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hiddendreamer67 · 5 years ago

Note

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?” For the au where the Sides shift sizes?

In a world where the sides shrink or grow based on their emotions/egos, Logan is still holed away in his room at a few inches tall. The others are finally let in and do their best to help the micro-soft nerd.

October Prompt #15: Control

I think this is the final part of shrinking-sides! Check out more of my writing at @hiddendreamerwriting!

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Logan hid his flinch well, attempting to retain at least a small amount of his composure as his perceptively gigantic fellow sides creaked open the door, Roman being the first to show himself. It was intimidating to say the least, and certainly far worse than the sensation of being overpowered by the size of his bedroom alone.

“Wow, you’re so small.” Roman stated obviously.

“I’m well aware of my stature, Roman.” Logan huffed, his cheeks blazing as he turned away from their prying eyes.

“Yes, well, no need to get huffy, Microsoft Nerd.” Roman gave a huff of his own. Patton peeked around Roman, letting out a soft gasp.

“Oh my goodness you’re absolutely adorable.” Patton spoke softly, clearly trying (and failing) to keep from being overheard. Logan’s cheeks reddened further, the current littlest member of Thomas’ subconscious quickly feeling the situation slip further out of his control as they entered the premises.

“This is bad.” Virgil let out a hiss of breath through his teeth, coming in behind Patton and suddenly Logan was beginning to feel very outnumbered. “Logan. What the hell.”

“Language.” Patton gently smacked him. “And Logan… what happened, kiddo?”

“Ah….” Logan’s statement trailed off. How was he meant to explain that he had lost control of his emotions? He was logic, and rationality. Logan shouldn’t be influenced by petty feelings; it was positively embarrassing. It proved that Logan was incapable of performing even his most basic of functions. Perhaps he was not necessary at all, and Thomas would become a more effective human system without his involvement-

Logan flinched, startled out of his wits as the other three sides simultaneously bumped their heads on the ceiling, forcing all involved parties to duck at an awkward angle.

“...ow.” Virgil winced, ducking lower to rub at his neck. “Don’t do that again.”

Logan clenched his hands at his sides, frustrated that his struggles had become so transparent. “I am not doing so intentionally.”

“Oh sweetie, we know.” Patton gave him a pitying look, kneeling down in front of Logan and yet still towering over the shrunken individual. “Here, let me help-”

“No!” Logan hastily rejected the offer, backpedaling away from the approaching hand. “I don’t- I’m not in need of assistance.”

“And that’s why you’re the size of my hand?” Virgil slumped to the ground on Logan’s right, holding up his palm for emphasis. “Oh wait, smaller, because thanks to you we can’t stop growing.”

There was a thump, and Logan quickly turned his head to see Roman had taken up residence sitting on his left. The three giants were encasing him, leaving Logan feeling trapped and cornered. He bit his lip, looking up to Roman and waiting for the quip he was certain would come at any moment.

Roman tilted his head, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face. “...Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?”

“Roman!” Patton gasped, a disappointed look crossing his features. "You're not reacting quite like I thought you would. I expect better from a charming prince like you.”

“Yeah, what the hell, princey?” Virgil hissed, and this time he wasn’t corrected for his language. “We already know he can shrink, no need to make it worse.”

“That- that’s not what I meant!” Roman looked off put by everyone’s critics. “I was making a point, you know.”

Logan frowned, not expecting the insult to be so blatant. “Are you implying that this mindset is logical?”

“No, no no no!” Roman groaned, wiping his hand down his face. “I’m trying to empathize with you here, why does no one get that? I’ll have you all recall I’m the one who’s been in this situation before.”

“Yes, and you handled that spectacularly.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

“We can just do and say the same things again!” Patton said, his eyes shining with determination. “Logan, you are amazing and smart and we love you!”

Nothing happened.

“Uh…” Virgil shifted, looking uneasy. “I dunno, try harder?”

“Please will you let me cuddle you?” Patton whined, reaching for Logan again who ducked out of the way.

“Absolutely not!” Logan insisted. “I will not be handled like… like…”

“Like a helpless doll?” Roman offered.

The room went quiet, and Logan took a moment to reconsider the way Roman was acting. “...yes.” Logan agreed finally.

Roman nodded. “You feel like you’re nothing. Like you don’t matter, and it doesn’t matter if we tell you you’re wrong because then it’s just going to hurt more because you were wrong and Logic’s never wrong, is he?”

The other two sides looked at Roman with puzzled expressions. Meanwhile Logan’s own jaw dropped, concerned at Roman’s new apparent skill in telepathy. “How... how were you aware of these thoughts?”

“Because they’re true.” Virgil butt in, looking to Roman for reassurance that he was indeed in on the plan and not about to make everything worse. With a nod from Roman, he continued. “If a side really mattered they wouldn’t shrink.”

“Falsehood.” Logan frowned, gesturing to Roman. “Creativity is an essential part of Thomas’ personality.”

“And so is Logic.” Patton insisted. “Logan, we need you.”

“That is not factually accurate.” Logan began to pace back and forth. “I could easily be replaced-”

“By who?” Roman scoffed. “I operate in a realm of fantasy, Patton’s head is in the clouds, and Virgil, well his line of reasoning puts us over the edge of the Yankovic curve.”

“Yerkes-Dodson curve.” Logan corrected.

“Why does Thomas need any of us?” Virgil shrugged. “We’re not real. It just means Thomas is insane, and by the looks of things in desperate need of some therapy.”

“Virgil, don’t say such things!” Patton scolded.

“Indeed.” Logan agreed, shooting Virgil a look over the edge of his glasses. “It is quite a common coping mechanism for humans to envision manifestations of themselves as leaders for certain necessary functions. At this point we’ve become so ingrained in his subconscious that a separation from our existence could be detrimental.”

“So what you’re saying, Little L, is that we exist?” Roman questioned.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Logan nodded.

“But we’re not people.” Virgil crossed his arms. “We don’t have emotions.”

“You know that statement is illogical.” Logan rolled his eyes. “Patton is quite literally the embodiment of emotions.”

“I think he meant we all have emotions.” Roman supplied gently.

Patton’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’, finally catching on.

“I...suppose that our existence has evolved beyond our mere functions, as evidenced by our names, most strongly exhibited in Virgil.” Logan rationalized. “If that is truly the case, it’s possible that, yes, several of us may experience something that is equivalent to human emotions from time to time-”

“Logan.” Patton interrupted gently, wringing his hands together. “It’s… it’s okay for you to have feelings, kiddo.”

Logan paused his pacing, looking down at his feet. “...I am aware that you hold that opinion.”

“Oh come on, we were so close!” Roman groaned. “We were so close! Why can’t you just accept our help?”

“I should not require help.” Logan answered. “Rationality should be able to control emotions.”

“And what about Logan?” Roman argued. “I mean you already said you’re more than your functions now.”

“I still need to be in control to perform admirably.” Logan continued to insist, sitting down.

“Bullshit.” (“Language.”) Virgil gave Patton a glare to tell him now was not the time for censoring. “Logan, are emotions logical?”

“Absolutely not.” Logan answered immediately. “They are complicated and illogical and infuriating.”

“And if they’re illogical, then why would a person who’s the embodiment of logic be able to handle them alone?” Virgil waved his hand slowly, urging Logan to catch on.

“Emotions are my realm, kiddo.” Patton reminded him. “Wouldn’t it make sense to accept our help?”

“Yes, indeed!” Roman clapped his hands, gleeful that things were going according to plan. “And certainly you should be able to tell when we’re telling you facts, like the fact that even if you’re a stick in the mud Thomas still needs you.”

Thomas still needs you. “I suppose there is some truth to what you’re saying.” Logan nodded thoughtfully, a hopeful warmth blooming in his chest.

“Logan, even when you’re a clueless moron, you’re still the one who wrangles the rest of us morons together.” Virgil smirked.

“You’re the smartest Einstein we’ve got!” Roman tacked on.

“Inaccurate, but appreciated.” Logan allowed a small smile to grow on his features.

“You’re going to be okay.” Patton assured him.

Logan’s leg bumped something. He looked up, finding Patton to be at eye level, and realized that in his daze he had grown back to his original size.

“Thank you.” Logan glanced to the sides, expecting to see at least one person giving him a knowing or condescending look. Instead all three faces were warm, gentle. Welcoming. “All of you.”

Patton squealed, launching himself at Logan. “Group hug!”

The others were quick to follow suit, tackling the nerd to the ground with ease. Despite their increased proximity, Logan found the action unintimidating this time. Instead their presence comforted him, grounding him in his ability to facilitate his duties with ease and reassuring him that they would be willing to assist him in any future emotional endeavors.

Logan considered their odd behavior upon entering his room. Rather than smother him with kindness and lord over their superiority on this topic that was so new to Logan, the others had granted him the opportunity to come to the right conclusions enough.

“Thank you.” Logan said again, finding that he couldn’t say it enough.

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years ago

Text

i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 4: i’ll crawl with you on hands and knees

read on ao3

read previous chapters

A medical process begins, bringing with it a rollercoaster of emotions.

may

“If this had been a crime scene,” Jake says, looking at the medication vials lined up on their meticulously cleaned kitchen table, “my first impression would be that the people in this home are drug dealers.”

“And if you’d been a better detective,” Amy counters, “you’d have done a quick search of the names to find out they’re fertility drugs.”

“Hey! I’m a great detective!”

She points to the engagement ring on her finger and then to herself. “But I’m the best detective. No take-backs.”

“If I’d known you’d be using my proposal speech against me six years later, I would have written it down first.”

She laughs, shaking her head and unfolding the instruction paper from their doctors to reread the information for the fifteenth time. If Amy had to do a theoretical exam tomorrow on how to administer these injections, she’d get a solid A+, but, gathering the actual courage to do it isn't something you can study for. She's feeling increasingly shaky at the thought.

It's been over a month since they made their decision. Getting insurance papers in order takes time, as does binder-making, as does confirming each micro-decision with the clinic. For an entire month, Amy's been itching with anticipation and nerves, and she’s both bursting with excitement and sighing with relief over feeling in control for the first time in seven months, but she’s also being struck by the realization of what she’s about to do. As many borderline-insane experiences as she’s lived through, she’s never done this before, and she’s clueless what to expect.

She reads through the instructions yet another time before she starts.

Jake doesn't look much more stable. He's eyeing her carefully, biting his lip as she prepares the injection, measures up the medication and twists the needle on with minute, precise movements.

“You look like a professional,” he comments on her focused expression, and she makes a doubtful grimace. “Are you sure you haven't done this before?”

“Shot hormones into my stomach? It’s a first.”

