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about-faces · 5 years ago

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The director Joel Schumacher has passed away, and everyone's reactions have boiled down to two topics: 1.) "He was the guy who made the bad Batman films," and 2.) "Hey, he did lots of great films besides the bad Batman films!"

Thing is... I get it. I remember being a teenage comic fan in the 90's. Not just any comics: especially Batman! But ESPECIALLY Bart especially Two-Face. I remember how "Joel Schumacher" was a name that could invoke white-hot rage in myself and everyone in the fandom. He was our modern equivalent of Dr. Fredrick Wertham, the boogyman who had (far as we were concerned) single-handedly destroyed the mainstream credibility of superheroes.

Look at that picture, and try to imagine that this was the face so loathed and mocked by Batman fanboys in the 90′s.

Never mind that Schumacher didn't WRITE the Batman films. The main credit for that goes to Akiva Goldsman, who has gone on to win an Oscar and continues to find A-list success despite ruining other geek properties like Jonah Hex and Dark Tower. Never mind that Schumacher was at the mercy of producers who wanted the movies to be nothing more than merchandise machines and toy commercials. No, Schumacher was the only name associated with the films, and he was cast at the villain.

The fact that he was openly gay played no small part in making him an easy target.

One year after the disastrous release of the infamous Batman & Robin, the beloved fan-favorite cartoon Batman: The Animated Series (then rebranded as The New Batman Adventures on the WB network) produced an episode that featured a pointed jab at Schumacher. The episode was titled "Legends of the Dark Knight," a reworking of a classic 70's Batman tale where a group of kids share their own ideas of what the mysterious Batman is really like.

Halfway through the episode, the kids are overheard by another kid, who shares his own ideas about Batman. The kid, whose name is Joel, has long dirty-blond hair, and works in front of a store which bear the sign "Shoemaker," despite clearly being a department store. He waxes dreamily about the reasons he loves Batman: "All those muscles, the tight rubber armor and that flashy car. I heard it can drive up walls!"

This last line--a reference to a silly bit in Batman Forever--he says as he flamboyantly tosses a pink fur stole around his neck. To drive home the joke, one of the kids dismisses, "Yeah, sure, Joel."

At the time, it seemed like a cathartic joke for us REAL Batman fans. Now, it's clearly just cheap and gross. Instead of any actual criticism about the films, Joel Schumacher was just seen--even if just subconsciously--as the fruit who ruined Batman.

Over time, the hatred for Schumacher lessened. Starting with Blade, X-Men, and Spider-Man, on through to Batman Begins, Iron Man, and onward, superhero movies became huge mainstream successes, with greater fidelity to the source material than most adaptations we saw up to the time that Schumacher "killed" the superhero movie. There was no point in hating him anymore, if there ever was (again, Goldsman more deserves that ire, if you're gonna be angry about anyone. Why does he still get work?! WHY IS HE NOW WRITING FOR STAR TREK?!?!).

But even still, especially among Millennial and Gen-X fans, Schumacher is still--at best--considered a low point for fandom. Even though the same generations have come to appreciate and love some of his other films, such as The Lost Boys, Phone Booth, and the chillingly-prescient Falling Down, there's still this need for people to dismiss the Batman films as embarrassments that are best forgotten in favor of Schumacher's better films. And if they're to be remembered at all, it's to trash them all over again in a tone suggesting that the films are objectively, irredeemably bad.

Except they're not. Oh sure, if you go in looking for a grim and gritty capital-M "Mature" take on Batman, of course you'll hate them, just like you probably also hate the Adam West Batman show. Remember, that show also used to be hated by decades of Batman fans because of how it didn't take the comics seriously.

... except it did. The show was VERY faithful to the Batman comics of the 50's, which often out-weirded and out-sillied its TV counterpart. If anything, the show made some of those stories even more entertaining with camp value and jokes that added different levels of enjoyment to the adults watching. Comic fans resented how Batman became a pop culture joke, and increasingly fought against anything that was colorful and campy (which makes me wonder if this might also be related to latent homophobia). Whether or not they admitted/realized it, the Batman fans of the 70's and 80's carried a chip on their shoulder about a show that DARED to make Batman FUN.

And really... how is that any different than Schumacher's two films?

You don't have to agree, but I think Schumacher's films are fun. I think Batman Forever is highly entertaining, that Tommy Lee Jones and Jim Carrey are bringing their hammy A-games as much respected actors like Burgess Meredith and Caesar Romero brought to their roles. Same goes for Arnold and especially Uma in Batman and Robin. They KNOW what movies they're in, and they're all having a blast.

(How many of us remember the exact line Eddie says at this moment? I bet you probably do too, which should tell you something about how memorable this movie is)

Now, BF and particularly B&A are by no means GOOD movies, but you can't tell me that you couldn't have a blast putting the latter on at a party and riffing it with friends. It's not a pretentious, ponderous, self-serious slog like, say, the shit Zack Snyder cranked out (apologies to the one or two cool Snyder fans here, I just find his films interminable). Even besides the many things I could say to defend Schumacher's Batman films (that's a whole other essay), you can't say they were boring. They were entertaining, even if on a level of making fun of the film, and that is NOT as easy as it looks.

Let me put it to you this way: Batman Forever has, objectively, one of the worst takes on Two-Face I've ever seen. He's one-note, he's kind of a rehash of Nicholson's Joker, he gets completely overshadowed by the Riddler, he gets killed by Batman in a way that completely betrays the whole “DON’T KILL HARVEY” arc with Robin, and worst of all, he CHEATS on the coin toss. That alone would be enough for me to condemn this depiction in any other Two-Face story.

And yet, even I--the most passionate, opinionated, and picky Two-Face fan you will EVER know--still have a soft spot for Tommy Lee Jones' take on ol' Harv. He’s just too fun, too flamboyant, too damn extra not to love. If only all bad takes on Two-Face could be this fun!

But that’s the thing: it’s not because the script was good. Oh god no. I've read the script, and if it were put on the page like a comic, I would have hated it just like any other bad Two-Face comic. I have to imagine that, as director, Joel Schumacher deserves the bulk of the credit for pushing the restrained and laconic Tommy Lee Jones into that oversized performance, and making it a delight to watch despite everything it does wrong.

I'm rare for my generation to have learned how to stop worrying and love Schumacher's Batman. But the younger generation, the up-and-coming Gen-Zs getting into Batman, don't share the same grudges we did. There's a genuine, shame-free enjoyment of those films among The Kids, many of whom are LGBTQA+, who love the jokes, the silliness, the camp, the Freeze puns, the swag of Uma Thurman, and the homoerotic subtext between Two-Face and the Riddler. Maybe it's just a reaction to so much GRIM, SERIOUS shit that DC and their fanboys are trying desperately to push even today.

But comics--especially Batman--have a long history of colorful, stupid, fun shit. Schumacher's films carried on in that tradition, and they should be appreciated on their own merits by those of us who aren't limited by narrow ideas of what Batman "should" be, and who still remember how to have fun.

Schumacher's Batman films should no longer be seen as embarrassments. They didn't ruin superheroes. They didn't ruin Batman. They didn't even ruin Two-Face. Nor should they be disregarded in favor of Falling Down, like losers in a respectability competition. They're fun. They're entertaining. And they didn't pretend to be anything else.

And if you still think they're bad... I mean, objectively, you're not wrong! But be mindful of the reasons WHY you think they're bad, because on another subjective level, you may not be right either. And it's certainly not worth holding a geek-grudge over after twenty-five years.

#batman forever #batman ampersand robin #long post #homophobia #slur

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easily-infatuated23 · 4 years ago

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The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

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I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x professor!reader #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter #harry potter au #hogwarts #slytherin #malfoy manor #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #scorpius malfoy

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theheelerbooklifereads · 3 years ago

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Rating: 4.5/5 Stars

“ON NOVEMBER 22, 1963, THREE SHOTS RANG OUT IN DALLAS, PRESIDENT KENNEDY DIED, AND THE WORLD CHANGED. WHAT IF YOU COULD CHANGE IT BACK?

In this brilliantly conceived tour de force, Stephen King—who has absorbed the social, political, and popular culture of his generation more imaginatively and thoroughly than any other writer—takes readers on an incredible journey into the past and the possibility of altering it.

It begins with Jake Epping, a thirty-five-year-old English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine, who makes extra money teaching GED classes. He asks his students to write about an event that changed their lives, and one essay blows him away—a gruesome, harrowing story about the night more than fifty years ago when Harry Dunning’s father came home and killed his mother, his sister, and his brother with a sledgehammer. Reading the essay is a watershed moment for Jake, his life—like Harry’s, like America’s in 1963—turning on a dime. Not much later his friend Al, who owns the local diner, divulges a secret: his storeroom is a portal to the past, a particular day in 1958. And Al enlists Jake to take over the mission that has become his obsession—to prevent the Kennedy assassination.

So begins Jake’s new life as George Amberson, in a different world of Ike and JFK and Elvis, of big American cars and sock hops and cigarette smoke everywhere. From the dank little city of Derry, Maine (where there’s Dunning business to conduct), to the warmhearted small town of Jodie, Texas, where Jake falls dangerously in love, every turn is leading eventually, of course, to a troubled loner named Lee Harvey Oswald and to Dallas, where the past becomes heart-stoppingly suspenseful, and where history might not be history anymore. Time-travel has never been so believable. Or so terrifying.”

Oh my gosh, this book is beyond amazing. Not a 5 star book for me, but very close and I’ll get into that soon. First of all, I never read a Stephen King novel before this and I always said I would NEVER read a Stephen King novel. However, I saw this book on sale on Amazon Kindle and I was like fine I’ll just get it. Then, I am doing Playbookers on Facebook and a few people wanted to buddy read the book, so I decided why not. I am so glad I picked up this book. It sucks you in and never lets you go as you read. You are so invested in Jake/George’s life and is rooting for him to change the past and to have a love life. You want the best. Also, you keep thinking what is going to happen next? I did dock it half a star because I do feel like it did loose a little steam towards the end. Also, I have been watching the show as well and love the book way more. You all need this book in your life!

#bookstagram #book review #booklover #bookworm #bibliophile #bookish #booklr #books #book #must read books #stephen king

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prettyyoungandbored · 4 years ago

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Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Seven

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: This chapter contains description of a heavy panic attack. Please read at your own risk.

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Author’s Note: A chunk of dialogue in this chapter comes from the movie and has been expanded on to fit the storyline.

“And when exactly is your mother planning to visit us?” Monsignor O’Malley inquired as he followed Demetria.

Demetria snapped a photo of the hallway before looking over her shoulder. “Most likely next month. Once I send her the photos , she’ll work on drafts and whenever she comes, we can all sit down and discuss how to go about the process.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I have her business card with me because she sometimes does work in Gotham City.”

She pulled out her wallet from her purse and handed Monsignor O’Malley the thing off white card. “She’ll be happy to answer any of your questions and or concerns.”

He smiled as he took the card. “This is awfully generous of you, Ms. Gallagher. We can’t tell you how grateful we are.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she waved her hand. “Both Bruce and I want to make sure you, the sisters, and the boys are taken care of with whatever you need.” She paused. “How are the boys doing?”

“They’re wonderful.”

“Oh good! I was actually wondering if I could go say ‘hi’ or-.”

“Unfortunately the boys are on a field trip with the sisters.”

Demetria nodded understandingly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Absolutely.” Then an idea hit her. “Do the nuns teach the boys?”

“Some do. We’ve been thinking about incorporating more schooling into the boys schedules, but we’re a little short staffed and not all the nuns feel comfortable teaching certain subjects.”

“I’d love to step in,” Demetria offered.

Monsignor O’Malley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it you would teach?”

“I’m excellent at English. All levels. I was a TA my senior year of high school. I even minored in it in college.”

