#mine would probably be cure insight or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adventuringalchemy · 1 year ago

Note

Just because it got mentioned, I actually recommend the 'Rise of the Archillager' book! I haven't fully read it myself, but it does indeed give an insight to villagers and illager mentality.

Villagers are overwhelmingly often headcanoned to be under some sort of virtue, oath or vow to never use violence (maybe with exception of defending themselves or their loved ones), much in contrast to their rough, hostile counterparts the illagers who even fight and bully amongst themselves (at least Archies tribe seemed so in the book). Villagers value hospitality, community, peacefulness. o3o

Although they can have negative views on things like players (heroes in dungeons) or illagers, they don't physically fight them. Just make remarks and are relieved when the leave.

There's also a headcanon I saw somewhere that those who went against the vow or otherwise did something ill-willed, undesired, they'd become nitwits and wear green robes (not sure if that changed in the villager rework, probably, yeah), just to signify their lower status now. They can't have jobs or contribute to the community no more. Like a soft banishment. (just mentioned it because I think it makes some semblance of sense)

Since villagers are largely about community, it does make sense that they have tight-knitted relationships and expectations/rules. Of course it can differ from village to village, from villager to villager, from biome to biome- but most agree, villagers are altogether the most peaceful kind to find.

Just imagine, players and villagers don't even speak the same language (canon) and they still agree to trade and welcome them, even if it's understandably a scary encounter since Players/Heroes are alien and unpredictable to them! Dangerous! o0o

Does make one think! owo

ANONYMOUS SENT AN ASK .

first and foremost -- the green robes thing. i don't know if that would necessarily be true. at least in ivor's case. the idea of it happening could be true i mean, but i don't think they did that to ivor. i don't agree with how fanon calls him arrogant and entitled -- i just think he knows his stuff and knows his worth. but there are multiple times where he admits that there are people out there who are better at things than him. regardless, he is the best potion brewer in the world and he knows that. he owns up to it and loves it. if the villagers were to make him an outcast and they were given green robes, ivor would no longer wear the green robe he wears now. if in fact, he was given that from a village. especially since he knows that he's excellent at what he does. at least in my backstory, the moment he knew his mentor was fucking him over, he wouldn't wear those robes anymore. he would even wear his silly undergarments compared to that robe. because to him, it would be taught as a symbol of weakness. and ivor knows he isn't weak with his passions.

and yes, i am aware that they speak a different language! i know that the minecraft logic in mcsm is a little different. because milk can cure wither sickness, there is no such thing as a formidi-bomb, and jesse could have mined above the lava to save xara after drinking milk to get rid of the wither sickness. like, there are so many loopholes in the story that could have easily been solved. or situations that can just never happen. i take that into account always, but i still make it so that ivor can craft potions and enchantments you can't normally do. that's one of his shticks!

but in mcsm there is a villager. nurm. he doesn't speak english, but jack can understand him. and nurm can make body language clues to help make jesse understand him better. considering the history that my ivor has, i imagine that either his mentor knew of the languages that the human spoke of or ivor learned the villager language. i wouldn't be surprised if he learned the villager language; he is very adept with history so he would want to connect with villagers, especially clerics, to learn more about the past of the world and their history. see if there's anything he can learn or grow more with.

as much as i hate the gimmick they did with season 2 ivor and making him a ninja, he does hint in the scene of saving nurm that he can discuss and talk with nurm because he thought with him about a plan to escape. so he knows the villager language. so regardless of whether or not his history was within a village, he does know his way around talking to them. (though frankly the scene also makes him out to be puffy and overexaggerated, which he wouldn't normally do unless he's super duper excited about something but that only comes with alchemy/enchanting/exploring)

i'm sure that ivor's mentor had to have a big talk with the village about letting him in. but this is something that i really want someone else to work with, right? i want to rp with the mentor i made for him and have someone flesh out the character. i want to give this character to someone for free. if villagers are meant to be peaceful, what made him an absolute piece of shit? is he just racist and hates humans? does he have his own history of abuse? i want to see someone flesh this character out. partly because i don't know the BASE minecraft lore all too well, but mostly because i want to give his mentor out for free and have fun building the character and the village they're in with someone. did his mentor automatically accept ivor's parent's request? did he take his time?

in any case, ivor definitely knows his way around villages and villagers. if you take the backstory i made for him or not, he definitely at least goes there to trade and to learn from them. he is super interested in their culture, the history of the world, and what makes them who they are. to me, the best way to make sense of his love for knowledge would be to have him be taught in a village for years.

#⚗️ OOC .#⚗️ ASKS .#⚗️ HEADCANONS .#mcsm jack #mcsm #mcsm nurm

8 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Text

conspire | 1 | scheme

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Shouto Todoroki was standing outside your workroom.

This was unusual, as in the three years you’d both been attending UA, Todoroki had hardly been spotted anywhere near the support course rooms. Class H was typically avoided by anyone who didn’t want your classmate Mei to catch wind of them -- and very few hero course students had proved willing to do so, once they’d encountered her the first time.

Todoroki was one of the smart ones.

He looked incredibly out of place and yet almost comically festive in the doorway of the studio, his red and white mop of hair matching the horrible red and white heart banner someone had tacked above the entry for Valentine’s Day. He stopped midway through the door, eyes flicking over the other offensively bright decor, including several violently pink heart balloons and heinous red streamers that hung from the ceiling like sausages curing in a deli.

A ripple of interest went through the female segment of your classmates at his arrival, and despite yourself, you perked up too.

You didn’t know much about him, but Shouto Todoroki had the most interesting quirk you had ever worked with. You’d been paired for a project earlier this year where you’d helped develop an adjustment to his temperature jacket that used pattern recognition to help it anticipate changes in his quirk, in order to begin applying temperature controls sometimes even before he’d made the switch from hot to cold or vice versa.

You hadn’t spoken much on topics outside the project, but on the subject of your work, Todoroki had proved himself smart as a whip, asking insightful and probing questions, and making sensible suggestions based on what he learned from you. He’d been so keen on your ideas and so shockingly easy to work with that you’d lamented the project’s end.

It had only lasted two weeks, unfortunately, wrapping up before you’d had the chance to really delve into his personality or the actual science behind his quirk, and you’d been dying for the opportunity to pair up again and really study him since.

Less importantly, Shouto Todoroki was also inarguably the most handsome boy in your year, maybe even at all of UA. He was tall, strapped with lean muscle, and equipped with a facial symmetry that was almost more deadly than his quirk. Even his scar did nothing to deter from his good looks, only adding a roughed up, roguish charm to his otherwise pretty features. The first few days of your project, you’d had to pinch yourself on the leg more than a few times in order to reroute your brain from his face to the actual jacket.

You’d since put effort into ignoring his appearance, but you couldn’t really help that your eyes were pulled to him like a magnet whenever he stepped into a room.

Like now.

Todoroki’s own grey and blue eyes scanned over the faces of your classmates, stopping when they landed on you.

“Y/N,” he said in greeting, and you raised a bewildered hand. Several nearby girls shot you betrayed looks, like you’d been keeping an association with him secret. You’d have shot yourself something of a questioning look, too, if you could have. What reason would Shouto Todoroki have to seek you out outside of class? It had been almost a month since the project together. What might he want with you now?

“Hi, Todoroki,” you said, wondering if you’d awoken in some parallel dimension where he thought you were friends. “Uh, what brings you here?”

“I have a personal request,” he said in his low, soft tone, stepping into the room and making his way over to your worktable. He’d shed the grey blazer of the school uniform for the crisp white dress shirt and tie, and he looked unbearably good. As he drew closer, you could see the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt.

You self-consciously pushed around the messy wires and metal framing on your worktop, trying to clear space.

A personal request. Had he come for some kind of support item? Your mind suddenly ran with possibilities, and a thrill went through you at the potential to study half hot half cold in earnest. This was the kind of extracurricular project you’d been dreaming of, maybe even something that you could scope out and build as your submission for your senior project next month!

“Sure,” you said, gesturing to the other stool at your worktop and rifling around in your bag for a pen and paper. You’d probably need to take notes.

Todoroki stared at you. “Ah, not that kind of a request,” he said, eyeing your pen and paper.

Your cheer dropped. Oh.

“I had hoped to ask you in private, actually,” he said, something like discomfort flashing across his handsome features. He looked almost nervous, and you wondered wildly what kind of support request would make one of UA’s big three this awkward. Was he having a problem with his quirk that he didn’t want to cop to?

“Okay,” you said, looking up at him, “lead the way.”

A cool hand came up to grasp your wrist, tugging you out of your chair. Your face burned at the casual touch, and you felt the curious eyes of your classmates on you as you were led from the room.

Todoroki steered you through the hall and around the corner to a small alcove out of the way of student traffic. The alcove had clearly had the same treatment as your workrooms, festooned with a banner boasting a bizarre pattern of tiny All Might silhouettes interspersed with hearts. Your eyes felt like they might catch fire if you looked at it for too long.

“How have you been since the project?” you asked Todoroki, in the interest of being companionable. “Is everything on your vest still working well?”

A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he turned to face you. “It’s incredible. It still surprises me that it can predict what I’m going to do before I even think to do it.”

You flushed at the praise. “I’m glad. It was really cool work on. Your quirk is awesome - normally there are only so many variables with pattern prediction like that but the two sides of your quirk increased the possibilities exponentially, so the algorithm was hard to code. I had to get a little extra help from an actual computer scientist,” you admitted, before slapping a hand over your mouth, realizing you were rambling.

His smile widened and your traitorous eyes caught on his mouth. “You sound exactly as you did the last time we talked.”

You winced. “Yeah, sorry.”

His eyes widened and the hand on your wrist tightened. “No, I didn’t mean--it’s nice,” he said. His fingers seemed to grow the tiniest bit colder where he held you. “I would have liked to have worked with you longer.”

You tamped down on another blush, looking away. “Yeah. It’s too bad.”

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Himari Honda came wheeling around the corner.

Himari was another student you’d been paired with for a project at one time, and she hadn’t worked nearly as well with you as Todoroki had. A general course student with a quirk that let her track anyone within up to a mile of her person, Himari’s goal after graduation was to become an actress, with a particular focus on playing the love interest of powerful hero characters. She was certainly pretty enough, with large eyes, high cheekbones, and shiny pink hair that she wore in a long plait down her back, but that’s where her appeal ended. She wasn’t horrible, but she was a little too self-interested and it had certainly shown in how she’d handled your pair project.

Himari smiled winningly at Todoroki, and it became clear to you that she’d tracked him with her quirk. You knew instantly why she’d come to find him, today of all days.

“Hi, Shouto,” she purred. His fingers tightened where he still held your wrist.

“Hello,” he said politely.

You stifled a laugh at the carefully blank look he’d suddenly adopted. You guessed he’d been fending off advances of this type all day -- you’d caught sight of his shoe cubby when you’d changed into your own uniform shoes this morning, absolutely bursting with chocolate and brightly-colored valentine's notes. He was too handsome for his own good, it appeared. Still, it was interesting that Todoroki seemed not the slightest bit interested in what someone who looked like Himari had to say.

“Maybe I should go,” you said, tugging your wrist back, but Todoroki gripped you tighter.

“I still need to talk to you,” he said. He fixed you with an intense look like he could pin you in place with his gaze.

Himari seemed to ignore you. “Shouto, I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

“I’m a little occupied at the minute,” he said, gesturing to you. You gave a little wave.

Himari shot you a betrayed look like you’d beaten her to the punch, then puffed up like she was drawing up her courage. “Don’t accept her confession! Accept mine! I like you -- please go out with me!”

Your jaw dropped. You’d definitely not been in the middle of asking Todoroki out, but damn it took balls to cut another woman off like that. You couldn’t tell if you respected her or hated her for her shamelessness.

Todoroki shifted uncomfortably next to you. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t accept your feelings. You see, I was just about to ask Y/N out.”

Your mind went blank.

He what now? Is that why he’d brought you to this alcove to speak to you in private? Is that why he’d been so nervous back in the support studio, asking to talk to you alone? Shouto Todoroki had wanted to ask you out?

You wondered at that. You couldn’t understand why, when he could have his pick of any girl at UA. You were fine, sure -- reasonably smart with good grades and a neat appearance, but you weren’t anywhere near his level of mind-numbing attractiveness. More than that, you didn’t even have a quirk, and it was impossible that someone who wielded a power like half hot half cold was going to wade that far into the bleak depths of the dating pool. He had plenty of other options, so why come to you...?

Then, like a slow sunrise, it dawned on you what he was actually up to.

