tonight. She hadn't made fun of him or insulted him all night. In fact, she'd called him by his name and had actually smiled at things he'd said.

Sheriff Stilinski pulled up next to him in his squad car and rolled down the passenger window. "Get in." His son climbed into the car and settled back into the seat with a sigh. Noah looked over at his son, noticing his disappointment. "Girl trouble?" He asked.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Well, I am a cop," Noah pulled the car into the driveway and parked, though neither of them made an attempt to exit the vehicle. "And believe it or not, I was your age once."

"I just thought after everything that happened tonight," Stiles squeezed his eye shut, dragging a hand down his face. "I dunno."

Noah reached across the console to squeeze his son's shoulder. "Son, girls like that eat guys like you for breakfast. You're better off."

Stiles disagreed.

He wasn't in love with the idea of her like so many others—this gorgeous, seemingly-perfect girl. She was so much more than the stereotypical mean girl. They only looked at the surface level. Sure, she'd called him Biles Bilinski as a joke since grade school. And yes, she was the one who broke into his locker last year and covered his stuff with whipped cream... but she was also the same girl he'd befriended as a kid. The one who'd given him a piggyback ride home after scraping his knee on the playground. The one who'd dressed up as Belle for a month and a half straight because she was her favorite Disney princess. Stiles knew her before she was the girl she is today. He'd seen sides of her that she keeps hidden away from others and herself.

Everyone made fun of him for chasing after a girl he could never have, including his best friend. Even his own father encouraged him to stop wasting his time on Savanna Rios. But Stiles Stilinski is stubborn and persistent. There was always a chance that things between them could change. If he'd learned anything in the weeks following Scott's transformation, it was that in Beacon Hills, nothing is impossible.

⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶

"Are you not freaking out?" Stiles and Scott walked out of the locker room after Coach announced the new co-captains. "I'm freaking out."

"What's the point? It's just a stupid title." Scott was still moping. Stiles had taken him out the night before to drink and help him get over Allison dumping him. Unfortunately, they learned that werewolves can't get drunk and Scott had ended up babysitting his wasted best friend. The full moon was coming and not even the announcement of his new position as co-captain could get him out of his funk. "I could practically smell the jealousy in there."

"Wait," Stiles threw an arm out, stopping Scott in the middle of the hallway. "You can smell jealousy?"

"Yeah, the full moon is turning everything up to 10."

"So you can pick up on stuff like," the pale stared down the hall at a group of cheerleaders talking. "I don't know, desire?"

Scott gave him a small, knowing smirk. "Desire?"

"Like, sexual desire." Stiles elaborated.

"Sexual desire?" Scott repeated with high brows.

His friend was growing impatient. "Yes, Scott, sexual desire. Lust, passion, arousal." He rolled the "r" with his tongue. The werewolf spotted a familiar face among the group of girls.

"You mean Savanna."

"No," Stiles immediately denied. "In a general, broad sense. Can you determine sexual desire?"

"From Vanna to you?"

"Fine, yes." Stiles clenched his teeth. "From Vanna to me. Look,  I need to know if I have a chance with this girl. Okay? I've been obsessing over her since we were freakin' seven."

"Why don't you just ask her?" Scott suggested.

"To save myself the utterly crushing humiliation, thank you very much." The paler boy said in an obvious tone. "So can you please just go up and ask her if she likes me? See if her heartbeat rises or pheromones come out," he waved his hand around his head.

"Alright," Scott gave in, unhappily walking towards the group of cheerleaders.

Stiles watched him in disbelief. "I love you," he called after his friend in excitement. "I love you. You're my best friend in the whole world."

The group fell quiet as Scott approached, the girls eyeing him up in down in confusion and curiosity. "Can we, uh, talk for a second?" He asked the ravenette. Vanna frowned but agreed, walking with him over to coach's office. Vanna leaned her hip against the edge of the desk.

"Is this about the other night?"

"Do you know if Allison still likes me?" He asked with those sad, puppy dog eyes. Vanna scoffed, crossing her arms with a sneer.

"How the hell would I know? We're not friends."

"You hang out in the same circle." He shrugged, moving closer. "I thought you might've heard something."