Monsignor O’Malley nodded his head, impressed. “Well, if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule-.”

“I don’t have one,” she laughed.

He chuckled. “Then I suppose it’s something we can try out. Are you free next week?”

Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!’ I would love that!”

Before she could say more, the sound of her phone ringing cut her off. She gave Monsignor O’Malley an apologetic smile as she dug into her bag. “Excuse me one second.”

She glanced down to see it was a reminder that she had to start getting ready for the fundraiser.

“Please excuse me, but I’ve got to head out,” Demetria said. “Remember, if you have any questions, you have my number as well as my mom’s.”

“Of course. I also look forward to discussing you working here.”

“I do as well.”

The two shook hands and Demetria headed out of the orphanage.

She had taken Bruce’s Cadillac XLR, seeing as it was the only semi-low-key-looking car he owned and the only one she didn’t get anxious driving. She wished he had owned something a little less glamorous for trips like this, hating how it made her look, but it was what it was.

As she she opened the driver’s side door, she noticed a photographer snapping her from the distance. The two stared at each for a moment, acknowledging just what was going on. She exhaled softly, mentally reminding herself to keep it together.

Since her essay was published, the media outlets had backed off a bit. The Gotham Times were still insistent of doing a piece on her and published one on her, but it turned out to be a dud as no one close to her would speak to them with the exception of her former News Director and the Head Booker, her other boss. It also helped that a local mob boss was mysteriously killed and the news decided to fixate on that.

She gave him a quick, tired smile before she slid inside and closed the door, driving off.

===================================================

Back at the Wayne Penthouse, Bruce adjusted the cuffs of his pristine white dress shirt as he made his way down the stairs.

Alfred wrapped up his conversation with the party planners and turned his attention to Bruce.

“I think your fundraiser will be a great success,” Alfred remarked.

“Why do you think I want to hold a party for Harvey Dent?” Bruce questioned, almost annoyed at the thought of it.

“I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham’s underbelly to try to impress Miss Gallagher.”

“Very droll, very wrong,” Bruce responded, glancing up for a brief moment.

Alfred looked over his shoulder for a moment, noticing the party planners were not in the room. “Have you considered telling Miss Gallagher what it is you’re doing at night?” Alfred inquired in a voice low enough for Bruce to hear him.

Bruce glanced up. It wasn’t the first time this conversation came up between the two. “Soon.”

“Before or after you say ‘I do’?”

“When the time is right.”

“Perhaps she should truly know what she’s getting herself into.”

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “What are you implying, Alfred?”

“Miss Gallagher has given you every ounce of herself.”

“Who says I-.”

Bruce’s attention was caught by the low sound of the television. He looked over to find GCN airing what appeared to be a figure of Batman, hanging with a rope around it’s neck on a building. The lower third read “BATMAN DEAD?”

Demetria walked down the stairs and into the living room, tightening the belt on her cozy white bathrobe when she saw Bruce and Alfred staring at the tv. Curious, her eyes darted to the tv when she saw the lower third.

Her blood ran cold with disbelief and shock, heart dropping into her stomach.

The camera cut back to GCN anchor, Mike Engel.

“Be aware, the image is disturbing,” he warned.

The camera then cut to a man dressed in a cheap Batman getup, his plump cheeks spilling out of the cowl. He was sat on the floor of what looked like the back kitchen area of a butcher shop with a silver cart and a large pieces of animal meat hanging behind the victim. He had his hands tied behind them, his face lowered to the game.

“Tell them your name,” the camera man said in a menacing, sing-song voice.

“Brian Douglas,” the fake Batman answered weakly.

“Are you the real Batman?” There was a childish, teasing tone in the voice behind the camera to a point where it was menacing. It was almost as if whoever it was took immense pleasure in this man’s torture.

“No.” Brian was barely hanging on.

“No?” the voice repeated back, almost in a whine to mimic Brian’s pain.

“No.”

“No?” The voice giggled. An arm reached over and pulled the cowl off Brian. “Then why do you dress up like him?” The camera pulled back, the arm dangling the cowl in front of Brian. The voice laughed a stomach curdling “Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Because he’s a symbol...that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you,” Brian retorted with a slight bit of courage in his weak tone.

“Yeah. You do, Brian.” The hand grabbed the side of Brian’s face, the camera coming in close. “You really do.”

The hand pulled the top of Brian’s head as the man whimpered. The hand turned back and stroked Brian’s cheek. “Oh, shh shh shh.”

Demetria shook her head, her stomach growing weak. Bruce’s eyes fixated on the TV, his expression stone cold with eyes colored in disbelief.

“So,” the voice continued on, “you think the Batman's helped Gotham? Hmm?”

Brian didn’t respond.

“LOOK AT ME!”

The roaring voice caused Demetria to jump back, her hand slapping on her mouth.

The camera swung around to reveal the person behind the voice, the sight causing Demetria to yelp, “Jesus Christ!”

The red smeared smile was complimented by his chalk-white foundation and accentuated the long scars on the sides of his face. Two lazily painted black eyeshadow covered his eyes and he revealed his dark yellow teeth.

“You see, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in.”

It was something behind the clown that Demetria recognized. A memory popped up in her mind, her jaw dropping at the realization.

“Oh, and everyday he doesn’t, people will die. Starting tonight. I’m a man of my word.”

As the camera switched around, the man let out a menacing cackle as Brian screamed in the background. Demetria, overcome with her realization and the man’s grim promise, hurried up the stairs, Bruce and Alfred watching her. Bruce turned off the television and glanced at Alfred who shot him a look. He gave the old man a nod, indicating the message was received.

In their bedroom, Demetria grabbed a notebook from her nightstand as well as a pen. She began writing hurriedly, her cursive handwriting slightly smudged from the pen. Upon finishing, she ripped the page from her notebook and folded it. She reached back into the drawer, grabbing an empty envelope and shoving the folded paper in there. She licked the envelope, sealing tightly with her fingers and placed it back into the drawer.

Just as she went to close the drawer, she heard the door unlock and grabbed her anti-anxiety meds.

Bruce entered the room.

“Everything ok?” he asked, gentle concern laced in his tone.

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just that video was, uh, pretty overwhelming to watch. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

He eyed the pilll bottle in her hand. “You know you should probably put that in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. I’m just used to putting them in nightstand drawer. But considering we’re having a bunch of random people over, I guess you’re right.” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “Should I leave some viagra in a little bowl for our older guests trying to impress their much younger dates?”

He sat beside her on the bed, smirking at her. “I don’t have any because I don’t need it.”

She hummed, patting his leg. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He pulled her close, his breath hitting her lips. “Not funny.”

“Oh, but it is. It really is.”

She gave him a chaste kiss, nuzzling her nose against his. “You think maybe we should cancel this party? I mean, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“We’re going to be fine,” Bruce reassured.

She sighed, realizing there was no point in changing his mind. “Then I guess I better continue getting ready.”

He chuckled. “Well, don’t get too excited, sweetheart.”

“It’s just...” she stepped back, “I don’t know.” Her fingers toyed the robed belt. “I figured you’d cancel the party and we could spend the night in here...” She continued to move back toward the bathroom area, throwing off the robe to reveal her naked body to him. “And I’d let you do whatever you want to me. But since you won’t cancel it...” She shrugged. “Oh well.”

Bruce could feel his pants grow a little tight and he was ready to have her pay the price. His hungry eyes stayed on her, like a lion ready to pounce on it’s prey. “You get back here. Right. Now.”

She shook her head. “I have to get ready.” She pointed to the tent in his pants. “I suggest you take care of that situation before you leave this room.”

She grabbed the robe from the floor and closed the door behind her, locking it so Bruce wouldn’t try anything.

She exhaled and ran a hand through her damp hair. She wasn’t sure how long this party would last, but she had to make sure Batman got her letter.

==================================================

Bruce waited outside near the helicopter landing pad, his hands in his pockets. He watched as the navy blue sky took over the sunset, but once he turned his head, his breath was taken away by an even more beautiful sight.

Demetria walked out on to the helicopter landing pad, her black hair in an updo with long, curled strands of hair framing her face. Her navy blue gown was strapless with a subtle reverse sweetheart neckline, and hugged her small curves just right before flowing out on to the floor. Her makeup stayed on the subtle side with her eyeliner and mascara accentuating her warm, emerald green eyes and her Goldilocks lips were the perfect shade of pink.

“Is it too much?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. She put a hand on her stomach, feeling the knot inside tightening. Her face fell into a panic. “Oh shit, it is, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his thumb grazing her cheek as he smiled at her adoringly. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

Color filled her cheeks as her pink lips curved into a bashful smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Wayne.”

His lips gently crashed on to hers as he cradled the side of her face. For a moment, as they relished in their kiss, the world was still and time froze. Neither of them could remember the last time they shared such a moment, but they truly savored it while they still could.

Bruce pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his lips hovering over hers. “For the record, you still owe me from before.”

She hummed against his lips. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

He smirked at her. “You’re lucky I like you. C’mon, let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, leading her onto the helicopter. The pilot helped her up first, Bruce following right after. As the two sat in the back, Demetria turned to him. “What’s the point of doing this again?”

He took her hand once again. “Grand entrances are fun. Plus, wait til’ you see the view from above.”

He felt her latch on to his arm as the sound of the choppers roared in. Soon enough, the helicopter began rising, the weight of the ground lifting. As it took off into Gotham City, Demetria watched the twinkling city below her.

As childish as it seemed, Demetria felt like Jasmine did on that magic carpet with Aladdin. Seeing Gotham from a bird’s eye view, the city looked beautiful and peaceful.

Bruce relished in watching his fiancé’s amazement, hoping he could make her feel this way for the rest of their lives.

She looked over at him. “You were right. This is incredible.”

She scooted closer to him, leaning back on his shoulder as she continued to look out the window. Bruce pressed a kiss to her temple, reaching his hand over to hers on her lap, clasping them.

Both stayed in the moment, wishing they could stay like this forever.

But once the helicopter scoured every inch part of Gotham, it was time to descend back onto the landing pad.

Bruce helped Demetria off the helicopter. Her eyes shifted to the once empty ballroom which was now filled with a large crowd inside staring at her. Her chest grew heavy, palms sweating.

“They’re staring at us,” she told Bruce.

He took her hand. “They see how you beautiful you look”. He gave it squeeze. “Remember, I’ve got you.”

She nodded and exhaled softly as the two made their way inside.

She followed him as the door opened to the gala room. All eyes stayed on them. She flashed a closed mouth smile at partygoers until her eyes met Harvey’s. It wasn’t until his familiar, warm smile that hers became more genuine and honest.

“Sorry we’re late,” Bruce announced. “Glad you started without us!” He let go of Demetria’s hand, clapping his together. “Where's Rachel?!”

Demetria eye’s turned to Rachel, who cringed slightly.

Bruce motioned to her. “Rachel Dawes- my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say... ‘the guy from those god-awful campaign commercials? 'I Believe in Harvey Dent?' Nice slogan, Harvey.”

As the crowd chuckled, Demetria’s smile faltered even more. She was thrown off by the Bruce that was speaking. It was like the second his hand left hers, he’d become another man. He’d become like everyone else in the crowd - pompous and slightly arrogance.

He’s putting on a show for them, she thought to herself. This is not the real him.

“Certainly caught Rachel's attention,” Bruce went on. “But then I started paying attention to Harvey, and all he's been doing as our new D.A., and you know what? I believe in Harvey Dent. On his watch, Gotham can feel a little safer. A little more optimistic. But what he’s done for Gotham isn’t just the only good thing Harvey Dent has done.”

He then shifted his tone and his gaze, now looking at Demetria who’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“Harvey convinced his good friend from college, Demetria Gallagher, to move to Gotham,” Bruce continued, smiling at her. “It’s because of Harvey and Rachel that I was introduced to the love of my life.”