“Are you nervous?” It could have been a teasing question, a reason to make fun of her, but when she meets his eyes she sees only concern. It peels away the tough facade - which she was barely grappling onto as it was - instantaneously.

“I'm really nervous,” she says, feeling her heart thundering in her chest like it’s about to break through her skin, and he nods.

“Me too.”

“Do you think you could give me the shot?”

Jake blinks. “You want me to do it? I… are you sure, Ames?”

“Please?” She gives him a pleading look as he looks from the syringe to her and back again, twisting his hands in his lap. “At least the first time, before I know what it feels like?”

And we said we’d do this together, she opens her mouth as if to add, but the words feel superfluous. They’re a given, and from the way he reaches out his hand to gently hold hers, stroking his thumb over her wrist as he nods, she knows that he knows, too.

She folds the hem of her tank top to sit underneath her chest and grabs an alcohol wipe before there’s time for either of them to change their mind.

“I don’t like this,” Jake confesses as she gives him the syringe, quickly instructing him on the procedure another time. “It feels like I’m hurting you. ”

“You’re not.” She closes her eyes, grabbing the disinfected skin with both hands. “Just inject me.”

“Title of your sextape?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fair,” he says, and then she feels the quick pinch.

The injection burns. It’s better than she feared, but far from pleasant, and she tenses for the few everlasting seconds it takes before it's over and Jake presses a bit of gauze to the area.

“Wow,” he laughs, drawing a relieved breath when she opens her eyes again. “I can't believe I did that. I am so brave.”

She glares at him. “Excuse me?”

“Kidding, kidding.” He chuckles again before wrapping her in a tight hug. “You did great, babe.”

She can feel the liquid stinging beneath her skin. Despite the discomfort, Amy already prefers this over the frustration of the last seven months - at least it means they’re actively doing something. The physical pain is a drop in the ocean compared to the mental agony of endless disappointments she's gone through, and she’d choose it above the latter in a heartbeat.

Maybe, she lets herself think, a timid but golden glimmer of hope shining through the grey clouds of hesitance. Maybe this could actually work.

Jake kisses her cheek before his head moves lower. Just as she's about to ask what he thinks he's doing, she feels his lips brush against her skin, once, twice, a few inches from the injection place.

“Better?” He asks, and she manages a weak smile.

“Much.”

The second shot is easier than the first one, the third easier than the second. By the fourth night, she's gathered enough confidence to do the procedure all on her own when Jake has to stay late at work, and by the fifth night, she no longer winces at the stinging sensation.

It's absurd, she thinks as the burning slowly fades, the things you get used to.

She plans their schedule around level checks at the clinic, taking blood tests and doing ultrasounds while Leah happily lays a puzzle on the floor of the examination room. A nurse compliments the toddler’s skill and Leah shines up like the sun itself, and after Amy’s told her body’s reacting perfectly to the stimulating hormones, they both leave the clinic grinning. She’s in such a good mood, she can’t even bring herself to say no when her daughter points to the frozen yogurt place across the store and looks at Amy with the pleading puppy-eyes that are so hard to resist. She’s not too proud about breaking their rule of ice cream being a weekend treat, but she has to admit that watching Leah shine with pride as she makes varyingly successful attempts of feeding herself without spilling is both an awesome celebration and happiness boost.

Even without the level checks, she would have been able to tell the injections are taking. She’s sore, her head wrecks, and she feels bloated enough to consider changing into yoga pants several times a day. She’s exhausted in a way she hasn’t been since she had a newborn, nearly falling asleep at her desk in the afternoons and being nudged awake by a worried beat cop, and it takes every ounce of her willpower not to start crying herself when Leah has her third breakdown for the day over the disappearance of a puzzle piece. On day eight of injections, Amy falls asleep on the couch before it’s time to take them, and when Jake wakes her up there’s a part of her wishing he hadn’t.

“We could still change our minds and get a cat instead,” he suggests in a half-hearted attempt at a joke as she mumbles a curse when she feels the stinging. “Way fewer needles, just saying.”

“Please don’t tempt me right now,” she mutters. He laughs nervously before repeating the same action he’s taken to each time they do this together, leaning down and placing a feather-light kiss right above the injection area.

It’s transient, but for a second, she allows herself to think there’s a certain beauty to this process, too.

The night before their egg retrieval, she scratches that thought.

It’s the first evening in twelve days she’s not taking any injections. It should be a relief, a long-awaited and much well-deserved break after the previous night’s final trigger shot, but she’s too nervous about the next day to enjoy it. Jake’s working late - something about a time-sensitive lead he promised would be handled in a couple of hours - and Leah falls asleep with her head on Amy’s shoulder somewhere around their fourth reread of Guess How Much I Love You, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She brews a cup of green tea and goes to change into pajamas before sinking down on the couch to watch Jeopardy!, and she’s doing okay until she catches a proper glimpse of her body in the wardrobe’s full-length mirror and breaks down.

The bloated feeling isn’t just in her head. She’s swollen, looking three months pregnant for the wrong reasons, and it's painful on so many levels. She thinks it would have been fine if it’d been the sole notable difference, because a bit of temporary weight-gain rarely bothers her, but it’s not the worst thing. What makes her do a double-take is the bruises scattered across her lower abdomen, an uneven pattern of dark violet, red and yellow marks after the needles. The reflection in the mirror looks like it’s been beaten up, literally punched in the stomach with a knuckle-duster, and Amy feels as if she’s entirely separate from the person she sees.

This isn’t her.

This isn’t what she’s supposed to look like.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

She doesn’t feel brave or beautiful, doesn’t recognize even a shadow of a stubborn fighter in the reflection staring back at her. The only thing she sees is sheer exhaustion, a person tired of fighting for control over the uncontrollable, and it’s a haunting image nowhere close to how she’s used to seeing herself. She throws on an oversized NYPD sweatshirt and closes the wardrobe door in a swift moment before she can stare any longer, but it’s too late - the sight is etched on her memory, and the silent tears take several minutes to stop falling.

There’s no beauty in this process. If there was, surely she wouldn’t be feeling this way.

Amy doesn’t get much sleep that night. She’s tossing and turning, lying awake and staring at the ceiling between short bits of light slumber. When her alarm finally sounds, she feels less rested than before she went to bed. On top of that, she can't have coffee because of the anesthesia, and has to be satisfied with casting longing looks at Jake's takeaway Starbucks cup. She swears the paper mug is ogling her by the time they reach the clinic’s parking lot.

“Ames, I’m sure one sip won't matter if the alternative is you staring at it like a psychopath.”

“It's not a clear liquid. I'm not risking it.”

“Fine. But if you murder me for this, I will tell people I gave you the offer.” She snorts, the corners of her mouth twitching, and there's a look of pride on Jake's face when he realizes he’s made her smile. “How are you feeling? Aside from the coffee-abstinence?”

“Tired. Disappointed.”

“Ah, yes, something gave that away.”

“Not because of the coffee,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I mean of this whole thing. It's not at all what I was picturing when I suggested we’d have another baby.”

Jake doesn't reply immediately, twisting the cup’s plastic lid back and forth while he stares out the window, watching another couple enter the building with hands intertwined.

“I know it wasn't, babe.”

“I'm sorry I suggested fertility treatments,” she mumbles, and he looks at her with a curious countenance. “I bet it's not even going to work.”

“Hey, you don't know that yet.” He places a hand on her thigh, getting a bit of coffee foam on her jeans. “We’ve gotten this far, right? Shame to give up hope now.”

“The eggs could be bad quality. They might not fertilize, they might not implant. So many things could still go wrong.”

“Sheesh. Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” She glares at him, but he’s unbothered by her bitterness, a confident smile on his lips as he finishes the last of his coffee. “If you bet it's not going to work, I'll bet it will. Mind you, I have a history of winning most of our bets.”

“You do not.”

“Agree to disagree,” he laughs, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear and stroking her cheek. “Let’s just do it and see what happens, okay? You wanted to give this a try, we’re giving it a try.”

“You have to hold my hand.”

“I’ll hold your hand.”

“We’re going for coffee as soon as they release me.”

“I thought we were trying to save money?”

“We are going for coffee.”

“Okay, so non-negotiable. Cool.”

It might be the cup of coffee she finally gets to consume when they stop by Starbucks on the way, or that she’s feeling less like a hormone-inflated alien after the procedure, but Amy’s mood is much improved by the time they’re back home. For a few days, it’s all out of her hands. She can’t do anything but hold onto the thought of six eggs, less than ideal but more than the zero she feared, about to be fertilized and left to grow in perfect lab conditions for at least five to six days. On the one hand, she’s powerless, but on the other hand, it’s outside her realm of control, literally taking place outside of her body. In a certain sense, it's relieving.

She’s dizzy after the anesthesia. She claims she’s fine, because dizziness is nothing compared to the pain and crushing anxiety she felt before, but she stumbles over their doorstep and nearly loses her balance, so Jake takes a careful grip of both her shoulders as he leads her to their bed and helps her lay down.

“You should take a nap,” he whispers, stroking her hair as she gives him a faint smile.

“I’m not that tired.”

“I have to pick up our two-year-old from daycare in two hours.”

“On second thought I will be taking that nap.”

They end up taking it together. Jake’s arm is wrapped around her waist, their heads are resting so close together that the tips of their noses touch, and when she wakes up a punctual thirty minutes later, she wonders if it’s the first romantic thing they’ve gotten up to this month where needles haven’t been involved.

“If I get pregnant,” she whispers in his ear, daring to pronounce the word for the first time in weeks, “I promise you we’ll take an honest-to-god babymoon or something. Just the two of us on a beach somewhere.”

He responds with a loud snore, and it takes more of Amy’s self-control than it should not to laugh at him.

She must have both fallen asleep again and slept through Jake disentangling himself from her, because the next time she regains conscience, it’s to the feeling of her favorite three-feet-tall human climbing on top of her back while giggling uncontrollably.

“Carefully, bumblebee, I said carefully,” she hears Jake’s exasperated voice, and then a high-pitched complaint from her daughter as he lifts her off of Amy. “Most people like it when you wake them up more calmly.”

“It’s okay,” Amy says, sensing without opening her eyes that Leah's close to bursting out into tears. “Do you want to snuggle with me for a bit, Lee? You're invited too, Jake.”

“Oh, yeah, Lee, what do you think?”

“Go to the park,” the toddler insists, shaking her head. “Swinging!”

“If you cuddle with us in bed for two minutes, I will take you to the park after.”

“Swinging,” Leah repeats grumpily.

“But first cuddling?” Jake tries.

“Swinging!” Her expression softens, lower lip pouting and eyes widening like she's learned to do so masterfully. “Please?”