"Well, I didn't. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you, so..." she tried to move around him to get to the door but was blocked.

"I was trying to protect you," he stated in a low voice, taking another step towards her. Vanna refused to retreat and held her chin up confidently, even when her instincts were telling her that something was wrong. This was not the Scott McCall she was used to. "All of you. Why can't you see that?"

"McCall-" she placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between them.

He inched closer, inhaling deeply. "You smell... good." His nose brushed the skin of her neck as he leaned in to sniff her once more. His strong hands gripped her hips painfully, rooting her in place. Vanna fisted a handful of his long, curly hair and yanked, forcing his head back and away from her.

"Do not touch me." She hissed, her pupil's dilated as they made eye contact. She threw him to the side and stormed out of the office with a slam of the door.

Turns out, after Scott had made an aggressive pass at her, he'd turned around and made out with Lydia Martin. Then, as if he was trying to incur the infamous wrath of Rios, he injured Danny during lacrosse practice. Everyone stopped what they were doing to rush to the boy's side.

The ravenette shoved people out of the way to kneel next to him. "Danny? Are you okay?" Her hands hovered over him, not wanting to injure him further. Jackson joined her a second later. "Where does it hurt, Dan?"

The goalie laid flat on his back, blinking slowly in confusion.

"Dude!" Stiles walked over to Scott and removed his helmet. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What?" Scott snapped back. "He's twice the size of me."

"But everybody likes Danny." Coach moved to the side to allow the sports medic through. Vanna and Jackson stayed by their hurt friend. "Now everybody's gonna hate you."

"I don't care." He stormed off.

Vanna squeezed her best friend's hand in reassurance and comfort as the medic tested Danny for a head injury. The cheerleader and Jackson each took an arm and propped Danny between them, walking him to the locker room to be examined further.

"Control your dog, Stilinski." She spat as they passed him.

⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶

"I brought you some water," Stiles walked into Scott's dark bedroom. The boy in question was lying on the floor chained to the radiator. Stiles held up a bottle of water and a dog bowl with his friend's name written on it in sharpie. He poured the bottle out and set the bowl on the ground a little ways from Scott.

The werewolf threw the full bowl at Stiles' back as he made to leave. "I'm gonna kill you!" He growled.

"You ruined it, Scott." Stiles whipped around, pretty pissed off himself. "Okay? Van told everyone what you did. That's my... like, the one girl that I..." he struggled to voice his concerns as so many thoughts and emotions flowed through him. "And you know, the past three hours I've been thinking, 'it's probably just the full moon,' you know? 'He probably doesn't even know what he's doing. Tomorrow he'll be back to normal and he probably won't even remember what a complete dumbass he's been. A son of a bitch, a freakin' unbelievable piece of crap friend-"

"She came onto me."

"What?" Stiles breathed.

"She was all over me," Scott smirked darkly up at him. "She wanted me, man, and she smelled amazing." Stiles left, sliding down the wall just outside the bedroom. He shook his head, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth as Scott continued to spew bullshit. Stiles had waited for the girl outside the locker rooms and begged her to tell him what happened. She'd cursed both boys in Spanish before telling him how Scott had practically forced himself on her. "I've never smelled anything like that before."

[violetfairydust]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by the ever so talented @endwersed thank you my dear! Sorry this is late. I had an idea for a Valentine's fic and you gave me the push I needed to get started.

-

The dynamic dipshits were quiet for too long. When Derek sighed, they looked back at him, cutting off every attempt to communicate telepathically. Erica shifted her weight and eyed the table like it was roadkill. Isaac glanced at her.

“Where are the bottles I had?” Stiles asked warily.

“Yeah, we spilled those,” Isaac admitted.

“That was for the client in Sacramento!”

“You can make it again,” he snapped.

“Not easily. Where am I supposed to get rose petals in February?”

“The florist?” Erica suggested.

Stiles growled and paced behind the table. Erica and Isaac glided across the loft silently. Stiles stopped and looked down. The panic struck his eyes and he looked on, under, and around the table.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

Behind him, the sound of the door squealed open, but he was too concerned with Stiles to yell at Erica and Isaac.