Todoroki was trying to get rid of all the confessions in one fell swoop. If Himari went back to her classmates and told everyone what had happened, rumors would spread very quickly that Shouto Todoroki was a dead-end bet. No one would try to ask him out anymore if his heart purportedly belonged to another.

That sneaky little fuck.

“Right,” you said, perking up and playing along gamely. “And I was just about to accept,” you announced to Himari.

Todoroki threw you a wild look like he hadn’t expected you to take this track. Shit, had you been supposed to reject him instead? You could, you supposed, but what hot-blooded woman in possession of sound mind and sound body would possibly do so? Did he also want to start the rumor that you were a complete nutjob?

“Um, I mean, I was about to respond privately,” you backpedaled. “Uh, nothing confirmed at this point.”

Himari gave you a furious look, her large eyes filling with tears, and turned on her heel, storming off. Your heart went out to her, just a little.

“You’d really accept?” Todoroki asked you as soon as she’d gone. Something unreadable glinted in his two-toned gaze.

You thought for a moment. Did he actually want to do this? It was barely a couple months until graduation, but you had nothing to lose in helping him. Maybe this was also your opportunity to study his quirk more closely, if you were going to be spending more time together to keep up appearances. You might actually be able to use him for your senior project.

“Sure,” you said, smiling up at him. “If you wanted this, I mean.”

A smile curved the edges of his mouth. “I did, yes.”

“Great,” you said, “Then you’re officially my boyfriend, Todoroki.”

His smile widened. “It’s Shouto.”

You looked at him in question.

“My name, it’s Shouto,” he said. “I’d like it if you would call me that.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest. This was all pretend but damn it was cute anyway. “Shouto,” you tested it out, liking the sound of it in your mouth.

Shouto seemed to like it too, unwinding his fingers from your wrist to slip his hand into yours. The cool of his fingers between yours was soothing, and you quite liked the way it felt.

“Are you free Saturday, then, for a first date?” he asked.

He did nothing by halves, huh? You laughed. “Yes, I’m free. Text me the time and place?”

He agreed and you traded phones, plugging in each other’s numbers. Then he walked you back to your workroom and left you with promises to see you Saturday, after sending you a characteristically straightforward this is shouto text to confirm.

You smiled as you watched him leave, pleased to be in on his little scheme.

You’d never fake dated anyone before so you didn’t really know what you were getting into, but you thought this could be fun. You were looking forward to whatever Shouto had up his sleeve.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto

575 notes · View notes

song-of-oots · 3 years ago

Text

Fuchsia Groan: my (un)exceptional fave

A while ago a friend of mine was asking for people to name their favourite examples of strong female characters, and my mind immediately leapt to Gormenghast’s Fuchsia Groan because it always does whenever the words “favourite” and “female character” come up in the same sentence. In fact scratch that, if I had to pick only one character to be my official favourite (female or otherwise) it would probably be Fuchsia. There are not sufficient words in the English language to accurately describe how much I love this character.

The issue was that I’m not sure Fuchsia Groan can accurately be described as “strong”, and until my friend asked the question, it hadn’t even occurred to me to analyse her in those terms…

Actually this isn’t completely true; Mervyn Peake does describe Fuchsia as strong in terms of her physical strength on multiple occasions. But in terms of her mental strength things are less clear cut. She’s certainly not a total pushover, and anyone would probably find it tough-going to cope with the neglect, tragedy and misuse she suffers through. In fact, this is something Mervyn Peake mentions himself – whilst also pointing out that Fuchsia is not the most resilient of people:

“There were many causes [to her depression], any one of which might have been alone sufficient to undermine the will of tougher natures than Fuchsia’s.”

Anyway, this has gotten me thinking about Fuchsia’s other traits and my reasons for loving her, going through a typical sort of list of reasons people often give for holding up a character as someone to admire:

So, is Fuchsia particularly talented?

No.

Is she clever, witty?

She’s definitely not completely stupid, and her insights occasionally take other characters by surprise, but she’s not really that smart either.

Does she have any significant achievements? Overcome great adversity?

Not really, no.

Is she kind?

Yes. Fuchsia is a very loving person and sometimes displays an incredible sensitivity and compassion for others. But… she can also be self-absorbed, highly strung, and does occasionally lash out at other people (especially in her younger years).

So why do I love Fuchsia so much?

Well, I’ll start be reiterating that I don’t really have the vocabulary to adequately put it into words, but I will try to get the gist across. So:

“What Fuchsia wanted from a picture was something unexpected. It was as though she enjoyed the artist telling her something quite fresh and new. Something she had never thought of before.”

This statement summarises not only Fuchsia but also the way I feel about her (and for that matter the Gormenghast novels in general). Fuchsia is something I’ve never really seen before. On the surface, she fits the model of the somewhat spoiled but neglected princess, and yet at the same time she cannot be so neatly pigeon-holed. It’s not just that her situation and the themes of the story make things more complex (though that is a factor); Fuchsia herself is so unique and vividly detailed that she manages to be more than her archetype. She feels like a real person and, like all real people, she is not so easy to label.

Fuchsia is also delightfully strange in a way that feels very authentic to her and the setting in general (which is particularly refreshing because it can all too often feel as though female characters are only allowed to be strange in a kooky, sexy way - yet Fuchsia defies this trend).

She’s a Lady, but she’s not ladylike. She’s messy. She slouches, mooches, stomps and stands in awkward positions. Her drawing technique is “vicious” and “uncompromising”. She chews grass. She removes her shoes “without untying the laces by treading on the heels and then working her foot loose”. She’s multi-faceted and psychologically complex. Intense and self-absorbed, sometimes irrational and ruled by her emotions more than is wise, but also capable of insight and good sense that takes others by surprise. She is extremely loving and affectionate, and yet so tragically lonely. Simultaneously very feminine and also not. Her character development from immature teenager to adult woman is both subtle and believable. She has integrity and decency – she doesn’t need to be super clever or articulate to know how to care for others or stand up for herself.

Fuchsia is honest. She knows her own flaws, but you never catch her trying to put on airs or make herself out to be anything other than what she is. She always expresses her feelings honestly.

She’s not sexualised at all. I don’t mean by this that she has no sexuality – though that’s something Peake only vaguely touches on – but I don’t really feel like I’m looking at a character who was written to pander to the male gaze (though her creator is male, I get the vibe he views her more as a beloved daughter than a sexual object).

Finally, I find her highly relatable. I am different to Fuchsia in many ways, but we do have several things in common that I have never seen so vividly expressed in any other character. This was incredibly important to me when I was a teenager struggling through the worst period of depression I ever experienced – because she was someone who I could relate to and love in a way I was incapable of loving myself. Her ability to be herself meant a lot to me as someone struggling with my own identity and sense of inadequacy. It didn’t cure my depression, but it helped me survive it.

What am I trying to say with all this?

I love Fuchsia on multiple levels. I love her as a person and also as a character and a remarkable piece of writing. I mention some of the mundane details Peake uses to flesh out her character firstly because I enjoy them, but also because it’s part of the point. Her story amazes me because it treats a female character and her psychological and emotional life with an intense amount of interest regardless of any special talents or achievements she happens to exhibit. She doesn’t fit the model of a modern heroine but neither does she need to – she’s still worth spending time with and caring about.* To me the most important things about Fuchsia are how different and interesting and relatable she is – and how real she feels.

* To be honest, this is part of the point of the Gormenghast novels in general. The story is meant to illustrate the damage that society – and in particular rigid social structures and customs – can do to individuals with its callous indifference to genuine human need. Fuchsia is one of many examples of this throughout the novels. These characters don’t need to be exceptionally heroic in order to matter – they just need to exist as believable people. And despite how strange they all are, they often do manage to be fundamentally relatable.

Why am I talking about female characters in particular here?

The focus on “strong” female characters and the critique against that is pretty widely acknowledged. Growing up, I definitely noticed the lack of female characters in popular media and the ensuing pressure this then places on the ones that do exist to be positive representations of womankind – someone girls can look up to. It’s very understandable that we want to see more examples of admirable female protagonists, given that women were traditionally left to play support roles and tired stereotypes. The problem is that the appetite for more proactive female heroines can sometimes lead to characters who are role models first and realistic human beings second (characters who I mentally refer to as Tick-All-The-Boxes Heroines). It’s not a problem with “strong” proactive heroines per se, but rather lack of variation and genuine psychological depth (not to mention a sometimes too-narrow concept of what it even means to be strong).

Male characters tend not to have this particular problem because they are much better represented across the whole range of roles within a story. You get your fair share of boring worn out archetypes. You get characters who are meant to represent a positive version of heroic masculinity (and now that I come to think of it, having a very narrow and unvarying presentation of what positive masculinity looks like is its own separate problem, but outside the scope of this particular ramble). We don’t usually spend time obsessing over whether a piece of fiction has enough examples of “strong” male characters though, because we’re generally so used to seeing it that we automatically move on into analysing the work and the characters on other terms. And because there are often more male characters than female, they don’t all bear the burden of having to be a positive representative of all men everywhere. They exist to fulfill their roles, and often exhibit more variety, nuance and psychological depth. They are also often allowed to be weird, flawed and unattractive in ways that women usually aren’t (which is a damn shame because I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a weird outsider and yet this perspective is so often told primarily through a male lens).

Tl:dr; Fuchsia Groan is a character who feels like an answer to so many of those frustrations that I felt growing up without even truly understanding why. A large part of why I love her is simply because of how much I relate to her on a personal level. I admire her emotional honesty and her loving nature… But there’s also a part of me that was just so relieved to find a female character who exists outside of the usual formulae we seem to cram women into. She is unique, weird and wonderful (but non-sexualised). Psychologically nuanced and vividly written. She isn’t exceptionally heroic or talented or a high achiever – but she does feel like a real person.

Female characters don’t need to tick all the right boxes in order to be interesting or worth our time any more than the male ones do.

#fuchsia groan #gormenghast #mervyn peake #female characters #mental health #depression #long

29 notes · View notes

sgt-paul · 4 years ago

Text

Paul McCartney Is Still Trying to Figure Out Love – The New York Times Magazine

By David Marchese, Nov. 29, 2020

Paul McCartney, like the rest of us, this year found himself with an unexpected amount of time stuck indoors. Unlike the rest of us — or most of us, anyway — he used that time to record a new album. The pandemic-induced circumstances of its creation may mark “McCartney III” as an outlier in the former Beatle’s catalog, but as its title suggests, it does have precedents: Like “McCartney” (1970) and “McCartney II” (1980), the album, out Dec. 18, was primarily recorded by McCartney alone, with him playing nearly all the instruments and handling all the production. “At no point,” McCartney said, “did I think: I’m making an album. I’d better be serious. This was more like: You’re locked down. You can do whatever the hell you want.” Which was a gas, as always. “What I’m amazed with,” McCartney explained, “is that I’m not fed up with music. Because, strictly speaking, I should have gotten bored years ago.”

It seems to me that working on music by yourself, as you did on the new album, might allow for some insights about what you do and how you do it. So are there aspects of “McCartney III” that represent creative growth to you?

The idea of growing and adding more arrows to your bow is nice, but I’m not sure if I’m interested in it. The thing is, when I look back to “Yesterday,” which was written when I was 21 or something, there’s me talking like a 90-year-old: “Suddenly I’m not half the man I used to be.” Things like that and “Eleanor Rigby” have a kind of wisdom. You would naturally think, OK, as I get older I’m going to get deeper, but I’m not sure that’s true. I think it’s a fact of life that personalities don’t change much. Throughout your life, there you are.

Is there anything different about the nature of your musical gift today at 78 than in 1980 or 1970 or when you first started writing songs?

It’s the story that you’re telling. That changes. When I first said to John, “I’ve written a few songs,” they were simple. My first song was called “I Lost My Little Girl” — four chords. Then we went into the next phase of songwriting, which was talking to our fans. Those were songs like “Thank You Girl,” “Love Me Do,” “Please Please Me.” Then came a rich vein as we got more mature, with things like “Let It Be,” “The Long and Winding Road.” But basically I think it’s all the same, and you get lucky sometimes. Like, “Let It Be” came from a dream where my mother had said that phrase. “Yesterday” came from a dream of a melody. I’m a great believer in dreams. I’m a great rememberer of dreams.

What’s the last interesting dream you had?

Last night’s was pretty good.

What was it?

It was of a sexual nature, so I’m not sure it’s good for the Kids section. Pretty cool, though. Very interesting, dreams of a sexual nature when you’re married. Because your married head is in the dream saying: “Don’t do this. Don’t go here.” And just to let you know, I didn’t. It was still a good dream.