She can't yet pronounce the word correctly, so it comes out more like a pleath, but it's the cutest thing in the world and has both parents exchanging meaning looks, knowing they've already lost.

It must be Leah's lucky day, because there's a toddler swing free already when they get to the park. Amy thinks it must be her lucky day as well, because there's also a bench free with a perfect view of the swingset, meaning she can watch Jake and Leah play while she soaks up the afternoon sun. The toddler is squealing with joy, her excitement getting louder with each push of the swing. Jake’s asking her if she wants to go higher, urging her to hold on tight while he pushes the swing slightly higher than Amy would prefer, but Leah’s thrilled and Jake is beaming as he watches their daughter have the time of her life.

Amy doubts she’ll ever tire of watching the two of them interact. Part of her always knew he’d make an amazing father - despite his own doubts, she’s never wavered. Still, she could never have imagined just how present, loving and dedicated of a parent he would become, and she feels blessed to get to see it in action day after day. Although she wishes she was hanging out in the shadow and pushing a sleeping baby in a stroller, or feeling them move around inside her, she has this. She’ll always have this. Nothing can take the family she already has away from her, and as difficult as it is to feel grateful for anything after nearly two weeks’ worth of needles, she's indescribably thankful for them.

“Monkey!” Leah exclaims, pointing at a squirrel rushing between trees while Amy tries to feed her small pieces of dried fruit-bar. They’re taking a snack break to replenish their energy, but the toddler is distracted to say the least.

“That’s a squirrel, baby.”

“Monkey,” Leah repeats, pointing to another squirrel.

“Still a squirrel. Monkeys are bigger.”

“Also much less commonly found in New York,” Jake adds. “Presumably. I’ve never been sure about Hitchcock.”

“Monkeys!”

“Ames, did we ever teach her animals?”

“We must have. I distinctly remember reading those god-awful books about animals at the zoo over and over for three months.”

“Oh, right!” Jake lights up. “How could I ever forget your incredible dolphin voice? Truly haunting. You turned her against SeaWorld from the start, babe.”

“Shut up, your gorilla voice wasn’t much better.”

“Monkeys,” Leah repeats in a serious tone as if to remind them of the matter at hand, and then she’s almost up and chasing after another squirrel before Amy catches her and tickles her. She falls back against the picnic blanket, squirming to get away while she keeps laughing her infectious toddler laugh, and Amy’s trying hard to keep a poker-face but she’s overtired and relieved and so absolutely happy, it’s worthless. It’s mere seconds before all three of them are laughing uncontrollably, and for a moment, every bit of heartache she’s felt over the last days is cured.

The day before the transfer, they have to go in for a meeting to decide how many embryos to transfer. It’s an interesting discussion, with Amy and their doctor arguing in favor of one and Jake hung up on the idea that an increased chance of twins would be the coolest thing ever and they should do two, but they eventually end up making the decision to transfer one and freeze the remaining two embryos.

“Chicken,” Jake tells her when they’re leaving the clinic. “Two for the price of one, right?”

“You try being pregnant with one child before deciding you want to try two.”

“Fine,” he laughs. “So you think it’s going to stick, huh?”

Amy blushes. “Maybe? She did say they were high-quality.”

“I'm sure she'll give you a gold star if you ask.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Keep up the optimism,” he says, and the wide grin he gives her makes her want to follow his advice. “You know, in two weeks you might be pregnant.”

Hearing the words makes her heart flutter with joy, making her halt suddenly to wrap her arms around him, kissing him so hard it takes him by surprise. His hands wave, hesitating before they find their spot on her waist, but then he’s as wrapped up in it as she is. She cups his chin with one hand, stroking her thumb over the light stubble and pouring all of her cautious hope into this kiss, soaking him up, taking him in. The moment is short-lived, but it’s enough to bring out the spark she hopes they’ll never lose.

“What was that for?” He asks when she pulls away.

“Luck,” she smiles.

It feels like a monumental day when they pull into the parking lot the next morning. Amy supposes if everything goes well, it will be, and then she reflects upon how in that case, she'll always know the exact date and hour for when something could have started to grow.

Her first pregnancy had been such a shock in the beginning; not unplanned, but happening way faster than she’d anticipated. Amy wonders if she glorified the welcome surprise in her memories, romanticizing the feeling that this little person had, in a sense, chosen them. If their first round of IVF works, it's going to be a result of medicines and treatments and them being so proactive about wanting this, and although she places no value in the discrepancy, it feels clearly dissimilar. Equally as beautiful, but in an entirely different way.

She clings to the beautiful parts. The long hug Jake gives her before they go in because he can tell she's shaking, and how nice and considerate everyone who introduces themselves to them is. She focuses on Jake's hand squeezing hers throughout the short procedure, and on getting to see the quick flash happen on the ultrasound screen. The giddiness between them as they drive home after, the way he insists on tucking her into bed for her advised day of bed rest, and the buffet of snacks he runs and gets them.

Most of all, she clings to the monochrome printed picture of the embryo, looking like nothing but a tiny bubble against some light background but giving her hope all the same.

Please, she thinks before they turn out the light that evening, clutching the thin paper over her heart.

Please, please, stick.

june

If Amy found the days between egg retrieval and transfer were nerve-wracking, the ten days between her transfer and blood test prove to be yet more agonizing. She tries her best to stay distracted, letting the days pass by in a flurry of work shifts, toddler meltdowns and even a visit to Shaw’s Bar for a sense of normalcy on a night when Karen is babysitting. Charles gives her bottle of non-alcoholic beer meaning looks throughout the whole night, and she mumbles something about her low alcohol tolerance to which he just nods, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. She tries to ignore the persistent thought in the back of her head, reminding her his suspicions could technically be correct.

Hope is a dangerous thing, Amy thinks as she goes through the first pages of the diary she kept during her first pregnancy, desperately trying to remember what early signs she felt the first time. Hope makes you crazy. Hope is what’s making her overanalyze her every sensation and shift in mood until she barely trusts herself anymore. Is she experiencing the first hints of first-trimester fatigue, or has Leah just woken up at four-thirty a.m. for the last three mornings? Is she nauseous, or did she simply drink coffee on an empty stomach and forget to eat until early afternoon? Is her sense of smell heightened, or did Charles bring an extra eye-watering lunch today? The question marks are endless, and they make the ten days until her blood test feel eternal.

The day before the test, Leah and the rest of the kids in her daycare group put on a little show for the parents. It’s the sort of thing Amy always suspected parents lied about or greatly exaggerated, but it turns out watching her daughter proudly march in uneven circles while happily singing along to songs about numbers and letters all while waving to her parents is more than enough to ensure there are tears of pride in Amy’s eyes throughout the performance.

“You’re not going to stop crying, are you?” Jake teases her as they’re pulling out of the parking lot, Leah still singing a song about cows.

“I’m emotional,” she laughs through the tears, and she can tell from the way his eyes narrow that he’s thinking it, too - even more than usual.

The following night, Amy jolts awake at 3 a.m.

She tries to fall asleep again for a good thirty minutes, tossing and turning and snuggling closer to Jake to make herself calm down, but nothing works and she's as awake as if she’d just chugged a thermos of black coffee. She solves a crossword puzzle on the Times app on her phone, hoping for it to either distract her or tire her out, but it manages neither. She is physically unable to relax. There’s no way for her to stop thinking about how today’s the day, today’s the day they’ll find out whether or not the money, time and bruises led to somewhere, if they’ll be adding another member to their family in nine months, whether or not she’s finally pregnant.

There are five hours left until her scheduled appointment. It’s not a long time, not when Leah will be up in three hours, but it feels like forever. She wants to know now, and she’s not going to fall asleep again before she does.

One at-home test can’t hurt, she decides.

Grabbing her phone and a sweater Jake must have thrown on the floor yesterday, she crawls out of bed and pads into their modestly sized bathroom, praying there’s an unused test left somewhere.

It takes her a couple of minutes to find one. The package is stashed deep in their cupboard behind bottles of shampoo, its hiddenness former evidence of a moment’s weakness when she must have been unable to even see it. It’s been a long and frustrating eight months, but as Amy places the plastic stick down on the floor to let the result develop, washing her hands carefully before starting a timer and putting in contact lenses, she can’t help but wonder if their struggle has come to a much yearned-for end.

A small hourglass flashes on the little digital display, and her heart is full-on racing, pounding with each appearance and disappearance of the symbol.

Then, with thirty seconds left on the three-minute timer, the result appears and she swears fireworks go off outside.

There aren’t any actual fireworks, of course. To anyone else, it’s an ordinary night in early June, but to Amy, it’s the night of a forthright miracle. It’s an indignity there are no fireworks.

The screen reads Pregnant, 1-2 Weeks, and she feels happy tears form in her eyes as the relief floods her, a maelstrom of emotions coming at her without warning.

Pregnant.

They’re having another baby.

Her hand goes instinctively to her lower abdomen, where the bruises from the injections are still fading, and something unimaginably small but existing, has started to grow.

“Jake.” She shakes his shoulder as she repeats his name. “Jake. Babe.”

There's a low groan and a sigh, but he doesn't open his eyes. She shakes him carefully again.

“Jake, please wake up.”

“Hmm. No.”

“I promise you're going to want to wake up for this.”

He makes another gruff sound, somewhere between a grunt and a yawn. “S’the middle of the night. S’ anything wrong?”

“No, no. The opposite,” she says, and he looks at her for a second before his eyes fall shut again.

“What d’you mean?”

She leans closer, kissing the back of his neck before she whispers the words. “Babe, I'm pregnant.”

“What?” He sits up straight so quickly, Amy almost flies back on the bed as she loses her balance. “Wait - how d'you know - what?”

She laughs, because she's barely believing it either, and hands him the minutes-old test so he can see for himself. “I couldn't sleep, so I took one to see, and… it's positive.”

“Oh my god,” he blinks, twisting the test in his hands while a wide grin takes shape on his lips, his expression morphing from sleep-deprived toddler parent to overjoyed child on Christmas morning. “Oh my god, Ames.”

“I know!”

“This is - we're having another baby?”

“Yeah! It worked!”

“I can’t believe it.” He shakes his head, and then he wraps her in a tight hug while pressing kisses to her cheeks, her neck, her shoulder, every spot he can reach. “You did it, babe.”

“You helped.”

“Eh, barely. You were the one who took all those shots.”

“I did,” she grimaces. “They were worth it, though.”

“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, and the smile on her lips grows impossibly wider.

“We’re having a baby.”

It’s dusky inside their bedroom, but the world has never felt brighter.