“Where are they?”

“Where’s what?”

“The arrows.”

“What arrows?”

“Allison’s arrows. She had me modify them; she was going to take them to the party.”

“She came and got those,” Isaac said.

“Allison was here?” Derek questioned.

“Briefly. She came for the pick-up and when she heard “God, don’t stop,” she booked it out of here.”

"Did you spill on the arrows?" Stiles demanded.

"Maybe," Erica replied in a quiet voice.

A high-pitched sound left Stiles’ mouth. “No, no, no, no, nonononono! Call Allison!”

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Derek urged.

He reached for the phone in his back pocket. “She had me magically modify the arrows, so it wouldn’t hurt when she shot people. And the last braincell between these simpletons evaporated when they spilled the bottles on the arrows.”

“Why is Allison shooting people at a party?” Derek asked.

“She was going to play Cupid, shooting random people for fun, but these idiots spilled love potion on the arrows, so now whoever Allison shoots is going to fall in love. It's going to be like throwing darts at a map.”

"This could only happen to us," Derek muttered.

Erica crossed her arms. “That’s a pretty unethical way to get someone to fuck you. What kind of client do you have?”

“It wasn’t going to be use--Whatever! We don’t have time for this! She’s not answering, so we need to get to the party before she shoots anyone.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch and marched toward the door.

“This could be kinda fun,” Isaac said.

Stiles sent a chilling glare at Erica and Isaac. “If Lydia and Greenberg have a baby in nine months, it’s gonna be your fault!”

-

I don't know who has been tagged, so if you would like to do it, I tag you!

[dailyrothko]

Thoughts on Barnett Newman? Since his "Stations of the Cross" series is right next to a room of Rothko paintings in the national gallery I was curious about what you think of him, personally I prefer Rothko's work but Stations of the Cross is nice imo :)

I do like the Stations of the Cross, and it's really nice the way the NGA has them all together much more effective as a group I think. They are my favorites of his paintings.

Newman was a writer and become a painter later than Rothko or Gottlieb or Still. I think there was tension about him as he was seen to be getting on the bandwagon. They say Gottlieb was enraged called him "Bullshit Barney" (i think that's right, something like that). But depending on who you ask, Rothko was less wound up about it, I think he didn't feel as threatened. However, Clement Greenberg, the most influential critic of the time, embraced Newman and didn't like Rothko. To me it's all politics but I think it may have hurt Rothko's feelings, he was sensitive.

Newman appealed to Rothko's intellectual side but they were very different. Newman affected a pose, wore a monocle, posed in a suit with a cigarette holder. Everyone seems to say he was a very smart person but some of his peers I think were less impressed with his actual painting. One annoyance was that he apparently changed the dates on some paintings to make it appear as if he had done them earlier than he had.

I hesitate to say anything is 100% true, I only know what I read.

Jack Tworkov said, "I think that Rothko's struggle was an intense one. And now that I know his work much better, his earlier work that I've seen a great deal more of, I can now see what he started from, what he worked through in order to get where he did. Whereas Newman began painting I think in 1947 with that stripe and that was it."

Without being even more digressive, I do think as a society we place too much emphasis on the single artist and whole genius idea. People are parts of groups and their groups are part of a society that has different functions depending on when they exist (Tworkov has good things to say about that). Ginsberg had the Beat poets, for instance, it's part of a bigger tapestry, if you will. I think Americans love this genius myth, (everyone is a goddamn genius, apparently)and that obsession fuels the art world too. There are plenty of painters who do great paintings as good as anyone, but if they are not anointed, they don't sell the same, so i think it invites the idea that one artist is the best and the others must be lesser. If you're an Orson Welles type, you are great but also great at fueling your myth to get work, other people just don't have it in them. Newman could play the whole game a lot better than Rothko.

For me, I do like his paintings and especially Stations of the Cross, but I would say I find his painting less deep than Rothko's. He kind of stuck to a simpler thing than some of the artists of the period. It's not about these personalities really, it's about the art. But I thought I would give some Rothko context to your question.

