#i wish my labors had fit into the timing of one scene of a drama

[waitmyturtles]

In this edition of FUCK, THINGS GOT REEEEEEEAL GOOD: Step By Step, episode 9 thoughts:

First off:

THANK GOD THAT BABY IS OKAY, BUT I'D LIKE A FOLLOW-UP UPDATE ON THEIR HEALTH, PLEASE.

I'm a mom. A slightly traumatic birth scene in a BL! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT.

I'm talking with @lurkingshan about this, but I'm going to leave the timeline issues of the pregnancy to the real SBS experts. If the baby was OKAY and CRYING after a traumatic labor like that, my mom spidey sense says the baby was likely 34 weeks or above. Otherwise, that would more of a real emergency situation, with the need for a very sterile environment, and a really fast, emergency transport to a hospital and a NICU. (Also, around 34 weeks is when moms are advised to not be far from a hospital -- at least in the States -- in the case of this emergency onset birth situation, so that's what's leading to my guess about Ae.) Again, this means that the show may have made a big-ass timeline jump, and I don't think I'm expert enough to apply that to Pat and Jeng, so I'm gonna leave that alone.

Also, at THAT stage of pregnancy, late and belly-dropping.... yeah. Maybe a short stop on a bus can induce labor. We have a family member whose labor was induced when she tripped from a bus. (Real quick education, family: if someone around you breaks water, GET THEM TO A HOSPITAL IMMEDIATELY if you can, the risk of infection SKYROCKETS after water breaks.)

Okay. Give me babies and I give you mom. Let me step away from that for a second to say:

The show FINALLY GOT GOOD, for my tastes.

Tee Bundit got an editor. We got CRISP dialogue. SMART writing. The episode fit what it needed in its runtime. That's all I was asking for, dear Tee.

We got words. We got real descriptions about boundaries. We got real resistance to CROSSING those boundaries. We got meditations on how to DEAL with those boundaries. We saw Jeng RECOGNIZING that those boundaries are preventing Pat from coming to Jeng intimately, and that Jeng HAS A RESPONSIBILITY to DEAL with those boundaries, instead of ONLY leading with his heart, in a difficult boss-employee situation. We got Jeng managing his heart, yes, but also DEALING ACTIVELY with being PROFESSIONAL as well, and recognizing that he has to STEP AWAY from his role as Pat's superior. GOOD, JENG.

We have Pat still Pat-ing. Pat's like, I'm not gonna date my boss, but also, he liiiikkkeess meeee? He's too good for meeeeeee! PAT, jesus. Thank you, Jen, for working on dusting off our guy. (@lurkingshan, I was literally JUST writing this, lol.)

But also, thank gawd -- at least we have PAT SPEAKING UP and using his words. Like an adult. (?!) And -- being EMPOWERED to USE his words by his WONDERFULLY COMMUNICATIVE PARENTS! So, now we see that Pat, while raised in a sad environment with the separation of his parents, is actually attuned to..... talking and using his words regarding his emotions! We know and see that he can do it -- because his parents can do it, and therefore modeled that behavior for him. (Amarin Nitibhon, great dad in 10 Years Ticket, great dad in Step By Step, keep being a great dad!)

But Pat's still gotta keep Pat-ing, and he's still confused, and... what? He's surrounded by snacks and might need the further reflection of another older adult in Jeng to get deep in his feelings.

I don't know if my read is accurate on this. Is Pat the kind of person that NEEDS people around him to help him reveal his complicated feelings to himself? I think so. He's a young adult, kind of overwhelmed by everything going on, his sister dropped a baby in public (HE'S AN UNCLE NOWWWWWWW) --

Homeboy is GROWING UP. Step by step? Maybe the point of this show is that you don't grow up as well in this world, step by step, without leveraging your family and community around you as best as you can. I like that read, but I don't know if it's accurate yet.

I'm gonna leave the rest of the meta to the real SBS experts. Thank gawd the baby was born okay, but I'm gonna need an update. If Tee Bundit gives me breastfeeding in the next episode, I WILL give him flowers in Thailand, FOR REAL. Come awn. Don't stop at birth! It'll be a good excuse to show SOME body parts -- maybe not the ones we expect, though, ha.

And we get funsies with Pat and Jeng, finally, next week?! Let's motherfucking go.

EDITING TO ADD: Any moms out there watching SBS? I need fellow moms to laugh/cry/emote at all that childbirth stuff with.

[azrielsribbon]

!!! A COURT OF SILVER FLAME SPOILERS !!!

Alternatively, Asli finished the book in like six hours and has many, many thoughts.

ON THE TOPIC OF NESTA, SOME CASSIAN AND NESSIAN AS A WHOLE.

holy shit. this is a lot.

She has grown so much, and I mean that by the little things.

I love that sjm didn’t make it so she was addicted to the wine and sex

Okay I understand Nesta was frustrating sometimes because she really was stubborn but some of the shit Cassian said was really out of line. Especially when he screamed that no one like fucking liked her.

Cassian was down so bad this entire book and I knew that the moment he said he hadn’t bed a female in two years. He was STARVINGGG

Her determination in getting down those stairs, I probably wouldve tested myself down a window or something.

I liked how she bonded with the House. It was a refreshing, different take on loneliness and finding a friend.

The House and how it looked after her. It was the biggest thing in her journey.

One theme I see in Nesta a lot is self sabotage, especially when it means the safety of others. She’s ready to throw herself in front of them.

Her banter with Cassian was really nice to read.

WHEN SHE MENTIONED HAVING A THREESOME TWICE I DIED

Cassian and his backstory was rip. It was really sad thinking about how little kid Cass really regretted some of the things that even he couldn’t control.

sjm did not disappoint with inner thoughts. Those were really refreshing.

She wasn’t vividly jealous or furious at Mor and Cassian’s friendship and I really liked that take.

Cassian’s silent jealously when Helion tries to flirt with Nesta and she dodged it LMAOOO

When Cassian kisses her in front of their family to help her get out of the map

Her silent bond with Az! That kept me going honestly. He was a sly bastard sometimes.

Sometimes I really questioned somethings, like those fast smut scenes but that’s just my preference.

Her marching down to Amren’s after she finds out they voted against her having the weapons she Made

Not to mention how she told Feyre about the baby and the labor risk out of anger, that really hurt both of them and me.

When she stayed silent during her punishment hike with Cassian. Each thought tore me apart.

When he warned her about falling and she was glad he didn’t see the expression on her face. How she didn’t mind if she fell down and how it would better.

When she cried after all those days of silence and finally told him how she felt underneath all that.

He softened up fast too and blamed himself for not realizing all this time why she hated the fire.

Can we talk about that dancing scene with Eris? And how Cassian was secretly exploding on the side as he remembered her mother wanted her to marry a Prince just like Eris.

WHEN ERIS ASKED RHYS WHAT HE WANTED IN EXCHANGE FOR NESTA TO BE HIS BRIDE AFTER LIKE A COUPLE DANCED LMAOO

The Solstice scene had my heart. The gift Az got Nesta and how she hugged him after he told her about it. How Cassian smiled at the sight.

HOW CASS GOT HER A LITTLE MUSIC BOX RECORDED WITH THE MUSIC FROM THE BALLROOM AND HOW HE ASKED THE MUSICIANS TO PERFORM IT FOR HIM AFTER EVERYONE LEFT SO HE COULD GET IT FOR HERRRR

They really kept shit away from each other till it exploded in an argument and that’s a reoccurring theme with this book couple.

WHAT MADE ME SO FRUSTRATED WAS HOW HE WANTED TO STAY IN HER BED AFTER SEX AND SHE WANTED TO CUDDLE BUT THEY DIDNT SAY ANYTHING AND ASSUMED THE OTHER DIDNT WANT IT

The topic of mates was RUSHED. Like I mean really rushed. First they argue, he says shackled and then the next time they get to speak (after the forced Blood Rite and labor scene) they accept it? I dont know, it didn’t sit with me.

I wish Nesta would elaborate on why she didn’t believe in Mates even more and Cassian would actually listen for once. Again, rushed.

The ending was fast paced in my opinion. We could’ve really had more to go off of, I needed more domestic Nessian.

ON THE TOPIC OF NESTA, GWYN, EMERIE

I am obsessed with Gwyn, Emerie and their friendship with Nesta.

I love how Gwyn and Nesta started, both gritting their teeth and still appreciating that aspect of each other.

How Nesta raced to help her with a book even when their first encounter wasn’t the friendliest.

Gwyn being persistent in paying back her small debt. I love her.

When Gwyn applied to defense lessons after Nesta defended them from the scholar priestess.

Emerie, my homegirl. I love her to death. The way she easily befriends Nesta, how Nesta stands up for her when her cousin comes to bother her.

I don’t know if it was just me, but Emerie and Mor might possibly be something. Either good friends or interested lovers.

THE WAY EMERIE BONDED OVER SMUTTY NOVELS WITH THE OTHER GIRLS AND LET THEM BORROW HER STUFFFFFF

Gwyn helping Nesta with her research on Valkyries. Muah.

Gwyn and Az, I feel like something might happen here and if it does, I do not want any Elriel drama getting dragged in, MY GIRL GWYN HAS BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH OKAY

Gwyn thinking she doesn’t deserve the purity jewel the other priestesses wear and her backstory honestly just broke me. She endured so much.

Emerie and everything she lost. Her mother, her brother, her wings and any dreams she had of flying. How she distracts herself with work and gardening to keep that off her mind.

The way the girls all developed inside jokes, jokingly hanged up on Cassian at training and always had Nesta’s back.

The way they were dedicated to each other even during the Rite when they couldve let one another behind and won.

HER SISTERSSS I CRIED I WOULD DIE FOR THIS MF TRIOOOO

ON THE TOPIC OF THE INNER CIRCLE + THE ARCHERON PARENTS

Fey-ruh was pregoooo she and Rhys raw dogged it

I felt really really bad when no one fucking told her she would die because the baby had wings and she wasn’t fit to give birth like that. Like. What.

Can we talk about how they fucked when Feyre was in her Illyrian form and didn’t think the thing through?

Rhys, I can’t stand the guy. First he wants to make a bargain with his mate that they die together and then he wants to keep it from her that she can die when giving birth to their kid.

I think what pissed me off the most was when he was trying to help Cassian get Nesta out of a nightmare/power “episode” and had to experience what she did with the Cauldron and seeing Elain and Cassian hurt. He said he knew she was feeling something but seeing and feeling it yourself was different. Yeah, what else did you think smartass.

Rhys has a habit of keeping important shit secret, Amren is no better either. I think that’s what pissed me off the most. They sometimes kept the too important shit away.

As much as Nesta grew, so did Feyre. They both developed pretty good in my mind, I don’t hate her as much as I despise Rhys sometimes. All and all I love how she and Nesta ended up.

Amren....I get her point about Nesta using and abusing their friendship. At the same time, sometimes she was too harsh.

Elain, darling old cottage core aesthetic Elain. I found her to be a little insufferable sometimes. How she showed up unexpectedly at the Library to talk to Nesta and they got into an argument was funny to me since Nesta pulled out some stuff on her.

ELAIN THANKING NESTA AND SAYING FINALLY AFTER SHE TELLS HER TO “OH FUCK OFF” AT THE SOLSTICE PARTY WAS SO RANDOM

Elain and Lucien is some fucked up shit. I understand how she doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that they’re mates and all that but you can atleast thank the guy when he gives you a gift on Solstice.

I feel bad for Lucien because as sweet as Elain might show to be, she’s really hurting him and could just reject him if she really doesn’t want him.

AZ AZ AZ I LOVE HIM AND HIS SLY MOMENTS

Az when he cockblocks is the best thing. Do it more often.

Az and Nesta’s bond is something I want to see more, as well as how she literally thought about a threesome with him and Cassian.

Morriiiiigan. Everyone mentions her beauty and how she’s like the sun walking and I admire that. She wasn’t as annoying as I thought she’d be on the topic of Nesta and Cassian being an item.

She also wasn’t in the book as much which made sense since she was in Vallahan. I did like how she accepted Nessian towards the end.

The long awaited Mrs Archeron. Some of my theories about her proved true! About how she groomed her daughters into marriage ideologies at the worst age. 12 and 11? What the fuck?

The way she called Elain a pretty thing with no ambition at 11, no wonder Nesta and Elain have no proper knowledge of survival like Feyre did. She was set on making sure Nesta married someone who would treat her well, Elain married someone rich since her beauty was beyond all three of them.

Literally Mrs Archeron was not okay LMAOOO why are you telling your daughters this when they haven’t even bled yet damn CHILL

I felt bad since she didn’t care for Feyre and only their father doted on Elain and Feyre. Nesta was kept all to her mother to feed off Mrs Archeron’s narcissism.

Not to mention she died a year later

I found it funny Elain mentioned how at 15, Nesta even had their dad fearing her. Like it’s your daughter, wdym you fear her

The backstory on how Nesta treated him and how she feels now looking back. It was saddening and I unfortunately know the regret of not doing somethings. It must eat her alive.

I enjoyed reading this book, even if I wasn’t content with the ending. I tabbed a LOT of things so you’ll probably catch me editing and adding more to this in the morning. Thank you for reading all the way down here! 🤍

[maybe-theres-hope]

Tarlos Period Drama AU

So @howtosingit received an ask about a Tarlos Bridgerton AU, and to be honest I’ve just binged the whole thing so I commented on that post saying I’d attempt it. 