You know, I was conscious of not mentioning the Beatles early in this interview, and you’ve already mentioned them a few times. So let me ask you: The band broke up 50 years ago. You were in it for roughly 10 years. When you’re not doing interviews or playing concerts, how central to your own story of your life are those 10 years from half a century ago?

Very. It was a great group. That’s commonly acknowledged.

Generally speaking.

[Laughs.] It’s like your high school memories — those are my Beatles memories. This is the danger: At a dinner party, I am liable to tell stories about my life, and people already know them. I can see everyone stifling a yawn. But the Beatles are inescapable. My daughter Mary will send me a photo or a text a few times a week: “There you were on an advert” or “I heard you on the radio.” The thing that amazes me now, because of my venerable age, is that I will be with, like, one of New York’s finest dermatologists, and he will be a rabid Beatles fan. All of that amazes me. We were trying to get known, we were trying to do good work and we did it. So to me, it’s all happy memories.

“McCartney III” will come out very close to the 40th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. Has your processing of what happened to him changed over the years?

It’s difficult for me to think about. I rerun the scenario in my head. Very emotional. So much so that I can’t really think about it. It kind of implodes. What can you think about that besides anger, sorrow? Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can’t get over the senseless act. I can’t think about it. I’m sure it’s some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it. Having said that, of course I do think about it, and it’s horrible. You do things to help yourself out of it. I did an interview with Sean, his son. That was nice — to talk about how cool John was and fill in little gaps in his knowledge. So it’s little things that I am able to do, but I know that none of them can get over the hill and make it OK. But you know, after he was killed, he was taken to Frank Campbell’s funeral parlor in New York. I’m often passing that. I never pass it without saying: “All right, John. Hi, John.”

And how about your perspective on the work you did together? Has that changed?

I always thought it was good. I still think it’s good. Sometimes I had to reassure him that it was good. I remember one time he said to me: “What are they going to think of me when I’m dead? Am I going to be remembered?” I felt like the older brother, even though he was older than me. I said: “John, listen to me. You are going to be so remembered. You are so [expletive] great that there’s no way that this disappears.” I guess that was a moment of insecurity on his part. He straightened me up on other occasions. It was a great collaboration. I can’t think of any better collaboration, and there have been millions. I feel very lucky. We happened upon each other in Liverpool through a friend of mine, Ivan Vaughan. Ivan said, “I think you’d like this mate of mine.” Everyone’s lives have magic, but that guy putting me and John together and then George getting on a bus — an awful lot of coincidences had to happen to make the Beatles.

People always ask you about John. I’ve noticed they rarely ask about George, who of course also died relatively young.

John is probably the one in the group you would remember, but the circumstances of his death were particularly harrowing. When you die horrifically, you’re remembered more. But I like your point, which is: What about George? I often think of George because he was my little buddy. I was thinking the other day of my hitchhiking bursts. This was before the Beatles. I suddenly was keen on hitchhiking, so I sold this idea to George and then John.

I know this memory. You and George hitchhiked to Paignton.

Yeah, Exeter and Paignton. We did that, and then I also hitchhiked with John. He and I got as far as Paris. What I was thinking about was — it’s interesting how I was the instigator. Neither of them came to me and said, “Should we go hitchhiking?” It was me, like, “I’ve got this great idea.”

Why is that interesting?

My theory is that attitude followed us into our recording career. Everyone was hanging out in the sticks, and I used to ring them up and say, “Guys, it’s time for an album.” Then we’d all come in, and they’d all be grumbling. “He’s making us work.” We used to laugh about it. So the same way I instigated the hitchhiking holidays, I would put forward ideas like, “It’s time to make an album.” I don’t remember Ringo, George or John ever ringing me up and saying that.

How strange is it to share an idle recollection from your youth, as you just did with that hitchhiking story, and then have the person to whom you’re sharing it — in this case, me — know the memory? It seems as though it would be weird.

It’s quite annoying, David. It’s like people at dinner yawning when I’m telling stories. This keeps happening to me.

I even know the details. You and George slept on the beach.

That’s right.

Some Salvation Army girls kept you warm.

Yes.

Then at some point you sat on a car battery and zapped your ass?

That was George who did that! I have a very clear recollection. He showed me the scar. Let’s set the record straight: It was George’s ass, and it was a burn the exact shape of a zip from his jeans.

Do you remember the last thing George said to you?

We said silly things. We were in New York before he went to Los Angeles to die, and they were silly but important to me. And, I think, important to him. We were sitting there, and I was holding his hand, and it occurred to me — I’ve never told this — I don’t want to hold George’s hand. You don’t hold your mate’s hands. I mean, we didn’t anyway. And I remember he was getting a bit annoyed at having to travel all the time — chasing a cure. He’d gone to Geneva to see what they could do. Then he came to a special clinic in New York to see what they could do. Then the thought was to go to L.A. and see what they could do. He was sort of getting a bit, “Can’t we just stay in one place?” And I said: “Yes, Speke Hall. Let’s go to Speke Hall.” That was one of the last things we said to each other, knowing that he would be the only person in the room who would know what Speke Hall was. You probably know what the hell it is.

Yep.

I can’t amaze you with anything! Anyway, the nice thing for me when I was holding George’s hands, he looked at me, and there was a smile.

How many good Beatles stories are there left to tell that haven’t been told?

There are millions. Sometimes the reason is that they’re too private, and I don’t want to go gossiping. But the main stories do get told and told again.

Can you think of one now that you haven’t told before?

Hmm. I will rake through the embers. Oh, I’ll tell you one! I thought of one this morning. It’s pretty good. I don’t think I’ve told it. You’re going to have to say in the article, “I forced this out of him,” because it’s a bit telling-out-of-school.

I am hereby twisting your arm.

So when we did the album “Abbey Road,” the photographer was set up and taking the pictures that ended up as the album cover. Linda was also there taking incidental pictures. She has some that are of us — I think it was all four of us — sitting on the steps of Abbey Road studios, taking a break from the session, and I’m in quite earnest conversation with John. This morning I thought, I remember why. John’s accountants had rung my accountants and said: “Someone’s got to tell John he’s got to fill in his tax returns. He’s not doing it.” So I was trying to say to him, “Listen, man, you’ve got to do this.” I was trying to give him the sensible advice on not getting busted for not doing your taxes. That’s why I looked so earnest. I don’t think I’ve told that story before.

Tax filings — that’s some deep arcana.

I have dredged the barrel.

I know that your goal with making music is to do something that pleases yourself. What’s most pleasing to you on the new album?

I’m very happy with “Women and Wives.” I’ve been reading a book about Lead Belly. I was looking at his life and thinking about the blues scene of that day. I love that tone of voice and energy and style. So I was sitting at my piano, and I’m thinking about Huddie Ledbetter, and I started noodling around in the key of D minor, and this thing came to me. “Hear me women and wives” — in a vocal tone like what I imagine a blues singer might make. I was taking clues from Lead Belly, from the universe, from blues. And why I’m pleased with it is because the lyrics are pretty good advice. It’s advice I wouldn’t mind getting myself.

There’s a song on “McCartney III,” “Pretty Boys,” that is kind of unusual for you in how the music is sort of unassuming but the lyrics have an almost sinister edge. What inspired that one?

I’ll tell you exactly. I’ve been photographed by many photographers through the years. And when you get down to London, doing sessions with people like David Bailey, they can get pretty energetic in the studio. It’s like “Blow-Up,” [the director Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1966 film thriller about a fashion photographer, thought to be loosely based on David Bailey] you know? “Give it to me! [Expletive] the lens!” And it’s like: “What? No, I’m not going to.” But I understand why they’re doing that. They’re that kind of artist. So you allow it. Certain photographers — they tend to be very good photographers, by the way — can be totally out of line in the studio. So “Pretty Boys” is about male models. And going around New York or London, you see the lines of bicycles for hire. It struck me that they’re like models, there to be used. It’s most unfortunate.

“Lavatory Lil” is another song I was curious about. That’s quite a title.

“Lavatory Lil” is a parody of someone I didn’t like. Someone I was working with who turned out to be a bit of a baddie. I thought things were great; it turned nasty. So I made up the character Lavatory Lil and remembered some of the things that had gone on and put them in the song. I don’t need to be more specific than that. I will never divulge who it was.

I have another bigger-picture question. In your experience, how is the love in a marriage different at different stages of your life and in different marriages?

I don’t think it’s different. It’s always a splendid puzzle. Even though I write love songs, I don’t think I know what’s going on. It would be great if it was smooth and wonderful all the time, but you get pockets of that, and sometimes it’s — you could be annoying. To Nancy I’m pretty complex, with everything I’ve been through.

In what ways?

I’m some poor working-class kid from Liverpool. I’ve done music all my life. I’ve had huge success, and people often try to do what I want, so you get a false feeling of omnipotence. All that together makes a complex person. We’re all complex. Well, maybe I’m more complex than other people because of coming from poverty.

And how do you think about money these days?

It has obviously changed. What has stayed the same is the central core. When I was in Liverpool as a kid, I used to listen to people’s conversations. I remember a couple of women going on about money: “Ah, me and my husband, we’re always arguing about money.” And I remember thinking very consciously, “OK, I’ll solve that; I will try to get money.” That set me off on the “Let’s not have too many problems with money” trail. What happened also was, not having much money, when anything came into the house, it was important. It was important when my weekly comic was delivered. Or my penpal — I had a penpal in Spain, Rodrigo — when his letter came through, that was a big event. When they had giveaways in comics with little trinkets, I kept them all. Some people would say that’s a hoarding instinct, but not having anything when I was a kid has stuck with me as far as money. You know, I’m kind of crazy. My wife is not. She knows you can get rid of things you don’t need.

You’re a hoarder?

I’m a keeper. If I go somewhere and I get whatever I bought in a nice bag, I will want to keep the bag. My rationale is that I might want to put my sandwiches in it tomorrow. Whereas Nancy says, “We’ll get another bag.” In that way, my attitude toward money hasn’t changed that much. It’s the same instinct to preserve. One of the great things now about money is what you can do with it. Family and friends, if they have any medical problem, I can just say, “I’ll help.” The nicest thing about having money is you can help people with it.

Something that has been a constant for you musically is your ability to keep coming up with melodies. It’s there on the new album — the melodies all flow. Is your facility for writing a catchy melody ever an obstacle to getting the songs to be more than just catchy? Because a good tune by itself is not always enough to make a good song. “Bip Bop” would be an example of that. Do you know what I’m saying?

No, I know. “Bip Bop” is not lyrically stunning. I was always embarrassed about that song. Literally, it goes, “Bip Bop / take your bottom dollar.” It’s inconsequential. But I mentioned that to a friend, a producer, a few years ago, and he said, “That’s my favorite song of yours.” So you don’t know what people like. It’s enough if I like it and enjoyed putting it on record and don’t particularly want to think of any more lyrics. I don’t want to sweat it. Sometimes maybe it would be better if I sweated it. Once or twice I tried to sweat it, and I hated it. It’s like, What are you doing this for?

Sixty-something years into writing songs, do you feel any closer to knowing where melodies come from?

No. There is something with my ability to write music that I don’t think I’m necessarily responsible for. It just seems to come easier to me — touch wood — than it does to some people. That’s it. I’m a fortunate man.

#paul mccartney #old paul #grandpaul #*m #(the start of the interview was pretty worrying (with him bringing up yesterday like after 5 seconds) but actually?#it turned out to be a decent one)#favourite bit hands down paul's dirty dreams. DUDE... he cannot keep it in his pants even when he is in his dreams #well actually he said he did but lmao #but yeah many other great bits. ''i'm a keeper'' ... loved that one #the complex man rant #and the john and george bits #him being the instigator #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love this guy :)

170 notes · View notes

knightoflight · 3 years ago

Text

Creator Of The Week

It’s time for the first Creator Of The Week! And I choose none other than foolishwhit (Better Than A Witty Fool, or, Imbicilite). After a little look into the blogs, I’ve found that not only are they incredibly talented, but invested in characters, and puts much work into what they do. So, in true fanweek spirit, Great job! Below you will find links to both blogs. I also got the chance to interview them, so here you go.

Me: What made you invested in Disney?