[themuseandantarctica]

* 𝒊 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏

sentence starters from joanne greenberg's novel i never promised you a rose garden. change however necessary. i never promised you a rose garden is a semi-autobiographical account of a young girl admitted to a mental hospital for treatment for her schizophrenia, which means...

tw: mental hospitals, medical, self-harm, suicide, suicidal ideation, ableism, ableist language

it should look as if we trust her. she must feel that we trust her…

they call it a mental hospital, but it's a place where they put people away.

we should have expected them. why should we be so surprised?

i told you the truth about these things you asked. now are you going to help me?

you are just in time for the patient's soothing tea and the end of the world.

it was considered advisable to terminate the interview.

well, i'm a hundred square yards sane.

you will not have to give up anything until you are ready, and then there will be something to take its place.

the prisoner pleads guilty to the charge of not having acute something-itis and accepts the verdict of guilty of being nuts in the first degree.

someday i hope to help you see this world as other than a stygian hell.

it seemed like a good life -- a very good life she had. now they say it wasn't.

i can't really see you and i can't really hear you.

they think that both of us would be too much just now.

it's without a cause, you see, and that's what is so frightening.

i hated it and had no talent for it. it was one of the flags to capture, you see, and he had to try to win it, even through me.

it's going to cost us -- everything. you know that, don't you?

am i not what you wanted? do you have to correct my brain, too?

you see, she knew, in her own way, that she was not attempting suicide, but making the call for help, the call of a mute and confused person.

waiting for the blows… and then there came a time, later -- a time where she began to arrange for blows to fall.

i swear to you that i will not use you.

they never said they were sorry, not one of them.

is this… forever?

that was not my doing. i was not even in on the consultation.

you are walking around your destruction and poking a little finger at it here and there.

it's funny… i never figured that kid was really sick.

i scratched my arm a little -- that's all.

do you know what a coldsheet pack is? i'm going to set one up for you.

this is the little tart i was telling you about.

there are flowers in a hospital and strength, too. you will live and be strong.

i could not be sure. i am good at getting deceived, you know.

you know… the thing that is so wrong about being mentally ill is the terrible price you have to pay for survival.

there is no injustice being done.

don't hit me, [name] -- don't hit me! i know how hard you can hit!

once i greeted my best friend and she turned from me. when i asked why, she said, "after what you did?" she never spoke to me again, and i never found out what happened.

none of the others laughed, really. you were only afraid that they might laugh. you alone made yourself lie.

there are other deaths than death -- worse ones.

we might someday… have to be "well" and be in the world.

i didn't want to hurt you -- to make you sicker.

when i get around to it, i'm going to do your portrait.

my hair feels dirty.

it is my selfness and it is poisonous. it is mind-poisonous.

another camouflage is to blame it all on someone else. it keeps you from having to face what they really did to you, and what you did to yourself and are still doing.

somewhere there is a thief who has heard that people bury and hide their gold and jewels. can you see the expression on his face when he comes on what i have buried!

i like being somebody's punishment; it makes me feel needed.

their religion doesn't permit them to commit suicide.

i found out about being insane. it really is something.

lay off [name], will you?

do you think the sick people are all in hospitals? do you think you have a corner on suffering?

you ought to know mental trouble when you see it.

it's envy! the best and smartest are always envied. walk straight and don't let them know if they touch you.

i thought i was going to die, but at last they came back.

that kid looks through me as if i'm not here at all.

i am a hair in my eye, and so are you.

a pacifist is one who uses his open hand.

i never promised you a rose garden. i never promised you perfect justice, and i never promised you peace or happiness. my help is so that you can be free to fight for all of these things.

it's because of the maybe. it's because of the little, little maybe.

she never took your world at all, don't you see?

what do they want with me, broken into and spoiled already? i'm not good enough for anyone else.

i could still be crazy if i wanted to?

i wish i could have made it to that narcotics cabinet.

are you calling me? is it me you want?

you have quite a number of bits and pieces all copied down on those papers of yours.

who ever told you that learning facts or theories or languages had anything to do with understanding yourself?

there is nothing you can do to me that my own craziness doesn't do to me smarter and faster and better.

i'll be around. you could even get privileges to come and visit me.

i never could ask for anything. i thought you knew that. when i have to ask, something happens to me and i… well, i start to fight.