But here’s the thing. I couldn’t make it work with Regency Era. I just...couldn’t. So I have placed them in The Gilded Age in America. If you’re familiar with it, I want you to know that I’m not going to include any ridiculous corruption or monopolies that really...defined the era. Moreso I’m putting them in a time where I think the clothes are pretty, and the aesthetic fits my needs. Everything in this will be very fun and mostly lighthearted with only the perfect amount of angst to satisfy period drama tropes. It will be at times inaccurate, and other times shamelessly self indulgent. Tropes galore.

I also said I would attempt a one-shot but....yeah. This will be...rather long. LOL can’t stop won’t stop. 

Under the cut is the opening scene, to give you a feel (not my first attempt at writing in this style, but the first in a LONG while.) I will post link to AO3 when I begin publishing. PLEASE let me know if you are looking forward to it, as it will greatly motivate me!

1885. TK is son of Owen Strand, of Strand Intercontinental Railroad Company. They have traveled to the southern US to cut deals with landowners there to build a lucrative rail line through central Texas. TK is 26, and his father thinks he’s getting rather old to be unmarried. He has warned TK that if he does not find a husband by the end of the year, he will arrange a marriage, as Owen cannot by law bequeath his fortune upon his death unless his son is married. TK is not...vibing with having to hurry his decision to wed. Truly at his heart, he is a romantic and wishes to marry for love. It’s just that love has been hard to come by with the flighty boys of his set back home in New York. He’s not holding out hope for any prospects in whatever back country they’re traveling to either.

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

[septiembrre]

GG Headcannons

Tagged by @sothischickshe. Thanks, boo ;-) 

Ship: Beth x Rio -- in honor of our lovebirds day for GGWEEK2020

38. What is/are their love language(s)?

Haha, this has already made its way into one of my ficlets. I am also writing love languages into my next chapter of Better Be Mine. I can’t let it go!! I don’t actually care about them as tool for my irl relationship but it’s so easily identifiable for Brio. So my headcanons here... 

Rio’s love languages: 

Rio prefers to receive love through Quality Time. 

Rio shows love through Physical Touch. 

Beth’s love languages:

Beth prefers to receive love through Words of Affirmation.

Beth shows love through Acts of Service

49. Do they have differing political opinions?

Lol, @sothischickshe I can’t believe you tagged me in this!!!! Stop reading into the underlying vibes of Beth/Rio conversations in my fics! 

So the short version of my response is: yes. 

Now the absurdly long response:

I think about Rio & Beth a lot. I think about them talking about politicized issues quite a bit and imagine them in conversation with each other, teasing their beliefs apart. I like picturing these conversations instigated by hard parenting moments, things in the news, and things that come up as they finally start saying more words to each other. I think Rio could also just directly ask Beth about her political beliefs (I can’t necessarily picture the reverse yet).  

I think Beth is definitely more conservative than Rio -- and that’s an assumption I make because Rio’s a Latinx guy who probably came up with lack of access to wealth, and Beth as a white woman in the suburbs who formerly perceived herself/her family as wealthy. 

Beth’s characterization is complicated -- sometimes it really leans into Karen stereotypes/white woman privilege (lol, I cannot believe they literally had her show up at Gil’s workplace. I CRINGE!) and other times her beliefs and actions positively surprise me. Personally, in my fic writing, I love leaning into an idea that Beth grew up more working class/experienced neglect from her parents. I don’t want to romanticize these experiences but trauma around financial insecurity & complicated family relationships personally resonates with me. Ugh, I love writing about it, and it’s something that I read in her childhood that I like to lean into. That flashback in Season 2 really humanized Beth for me and it really made me love her. 

Okay, that was a major digression about class, but her life experience must lend itself to her political beliefs. She married into a wealthier family -- a family that owned it’s own business, was financially stable and just... a family perpetuating all the harmful effects of white heterosexuality and problematic gendered labor. And she conformed to it! Beth diminished herself to make herself fit there, to find safety and stability, to feel worth. So, I think her politics as an adult are also “safe” and probably echo the popular moderate trends in normative, toxic parent groups. Honestly, irl as a queer WOC who is anti-capitalist and been forced to be political for my own self-preservation and preservation of folks I love, I would not seek out PTA Beth’s friendship for multiple reasons, but I still have such a soft spot for Beth as a character?

That being said, Beth in the context of Annie & Ruby is obviously a different Beth. She loosens up in these spaces, she speaks her mind much more freely and in these scenes she comes as a normal, relatable human and she’s funny and prim and awkward. I think she comes across as somewhat liberal but not particularly educated on the issues/progressive (as is the way most characters are characterized on network TV). In this vein, she throws around a lot of white privilege and because some of it has gone un-interrogated in the context of the show... I’m not sure how intentional these vibes are or if it’s just par the course of it being white-owned network TV. Obviously characters are allowed to make mistakes and do shitty things, but I wish there was more on-screen acknowledgement of race in the show, and more intentional naming of things. In regards to Ruby + Beth in particular, I feel like an American white woman can’t have a life-long/multi-decade friendship with a Black woman and not be intentional about acknowledging racism/the specific misogynoir that Black women face. But the show hasn’t really acknowledged this aspect of Ruby + Beth’s friendship... 

*stares at the camera like I’m on The Office* 

It would be such a rich opportunity to discuss the challenges of interracial friendship if done well. Also, what an opportunity to delve into what it’s like to maintain friendships across the years (um, it’s hard!!! Even with people you love so much! Tell us more about Beth & Ruby’s ups and downs!). Beth and Ruby care about each other so much. When they and Annie get friendship beats -- I cry! Just make it make more sense! If the show filled in these blanks, it would be so great. Beth is obviously awakening~ definitely so in regards to her gender and her power and it could shift her political opinions? The show definitely poked a little fun at her crime “wokeness” by having her push back on cultural appropriation with those other PTA parents. Just by the exposure of her own relationships, Beth has experience with the lack of American safety net, our terrible, impoverishing health-care system, and inaccessibility of higher education. 

So, on one hand the show tries to do a thing where they equalize and don’t name race in the context of the three leads, “they’re three women”, but then they play on racial tropes with Beth and Rio’s relationship... I would like for their interracial relationship to be more overtly discussed/acknowledged outside of Rio’s somewhat performative call outs of Beth’s white lady fragility. 

So anyway -- Rio’s politics. We don’t know a ton about Rio so we don’t have too much textual evidence to go off of. But, we do know that Rio picks at Beth’s facade of white women fragility all the time -- sometimes with more hostility and other times simply teasing. When I write him, I give him my own experiences of having to become well-versed discussing politicized issues by the default of growing up experiencing racism and xenophobia. Rio, like any Mexican-reading man, has probably been told to “go back to his country” throughout his life -- and I can’t imagine it not politicizing him... Though, conservative Latinx exist and constantly shock me with their assimilationist audacity. *stares at the camera like I’m on the office again* But, idk, it’s something about their characterization of him of being so worldly~~ I imagine him being informed and up-to-date on the American news. I want him throwing around his power and $$$ by donating to local, progressive candidates of color. But, this is all projection~ :-) 

Ha, I feel like this was too critical of my forever otp (and on ship day to boot)!! And of Beth. The show has a habit of putting Beth through the physical and psychological wringer, and what I want instead is for our baby to be out of harm’s way, financially stable, divorced and independent, and also forced to interrogate the more harmful ways she deploys her whiteness. Lol, no one would watch my show. I know. 

I love Beth & Rio. They thrill me. And like many others in the fandom,  I often want to remove them from the GG canon and make them have harder/real/necessary conversations -- and generally converse about anything/everything because they barely do that on screen. I love the drama of their scenes, but my happy place is skipping a year ahead and building headcanons about what they could look like in actual relationship with each other... and one of these daydreams is Rio pushing Beth on her politics. I’m in an interracial relationship with a white woman myself -- and one of the things I love is endlessly discussing political issues and processing and growing together, and I like transplanting that to Brio in my fic perhaps too much, and it makes them OOC in my writing at times. 

Okay!!! This got long again. Thanks for tangling with this if you’ve gotten this far. There were a lot of assertions up there and I’m happy to unpack something further (but, thats at your own risk y’know. Clearly I don’t know when to stop when it comes to writing these ridiculously long posts).

[katiesclassicbooks]

Review: The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Synopsis:

The Idiot was written by the Russian writer Fyodor Dostoyevsky and was published between 1868 and 1869. In this novel Dostoyevsky set out to write about a ‘perfectly beautiful man’. An innocent and pure man and what happens when he comes into contact with society. Apparently this idea all started when he saw a painting of Christ done by Hans Holbein in which It seems Christ will not resurrect. It is gruesome and portrays his all too human suffering. Our main character Prince Myshkin, is Christ like, but utterly human and can’t rise above the darkness of humanity. The Prince has epilepsy and spent some years in Switzerland at a sanitarium. When he finally returns to Russia he comes into contact with very distant relations and gets drawn into the society of 19th century St.Petersburg. Everyone is touched by his goodness, yet calls him an idiot because of his illness and because he is so simple hearted. Yet, many agree that he is more perceptive than most. Despite all this his goodness leads him to make choices that lead to the tragedy of the end of the novel. He may be truly good and truly perceptive, but perhaps it’s his goodness that makes him an idiot. As one of the characters said in the beginning of the novel, “I’m always kind, if you wish, and that is my only failing, because one should not always be kind”

Storyline:

What a fantastic story this was! Purely psychological. Purely about the characters. There almost isn’t a plot, just an experiment on the part of the author to see what happens when a Christ like but all too human man comes into contact with society. This was all done in lengthy conversations and claustrophobic gatherings. The result was intense. The first part of the novel really stole my attention and interest, after that there were sometimes parts that seemed to drag on too long. Some lengthy discussions by characters I didn’t care too much about. Still so interesting though.

Setting:

The setting was barely described in The Idiot. It’s set in 19th century St.Petersburg and the suburb Pavlosk. There’s not much description however. The scenes are mostly set in claustrophobic parties and gatherings. Sometimes outside, but just as wild and suffocating. The place described the most is Rogozhin’s house. It’s so dark and representative of it’s owner. In fact the painting that looms over this book, also looms over the characters at Rogozhin’s.

Characters:

Now the characters are what is central to this novel. Prince Myshkin is a character that I couldn’t help love and sympathize with even though I wish he made better decisions at the end. He is so innately good and innocent. A friend to everyone. So perceptive of everyone he can’t help but love them in a way. Yet when he is torn between two women this gets him in trouble. He is drawn to the fallen woman Nastasya Filipovna because he pities her and he is drawn to the beautiful, pure but feisty, Aglaya Epanchin because he truly loves her with romantic love. He can’t differentiate between the two though, which leads to the dramatic climax. His Epilepsy is interesting as well and also leads to some drama that would otherwise not have been there. There was a scene where he’s wandering around St.Petersburg during a fit and that was a trippy scene. Nastasya Fililpovna was such a great character, yet I wish she was more explored in depth. She’s a fallen woman. A passionate woman. A beautiful woman. An angry woman. A mad woman. She became a victim to an older man and therefore became a fallen woman, but instead of trying to redeem herself and realize she is not bad which the Christ like Prince tells her, she is self destructive and hates what has happened to her. She dances between redemption and succumbing to destruction and I’m sure you can guess what she chose. She was a fascinating character, yet one I wish had been explored more in depth. Aglaya was interesting because she should have been Nastasya’s pure counterpart, which happens in classic literature so often, but she wasn’t like your typical demure pure heroines. She’s spoiled, yet intelligent. She loves truly and sees the goodness in the Prince that others often miss, yet she is feisty. Her jealousy is a domino that leads to all of their downfalls. Rogozhin is the Prince’s rival in a way to Nastasya’s affection. He is the one that loves her truly in a romantic way. Yet he is driven by passion and obsession. He has already succumbed to darkness in a way. He has the painting of Christ in his house and it seems to remind him that goodness still gets tainted by the world so might as well not believe and be run by your negative impulses. You can tell from the beginning that if Nastasya ends up with him it will not go well. His jealousy and obsession is his undoing. It seems all the characters have a trait that is their undoing and shapes their fate. An interesting side character is Ganya who at first seems so malicious as he is out to marry Nastasya for her money, yet you realize he is just an ordinary man who is trying to improve his position in the world and doesn’t even have the strength to do that. The author condemns him more than anything because he is ordinary. He even went on a whole tangent condemning ordinary people, but how he had to include them in his book because most people are ordinary. A most hilarious discussion. Then there’s Ippolit. An annoying boy dying of tuberculosis, but yet so pivotal in the novel. For so long he’s so nihilistic, but then as death approaches sees more meaning in life. People who know they are about to die are explored in this book and not just through Ippolit. How this knowledge changes your views on life. Dostoyevsky had this interest because he was sentenced to death with two other writers but when it came time for the firing squad to annihilate them, they changed the sentence to four years of hard labor in Siberia. What a crazy thing to live with! All the other side characters were so fascinating as well. While this book was all about exploring these characters In depth I find it strange that at its completion I wanted to know so much more. As if important things about these characters were kept at arms length from me. Like an iceberg where there’s more to it than you can see.