Neither of them gets more sleep that night. All they can do is lay next to each other, watch the sun rise through the window and repeat their shock and immeasurable happiness to one another.

They’re having another child, and they are going to be the two-kid-family she always pictured. She is going to experience the few magical parts of pregnancy and times with a newborn she couldn't accept never experiencing again, Leah will have a sibling to grow up next to and possibly an automatic best friend for life. For the last few months, Amy's been scared to death it wouldn’t ever happen to them again, and now she's blessed with the knowledge it will.

She's not broken. Her body can still do this, albeit with a bit of help to get there, but it can and it is, and she feels like the luckiest woman in the world.

It's the first time she's purely confident when they park outside the fertility doctor. A quick little blood test to confirm what she already knows to be true, and she can move on with her life, pregnant, and put all this behind her.

“Did you take a home test?” The friendly nurse asks as she adjusts the tight band around Amy’s upper arm. Amy’s not even making an effort to hide her proud smile.

“Maybe,” she confesses, and it makes the young woman chuckle.

“Congratulations.”

The results will take a couple of hours, she's informed, and the clinic will call and leave a voicemail when her numbers are in. The screen lights up when she's in the middle of a conversation with Detective Alvarado later in the afternoon, and it takes a lot more self-control than it should for Amy to not instantly reach for her phone. The last hours of her workday seem to stretch forever, and by the time she meets up with Jake in the precinct’s garage to listen to the message, she's bursting with excitement and joy.

He’s not much better, looking at her with the heart-eyes that still make her blush as she gets into the passenger seat. The happiness is infectious, so she leans over to kiss him a few seconds longer than she'd deem appropriate for technically being inside the workplace.

“I was thinking we should celebrate with pizza tonight,” he says when they break it off. “Both because well, pizza, and also because I couldn’t have pizza at home for months last time you were pregnant or you’d be sick. I figure I need to take my chance while I can.”

“Planning ahead.” Amy raises an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

“Well, I’m a super-experienced dad now, right?” He leans back in the seat, crossing his arms behind his head. “I’m going to have two kids! That’s grown-up for realz.”

“As opposed to having one?”

“I’m just saying it’s next level,” he remarks and it makes her laugh. “Let's hear the voicemail, shall we?”

She nods and reaches for his hand before pressing play on the voicemail recording.

It only takes the few seconds their nurse takes to say who she is and why she’s calling for Amy to realize something is wrong.

It’s in the worried tone, the hesitant atmosphere emanating from the speakers, and it feels like her heart has stopped dead in her chest when she hears it.

“So you’re in a bit of a gray area,” the nurse explains, pronouncing each word with great care. “Your level showed up at a 13. As you know, any hcG level above 25 is pregnant and anything below 5 is not. Anything in between needs a retest.”

Jake squeezes her hand harder, and she can sense his eyes on her as if he’s trying to read her reaction. She tries to squeeze back but finds she can’t move her fingers or turn her face, can’t do anything but stare straight ahead with her lips pursed.

“This could, of course, be nothing and your pregnancy could just be slow-starting,” the message continues, each word still being spoken as slowly. “But since we would prefer to see your levels above 50 to be certain, you’ll have to come in for a retest in two days to see if they’ve increased.” The nurse sighs. “I am so sorry about this trouble. You two take care and I’ll see you again soon.”

There’s a click and a dial tone as the message ends, and they’re left with a silence that seems to weigh tons.

She notices her tears first when Jake wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, his hand warm against her cheek.

“It’s just slow-starting, babe. The test said you’re pregnant.”

“Not pregnant enough, apparently.”

“You don’t know that yet,” he says, decisively. “Our kids are stubborn as hell. It’ll be okay.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.” The hand still intertwined with hers squeezes harder again. It’s an effort, but she manages to squeeze his back. “Somehow, we always end up okay.”

She nearly makes a snarky comment about death threats and witness protection, trials and prison sentences, but stops herself. It’s not comparable, and she knows the Amy who stayed up all night working on her boyfriend’s case before crying herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning would probably have been content with never having any kids at all if it meant Jake could come back home, but times have changed since then. It doesn’t matter that she knows they’ve been through worse, because the level of pain and worry still feels unbearable when they’re in the thick of it, the letdowns and disappointments so present here and now.

“I hope so,” she whispers and lets his warm smile give her an ounce of comfort, a sliver of sparkling hope. “Can we go pick up Lee now? I just… need to think about something else, for a while.”

“Yeah, of course.” His lips brush against her forehead for a second. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“It’ll be okay, Amy.”

She nods, undecided as to whether or not she believes him.

She knows the next day must pass, because she wakes up two mornings later when it's time for the retest, but there aren't any memories there when she tries to think back at. It's like she's been sleepwalking for the entire day. Nothing feels real except the overwhelming worry and the voice in her head repeating you’re worthless, a failure, your body can't even do this.

She peels away the skin on her lips and fingertips until both are bleeding in an attempt to feel something. She doesn't remember this, either, but there are bandaids on her fingers when she wakes up the next morning and her lips are all cracked even though it's summer.

“You know it’s not over yet,” Jake mumbles as they’re waking up and she gets stuck on the edge of the bed, unable to tear her eyes away from the embryo picture on her nightstand.

It looks like a foggy soap bubble, she thinks, and wonders how she could pour so much hope, love and blind faith into something that might never make it past the very first steps of existence.

She nods and abstains from telling him what she’s really thinking.

It feels like it is.

There’s a dull ache in her stomach as she takes the blood test. At first, she chalks it down to nerves and that all she could get down for breakfast was coffee and half of an apple, but as the pain level increases and begins imitating an all too familiar sensation, she realizes what it could be. There aren’t any tampons in her bag, so she curses her past, temporarily optimistic, self for not putting new ones there the last time she ran out, and drives to the nearest CVS.

When they were starting the procedure, she was worried and desperate, clinging onto the little bit of faith that came with knowing they were at least being proactive about it. After the transfer, she was cautiously optimistic, reading into each sign and even daring to feel hopeful about the outcome. Now, she’s just numb. She can’t think, can’t feel, can’t react to what’s happening around her if so somebody slapped her in the face. Amy has lived her life being anxiously alert to every shifting detail around her, but as she browses the CVS aisles in a coma, she’s never felt more cut off from reality.

She does note how the cashier in the checkout has a pronounced baby bump. It feels like a sick joke.

The joke continues, because she’s just stepped out of the building when her phone vibrates with the call from the fertility doctor’s office.

“Amy Santiago.”

“Hi, yes.” It’s a different nurse than for the previous call, Amy notes, but the serious tone is the same. “I’m calling with your results from today’s blood test.”

She bites her lip, tasting blood from the already broken skin. “They’re not good, are they?”

“Your hCG was down to an 11.”

“Oh.”

“Unfortunately, it means you’re going to lose this pregnancy.”

“Yeah. I… figured.”

“I truly am so sorry about this,” the nurse assures her. “If it’s any comfort, know this means the pregnancy wasn’t ever viable, and your body simply did what’s best and terminated it before anything ever fully implanted. You’ll possibly get a bit of a more painful period, but after, nothing should stop you from trying again as soon as you feel ready.”

“Okay.”

“I know that might not make it feel better, but this is not uncommon, and it’s not something you could have prevented, either. Sometimes it isn’t meant to be.”

“No, I understand,” Amy manages to get out, and the nurse hums at the other end of the phone.

“You can take as much time as you need, and then get back to us about whether you’d like to start another cycle. Does it sound okay?”

“Sure.”

“Perfect, then. Take care,” the voice advises, and two repeated beep-sounds signal the end of the call.

There aren’t any benches nearby. Thus, when Amy feels her legs give way in the next second, all she can do is slide down until she’s sitting down on the sidewalk outside the store, her back against the wall and her arms around her knees as the panic crashes over her. Her lungs feel tight, getting tighter as she gasps for air between the ugly crying that’s slipping out of her before she can control it. Although she’s cried her fair share of tears in the last few weeks, it’s been a long time since she cried like this, forceful and broken in a wounded animal-type of way that earns her weird glances from the people walking past, but she resolutely shakes her head when a stranger tries to come closer. With trembling hands she manages to press the favorites button, calling Jake, and then she tries to take a deep breath and force air into her lungs while she waits for him to pick up.

“Ames?”

She can’t get out a single word before her voice breaks. Instead of a comprehensible pair of sentences comes a blubbering string of words, not one of them sounding the way they’re supposed to, and she can hear his confusion as he repeats her name in a questioning tone but she can’t explain. Her head hurts, her lungs hurt, and hearing the sudden worried edge in Jake’s voice hurts.

“Where are you? Send me your location.” She stutters a vague description. “Okay, stay where you are and I’ll be there in ten.”

It ends up only being seven minutes before he’s kneeling in front of her, still wearing his badge and all out of breath as he helps her stand up and leads her to their car without asking a single question of what she’s doing here or what’s happened. She figures he understands - or at least, has drawn the conclusion from her wrecked appearance. She makes several attempts of opening her mouth, trying to apologize for her shattered state as the traces of her eye makeup are smudging on her cheek and she’s fighting for breath, crying so hard it feels like she’s going to throw up from the mix of snot and hysteria stuck in her throat, but it's impossible to speak.

“Ames, can you try to breathe for me, please? In for three and out for three.” He’s holding both of her hands as he guides her, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over her knuckles. She manages to hold her breath for two seconds, shaking as she exhales, and he nods. “Good, you’re doing great. Try another time.”

They go on like that for several minutes. Eventually, the vigorous bawling calms into a quieter sobbing, and she nearly collapses into his arms as he strokes her hair, whispering soft I love yous to which she can only respond with more crying.

“Let’s go home,” he suggests, his voice stable and solid even as everything is crumbling around them.

“Are you sure you don’t have to go back to work?”

“Yeah. Rosa owed me one.”

“Did you call Holt?”

“I will.” His lips brush against her neck. “Later.”

They're laying on the bed, Amy being the little spoon for once. The waves of intense panic have quietened down thanks to exhaustion, and she's breathing properly, in and out as Jake holds her. Rays of sunlight are shining through the curtains, alerting her to the beautiful summer’s day outside, and she wishes Jake would close them. She doesn’t want to be reminded of the outside world. It means nothing to her, anyway.

They should have been celebrating, making sure to get off work early, picking up Leah from daycare and going for celebratory ice-cream in the middle of the week. Now they’re here, her wrapped in an extra blanket because she couldn’t stop shivering, Jake playing with her hair in a fruitless attempt of making her feel better. He’s made her coffee and a sandwich, too, insisting she needed to refill her energy after the panic attack, but she hasn’t managed more than a couple of bites. The picture of the embryo she’s about to lose still sits on her nightstand, and she’s tried but she can’t stop staring at it.