i always wondered why those reports seemed to be more about [name]'s thoughts than about her body, like pulse or temperature.

maybe the cannon blast we were fearing was only what we heard.

you are captive and victim. we did not want you to escape.

it's going to hit -- please -- it's going to hit harder than i can stand up under.

god, they build their tortures cunningly!

everyone is so afraid of getting blood on the living room floor. "i can't stand to see suffering," they say, "so die outside!"

i think now, though, that you are little too happy with yourself for this trouble you have.

mommy and daddy are shelling out plenty on that bitch who isn't fit for saving.

get away from that door, [name]. you have no business there.

you are trying to hurt yourself now. what happened?

don't forget what i know about you!

i had known all those years and years how sick i was, and nobody else would admit it.

if you're seeking objective reality, this is one hell of a place to start.

even if you didn't really talk out loud, it was that look you get…

i'm not giving up; i'm just tired, that's all.

occasionally, others are damned by you to punish you.

this you have earned. i don't often give presents either, so take it.

this is one-by-one from the jawbone!

my difference is not my sickness.

when i get upset… i usually have trouble seeing properly.

did i hurt anybody? did i hurt anybody?

kid, i never knew you had it in you. you can really fight!

if i want to die, what am i saving myself for?

you've seen this… awfulness before; why are you so shocked?

measure the hate you feel now, and the shame. that quantity is your capacity also to love and to feel joy and to have compassion.

i would be worse than wasteful to give a moment's time to a hopeless case.

you will find no shortage of moral issues and hard decisions in the real world.

i have decided not to be immoral, because of what happened to [name].

where is what you used to scratch this?

it is why you need a hospital.

you are worn out, but no longer so very frightened, are you?

what am i doing here with all these crazy people!

i don't want to think anymore! i'm tired and scared and i just don't care anymore what happens.

i like an anger that is not fearful and guilty and can come out in good and vigorous english.

we just didn't get on. we didn't like each other. i think perhaps we were too much alike…

you've only got one kind of cold, the kind coats can fix.

you may not even have to do anything about it. you may not even have to think about it.

it was just a simple statement in my mind that i was going to live, to come up alive.

what hurts is being kicked by the forces that everyone else lives by and years of being nuts and not being able to tell anyone and have them believe you.

i tried to go easy. i hope it didn't hurt too much.

grapevine never told me you were back.

it can be very, very tough, but people are sometimes better than you think they will be.

somehow lately, there's been something like a caring in her.

now, am i crazy or did you make that story up?

you can have something on which to model yourself.

stop it! will you never end it!

if everybody would stop dying over the big secret, it'll be a lot easier.

you're not here that much. i want to see you this week.

no, [name], he was weeks ago -- i just went to the party with him.

when she blows, she's going to cover the ceiling.

sometimes you have to fight what won't yield and put yourself where it's safe to be crazy.

whose idea was this in the first place?

if i weren't scared to death of it, i would be so grateful!

you're not just rubbing it in good to get a little free suffering out of it?

alive is fighting. it's the same thing. i still think [name] could have made it.

well, i hope you like the room.

now, when you have come again to the world, you are able to remember what was also there with the darkness. much of it was darkness only because it was balanced against the light of loving and experiencing truth.

what about your new friend, [name]? do you still see her sometimes?

the one place i could never go… the one hunger i could never admit.

do they know how beautiful and enviable their lives are?

i can't go back to my merry high-school days again, volleyball in the gym and teeth-teeth at the school dances.

could you call them for an appointment?

just… well, i liked to think of you being outside and starting along, that's all.

hey! you know what happens when you burn yourself? you get burned, that's what!

is it true that you bring me beauty lately only when you are threatened?

if it's okay with the people down at that place she mentioned, i'll be ready whenever they are.

say "hello" for me. throw something at her and be rude so she'll know it's me.

she is prompt and obedient and never insane in the classroom.

does it all have to go? do we pile it up and throw it all out?

i will never have that. not by fighting or study or work or withstanding will i be able to walk with one of them or be warmed by their hands.

we had to call your landlady and tell her you weren't coming back there tonight and that you were here.

you rotten whore! let me go!

i am going to hang with the world. full weight.