Did I like this?:

This truly was a remarkable novel written by a master. I’m so glad to have finally read Dostoyevsky. This was an intense novel that has deeply impacted me. It’s time I read some more of his work.

Do I Recommend this?:

Yes! For fans of Russian 19th century literature such as Tolstoy and for those that love intensely psychological character studies.

- Katie

[imustbeamermaidrango]

The Optimism of Satan

by Mitch Horowitz

See article at: https://medium.com/s/radical-spirits/the-optimism-of-satan-eea5a1a24550

A friend of mine once had the opportunity to ask the Dalai Lama a single question.

“Who was your greatest teacher?” he asked.

The exiled leader replied, “Mao Zedong.”

I once felt provoked in my own sphere by a similarly unlikely teacher — Donald Trump.

Years ago, Trump the Developer asked an interviewer: “What good is something if you can’t put your name on it?” His comment is indelibly stamped on my memory, though I confess I cannot find a source for it. Did I imagine it? The sentiment, while coarse and easily rebutted, came to haunt me.

Did Trump, the showy conman obsessed with naming rights, capture a nagging truth of human nature — a side none of us can deny or push away, other than by an act of self-regarding hypocrisy? And did I, hopefully in a more integral way, share a kernel of his outlook? Was the voice even his — or something within me?

Soon after hearing Trump’s remark, I received what struck me as a bit of ridiculous advice from the editor of an academic spiritual journal. I told him in candor that I wanted to find greater exposure for my byline. “You don’t have to put your name on everything you write,” he replied. Such a principle could ring true only in the world of abstraction.

Trump’s statement about self-exaltation, however ugly, captured half a truth. The whole truth is that our lives, as vessels for various influences — some physical, some perhaps beyond — are bound up with the world and circumstances in which we find ourselves; and within that world we must, at the stake of personal happiness, create, expand, and aspire. Whatever higher influences we feel or great thoughts we think, or are experienced by us through the influence of others, are like heat dissipated in the vacuum of space unless those thoughts are directed into a structure or receptacle. Our purpose is to be generative. Questions of attachment and non-attachment, identification and non-identification, are incidental to that larger fact.

I came to feel strongly about this several years ago when I found that my spiritual search, a path of radical ecumenism with a dedication to esoteric interests, was failing to satisfy me. I began to suspect that I was not acknowledging what I was really looking for, either in spirituality — by which I mean a search for the extra-physical — or therapy. I came face-to-face with an instinct that few people acknowledge, and would deny if they heard it spoken. But they should linger on it. Because what I discovered captures what I believe is a basic if discomforting human truth: The ethical or spiritual search, not as idealized but as actually lived, is a search for power. That is, for the ability to possess personal agency. We pray, “Thy will be done.” We mean “my will be done” — hoping that the two comport. This is why, at least in my observations after thirty years as a publisher, seeker, and historian of alternative spirituality, many seekers in both traditional and alternative faiths are ill at ease, fitful in their progress, and apt to slide from faith to faith, or to harbor multiple, sometimes conflicting, practices at once.

Power is supposed to be the craving of the corrupt. Is it? The novelist Isaac Bashevis Singer, surveying the modern occult scene, wrote in 1967: “We are all black magicians in our dreams, in our fantasies, perversions, and phobias.” And to this I would add, in pursuit of our highest ideals. As Singer detected, we are not very different from the classical magician when we strive, morally and materially, to carry forth our plans in the world — to ensure the betterment of ourselves and our loved ones; to heal sickness; to create, sustain, and, above all, to generate things which bear our markings, ideals, and likenesses. All of this is the expenditure of power, the striving to actualize our drives and images.

I do not view the search for individual power, including through supernatural means (a topic I will clarify and expand on), as necessarily maleficent. Historically and psychologically, it is a fundamental human trait to evaluate, adopt, or avoid an idea based upon whether it builds or depletes our sense of personal agency. “A living thing,” Nietzsche wrote in Beyond Good and Evil, “seeks above all to discharge its strength — life itself is will to power…” The difficulty is in making our choices wisely, and ethically.

I know how far I’m extending my chin by quoting Nietzsche. I sound like a dorm-room libertine. A critic once accused me of harboring an adolescent wish to power. To that, I plead guilty — but with a catch. I do believe in universal reciprocity, an indelible oneness of existence, and I operate from a ground rule of nonviolence. By that, I do not mean abstention from self-defense but rather an unwillingness to violate the sanctity of another’s search, to knowingly do anything that would deprive another of his or her own pursuit of highest potential. And since the political question is never far away, I’ll note that my policy preferences run to a mildly redistributive social democratic state with single-payer healthcare, labor unions, and consumer protections with teeth.

As alluded, sensitive people often deny or overlook their power-seeking impulse, associating it with the tragic fate of Faust or Lady Macbeth. It can be argued, however, that all of our neuroses and feelings of chronic despair, aside from those with identifiably biological causes, grow from the frustrated expression of personal power. We may spend a lifetime (and countless therapy sessions) ascribing our problems to other, more secondary phenomena — without realizing that, as naturally as a bird is drawn to the dips and flows of air currents, we are in the perpetual act of trying to forge, create, and sustain, much like the ancient alchemist or wizard.

The ultimate frustration of life is that, while we seem to be granted godlike powers — giving birth, creating beauty, spanning space and time, devising machines of incredible might — we are bound to physical forms that quickly decay. “Ye are gods,” wrote the psalmist, adding “but yet shall die as princes.” Immortality and the reversal of bodily decline is the one magic no one has ever mastered. The wish to surpass the boundaries of our physicality is behind some of our most haunting myths and parables, from the Trojan prince Tithonus, to whom the gods granted immortality but trapped in a shell of misery and decay for failing to request eternal youth, to the doomed scientist Victor Frankenstein, who sought the ultimate alchemy of creating life only to bring destruction on everyone around him.

We live in a sphere of limitations. But we cannot desist from pushing against its limits. It is our heritage.

Many of us grew up learning the story of humanity’s fall from grace in the biblical parable of the garden of paradise, where the serpent — long associated with the Great Adversary (a guest who’ll soon be arriving) — seduces Eve, and then she Adam, into eating forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. But take a fresh reading, or a first reading, of the sparsely detailed chapter three of Genesis. When revisiting this familiar story in virtually any translation, you’ll see not only that the serpent’s argument is based in truth — the couple does not perish for eating the apple, and their eyes are, in fact, opened to good and evil (indeed, some scholars contend that the garden’s two trees, the tree of knowledge and the tree of life, are the same)— but also that Eve, contrary to a shibboleth about feminine nature, does not seduce Adam, who requires little coaxing. The serpent even suggests, as augmented in other texts, that Yahweh displays cruel hypocrisy by forbidding intellectual illumination, even as its availability sits in the garden’s midst.

We’re taught, too, that the denouement of Eve’s misstep was her son Cain slaying his brother Abel. But Cain’s tragic act of fratricide may reflect, in discomforting realism, the unavoidable consequence of creativity: friction. Competing ideologies and the wish to measure and evaluate may be the inevitable cost of awareness. But without the rebel, the malcontent, the usurper — the snake in the garden — how could humanity claim sentience?

Lord Byron used his 1821 drama, Cain, one of the dramatist’s most alluring and under-appreciated works, to take the marked brother’s side. And to introduce the most jarring literary re-conception of Lucifer next to Milton’s. Byron’s antihero, who befriends the rebellious Cain, is persuasive and penetrating in his denial that he was the serpent in the garden, yet he points out that the serpent greeted Eve as a sexual and political emancipator — an outlook embraced by many proto-feminists and political radicals of that century and the next. Byron’s dark lord is a fiery optimist on the side of the malcontents: “I know the thoughts/Of dust, and feel for it, and with you.”

I began to question whether the forces of creation with which I most identified — whether parabolic or metaphysical — were these same forces of Promethean defiance. Forces of aspiration who rallied to the cry of the demon Moloch in Paradise Lost: “Hard liberty before the easy yoke.”

Now, one could ask: why think of any of this other than in material terms? Why not put away my Bhagavad Gita in favor of Atlas Shrugged? Because, as noted, I believe that truth is not contained within flesh and bone alone. I think we participate in an existence that goes beyond the five senses. And I believe that our ancient ancestors were correct in deifying certain energies and understanding oneself in relation to them; they gave them names like Thoth, Hermes, Minerva, and Set. Hence, I began to take a long and considered look at such an energy, to which I have been alluding, but which I have not yet named: Satan. This term has its own complicated past, it has gotten me cast out of a garden or two myself, but I employ it both to acknowledge its colloquial primacy and as a bow to bluntness.

There exists a rich and underappreciated counter narrative of humanity’s encounter with what is called “Satanic” in Western life particularly, but not only, in the literature of the Romantics. This countercurrent of spiritual, political, and cultural history — and present — has been insufficiently understood, historically confused, and blurred by entertainment, conspiracy theorists, sensationalism, and fraud (such as the “Satanic Panic” of the 1980s).

My wish then, is to encourage a second look where we’re not supposed to be looking — that is, to take a more unadorned, elucidating, and even hopeful perspective on the Satanic. Milton has Satan say: “The mind is its own place, and in it self/Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.” Again, Satan is an optimist. Me too. No cards under the table: my journey — and perhaps yours — includes constructively wondering whether my own search for a personal, spiritual, and ethical philosophy (I have one — and it’s vital to me) lies east of Eden, or within what is popularly but incompletely called the “dark side.” That’s what I’ve been describing.

Darkness is not a void; it’s a womb. And in the territory of truth and consensual experiment, there exist no boundaries of exploration.

[sgxena16]

Thoughts on OITNB S6

I gotta say those last 15 minutes were a roller coaster. Good and bad things happened so I had many conflicting feelings which I’m sure is what they wanted. Overall I enjoyed the season so here are some thoughts I have about the season 6. Spoilers ahead!

Gotta say this first: VAUSEMAN WEDDING. They’re married and I’m so happy about that. They love each other so much and I’m confident that they will make it.

Still confused as to why Fig hired guards with PTSD from war and from the riot. That just screams bad idea. I feel bad for McCollough but she needs to take responsibility for herself and take herself out of a situation that could trigger her which could result in her or someone else getting hurt. Her saying that she would’ve shot the women if she had a gun on her should’ve been the push she needed to take leave from the prison.

Speaking of guards, I’m glad Pennsatucky left Donuts. I could never have accepted her being with him and I don’t think the show did their storyline well at all. I get trying to be complex, but there’s nothing complex about a guard raping a prisoner and the prisoner not just forgiving the guard, but falling for him and running away with him.

Love Pennsatucky and Suzanne’s friendship. They should get a buddy cop movie

I hope Frieda learns how to have friends. 

The first episode was very enlightening since we got to see how Suzanne views the world. It was sweet, funny, and heartbreaking. 

Healy basically choosing to absolve himself of all the fucked up things he did in Litchfield is crappy and unsurprising 

I’m here for Alex calling Piper “babe”

Cindy testifying against Taystee was awful, but she is a victim of the justice system which made her turn against her friend. If she didn’t, she’d get more time. The AUSAs and FBI were basically extorting testimony

 Flaca didn’t really get much to do this season but her words of wisdom to Cindy in the last episode were wonderful

Loved seeing the gang (Piper, Alex, Nicky, Lorna) back together for the wedding. Nicky and Lorna have been with vauseman since the beginning. It’s only fitting that they’re there for the wedding.

I rewatched the last few eps of season 5 in preparation for this. In the last ep, Alex asked Red if the riot was worth it. I think this s6 answered that question. They were separated. They were sent to max. Some of them were given 10 more years and some got life. Blanca was thrown to ICE. MCC is thriving. The guards are still dicks. No justice was gotten for Poussey. In my opinion, the riot was not worth it.

At the end of last season, some of us were worried that Kubra saw the video of Alex and would try to kill her again. Apparently Kubra doesn’t watch the news, isn’t on social media, or notices when one of his people disappears. 

We’re all in agreement that Madison aka Badison is the worst, right?

It was nice of the show to let Alex/Piper and Nicky/Lorna be in the same block.

Piper really does need Alex. Alex was her rock all season. Always calm, collected, and reassuring. I don’t think Piper would’ve survived prison without her. It’d be nice to get the chance to see her try to survive the outside world without Alex. 

Alex being so protective of Piper was super sweet.

Lorna going all gangster was weird, disturbing, and amusing. I guess it’s possible to rationalize that joining a gang would give her people that’d protect her.

Nicky stayed sober! In Max! Where drugs are everywhere! I’m so proud of her. She was there for everyone who needed her. Blanca, Lorna, Red, Barb. Nicky is one of the most reliable people on the show. Her struggle with turning on Red was hard to watch because you knew she’d feel bad no matter what choice she made. 

Nicky protecting Lorna by leaving her in the closet was amazing. She knew that she could possibly die during kickball, but protecting Lorna was more important. 

Any yet something goes wrong. It seems like Lorna is going into labor even though she’s only 7 months pregnant. And there was blood on her uniform as she was taken to medical. As if the end of this season didn’t need more drama and tragedy.