The crowd let out a collective “aw” as Demetria gave him a small smile.

“I spent years thinking I’d never find the ‘one’.” He turned back to the crowd. “I figured if I’m never gonna find her, why not have some fun? And I did.”

The crowd laughed. Demetria rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Then I ran into Rachel having a lunch with this beautiful woman and I couldn’t help myself. I asked her three times to have dinner with me.” Bruce shifted his attention to Demetria, taking her hand in his. “While I will never know who or what convinced you to say ‘yes’, all I know is that from the moment I left that dinner, I knew this witty, kind, beautiful woman was who I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Demetria, to say you are my heart and my soul is simply not enough. There will never be enough words or adjectives or uses of symbolism to describe how much you mean to me and how happy you make me. I love you more than anything.”

The crowd, once again, “awed” as he pecked Demetria’s cheek. He then grabbed two glasses of champagne off the server’s tray, handing one to Demetria. He then turned back to the crowd, raising his glass. “To-.”

“I just want to say something really quickly,” Demetria spoke up, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If that’s, ok?”

Bruce smiled, her sudden burst of confidence bringing him pride. “By all means.”

She turned to the crowd. “You all know Harvey as your DA, but I know him as my confidant, my greatest friend, and above all, my family. He’s also my get out of jail free card, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Everyone laughed as Harvey shook his head. Demetria turned to her best friend, her smile fading a bit.

“Harvey, you’re selflessness and dedication to making Gotham City a safer one for its citizens is not just admirable, but also inspirational. You fight for the voiceless, the scared, and for those who want to make their home a better place. You’re one of the reasons Gotham has a brighter future.”

“So get out your checkbooks and let's make sure that he stays right where all of Gotham wants him,” Bruce toasted. “All except Gotham's criminals, of course. To the face of Gotham's bright future- Harvey Dent.”

Everyone toasted and took a sip of their champagne.

As the crowd went back to their party, Bruce turned to Demetria.

“I’m going to go outside for a bit,” he told her, pecking her cheek. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She opened her mouth to protest but it was too late - he’d wandered off. She sighed, wondering how he could he just leave her to fend for herself at their first gala together. She took a sip of her champagne, giving up and giving in to the situation at hand.

“You’re a very lucky woman,” an elderly woman marveled. “And quite adorable. I bet Martha would’ve loved you.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind,” Demetria remarked. “Were you a friend of hers?”

“We were both on the chair for many charities. Such a wonderful woman. If you’re interested, I would love to bring you aboard some of them and get you acquainted.”

“I would love that! I’m actually working with the boy’s home and helping them with renovations and whatnot.”

“How wonderful!”

“I’ve also expressed interest in helping them with schooling and whatnot.”

The gleam in the woman’s eyes softened. “Oh...really, now?”

“Yeah, I would love to do some teaching.”

“She’s going to do a fantastic job,” Harvey remarked, chiming in. He threw his hand around Demetria’s shoulders. “Those kids are going to be well looked after thanks to her.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the woman agreed before walking off.

Demetria turned to Harvey. “I think she realized I wasn’t one of them.”

“Who cares?” he shrugged. “But forgetting that, you’re seriously going to become a teacher?”

“I brought it up to Monsignor O’Malley about the possibility of teaching English. Besides, it would give me something to do that I actually like. You know, talking to them about novels and what it means to express yourself in your writing.”

“That’s fantastic!” Harvey remarked. “You would be perfect for that.”

“I hope so. How are you handling this...whatever it is?”

He sighed. “I’m...just here. How about you?”

“I wanna go into my bedroom and go under the covers and wait til’ everyone leaves.”

“Well for what it’s worth, you look beautiful tonight.”

“I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“Bruce is very lucky.”

“Yeah, he should be. But he decided to give up on the party.”

Harvey furrowed his eyebrows as Demetria motioned her head to the outside. He then turned his head, the two watching Bruce and Rachel engage in what appeared to be an intense conversation.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Demetria wondered aloud.

He quickly glanced over and took a look sip of his champagne. “Probably nothing.”

Her lips curved into a smirk as she eyed Harvey. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re getting defensive.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“After that heartfelt speech I gave, that’s the thanks I get?”

“It was alright.”

She punched him in the shoulder, causing him to cringe. “Asshole. I gave a beautiful speech.”

He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, hopefully it will be just a nice ad one you’ll give at my wedding.”

Her eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up. You proposed to Rachel?”

“Not yet. I’m planning to.”

Her mouth hung open as she leaned in close. “Holy shit, dude! When?!”

“Well first there are some things I gotta-.”

“So you two are friends, yes?” another female guest inquired, cutting him off. Her arm was linked with a man who looked at least 20 years older than she did.

Harvey and Demetria turned to her. “We most certainly are,” Demetria agreed, pinching his cheek.

“So how long ago did you two date?” one man remarked, chuckling.

Harvey and Demetria’s eyes went wide.

“We never have,” Harvey answered.

The man elbowed Harvey, laughing. “Aw, c’mon son. It’s alright.”

“He’s basically my brother,” Demetria said.

The man shook his head as he and his concerned date turned away. Demetria and Harvey turned to each other.

“Oh my god these people suck,” she giggled to Harvey. “At least they’ll fund you.”

“Yeah, I could give a shit,” he retorted.

“Mind if I steal him for a bit?” Rachel asked, chiming in.

“By all means,” Demetria motioned.

Harvey and Rachel went off when Demetria noticed Bruce still standing outside. She made her way out.

“Doing ok there?”

Bruce turned to her, smiling. “So far, so good.”

“I love you but you’re not the best liar,” she chuckled, her fingers gently combing his hair. “Babe, if you want to leave, say the word and we’ll sneak out. We can go anywhere.”

“Tempting,” he remarked, smirking. “Where do you propose we go?”

She cocked her head back, shoulders shrugging. “Anywhere. We could literally get in a car and go anywhere we want.” She paused. “Anywhere you want.”

Bruce’s body turned to face her, giving her his full undivided attention. She set her glass down on the railing.

“While I think it’s sweet that you threw this for Harvey, I don’t want to be alone in a room with people I don’t know let alone give a shit about. I would rather be with you in the middle of nowhere where we don’t have to pretend we’re people that we’re not.”

His smile faltered, his eyes going to the ground. Demeteria shoulders tightened, fear creeping into her now uneasy stomach.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What did I do?”

He shook his head. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s...” He sighed. “I never want to keep anything from you.”

“What have you been keeping from me?” she questioned, her voice low

He scanned the area as well as the inside of the ballroom. Realizing he wasn’t the safest, let alone most secure place, he leaned closer toward her. “I’ll go in the bedroom and grab a couple things. Go tell Alfred we’re heading out. We’ll meet at the elevator, alright?”

“Bruce-.”

He kissed her cheek and made his way inside. Bruce pushed through the crowd, fielding attempts of conversation from partygoers. She threw her hands up in defeat as an annoyed exhale left her mouth.

“At least we’re leaving,” she muttered under her breath.

========================================================

In their bedroom, Bruce grabbed a set of keys for one of the cars from his safe in their closet. Realizing it was probably best to bring her anxiety med, he went into the medicine cabinet only to find it wasn’t there.

He then remembered her saying she always kept it in the drawer in her nightside table.

Figuring she put it back, he went over to it and opened the drawer and there it was. When he pulled it out, he noticed an envelope underneath with ‘For Batman’ written on it.

He quickly glanced back at the door to make sure the door was closed. He then set down the bag and opened the envelope to find a handwritten letter.

My Night Friend ,

There’s something you need to know about that viral video of the copycat.

I recognize the kitchen in the video. It’s the Fatted Calf on East 28th. A guy I briefly saw in college worked there and I hung out with him in the kitchen while he was closing up the shop.

What people don’t know is that there’s a secret room. The guy told me the owner had it made to be used as a bomb shelter back in the day. It’s located right beside the freezer. If you can get into the boss’ office, there’s a special key inside a safe that can open the door. The Joker may be taking shelter in there.

Take what you will with this information. I hope it serves you well.

Sincerely,

Your Rooftop Friend

Bruce’s couldn’t believe what he was reading. His fiancé, the love of his life, was helping the Batman. The severity of the situation as well as time the huge piece of information made him realize he needed to get both of them out of the penthouse and into the Batcave. He could explain everything to her there.

Shoving the letter into the bag, he zipped it up and made his way to the door when something on the security camera screen made him stop.

It was The Joker followed by some henchmen.

He threw the bag in the closet hurriedly, closing the door, and made his way to the party. Seeing Harvey Dent close by talking to Rachel, he figured he’d had enough time to get Harvey to safety and then grab Demetria.

He came up behind Harvey, putting Harvey in a headlock as Rachel’s eyes widened in fear.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaimed.

“They’re coming for him,” Bruce said, using his Batman voice. “Go grab her and get yourselves to safety.”

========================================================

Demetria spotted Alfred near the wall area. She made her way over, catching the old man’s attention.

“There you Miss Gallagher,” he greeted. “Are you having fun?”

“I feel like a zoo animal. I’ve had more people stare at me than actually talk to me. Anyway, Bruce and I are heading out.”

Alfred chuckled. “You and Master Wayne are a truly perfect fit.”

She eyed the room before leaning closer toward Alfred. “Alfred, he said he had something he’d been meaning to tell me. Any idea what it could be?”

Just then, the sound of a single gunshot silence the room. Everyone turned, including Demetria and Alfred, to see The Joker, the man from the video, enter the ballroom with his posse of men behind him wearing clown masks.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted in a sing-song voice.

His posse pointed guns at the crowd, a silent order to step back. The crowd formed a circle around The Joker.

Alfred, who was a few rows behind the crowd, stood in front of Demetria.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to her.

She watched from behind his shoulder.

The sound of tray hitting the ground, broke the silence. The Joker looked back for a moment before turning back to the crowd.

“We are...tonight’s entertainment.” He grabbed a piece of shrimp from a table, stuffing it into his mouth. He looked around. “Only one question - where is Harvey Dent?”

He eyed around, pointing the gun at a group of women before ripping one of their glasses of champagne from their hands and taking a swig of it. He set back on the table and began questioning those he passed, occasionally grabbing at them.

“You know where Harvey is? Do you know who he is?”

He squeezed one guy’s cheek. “Do you know where Harvey is? I need to talk to him about something. Something little.”

He went up to an old white man. “You know I’ll settle for his loved ones.”

Meanwhile, Demetria felt someone grab her hand. She turned to find Rachel.

“We need to get you out of here,” Rachel whispered.

Demetria went to follow Rachel when she felt someone grab her hand.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, sweetcheeks?” one of the masked men retorted.

He grabbed Demetria, despite her attempts to break free. Her heart rate quickened, stomach growing weak as the man pushed her in front of the crowd.

“Hey boss!” He called out. “It’s her!”

The Joker turned to her, his fixation on her making her blood run cold. She stood frozen and helpless. He got into her face. “So this is the future Mrs. Wayne. You’re also Harvey Dent’s best friend.”

He grabbed Demetria’s face, cradling it forcefully.

“Harvey is your best friend, isn’t he? Your buddy ol pal?” He let out a vicious cackle. “Possibly an old lover? An unrequited love? Either way, you’re somewhat of an asset to him.”

She moved her eyes, looking around as the crowd watched her in fear.

“C'mere, look at me.”

She whimpered, closing her eyes.

He tightened his grip on her hair “LOOK AT ME!”

She yelped, opening her eyes as tears filled to the brim.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh shh, shh, shh,” he hushed her teasingly. “Well you look upset.” He asked, pointing to scars on his mouth with his knife. “Is it these? Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got ‘em?”

She didn’t have time to answer, at least he didn’t bother to give her a chance to. She went to move her head when he grabbed her again. “Hey, look at me.”