Foolishwhit: I've always been a fan of Disney since as long as I can remember. Like many kids born at the turn of the millennia, I was raised on it, I watched all the renaissance movies growing up and remained a fan into the 2000's. Once I hit my preteen years, I kind of distanced myself from Disney thinking it was more of a kids thing, but my love for it rekindled in 2017 when the Beauty and the Beast remake reminded me how much I loved certain characters. I stanned the remake for a while before rewatching the original Beauty and the Beast, and from that point on, my autism brain kicked in and it became my new special interest. I got wrapped up in Descendants as an extension of that. I was big into roleplaying, and my main roleplay muse was LeFou, so when I found out he had a kid in Descendants canon I started investigating more and creating a verse for him. I even took up rping as his son, Deux. Though I think the Descendants movies are kind of a trainwreck, I really love the characters now, and am glad I found the fandom. I'd say my main investment comes from the fact that it's a special interest of mine and the fact I relate so strongly to a certian Disney character (LeFou).

Me: You talk a lot about LeFou. Is he your favorite character in all? Or just Beauty and The Beast? Foolishwhit: Probably one of my favorite characters ever, yeah. I get a little embarrassed over my special interest sometimes, but it's just something I can't help. The last time I was this invested in a character, it was Tabitha from Pokemon. I tend to get into like, one character for a few years on end. It's been LeFou's turn for about 4 years, with a slight break in between where I worked on an original character. I just relate to him a lot. I was always that one kid who was always pushed around and would cling to anybody for acceptance, and I share a lot of traits with him. Good and bad. Me: That's nice! Where do you see yourself in a few years, creativity-wise? Foolishwhit: Honestly? I'm not sure. I'd like to improve my art, and I'd also like to become more efficient because it takes me a while to draw or write well and I'm an impatient mess. I'm kind of sad that my creativity has to take a back seat to real world priorities though. I'll probably be working more and that'll take time out of my day to just make things. It's a depressing thought, but I'm a realist like that. Ideally though, I'd garner up enough of a fan-base to start making things full time, quit my job and rely on Patreon and ad revenue. Though that's a bit of a dream, and not really reality grounded. Me: And... If you weren't doing this blog? What would you be doing now? Foolishwhit: Oh gosh, I have even less of an idea. I'd probably be bored out of my mind if it werent for my blogs, my ao3, my deviantart, etcetera. My art medias are really important to me. I need a creative outlet or I just sit there feeling completely unproductive and unsure what to do with my time. Me: If you could change the past, what would you change and why?

Foolishwhit: Probably myself. I wasn't always the best person. I still am not, really. I've got a lot of learning and growing to do. I'm insecure and that's part of it, but I also struggle a lot with my anxiety, my autism, my bipolar and my dissociative disorder. There have been times I've lashed out, there have been times I've said things I've regretted. And like, i'm not saying I'd cure my illnesses because they're part of me, but if I could minimize the negative impact I've had on other people, in part due to my lack of comprehension-- i'd do that. I never do anything to hurt anyone on purpose, but miscommunications happen. Sometimes, people see the world so differently that conflict is inevitable. I wish I was better at recognizing that and avoiding it before it was too late. I wish I was better at standing my ground in a way that didn't hurt others. There's a lot I wish I could take back.... I just have to move forward and hope people can understand that people make bad choices, but those bad choices don't define people forever.

Me: Wow.. Insightful words to end this interview. Thank you for your time. Foolishwhit: Thank you as well!!

Links: https://imbicilite.tumblr.com/

https://foolishwhit.tumblr.com/

#creatoroftheweek

3 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 5 years ago

Note

thank you for posting more about how much you hate that idiot fucking book I fucking live for this

I have, no joke, probably read Atlas Shrugged a hundred times. I’m on my twelfth copy. I won one of those copies for entering one of the Ayn Rand scholarship essay contests. I once helped a communist friend of mine write an objectivist essay in order to apply for financial aid because “I don’t think like those people, you do”

(full disclosure y’all, I was a libertarian raised by libertarians and i stayed that way until my mid twenties)

I don’t know that I hate it so much as I’m completely fascinated by it.

I actually consider it a REALLY interesting piece of dystopian literature that I enjoy as a dystopia but it is so hyperbolic that it almost reaches the level of magic realism.

Atlas Shrugged (along with most of Rand’s other work) is so fundamentally broken in its assumptions about what motivates people to do what they do that it has always struck me as a weird dreamy fantasy novel. Like, imagine describing the construction of New York’s skyscrapers in a Lana Del Rey music video but all the characters are Fae and have impenetrable social rules about what is acceptable behavior.

And I know I’m in the minority here but I genuinely enjoy her prose, with the obvious caveats that the John Galt speech is terrible and the clear power exchange fetish works better if it’s addressed as a fetish instead of a weird recurring rape fantasy.

I don’t want to make excuses for Rand; her philosophy is ghoulish and her real-life attitudes about imperialism and capitalism and, just like, human rights and interpersonal relationships are repugnant. But if you want to get some insight into *why* she’s like this I’d recommend reading We the Living; it may not be accurate and when it was published it was controversial and frequently considered anticommunist propaganda (how fucking strange is it that a book published in the united states would be controversial for being anticommunist; that really hammers home how successful mccarthyism was) but I get the sense that it’s very much what *she* believed to be true in her experience and since I didn’t grow up in Soviet Russia and defect to the US I can’t exactly say she wasn’t, to a certain extent, justified in her views.

But, god, the way you see that exploded out in later work is just farcical. It’s so dramatic and overwrought - it’s not enough that politicians make mistakes or are self-interested, no, they’re moochers who are out to hasten the end of the world, bloodsucking parasites looking to enslave anybody with the audacity to be productive. It’s not enough that Lillian Rearden married for money, no, she’s out to destroy the soul of the productive man, only capable of measuring her worth by how far she’s able to make her husband fall. It’s not enough that Jim Taggart is an inept company president put in place by nepotism instead of skill, he’s also working to tear down everything his sister built because he wants her reputation but also wants to destroy her for having the gall to accomplish the things that built that reputation.

It’s fascinating. It’s bizarre. It’s looking through a glass darkly, examining the private fears of petty, bitter people. It’s not true, but there’s a truthiness to it to the people who buy into it; they haven’t experienced the world the way that Rand has written it but that’s how they believe the world works and they’re taking her writing as the evidence for it.

AND WHAT DRIVES ME UP THE WALL IS THAT IT’S SO CLOSE TO BEING RADICAL.

Like, okay, look at The Fountainhead - the climax of the book is about a dude who’s frustrated that his art is being perverted by bureaucracy and who wants equal access to fair housing. Crooked contractors and bloated budgets fueled by favoritism and scope creep are all legitimate problems with state building projects and the idea of working on one of those and wanting to blow it up is SUPER relatable. Yeah, dudes, I don’t want the DeVos family getting any more contracts from the government, I don’t want contractors who have worked with Trump bidding on housing projects. That DOES seem fucked up.

But I mean come on, you’ve got a journalist right there in your storyline; the way you make a hero isn’t to blow up a housing project it’s to report on the corruption. But the journalist is one of the craven lesser men Dominique fucks to get back at Roark to punish him for working with statists. So an exposé is out and an explosion is in.

And I know that seems radical but the thing is it’s not a call to fix a corrupt system, it’s not looking to replace a flawed method with a better method - it’s saying “my way or not at all” and that’s just. Petty. Petulant and wasteful.

Childish.

Same for Galt’s Gulch and the “Strike of the Mind” - in Galt’s Gulch there’s a fucking *doctor* who bitches that he was made to heal people who he thought didn’t contribute to enough to society. Dude. DUDE. Keep your mobile xray technology, and your cure for strokes; I’d prefer a doctor who isn’t basically a eugenicist.

FUCK.

It’s so frustrating that she creates this world where everything can be abundant and everything can be accessible and instead of going “luxury gay space communist post-scarcity society” she goes “what if everything COULD be free but instead we had the gold standard and let children with the “wrong” parents starve to death?”

(uh, in case it’s not clear: I’ve had something of a strong ideological shift away from the libertarian party)

And oh god the way she writes and thinks about women.

You know what, I’ve had arguments with some people about the “I’m not like other girls” trope and if/how it exists and Ayn Rand’s protagonists are the perfect example. Dominique only hosts tea parties in order to crush the soul of the man who won’t live up to her exacting standards, not because she likes them or wants friends or anything. Dagny has a long straight neck and an imperious profile and the short hair of an American woman; she saw a bunch of socialists once and put her middle finger up at them. She didn’t want to come out in society at a ball (and be flirted with by boring boys like some kind of silly GIRL), she wanted to go back to the trains (and also maybe get fucked rough against a wall by a man who knew what she deserved and was bold enough to give it to her) like a serious person. Ayn Rand is the queen of Not Like Those Other Girls.

Goddamnit.

Also everybody talks about how awful the John Galt Speech is but the John Galt torture scene? Hot. Great. 10/10 whump. Please skip the rest of the book and instead read about Galt’s friends/admirers rescuing him and tenderly wrapping his shaking shoulders before they carry him to safety, silently brimming with emotion and pride at how well he resisted the torture. (I maintain that if Rand had stuck to just writing actual porn she’d be much better thought-on and more widely beloved because her fetishy stuff only sucks in context; pull it out of her screeds against altruism and you’ve got something that it at least five orders of magnitude better than 50 Shades)

701 notes · View notes

suchatinyinfinity · 4 years ago

Note

2: Whats the first story of mine that you read- AFF ☕️🎸 7: I forget the whole wording of it and I didn’t copy & paste cause I’m a dodo bird but something about what I want you to write- I want more about each character from in the line of fire. 🤠🚂🔪

This is my second go here because I am dumb and closed the wrong tab...but as I said originally, thank you for engaging me here!

I knew AFF was the first story of mine that you read, and I love that you did because you are a brilliant writer and I gained an amazing friend! Your excitement and enthusiasm played a big part of encouraging me and giving me the motivation to keep going with the story, so thank you! Also, thanks for being the second person asking to be on my tag list. <3

And more about my ITLOF boys... I have to start by thanking you again, because you sent me that prompt, and immediately three ideas set off like wildfire in my brain. And for my final thanks-- thanks for talking me into writing Logan Delos. I probably won’t again, but you egging me on and giving me all your support is what got me through writing for an incredible character in an incredibly dark story.

Saving dashes across tumblr with a read more, because I have a feeling this could get lengthy-- imagine that!

ITLOF Billy: For part 1, featuring S2 Billy, I really just wanted to re-tell the Arthur incident entirely from Billy’s point of view. We didn’t see it happen on the show; we just saw the aftermath as police showed up, and I wanted to fill in the immediate aftermath, just Billy, still at Arthur’s place with his main project (killing the bastard) completed, then burning the dead motherfucker’s house down. (I have strong hate for Arthur for obvious reasons.) My goal was just to tweak things, to give some insight into his thinking process and what was going on in his broken mind (this always happens whenever I write any version of Russo). There’s not much else to tell, but this one little tidbit: he ran off into the woods, nowhere to go, and watched the police drag the body off from afar. (Also, I added some things upon reading and there are about 70 new words littered in there.)

ITLOF Ryan: Words cannot express how much I love this man, but you know this. Part one had all the action, and part 2 was the polar opposite. It was just Ryan, huddled down in a train car, warming his hands as twilight began to dim the Arizona sunset. This was all about painting a picture and taking a peek into Ryan’s lifestyle. It’s my favorite of the three parts of my little miniseries. Fun fact about this part: Ryan’s on his way to see a spunky, sassy reader you may see featured in other fics, such as Bah, Humbug and Heat Wave. You just hadn’t met her yet.

ITLOF Logan: My one and only foray. Logan is such a complex character and I’m just as terrified as writing for him and fucking it up as I was while writing this. It took me months upon months and was super difficult to write. There are intense lows in Logan’s story that a lot of people brush over, and I wanted to do the exact opposite and highlight his self-destruction; not for fun, not for shock value, but because-- in my humble opinion anyway-- it’s paramount. It needs to be told, not always glossed over. A lot of other Logan writers have touched on his drug use in an honest, open way, the results amazing (you’re one of those writers). This is ugly and rough and makes a lot of people unhappy, but in the end, I got the story told and it felt like a kind of catharsis upon completion. Have I told you thank you yet? ;) More about this Logan... hmm. I think he’s just totally given up. He’s done. He’s in that “fuck it” mindset, and he knows there is nothing he could do to please his father; he could win a fucking Nobel Peace Prize or cure cancer and Jim would tell him metal means nothing or he didn’t find a cure fast enough. Logan knows this without a shadow of a doubt and he’s on the path of destruction because he’s ready for the shit show to be over. Why not go out with a bang, satiated temporarily (and on the way to permanence) with a needle and a fuck? Because Logan had failed himself this time-- there was no such thing as being satiated. He felt nothing anymore. The fun fact is that Logan had hit rock bottom at this point. What happens after is left up to the reader, and I ebb back and forth between different versions about what went on. The bottom line here is this: Logan Delos deserved better!