Red is her own worst enemy. It;s like she needs someone to hate so she had something to do. Everyone needs something to do in prison to bid their time but Red’s distraction ruins her connection to the people she loves. I’m so pissed at her for choosing to attack Frieda over seeing her grandchildren. I hope to see her forgive her prison family in s7 and work towards making amends to her family on the outside. She needs to stop focusing on power and vengeance and start focusing on family.

Lorna’s disregard of Red was awful. She said something about how Red wasn’t useful anymore. In season 2, Red was on the outs with her prison family and she figured that it was because she wasn’t useful anymore. It sucks that people in her family (at least Lorna) only care about Red when they can get something out of her.

I have no idea what the deal with Gloria and Luschek is. Didn’t really like it but I didn’t dislike it.

Part of me is annoyed with Daya for joining the gang, dealing drugs, and acting like a jerk. Part of me has no problem with it. Girl’s got life in prison. She’s gotta survive it however she can. I just want her to survive it without being an asshole. 

I’m not sure how I feel about Daya being the one used to showcase the opioid crisis. I also really don’t like her relationship with Daddy. It’s completely based on sex, drugs, and power. And while Daddy cares, she doesn’t care enough to stop dealing drugs even though it’s hurting Daya.  

I respect Aledia for choosing to continue sending drugs into the prison even though her daughter is a junkie. It’s weird that we’re in a place where something like this is respectable. Aleida has to get her other kids. She can’t risk her shot at getting custody back on Daya. Especially when Daya has no problem with how things are going. It was heartbreaking to see her come to decision to basically give up on Daya, but it showed how strong she was.

I just found out the Cindy’s Secret Agent song is from the Backyardigans. I’d love to know how the writers came up with the idea of sing that song. 

I loved that Maria made the choice to be good at the end. It seemed like she lost all hope of getting out in season 4 because she thought she had more time added to her sentence.

I really hope Taystee can forgive Cindy eventually. Not right away cause getting convicted for something you didn’t do and being sentenced to life is probably not gonna put her in a forgiving mood. 

I’m gonna need Taystee to appeal her conviction and win so there can be some justice. The show owes us that. If Poussey can’t get justice then Taystee needs to

I do hope that Piper writes the memoir but it’d be interesting to see how she frames the kickball game since she never knew about the bloodbath that almost happened. I also want to see her become an advocate from prisoner rights 

The show needs to follow Blanca and not drop this immigration detention centers story line they’ve started. Since the show is trying to demonstrate real life issues and their results, I doubt they’re gonna let Blanca have a happy ending but I’m still going to hold out hope. She and Diablo deserve to have their family.

A highlight at the end was seeing Sophia be released early with 300K. I don’t think the show ever really finished her story since she just dropped off the show and came back every now and then. She deserved this happy ending and I hope we don’t see her again. I’m afraid they’ll add drama to her life. 

I saw an article talk about how this show makes freedom seem relative to each person’s situation. With Pennsatucky, she was free but not free. She had to wear a disguise and was beholden to what Donuts wanted. Aleida is free but she can’t do the things she wants to. She can’t afford a place to live for her and her kids and she can’t get a job. She has to resort to dealing drugs to have a chance at getting what she wants. She’s back to doing what landed her in prison while Pennsatucky actually ends up back in prison and seems happier for it.

The show really made the point that Taystee and Piper are the co-leads of the show, especially with their scene in the salon. They both dealth with crap this season, but Piper got early release while Taystee was convicted of a murder she didn’t commit. And even if Taystee got out, she would have a harder time than Piper at having a good life. I hope the show  makes a point to show the contrast between Piper and Aleida as they try to have a life on the outside.

Overall, this season was really good. It wasn’t as cluttered as season 5 and that was partially thanks to writing off some characters. The last 15-20 minutes had a lot going on which left me with conflicting feelings. I’m really excited for next season. It seems like the show is winding down but I’m not sure they can resolve everyone’s story in just season 7 but I shall not doubt this show. I know they want to be realistic, but I’m gonna need most of these characters to get as happy an ending as possible.

I hope we get to see the characters that weren’t in this season again just so we can have a proper goodbye with them.

Just remembered something else. A great moment this season was seeing Boo and seeing Linda get her head shaved. Couldn’t have happened to a better person. Not surprised that her time in prison didn’t change her views on how to treat inmates.

Thanks for reading all this. I’m here to talk about the show if anyone wants to. And you can check out my season 6 Vauseman rant here. I had a lot to say about them and didn’t want to clog this too much. I wish everyone luck on surviving this hiatus. 

[kokkoro]

(Message 2 of 2) I also couldn’t believe what you did with putting the danger and drama of Lexa’s job in there. Like a fluff-ANGST-fluff sandwich. Also the situation with Danny at school and fitting in - broke my heart but I’m glad you resolved it. Anyways just wanted to say thank you thank you thank you. It’s always been one of my faves and it’s very easy to see that it was a labor of love on your part. I’ll be looking out for your work as always! :)

I actually wanted to put in more about her work tbh! there was a scene that was originally going to be in october, which then moved to november bc i wanted to incorporate it into clarke’s healing process, and then eventually it got cut bc i didn’t have the time/energy. I still wanna add it! ….. eventually maybe.

And Danny was one of my favorites to write. her whole arc was one of the few concrete things about VB that i knew from the start. as with everything i wish i was able to do more with it, but VB is the longest ongoing story i’ve ever attempted and actually completed so im super proud of it in that respect! im glad it came across!

also thank you thank you thank you!! for this lovely two part message. after the day i had yesterday it really lifted me up. thank you.

[killian-whump]

OUAT 3x01: Rewatch Blog

Welcome aboard, mateys! It's time to start rewatching Season 3! As usual, I'm a bit behind everyone else on this rewatch, but I've decided it's more fun for me to move at my own pace, so I probably won't be catching up anytime soon ;)

That said... Let's get started on Once Upon a Time Season 3!!!

Whoa. Wait a minute. Eleven Years Ago?! I really AM behind... ;)

Seriously, though. Do they really have to handcuff her ankle to the bed? Do they have a problem with women in labor jumping up and escaping prison right at that precise moment in their lives?

That's sad, though :(

Ooooh... I love the deadly stillness after the ship "lands" in Neverland. It's so... eeeeeeeerie. 

Ahhh, and the ominous look on Killian's face.

You can just FEEL the tension in the air.

"Aye. Neverland."

AHHHHHHHH TENSION AND ANGST

Kinda lame title card, haha.

Aw, great. It's this guy. NOBODY MISSED YOU GREG. YOU CAN GO BACK TO WHEREVER YOU WENT DURING THE HIATUS NOW.

SHIT. HE BROUGHT TAMARA, TOO.

I really hate these two, guys. Like, really.

Oh, come on. Don't shove a fucking kid, you asshat. Fucking GREG. You're an insult to your name, and I don't even like your name.

Oooooh, spooky noises. I love the atmosphere they built for this realm.

"Who we work for is not your concern, kid." Well, according to YOU as of about 20 minutes ago in show time, it's not YOUR concern either, dipshit.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA THERE'S SAND IN YOUR BATTERY COMPARTMENT, YOU FUCKING MORON. WHO PUT SAND IN YOUR BATTERY COMPARTMENT, HUH? YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

Shut up, shut up. I know it was Peter Pan. LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT.

"It's a good thing you guys don't ask any questions." Hahahaha, bested by an 11-year-old and sand.

...and there he goes, shoving the damn kid again. You're just a colossal jerk, aren't you, Greg?

At least Tamara has the sense to look mildly concerned right here.

"Oh, I know, my hot-headed queen."

I JUST DIED. Forward my mail to my gravesite.

I totally forgot that line ever happened. I love rewatching this show.

"I hope not, or we've wasted our lives." AAAAAAANGST

"Your lives... well... THEY'VE SUCKED" hahaha, Why don’t you tell them what you really think, Emma XD

"We found you." Awww... "And lost Henry! And Neal!" Well, to be fair, it's not like you can expect them to give two shits about Neal. They met him, like, last week. And he's kinda a dick. And his Dad's, like, evil incarnate. But okay.

"Oh, that's a great use of our time: A wardrobe change." One of the best lines ever, really.

I mean, did Rumple really need to do the dramatic cane-spinning exit, though? It makes for good TV, so it's cool and all, but imagine it in real life. Like, just a boat full of people staring at where he once stood, thinking, "JFC That was unnecessarily dramatic."

OH, YEAH, LET'S LIGHT A FUCKING FIRE, GREG. THAT'S A GREAT FUCKING IDEA, GREG. Fucking loser.

Yes, I do plan on doing this until he dies. You have your hobbies; I have mine.

"You making S'Mores?"

HAAAAAAHHAHAHAHA OMG LOOK AT HIS FACE:

Fucking goon. Haha. I named that screencap "assface" when I saved it, because I feel it's fitting for both the character AND the face he's making.

"What if the empty communicator wasn't an accident?"

You mean the one someone OBVIOUSLY filled with sand instead of batteries ON PURPOSE??? Noooooooooooo.

"Don't let the kid get in your head." He's not even TRYING, Greg. He's just hungry and wants some fucking S'Mores. I want some S'Mores, too. We all want fucking S'Mores. S'Mores are delicious, FuckingGreg.

OH LOOK, IT'S FELIX.

AND ALL THE REST OF THE LOST BOYS ONES BOYS. I think we’re calling them “Boys” now. Must have gotten the rights.

Kill him, Felix. Somebody. Anybody. I'll even settle for the annoying Lost Boy with the face that annoys me, although I don't think he's in this season, but he's welcome to join it IF HE KILLS GREG.

"Then you're not getting the boy." Oh, Greg. It is entirely too late for you to do anything remotely likable now. Like, I literally want to throw Henry at them now just to spite you.

YEEEEESSSSSSSSSS RIP THAT MOTHERFUCKER'S SOUL OUT OF HIS BODY. TAKE HIS SPINE, TOO. THE ENTIRE SKELETAL SYSTEM. MAYBE A DISEMBOWELING'S CALLED FOR HERE?

Or, you know, you can just leave his husk there by the fire to rot away. That's good, too. I'm not picky.

GREG IS DEAD, EVERYBODY.

Tamara and Henry are running! Oh no! Will they make it? Will they-

This is a great scene, everybody. Thank you so much. This is the best thing to ever happen to me and the season only started 10 minutes ago.

Hahaha, they even show us a close-up of Tamara lying motionless on the ground, and then Greg. Like they KNOW we've all been waiting for their demise and they wanted to give us screenshots for our scrapbooks.

Anyway, thanks Felix! That was pretty cool. Much obliged.

Hey, look. An enterprising young chap has helped Henry up. There's no way he could be a bad guy.

I have to say, of all the "twists" in Once, this was one of the worst ones in terms of how OBVIOUS it was.

To some extent, it's the casting department's fault, because Robbie Kay is just TOO fucking perfect for Peter Pan. Like, he just EXUDES Peter Pan and he's not fooling anybody.

Heeheehee CS flirting <3

"What do you want?" All due respect, but it's HIS fucking ship? Like, he doesn't really need a reason to be below deck on his own ship?

"I didn't realize you were sentimental." "I'm not."

I love it when he spits the cork out, but how many corks does this man go through?!

Oh, look. Speak of the devil - It's Neal.

"Tell Emma I'm alive. And I love her."

Well, that's a GREAT message to pass on through your kiiiiiid. Won't get his hopes up or anything.

ANYWAY.

"Long enough to know I miss him, too." T_T

UH OH. TROUBLE'S AFOOT!!!

Oh, Dave and Snow are at the helm. That explains it. LEARN HOW TO DRIVE, SNOWING. Gosh.

Pun intended. I'm so sorry.

Regina: "What the hell are you two doing?!" Ahahahahaha :D

"Prepare for attack!" "Be more specific!" I love all these interactions. This is like the WORST family vacation EVER and I love every second of it.

"What's out there? A shark? A whale?" "A kraken?"

YOU FUCKING WISH.

Actually, no, Dave probably doesn't wish... but Kraken-san does! :D

Emma's response is classic. "Mermaids?!" Like what the fuck else does she have to put up with in this crazy sham of a life NOOOOW?

Dave's kinda hot manning that cannon, I gotta say. He's showing off some guns firing off that gun, if you know what I mean.

But really, what did they plan to DO with one mermaid, anyway? Especially after Regina chased them all off with her fireballs?

Oh, look. Henry and Totally-Not-Peter-Pan are on the run!

I'm super fooled by him talking himself up in third person, though XD

"If Pan wants you... he WILL get you."

"Pan will rip their shadows into oblivion."

"Pan loves nachos with spicy cheese."

"Pan is the awesomest guy on this island."

Aw, man. This scene is a snoozefest :/

Literally. They're all just watching Aurora sleep XD

Wait. HOW is Neal feeling better? He got shot, like, 10 minutes ago in show time and he's had no REAL medical care, aside from whatever they bandaged him with, since none of these folks here have magic.

HOW IS HE FEELING BETTER?!

I gotta be honest, though. Rumple is hot as SHIT in this season. I ain't gonna pretend otherwise. This leather clad badass thing WORKS for him.

Oh, look. Tamara's still alive.

"C-Can you forgive me?"

I'm gonna guess that is a HARD ASS NO, bitch.

Haha, love the way he flicks the dust off his fingers.

"GET THAT THING OFF MY SHIP!"