She stopped moving, her eyes on him. “So, I had a wife, who was beautiful...like you, who tells me I worry too much, who tells me I oughta smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks.”

She squirmed when The Joker pulled her back. “One day they carve her face. And we got no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just want to see her smile again. Hmm? I just wanted to let her know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this to myself. ”

She squeaked, frightened as he put the knife to his scars.

“And you know what? She can't stand the sight of me! She leaves! Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling!”

He pulled her back, took the knife, and slashed her forearm, the sharp stinging, sensation causing her to let out a blood curdling scream. She collapsed onto the ground, blood spilling down her arm and onto the marble floor.

Demetria couldn’t move, her body frozen, mind unable to process what had just happened. She opened her mouth to speak, her chest stinging in pain and her head growing lightheaded as the Joker stepped on her bleeding arm.

“Please help me,” she begged in between her hyperventilating. “Please...I’m...I can’t...help!”

“Why doesn’t Harvey Dent come save his best friend?!” The Joker called out.

“Let her go!”

Rachel made her way. The Joker stomped on Demetria’s arm one last time.

Alfred rushed to her side. “Deep breaths, Miss,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.”

“Alfred...I’m gonna....don’t let me...”

“You’re going to be alright.”

“Step back!” one of the masked henchman ordered, pointing a gun at Alfred.

Alfred held up his hands stepping back from Demetria. The henchman walked away as Demetria continued to hyperventilate.

She was going to die in front of everyone. Her vision became blurry, her breath uncontrollable. She watched in what she thought would be her final moments Batman attack The Joker.

In and out of blackness, she heard glass shatter followed by footsteps.

Tears strolled down her face as she struggled to breathe, trying to hold on to whatever breath she had left, her body shivering. Alfred rushed to her once again.

“Don’t just stand there!” he cried out. “Someone call a bloody ambulance!”

He gave Demetria his hand, which she held onto tightly.

“Stay with me,” he told her. “Stay with me.”

But she wasn’t sure how long she could last. Between the chest pains and the pains from her wound and the light-headedness, she was barely holding on.

How badly she wanted to see Bruce....and how could he leave her like this?

__________________________________________________________________

Dress:

Hair/Makeup:

#bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne imagine #batman #batman imagine #batman fanfic #the dark knight #the dark knight fanfiction #the joker #christian bale #christian bale x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bale!batman

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anendtopursuit · 3 years ago

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Tell me about how telltale batman has the most in character bruce despite being divergent to a lot of established lore - more so than a lot of the comics themselves imo

YES YES EXACTLY YOU GET IT

quick disclaimer that my comic knowledge will obviously be limited to the comics i've personally read. comic writers love to take characters and do their own thing with them, so i know for a fact there are probably a million comics that contradict this post, but that's not the point.

even the telltale side of things in this are gonna be a little biased and full of personal interpretation, because telltale's game format means that everybody's bruce wayne is gonna look a little different. but, i mean, i guess the way i play bruce is the way i see him anyway, so whatever.

ANYWAY! i hope you wanted an essay because oh boy did i get carried away:

one aspect of bruce's character i think is important is his motivations. he didn't just wake up one day and decide to be batman - he made that decision for a reason, and i think that reason is inherently important to his character, because having a different idea on his origins can give you a completely different idea of how his character should act, if that makes sense?

in my personal opinion, bruce wayne should always be motivated by love. he's motivated to fight crime by his love for his parents, and his love for gotham city, and his love for innocent people who don't deserve his parents' fate. my favourite comic panels are always the ones where bruce lets his scary persona slip a little, where he cradles a child against his chest to comfort them; batman was created to be scary, yes, but he's intended to scare criminals, not innocents. whilst bruce's parents' deaths definitely jumpstart his vigilantism, they are not the centrepiece of his entire morality - he doesn't care about gotham's citizens because he's imagining his parents in their place, he cares about them because he genuinely loves his city.

i think a lot of comics i've read have sorta forgotten that aspect of his character. white knight's entire plot revolves around the idea that bruce, blinded by his own anger, has become just as brutal and careless as the criminals he fights, and has ended up causing harm to innocent civilians because of it - whilst i think that's certainly interesting, and i am a sucker for a good "heroes aren't always good people" storyline... it feels icky. i struggle to reconnect that bruce, snarling and chained and unable to sympathise with the innocent people he's hurting, with the bruce who held children to his chest and promised they'd be okay. a lot of comics don't consider bruce's motivation to be his love, they consider his motivation to be his hatred, which leads to characterisations of bruce that are cruel and uncaring and, in some instances, outright abusive. it's like they frame his entire morality as "getting revenge for his parents' deaths" - which is funny, because i think it's pretty commonly agreed upon that bruce wayne shows his parents' murderer mercy. i think a lot of the issue is that people dehumanise batman, and bruce in turn; he's not a man, he's a monster.

which brings me to telltale bruce!

i think what makes telltale bruce work so well is the way they instantly humanise him. the opening scene of season 1 flickers between batman's fearless crime-fighting and bruce wayne gritting his teeth through an injury and getting ready for a gala. his relationships with the other characters - harvey, selina, john, tiffany, everybody - are shown in halves; you see just as much of bruce as you do batman. you'll see batman shielding harvey from attacks followed by bruce sitting by his side in his hospital room; batman repressing fond smiles behind his cowl as he talks with john; bruce at lucius' funeral, filled with despair, knowing that batman is to blame. it is incredibly, painfully clear that batman is not a myth or a monster - he's bruce wayne, the same bruce wayne who flirts with reporters and makes bad puns and goes on fake-dates with his friends to help them learn how to talk to girls. he's human, in a way that comics often seem to forget he's meant to be.

(part of the draw of batman, to me, is that he's human. he's got fancy gadgets and a cool suit but underneath it all he's just a man, just a human being driven by emotion like the rest of us. he feels real, in a way. i used to look out of my bedroom window and imagine batman coming to save me from my problems; i could never quite do that with superman, or wonder-woman, or any of the others.)

not only that, but thomas and martha wayne are removed from bruce's motivations pretty effectively - they're outed as awful people, the kind of people bruce fights against. they did to oswald what joe chill did to him. so rather than falling into blind rage, rather than the unfortunate "batman fights for revenge", you get a bit of nuance - bruce has to come to terms with being wrong, and learn where he stands, torn between awful people who he loves and good people who hate him. he's fighting not to avenge his or oz's parents, but to prevent any innocents from meeting the same unfortunate fate, and to redeem himself.

they let him be wrong without totally becoming a villain: they let him punch out oswald cobblepot on live TV and deal with the consequences; they let him instigate riots for his own benefit; they show him crouching in the back of a truck, surrounded by criminals he's been willingly helping, staring guiltily at a bat-signal he's ignoring; they let him feel guilt for all the friends he couldn't save.

he doesn't beat his friends-turned-enemies with glee. he doesn't take joy in putting them away. he doesn't use them as punching bags for his own anger and trauma.

he keeps harvey from committing suicide and tells him, earnestly, that there's still hope for him. he sits across from john and admits, hoarse and teary-eyed, that he truly did consider them friends. he gives up being batman for alfred's sake. he visits john in arkham, with an honest smile, despite all they went through. these choices may be optional, yes, but with the way telltale writes their characters, every one of these options is perfectly in-character for their bruce. you may play him a little angrier, a little more vengeful, a little less sympathetic - but at his core, he's the same. at his core, he still looks at gotham city, and the villains he goes up against, and says "i'm sorry this happened to you, i wish i knew how to make it better". he cradles them against his chest.

i don't know if any of this made sense, but tl;dr: telltale writes bruce as a flawed person, yes, but at his core he is loving and charismatic and bittersweet, and that's who i've always thought he should be.

(this kinda turned into bruce loveposting halfway through, but hopefully i still got the point across.)

#ask #fav #and for attention:#telltale's batman #bruce wayne

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lifeonashelf · 4 years ago

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COHEN, LEONARD

So, here’s the thing: I don’t know anything about Leonard Cohen.

I do own two of his most acclaimed albums, but don’t get too excited. I bought both of them the week of Cohen’s passing solely because learning of his passing made me realize I didn’t have anything by him in my collection, and he’s always been on my radar as an artist I should probably know some things about, you know? I listened to those two discs one day while I was cleaning my apartment or something, and they were lovely and pleasant and sounded great, but then I filed them away on my shelf and that was essentially the extent of my immersion into the world of Leonard Cohen. I know the reissues I purchased are noteworthy entries in his discography, because they’re housed in these rather attractive hardcover digipacks with booklets that feature lengthy contextual essays written by people way smarter than me. I suppose I could read those essays and glean a little information about Cohen that way, but then I’d just be offering you disingenuous regurgitation, and I don’t want to fake anything in these pages; that’s kind of counteractive to the entire purpose of me writing these dumb things. So if you want to read a thoughtful essay about Leonard Cohen constructed by someone who I assume knows enough about Leonard Cohen to warrant being paid to write an essay about him, you should definitely seek out the striking deluxe editions of Songs From a Room and Songs of Love and Hate I’m referring to, because both have essays in them, and they’re printed on glossy paper so they’re probably pretty good (very few crappy essays get preserved on glossy paper).

No one is paying me to write this essay about Leonard Cohen—they’d be pretty stupid to do so, since I don’t know anything about Leonard Cohen—but I have that pair of records and he’s the next artist on alphabetical deck. So here we are.

Actually, you know what? Before we get started, I’m going to go ahead and advise you to just skip this piece altogether.

Hear me out. I can’t imagine this is going to be one of my better entries; considering my not knowing anything about the person I’m supposed to be writing about and all, the odds of my somehow summoning literary gold here aren’t particularly strong. Also, Leonard Cohen is a highly respected artist, and based on the listening I’m doing right now, he definitely deserves that respect—I’m on my second spin of Songs from a Room and it is an absolutely beautiful record. But what am I accomplishing by telling you that? You probably already know Songs From a Room is an absolutely beautiful record, and if you don’t, you should totally listen to it right this minute instead of reading anything I might observe about it, because the album is a whole lot better than this essay is going to be. I’ve been down this road before, so I can tell you exactly what’s about to happen here: I’m going to keep prattling on with gibberish just like this and end up embarrassing myself by blowing yet another chance to write something substantial about a substantial artist. I guess I could comment on how much I like the two Cohen songs that were used to bookend the mindfuck of a film Natural Born Killers or something, but what purpose will that serve? There, I commented on it, and biting into those ‘member berries hasn’t magically ignited some spirited dissertation, has it? Look, I’m saying this because I care: I really think you should call it quits on this piece right here and now, before you get in too deep. I’m already doomed, but it’s not too late to save yourself. Run, go, get to the choppah. Fly away, Clarice, fly fly fly. ‘Member?

Okay, you’ve been duly warned. So if you do decide to continue on, I’m not going to feel terribly bad about wasting your time, especially since I essentially just promised you anything I write from this point forward is going to be a waste of your time. I mean, everything I’ve written so far has also been a waste of your time, but I haven’t written that much yet. And at least the stuff I wrote so far has served a purpose: it cautioned you that everything to come is going to be an even bigger waste of your time. I can’t promise any of the supplemental paragraphs I’m about to compose will be worth even that much, so I really have to advise you to take a moment here and consider your situation carefully. Weighing everything I’ve just told you about my not knowing anything about Leonard Cohen (and, just to be clear, I’m not playfully minimizing that disposition; I honestly don’t know shit about him), along with my stated unambiguous surety that I am about to waste an indefinite amount of your time (you must be familiar with my work by now; it’s totally plausible this thing could end up running 15 pages)—do you really want to read any of more of this? It’s still not too late to back out. Your time investment thus far is minimal. You can just move right along to the next piece (it’s about Coldplay, so I’m sure that essay is going to be way funnier than this one). My feelings won’t be hurt, I promise. I can hardly fault you for not reading this, because there isn’t any reason at all you should read this. Unless you just really enjoy reading these entries in general, but that seems highly unlikely because nobody enjoys reading them—shit, I only enjoy every fifth one or so, and I write the fucking things.