Thank you so much for asking these, I’ve been answering for the better part of an hour. And I’m sending a couple your way.

#reverse asks #the-blind-assassin-12 #thank you alyssa!#my inbox

7 notes · View notes

angry-slytherin · 5 years ago

Text

Heaven Help Me(Ch 1)

[prompt credits to @imfullofideas thank you!

Prompt: AU. Izzie never got cancer and she and Alex are happily married. Well sort of. Alex is just going through the motions while trying to keep his wife happy. His life is turned upside down when he meets Jo Wilson and realizes she's what he's been missing all along ]

Some background: For story purposes, Jo is/was only 2 years behind Alex and Izzie in residency. Alex and Izzie are second-year attendings and Jo is a fellow. Alex and Izzie got married in their third/fourth(?) year of residency, like in the show. Also, Alex will not cheat on Izzie with Jo, because cheating is gross and adultery is worse. Jo will become a general surgeon(forever bitter she isn’t ortho in canon, but whatevs), as well as Alex being a gen. pediatric surgeon. Izzie is in oncology, but she will also perform surgery. Because despite her big heart, I cannot find anything I genuinely could see her doing as a surgeon; she’s a great doctor though. I just went with the crack canon that 16x16 brought us.

Without further ado, Chapter 1:

•••

It doesn’t take Jo Wilson very long after she moves to Seattle to conclude that the reason the small population of the city is so contrary, is due to the constant rain. Good weather means good moods, and lots of barometric pressure equals a lot of headaches. Which is what Jo has right now. A raging headache.

“Cross, how many times do I have to have these results sent back to the lab? You are a fifth year. Next year you’ll be an attending general surgeon. You will call the shots. If you can’t get simple lab results right, how is anybody supposed to trust you with their life? Get me a white-cell count and glucose levels for my mice, please.”

Cross nods his curly blonde head vigorously.

“Right, sorry Dr. Wilson.” Cross stares at Jo for a moment, before she shoos him.

“I swear the fifth year’s get duddier every year. You could steal another resident for your trial that has half a brain, I’m sure. And mice?” Jo turns around, to see Izzie Stevens leaning over a chart, smiling at her.

“You’re right, Dr. Stevens. But he knows my research so well. I have a pretty competent intern on it too, though. An oncology intern that I’m borrowing.” Jo leans on her elbow on the nurse’s desk.

“Ah right, you’re our new research fellow. I’m inspired by your work, Doctor...”

“Wilson, Josephine Wilson.”

“Doctor Wilson; its innovative. I was surprised to see Chief Bailey even put out a personal check to fund your fellowship.” Izzie smiles, and it makes Jo feel warm inside.

“Uh yeah, it was certainly a great opportunity. It wasn’t my original plan to come to Seattle, but plans change.” Jo gives a small smile, as Izzie hands her tablet to a nurse.

“Welcome to Seattle, then. The warnings are true, it rains a lot here.” And Izzie walks off.

“Thanks.” Jo calls over her shoulder.

“Doctor Wilson, your pager is going off.”

Jo looks at the nurse over the desk, “Right.” She feels her face flush. 911, OR 2.

***

A nurse slips latex gloves on Jo’s hands.

“You paged me?”

“Are you a general resident or something? If so, then yes, and get your damn hands in the patient, please.”

Jo looks up to see a face matching the voice; a male surgeon. She assumes he either hates female surgeons or residents with that tone.

“Fellow, a research fellow. I am also a board certified general surgeon, but I’ll gladly play resident for a minute.” She steps over to the table, “What do we have here?”

“Two-year-old boy; biliary atresia, I need an assist.”

“That would be why I’m here.”

Jo grabs the suction tube.

“It feels incredible to be in an OR. I’ve been here for a week and so far it’s been all paper work and setting up my lab, no operations yet for me. It’s like I have that intern-level high of being in here for the first time.”

“That’s great; but this kid needs your focus. I’ve been his doctor for a long time, and I’ve known you less than five minutes.”

“Doctor... well I don’t know you either, but look at his bile duct. He needs a Kasai.”

The male surgeon inspects the patient’s abdomen, and sighs defeatedly.

“Crap. You’re right.”

“It’s okay, we’ll do it right. You’ve gotten this kid this far, and I’m pretty confident in my skills. Let’s get ready.”

***

As Jo scrubs her hands after surgery, it occurs to her.

“I still don’t know your name.”

“Doctor Alex Karev, pediatric general surgeon. But you knew that. And yours?”

“Doctor Jo Wilson. General surgeon and research fellow. But you knew that.”

Alex smiles, and it makes her smile back. He has a ruggish look, almost hardened that attracts her.

“Your whole motivational thing helped. Thanks. I didn’t mean to be an ass in the there; still working on that. I’ve been an ass my whole life, and I revert when I’m stressed.”

“It’s okay, I kick and scream when I’m stressed too. Maybe we should both work on our coping mechanisms. Make a switch to ortho?” Jo can’t help her cheeky grin.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Let’s get right on that.” Alex’s eyes widen as he says it, and his grin soon matches her. Jo studies his face for another moment, before her pager goes off again.

“I have to go. It was nice meeting you Doctor Karev.”

“You too, Doctor Wilson.”

Jo leaves the scrub room, feeling lighter in her step as she walks toward her lab. Her elation even leads her to believe that Cross will have gotten the correct tests. She turns the corner.

“Doctor Wilson, these results look weird to me.”

Cross hands her the paper, and Jo feels her heart rate speed up as she reads it.

“Why the hell is her white count so low? Mouse number three I mean,” She trails over to the mouse, not looking up.

“Doctor Cross, did you or Doctor Rayn notice this mouse looking sickly? Maybe she’s got an existing illness?”

“It’s a mouse.” Cross says.

“Yes, I know that. What I’m saying is that if she doesn’t, this means that this treatment won’t work. This research is basically useless.” Jo gapes sadly at the mouse. Her stomach sinks and her chest hurts.

“Please, go run white counts again on all the mice. And test them all for anything weird. Consult a veterinarian if you have to, just find out if there’s something wrong with my mouse. Find Rayn to help you.”

“Got it. I hope she’s alright; it had been going so well.” Cross looks down, the air in the room feeling heavy.

“I know. So go get those work ups done.”

Once her resident is gone, Jo takes a seat at a lab table for a moment, before deciding that what she really needs is a lunch break.

***

“That looks absolutely disgusting.” Jo feels like she might throw up looking at her friend, Doctor Atticus Lincoln’s lunch.

“She’s right Link, that looks like it was burnt, thrown in a dumpster and harassed by a koala.” This comes from Amelia Shepherd, Atticus’ longtime girlfriend and recently— fiancée.

“Well, I’m going to it eat it. And neither of you,” He looks between the two women, “Can stop me.” And with that, he shoves a bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

“Oh god,” Jo squeezes her eyes shut, and shoves a bite of salad into her own mouth to wash away the second-hand disgusting that she feels.

Amelia goes unbothered, instead becoming interested in Jo.

“So, have you found any new friends. Better than this loser; a boyfriend, or perhaps a very lucky man in a bar? There’s one right here, no discount, but the owner probably knows more about us doctors and nurses than we do.”

“Maybe, no, and definitely not.”

“Oh well that’s boring. Who’s your friend?”

“Doctor Karev. We didn’t speak all that much, and I wouldn’t call him a friend yet, but he seems nice, and we clicked.”

“Oh he’s like a rugged hot right? Not my type, but good looking,” She then turns to Link, “The one with the crazy wife, right?”

Link looks up innocently from his meatloaf, “You think everyone is crazy. She’s normal to me.”

“Okay...he’s normal though? Safe to be around?”

Amelia laughs, “She’s not dangerous. She is crazy though, crazier than me; and that’s saying something. She’s charming to some, but I wouldn’t marry her, if you know what I mean.”

Link adds, “She’s nice though.”

“Sunshine-y like my fiancé here.”

Jo nods.

“So no crazies, right Link? They’re both normal people?”

Link glances at Amelia, “Amelia only hates her because she believes she should’ve been kicked out of the program for something she did as an intern. It’s not my story to tell, but it was kind of crazy. The whole thing.”

Jo smiles, “Okay, then I might just have a new friend.”

***

“Doctor Wilson! So this is your lab. It’s very organized. It also reeks like med school.”

“Not much worse than ORs get, Doctor Karev.” Jo smiles to herself.

“A hundred percent. Can I ask what you’re working on, oh wise research fellow?” Alex walks over to Jo and the mice, studying them.

“A cure for cancer. In the long run, that’s the goal. This is just phase testing, still on mice. Right now, me and my team are studying a whole bunch of boring crap to get to the fun stuff. It’s just me, two residents, a couple of biomed engineers and some mice.”

“That’s a big goal. And kind of an incredible one. How did you get the grant money?”

“The chief of surgery wrote a personal check. She was inspired by my work at Hopkins, in residency, and I gave up my minimally invasive fellowship at Mass Gen to come here.”

“Wow, someone’s got expensive taste. Family money?”

“What, no? Brain power. I was a foster kid, but I’m just ridiculously smart. You probably couldn’t comprehend half of what I do here.” Jo teases, grinning.

“Oh yeah, I’m just really stupid. But hey, I was a foster kid too. On and off.”

“Oh yeah, any good homes?”

“One. The rest were all crap.”

“Mine were all crap. Every single one. But life goes on. You have to get past it, or it’ll sink you.”

“Wow that’s deep. Real insightful.” Alex deadpans. Jo rolls her eyes.

“Shut up! It’s what my therapist taught me when I was in my early years of med school. That’s what happens when you’re messed up in the head.”

“Hey, at least you have your self-proclaimed ridiculous smarts, I just have messed up.” Alex cracks, as Jo tinkers with a tool.

“Ever been to therapy?” She asks hesitantly.

“No.”

“It’s horrible. I threw up every time, and I think it made me worse. But then it made me better.” She puts the tool down and faces Alex.

“Good, I’m glad.” Alex smirks sideways for a moment, and Jo can’t help but smile back. Then, after a beat, Jo works up courage.

“So I heard you have a wife. What’s she like? You can’t be that messed up if you have a wife.”

“Uh yeah. She’s a doctor, an oncologist. She pops in here often, she did a surgical residency. Doctor Izzie Stevens.”

“Oh. I’ve seen her around; talked to her this morning. She’s very nice, pretty too.” Jo compliments.

“Yeah, she’s great. What about you, anyone special? Husband, girlfriend, dog?”

Jo laughs, “Just me right now. New city, cross country move, you know?”

Alex nods, “Gotcha. Anyone you had to leave back home? Personally I ran from where I grew up, but some people have a hard time letting go.”

Jo bites her lip, “No, not from Maryland. I’ve ran before, but not from there.” Her voice is quieter and she seems to shrink into herself.

“Oh. Well that’s nice, I guess.”

“Yeah. No running anymore. Seattle is growing on me. I like that rain.”

Alex smiles.

#grey’s anatomy #grey’s fanfiction #grey’s anatomy fanfic #jolex fanfic #jo wilson #jo karev #alex karev #izzie stevens #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #a multi chapter?#in this economy?#AU #au fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

drjackandmissjo · 5 years ago

Text

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 8— previous chapter — next chapter

Harry Potter fics Masterlist

The situation couldn’t be worse.

Draco was in the infirmary, recovering after Saint Potter had almost killed him in a bathroom for Salazar knows why. His entire house was basically rioting, the other ones were suspicious and scared, especially since The Dark Lord was on and about it again. It was a mess. And Blaise had a headache.

It had been about three months since he had had last one of the awful brain splitting migraines. And he wasn’t clueless about the cure to his inconvenience: Neville let him rant and destress in ways his friends couldn’t, he comforted him and challenged him and made him feel so light and warm. Their entire situation was marvellous and wonderful and too dreamy to him to be true: they would sometimes sneak up to the astronomy tower with a bottle of pumpkin juice or with muggle drinks that were smuggled into Hogwarts, stargazing under a thick blanket or telling each other stories about their childhoods and their houses; they would meet in empty corridors, or empty classrooms, or empty rows in the back of the library, or any available space that would leave them alone, to spend moments alone and in privacy, to just be with each other and enjoy their time together, whether to snog or just talk without being judged about everything and nothing at all.