I love how panicked he is by the mermaid XD It gives my entire life meaning :D

I wish we had more information in canon about Hook's time in Neverland. We can tell this is FAR from his first skirmish with mermaids, but how/when/why/what happened? I NEED TO KNOW! Especially if it involved wounds or peril or other things relevant to my interests...

Touching Mulan and Neal chat.

More running in the woods with Not!Pan.

"Well, I'm all out of fish food." Love you, Regina <3

"Fillet the bitch." Seriously, love you so much bae <3

Snow's face, tho XD

This is 110% why I watch this show. SHENANIGANS.

...and a pirate. Don't forget the pirate.

"I've outrun many a storm!" We know you have, babe. We know. You keep telling us...

SHAMPOO COMMERCIAL TIME!!!

PERIL ON THE HIGH SEAS!!!

CERTAIN BLETH DEATH!!!

SUPER DRAMATIC MUSIC!!!

...as we cut to a peaceful, though somewhat dilapidated, castle in the Enchanted Forest. Birds are singing, dawn is breaking, the world is alight with hope and possibili-

JUST KIDDING. GET BACK TO THE FUCKING DRAMA STORM, SHOW.

I hate it when they do this.

Hey, Sean. Nice intro.

"You don't want to see ID?" Neal... ISTFG.

Disappearing arrow, heehee. SHENANIGANS.

I love how interested Robin is in what's inside the vault XD Always a thief, eh?

"This isn't a storm. It's bloody damnation!" Love that line <3

"Let the slags go!" Haha "Don't call my wife a slag!" Haha!

BOY FIGHT!! BOY FIGHT!!!

They're all wet, too! Slow down, cameraman! I wanna see ALL of this!!!

Oooh, almost gutted with his own hook. Haaaaarsh.

Emma, no one's listening to you. Emma, no one's... They're not... They're not even looking or paying any attention at all... They won't even- Oh. Okay. Somehow everyone saw you jump, despite literally being in a fight for their respective lives. Neat.

...aaaaaaand cue the convenient rigging falling loose and hitting her in the head.

SHENANIGAAAAAAAAANS

Oh, look! They're flying!!!

This would be super touching if it wasn't, you know, exactly what Pan wants XD

Haha, Emma looks so ethereal floating there, unconscious, in the waters of Neverland, facing certain death.

Awww! A big group effort rescue!!! Good job, team!

"Told you." Right, but no one was listening...? So how do they even know what she's talking about? Well, I guess maybe they WERE listening...?

Shenanigans? idek anymore...

SHENANIGANS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Awww... Bobby's acting is so great right here. This is awesome. Very moving. The part after the shenanigans, I mean. Although they’re great, too.

Felix, you're kinda a dick, though. That’s kinda a compliment, tho?

I love it when magic flops :D Dramatic music aaaaaand... nothing.

"Actually, I quite fancy you from time to time, when you're not yelling at me."

You like her even more when she's yelling at you, son. IT IS KNOWN.

His offended face when Charming says, "With him?" XD DAVE, WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS ABOUT ME. DAVE, I THOUGHT WE WERE PALS. DAVE. DAAAAVE.

Hahaha, his adorable shrug to Regina. SHENANIGANS <3

"You couldn't be more right, Henry."

I'm so glad they didn't try to drag out the reveal of Pan to another episode, because he seriously wasn't fooling aaaaaanybody.

Except for Henry. Oops?

It's so great how ominous they're being at the end of this episode, advancing on Henry like that...

Although Pan's "let's play!" is a lot less frightening when you know he literally means "let's dance around a fire and create a rhythmic ruckus" but hey. It still works for the ending of this episode, which is now... OVER!!

PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!! PEW PEW PEW!!!

[glitterandrocketfuel]

The Feral (part 4)

For @laudanumcafe on this, the occasion of National Birb Day! Our intrepid alpha, curious about the tantalizing hints of mystery-omega scent, has traced it to an alley, where he found himself ambushed and trapped in the saddest omega nest he’d ever seen, at the mercy of an omega with a vendetta against alphas...

Another part of the ongoing A/B/O drama of...The Feral lies behind the cut! A little NSFW

If he weren't tied up, he'd be pacing and making lists in his battered music notebook. I'm an alpha, in an omega's nest. In the saddest damn omega nest I've ever seen. Even the Christmas commercials begging donations for alpha detention centers and omega shelters for society's castoffs didn't feel this sad. And the owner of that sad-sack nest was hours, maybe minutes, from heat. To put the cherry on the insanity sundae, Patrick was fucking purring as if he'd claimed the omega himself.

The omega peered down at him, his eyes the only glimmering points of reflected light in the darkness. "Why?" he ground out, making a broken noise. "Why would you come here?"

Patrick inhaled and wished he hadn't--the omega scent was leaching brain cells from him--and tried to formulate an answer that would satisfy the omega and maybe get him untied and out of here without becoming the subject of an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. "The--the hoodie," he mumbled. "My friend Keith wasn't sure who'd left it--hey, do you know Keith?" Patrick followed the line on a hunch when the omega cocked his head at the guitarist's name. "Maybe you take lessons from him?"

The omega snorted and it almost sounded sarcastic, but onset wasn't really a time where people--whether they were alphas in rut-onset or omegas in heat-onset--really did sarcasm. Still…If he's this close to actual heat and slinging out sarcasm, he's got incredible control.

Nevermind the fact that he'd managed to ambush an alpha--okay, Patrick--and tie him up. Clearly, this omega wasn't your typical Omega channel made-for-TV movie, "helpless omega in the throes of heat" lead. Or even on par with Joe, whose wit and sense of humor took a backseat to baldly-voiced propositions like, "Coming up on heat, which one of you fuckers thinks they can take me?" Until Andy slung an arm around Joe's neck and gave him a playful noogie and a pointed scenting and a muttered. "You mean thinks they can take me." And that only counted if they survived Marie.

Patrick tried again. Sarcasm meant higher thinking, and higher thinking meant the omega could maybe be reasoned with. "You know Keith, that means you like music, yeah? I'm--I'm in a-a band." It wasn't exactly a lie. It was a prediction. "I play around here sometimes. I--I subbed for Arma Angelus once."

At that, the omega barked out a sharp laugh. "Fuck me."

It wasn't a plea. Not even Patrick's increasingly addling brain could take it as anything but an incredulous response to bullshit. He huffed. "Did so! I'm a drummer. I can play guitar, too."

The omega had been creeping closer and Patrick only now noticed his presence. He jumped when the omega's fingers curled into the hoodie and he jerked it up over Patrick's shoulders. His shirt rode up, exposing a stripe of pale, tender stomach just above his belt. Patrick kept talking, faster now, hoping to ground the omega, help him keep his head, keep him calm. "So you do like music. You know I bet we know all the same people. The scene's not that big. We could--"

"Shut up," the omega growled. "Just because you know...the scene doesn't mean--nothing makes you trust--" The omega gave a few more frustrated tugs but ran into the inevitable dead-end because, short of cutting the sleeves lengthwise, there was no way he was getting the hoodie off unless he untied Patrick's hands. During all this awkward wrestling with fleece outerwear, Patrick couldn't escape the omega's proximity--his lean hips in skinny jeans, or the heat radiating off him in waves.

Patrick cleared his throat. The omega's scent crawled into his mouth, slithered down his throat, into his lungs, seeping into his system like thick syrup. "It's yours, isn't it? The hoodie?" He twisted in the blanket nest and struggled to move--sit up, move away--move closer.

"Mine," the omega growled. "But it smells like you. Like an us that isn't real." The omega scuttled away again. "There is no us. Never--never another alpha--no more--no claiming--"

"Hey, hey, easy, shh--shhh--I didn't come here to claim you--"

Instead of comforting the omega, Patrick's words just made him more agitated and the omega let out an anguished cry. He shuffled back against the wall, into the corner, but still close enough to the pathetic little nest--and to Patrick--to tangle his hands in the hoodie, sleeves now around the fabric securing Patrick's wrists to the pipe.

Patrick angled his head up to see the omega bury his face in the hoodie's bunched-up bottom hem and breathe deeply. A muffled, "Alpha," came through, the fabric not enough to stifle the plaintive note that cut right through to the center of Patrick's soul.

"No, wait--hey, I'm here." The chill of the dirt floor seeped up through the blankets and prickled along Patrick's exposed skin. "What is it you need, omega?"

The answer only came in the form of labored breathing, as if the other man only had the strength to drag air into his lungs, and the sighs that expelled it carried anguish and defeat in the form of long, low groans that sounded as tortured as they sounded needy in a way that Patrick's groin really wanted to respond to.

Patrick swallowed and it echoed in the dank basement. His arms were growing stiff, but he could feel the material that tied him to the pipe giving a little. The omega edged closer. "Need…oh, fuck you!" The last was an epithet, not an invitation.

Patrick bit his lip. You know what the omega needs. He needs a knot. He needs a fucking alpha. He needs someone to take care of him through his heat and a goddamn nest that isn't a sad little pile of castoffs. He sucked in a breath (and more of the omega's scent). "You…do you want, um, help with your heat?"

Patrick, what the fuck are you doing? You don't even know this guy! He could be a psycho. You aren't even into guys. Well, not much, anyway. But pheromones aside, this was another person, in pain, and he was in a position--relatively speaking--to do something about it. "Hey, I don't--what's your name?" Asking the guy who tied him to a pipe in a basement to put him at ease, these are Patrick Stump things, he thought.

The omega's breathing became more labored. "Help,” he sneered. “With my heat. What a fucking joke."

Patrick struggled to turn, to see if he could catch a glimpse of the omega in the dank darkness. "Really. I don't mean sex, but like, there are things you could do--I could help. You don't--you shouldn't have to suffer like this."

"The fuck do you care?"

At this, Patrick shrugged. "I dunno." He tried honesty. "Look, my body's making me want things I shouldn't, too. But it's not just sex. You--you shouldn't have to lock yourself in a crummy basement with--whatever this is--just to be safe." On impulse, he added, "And you damn well shouldn't have to be claimed like a fucking object by some jackass just because they have the right blend of pheromones. You shouldn't have to be coerced just because of what your body does."

"No--yeah--yeah, you're--you're actually right?"

Patrick heard a scuffle as the omega sidled closer. "It's been known to happen," he said wryly.

"It's just--you smell so good to me right now."

Patrick laughed outright at that. "Dude, I get that. But, like--I don't know you and you don't know me and just because we smell good doesn't mean we should--I mean, I won't, like--No alpha should ever--"

"I wish I could believe you," the omega said, and the sadness in his voice shattered Patrick's heart.

"I'm going to untie you now." The omega let out a sigh. "Just--get it over with."

Hands scrabbled at the rags holding Patrick's wrists. The omega shifted his body around Patrick's and some of those brushes had a very deliberate feel to them. Patrick felt the fabric around his wrists give at the same time he felt the omega tense above him, as if the other man braced himself for something unpleasant and inevitable.

Patrick was not unpleasant, nor would he be inevitable. But the omega had to straddle him to get the last knot loose and he could feel the dampness in the omega's sweatpants, couldn't help but smell the sweet slick leaking from the omega's body. His hands came free and settled on the omega's hips and, to his everlasting shame, he held the omega above him and ground his hips up as a sudden, powerful urge to rut took over.

Above him, the omega moaned, and it was a sound that held as much anguish as it did desire, and Patrick was not about that at all. He rolled to the side. "No," he said firmly. "We are not going down like this." He scrambled to his feet, trying to keep the purr from thrumming out of his throat as he shrugged off the hoodie that smelled like his and the omega's scents mixed--God, I was stupid, stupid for wearing it!

The omega huddled to the side and growled, fit to intimidate as much as any alpha growl they played in the background of heavy-duty truck commercials on TV. "The fuck are you doing?"

Patrick peeled the hoodie all the way off and approached the omega. "I'm leaving," he said. "Before I--meet your expectations of an alpha." He spread the hoodie out over the omega, almost wishing he could see in the dark. To see the person hurting so much and so close, but who would be hurt more if Patrick tried to help. Instead, he twitched the last corner of the hoodie over the other boy's body.

"The fuck is this for?" It was too dark to see, but the scorn coming off the omega hit Patrick like a wave from the lake.

"That should have enough of my scent on it to drive away anybody else who might come sniffing around."

"I thought you said you'd help me with my heat." The omega's tone held challenge and scorn that was as much self-loathing as it was disgust for the process. "Aren't you gonna--tell me--" The omega started to pant. "How bad I'm--supposed to--to want your--knot?"

"This is helping," Patrick retorted, determinedly ignoring the swell and pull low in his abdomen that said knotknotknot yesyesyes nownownow before other alphas find him. "I'd be a shit alpha if I didn't protect first. And that's all I'm doing. Good bye for now. I--I hope you feel better soon." He strangled out the last of his words against mounting pressure in his jeans and the desperate need to get out before he lost his last two brain cells.

Patrick bolted from the basement with one hand down his pants, pressing against the base of his cock. He made it to the darkest corner behind the dumpster and tore his fly open just in time to thrust into his hand twice before coming all over the brick and the rusted edge of the dumpster. He stood, shivering and hoodie-less, as his dick pulsed in fingers that couldn't tighten hard enough to counter the crotch-cramping pain that came from knotting into nothing.