“I’m so stupid,” it slips out of her without thinking, and Jake freezes.

“You’re not stupid, Ames.”

“I really thought it was going to last,” she continues, unaffected by his protest. “I really did.”

“So did I.”

She ignores that too, finally tearing her focus away from the picture and rolling on her back so she’s looking up at the ceiling instead. “You know it barely counts as a miscarriage at this point?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s called a chemical pregnancy because it didn’t get far enough to be visible on an ultrasound. Chemical. Like it’s just… an error.” She snivels. “That’s what I feel like. An error.”

“You’re not an error,” he says, in a low voice like it’s hurting him to hear her say it. “We’ll try again.”

“How many times, Jake? How many damn times do we have to try again?”

“We said two before we reevaluate - “

“I know what we said,” she cuts him off. “But I’m exhausted.”

“We could take a break?”

“No, we’re trying again.”

“Okay.” His fingers move over her cheek, cupping her jaw and pulling her towards him so they’re face to face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She swallows the tears that seem to be on their way back. “I can't believe I thought it was real.”

“It felt real.”

“So real,” she breathes, and he hugs her tighter.

She's gotten so tired of crying.

#my writing #b99 #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine-nine #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fanfiction #iwthwy #coming through with a little distraction from the election chaos i guess #i just wanted to get this chapter out there lol

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ithinkthingsaboutstuff · 5 years ago

Note

how would you analyze the rebooting scene?

Thank you for the ask, (but i think you’ll be sorry, lol)

Ok here we go (i did this to myself)

I said before that this scene is a masterclass and I’m going to show you why I think that, but strap in its going to be long one.

the version of the scene I’m looking at is 3:46 secs (note this version a quick cut to J’onn but i will ignoring that, for the sake of time and my sanity)

the scene opens with this

Brainy is locked in a chair, but we are looking at his right hand of all things

Note: this is were he wears his ring (that has been taken from him) so this open shot is saying, Brainy is being held back and his ring (legion/ friends) can’t help him.

a few shorts later that is conformed for the audience.

Note: that the rings is what is in focus and not the man holding it and it too is locked up (on a chain)

so safe to say that the ring has always been a symbol for Brainy himself or his core beliefs (as a hero) he say’s as much in earlier ep’s (before the alien march i believe)

this is a good example of visual symbolism and its done in two shorts.

moving on.

the next few beats go like this, ‘don’t hurt her (nia)’ ‘or what’ he gets zapped

but then this dialogue

“Ever one else here got these crazy powers but you as far as i can tell are blue.”

“are blue” is met with this image.

he tilts his head and the Brainiac symbol is on full display, so dramatic irony, we (the audience) know there’s more and we are about to find out how much.

“The girl (Nia) on the other hand”

is meet with this

so this has done two this

1) he have moved way from thoughts of himself (getting away)

2) We are looking at his ‘human’ or organic face and eyes (not the brainiac lights)

Brainy’s face then moves from, ‘i need to leave’ and into ‘take me not her’ this done by Jesse closing is eyes for a second and opening then again

he next is a back and forth of you will not hurt her. but then he gets hit by the gun. this then leads to lights on his head flashing and then cuts away,

note that

1) His head is leaning back and is looking up

2) the sound (hissing) and lights flickering

so he is in a state we have never seen him before.

now this then cuts to Eve and J’onn so I’m going to skip that. this is how we renter the scene,

the sound is still happening, coupled with his discomfort (understatement), but we are looking in, like we are an unknown entity overbearing but distant

note that you can’t see face’s (expressions) from anyone most notable being Brainy

a shot like this distance us from the emotion of what is happening, that’s amplified with the next shot

we are literally creeping in, like we are the thing his is trying to keep out or away from him.

note: this could also be seen as brainy himself losing his emotional attachment to himself

but he can’t keep ‘us’ away as the very next shot is

a close up like this is always for emotion.

but he is sounding less human (voice being more robotic) or at least less himself (lights flickering) it is also a dutch tilt and those are used to show ‘something is not right here’ or ‘this is not as it seems’

and he is not talking about himself “why would anyone hurt her”

so his self attachment is all by gone, and he has all but given up on his own fight, as stated by his captor

“he’s done…on too the other one boys.”

it is then meet with a music drop and a matter a fact

“no”

this is when things, get layered

there are a few more mechanical shifts sounds

met with different types of ‘No’

this is also meet by some flickers of back and forth between himself, this shows an internal shift of keeping them here “no, no” (don’t leave) to “No,you can’t.” (stay back, something is inside me) this is done with tone of voice and micro expressions.

so this writing when viewed the first time makes us question who he is talking to now, because dialogue alone makes it sound like he is still talking to the guards

(and the not so micro ones)

this is when he falls back on or uses his last line of defiance his ‘Little Box’s’

this is the last big red flag for something is about to go down and its not going to be good.

“But eventually box’s get opened.”

but this makes the audience ask in Brad Pitt in the movie 7 fashion

‘What’s in the box!’

and for those paying attention Brainy answers that question before it starts

“there’s a story about that right…Greek.”

(I have already mentioned this part before in another ask but since i’m lazy and unoriginal, i’ll do it again)

this moment is a good example of conscious and subconscious intertextuality

the use of Little Box’s has 2 meanings in this scene.

1) the show made a coping technique out of it as a way to seal away unwanted pain

2) as to what is in this book is ref to Pandora’s Box

now what was in Pandora’s Box you ask

Oh! Out of the box flew every kind of trouble that people had never known about before: sicknesses, and worries, and crimes, and hate and envy and all sorts of bad things. The bad things all began to fly away like little bugs, all over the place.

Pandora was very sorry now that she had opened the box! She tried to catch the bad things and put them back in the box but it was too late. They all flew away.

https://quatr.us/greeks/pandoras-box-greek-mythology.htm

this double meaning is used as a way to tell us was is going to happen without actually tell us, and is good solid writing.

and going back to the angle of this shot looking up at someone usually shows them having power over someone in the scene,

but thanks to the acting here

it shows that he is powerless against himself.

this is the moment before he loses himself (momentarily) to the Brainiac’s

the camera tilts again (this time onscreen) while it and Brainy move in a snake like fashion.

“your just primitives.”

in a Voice that is clearly not Brainy’s (in a literal and metaphorical way)

“and I have worked so hard to….to get back here.”

the Voice in this line fades back down to his real voice (so he is still fighting)

the line is also solid writing as it takes on different meanings

1) the literal, ‘i have worked hard to come to the past’

2) the metaphorical ‘I am working hard to get control of my mind again.’

3) the emotional ‘I have worked hard to get to a good emotional sate.’

and again this angle show how he is powerless against himself.

the next few shots are the camera swaying back and forth and he goes a small disjointed rant about time travel (and space travel)

the camera swaying is showing the mood swings but it is also showing the state of his mind

‘it could go either way’

(and Jesse’s back and forth is seamless.)

then finally a calm before the storm moment as he ‘fully regains himself’

with “the point is, the point is..I’m from the future,”

then to a rational but angry

“my species has ancestral memory.”

the lights are still going so this has not pasted.

“and my ancestors very bad people.”

then cut to

“I remember everything!”

oh this shot

(Jesse’s acting top notch here (that single tear still gets me) )

1) the lead in from ‘bad people’ to ‘I remember’ so sharp and intense

2) this shows that he is actually seeing everything they have ever done (world killers)

3) this shot removes the Brainiac symbol from sight again, as this is Brainy’s agony and not there’s (they don’t feel anything lest of all regret)

and this shot is also how we know he has just lost against who he is fighting. and the fact that this is only time we see him in profile this could mean symbolically he has just been ‘split in half’.

then a few moments before

“uh oh”

this angle again but this time meet with a ‘glee’ then leading into a cry (the last cry) for help Brainy uses.

“I don’t want to.”

then the head goes down and silence’s, then

this time the Brainiac’s symbol is the main focus, the dutch tilt is back, so Brainy is gone,

then this leads to the rise and lifting up of Jesse’s body, like his is being filled with air

the he says how he has been aligned with with his family, and how he has been rebooted,

as this happens the camera sways back and forth but slowly this time, as to show that shows its gently moving into his mind and making itself more comfortable before, so the camera straights up and he states

“that was a calamitous mistake.”

then he breaks free and beats them brutally braking bones and smashing in heads (but not killing oddly enough)

but the first thing he does is

pull the ring to himself but unlike all the other times in s4 he does not grab it rather

he garbs this guy’s neck

so if Brainy ‘is the ring’ (symbolically speaking)

then he is still chained up, in these next fighting beats. (again bashing skulls and breaking bones)

then there is this moment

a taking in a new mind set (literally),

then the camera spins around him and cutting to his side to show him put out his hand and then this

remember Ring= brainy

high angle = power

so the rebooted brainy has power over the chained up one (symbolically)

then he pulls it off the chain (but dose not put it on, that we see anyway)

J’onn walks in and ask

“what happened”

his response

“i’m free.”

double meaning is double meaning (i don’t have to explain that one)

there are few other things i noticed in this scene

1) like how the fight scene had a deeper or inverted version of Brainy’s usual theme music.

2) there are 3 big lights on the wall hanging over the scene (like the brainiac’s)

3) most of this scene is close ups and that is not easy to do (acting wise)

4) he takes down the scientist last (thought that was worth pointing out)

so yes this scene is one of the best the show has ever made (for me anyway) its very layered and well planned and well executed,

now do i think every thing i listed here was intentional for the reasons i listed them, no (that’s insane)

but that doesn’t matter, the point is i was able to make and find these connections using the film language that was presented,

but this scene is filled with character building (brainy with Jesse’s acting ability’s), season long payoffs (little box’s) and setting up story’s and premise’s for what was going to be next season, that is now this season (s5.)

so no matter which way you look at it this scene is so well put together that it could be it’s own short film, and no one would have batted an eye.

that’s the mark of good story telling (in this case acting, writing and directing) if you can take out all context and still be its own peace of work.

and this is all just my take someone else could come in and see something totally different and that’s great.

[and just for fun I will throw in the scene and you can take a look and see how you feel for your self

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPvPkDxhxoY]

#long post #meta #brainiac 5 #querl dox #brainy #supergirl #man #i do not like myself all that much to i #why am i like this #this is what i do for fun #wow #anyway this is a thing that happened #jesse's acting man #its so good #the angles in this scene were great #and the music was well done to #but i was to lazy to mention it

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jswdmb1 · 5 years ago

Text

I Wanna Be Sedated

“Hurry, hurry, hurry

before I go insane

Can't control my fingers,

can't control my brain”

- The Ramones

All of our resources have been focused on two things: keeping people alive and keeping the economy afloat. It is hard to argue the prioritization of those two areas and it is understandable that there are not resources beyond what we have already marshalled to focus on anything further down the list. But I worry that we are just burying another landmine in the ground that we’ll be stepping on sooner than later if we forget about it. I am talking about the complete and brutal destruction of our mental health both collectively and individually.