Their friends were also rather helpful. Female Weasley and Loony Lovegood created diversions whenever they needed and they also delivered messages, since Lovegood was a Ravenclaw and therefore it wouldn’t be shameful to be seen around her. She was also a Pureblood, so no foul at all. Pansy was, for once in her life, useful and not that annoying as usual. She covered for him whenever someone looked for him while he was busy and she would lie all the time effortlessly. The only downside was that she was incredibly noisy and demanded all the details. Probably Blaise’s most horrific memory will forever be the one time she gave him her version of the Talk, where she held him against his will and shared her wisdom into a very specific area of dating. Blaise could’ve easily lived without that experience, yet it was insightful and rather helpful in his next encounter with Neville in an empty classroom next to the DADA hall.

He had no idea whatsoever what Saint Potter was doing to help them in their escapade, but Neville assured him that he made sure they were left alone, either by causing a distraction or sending someone to cause a distraction, or by alerting Neville whenever someone was in 5 minutes away from spotting them. Apparently, he knew the position of everyone at Hogwarts and Blaise didn’t need to know more. “He doesn’t really trust snakes” was the only explanation he had received from a very sheepishly looking Neville, which was fair.

Those had been probably the best three months in Blaise’s entire academic career.

But now the spell was broken.

He had sent a flying piece of paper in his direction at dinner, and Neville had immediately caught on, despite Blaise’s cold demeanour. Lately, whenever they were in the Great Hall, their eyes would meet and he would wink at the boy, just to see the colour rush into his cheeks and to see the absurdly adorable face he’d make, but this time he just let the spell do its magic, completely impassive and detached. Their meeting would be in the Herbology hall, easily disguisable as Blaise leaving or going to the library and Neville just being himself around plants. The entire school knew that he was the person Professor Sprout trusted most and that he spent the majority of his time next to the greenhouses, tending them and all.

“Rule number six: punctual is tardy and early is punctual.” So he never was late, always ten minutes prior to everything unless it was a fashion statement, the tardiness.

Neville Longbottom, as he had proven on various occasions, was the total opposite. Which was something that both infuriated and amused Blaise endlessly. But not tonight.

He had already walked the length of the corridor twice, lost in his head and in the situation and in the mess created. No one truly knew the reason behind their duel yet, but the tension was at its highest between the houses since the events in their second year. Rumours had spread and already there were four different versions of the story, which had to still be confirmed by Professors and either party: some said it was Draco that started the fight, either by words or with a curse, while others gave all the blame to Saint Potter. Someone at dinner said that they had been Imperioed, but Blaise had kept his mouth shut, just like everyone else in his small group of friends.

Something like that was inevitable. Draco had become more and more suspicious and alert, and even more neurotic than usual: he would disappear for hours and hours, or wake up in the middle of the night yelling. But he also refused to share his burdens with his friends, kept all his secrets to himself. And Saint Potter had been on his tail since their first year, it was a matter of time before either one of those two idiots would snap.

Unfortunately, that time had come and now they had to deal with the aftermath.

Blaise was startled out of his mind by a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” Neville asked, a worried expression on his face as he scrunched his eyebrows together. The customary reply came before Blaise could stop it, out of habit and muscle memory alone: “Yes, you?” Neville caught it for the lie it was, he knew him too well by now not to truly see if something was actually bothering him. “Listen, I know what this is about…”

“Oh, really?” Blaise asked, unsure himself of why they were there in the first place. Sure, he had called their meeting, but it was mostly because he was upset and terrified and knew that some alone time with the plant head would’ve helped him. He was reluctant to call him something other than that, even in his internal thoughts, afraid that something might’ve happened. Ironically, something happened anyway, outside of his control.

“Rule number twenty: use terms of endearment either sarcastically or when you actually know you mean it. Don’t waste them” and so he didn’t, not even to acknowledge their blossomed relationship. Neville rose a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his neck as he did whenever he was nervous. ‘What does he have to be nervous about?’ his mind fired, already imagining the possible scenario ever, to add to the ever growing amount of tragedy that had been created that day.

The next words that came out of Neville’s mouth shocked, surprised and angered him, in that specific order.

“Yeah, because of the Transfiguration assignment. I totally screwed it up, despite you telling me how to do that spell ten times” he admitted, sighing and moving to lean his back against the wall, head hung low in shame. “You think I’m mad at you over Transfiguration?” The disbelief in Blaise’s tone could be heard from the owlery. “You clearly look mad, so I just assumed that…” “No, no, no, no! This isn’t your fault, Nev” he said, gentler than he expected, and he also assumed a similar position, moving a hand to rest on the Gryffindor’s arm, brushing it lightly. “Then what happened? You were really off at dinner.” “In case you haven’t noticed my best friend has been cursed and is in the infirmary because of that moron roommate of yours!” Neville then tensed, facing fully Blaise as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Harry only used the spell to defend himself!” “And you believe him?” “Of course I do! Harry’s a good person, he would never do something like that, unless to defend himself” he said, loudly and proudly, as if it was a matter of fact.

“Why? Because he is a saintly Gryffindor and Draco is the big evil Slytherin?” Blaise asked, venom lacing each and every syllable. He couldn’t believe the situation, how blind was Neville to ignore the truth? “You know I didn’t mean it like that, don’t you dare twisting my words, B.” “NO!” he yelled, leaving his resting position and pointing an accusatory finger at Neville, “You don’t get to defend that asshole. If he really was trying to protect himself he could’ve just disarmed Draco, considering that’s the only spell he’s capable of performing.” Then, as if in afterthought, he muttered quietly, “He’s almost as bad as you are.” The words were out before he had even registered, yet he remained stoic as the boy in front of him turned red in shame and anger.

“Okay, that’s about enough. I know you’re scared or upset or whatever, but that’s not an excuse to insult me.” Blaise ran a hand over his face, to smooth out his expression that was slowly getting twisted into one of misery and agony at the entire world, “You don’t get it! Draco…” But Neville didn’t let him finish, interrupting and erupting into a poignant: “Shut up! I think I get it very well, as I also had to see Harry and Ron and even myself in danger because of your stupid roommates!”

“What are you talking about?” Surely, the rivalry between their two houses was very strongly felt, but he didn’t remember any actual harm happening in their year, unless one counted the Weasley-Granger-Potter trio and Draco himself. Those four paid at least one visit to the infirmary each year, with and without each other’s help. Neville scoffed him, probably not believing him, “Don’t pretend you don’t know that I was Crabble’s and Goyle’s favourite target” he said in a sing-song voice, taunting him, “And don’t forget that because of that stunt you lot pulled with Umbridge, we all risked more than an expulsion. She was about to use the… fucking torture on Harry!” He had stuttered in the last part, perhaps as his temper rose.

He hadn’t forgotten all that happened, couldn’t forget the amount of trouble Umbridge had caused. Blaise was not there, when they ‘captured’ the Gryffindors and Loony Lovegood before they went into the Ministry, but Draco had told him that it had been a rather exciting event, before ‘shit went down’. And while he had never really paid attention to Neville before their encounter in the Transfiguration classroom, he was aware of his roommates' pathetic tricks and violent behaviours towards him and those easy to prick like him. He had reprimanded them, back then, mainly because they were making Slytherin lose points, yet ignored the situation almost completely. “That’s got nothing to do with…” he began, trying to defend himself, failing miserably. “So you can be on your high horse all the time, looking down at us lowly Gryffindors, but the second I tell you that I have my reasons not to trust Slytherins and ‘That’s got nothing to do with you’. Great, thanks for the information” Neville said, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“We promised at the beginning of the year not to generalize each other.” “That’s not what I’m doing. But you can’t accuse me of not getting it.” “Okay” he conceded. Neville had a point, after all, and Blaise wanted a fair debate. “Still, this doesn’t change the fact that you’re defending Potter!” he accused once more. “HE’S MY FRIEND! And Malfoy was about to use an unforgivable curse on him. Would you rather that happening?”

“You have no proof!”

“Yes, I do” he added calmly, which surprised Blaise: nobody talked about student witnesses, there was only Snape around and he had been secretive about the entire ordeal. “Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape checked their wands, and guess who started the fight? Plus, Moaning Myrtle was there and told everything to Dumbledore.” “He must’ve had his reasons…” He was searching for an answer in the puzzle that had become his best friend. None of that was a typical Draco behaviour, which linked with whichever task he had been burdened with. But Draco remained, first and foremost, his best friend and, despite his awful behaviour and his sometimes backwards thinking, he would’ve always defended him. “You were the one who told me that Draco has been off the entire year!” “And? Is really Potter so Great and Almighty that he couldn’t have startled or instigated Draco?”

Neville looked tired now. “I’m no one to judge” he admitted softly, shaking his head. “Good, cause you’re terrible at it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Simply that you should’ve been in Hufflepuff, the way to blindly trust someone” replied smugly Blaise, finally feeling like he had made the Gryffindor come around the topic. He couldn’t believe Neville to be so blind about it, just because he was friends with Saint Potter, that didn’t mean that the boy didn’t have flaws and wasn’t capable of doing it.

“You mean, the same way I trusted you?”

That was a low blow, one that hit home, yet Blaise maintained his appearance unbothered, “Please, agreeing to let me tutor you was the best thing that ever happened to you” he claimed, looking away to make sure Neville didn’t see it for the lie that it was. He was too proud to admit that that probably was the best thing in Blaise’s life, and not just because of the academic reward: Neville was a ray of sunshine, an amazing person and perfect for him.

“I seem to remember that you asked for my help first.” “Semantics” he replied curtly, waving a dismissal hand.

For a few moments they remained silent, both staying their grounds and not conceding an inch. Then Neville sighed, moving back to lean his back and his head against the wall. “Blaise, what are we doing?” he asked in a quiet tone, his voice wavering and thick with emotion. “What do you mean?” he fired back, copying his position and resting on the opposite wall, facing him with a challenging look on his face. But Neville had clearly had enough of their talk, when he said: “I mean, it’s clear that something’s bothering you. Please, just tell me what it is instead of just baiting me.”

‘How come he missed the entire point?’ his mind asked, getting angrier by the second at the other boy’s cluelessness. “Baiting you? I’m just trying to defend my friend who has been reduced bloody unconscious by your idiotic Saviour and you ask me what the hell is bothering me? Well, let me tell you, Longbottom. I really don’t know why I am bothering with you, considering it’s pretty useless to even reach the point with you. You were right at the beginning, I should’ve been upset about the Transfiguration assignment, considering I’ve explained it to you so much even I got sick of it. You’re so stuck up into your little plants that you can’t see the real world outside the greenhouses and honestly I am very much over the idea of having to spend one more second having to listen to you rambling about leaves. So please, go the fuck away and be with your Gryffindor friends, I’m pretty sure they’re all celebrating the vile act of violence against Draco. All that great talk about Courage and Bravery and in the end you’re all a bunch of apes with no brains, wasting our precious time.”

“You don’t really mean that” muttered quietly Neville, giving him an unreadable look and scrutinizing his face, looking for something in Blaise’s face. But he didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, in fact, none of his words were true. “I do, actually” he simply claimed, maintaining his mask in place.

Neville then ran a hand over his face, smudging his lips in the motion and then pursing them in. He looked like he was holding back a storm, which in turn infuriated even more Blaise, on the verge of yelling already. “I know you’re great at lying and you know I’m not as stupid as I look, so do me a favour and stop with this bullshit. You’re upset and I get it, I’m here for whatever you need, always” he moved towards him, placing a hand on his arm, “but don’t you dare treat me like shit only for saying what’s true. Believe me, no one is celebrating shit and Harry’s much to blame as Draco. All I’m saying is that Harry defended himself, and that’s not an opinion, but a fact. What started it I honestly can’t fathom, but don’t go and make this about us.”

Blaise shifted abruptly, letting his arms cross over and effectively removing Neville’s comforting hand. “Us? There is no us, Longbottom, you’re a bloody Gryffindor and I should’ve understood it from the beginning instead of wasting my time and energy around someone like you” he said coldly, not knowing if he truly meant his words. Sure, it had been Paradise with Neville, yet there was truth beyond all of that, right?

Then, not wanting to let the topic drop without winning, he added: “And why are you still defending Potter?"

Neville was taken away from his mind abruptly, then, because he took a few moments to reply. He swallowed and shut his eyes tightly, before saying: "Well, at least he didn't try to reindeer someone insane."

"That's definitely not what happens after a curse, no wonder you suck at spells" Blaise joked, aware that the boy wasn’t useless but rather that his talents laid somewhere else. They had talked excessively about that on various occasions, and he knew that Neville knew he must’ve been joking, right?