Patrick sagged against the side of the building, breathing in the scent of the omega that was just enough to keep his knot pulsing, but not enough to ease the ache in his jaw or the catch in his chest when he thought of the nameless omega, curled in on himself just behind the basement door. So close, yet so scared and disgusted by Patrick's alphaness that he'd rather suffer alone than risk losing himself.

Fifteen minutes later, hand numb from cold and balls throbbing, Patrick staggered away from the cooling, musk-scented mess on the ground (and the wall and the dumpster). Hips aching, he cleaned up as best as he could and tucked himself back into his jeans.

He didn't blame the omega one bit. He was just as disgusted with himself.

To be continued...

[krokodile]

movies watched in 2018

santoalla - this really suffered from poor sound recording/editing and lack of subtitles.  i feel like i missed a lot of details.  it’s an interesting story, but the film itself wasn’t terribly engaging.

my friend dahmer - a little disappointed in this one.  i feel like they changed a bit too much from the graphic novel to make us feel sympathy for him.  i’m not opposed to the film trying to remind us that jeff dahmer was once a person with potential to be good, and my issue isn’t so much with whether or not this “humanizes” him; it’s more that the book was from the POV of the best friend and a lot of this stuff didn’t really fit that narrative, so they kind of switched to...is there a visual third person omniscient equivalent? when necessary, and it made the film feel choppy to me.  the book is amazing and everyone should read it.  it’s not about making you feel sorry for the guy; it simply tells the story from the POV of a friend who knew something wasn’t right but had no way of knowing who this guy really was or would become.  the movie seemed more interested in just telling the early jeffrey dahmer story, which honestly i found a lot less compelling.  the kid playing dahmer was great, though.

insidious...4?  whatever the fuck number this is -  i feel like this was a cast of perfectly good actors who were constantly told “make it bigger!” by the director.  that’s the only way these performances make sense to me.  and the story was pretty stupid, but, i mean...it’s the insidious franchise; that was a given.

mom and dad - i wanted to like this more than i did, but i still enjoyed it.  horror comedy that had a little trouble balancing the horror and humor, but it features nicolas cage at his most nicolas cage, so for that alone, give it a shot.

father figures - why the fuck did jk simmons agree to do this???  it actually wasn’t as horrible as it could have been; just garden variety bad, unfunny comedy.

saturday church - really gorgeous, well-acted (and sung!) and creative.  the screenplay maybe could’ve used a little tightening in some spots and additions in others in my opinion, but really i have no complaints; it’s excellent.

ex machina - i’m not super into science fiction, but given the sheer number of people saying this movie needs to be seen, i figured, why the hell not.  and i really enjoyed it.  the existential crises it triggered aside.  it’s thoughtful, imaginative and looks incredible.

a quiet place - i managed to not pee myself once, so i’d consider it a success.  of course i did spill sprite in my lap so everyone thought i did anyway.  really, as much as my irrational loathing of john krasinski makes me want to deny it...it’s really good.  about as good as i’ve seen pg-13 horror get.  it’s got so many clever blink and you’ll miss it moments that show how much attention was paid to world-building, and there’s some faith in the audience to catch on to things themselves without needing a narrator explaining it all.  the only thing i didn’t like?  the music.  the fact that it HAD music.  the sound editing with the natural sounds was stellar, the way everything was amplified.  but the loud music there just for the sake of accentuating scares detracted from the movie for me.  a big part of what makes this movie works is that it feels pretty goddamn real.  the music takes away from that.  

besides being scary, it works as a post-apocalyptic family drama.  and again, it’s really fucking good.  there’s a scene where john krasinski is telling his son he needs to go off and do something alone to save a family member.  the kid is absolutely frantic and you can see him straining not to speak as he “yells” that he can’t do it, his gestures getting bigger and “louder” as the conversation wears on.  i was in tears during that scene.  not because i felt sorry for the kid, but because i was feeling his terror as if it were my own.  i felt like i was in that fucking field with a paul bunyan-looking john krasinski being told “go run headlong into a nest of deadly ear monsters.”  i wasn’t scared because of the images onscreen or waiting for the next attack; i genuinely felt like i was in the moment with them.  

that...is incredibly rare for me with film.  i fucking hate that fucking jim halpert made me feel that, but i can’t pretend it didn’t happen.  and this wasn’t the only time i felt that way, just the most dramatic.  i felt reagan’s i-will-fucking-punch-your-stupid-face frustration during the hearing aid scene to the point where i was fuming in my seat.  (i mean john krasinski often makes me feel that way, but still.)  i knew emily blunt was in labor, but my heart absolutely pooped its pants when i saw that field light up red; I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT WAS GOING ON and i still reacted like i was there with them.  god help me, i felt the overwhelming love in the slow dance shot.  and that intro, holy fuck.  besides immediately feeling emily blunt’s exhaustion and the kids’ restlessness and generally shitty-feeling-ness in those first shots, i was 100% not expecting shit to get as real as it did so fast (even though part of it was used in the trailer).  

i hate that i loved it this much, truly :P  but i did.  it has its flaws for sure, namely the fucking music, and the creatures had a creative design (of course they’re basically giant sets of ears) but honestly they looked pretty silly.  some of the scenes dragged longer than they needed to.  but i did really appreciate it taking its time to let dread build rather than cramming in scares and action scenes on top of each other.  the waiting and dreading seems like it would be so awful in this situation.  again, put us there with them.  fucking hell.  pg-13 horror that’s good is so rare.  horror this good is so rare.  fucking jim.  

all the money in the world - i found the stuff with the family super-interesting; the stuff with the son and the kidnappers super-boring, so i guess i’m split on this one.

la fille inconnue - i loved how absolutely real this movie felt.  i loved how moments dragged awkwardly in real time; i loved the natural performances (i’ve forgotten the lead actress’s name but she’s absolutely brilliant).  i knew pretty quickly who’d killed the girl, but i’m not sure it was supposed to be difficult to figure out, either.  i do wish it had had more of an ending rather than just ending, but...i guess that fits in with its realism.

[taes-culottes]

45 Minutes Late pt. 4

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 1000

Genre: Slow Burn, Fluff/Angst

Summary: You lived in an apartment building a few doors down from Kim Namjoon. Living as neighbors passing smiles and typical strangers greetings, was the norm until a chance encounter at a park changed everything.

Note: Italicized = Inner monologue

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Happy Birthday

5 months later…

He had missed so much while he’d been away. He got in late Saturday night, and fully intended  on waking up early to continue the deer feeding ritual, as if he hadn’t been gone for 5 months. Unfortunately, he slept through his 3 alarms.

He checked his watch, 9:45. He wouldn't have been as late if he hadn’t stopped to buy coffee, but it didn’t feel right to show up empty handed. He made his way to the spot excited to see her after the time spent apart. He missed seeing her in the halls and the way his heart fluttered when she laughed. He missed hanging out in her apartment and devouring a box of delivery chicken when he was supposed to be dieting. And he especially missed their Sunday morning ritual of feeding the deer. He practiced officially asking her out in his head, “I like you a latte, would you be my girlfriend?” He cringed at his terrible line. This is caramel macchiato what am I doing.

A deep grunt catches his attention, Namjoon looks up to see Bambi standing ten meters ahead of him in the center of the path. He looked even bigger than Namjoon remembered him, more muscular and stoic. “Hey Buddy!” Namjoon was surprised at himself by how happy he was to see the beast that used to terrify him.

Bambi approached him and gently, but forcefully began nudging him toward Deer Creek. Namjoon found it strange, but he chalked it up to Bambi trying to say he was late. Frankly, that should have been the moment he knew something was wrong.

As he approached the stream he could here faint talking over the hum of the stream. The scene that played before him almost made him drop the coffees.

In hindsight he should’ve known something was wrong when he saw Bambi waiting for him, without (Y/n). And he definitely should’ve realized something was wrong when the beast started nudging him. But even those red flags could not have prepared him for what he saw.

Stella was surrounded by the other does of the herd, breathing heavy and bleating in extreme pain. (Y/n) kneeled by her side, trying to calm the poor doe. But when she turned he could see she her arms were covered up to her elbows in blood.

She looked up at him, the panic and fear written all over her face, “Aww Namjoon-ssi, great timing. Uh do you by any chance know how to deliver a deer?” He went to speak, but no words came out. This was not how he saw his day going.

“What… What’s going on??” Even though the situation was as clear as day in front of him, the shock of the blood made it difficult to form coherent thoughts. “I was right Stella was pregnant, and she’s um.. giving birth... right now.” “Wh- wh- why are you covered in blood?” his voice came out more panicked than he intended it to.

“She’s in pain. I think the baby’s breached. I don’t see a head, it’s coming out rear first. I don’t know much about deer birth, but I’m pretty sure the feet are supposed to come out first, or is it the head? Can you look it up? I tried using my phone but my hands are shaking too badly to unlock it.” He glanced down to see your bloody phone lying next to you.

He hadn’t realized it but he was shaking too. He’d never had a problem with blood, but he’d never seen that much of it before. He set the coffee and flowers down and tried to calm himself. (Y/n) was trying so hard to stay calm, but it was clear she was already anxious and panicking, he had to be calm or it would just make things worse.

 “We should call somebody.” As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. The whole situation had his head spinning. He had no idea what to do or say, and everything he did say or do came out wrong.

She snapped at him, “Who? Who is gonna come out into the woods at 9:30 on a Sunday morning to deliver a wild deer? No one else even knows where this place is, so there’s no way even if someone were to come that they’d find us, let alone make it in time.”

Stella bleats in pain. Her breathing getting deeper and more labored. “Joonie I think she’s dying!” Your voice cracked and tears started streaming down your face.

He had been thinking the same thing. His heart hurt instantly, he’d never seen you cry before. “Okay okay, we can do this.”

With shaking hands he searched. The internet had a lot of things, but he was certain it wouldn’t have much on how to deliver a breached wild deer so he looked up breached calf instead, “Cows and deer are similar enough right?”

“I guess so - they belong to - the same - scientific order,” she said between sobs.

He didn’t tell her to calm down, it wouldn’t have helped either of them. The only thing that was gonna calm her down was delivering that baby deer.

“I’ll take it,” Sure enough there were a hand full of videos on delivering a breached calf, and he talked her through it. In the end, there was a lot of blood, guts, and tears, but Stella delivered a baby boy.

The thing came out looking weird covered in blood and gross gestational fluid. Its legs were so thin it was a mystery how it was even able to stand, but despite how weird and gross looking it was, it was somehow cute. Stella seemed fine after giving birth, licking her newborn fawn.

(Y/n) leaned against Namjoon after the adrenaline rush subsided, emotionally and physically exhausted. He’d figured she would be after hysterically sobbing throughout the entire delivery process.

He looked down at you, arms and clothing covered in deer blood and bodily fluids. Even with tear stained cheeks, sweat ruined makeup, and hair stuck to her face, she was still beautiful. He used some of the napkins he brought to clean her blood and gut stained hands. They were so small compared to his, but they fit perfectly together. “Is this a bad time to ask you to go out with me?” he says handing her a melted iced caramel macchiato.

All you could do was laugh, “You’re seriously too much,” you laugh and take the coffee. “It’s about as good a time as any,” you take a sip, and sigh in satisfaction. It was made exactly the was you liked it. “So we’re dating now is that how this works?”

“Mhmm,” he takes a sip of his melted iced americano, and takes your hand giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t think as long as I live, I’ll ever meet someone as extraordinary as you.”

“Where’s that coming from?” You coughed, not expecting his sudden sentimental statement.

“You delivered a wild animal!” He clarified, gesturing at Stella and her newborn fawn.

“No, we delivered a wild animal. Give yourself some credit too! You stayed calm while I was freaking out, the situation was so scary, but you tried to stay calm for my sake.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. “I can’t believe you cried through the whole thing.”

“Shut up,” you whine nudging him playfully. He laces his fingers between yours.

“I don’t think you can get on a subway looking like this though.”

You look down at your blood stained overalls. Crap. These were my favorite ones. “I can call a car?” He suggests, already picking up his car. “That would be nice.”

As Namjoon was on the phone calling for a car, you ambled over to the edge of the water and scrubbed the dried blood off your hands and forearms.

“Here take my hoodie, it’s oversized, it should cover all the blood. You accept it. Just holding it in front of you, you knew it was going to be grossly oversized, at least to your knees. “Turn around” you look at him and make a spinning gesture with your finger. “Why?” “I wanna take off this sweaty shirt too so turn.” you gesture again making the spinning motion with your finger.

He sighs and turns around. “You know I’ll see you without a shirt sooner or later.” Immediately after his bold comment a stick hit him between the shoulder blades, and he jumps, surprised at how good her aim is.

“Perv!” He had a feeling the comment was meant to be sharper, but the smile in her voice was audible.

You quickly change into his hoodie. The sleeves were so long you had to roll them up 3 times just so you could use your hands, and it hit just above your knees.

In a moment of bravery, you wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.

The feeling was a little foreign to you, but comforting. He was a little sweaty, but he was warm. He felt like home, safe.

It was the first time you’d ever done something like that to him. He never thought his heart would flutter the way it did. The way your arms wrapped around his waist perfectly.... It was like a cheesy scene from a drama, but it was real and it was nice.