Check it out: usually by this point in a composition, I would be painstakingly rereading what I’ve written so far to make sure I’m off to an okay start, right? But I haven’t done that in this case because I already know everything I’ve written so far is garbage. This piece isn’t going to improve, either. And that’s what I’m really trying to get across to you here: I am woefully ill-equipped to write anything about Leonard Cohen that is as excellent as his music—I just listened to Songs of Love and Hate a couple times, and holy shit, that’s an absolutely beautiful record too. You may assume I’m continuing this obnoxious diatribe because I’m setting you up for some grand gag (granted, it’s a fair guess, because I’ve done that a few times in entries past). But I’m not joking when I say that I’m not joking in this instance. This rambling philological self-fellation is not going to coalesce into something worthwhile; it’s just going to go on and on like this until I decide I’m done fucking with you and then this essay will just sort of… end, without preamble or satisfaction. I’m telling you, if you keep reading this, you are going to be super pissed off when you finish it. You’ll get to the conclusion, and you’ll grumble, “That’s it…? That was stupid.” And you will be right, because that will be it and it will be stupid.

Since that will be transpiring soon, we should probably clarify that at this point, when it does it’s going to be entirely your fault. If you go all the way back to the beginning of this twaddle, you’ll clearly see the very first thing I wrote was, “So, here’s the thing: I don’t know anything about Leonard Cohen.” That was the opening fucking sentence, dude. Seriously, what did you think was going to happen after that? And only a few lines later, I wrote: “I’m going to go ahead and advise you to just skip this piece altogether.” Then came that whole part about how reading this was going to be a total waste of your time, blah blah blah. You can check if you want; it’s all totally in there. I’m sure you didn’t think I’d be reprinting complete sentences you already read—and, you know what, yes, that’s kind of a low blow, I’m realizing now—but after I took the time to explain in detail that this essay would likely end up serving no purpose whatsoever, surely that must have given you pause. I mean, didn’t you think to yourself, “Wait a minute, before I read this essay, is it going to serve some purpose?” As I’ve made abundantly clear, the answer is: No. No, it is not. I was pretty up front about that. In fact, I specifically told you not to read it—“there isn’t any reason at all you should read this”; is that ringing a bell at all? So if you are still reading it, that’s kind of on you, dude. Sure, I could have stopped writing a long time ago and spared you from all of this bullshit, but let’s not get caught up in semantics.

Have you seen the movie Reservoir Dogs? I’m assuming you have, but if you haven’t, you can add that to the list of far more fulfilling things you could be doing right now instead of reading this essay. Anyway, the film is centered around the aftermath of a jewelry store robbery gone horrifically wrong. We don’t actually see the caper take place, but the characters reference it enough along the way for us to get a clear sense of things devolving into a bloodbath after one of the robbers, Mr. Blonde (played by Michael Madsen) shoots numerous people inside the establishment. Is it coming back to you now? Good. There’s a reason I’m bringing this up.

Since Madsen is absent for a lot of the movie, the audience’s understanding of the storyline relies mostly on what the characters played by Steve Buscemi and Harvey Keitel share with us about what has occurred. Their perspective is clear: Mr. Blonde went crazy and started killing people, and that’s why the whole heist went tits up. However, when Madsen finally appears at the warehouse where the bulk of the plot’s action takes place, he presents an entirely different assessment of the exact same incident. It is here that the movie shifts into the subtle employment of a narrative device known as the “Rashomon Effect,” so-named because this formula’s introduction to Western film-goers is commonly credited to the 1950 Akira Kurosawa film Rashomon—a picture which we can assume in hindsight Reservoir Dogs creator Quentin Tarantino was consciously invoking since his filmography has since revealed a heart-on-sleeve fandom for the work of that storied Japanese director (several Tarantino flicks make reference to this allegiance, but his Kill Bill films in particular are at their core unashamed modern reimaginings of Kurosawa’s legendary Samurai epics). I won’t recount the entire plot of Rashomon, since doing so would be superfluous here (as opposed to all of this shit I’m writing about Reservoir Dogs, which is obviously vitally important to this essay about Leonard Cohen). All you really need to know for our purposes is that the crux of the story is a singular event which is assigned completely disparate interpretations by the various people in the film who witness it. Which is precisely what happens when Michael Madsen makes his entrance.

Now, I’ve seen Reservoir Dogs many times, but not enough times to have the dialogue faithfully memorized; you’ll have to forgive me if I paraphrase a bit here. Essentially, Keitel’s character calls Mr. Blonde a “maniac” or something to that effect, a designation based on Madsen’s character opening fire upon one of the store’s clerks for what Keitel perceives as “no reason at all.” Madsen’s response to this slanted accusation is fascinating. In direct repudiation of his labelling as a “maniac” seconds before, he continues calmly drinking his soda as he amends Keitel’s analysis of the murder by providing a remarkably lucid and utilitarian explanation for the killing: “I told her not to press the alarm, but she did. If she hadn’t done the thing that I told her not to do, then I wouldn’t have shot her.”

It seems we are sharing our own Rashomon moment, my friends. You may feel like your time has been wasted, and it certainly has. But I am not the one who wasted it. That was you. I told you not to read this essay, but you did. If you hadn’t done the thing I told you not to do…

Mr. Cohen: I am truly sorry. Your music is stunning, and you deserve far better than this.

As for the rest of you: I mean, dude, I fucking told you.

March 31, 2019

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ashleesbookishadventure · 4 years ago

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11/22/63 by Stephen King

Jake Epping is a thirty-five-year-old high school English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine, who makes extra money teaching adults in the GED program. He receives an essay from one of the students—a gruesome, harrowing first person story about the night 50 years ago when Harry Dunning’s father came home and killed his mother, his sister, and his brother with a hammer. Harry escaped with a smashed leg, as evidenced by his crooked walk.

Not much later, Jake’s friend Al, who runs the local diner, divulges a secret: his storeroom is a portal to 1958. He enlists Jake on an insane—and insanely possible—mission to try to prevent the Kennedy assassination. So begins Jake’s new life as George Amberson and his new world of Elvis and JFK, of big American cars and sock hops, of a troubled loner named Lee Harvey Oswald and a beautiful high school librarian named Sadie Dunhill, who becomes the love of Jake’s life—a life that transgresses all the normal rules of time.

This book was 33 hours on audio and even after all that time, I was not ready for the story to end. The story was amazing. Definitely an instant favorite of King’s for me. It’s an interesting look into the concept of ‘what-if’. It’s really easy to think that if you could just do something over, do something differently, that everything would turn out for the better. But, as we see in 11/22/63, that’s not always the case. I can definitely think of a few things just in my personal life I’d love to go back and do differently but unless I could guarantee I would end up with the same life I have now, I’m not sure I would take the chance. Obviously I know not everyone feels that same way.

**Contains Spoilers**

There are definitely some things about the story I wished I could change, but nothing to do with the writing. I wish certain things had gone differently for Jake aka George. I felt like the ending was really rushed. I wish he could have spent more time in “the new present” to understand, rather than just listen to the words of a strange man who has no reason whatsoever to tell you the truth. I also wish he maybe would have gone back once more and changed some things. He could have done all he did up until Dallas then brought Sadie home with him to the future. Who knows what would have happened but it would be better than nothing at all.

**End of Spoilers**

I’m giving it 4 stars.

Stephen Edwin King is an American author of horror, supernatural fiction, suspense, crime, science-fiction, and fantasy novels. His books have sold more than 350 million copies, and many have been adapted into films, television series, miniseries, and comic books.

#ashleesbookishadventure #books #currently reading #tbr #reading #tbr post #booklr #book review #book reviews #book nerd #11/22/63 #stephen king

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misscrawfords · 6 years ago

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I finished watching Sabrina Part 2 and... I have thoughts.

Firstly, Part Two is a lot more interesting than Part One. Secondly, I cannot believe that this show is made by the same people that make Riverdale. I mean, CAOS is an aesthetically cool exploration of religion, feminism and mythology with a coherent plot and characterisation. Riverdale is... none of those things.

In Part 1, I felt a bit uncomfortable with the brand of feminism the show appeared to be displaying. It’s actually ages since I watched it so I can’t say anything very meaningful about it at present, but IIRC Miss Wardwell was taking a very misandrist approach to feminism which personally I don’t think is helpful or particularly pleasant.

Anyway, I thought Part 2 was rooted in much clearer systematic dismantling of patriarchal institutions rather than just hating all men. It’s also interesting and refreshing in many ways to see a fantasy series where the heroes are heavily biased towards women and girls and the Big Bad is basically the patriarchy. I’m not saying that the show doesn’t have its flaws but we shouldn’t hold this one to higher standards than any other teen fantasy series just because it’s explicitly feminist. It’s just refreshing. I wonder what boys make of it. In an ideal world we’d have fantasy series with an equal number of male and female characters and they’d model a world without sexist values but considering the number of fantasies that play directly in a men’s world, where the male:female ratio is heavily skewed and where female characters are routinely fridged, it’s so refreshing to see one where the ratio is skewed the other way, where the “good” male characters admire the women in their lives and where women are allowed to be ambitious, powerful, bull-headed, dominating and so on without being punished for it by the narrative. Sabrina is wrong a lot of the time, but no more than your average hot-headed Chosen One boy hero trying to save the world and messing it up pretty much all the time.

Another way in which Part 2 is better than Part 1 IMO is that Nick is just a thousand times better than Harvey as Sabrina’s love interest. It’s making me try to work out just what is so... dull about Harvey. In theory, the star-crossed romance between a witch and a mortal should be engaging, but all through Part 1 it was just so tedious. Partly because Harvey kept dragging Sabrina back to the mortal world and its much less interesting concerns - I want to see Sabrina using her powers and being badass, not constantly having to tiptoe round Harvey’s feelings. Nick loves her powers, admires her and is part of the world she is entering into. He represents moving forwards into something new, Harvey represents falling backwards into a mundane life. I suppose shows that have a character with half a foot in the fantasy world and half a foot in the “normal” world have to deal with how to make the original, non-magic friends/family interesting to the viewer/reader. I think CAOS does an okay job of it in Part 2, mainly because they aren’t in it so much and they aren’t struggling with their identities so much and just getting on with it. I loved Theo and, once again, it’s really refreshing to see a Trans narrative in the show. I’m not Trans so I can’t speak to what watching CAOS is like from that perspective but it seemed to me to be pretty decently executed and explicit in the narrative, which strikes me as a good thing.

Mythology-wise, it’s also interesting. I mean, if I was really into the show, I’d probably be writing essays trying to make sense of it on a theological perspective which I am... not going to do. But the mythology of Christianity (I mean not just the Bible but all the surrounding literature and texts and interpretations) is so ripe for exploration and turning into fantasy whether in a profound or frivolous way, so all power to CAOS. If Milton can have a sexy Satan, why can’t Netflix?!

Speaking of Satan, eh... I think Lucifer could have been done better. His reappearance in the last episode was the most disappointing part of the series, I think. Maybe he would appeal more to teenagers, IDK. But there was so little development. He was a very cardboard villain. Hot shirtless (yet strangely sexless) man wants to take over the world and can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t go along with that and is repeatedly blind to insubordination in the ranks. I mean, he’s kind of... stupid? And could be any video game boss. Faustus made a much more compelling, dangerous and believable antagonist. And, much as I love Nick, if he had actually been Satan all along, would have been a much more compelling twist than just having him work for Lucifer - but it’s okay because he really did fall for Sabrina. Let Lucifer be genuinely sexy and tempting and manipulative! Let Nick be genuinely conflicted and morally grey! Because, damn, at the moment, it’s a wasted opportunity.