"Yeah right, that's only the fucking side effect."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

With his hands fisted on his side, Neville shut his eyes once more, shaking his head, before saying: "You know what, Zabini? Fuck you and fuck off. Our arrangement is over and leave me the fuck alone" voice tense and eyes wet. He then proceeded to turn around and hastily leave, disappearing into the empty corridor until Blaise couldn’t see him anymore.

‘Pathetic’ his mind said, but he couldn’t understand who was supposed to be pathetic. He fell to the ground, seated with his back against the wall as words swirled into his mind and the headache became stronger. He had almost forgotten how painful those could be, too happy with Neville to understand truly what the other boy’s presence meant.

Suddenly, the realization came: Neville had left, properly left, because he had hurt him. He had almost seen the Gryffindor he was in love with cry.

‘Wait. What?’ his mind asked, wrapping around the idea and sending him into a spiral of panic.

No, it wasn’t possible, they were not there yet, and even if they were, Blaise would’ve never admitted it first. He was too prideful and too scared to do that. But he also been incredibly comfortable and happy with Neville, so much that it almost felt like he was up in the air, carefree and happy. And now that he was alone, he had crashed down on the hard ground.

Blaise’s blindness and concerns for Draco had clouded his judgment, letting him run his mouth with lies that Neville didn’t deserve. And in doing so had ruined instantly the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

“Lastly, Rule number fifty: If you ever feel the words ‘I love you’ or the sentiment rise up, don’t keep it in.”

Yet, Blaise couldn’t exactly admit it now, could he? He had no idea what to do anymore, so he simply leaned his head back and closed his eyes, refusing to let the tears escape as the world finally collapsed on him.

10 notes · View notes

varricmancer · 6 years ago

Text

Lost And Found | 2

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Word Count: 3,924

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

Notes: Hey, look! It’s an update! Finding the time to write with an infant around is extremely difficult, but I didn’t want to abandon this story. I have so much of it thought up already in my head and it’s great, it’s just hard getting around to writing it all down lol. Most of my free time these days is spending trying to sneak in naps and showers when my baby is asleep. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this and please let me know how you think it’s going.

Crystal had been completely lost in her work when a sudden cheer made her jump a little, spilling a bit of green sap across her hand. She was able to save most of the vial, thankfully, corking it and setting it aside before opening her door and peering out.

In the middle of the village was a small crowd of people cheering around a rather disgusting pile of dead rams. She did a quick count; ten, just like in the game. If the village did a good job smoking and curing some of the meat, they’d be able to have plenty to go around for a couple weeks at least. Coupled with the knowledge that The Herald would be clearing the area of danger soon, Crystal was able to take a deep breath, content now that she knew the village would be safe soon. The feeling of constant hunger was something she was never going to forget, and she really hoped to never feel it again.

She stepped outside, quietly shutting her door behind her and strolled towards the back of the crowd. She just wanted to get a peek of everyone before the judgemental stares and demands for her to prove she’s not a demon started.

The Herald turned out to be a human male, and he looked like the default version, meaning this was most likely Maxwell Trevelyan. She spots the dual daggers on his back and grins. He’s a human rogue Inquisitor, probably her most used playthrough. He was smiling gracefully as various people loudly proclaimed their thanks, but she could see the tension in his body, like he was holding himself back from making a run for it.

Cassandra was beautiful. The game certainly did not do her justice in the least. Her face was much more delicate and regal in real life; not even her scars distracted from it. Giles was chatting her up, and Crystal knew he could be a little longwinded at times. Cassandra’s lack of patience with him showed. She could practically see the Disgusted Noise subtitle above her head.

Solas was magnificent in his own way, of course. She hadn’t been sure how she’d feel about meeting him - knowing what she did about him - but there was no overwhelming urge to run for the hills. He was taller and more broad than any of the other Elven people she’d met here, but it was hidden well under the humble clothing he wore. She imagined she only noticed his difference from the others because she knew to look for it. She just hoped she could get him to fix her up before she freaked him out by accidentally letting him know that she was aware of his incredibly stupid plan.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t see through the crowd enough to catch sight of Varric, and no one seemed to be able to hear her whispered excuse me over the excited chatter. She sighed to herself, resigned that she’d have to wait until the crowd calmed down before she’d be able to beg for Solas to heal her. If she knew Giles or Mother Giselle, they’d probably bring the group to her soon enough, for different reasons of course. She snuck one last glance through the crowd and braced to leave when she felt someone stand next to her.

“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”

Crystal bit back her excited grin as recognized the owner of that raspy voice, trying to appear calm and not totally embarrass herself by fangirling. She turned and was surprised to note that she and Varric were nearly eye to eye. He was just a touch shorter than her five feet. However, his dwarven bulk made him seem massive next to her. Just one of his biceps was probably half of her body weight. The only things that saved her from looking like a complete stick next to him were her generous top and bottom.

She was also surprised how much more handsome he was in real life than in the game. There were slight grey streaks in his dark blonde hair and deep laugh lines around his eyes, showing his age, but he carried it well. His grin was warm, and even if his eyes were obviously cataloging everything about her and trying to figure her out, he gave off a kind air. She smiled shyly back, a blush growing on her cheeks as he continued to study her. She inhaled sharply as she recognized the interest in his eyes and felt an answering flutter in her chest, surprising herself.

In all of her imaginings over the past few weeks about who she’d feel butterflies around when she met them, never had Varric even occurred to her. Sure, he was one of her favorite characters, but she’d figured she’d take one look at Cullen or Hawke and swoon. Instead, here she was blushing over freaking Varric Tethras, a smooth-talking and romantically unavailable rogue.

In other words, just her type. You’d think now that she was living a whole new life in a whole new world she’d stop making life so hard for herself. At least this time she had the advantage of knowing he’d break her heart before she answered that spark of interest with one of her own.

“Varric, there you are. They’ve invited us to eat with them before we leave. Come help me drink that bottle we found earlier...or stay and talk to the pretty little lady. Hello there. I’m Maxwell.”

The Herald himself was standing in front of Crystal, her blush deepening as his eyes flittered back and forth between her and Varric. He looked her over curiously.

“I must say, you are the most petite dwarf I’ve ever seen. Are you perhaps Elven blooded?”

She snorted and grinned. “I’m not a dwarf. Just a very tiny human, I’m afraid,” she answered softly, smiled widening as Maxwell’s cheeks soon sported a blush of his own as he sputtered an apology.

“Believe it or not, he does this often,” Varric chuckled.

“It’s true, sadly,” Maxwell sighed wearily. “The first time I met a female Qunari was a disaster. I was just trying to be a gracious host and I asked her if she had her own attendants for her milking or if she needed us to assign some to her.”

Crystal’s eyebrows rose in shock, a hand trying to contain her laughter. “You didn’t!”

“I did. My Uncle always told me that the Qunari were related to druffalo, and since I’d never met any I didn’t know he was just being a racist ass. I was only saved from having to fight her because of our ambassador’s skill with words and the fancy new axe I got her.”

She giggled and waved away any concern. “I promise I don’t require duels or weapons. It’s not the first time my height has been commented on.”

“You’re the very soul of graciousness, Mistress...I didn’t catch your name.” Maxwell declared with an elaborate bow.

“Crystal,” she answered warily, knowing what was coming.

“OH! You’re the girl they told us about! You were in the fade like me!”

“So they tell me.”

“You don’t remember either?”

She shrugs, “Not really. I was...in a lake when I was surrounded by a green glow and it pulled me down. The next thing I recall was waking up and being told my arm broke falling out of a rift.”

“You didn’t get a mark like mine?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Crystal chewed her lip thoughtfully before squaring her shoulders and blurting out, “I do have...knowledge, however. Um, like bits of insight into future events.”

“Like a seer?”

“Not quite. I can’t read minds or tell you what you’ll be doing thirty years from now, but I have some knowledge of past events and some coming events that will impact the inquisition.”

“That’s incredible. You learned it in the fade?”

“Uh...I suppose that’s possible. Look, I wasn’t sure that I was going to tell you about it at first, because this whole thing is terrifying. I know if I go with you and help with my knowledge, I’ll be right in the thick of everything, but I know I’ll be safer with you than out here in the wilderness on my own. If you can take me with you to Haven and promise protection then I’ll use what I know to help you succeed.”

Maxwell nods and rubs his chin in thought, studying her.

“Not to be rude, but how do I know you have any of this foresight and are not simply trying to infiltrate the inquisition?”

“It’s okay, I wouldn’t believe me either. Do you have a map of the area and maybe something to write with?”

Maxwell nods and pulls out a weathered map on what she can only assume is some sort of animal skin. She wrinkles her nose and accepts it and the black chunk he hands her that she guesses she’s supposed to write with. She wasn’t very knowledgable about such things, but as long as it worked who cared.

She lays the map out on a nearby stump, mumbling to herself as she tries to remember all the major points in the area. Unfortunately, there was quite a lot because The Hinterlands was huge, and she was sure there were at least a couple of things she forgot. She handed Maxwell the map with a sheepish grin and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Alright. I’ve marked all the big events in the Hinterlands for now. First is the easy stuff. When you get to the horsemaster, you’ll learn that wolves have been attacking villagers. I’ve marked the spot on the map where there is a demon controlling them. Take out the demon and the wolves will go back to normal. Avoid the rift to the right of the river. The demons are too high level for you to deal with and they stay in that little corner anyway. You can get back to them later. Also, someone will ask you to find their missing druffalo. Up to you if you want to do that, but it is a good way to get on the people’s good side.” She shrugged but was pleased by the Herald’s expression. They may not believe her, but at least he was listening intently.

“I’ve also marked the locations of the templar and mage encampments. Taking those out will stop the fighting so the people here will be safer. You’ll come across lots of mini quests along the way, and I’ve marked those as well. It’s up to you how much you want to accomplish now, although I suggest just dealing with the horses and encampments for now. You can always come back.”

“That’s quite a lot of information, but nothing that someone with good intel and knowledge of the area couldn’t come up with,” Varric says with a tilt to his head, studying her curiously.

“True. At the very least, I’m hoping this shows that I can be of some use. This alone probably just saved you weeks of drudging around. There’s nothing huge that I need to forewarn you of at the moment.”

Maxwell frowns. “Why can’t you just write down what you know? We’d pay you for your services and you’d be free to stay here where it seems you have a home?”

“Several reasons. One, this isn’t my home. Giles has been kind, but I am alone in the middle of the wilderness of a land that I don’t really know, sleeping in a house that is only available because the entire family died. I’d feel safer surrounded by people that my knowledge makes me familiar with. Two, I don’t really think just telling you everything right off would help. I...okay, so when you go into battle you fight as hard as you can because you want to win and protect your companions, correct?”

Maxwell nodded, eyes trained on her as she explained.

“Right. Well, would you fight as hard if you knew the outcome beforehand? Or would you go into battle thinking you had this in the bag and there was no point in giving your all?”

“Potentially changing the outcome and losing or someone dying that shouldn’t have,” Varric rumbled thoughtfully next to her. Leave it to the writer to catch on.

“Exactly. Everything I’ve read that mentioned having knowledge of the future follows the rule of not telling everyone everything about it so the future doesn’t get changed, and it’s cliche as hell, but it’s a cliche for a reason. I’ll happily tell you what I think would be safe to tell without changing anything, but there are a lot of things that actually depend on choices that you or others make. The fact that I’m even here already changes tons because I’m not supposed to be.”

“What does that mean?” Maxwell asks with a raised brow.

“Uh...it means that I already saw the next five years happen but I wasn’t a part of it until that rift threw me into the middle of a land I don’t belong in. That’s already changed a hell of a lot and I don’t know what kind of impact that’s going to have. Everything I know is a series of probabilities that can change based on choices. So while I may hope for one outcome and can try to counsel you to choose it, ultimately you can decide to do something totally different and change the future that I know.”

“This is all giving me a headache,” Maxwell mumbles, rubbing his forehead.

Crystal snorts.“Tell me about it.”

“Basically,” she continues, “I’m one of the good guys and I’ll try to help as much as I can in return for protection. I’m not a fighter, nor do I have magic, so I’m alone and have no real way of keeping safe by myself here. Sounds pathetic, but...” she shrugs, trailing off to observe their faces. Maxwell and Varric both had their eyebrows raised as they silently conversed with a series of nods and expressions. She wouldn’t have thought they’d had enough time to bond enough to pull off that kind of thing, but they seemed to understand each other.