The two of you spent the next 30 minutes waiting for the car catching up.

“You remember that one student I had? The one I recommended for extra lessons? Her family emigrated to California last week. And she gave me this as a thank you present.”

You reached into your back pocket and pulled out a customized a black face mask that read: IT’S OK, I SPEAK KOREAN in white puff paint.

He laughs, “This is great, you should wear this everywhere!”

“I have been, especially to restaurants and they finally stopped giving me the English menu.” You wiggle, proud your personal triumph, and look at the gift fondly. “She wasn’t good at studying, but she improved a lot. I have no doubt she’ll be fine in America.”

Namjoon’s phone rang, the car was here.

Exiting the woods you checked if the coast was clear. Although Namjoon always wore a mask, hat, and sunglasses when you guys went out, it was always a possibility he could get recognized and mobbed. The coast was clear except for and elderly couple and some girl on a bench, but she was busy texting.

He takes your hand and laces is fingers in between yours.

You raise your eyebrows at his risky gesture, “Are you sure?”

He nods, and you step out of the woods together for the first time as a couple.

At the time she had no idea how important it was for him to do something so normal, holding his girlfriend’s hand out in public. With his occupation, there were so many things he wasn’t able to do solely because of his status and this was just a big victory for him.

Walking hand in hand with him wearing his hoodie, one that he was absolutely not getting back, was like a dream. A huge step in the budding relationship.

[chinchillasorchildren]

“Silence”

**Haven’t actually posted a full review in forever...this seemed like the movie to break that streak for...

Martin Scorsese has been grappling with his Catholic faith for his entire career, even when it seemed the least obvious. The intensity of his religious convictions, as well as the intensity of his questions and severe doubts, have manifested in ways both literal (The Last Temptation of the Christ) and abstract (Taxi Driver). Catholicism (or, in a sense, any faith) is the third pillar at the foundation of his filmmaking, seated right alongside masculinity and violence (and all of the intersections among the lot).

Though Scorsese remains an impeccable craftsman, often invigorating his material with dynamism of someone decades younger, he has recently started to run on fumes when dealing with story’s beyond their basic text. The Wolf of Wall Street tackles excess, but to the point of becoming excessive itself. Even Best Picture winner The Departed, though powerfully acted and edited, comes up short when one looks for something to chew on beyond the bloody bodycount.

The apparent exhaustion of two of Scorsese’s thematic pillars (well, for now) has left a clearing for capital F Faith to grab the spotlight all for itself. After an on-and-off journey of roughly 30 years, Scorsese has taken Shusaku Endo’s novel “Silence” and brought it to life on the big screen. Here, the man who almost became a priest turns his camera to meet not just his maker, but the ideals and practices of those serving in his name. And, while not without its faults (largely at the outset), Silence ultimately proves itself to be a worthy landmark moment of the latter stages of Scorsese’s career. Regardless of your religious persuasion (or lack thereof), there is a tremendous amount of value in the issues raised in this exhaustive and exhausting work of Catholic cinema. Though not the director’s most polished or lush work, it more than compensates with its staggering devotion to crafting a drama filled with ideas about the earthly and the transcendent.

Yet much like the film’s journey to the big screen, Silence is not without its hiccups. The earliest passages, concerning Jesuit priests Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garrpe (Adam Driver) seeking out a former mentor in 17th century Japan, come off as stilted. Despite some striking, simple visuals, Silence begins by playing things in a strangely safe manner. At times, it even seems shockingly amateurish. Even longtime Scorsese editor (and basically co-director) Thelma Schoonmaker isn’t immune, and turns in some of her weakest work to date. Simple conversations change angles with a frequency at odds with such contemplative subject matter. And Mr. Driver, though an intriguing casting choice, can’t quite master what is supposed to be a Portuguese accent (the Portuguese characters speak in English). Early on, a few lines escape his throat like a squawk from a goose raised in the Bronx. Garfield generally fares better, though even he is not without his stilted moments. It’s not an auspicious beginning, especially for a film that is so clearly a labor of passion.

But the further the two Jesuits step into the so-called “swamp of Japan,” the more Silence finds its footing. The beauty of Endo’s novel, which Scorsese has wisely left intact, is its refusal to sugarcoat or simplify the conflicts at hand. And what conflicts they are. On the surface, Silence‘s tale involves priests administering aid to Japanese Christians living under persecution. In less enlightened times, such a socio-political conflict would have likely been sanded down to lift the Jesuits up as Christ-like figures. Scorsese includes such a moment, though it’s hardly presented as sincere. Alone and starving, Fr. Rodrigues finds himself confronted with his reflection. After a moment, the face transforms into a familiar sight: a Goya painting of Christ’s face which we’ve been shown as how Rodrigues imagines the Lamb of God in his prayers and meditations. Garfield, with his thin features and his hair grown out into a magnificent mane, makes a fitting vessel for this sort of transfiguration.

The moment, alas, does not come greeted with a moment of intervention or inspiration. Rodrigues bursts into unsettling, hollow laughter. In his manic, dehydrated state, he seems ecstatic with such a vision, but the tone and timing suggests the sort of madness one would find in a 70s-era Herzog drama. Yet Scorsese curtails the sequence before such madness turns hallucinatory. Rodrigo Prieto’s images, even at their most painterly, have an air of reality to them. The staging thrives on ordinariness, rather than elaborately constructed tableaus.

All the better, then, to enable the film to cut to the heart of its conflicts. Somewhere towards the middle (I think) of the film, Silence shifts from acting as a drama about the faithful, and morphs into a searing interrogation of men of the cloth and their motivations. Rodrigues meets a number of foils among the Japanese, chief among them a translator (Tadanobu Asano) and the inquisitor Inoue (Issei Ogata). Though radically different in their approaches, the two men proceed to challenge not just Rodrigues’ convictions and his mission, but the core of Catholicism itself, as well as its place in a country like Japan.

And it’s here, when it’s most bound to simple scenes of people talking, that Silence finally grasps the intangible profundity it’s been reaching for the whole time. Asano and Ogata make excellent philosophical adversaries for Garfield’s Rodrigues, with Ogata in particular relishing every word (among his most notable jabs: “the price for your glory is their suffering.”) So many faith-based films use Christian conviction as a crutch, including this year’s Hacksaw Ridge, which also planted Mr. Garfield at the center. With that baseline established, a film like Silence becomes all the more remarkable. Here is a drama with source material from a Catholic writer (albeit a Japanese convert, and not a European), directed by a passionately Catholic director, that avoids turning its protagonists into the one-note martyrs they secretly wish to be.

The most magnificent wrench of all, however, comes in the form of Fr. Ferreira (Liam Neeson, thankfully not even attempting the accent). In addition to administering to the persecuted faithful, Rodrigues and Garrpe have snuck into Japan to seek out their former mentor, who has been rumored to have renounced the faith and taken up life as an ordinary member of Japanese society. Ferreira’s eventual return to the narrative (best left unsaid) gives Silence a final headbutt of ambiguity, heightening the specificity of the film’s conflicts, while simultaneously making them all the more universal. Neeson, in his all-too-brief screen time, is nothing short of mesmerizing. In such quick moments, he conveys Ferreira’s decades of work in Japan, and the toll it took on him. Ferreira’s exploits could have easily been their own film, and the way Neeson takes the bones of Scorsese and Jay Cocks’ script and turns it into its own meal is nothing short of astonishing. It’s a masterful moment of teaching both for Rodrigues and the viewer, the complexity of which has stayed with me long after the lights went up in the theater.

In my four years at a Jesuit-led high school, one of the theological ideas that I remember most is that faith without room for doubt is not really faith, but merely blind obedience. Such obedience was for angels, but not for mankind, gifted (or cursed) with the spark of true free will. That remarkably nuanced notion, standing in such stark contrast to the right wing extremists now posturing as 21st century moralists, has stayed with me even as whatever religion I had slipped away. And, whatever my personal beliefs now, that Catholic and Jesuit identity (hello, Catholic guilt, you old bastard) is still etched, however faintly, in my being. To see that same sort of depth is a monumental intellectual achievement, one that overrides the vagueries that somewhat plague the central role of Rodrigues (he is both an individual and a representative of the faith as a whole, though not quite to the degree where it feels possible to empathize with him enough). With such a long wait, it would be tempting to holdSilence to the standard that anything less than a masterpiece would be a letdown. To do so, I think, would be to dismiss the tremendous accomplishments on display. Rodrigues and Garrpe may find themselves starving, but their story is veritable feast of ideas, the strengths of which are made all the more powerful by their existence alongside the flaws.

Grade: B+

[apsbicepstraining]

Why do we feel so guilty all the time?

The long speak: Food, fornication, fund, operate, house, sidekicks, health, politics: theres good-for-nothing we cant feel guilty about, including our own sensations of guilt

I feel guilty about everything. Already today I’ve detected guilty to the charges having said the wrong stuff to a sidekick. Then I experienced guilty to the charges evading that pal because of the incorrect event I’d said. Plus, I haven’t called my mother yet today: guilty. And I truly should have organised something special for my husband’s birthday: guilty. I made the wrong kind of meat to my child: guilty. I’ve been cutting corners at work lately: guilty. I skipped breakfast: guilty. I snacked instead: double guilty. I’m taking up all this infinite in a world-wide with not enough space in it: guilty, guilty, guilty.

Nor am I feeling good about seeming bad. Not when sophisticated pals never fail to remind me how self-involved, self-aggrandising, politically conservative and morally stunted the guilty are. Poor me. Guilty about guilty. Filial shame, fraternal regret, spousal remorse, maternal remorse, peer shame, duty guilt, middle-class regret, white-hot shame, radical shame, historic shame, Jewish remorse: I’m guilty of them all.

Thankfully, there are those who say they can save us from remorse. Harmonizing to the popular motivational speaker Denise Duffield-Thomas, scribe of Get Rich, Lucky Bitch !, shame is” one of the more common thoughts women accept “. Guilty wives, pulled by guilt into hampering their own tracks to increased property, influence, cachet and joy, merely can’t seem to take advantage of their advantages.

” You might feel guilty ,” Duffield-Thomas writes,” for wanting more, or for spending money on yourself, or for taking time out of your busy family life to work on improving yourself. You might feel guilty that other beings are good, that your friend is anxious, that there is still starving people in the world .” Sure enough, I do feel guilty for those concepts. So, it is something of a relief to hear that I can be helped- that I can be self-helped. But, for that to happen, what I must first understand is that a) I’m worth it, and b) none of these structures of world inequality, predicated on historic sins, are my fault.

My guilt, in other words, is a sign not of my guilt but of my innocence – even my victimhood. It’s only by forgiving myself for the wrongs for which I produce no direct responsibility that I can discover to secrete my” fund blockings and live a first-class life”, according to Duffield-Thomas.

Imagine that: a first-class life. This sort of advice, which frames guilt as our most fundamentally impeding emotion, takes revelations from psychoanalytic and feminist thinking and transforms them into the language of business motive. The promise is that our remorse is also possible expiated by making money.

It’s an idea that might resonate especially in the German speech, where shame and indebtednes are the same word, schuld . One recollects, for example, of Max Weber’s thesis about how the” feeling of capitalism” conflates our worldly and heavenly riches, on the basis that what you make in this world-wide too dishes as a measure of your spiritual goodnes, since it depends on your capacity for hard work, discipline and self-denial.

But what Weber calls” salvation nervousnes” within the Protestant work ethic has the opposite result to the self-help manual’s promise to liberate entrepreneurs from their remorse. For Weber, in fact, the capitalist chase of profit does not increase one’s shame, but actively exasperates it- for, in an economy that reproves stagnation, there can be no rest for the wicked.

So, the shame that bricks and inhibits us also propel us to labor, undertaking, operate, to grow relentlessly productive in the hope that we might- by our good works- rid ourselves of regret. Guilt thus yields us productive and unproductive, workaholic and workphobic- a conflict that might explain the extreme and even violent sections to which beings sometimes will go, whether by scapegoating others or sacrificing themselves, to be rid of what many beings consider the most insufferable emotion.

What is the potency of regret? With its inflationary logic, guilt examines, if anything, to have accumulated over meter. Although we tend to blame religion for condemning gentleman to life as a sinner, the guilt that are able to once have attached to specific weakness- frailties for which religious communities could prescribe appropriate atonement- now seems, in a more secular epoch, to surface in relation to just about anything: nutrient, sex, coin, cultivate, unemployment, vacation, health, fitness, politics, lineage, acquaintances, colleagues, strangers, presentation, traveling, the environmental issues, you call it.

Equally, whoever has been tempted to suppose that rituals of public humiliation are a macabre remnant of the medieval past clearly hasn’t been much attention to our life online. You can’t expect to get by for long on social media without someone pointing an accusatory thumb at you. Yet it’s hard to be thought that the presiding feel of our age, the envious and indignant troll, would have such easy pickings if he could not already feel a smell of guilt-susceptibility emanating from his prey.

It wasn’t meant to be like this. The enormous reformers of modernity are presumed to uproot our regret. The theme of countless high-minded criticisms, shame was accused by modern intellectuals of exhausting “peoples lives” out of the americans and inducing our psychological impairment. It was said to stir us strong( Nietzsche ), neurotic( Freud ), inauthentic( Sartre ).