Before I go further, I must repeat that I completely support the efforts of social shutdown and shelter in place that are currently in effect. It is literally the only tool we have to fight this pandemic as our leaders (most specifically the president) mocked its potential wrath when more could have been done to prepare and now we are boxed into a corner. Experts warned long before this man even got nominated by his party that he was unfit for this office and an existential threat to our way of life. It was just a matter of time before his vulgarity, stupidity and incompetence manifested into real pain and destruction, and that time is now. I bring this up before delving into my primary subject because I still see polls and news reports that show there is a large percentage of people who still think there is overreaction to the crisis and that the president is doing a good job handling it. If you believe either of those things, please stop reading now because you do not have the intellectual capacity to grasp what I am going to say.

Now that we have established how we got here and who is responsible, the real question that everyone has on their minds is what is next. We have been told to shelter-in-place for the foreseeable future and been given no further instructions. The economic bill passed yesterday is the equivalent of treating a gunshot wound with a band-aid, and will be of little use as a real solution to the financial devastation that most people will experience long after those checks run out. This combination has made it increasingly hard to keep strong mentally as the massive uncertainty weighs on our minds literally every hour of the day. For a few days, we found some solace in things like getting outside, but now that is being quashed as acceptable. We are pretty much under a house arrest with no defined sentence and we are being punished for no crime we ever committed. Even a prisoner gets access to basic services such as counseling and religious freedoms, but not those of us at home. In war, there is something known as collateral damage, and our civil liberties are fitting that description for the current crisis. On top of all of that, the weather in my part of the country has been miserable. It all adds up to one very grim picture.

Some of you may not like that I am painting such a picture, but that to me contributes to our mental health crisis in the same way that putting our heads in the sand about the virus got us to where we stand today. I am not alone in feelings of anxiety or depression, but it’s well known I have had both long before the virus hit our shores. I feel it gives me a little bit of a perspective on this issue and why I see it a potentially more damaging long-term than anything we are experiencing today. What I can tell you from experience is that it is not possible to work through profound feelings of depression by “just being positive”. The two worst things you can tell a depressed person is that they have to remain positive and they need to work themselves out of their mood. That is akin to telling someone who is drowning that they need to come up for air and should go look for a lifejacket when they do. Yet, all I see on social media and the news is that this is the “new normal” and “we’ll get through this”. What are you talking about? There is nothing normal about this at all. Why on earth would anyone accept it as such? And, how do you know that we’ll get through this? What are you basing that on? Have you been through a deadly pandemic before? Have you sat under quarantine for weeks that will soon turn into months? It literally grates on my nerves to hear such things as good tools to use to “get us out of our funk”.

So, that begs the question about what do we do? I will not pretend to have any real answers and certainly there is no quick fix. But first, we all have to acknowledge that this problem exists, and it is at least on par with the other aspects of this crisis. And don’t say that it isn’t life-or-death because it is. I predict in a matter of weeks, not months, that you will see a morbidly sharp increase in the suicide rate. This is also incredibly damaging to the efforts of those trying to recover from addiction diseases, and many will not only succumb to their addictions without a support system to help them, but they will die as a result of this. And the casualties are not limited to those who don’t make it. The deep psychological scars left on the rest of us that manage to get through this will not heal without significant intervention. I am particularly worried about our teens and young adults who were already not in a good place and I think are suffering more than most when it comes to the social isolation steps being implemented. We all need to acknowledge that we are experiencing acute mental trauma and we cannot simply accept that as “normal”.

If you cannot accept this as fact, then there is not much more I can do to help you. You are going to suffer a similar fate as those who don’t believe we are in the middle of a deadly pandemic in the first place. But if you are willing to accept that your mental health is (or will be) destroyed as a result of this, there are a couple of things that I have learned over the years that can help you cope:

Depression, pain and anxiety are normal feelings and you should not feel guilty for feeling them. By all means do not suppress those feelings as they fester without an outlet. Also be aware that those around you will have these feelings as well and don’t shame them for not being “positive” or “constructive” for expressing them. It is going to take a lot of patience along with some give and take to work with each other on this, but if we deny ourselves or others the freedom to express these emotions, we can’t even get started with healing.

Recognize that while many tools have been taken way from us that usually can be a big help, many others are still available. We have to just be more creative and look for other doors that may be open when others have been shut. One of my main outlets has been a group running program where I coach, and that is now gone in its old form. But we are working hard to still get out and run (solo and never congregating) and support each other virtually. It is not perfect, but it would be wrong to dismiss the sense of community we have built over the years because it is still alive and well no matter how far apart we are kept. It may even be stronger when we eventually can see each other again. That is just one example. I recommend you take whatever you had before and look for ways to retool and still use that as something you can have that is a positive force in your life. It could be that you have that taken away at some point, but then go back and retool it again. If GM can retool its operations from cars to ventilators, we can certainly do the same on our micro levels.

Avoid using alcohol and drugs as a crutch. I can tell you from direct experience that this is just about the worst way to deal with depression. I am not saying you cannot enjoy a drink now and then, but I have already seen anecdotal evidence in some of my interactions on social media and elsewhere that this is not the case. I know that I sound preachy here, but I’m just trying to help as I’m sure many of you may have not experienced profound depression like this before. There is no doubt that the drink or drug of your choice feels good for a little bit and may even help you forget, but it is an incredibly slippery slope.

For those who have committed to sobriety before this all went down, please hold onto that. It may be the only thing you have left that they can’t take away, and it is too valuable to give up so easily. I know it is hard, the thought of heading down to the liquor store (which incredibly is still open and considered “essential”) has passed through my head more than once, but you have to let that feeling pass. You know better than I that what I say in the preceding paragraph is true and heading off the path to sobriety will be a disaster. I have heard that support groups are still meeting (as they have also been deemed essential) so consider a way to attend those (even virtually) if you are struggling with temptation. If you have no such support mechanism, contact me directly through FaceBook Messenger. I am always willing to talk to someone who needs to work though a moment of crisis. It’s a ridiculously impossible situation, but there is no other choice to hold on.

I know that I sound like I am on a soapbox here, but that is not my intent. This is more of a plea to everyone out there not to forget that mental health is a critical component of living and bodies free of disease are useless if our brains can’t function within them. Please just remember that as you deal with the people in your house and those you interact with virtually. While you may think you have the right answer in telling people to stay happy and chipper during a dark time, that is not how everyone feels and it could be damaging to their mental health if you ignore the danger signs they are presenting. My guess is that anyone who has gone this far into reading this already knows that, but it is going to take some reminding for even the most empathetic and caring person among us. Starting now can hopefully get ahead of issues that are already taking root so that we can move forward much more quickly with “normal” life if such a thing ever exists again.

In the meantime, I sincerely hope that this finds you healthy and safe and that you are coping with the mental aspects of the situation better than me. One outlet I have is this blog, and I have thought about suspending it during the crisis because I don’t have anything to say that people want to hear. After writing this post, I realize now that would be the easy way out, and at the risk of being unpopular, I can not give up the fight to protect the most important organ in our bodies – our brain. So, I’ll keep on keepin’ on, but just remember that I really am trying to help. I don’t want anyone to end up in a place that they can’t leave. We’ve come too far to let that happen.

Please take care everybody,

Jim

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butchtaurus · 7 years ago

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When will i shut up abt this tbh? hopefully after this… god damn.

Now that it’s been days since the supergirl sdcc incident. i wanna try talk about it more comprehensively? I’m not so good with words or expressing my feelings but i feel like i need to try and understand. I’ll probably forget things i want to say lmao. It’s probably gonna be SO LONG, I’m so so so so SORRY!!!!!!

So, people are mad at Jeremy and Melissa for “making fun of a popular f/f ship.” And while on the surface it seems exactly that, it partially was. But i don’t think the words yelled at us, and it was at us because he looked directly at he camera while doing it, “THEYRE ONLY FRIENDS” was the problem. It was that a fanbase made of many young LGBT people were singled out. Now the intent on Jeremy or Melissa’s part may not have been homophobic or meant to hurt in anyway, they felt they were joking around. But they still did hurt a lot of people.

My interpretation of this “joke” felt like they were poking fun at me for believing two female friends could more than friends and that it was silly to think that. In Jeremy’s first apology he says how its valid how he interprets their story. Which is absolutely correct! He can view them as only friends, no one’s gonna make fun of that. Cause… thats canon? lmao. Part of fiction is allowing the consumer to interpret the work however they see fit because whats the fun in being told what the fiction or art means?

Maybe the cast was tired of being asked about Supercorp, but why was it brought up unprompted in this song recap like that? Jeremy could’ve sang something like ‘Kara met Lena and they became best friends!’ done, perfect, move on. Everything woulda been chill. But instead he faced the camera, which breaks him apart from the interviewers and his cast mates to talk to us the fans, and yelled to the camera.

Onto the rest of the interview because that song was not the only thing that made me disappointed and/or angry.

The interviewer asks about shipping (Kara and Lena). Jeremy chimes in and says “I feel like I’m gonna get destroyed for what I just did…. I’m sorry. I just debunked supercorp.” And Melissa says “That was pretty brave.” And I THINK, that’s where others got really mad at Melissa. I do not think Melissa was saying Jeremy was brave for “debunking supercorp” but that it was brave he just said any of that shit, because the cast has to know how insanely loud this fanbase as a whole is, usually not in a good way. (I’ve never seen it, but i just know people have to be sending death threats to multiple people in this cast, or insulting them in some way when its none of our business. Valid criticism aside.)

Then, the interviewer asks a weirdly worded question towards supercorp as a ship. “Are you caught off guard when you hear about, sort of, [what] fans are making of relationships, seeing stuff that is or isn’t there or might be there, et cetera? Like what do you make of it at this point?” Which, since listening to that fandomentals podcast, does throw me off because it puts everyone in a weird position to answer the othering(?) type question.