So yeah, overall I enjoyed it (and the masquerade was so extra - I loved it) but still not as good as it could be! Bring on Sabrina’s journey to hell in Part 3! I do love a good katabasis.

#caos #the chilling adventures of sabrina

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rapeculturerealities · 7 years ago

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In the wake of Anthony Bourdain’s tragic death at age 61, there are many things the chef and journalist will be remembered for — from his immense contributions to the food world to his empathetic and insightful travel reporting on Parts Unknown. In the past year, however, Bourdain also took on another important mantle that deserves to be part of his lasting legacy: that of #MeToo activist.

Since the Harvey Weinstein allegations broke, Bourdain has been one of the most vocal male allies of the #MeToo movement — simultaneously magnifying and championing women’s voices while engaging in the difficult work of reckoning with his own past behavior.

Amid the revelations of abuse and harassment in the restaurant industry, Bourdain was unwavering in his support for victims. Like many people in the past year, Bourdain watched as people close to him were accused of horrible deeds, but he never allowed his personal relationships to overshadow his principles. As he wrote in a Medium essay responding to allegations against fellow chef Mario Batali (a longtime friend) and restaurateur Ken Friedman, Bourdain did not want to “waste anybody’s time with expressions of shock, surprise, or personal upset,” but rather to stand firmly with their accusers.

“In these current circumstances, one must pick a side. I stand unhesitatingly and unwaveringly with the women,” he wrote. “Not out of virtue, or integrity, or high moral outrage — as much as I’d like to say so — but because late in life, I met one extraordinary woman with a particularly awful story to tell, who introduced me to other extraordinary women with equally awful stories.”

He went on:

“Right now, nothing else matters but women’s stories of what it’s like in the industry I have loved and celebrated for nearly 30 years — and our willingness, as human beings, citizens, men and women alike, to hear them out, fully, and in a way that other women can feel secure enough, and have faith enough that they, too, can tell their stories. We are clearly at a long overdue moment in history where everyone, good hearted or not, will HAVE to look at themselves, the part they played in the past, the things they’ve seen, ignored, accepted as normal, or simply missed — and consider what side of history they want to be on in the future.”

Bourdain has said that his reckoning was largely spurred by witnessing firsthand the experiences of his girlfriend, Asia Argento, one of Harvey Weinstein’s accusers. Just this week, he told IndieWire how proud he was of Argento’s Cannes speech calling out Harvey Weinstein’s enablers. “It was absolutely fearless to walk right into the lion’s den and say what she said, the way she said it,” he said. “It was an incredibly powerful moment, I thought. I am honored to know someone who has the strength and fearlessness to do something like that.”

In addition to his staunch support of Argento and other Weinstein accusers, Bourdain repeatedly called out men who were critical of #MeToo, from Alec Baldwin to James Corden. He also publicly wrestled with the question of his own past, and scrutinized his own history to see how it may have contributed to “meathead” restaurant culture. As he said in a powerful Slate interview with Isaac Chotiner: “I had to ask myself, particularly given some things that I’m hearing, and the people I’m hearing them about: Why was I not the sort of person, or why was I not seen as the sort of person, that these women could feel comfortable confiding in? I see this as a personal failing.”

Bourdain was forthright in acknowleding his own complicity in upholding a certain macho bad-boy chef archetype; as he told Chotiner in the Slate Q&A, he has spent a lot of time reevaluating his popular memoir Kitchen Confidential, and questioning the extent to which his writing glamorized a toxic system. “Because I was a guy in a guy’s world who had celebrated a system — I was very proud of the fact that I had endured that, that I found myself in this very old, very, frankly, phallocentric, very oppressive system and I was proud of myself for surviving it,” he said, candidly. “And I celebrated that rather enthusiastically, I mean, I became a leading figure in a very old, very oppressive system so I could hardly blame anyone for looking at me as somebody who’s not going to be particularly sympathetic.”

Since the news broke this morning, tweets have been rolling in celebrating all aspects of Bourdain’s life and legacy, including his feminist activism.

His empathy, insight, and courage should stand as a beacon to other men grappling with their own place in the #MeToo movement. For this, and so many other things, he will be missed.

#rip #feminism #Bourdain #allies #METoo

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booksbyjoshr · 6 years ago

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February 21st 2018 Let's Learn From A Four Leaf Clover

Josh and Joshettes, we are actually going to learn a life lesson from a four leaf clover. No this isn’t another story from my past but a philosophy teaching. This teaching comes to us from the famous poet Stanisław Jerzy Lec. So let’s dive into today’s post.

The actual teaching we are taking a look at is “If a man who cannot count finds a four-leaf clover, is he lucky?” You may not agree with me now, but this is a powerful teaching that applies to many of us. Before I break down the teaching let me define what a four leaf clover is. A four leaf clover is a clover with four leaflets and some people believes it brings good fortune/luck. Now with that out of the way, this teaching is technically a paradox. If a person does not know how to count then they will not know it is a four leaf clover. They might keep it or they might discard it, these are the two different things they can do. I’m going to go over each one in the coming paragraphs.

Let’s say the person keeps it, are they considered lucky? I would have to say no because they do not know what the possess. This is comparable to people who get tattoos or clothing with lettering they do not understand. You don’t know what it really is but often get it because it looks “cool”. Let me not go off on a tangent because this translation of the teaching doesn’t apply to you. Don’t worry I have a more relatable translation. Them keeping the clover and not knowing its power is the same as us not realizing and appreciating what we have. As humans, we envy what other people have and think the grass is greener on the other side. That’s why there are sayings such as “You never appreciate what you have until it’s gone”. That’s why I a firm believer in stopping and smelling the roses, basically appreciating what I have rather than what I don’t have. To better illustrate this meaning of the teaching let me tell a little story.

The year was 2012 and I was turned down for a promotion because of office politics. From that day on I hated my job. In my mind, I couldn’t wait to get out of there because I felt undervalued and unappreciated. At the end of the year do you know what happened? I was let go and then I missed my job. I couldn’t find a job with the same benefits or pay. That was when I found out the grass wasn’t greener on the other side. I had lost my job at a fortune 500 company, where I set my own schedule and honestly only worked two hours out the whole day. That job was a four leaf clover at the time and I didn’t know how to count.

Now let’s discuss if the person discards the clover. The clover is an essentially opportunity and many of us fail to recognize it. When I say opportunity I am not only talking about it in the traditional way. Opportunities include much more than a better job, career or way to make a living. Opportunity often presents itself in different ways, it could be meeting someone you haven’t seen in ten years. The reason I bring this up is because two days ago I saw a friend that I hadn’t seen since 2008. Might not sound like a big deal but he works in a field that a mutual friend of mine was trying to get into. So they were able to connect and benefit from each other’s knowledge. I know what you’re thinking this is a one in a million coincidence and I agree. Opportunity can come via a coworker or a customer. Kevin Hart is a prime example of this, in his biography, it states the only reason he did standup was because his coworkers urged him to do it. He had a gift all his life and he never knew it and if it wasn’t for his friends he would have thrown away his four leaf clover.

My four leaf clover is writing and I never pursued it until recently. The only reason that I pursued writing is because of Steve Harvey. His book ‘Act Like a Success, Think Like a Success’, talks about everyone having a gift. So I tried to find my gift, I thought it was fixing electronics but I hated that. After thinking back through the years to find something I was good at and enjoyed I found it. I loved writing and had been writing since I was twelve years old. My writing even won some competitions and I was encouraged to go into this field by my English teacher in my sophomore year. I never pursued it because everyone else told me that computers were the future and I was good at it. I gave up on writing when I received a 23 on an English test because I read the book and gave my opinion on it. For the next book I never cracked it open and on the test, I just wrote an essay based on how the teacher interpreted it and got a 90 and I was accused of cheating. So I gave up writing in general because I believed no one cared about my opinions. So without Steve Harvey, this website would not exist.

There’s no real way to wrap up this post because maybe the man who cannot count is lucky. Who actually knows, this was just my interpretation of the teaching. You may disagree with my interpretation but in philosophy, there are no right or wrong answers. So thanks for your time.

Remember to be successful it's your right, duty, and responsibility.

#philosophy #entrepreneur #learning

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denebola42-blog · 6 years ago

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Clear Sky, 30°F

Errors in Atheism: Some Things Needing Change

Ok, first off, I don't know if there's a God. I just don't. That doesn't mean I believe in Religion. Some of their ideas are correct if you take out the part where they try to force you to believe. See, for example, in the Mormon Religion they teach that we have agency as in freedom to choose, yet I've not often encountered such freedom as to investigating other religions like other members were allowed to. Religion is like that in general and I think that even if there is a God, or even if Mormonism is true, freedom is a stepping stone to truth. You simply can't understand if you're not allowed to think. And you can't think for someone. That's not freedom and certainly telling what they can do or say is just wrong a well and the goes for religion too. Atheism and Religion are two sides to the same coin when it comes to conflict.

Other things Atheism does is nitpick inaccuracies in religion with a fine toothed comb.. Thank you. I actually do appreciate that but I've realized Atheism at least omits some things about their history. There's a popular meme that shows a cartoon of a militant Muslim with a bomb vest, a militant Christian with a gun, and a militant atheist with a MacBook having coffee.. Wrong. That's not always the case. If I recall, in the book “Enemies: a history of the FBI” atheistic Anarchists blew people up. Innocent people and assassinated a couple world leaders. Antifa is historically believed to have propelled Hitler into power by accidentally making his opposition look bad simply by taking the same stance but with violence. Antifa exists today and doesn't just attack Nazis. They attack world summits, civilians, police, nice cars, you name it. Even burning and destroying out greatly damaging businesses of people that have nothing to do with their perceived enemies. Oh and Ayn Rand was atheist and encouraged the same crap that the far right Republicans encourage such as assistance only for the well off.

I'm for LGBTQ rights but atheists omit saying some truths about them. Harvey Milk was a pedo. The leader of the human rights campaign was accused of pedophilia and was a friend of Obama. They say that gays don't rape. They do and they rape a lot and this or the HRC themselves but they add they also get raped a lot as a hate crime. There was a speech I think it was in the 80s where a gay guy said gays were going to take over the USA by basically infiltrating everything and raping people into submission. In the 70s some gays said that the family, families in general as in the family unit, was the enemy of the gay community. Gay pride parades used to include NAMbLA or the National Man boy Love Association. It was basically an organization that promoted and participated in child molestation. What else, oh I've heard them poke fun, no pun intended, at the old movie “Boys Beware” about stranger danger against boys and a similar film called “Girls Beware” about the same danger from lesbians. Two words. The Greeks. That has been around for ages plus did NAMbLA and their associated “Butterflies” group spring up overnight? If so then that makes it part of gay rights? Funny they come out at the same time in pride parades. Oh and there's violent gays like Bash Back and I think there's other Anarchist gay groups. Oh and on an Anarchist website I found a book review of an old book written by an Anarchist speaking for gay rights since he went in prison Straight, but learned to basically enjoy the company of men due to desperation and loneliness. Reverse gay conversion therapy or the original gay conversion therapy because apparently it's pretty therapeutic for him. Oh and the days that still happens. It's pretty common for repeat offenders to do the man booty thing in jail but prefer women outside. Oh and Ice Cube has a rap song about that. Yeah, I know, I shouldn't be listening to that stuff. Moving on. Oh and I own the Richard Dawkins book called “The God Delusion.” In the bibliography there's a note saying that prior to, I wanna say 1935, gay referred to prison rape and now we have “gay pride parades.” The crap? And there's the famous remark where Richard Dawkins basically said that pedophilia wasn't that bad.