In the latter part of the 20 th century, many critical conjectures gained academic credibility, particularly within the humanities. These were beliefs that sought to show- whether with reference to class relations, race relations, gender relations- how “were all” cogs in a larger system of supremacy. We may play our roles in regimen of oppression, but we are also at the blessing of obliges larger than us.

But this raises questions about personal responsibility: if it’s true that our particular situation is underpinned by a complex network of social and economic relations, how can any individual genuinely claim to be in control or solely responsible for her own life? Considered in such an impersonal illuminate, shame can seem an unhelpful hangover from less self-aware times.

As a teacher of critical hypothesi, I know how crucial and revelatory its insights is also possible. But I’ve rarely likewise suspected that our desire for systematic and structural forms of explain may be fuelled by our feeling at the prospect of discovering we’re on the wrong side of history.When held indelicately, explanatory conjectures can offer their adherents a foolproof system for knowing exactly what scene to deem, with impunity, about pretty much everything- as if one could take out an insurance policy to be sure of ever being right. Often, very, that’s as far as such criticism takes you- into a right-thinking that doesn’t necessarily organise itself into right-acting.

The notion that our scholastic frameworks might be as much a reaction to our guilt as a remedy for it might chime familiar to a religious person. In the biblical narrative, after all, man “falls” when he’s seduced by return from the tree of lore. It’s “knowledge” that extends him out of the Garden of eden into an exile that has yet to extremity. His shame is a constant, nagging remember that he has taken this wrong turn.

Illustration: A Richard Allen

Yet even within that source we see how man’s remorse can be misleading- as slippery and seductive as the serpent who led him astray. For if follower has sinned by tasting of lore, the shame that penalise him recite his misdemeanour: with all its finger-wagging and tenor of” I told you so”, regret itself is just coming up as exceptionally knowing. It keeps us, as the psychoanalyst Adam Phillips has written, in thrall to that digesting and repetition tone inside our foreman that endlessly chastens, criticises, censors, reviewers and learns blame with us, but” never delivers us any bulletin about ourselves “. In our impressions of shame, we seem already to have the measure of who it is we are and what it is we’re capable of.

Could that be the same reasons for our remorse? Not our absence of knowledge- but preferably our presumption of it? Our frantic need to be sure of ourselves, even when which is something we think about ourselves is that we’re worthless, unproductive, the pits? When we feel guilty we at least have the consolation of being certain of something- of knowing, lastly, the right way to seem, which is bad.

This may be why we’re addicted to crime dramas: they are consistent with our wish for certainty , no matter how grisly that certainty is. At the opening up of a detective legend, we’re conscious of international crimes, but we don’t know who did it. By the end of the story, it has been discovered which culprit is guilty: instance closed. Thus guilt, in its popular rendering, is what alters our ignorance into knowledge.

For a psychoanalyst, nonetheless, thinks of regret don’t inevitably have any connection to being guilty in the eyes of the law.Our love of regret may be a revelation, but they usually precede the accusation of any misdemeanour- a detailed description of which not even the guilty person can be sure.

So, while the fibs we favor may be the ones that uncover guilt, it’s equally possible that our own shame is a cover story for something else.

Although” the descent” is initially a biblical legend, forget religion for a moment. One can just as well narrate a more recent and assuredly secular tale of the fall of man. It’s a “story” that has had innumerable narrators, perhaps none finer or more insistent than the German Jewish postwar critic Theodor Adorno. Writing in the wake of the Holocaust, Adorno debated famously that whoever exists in a nature that could grow Auschwitz is guilty, at least insofar as they’re still party to the same civilisation that established the requirements of the Auschwitz.

In other words, guilt is our unassailable historical ailment. It’s our contract as modern beings. As such, says Adorno, we all have a common responsibility after Auschwitz to be vigilant, lest we collapse once more into the ways of gues, accepting and reacting that fetched down this guilty verdict upon us. To make sense after Auschwitz is to risk complicity with its barbarism.

For Adorno very, then, our knowledge interprets us guilty, rather than hindering us safe. For a modern imagination, this could well seem stunning. That said, perhaps the more surprising boast of Adorno’s representation of guilt is the idea expressed in his doubt” whether after Auschwitz you can go on living- especially whether one who escaped by collision, one who by rights should have been killed, may go on living. His mere existence calls for the coldness, fundamental principles of bourgeois subjectivity, without which there could have been no Auschwitz; this is the drastic regret of him who was spared “.

For Adorno, the regret of Auschwitz belongs to all of western civilisation, but it’s a shame he presupposed would be experienced most keenly by” one who escaped by accident, one who by rights should have been killed”- the Jewish survivor of the second world war.

Adorno, who had left Europe for New York in early 1938, was perhaps attesting to his own appreciation of guilt. Yet his insight is one we likewise get from psychologists who worked with concentration camp survivors after the crusade; they found that” senses of guilt is complemented by disgrace, self-condemnatory propensities and self-accusations are experienced by the victims of the abuse and apparently much less( if at all) by the perpetrators of it “.

What can it mean if preys feel guilty and perpetrators are guilt-free? Are objective regret( being guilty) and subjective regret( detecting guilty) totally at odds with one another?

In the years after the crusade, the concept of “survival guilt” tended to be viewed as the byproduct of the victim’s discovery with their assailant. The survivor who may subsequently is very hard to forgive herself because others have died in her home – why am I still there when they are not?- may also feel guilty because of what she was forced to collude with for the sake of her existence. This need not suggest any incriminating war on her place; her regret may simply be an subconscious route of registering her past preference that others accept instead of her.

On this basis, then, it may be possible to think of survivor’s regret as a special case of the regret we all accept when, aware or oblivious, we’re glad when others, rather than ourselves, sustain. Plainly, that’s not a charming suffer, but neither is it a hard one to understand. Still, there remains something deep awkward about accepting that survivors of the worst transgressions should feel any regret for their own survival. Instead, shouldn’t we be trying to save the survivor from her( in our view) mistaken sensations of remorse andthus launch, without smirch or quibble, her absolute innocence?

This understandable impulse, according to the academic historian Ruth Leys, looked the above figures of” the survivor” emerge in the period after the second largest world war, alongside a shift in focus from the victim’s feelings of remorse toward an insisting on the victim’s innocence. This translation, Leys indicates, involved superseding the concept of guilt with its open cousins, shame.

The difference is crucial. The prey who detects guilt undoubtedly has an inner life, with planneds and desires- while the main victims who detects shame seems to have had it bestowed to areas outside. The victims of damage therefore turns out to be the objects rather than the issue of history.

Shame, then, tells us something about what one is , not what one does- or would like to do. And so the effect of this well-intentioned shifting in emphasis may have been to cheats the survivor of agency.

It may be inviting is of the view that survival guilt is an extraordinary case, having regard to the abject powerlessness of the victims of these damage. But, as we will see, attempts to disclaim the validity of the regret of others often have the similar the consequences of denying their purposes as well. Mull the case of vehicles of” radical remorse”, the guilt we all love to hate.

Liberal guilt has become a shorthand for describing the individuals who look keenly a lack of social, political and economic right, but are not the ones who suffer the brunt of it. Harmonizing to the cultural pundit Julie Ellison, it first took hold in the US in the 1990 s, on the back of a post-cold-war fragmentation of the left, and a loss of religion in the utopian politics of collective action that had characterised an earlier generation of revolutionaries. The liberal who detect guilty has given up on the collective and recognises herself to be acting out of self-interest. Her guilt is thus a sign of the gap between what she feels for the other’s suffering and what she will do actively to facilitate it- which is not, it is about to change, a great deal.

As such, her remorse foments much enmity in others , not least in members of the public who detects himself the object of the liberal’s shame. This person, AKA ” the main victims”, understands only too well how seldom the sadnes he derives in the guilty liberal is likely to lead to any significant structural or the political developments for him.

Rather, the only “power” to be redirected his mode is not political capability, but the moral or affective superpower to attain those more fortunate than he is find even more guilty about the privileges they are nonetheless not inclined to give up.

But just how in control of her beliefs is the guilty liberal? Not exceedingly, thoughts Ellison. Since moods aren’t readily confected, her guilt is often used to assail her unbidden, rendering her highly performative, egotist, even hysterical. In her shame, she experiences a” loss of dominate”, although she remains awareness at all epoches of an audience, before whom she seems she must show how spectacularly sorry she is. Her regret, then, is her room of “acting out”, celebrating a agitation in the radical who doesn’t know herself quite as well as her guilt would have her think.

The idea of guilt as aninhibiting emotion shows the common commentary of radical regret: that, for all the suffering it induces, it fails wholly to motivate the guilty subject to bring about meaningful political change.

But what if the liberal’s regret actually has another purpose, to tolerate the radical respite from the thing she may( unconsciously) seem as bad about: the lack of a established identity that tells her who she is, what her responsibilities are and where these come to an end.

If anything can be said to characterise the notoriously woolly radical, guilt may be it. Liberal regret suggests a certain class( middle ), hasten( lily-white) and geopolitical( developed countries) place. As such, despite the anguish it brings to those who suffer it, it might, paradoxically( and, again, unconsciously ), be reassuring for someone whose real neurosis is that she seems her identity is so mobile and altering that she knows how never fairly be sure where she stands.

If this is what principally regards her, then one might see her remorse as a feeling that tells her who she is, by virtue of telling her who she is failing to be for others. Who is the radical? She who suffers on account of those who suffer more than she.( I know whereof I express .)

This may be mentioned why, in recent years, the committee had been organizing disapproval of the liberal’s sensibilities. To her pundits, the radical really is guilty. She’s guilty of a) secretly resenting martyrs for how their suffers clear her suffer, b) drawing attention away from them and back towards her, c) having the bravery to make an exhibition out of her self-lacerations and d) doing practically good-for-nothing to challenge the status quo.

For reviewers of the guilty radical, in other words, appearing guilty is part of their own problems, rather than the solution. And hitherto this disapproval is itself subject to the same accusation. Passed that criticising someone for appearing guilty is exclusively going to represent them find guiltier, guilt has, as we’ve seen, supported a tricky resist- one that its various modern fightings have yet to defeat.

Once again, hence, in the event of its liberal remorse, we encounter a appear so devilishly slick that it recites their own problems in the course of professing it. Because there is, of course, a species of guilt that does not induce us to act, but prevent us from acting. This type of guilt takes the uncertainty of our relations with others( and our responsibility for others) and shifts them into an object of certainty and knowledge.

But since the “object” in this case is our own soul, we can see how liberal shame, extremely, mutates guilt into a version of shame.Shame, in fact, could well be a more precise appellation for what motivates the guilty liberal in her public and private self-condemnations.

However, before we declare the radical” guilty as charged”- as in guilty of the incorrect various kinds of guilt – it’s worth reminding ourselves of the survival guilt that has likewise been viewed by numerous as shame of the wrong manner. For as we observed in that case, in seeking to “save” the main victims from her remorse, the main victims becomes deprived of the very thing that is likely to discriminate her from the objectifying aggression that has assailed her: a sense of her own planneds and desires, nonetheless vigorous, perverse or frustrated these might be.

For this reason, then, it’s vital to preserve the notion of survivor’s shame( and, despite obvious changes, radical guilt) as that who were able to hitherto return to the survivor( or the liberal) a dominance of agency such as must be absolutely necessary if she is to have a future that isn’t fixed, by the resolving or absolving of her guilt, to reproduce the past ad infinitum.

If religion often gets the accuse for framing follower as sinner, the secular great efforts to release serviceman from his regret hasn’t offered much relief. The Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben been shown that subjective innocence belongs to a bygone age, the age of the sad hero. Oedipus, for example, is someone whose objective remorse( parricide, incest) is matched by the subjective innocence of the man who acts before he knows. Today, however, says Agamben, we find the opposing statu: modern human is objectively innocent( for he has not, like Oedipus, slaughtered with his own hands ), but subjectively guilty( he knows that his solaces and insurances have been paid for by someone, somewhere, probably in blood ).

By falsely predicting a tabula rasa bound to his historical and intellectual liberation, modernity may not only have failed to obliterate man’s subjective guilt, but may even have exacerbated it. For what numerous a modern serviceman are punishable by is less his actions than his addiction to a form of lore that seems to have inhibited his capacity for action. As such, the religion assignation of person as sinner- a crash, abject, endlessly compromised, but also active, effective and changeable man- begins to look comforting by comparison.

Such a look also shares often in common with any particular psychoanalytic perception of regret as a blocked pattern of invasion or anger toward those we need and enjoy( God, parents, guards, whomever we depend on for our own survival ). But if guilt is the feeling that typically impedes all other( interred, quashed, unconscious) sensations, that is not in itself a reason to obstruct detects of shame. Seems, after all, are what you must be prepared to feel if they are to move you, or if you are to feel something else.

Main instance by A Richard Allen

Adapted from Appearing Jewish( A Book for Just About Anyone) by Devorah Baum, which will be published by Yale University Press on 19 October at PS18. 99. To buy it for PS16. 15, going to see bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over PS10, online orders only. Telephone orderings min p& p of PS1. 99.

* Follow the Long Read on Twitter at @gdnlongread, or sign up to the long read weekly email here.

The post Why do we feel so guilty all the time? appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2m7S8P0 via IFTTT