[greenbergwrites]

How do you get motivation to write 😭 you’ve have so many amazing bodies of work while I struggle to finish one idea 💀

oh, babe. I have random ideas that I do not develop AT ALL and just write some choice emotional/porn bits for, that's not the same thing as having numerous bodies of work.

And I'm cool with that, because that is literally 100% of the reason I started this blog. I needed to try and teach myself how to write without editing it to death, which was downright fucking terrifying when I first started doing it and only mildly frightens me now.

That's what everything on this blog is, literally unfiltered stream of consciousness, but it's what I needed to learn how to do because I have a well-documented and pathological tendency to just rewrite the same thing over and over again because it's never good enough in my eyes

When it comes to actual finished works, I have very few. FAC is the first big project I took on since I was a teenager and look at it now, absolutely fucking unfinished. The project that will haunt me to the end of time.

But I'm trying to get better. At the beginning of January, I told Ked I wanted to have a writing schedule and because she is an unstoppable force of nature and also a goddamn angel, she agreed to take up the task of herding me.

Most nights at 6:30, I get a message from her that simply says "it's time," and that's my cue to stop whatever I'm doing and try to write something. It was really fucking hard at first, but here we are 7 months in and it's finally getting easier.

The goal we somehow came to is 400 words, which was apparently Terry Pratchett's daily goal. Sometimes it's hard to get there and sometimes it's really easy, but it's doable and that's the important bit.

But sometimes, even though it's doable, I don't get there. Sometimes I've had the shittiest day and even though I want to, my brain just isn't in it. Sometimes I'm so goddamn tired because my anxiety meds fuck with my ability to sleep and sleep aids only help so much.

I hate myself for not being able to commit in those times, because dumbly, I feel like I'm letting Ked down. But Ked never makes me feel like I'm letting her down. She'll just commiserate with me, or if she feels I've gone too long without writing, she'll say, "Just think about the story for 15 minutes and then you've done what you need to for the day."

I think the BIGGEST thing--the thing that honestly has fucking helped more than anything--is through this whole process, Ked has taught me to be kind to myself.

It's not the end of the world if I don't write every day, as long as I don't make it a habit of not writing, and whatever the fuck I manage to do, whether it's a hundred words or a thousand, it's something to celebrate because it's better than continually writing nothing at all

So, like. Just be kind to yourself. If you're not writing, it's for a reason. And if that reason is simply only "I'm out of practice," well then find you a friend like Ked and let them herd you.

That only really works if you're willing to submit to someone else's authority, though, and luckily for everyone involved in my life, I might be a brat, but I'm a people-pleasing brat so I allow myself to be herded most days.

I just, you know. Complain about it loudly, too.

[deadpresidents]

You used to list the books you've been reading every few weeks but I haven't seen a post like that in a minute. Anything good that you've been reading?

It has been a long time since I last posted one of those lists of recent reads -- probably about six months, so I'm not going to list everything I've read since then. And I don't remember exactly what I included last time, so hopefully I don't double-dip.

•Martin Van Buren: America's First Politician [2024] by James M. Bradley (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) If you want to make me happy, just publish a new book about one of America's more obscure Presidents. And in December 2024, we got a new biography of Martin Van Buren with fresh research from sources not previously available to earlier biographers, resulting in an updated, comprehensive book about Van Buren that now becomes one of the definitive biographies of our eighth President.

•Lincoln vs. Davis: The War of the Presidents [2024] by Nigel Hamilton (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) I'm also an easy mark for books about Jefferson Davis -- not out of any sort of affinity for him or the Confederacy, of course -- but just because of his unique place in history as an American President who also wasn't really an American President (although, technically, he was.) Throw Lincoln into the mix and you don't have to sell me very hard on this book.

•Night of Power: The Betrayal of the Middle East [2024] by Robert Fisk (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) I wish Fisk had lived to write about the latest Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but it doesn't require much imagination to know what he would have thought about it: he wrote honestly, critically, and with deep understanding about the subject for 40+ years while reporting from the heart of the struggle in the Middle East.