Enough of that. Now, there's a video I saw where a conservationist removed 80 hooks from dangerous sharks and made friends with some of them. Yes, they repeatedly come back for nose rubs. They literally act like little puppies and do you know how small a shark's brain is? It's the size of a walnut if that. Ok, so atheists are big on science and there's animal experiments that still happen on dogs for example. Do you know how smart dogs are? They save the lives of their families even without training. I've seen video of a cat saving a toddler from an aggressive dog on YouTube. I've seen video of cows playing with a soccer ball and freeing other cows from their enclosures, and then there's primate experiments. And not all of it is even medical there's a lot done just for makeup or shampoo and stupid shit. Oh and don't get me started on human experiments and I don't mean just Nazis. Americans have experimented on the American and other populations from other countries. Facebook recently did a psychological experiment on us, their customers. And in college I've heard of shrinks doing experiments on anyone from children to adults. And he said they still do and some always will even though it's illegal technically. I don't just mean Facebook. Plus there's sexual harassment and even rape in the science fields and they don't get fired like at Google or other fields. They might get fired less then even religion. That's it for now. I'm tired or I'd write more. That's it for now.

References:

https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/tegan-eanelli-bash-back-is-dead-bash-back-forever

http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/news/3023834/posts

https://www.politifact.com/truth-o-meter/statements/2015/mar/04/ben-carson/ben-carson-many-prisoners-go-straight-come-out-gay/

https://www.truthrevolt.org/news/friend-obama-and-founder-largest-gay-rights-org-charged-pedophile

http://www.revolutionbythebook.akpress.org/anarchism-and-gays/

https://mobile.wnd.com/2002/07/14612/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harvey_Milk

https://youtu.be/Wu-jfju5atI

I thought of you when I read this quote from "The God Delusion" by Richard Dawkins -

"Consciousness-raising again 150 The Oxford Dictionary takes ‘gay’ back to American prison slang in 1935. In 1955 Peter Wildeblood, in his famous book Against the Law, found it necessary to define ‘gay’ as ‘an American euphemism for homosexual’."

Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/5Oqgujk

https://pages.vassar.edu/realarchaeology/2017/03/05/phrenology-and-scientific-racism-in-the-19th-century/

https://www.makeuseof.com/tag/facebook-secret-experiments/

https://www.onlinepsychologydegree.info/unethical-experiements-psychology/

https://www.bestpsychologydegrees.com/30-most-disturbing-human-experiments-in-history/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unethical_human_experimentation_in_the_United_States

https://youtu.be/l4AI6T0-isc

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/09/richard-dawkins-pedophilia_n_3895514.html

https://www.advocate.com/commentary/2015/11/13/rise-gay-bigot

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/the-liberals-war-on-science/

http://www.rawstory.com/2017/04/a-clinical-psychologist-explains-how-ayn-rand-seduced-young-minds-and-helped-turn-the-us-into-a-selfish-nation/#.WXE3ms8FoQd.gmail

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayn_Rand

http://www.hrc.org/resources/sexual-assault-and de-the-lgbt-community

https://zcomm.org/zmagazine/what-happened-to-queer-anarchism-by-michael-bronski/

https://libcom.org/library/paedophilia-and-american-anarchism-the-other-side-of-hakim-bey

https://m.townhall.com/columnists/mattbarber/2011/09/03/sexual-anarchy-n1031230

http://www.loveisrespect.org/is-this-abuse/abusive-lgbtq-relationships/

https://youtu.be/8nkeRvtPmn0

https://timeline.com/antifa-history-violence-nazis-5ccb6231879a

https://youtu.be/6UZxKI5eutg

https://youtu.be/-awkYhtey50

https://youtu.be/_J5bDhMP9lQ

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/politics/blood-rage-history-the-worlds-first-terrorists-1801195.html

http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1751204/posts

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2018/05/sexual-harassment-science-me-too-essay/

https://www.marieclaire.com/career-advice/a14104684/sexual-harassment-assault-in-science-field/

https://www.sciencenews.org/blog/scicurious/fighting-sexual-harassment-science-may-mean-changing-science-itself

I don't mean to knock on just one or two groups and there's good and bad everywhere. Just had to show I'm not just out to get religion/Mormons. I can come up with both good and bad for minorities, Native Americans, cops, military, gangs/criminals, and me. It's not because we're bad and I'm not amoral. I think our main weakness is we're mortal. We have relatively weak bodies with a pretty limited lifespan, much of it spent/"wasted" trying to figure out what's going on while fending each other off/figuring each other out. What could go wrong? Lol there's many factors but honestly I'm tired and have to get up early. And yes I have way too much time on my hands.

#atheism #atheist #secular #atheists #secularism

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sabythfayfreelance · 6 years ago

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How Men’s Work Made Me A Better Woman

I’m a fairly petite woman. I come in at just around 5 ½ feet tall with boots on and have never weighed more than 115 lbs soaking wet. I went to college for writing and communication studies, so you can imagine how pale and frail I was coming out of there with my degree in hand (that certificate sure was heavy for me!).

And then, right after graduation, I took up a training program to work on tall ships. If you have no idea what that is, think of the big sailing ships from Pirates of the Caribbean (the boat I trained on was actually in the first of those films). Over two weeks, I learned how to handle ropes, furl sails, and sand any and all types of salt-worn wood you could imagine being out at sea. I learned about maritime history and trade while corralling kids to teach them the same things I had been taught just hours earlier.

The crew of that first ship hated me. To them, I was an irredeemable city girl with an attitude and less muscle than a towel. Behind my back, just a week in, one of the crew members teaching me called me a burden, making sure to be just loud enough so I could hear him. It shattered me. I spent the last few days of my training hiding in storage cubbies, crying and wishing I could rewind time so I was back home writing essays.

But after my two weeks was up and I was free to go back home, something felt…different. I had this spark, and I couldn’t stand the thought of being back in my bedroom letting my leathery callused hands become soft and pink and fragile again. I called up the other ship in the company’s little two-boat fleet and jumped on board, this time determined to prove to these people that I wasn’t some weak city girl, and definitely not a burden. Long story short, the man who called me "burden” saw what I had become a few months later, working with me out at sea, and he promptly apologized. Now we’re good friends, and he regularly messages me from his newest job out at sea to tell me how proud he is of my hard work in life. After three years of working on and off of the boats, whenever one of them is in town, the current captain will ask me personally to come work alongside their crew.

I ended up getting a bit sick and eventually became friends with a veteran-turned-electrician while at the hospital. He offered me experience as his assistant, and from there we worked on various projects while running around homeless. He told me about an organization called Team Rubicon, a veteran (and civilian) disaster relief organization that he felt I would fit perfectly in. Again, my fear of being too fragile and small crept up, but I signed up for TR anyway. They sent me out to Texas after Hurricane Harvey where I did house demolition with a crew that loved my company so much, they were devastated when I got sick while out there and kept asking for my return every chance they got.

It’s been well over a year since all of this now, and I’ve settled back to my life in the city, working at a beer garden by day and writing articles by night (ok, flip that, I’m actually a closer at the beer garden, but you get the idea). My hands are soft and pink and fragile again; my heart is anything but.

Work aboard tall ships and fishing vessels has, until very recently, been strictly a man’s line of work. Historically, women on board a boat were seen as seriously bad luck, and some captains still think that to this day. Veterans and other military personnel are nearly 85% male across the board, although Team Rubicon boasts a higher percentage of women than that. I’ve also done grounds keeping and electrical work, and both of those groups would have been 100% men if I hadn’t have been there.

You may think it was rough, possibly even lonely out there for a little woman like me. And sure, maybe in the moment I sometimes found myself thinking that being one of only a few women seems disconnected from the modern push for feminism and anti-patriarchal takeover. But that seems a little too cynical, a bit like throwing down an anchor of pessimism on something that made me better because few women were doing it too.

Time working in a man’s field taught me a lot about hard work, but even more about building character and introspection. On the ship, you take care of the crew and they take care of you. You become a cog in a machine that desperately needs you to run smoothly, regardless of your gender or background. There were things I thought I couldn’t do simply because of my lack of muscle that, with proper training and practice, I learned was all a matter of technique. Those things I feared doing became something I was good at. Now when things seem tough, I imagine not the muscle or the determination I lack, but the finesse and technique that can turn me into a master of the task.

Late nights standing in the misty, salty cold of the sea, overlooking the horizon for any midnight dangers to the vessel, gave me a drastic change of view on patience. You stand freezing and exhausted for four hours in pitch darkness with two or three others all silently wishing to be asleep. But the time passes, and as you crawl back into bed damp to the core, too tired to take off your boots, you are proud to have passed those hours by in that silent reverence of the beauty all around you and the time spent in your own head. You get to know yourself on the sea, and often that patience is rewarded with something amazing; whales breaching, waves glowing electric blue along their edges, shooting stars cutting along the freckled sky. It’s only in that patience that you get to experience these things. When I find long hours at work in the city dragging painfully slow, I remember the ocean and the hours of nothingness, and I remind myself that it’s just time, that it passes, that all things pass.

Many times when out at sea I thought I would never pull through, never be good enough, and never go back to that lifestyle. I wonder if staying inside writing would be the best lifestyle for me. But it’s looking back on those times with pride that help me get through the rough days at my desk. But in some ways, the dark and frothy ocean was easier than facing a week of writer’s block.

And when you’re faced with a challenge that you seriously can’t do alone, your moral support of those around you may be the best piece to the machine that is your crew. By bringing stories and laughter to my teammates in post-Harvey Texas, the group worked in higher spirits and became the most effective (and fun!) crew in the operation during our time there. In tough moments, I channeled my city girl charm to help the machine run smoothly. In those moments when I thought I wasn’t helping nearly as much as I should have been able to, I realized I was doing the best thing I could for my team by keeping them motivated.

I kept pace with the best of men I ever met, and they gave me my due respect for it.

You can read all the self-help and character-building articles you want, but it’s experience and hardship that really shows your true character, and allows you a better window to see what you might need to change about yourself. Don’t take challenges, obstacles, or suffering as a sign to give up; use it as a way to become stronger inside and build a better version of yourself. It’s not always about muscle; sometimes it’s about finesse. And sometimes, when things are really rough, you just need a woman’s touch to get the job done right.

#life #style #lifestyle #personal #growth #development #personal growth #personal development #women #feminism #masculinity #work #self

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jonathandavidlange · 7 years ago

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Comic Theory Pt. 2

Just Because We Can Doesn't Mean We Should.

Three Panel Technique

On my third book, GRAVES, I employed a technique of almost always using three panels for each page. After my second book, I wanted a format that would bring to the comic medium a space that the characters could inhabit, along with an emotional continuity that comics rarely possess. After doing some experiments, I landed on a three-panel technique. While writing the rough draft and storyboards for GRAVES, I happened to read Osamu Tezuka's Lost World and The Mysterious Underground Men. Both books were written in the late 40s and utilized a three-panel technique on each page. This gave me the confidence to make all of GRAVES a three-panelled comic, and I had such a good experience making the comic that I've continued to utilize these techniques for the stories I have written since.

In working with the three-panel system, I have wondered if I am truly utilizing the comic medium to its fullest capability. My goal is to stabilize the perspective and approach to comic storytelling so that techniques used in film can be utilized in the comic medium. Frank Miller said that he went into comics to make them more cinematic, and that he stays in the industry to make them less so. With the production of his Sin City as a film, it is clear that any comic style can be translated to cinematic language, making Miller's statement a moot point.

So why use the three-panel method utilizing fewer comic techniques (less panels, less word balloons, less sound effects, duller colors, etc...) to make the comic language more like film? Because I believe the mediums are very related and share a lot of the same principles. They share visual narrative principles and techniques like being a visual medium, the use of cuts or edits (shown by panels and page turns in comics), and the use of texture and tertiary story devices (such as sound effects, set design, and sound design).