Now after Melissa answers the question, i have no problem with her answer there tbh, Katie chimes in with a very thoughtful response on how we can interpret art how we want. I also wanna talk about what people thought Mehcad was saying during the end of Katie’s response. I think everyone was feeling very hurt and sensitive since the song etc, so people were very analytical of everything being said. So people thought Mehcad was either saying “zitta” or “take that”, and since re-listening to the actual interview I hear “take that” as in ‘yes, take what you want from fiction’ AND NOT zitta. Take that (haha) for what you will and if you still think it was zitta I would urge you to re-listen and check after you’ve calmed down a bit? Not to be condescending to/dismissive of your feelings tho! ahhhh

After Katie has said her response. Chris says “Yeah and sexuality is all about others perceptions of yours, right? [cast laughter] Am I right?! …. That was sarcasm!” Yeah… okay. Maybe it was sarcasm, but it was a shitty thing to say at all. And also makes no sense for what they’re talking about. I mean… we’re talking about fictional character here aren’t we? So, what? why? what..?

Jeremy replies to Chris’s comment: “Hey listen, I went to musical theatre school I know all about other peoples perception of sexuality.” So… uh, we aren’t talking about fictional characters? Honestly, who cares what other people think about your sexuality? Did/do people think your gay? Why is that so bad? (Maybe I’m still a little sensitive about that part for some reason…)

Now, I think that was all from THAT interview specifically. There was definitely more ugly stuff that happened with Supergirl at comic con, at least to me. Maybe I’ll make another post because this is so fucking long, I’m so sorry…

The cast may not have meant to hurt anyone with all of this, and they definitely aren’t homophobic like how I think people mean? I really do think its in bad taste to just call them homophobic for this incident. What they did was like a micro aggression and in the grand scheme of things very little. Though large in the aftermath unfortunately. They just couldn’t understand the intracasies to LGBT fandoms or shipping, or even LGBT people, since they aren’t. Basically it was ignorance on their part. So, for me personally, I’m not gonna go all out and hate them. I do have a distrust that I can’t ignore though cause i felt made fun of. :/

To people who think “yeah well supercorps deserved it for how they treat the cast.” I can not control what other people do with their social media. I do not see whatever everyone else fucking does. I sit here in my bubble liking the things I like. I can only say that, I do not condone any ugly person that sends death threats, tells someone in the cast to kill themselves, insults the cast, or bring up personal things to be gross to the cast. I do not like that and think it’s stupid. I could only hope anyone 18 and older would know better and that anyone younger would please think of the cast as actual human beings. It doesn’t matter how much you hate any of the cast. Take your time to do anything else.

And listen, feelings are not invalid. No matter how many people think it’s an overreaction. People don’t get to tell you what you feel is stupid. You were hurt, that is the end of it. You’re allowed to be angry or upset or sad or disappointed but before you think to write something angry or rude, take a few minutes or a few hours and try understand why you’re angry and be respectful if you want to express those feelings. Cause when I look back to those words I said right after I was hurt by theirs… I know that I didn’t hurt anyone else. But, if I did? I’m sorry. D:

If you didn’t get offended or hurt? That’s great I’m really happy for you! :)

ALSO AGAIN IF YOU READ THIS WHOLE THING OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY YOU USED YOUR TIME ON MY WORDS AHHHHHHAGDHJFK

#sg mess #personal #long post #jesus this was so long #ALSO ME? INSULTING THE CAST ON MY BLOG? never done idk what ur talking about #okay maybe a little #i only reblogged chip would stuff before i just... i can't w him I'm so sorry its only a joke :(

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 6 years ago

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It's time to reclaim singledom as a symbol of power

"Are you swiping?" my best friend asks me over breakfast one morning. I gulp down a spoonful of woefully bland porridge and think for a moment about how to reply.

The answer was no, I wasn't swiping. But in saying so, I was met with a bewildered expression. I'm reluctant to swipe these days, or just to date in general, due to a long, troubling pattern of power imbalances that have occurred in every single relationship I've had since I started dating when I was 15.

Now, at age 30, my status as the perennial singleton is firmly established after taking countless protracted hiatuses from dating. Not because I don't like the idea of being in a couple, but rather because I find dating really hard. Let's be real, it's a truth universally acknowledged that dating is plain sailing for literally no one. But, as a woman who dates men, I've found that every breed of relationship I've ever had — from casual sex to long-term relationships — has felt completely antithetical to the vision of equality I've envisaged for my own life. The lack of agency I feel in my love life made me want to remain single just so I could cling on to any semblance of control. So, in order to avoid feeling disempowered, I have periodically opted out of dating.

It strikes me as odd that even in 2019 — in this new wave of the women's movement — my lack of a partner renders me something of an anomaly, an outlier among my friends and family. For decades, we've been trying to rebrand the trope of the single woman from sad lonely spinster to something more reflective of reality: an independent, discerning woman who is resistant to the pressures of the patriarchal social values we've inherited. But, is this rebrand even working? Because, from where I'm standing, the very same pressures Bridget Jones and Carrie Bradshaw were up against in the '90s and '00s feel just as prevalent today.

At every single step of dating and in every genre of relationship, I come face to face with power disparities and micro-aggressions that are tinged with misogyny. During my last serious relationship, my boyfriend hurled gendered insults — "bitch," "crazy," "insane" — at me when I tried to assert myself or express that I wasn't happy about something. He would openly objectify my female friends, appraising their physical attractiveness with nominal values. I dumped him and vowed to be more discerning about the next man I called my boyfriend. The next person I dated rolled his eyes when I spoke and replied "come on, Rachel" when I asked questions about subjects I didn't know much about. The realm of online dating brings other headaches, like being pressured by matches to send nudes, receiving unsolicited dick pics, and harassment, and verbal abuse if I take too long to reply to messages or don't want a second date.

In my sexual experiences with men, a marked power imbalance has left me feeling vulnerable and, at times, traumatised. When I look back on past encounters through a post-#MeToo lens, I can see that a troubling proportion of my sexual experiences fell into what I'd characterise as "grey areas"— sex that's non-criminal, but can feel violating. I experienced coercion, pain, and violence during sex that caused me trauma. During one experience, I asked the guy I was having sex with to stop because I had changed my mind. He proceeded to shout at me and yell insults until my housemate intervened and helped remove him from our house.

Perhaps it's me, perhaps I'm picking the wrong men, I've told myself countless times. In an attempt to address those concerns, I have re-calibrated the choices I've made in selecting a partner. A few years ago, I vowed to only date men who identified as feminists, but in venturing down this path, I encountered a slew of other hurdles, principally so-called performative wokeness. This term, which has recently entered the popular lexicon, refers to people who publicly claim to care about social justice, they identify as allies to women, people of colour, LGBTQ people, and people with disabilities. In some of my liaisons with men who identified as feminists, their behaviour during our relationship ultimately did not match the values they purported to hold. Behind closed doors, there'd be micro-aggressions like gaslighting and subtle ways of patronising me that made me question my own intellect.

SEE ALSO: Stop telling women how they should talk

In reality, it's far more complex than simply the choices I make about the type of guys I go for. Humorist and author Blythe Roberson, author of How To Date Men When You Hate Men, says dating is hard for everyone, but "dating as a straight woman is complicated by the fact that the gender you're attracted to has vast systemic power over you."

"This can manifest in large ways, but also in more insidious ways I used to brush off: men saying they could never be in a relationship with someone more successful than they are, or men treating me as frivolous for thinking and writing about dating at all," says Roberson.

My experiences are, of course, not representative of all men. Nor do they represent the experiences of all women. Trans women who date men face a different set of challenges when dating, chief of which is being sexualised but not respected.

Paris Lees, British Vogue columnist and trans awareness campaigner, says there are some men who are happy to have sex with trans women, but feel shame about dating trans women in a serious capacity. "It's really interesting when you tell guys that you're trans because immediately it's like, 'Oh we don't have to treat you with as much respect now.' Not all of them, but a lot of guys, they think 'Oh, this is the one I'm gonna fuck, but I'm not gonna take home to meet mum and dad.'"

She believes the conversations surrounding whether or not trans women are "real women" have heightened misogyny for trans women. "At the height of the 'are trans women real women' debate in the British media about a year ago, I was actually dealing with bullshit from a man and I just remember thinking, 'This is bullshit,'" says Lees. "Seriously, these people are telling me I'm not a real woman, and I'm out here getting all the misogyny."

Indiana Seresin, an academic specialising in feminist and queer theory, says she believes that "heterosexual dating is often just tiring for women."

"Dealing with issues like men's entitlement, the unequal division of physical and emotional labour, and men's ignorance about women's sexuality is exhausting," Seresin tells me. "As a queer woman I can confidently say that we don't face a lot of these issues, thank God. On the other hand, there are still cultural norms that we've regrettably inherited from heterosexuality, one of which is the couple form itself."

Rebranding the trope of the single woman

The hegemony of the couple form is something we, as a society, are struggling to shed. And it's standing in the way of our perceptions of what it means to opt out of traditional dating structures, like not participating in dating. When we look back on the pop culture poster girls for singledom — Jane Eyre, Elizabeth Bennett, Carrie Bradshaw, Bridget Jones, Kat Stratford — all their stories end happily with them finding Mr. Right. The story ends with these shrewish bluestockings finding a cure for their ailment — and that cure is a man. Not only do I not want to take this medicine, I know for a fact I'm not ill.

This notion of single women needing to be fixed is one that frustrates sex and wellness writer Maria Del Russo. "I feel like there's still this idea among women that 'single' is a negative state of being instead of just another label for society to slap on you," Del Russo tells me. "When a woman is single, there's something wrong with her, and she needs to fix it. There's this idea that single folks need fixing, and it's pretty messed up."

Not only do we think of single women as broken and waiting to be fixed, there's also the stereotype of the 'sad single gal' (think Bridget Jones in her PJs singing Céline Dion's "All By Myself" on her sofa).

Roberson says there's "definitely a trope of sad single girls or frustrated single girls" — a label she feels has been applied to her. "I think a lot of people conflate my book title and my relationship status with me being, like, an incel," says Roberson with a laugh.

Don't villainise women who don't date

Dating shouldn't be considered a compulsory module in the curriculum of life. Roberson says women's "increased access to education, jobs, birth control, abortion, and divorce means women don't have to structure their lives around men."

"So, if women have more financial choice, trying to shame women for making the choice to be single is another way that patriarchy tries to control them," she says.

This shaming can manifest itself in what Seresin calls "faux-concern" — something that many single people might be familiar with. Think about the moments people have cocked their heads to one side and said, "oh you'll find someone" or "he's out there" when you tell them you're single.

"Women who opt out of dating will be villainised by the broader culture (even if that comes in the form of faux-concern)," says Seresin. "I think the important thing is to see that villainisation itself as proof that you are doing something radical."

"Our society is still terrified by women who realise they don't need heterosexual partnership," she says. "But this is actually a major trope in early science fiction. Lots of this literature features worlds that have developed technology to reproduce without men and realise men suddenly have literally nothing to add to that society."