•The Garfield Orbit [1978] by Margaret Leech and Harry J. Brown (BOOK)

•The World and Richard Nixon [1987] by C.L. Sulzberger (BOOK)

•John Lewis: A Life [2024] by David Greenberg [2024] (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•Land Between the Rivers: A 5,000-Year History of Iraq [2024] by Bartle Bull (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•The Hollow Crown: Shakespeare On How Leaders Rise, Rule, and Fall [2023] by Eliot A. Cohen (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•A Very Personal Presidency: Lyndon Johnson in the White House [1968] by Hugh Sidey (BOOK)

•The Jesuit Disruptor: A Personal Portrait of Pope Francis [2024] by Michael W. Higgins (BOOK | KINDLE)

•The President: A Minute-by-Minute Account of a Week in the Life of Gerald Ford [1975] by John Hersey (BOOK | KINDLE)

•The Lone Star: The Life of John Connally [1989] by James Reston Jr. (BOOK)

•The Showman: Inside the Invasion That Shook the World and Made a Leader of Volodymyr Zelensky [2024] by Simon Shuster (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•Alexander at the End of the World: The Forgotten Final Years of Alexander the Great [2024] by Rachel Kousser (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•American Gothic: The Story of America's Legendary Theatrical Family -- Junius, Edwin, and John Wilkes Booth [1992] by Gene Smith (BOOK | KINDLE)

•Pathfinder: John Charles Frémont and the Course of American Empire [2002] by Tom Chaffin (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•A Brief History of the World in 47 Borders: Surprising Stories Behind the Lines on Our Maps [2024] by Jonn Elledge (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•Eisenhower For Our Time [2024] by Steven Wagner (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

•The Ends of the Earth: A Journey to the Frontiers of Anarchy [1996] by Robert D. Kaplan (BOOK | KINDLE)

•The Emperor: Downfall of an Autocrat [1983] by Ryszard Kapuściński [Translated by William R. Brand & Katarzyna Mroczkowska-Brand] (BOOK)

•A Heartbeat Away: The Investigation and Resignation of Vice President Spiro T. Agnew [1974] by Richard M. Cohen and Jules Witcover (BOOK)

•American Roulette: The History and Dilemma of the Vice Presidency [Revised & Updated, 1972] by Donald Young (BOOK)

•Centers of Power in the Arab Gulf States [2024] by Kristian Coates Ulrichsen (BOOK | KINDLE)

•The Formation of the UAE: State-Building and Arab Nationalism in the Middle East [2024] by Kristi Barnwell (BOOK | KINDLE)

•Iranian-Saudi Rivalry Since 1979: In the Words of Kings and Clerics [2023] by Talal Mohammad (BOOK | KINDLE)

•The Wrong Stuff: How the Soviet Space Program Crashed and Burned [2024] by John Strausbaugh (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

[codename-adler]

Can't blame Danielle when it's wymack we talk about.

Au vise do you think David ever was in situation where he had to explain someone why relationship with him is not in realm of possibility ? Do you think he would see a need for such conversation as his failure of setting boundaries in the first place ? Would he ask bee or Abby for advice if he needed one ?

Would Dan be happy when those feelings are addressed in therapy and she can apreciate platonic relationship with coach for what it is

I like digging into concepts

now that it seems the heat has died on that subject matter... i'll gladly and gratefully answer u my friend <3 thank you for getting it.

AU wise, i DEFINITELY 100% think Wymack has had to establish boundaries in his career as PSU Coach. oh how i would looooove to write the first time it happened. add it to the pile of wips.

i think... the overall sentiment of surprise he's slapped with when he has to face such a situation for the first time, is divided into many levels.

a) at some point, when you're collecting kids with parental issues coming out of their noses and asses, you gotta be ready for when some misplaced attachments occur. Wymack is def not ready, which is very very dumb of him. Abby saw it coming. Bee saw it coming. how did he not? big big oversight of him. now he's gotta deal with things wayyyy above his paygrade for that mistake. surprise mf! the care and tough love you provided your team has been misinterpreted by an unadjusted athlete! what did you expect david. really.