Emotional Integrity

Film consistently achieves a level of depth and drama that is very rare in comics. Every year there are multiple films that move me deeply and push the medium forward in daring and personal ways. In an average year there is rarely even one comic that moves me as much as five movies that have come out that year. From self-produced to indie to Marvel and DC--every year I am hard-pressed to find a comic that resonates with me to the same extent as current films. (Some examples of what came out the year I wrote this, 2016: Captain Fantastic, Moonlight, Manchester By The Sea, Neon Demon, Nocturnal Animals, and Arrival to name just a few.)

Imagine a year in comics where there were several comics that achieved a level of specific and personal emotion like the film Moonlight, written and directed by Barry Jenkins. In this film we follow one man, Chiron, who is played by three different actors. We see him grow up and encounter all of the complexities of living in Miami. We also see him struggle with his mother as a drug addict and try to navigate life with his father figure who is a gentle and loving drug dealer. What could easily become a niche art-house film is instead universal because of its approach to heartache, identity, and family. It is constructed in the most professional and wonderful way. Everything converges to make one fantastic story that washes over you, and I would dare anyone to not be shaken emotionally by it.

Some examples of earnest, raw, and nuanced intelligent emotion in comics includes contemporary comic artists Aidan Koch and Austin English as they achieve an abstract, emotionally-rich level of storytelling. In the graphic novel by Sam Alden It Never Happened again: Two Stories (2014), it is raw and powerful, yet refined and subtle. The emotional intensity and keen observation of human interaction and existence is profound and completely on par with the most understated and nuanced of films and novels. There are indie masters like Terry Moore and Alan Moore who consistently have vivid characters and build rich worlds. Masters of the past like Osamu Tezuka and Harvey Pekar continually tapped into genuine human emotion and shared insight into the human condition. Recent superhero stories by Geoff Johns, Justice League (2012), and Scott Snyder, Batman (2012), often capture the fun and energy one had when reading superhero stories as a child. They both add layers of humanity to superhero stories that are often stock and cold when written by others.

People may argue that graphic novels, specifically biographical stories, do achieve the same level of emotion that a work like Moonlight achieves. I cannot deny subjective emotion that wells up in a reader. But I can argue technique and structure. Using the example of body-horror stories, stories that focus on the fragility and decay of the human body, the structure and depth of character in a graphic novel like Charles Burns’ Black Hole (2005) cannot compare to a film like Andrej Zulawski's Possession (1981).

Before I jump in, it needs to be said that people may also argue that even comparing stories within the same sub-genre is like comparing apples to oranges. But I disagree. I believe Dracula (1931) can be compared to The Shining (1980). Two films within the horror genre (not of the same sub-genre), but with very disparate stories. Even still, the central focus of blood, family, and control of one's mind could easily spark thoughts of comparison and contrast.

Black Hole's structure jumps around, and we never focus on one specific personal conflict or really get to know even one character very thoroughly. We get more of a wide vantage point in the story. Everything is skin deep. Whereas Zulawski's Possession structure focuses on a family and places them in a familiar and terrifying backdrop: West Germany with the wall as a large and looming presence, almost a character in and of itself. Possession gets under your skin, you become part of it's mania. Black Hole appears to be more interested in a scattershot of characters and experiences. Burns’ story takes the analogy that body-horror innately brings with it and uses it to focus on a coming-of-age story in high school. This is an obvious metaphor that does not have much depth to mine. The depth of one character’s disease is never felt because it is never directly penetrated to the “basement floor” of a character, and, because of this, I found Burns’ story forgettable. Zulawski’s Possession, on the other hand, starts in the middle of a story we know nothing about. Everyone is acting strange and the locations they inhabit are equally bizarre as well as bare. As we get into the film, the reason for the strangeness becomes deeper and deeper, more personal, and alienating. By the end of the film, our head is spinning with what is real and what is fake: both in what we are seeing, but also in a relational context. The film is about alienation of the self, of the other--family, friends, and everyone else, of a career, and of the state. It is an incredibly complicated, nuanced, and personal film. It’s effect stays with you and every time you revisit another layer is revealed.

Structure

The reason that I use a three-panel, per page technique is because I feel one of the primary things missing from comics is a structure in which to set the narrative so other aspects of storytelling can shine and provide layers to the plot and characters within. An example of some very rare techniques to find in a comic that are commonly utilized in film are consistent frame composition, understandable perspective of a location as well as knowing where a character is within it, a steady and consistent flow from panel-to-panel--that does not exclusively utilize close-ups with bare backgrounds--like smooth and seamless editing does in a great film.

Something nearly all comics have in them consistently is a plethora of random panels. Randomly placed, randomly sized, and often framed very close or showing little detail beyond the character at the focal point. Comics can be hard to read for the uninitiated and feel like the story is being told in a randomly presented and ordered way. From superhero to indie, this is just how comics are made. Good questions to ask a writer or artist of a comic (or to think about while reading any comic) is why is that panel placed right there? Why is it that size? Why is it that shape? Why is it focusing on that character or action and nothing else? What else is happening in the environment around the character I am looking at, and why can’t I see it? Search Youtube for a video essay on any famous director, and you will find a plethora of video essays describing why Stanley Kubrick, Wes Anderson, John Carpenter, or Chantal Akerman--to name a very few--shot and edited the way they did. I dare anyone to find a video essay on the structure of a very famous book like Alan Moore's From Hell (1999). (As of the writing of this I found several surface level reviews of From Hell, but not a substantial essay. For comparison there are at least five essay/theory videos on the first page of Youtube for John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982).)

Why is a plethora of seemingly random sized panels a poor layout strategy for a comic? It’s not. There are a multitude of comics that use this format to an amazing affect. But unless you are Osamu Tezuka, Dave Sim, Gabrielle Bell, Terry Moore, or Dash Shaw, odds are your comic will be cluttered, confusing, bloated, and underutilized.

Comics Vs. Novel Vs. Film

When read, a comic book is spread out over two full pages at once. This lets the reader subconsciously see both of the pages at once and in part. The reader can see what is coming, but having not yet read the two pages, there is no context for the information they have. This is an enormous advantage over film. Cinema is ruled by time and must share its information clearly, consistently, and adequately. If the information in the film is not delivered in this fashion, the story will come across too fast, too slow, too jumbled, or too confusing. A film tries its hardest to keep you under its spell, and when a component is off, at any time, you will be thrust out of the film.

Prose is hindered because it lives inside the reader’s head, and it’s easy for an author to digress down countless rabbit holes often muddying up a plot with too many details and too much information. A film is hindered because it has such a brief time to tell it’s story it must often rush through the details, leaving out many sequences from which the novel was derived. Comics have the opportunity to use techniques from both mediums, and use them better. The comic book can utilize the freedom and tools found in both novels and film. It can use prose to describe just as easily as it can use an image to tell the same story. It can use whatever it needs to to make the story clearer, more emotionally resonant, and intellectually stimulating.

A novel works very hard at communicating what an image can say instantly. A novel is not bound by time or physical space to work within, like a film. And unlike a comic it can and must describe, in subjective prosaic detail, what the author sees and intends for the reader to see. A novel is a unique and subjective experience because the format and structure of a novel can be radically different from author to author. A film has a given structure at which every filmmaker must work under. A novel has proven writing strategies and guidelines, but given that, Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow (1973) is a radically different experience compared to reading C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia (1950). Watching Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) is narratively very different than but structurally very similar to Pete Docter’s Monsters, Inc (2001). The difference between authors can be like the difference between a grand feature film William Wyler’s Ben Hur (1959) and a home-made five-minute-long Youtube video. Sure, they are both made by using a video camera, but beside that they couldn’t be more different.

Time

More than film, comics share a close relationship with television. Shows are often released a week at a time using individual episodes to sculpt the narrative arc of a season to tell one long story. This is very similar to what comics do, but instead they come out monthly, with less time to tell their story, as the average comic is roughly thirty pages--the average drama TV show is 45-60 minutes. In this way it could be said filmed narrative is more efficient than comics. But if you read a story by a master comic maker like Osamu Tezuka, every panel will give you so much uncluttered information, that the story doesn’t feel rushed or incomplete.

Another advantage the average TV drama has over monthly comics is that they are made and released in seasons. They are given a break to re-adjust, get some distance from, and fine-tune the following continuation of the narrative. Comics are typically unending monthly narratives. They are often made as quickly as possible, with little time to flesh out and iron out narrative and artistic wrinkles. If comics were released as seasons, with a proper amount of time to give space and breathe to the creative process, the average quality and it’s given control of a book would increase. Imagine a show like Breaking Bad (2008) never having any break between seasons. The writers, directors, and actors would become so exhausted and burned out. It would be easy to assume they would start viewing the process of the making of the show as a hill to climb and complete, instead of a journey to explore and spend time with. Comics rarely have this luxury.

No Right Way

Obviously, there are no “right” ways to make a comic, just like there is no “right” way to make a film, TV show, or write a novel. But over the decades of each of these mediums’, their evolution has increased and allowed for radically diverse approaches of creation. Comparing the short films of the Brothers Quay to a director like Stanley Kubrick is amazing in the radical spread of approach, sensibility, and sheer variety of perspective. Comparing a superhero story from the 30s to that of one of present day, or even comparing a contemporary superhero comic to the average contemporary indie comic, one will not find much difference in narrative content, structure, or approach to art.

I believe the three-panel technique is a way to address this common lack of growth in emotional richness and depth as well as structural complexity and integrity. By unifying the approach to panels, by focusing on perspective, and by providing a space for unique and specific location design the average comic reader will not be concerned with trying to keep up with a comic and what is going on in it. The reader will instead be enveloped by the story and art and get lost just like one does with a good novel or good filmed piece of art.

Final Thought

A final note on a unique aspect of comics is its two-fold use of image as a lexicon and comics as writing. Every day we see so many images and signs that we don’t even notice the majority of them any more. All it takes is the octagonal shape and red color, and we know we are to stop our car. All we need is a triangle on a remote, and we know that means “play,” just as a square means “stop.” We see stripes and patches of color, and we know it’s a country’s flag. These make up a lexicon of images that mean and communicate concrete thoughts and ideas--as in reading the combined image of letters spelling out “S-T-O-P” in sequence, we know exactly what to do.

In much the same way, comics are a powerful medium that often utilizes narrative and visual information, and all within a glance. See a costumed character flying with a fist outstretched, and we know this is a hero. If we see a figure with their head tilted down, eyes looking straight ahead while smiling, we know this is the villain. Film cannibalizes itself, referencing shots from films of the past, providing more layers and context to both shots. Film can’t take something like a simple shape, like a character’s body, or color in a rapid glance and tie it to a narrative that has complexity and purpose in the same way that a comic can. Film will always be locked into figures, stances, photographic composition, mise en scene, and editorial motion. Comics can and do deal with a wealth of symbols and images that are varied and unlimited. These symbols and images can be used in a narrative with an added layer of depth because of the use of image as lexicon.

When writing, like when playing an instrument, inspiration can strike, causing a speed and emotion to be felt, portrayed, and converted into art. Jack Kerouac’s prose, Thelonious Monk’s arpeggios, Allen Ginsberg’s poems, Jean-Michel Basquiat’s paintings--comics can achieve this level of spontaneity and locked-in emotion. Treating comics less like a piece of marble or a wooden chair and more like the sketch of a landscape or the initial draft of a song would be a healthy step in the right direction.

Comics can achieve something as close to the heart, as common, and as intimate as writing. Utilizing a lexicon of images to provide narrative information and context, comics can be written--not just drawn. The images themselves can be the words, and they can be written passionately, powerfully, and personally. They can be grand and heroic. They can be small and proletariat. They can be short, simple, and minimal. They can be complex, difficult, and long. Comics are amazing because they define what they are. They are cinematic. They are literate. They are visual. They are narrative. They are art. They are ours.

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