When a woman says she's happily single, believe her

In the same way that childless women are stigmatised, we're also socially conditioned to think that single women are tragic figures deserving sympathy, not admiration. In some cases, that social conditioning makes us disbelieve our own happiness when we're single. Lees says she feels very conflicted about how her views on other single women tally up with her own experience of singledom.

"Deep down at the back of my mind if I'm completely honest with you, I never really believed people that they're happily single," says Lees. "I have been single for the past year and honestly I am so happy. It's like I couldn't believe the evidence of my own life?"

Lees even found herself thinking that she was only telling herself she was happy to make herself feel better. But, over Christmas she did some stocktaking of her life and thought to herself: "No, maybe you are happy, Paris."

Question who society prizes as icons of singledom

In our pop culture celebrations of singleness, we need to think about how race also intersects with those we herald as the forerunners of the single-by-choice movement. "There's everyone going crazy over Rihanna saying she isn't looking for a man, or that video of Eartha Kitt laughing at the idea of compromising for a man," says Seresin. "They are both amazing statements that I totally agree with, but I think we need to be aware of how our culture frames black women as patron saints of singleness, because black women have always been excluded from mainstream narratives of romantic coupledom."

"In romantic comedies, for example, there is the role of the single, 'sassy' black best friend of the white woman who gets the man. By having Rihanna and Eartha Kitt be the major voices of refusing heterosexual coupledom, we are forcing them to play that role in the culture at large," says Seresin.

Throughout history the single black woman has been vilified. In the 1960s, the Moynihan Report — a report on black families authored during U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson's administration — essentially blamed black women for the demise of the traditional family structure. In 1976 and 1980, Ronald Reagan stirred up racist rhetoric by using the term "welfare queens" — a label historically applied to single black women — as a cautionary tale against people defrauding the welfare system. As our culture slowly re-calibrates its position on the palatability of single women, it's important to recognise the cultural legacy of scapegoating the single black woman.

See relationships as a side order, not a main course

It's hard not to think about dating and relationships when they're such a ubiquitous theme in mainstream culture. Love is on our TV screens, on the pages of the books we read, in our Instagram feeds, and in the conversations we have with friends. We might not be able to do much about the wider cultural fixation on love, but one thing we can try to change is how we, as individuals, prioritise relationships.

Del Russo, the sex and wellness writer, says that "until the culture as a whole changes, and stops selling us this package of relationships as a goal to clear, people need to start changing their own perceptions."

"I've started to think of a relationship the same way I think about a scented candle. (Stay with me.) Is it a nice thing that makes the space a little nicer? Sure. But is the space still a complete space without this scented candle? Absolutely," she says.

In order to start trying to change our perceptions about the importance of relationships, Del Russo advocates posing yourself two questions: "Why do I want to be in a relationship? What do I think a relationship could give me that I couldn't give myself?"

The weight of society's trepidation should never have to fall on just one woman's shoulders. And, as Seresin says, "no woman can change these things on her own — you can't be a one-woman revolution."

What we, as individuals can do, is interrogate our preconceived notions about dating. Like the idea that single women can't possibly be happy on their own. Or that even our most iconic single leading ladies eventually will succumb to love in the end.

Love or no love, I know I'm already complete and that's all that matters to me.

WATCH: Here are the top five moments where women stole the show at this year’s GRAMMYs

#_uuid:e79874b5-3744-32f1-ba17-48dbeaaf7a2b #_author:Rachel Thompson #_category:yct:001000002 #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_revsp:news.mashable

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mysteryshelf · 7 years ago

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MARCH ANNIVERSARY WEEKENDS EVENT: Blog Tour - Moral Panic

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF March Anniversary Weekends Event!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Roger Charlie. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

ABOUT THE BOOK

eBook

Mar. 16, 2018 ISBN: 978-0-9998651-1-8

$7.99

Print Mar. 30, 2018

ISBN: 978-0-9998651-0-1

$14.99

AudioBook

Apr. 13 ISBN: $14.99

Crime Fiction, Thriller

Dream Flow Media

If anything can be hacked, nothing can be trusted.

Tanner Moore is at the top of his game in the high stakes world of big technology. As chief technology officer of Paragon, the largest corporation in the world, he is about to release the greatest convenience innovation in the history of commerce: drone delivery service to every inch of the globe.

But when an interview with journalist Amy Noral is secretly recorded and published by the clickbait media, Tanner’s fall from grace is swift and brutal.

Tanner is fired, publicly condemned as a terrorist for comments he never made, and kidnapped by a mysterious vigilante group who use surveillance data to track and kill their enemies. Tanner must navigate their underground world full of violent zealots and mental manipulation to find his way to freedom, or see his drone technology used as the most advanced assassination tool ever devised.

***

Moral Panic explores the collision of the most extreme elements of politics, ideology and technological media manipulation. It navigates through a maze of modern surveillance with a skeptical eye on the data-driven world we live in, to bring an awareness of the possibility of such a story coming true in the real world.

Pre-order your print or digital copy now and save $2!

https://thedreamflow.com/products/moral-panic-a-novel-by

INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR

What initially got you interested in writing?

I remember reading A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift during my sophomore year in high school and being blown away by the balls it took to write and publish something like that. I’ve always had a bit of a rebellious streak and the satire of that piece resonated with me.

Writing became a bigger part of my life during my sophomore year in college. I was a bit lost and unsure about what I wanted to do with my life, so I started writing a ton of poetry and songs. I’ve always found that form to be the most honest medium of my own expression, and I’ve written hundreds of poems and songs since that time.

What genres do you prefer to write in?

I think the genre is less important than the themes I prefer to talk about. My first novel, Moral Panic, is part science fiction, part social criticism, part political fiction, part alternate future, part cyber crime thriller, but what it’s really about is the internal struggle of the main character to find the proper usage of the systems he’s surrounded by.

He struggles with the fear of succumbing to the temptations of power and violent domination and he has to outwit his enemies to use the pre-built systems against those who would use them for malicious purposes. So in a way, it’s a cautionary tale of some of the possible “innovations” coming out of the technological world.

Are there any authors you prefer to read and why?

A few years ago I read a bunch of Cormac McCarthy’s work and I really admire his style and his story selection. His descriptive power mirrors a bit of the monotonous day to day reality of life until he punctures that world with brutal scenes of violence. The violence is always short in comparison to the other parts of his books, and I think it’s a fascinating way of portraying the effects of the adrenaline brought about by those moments. As though his writing style mirrors the primal reaction of his characters.

How did you make the move into being a published author?

I’ve been working in film for a few years, making shorts and promotional videos for nonprofits and bands in Denver, so I originally thought about this project as a screenplay. However, I felt I needed to get this story out regardless of whether a production company was interested in turning it into a film, so I dove headfirst into it as a novel. The nice part about a novel is I have total creative control and I can explore the inner thoughts of my characters in a way that isn’t possible through filmmaking.

What do you find most rewarding about writing?

I was always a daydreamer in school and writing is the opportunity for me to explore my imagination in a way I can share with other people. I find it fascinating to consider how I would react in the situations I’ve put my characters in, and it feels like a way to explore different psychological sides of life from the comfort of my office.

What do you find most challenging about writing?

I find writing description to be the most challenging. I’m far more interested in the minds and motivations of the characters than the world they inhabit.

Do you have any tips for writers who find themselves experiencing writer’s block?

Go back into the world and live. Maybe you’ve expressed all of the pieces of life you collected before you were writing and you need to find some new experiences to come to a larger awareness of the world.

What advice would you give to people that want to enter the field?

If you’re serious, get to a place where you can accept criticism of your work without feeling that it is an assault on the very essence of your being. That takes personal maturity, which some people aren’t capable of, but creating some distance between yourself and the work is important. It allows you to accept constructive criticism that is crucial to making your work better.

What do you want readers to take away from reading your works?

I want people to learn something about life. I want them to take away one or two interesting ideas that reveal a piece of the world they may not have considered before.

Is there anything else about you that you think readers might find interesting?

I’m the founder of The Dream Flow Creative Collective, a startup creative organization searching for truth through artistic expression. We do this by telling stories, making music, and exploring the possibilities of the human experience.

Author Website: http://www.thedreamflow.com LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/km–ecke/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/thedreamflow

Reddit: https://www.reddit.com/over18?dest=/user/thedreamflow

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/thedreamflow

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/69416515-k-m-ecke

MUSIC BY THE AUTHOR

CHANGE OF MIND

Mar. 2, 2018

Physical Copy: $9.99 Digital: $5.99

Full album and Digital Downloads available at TheDreamFlow.com

Reason And Rhyme

American Dream

Virus Of The Mind

Illuminate Soul

Rise Above

Change of Mind

Lacks A Lie

When We Were Blind

After years of artistic exploration and experimentation, Change of Mind is Ecke’s lyrical statement of defiance against cultural insanity. After producing four albums under various pseudonyms and working with several Denver-based groups to help them produce albums, this is the first he has released under his own name.

Listen online

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hailing from the original birthplace of the atomic bomb, Los Alamos, NM, K.M. Ecke is an organic, free-range, preservative-free, philosopher-poet using universal truth to battle cultural insanity. Ecke, which is German for ‘corner’, is the child of a physicist and musician and grew up at the corner of creativity and logic. After ten years of existential exploration and creative experimentation, he releases his debut novel Moral Panic, along with an album of lyrically-focused songs, Change of Mind via his independent creative collective The Dream Flow.

Ecke strives to deliver a strong story with inherent value to his readers. The author is well-versed in writing, including essays, songs and poetry, the last of which the author finds the most efficient form of expression, and thus, the best way to improve his writing practice.

Initially intending for law school, a business law class changed his direction, and Ecke chose to pursue writing, soul-searching and creative projects. After several years of odd jobs learning about different pieces of the world, he began his own private music teaching business and attended Colorado Film School for a year and a half to study filmmaking. After 18-months in his program, he veered to his own path and established Dream Flow Media, the home to all of his creative endeavors; publishing, music and all additional branches of the many-faceted visionary. Along with his own creations, he strives to bring other artists into the fold to develop a creative collective for a variety of multimedia projects.

Ecke also works as a filmmaker for local non-profits and bands, and hopes one day to see Moral Panic on the big screen. The author lives in Denver, Colorado and hosts a storytelling micro-podcast Myths, Metaphors, and Morality. For more info, visit the author online at TheDreamFlow.com.

MARCH ANNIVERSARY WEEKENDS EVENT: Blog Tour – Moral Panic was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

#shannon muir #pulp and mystery shelf

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