b) not to borrow too much from dbh's Hank Anderson, but i like to believe Wymack is partly surprised that one of his athletes is infatuated with him, because it's him we're talking about. he is not the same man who won over Kayleigh Day, is not as in shape and confident in his body, and despite the scarce hook-ups here and there over the years since her, Kayleigh herself was not much more than a fwb situationship herself. Wymack can't see past his family history and all his scars (mental and physical) when it comes to romantic relationships. so for a young thing to confess to him? good ol' Coach? gotta be a joke. he's not flattered at all, he's baffled. he is also very much concerned about his athlete beyond this unprofessional and inappropriate infatuation. like, wtf are your standards? let's address that. if it'd been, like, Abby, of course he'd get it. but him? yikes, man. (Bee screams into her pillow about this self-deprecating bs Wymack refuses to consult about. somebody worship this man, please! not you Greenberg tho. you get therapy for your daddy issues. it's never gonna happen.)

c) it worries Wymack very much that he did not see this developing, and it plants doubt in his ability to manage his team, his players, and provide them with what they need. it's not about setting boundaries and closing that door, because he didn't even know there was a door to close to begin with. it's about knowing that door exists and noticing it open. it really destabilizes him, to the point he's not sure he even knows his players anymore, if he's even capable of seeing through their bs, to the point where he doubts if he even should be Coach of such a complex and precarious team. surely someone out there is more qualified. surely someone out there is more well-adjusted and observant. i don't know which OG Foxes gets through to him, but i know it takes one of them, or more, to tell him that it's not about being qualified and parrying every issue before they even arise, but about wanting to be there, for them, wanting the best for them, and wanting to give them chances. surely you can give yourself that chance too, Coach? talks w/ Bee and Abby are def had, but ultimately it's the Palmetto Nines that get him though it.

about Dan now. bc i based myself on my own issues for her misplaced infatuation with Wymack, i'll once again base myself on lil 'ole me for how she copes with it: she is taking that one to the grave. she's able to fly under the radar of Bee's built-in bs detector. she's just glad she's not the only one to get those yucky feelings, that yes she does have issues but it's also normal, and well, by the time a newer Fox infatuates themself with Wymack, she is well over it and the case is closed. she even teases Wymack about the number of recruits who thirst over him over the years (once Wymack is able to treat as a joke too, like, years down the line and he hears other coaches having the same problem and the Foxes having a betting pool on who the next poor fool is. once Nicky overtly makes his objective appreciation known, and there are polls online. etc.)

[takaraphoenix]

is it accepted fanon that 'Jared from the bus' is also 'thorn-in-Finstock's-side' Greenberg, or are they 2 different people. cause i like to think that Greenberg is a figment of Coach's imagination. thoughts?

It is a fanon, I don't know how widely accepted it is though. I like it because I hate when a character is only given one name and we don't get the other, so this mashes and gives both a full a name.

I don't think Greenberg is the Coach's imagination because I'm fairly sure the boys referred to him in the past too but that would be hilarious lol

[intheholler]

anonymous for obvious reasons, but my rabbi and another rabbi in kentucky have a podcast called bluegrass schmooze that's all about being jewish in kentucky. every episode they talk about that month on the jewish calendar and interview a jewish kentuckian. so far they've talked to craig greenberg and jerry abramson (two jewish governors of kentucky), eli capilouto (president of the university of kentucky), teddy abrams (director of the louisville orchestra), and sara bradley (a chef). it's very meaningful if you're a jew in a place that isn't really known for being jewish, and it's very accessible if you know nothing about judaism. also i can personally attest to the beautiful energy of the rabbis, i love them to bits. also the intro/outro song is this song called "jew from kentucky" by dan bern and it makes me tear up a bit every time i hear it

man kentucky is seriously so cool and just has it all, doesn't it?? so many important appalachian figures hail from the state and a lot of the most interesting intersectional appalachian experiences seem to be relayed from there, too.

as someone who (clearly) isn't involveed with the faith, i am interested in learning from them, especially where it concerns what it means to be a jewish appalachian. that's a perspective i don't hear a lot from

i saved the podcast and plan to listen when attention span allows!! i really wish i was better at staying focused on them

thanks so much for the info!! you seem so passionate about it that its hard to ignore <3