“Alright, I can’t promise anything right this very moment,” Maxwell states as he crosses his arms. “You are of course welcome to come to Haven. We have all kinds of people just showing up there daily, so that’s not a problem. I believe the Mother is going there herself in a few days, so you could probably travel with her party if you wanted. We were heading over to the horsemaster’s tomorrow, and we’ll take all you’ve told us and the map markers into consideration during our journey. We should be able to get back to the Crossroads in about a week. If you’re still here and your information proved helpful, we’ll discuss taking you with us and talking to the other leaders. How does that sound?”

Her shoulders drop as she sighs in relief. “Perfectly fair. I’ll probably stay until you guys get back. I don’t relish the thought of traveling with wagons full of sisters and Mother Giselle. They are best dealt with in small doses.” Varric snorts and the two of them share a small smirk.

“We need you to meet the others in our party, so they know where the info came from. That’s okay, right?” Maxwell asks, already halfway to leaving.

“As long as you are able to stop Cassandra from coming after me thinking I’m a demon or something.”

Maxwell groans dramatically. “Ugh. I have experienced that Cassandra and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. No head lopping today.”

He turns back to the party that had remained behind, yelling loud enough to be heard over the noise of everyone still celebrating.

“Cassandra, Solas. Could you come here please?”

They came forward, followed by Giles who had apparently noticed they were headed towards her and decided to take up his role of protector once more.

He nods politely at Maxwell. “Ah, you found our Crystal. They bullying you, girl?”

She grins softly, “No, Giles. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You’re the one they say came out of a rift as well?”

Having Solas’s attention on her was terrifying, mostly because of what she knew of him but also a bit because she wasn’t sure what all he could see.

“I am. Sorry, no mark,” she shrugs, noting his gaze wandering from her hands to any other visible bit of skin.

“Crystal here has been very helpful and provided us with some information to help with our travels here, and we’ll be taking her to Haven with us when we get back,” Maxwell informs them, patting her shoulder.

Cassandra studies her with a frown. “Are you certain that is wise? She could be a spy or even possessed.”

“We had plenty of people look her over, and she is just human. I’m afraid we didn’t even think about the possibility of her bein’ a spy. Doubt it though. She’s a good girl,” Giles adds helpfully.

“I’m not, but I’m sure Leliana will be able to figure that out.”

Cassandra’s gaze sharpened as she stared at Crystal. “How do you know Leliana?”

“Err, she says she knows things. Like a seer.” Maxwell explains, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Not like a seer. I’m not magic or whatever. I just...know things.”

“Did you perhaps converse with anyone whilst you were in the fade?” Solas asks.

“I don’t remember ever being in the fade. I just remember a green glow then I was here.”

“Interesting,” Solas nods, his eyes piercing her as though she was a puzzle to solve. Crystal shifted nervously, not enjoying having the undivided attention of Solas on her. At any moment he could decide she was a threat to his plans.

Giles must have interpreted her slight grimace to be one of pain because he suddenly pointed to Solas.

“Oy, you with the stick. You can heal?”

“Yes? I have some healing ability.”

“Good. Do yer sparkle hands on our wee lass here. She’s been working hard with only one working arm long enough. Oh, and do ye still need help with the ribs too?”

“Um, they are not as bad anymore. Although I would be very grateful for help with my arm. I...cannot pay you. I have nothing unless you’ll accept some healing potions I’ve made.”

“Those will be appreciated.”

“Here, sit lass. Is this going to hurt her?”

“Not too much. The spell dulls the pain as it works.”

Giles leads her to a stone step and stands at her side. She shakily begins to try taking off her sling but is surprised when Varric gently pries her hand away and begins untangling the knot himself. She smiles her thanks and relaxes a little as he works. He grimaces at the fading bruising around the wrist once he removes all the wrapping, then hisses in sympathy when she squeaks in pain as he helps to hold her shaking arm out for Solas to work on.

Solas mutters some words and suddenly a green glow surrounds her arm, the bones rippling under her skin in a way that was both disturbing and fascinating.

“That’s so weird,” she mumbles. It was like one of those horror movie scenes where someone had bugs or worms moving around under their skin.

“There. It’s completely healed, but it will still be tender for a few days as you get used to using that arm again.” Solas states as the glow disappears and he backs away.

Crystal flexes her fingers a few times, amazed that while her arm still felt weak and twinged with pain a little bit, she was still able to freely move it.

“Thank you, Solas. I appreciate it,” She grinned. Potentially nutball of a God or not, he’d saved her months of recovery time.

He nodded politely and rejoined his group that had been having their own private conversation while he’d been working, no doubt about her.

“Does it feel better?” Varric asks, handing her a mug of something. She took a sniff and realized it was some sort of alcohol, but she wasn’t very knowledgeable about the different types out here. Some sort of mead if she had to guess. She shrugs and takes a big gulp, smacking her lips a little as she contemplates the taste.

“Mmm, yeah. Won’t be able to punch with it for a while, but at least I can stop getting dressed onehanded,” she giggles.

Varric smirks, “Well if you find that you still need help with that, let me know.”

“Ah,” she shakes her head playfully, “If only you’d been here to make that offer yesterday. I was so desperate I probably would have taken you up on that.”

His eyes shined mischievously as he shrugs. “Well, damn my luck.”

“If you two are done flirting, we need to get going,” Maxwell chuckled as he strode towards them, smirking as Crystal’s blush darkened.

Varric cleared his throat and stuck his hands into his pockets, stepping away from her a bit. She didn’t really like that, but she understood.

“I hope you guys stay safe. Remember to take advantage of the spots I marked for setting up camps.”

Maxwell nodded and grasped her hand, bowing over it slightly.

“In case your advice proves handy, thank you in advance. We shall see you in a week.”

Crystal nodded and smiled as he sauntered off to join the rest of his party. Varric takes a few steps before pausing, pulling something out of his pocket and tossing it towards her. She catches it easily in her right hand, light making the object glitter. It was some sort of crystal. She glanced up at him and quirked an eyebrow, wondering he was trying to make some sort of lame pun.

“Not a joke, I swear,” he chuckles, palms raised. “In case the village gets attacked again while we’re gone, you can call us for help.”

Oh. It was one of those. She couldn’t remember the name, but she could recall that was how Iron Bull and Dorian communicated in the game.

“Thank you, Varric. I appreciate it,” She says softly, cradling it to her chest.

He nods and does a little salute before he joins the others, leaving her to watch them grab their gear and a share of the cooked meat. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t disappointed that he didn’t look back again.

She sighs and walks towards her hut, shaking her head at her foolishness. She couldn’t believe how easy it was for her to behave like a schoolgirl with a crush around Varric, even when she knew it was a very stupid thing to even think like that. She knew all about Bianca and his unhealthy attachment to her. One stupid girl from another realm or whatever wasn’t going to change anything.

Besides, she had other things to worry about. Like staying alive.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dai #varric #varric tethras #varric fanfic #MGIT #dragon age inquisition #da

10 notes · View notes

ticingjudhand1979-blog · 5 years ago

Text

1 Patient, 7 Tumors and 100 Billion Cells Equal 1 Striking Recovery

The exceptional recuperation of a lady with cutting edge colon malignant growth, after treatment with cells from her own resistant framework, may prompt new alternatives for a great many different patients with colon or pancreatic disease, analysts are reporting.

Her treatment was the first to effectively focus on a typical disease change that researchers have attempted to assault for quite a long time. As of recently, that transformation has been impenetrable, so impervious to each endeavor at treatment that researchers have depicted it as вђњundruggable. Payday Loans Online вђќ

An article about the case, from a group driven by Dr. Steven A. Rosenberg, head of medical procedure at the National Cancer Institute, was distributed on Wednesday in The New England Journal of Medicine. Dr.Batra's™ Homeopathy | Get Homeopathic Medicine and Treatment from expert Doctors

The quiet, Celine Ryan, 50, a specialist, database developer and the mother of five, has a strange hereditary cosmetics that enabled the treatment to work. She is currently malignant growth free, however not considered cured.

The treatment was a type of immunotherapy, which enrolls a patientвђ™s invulnerable framework to battle illness. The field is reforming disease treatment.

An probe one patient can't decide if a treatment will be powerful in others, yet specialists said the outcomes could help more people.

вЂњIt has immense implications,вђќ Dr. Carl H. June, from the University of Pennsylvania, said in a meeting. He was not part of the investigation, however composed a publication going with it in the journal.

Dr. June said the examination was the primary effective focusing of an imperfection in a quality called KRAS, and is significant on the grounds that changes in the quality are so normal. вЂњEvery single pancreatic malignant growth patient has KRAS,вЂќ Dr. June stated, including that the pharmaceutical business has burned through billions difficult fruitlessly to target KRAS.

Still, he stated, the unavoidable issue is whether this case is вђњone in a million, or something that can be repeated and manufactured upon?вђќ

About 53,000 instances of pancreatic malignant growth are normal in the United States this year, and about 42,000 passings. It is probably the deadliest malignant growth; less than 10 percent of patients endure five years. Around the world, it slaughtered around 330,000 individuals in 2012, the latest year with worldwide insights available.

From 30 to 50 percent of colorectal tumors have KRAS transformations, as well, and around 13 percent have a similar change that Ms. Ryan has. In the United States, around 95,000 instances of colon malignant growth and 39,000 instances of rectal disease are normal in 2016, and 49,000 passings from the two structures consolidated. Comprehensively, there were 1.4 million cases and 694,000 passings in 2012.

The new revelation probably won't have been made вђ" at any rate, not currently вђ" without Ms. Ryanвђ™s steadiness. Analysts twice denied her solicitation to enter the clinical preliminary, saying her tumors were not huge enough, she said. Be that as it may, she would not surrender and was at long last let in.

The research includes malignant growth battling insusceptible cells called tumor-invading lymphocytes, or TILs. These are white platelets that swarm around tumors, a sign that the resistant framework is attempting to assault the malignant growth. Dr. Rosenberg has been reading TILs for a considerable length of time, with the objective of improving their capacity to battle the ailment and utilizing them as a treatment.

An endeavor to treat another patient with tumors much like Ms. Ryanвђ™s didn't work, more likely than not on the grounds that the scientists couldn't deliver enough exceptionally focused on TILs, Dr. Rosenberg said.

So far, the cells have worked best against cutting edge melanoma, a savage type of skin malignancy. By removing TILs from tumors, increasing them in the lab and after that returning them to the patient, Dr. Rosenbergвђ™s group has created long reductions in 20 to 25 percent of patients with that disease.

More as of late, the group has concentrated on a considerably harder issue: tumors in the stomach related framework, including the colon and pancreas, and in ovaries, bosoms and different organs, which cause in excess of 80 percent of the 596,000 malignant growth passings in the United States each year.

The analysts examine tumors for changes вђ" hereditary defects that set the malignancy cells apart from ordinary ones. They likewise study TILs, searching for invulnerable cells that can perceive transformations and in this manner assault dangerous cells yet leave solid ones alone.

Ms. Ryan, from Rochester Hills, Mich., had colon malignant growth that spread to her lungs in spite of medical procedure, chemotherapy and radiation. With couple of choices, she started investigating exploration programs and ran over the TILs examine at the National Cancer Institute. In December 2014, she called the establishment, planning to join the study.

But she was told, in light of her outputs and records, that she didn't have a tumor enormous enough to yield TILs. An exploration medical caretaker proposed she send her next arrangement of sweeps; perhaps, in the meantime, the tumors would develop. Ms. Ryan accepted that counsel вђ" and was crushed to be turned down again.

вЂњI felt sure Iвђ™d get in,вђќ Ms. Ryan said. вЂњMy heart sank.вђќ

The dismissal left her wailing. In any case, at that point she and her better half pulled up pictures of her sweeps on their home PC, took screen shots and estimations of a lung tumor that appeared to coordinate the investigation criteria, and sent them to the malignancy establishment. She incorporated an amenable note asking that, if her tumor was not qualified, she be told why.

вЂњI was making an effort not to seem like a urgent insane person, yet I was an edgy maniac,вђќ she said.

In March 2015, she got in. Regardless of whether the screen shots were an integral factor isn't clear. Dr. Rosenberg said the group had been watching her advancement and got her when they distinguished operable tumors.

A month later, the analysts performed medical procedure, expelling a few lung tumors to scan for TILs.

Ms. Ryanвђ™s tissue ended up being a therapeutic gold mine. She had a KRAS transformation and her TILs included executioner T-cells that bolted onto the change like guided missiles.

Her T-cells had the option to perceive the change since she has an exceptional tissue type, which is a hereditarily decided characteristic. Subsequently, she conveys a specific protein on the outside of her cells that assumes a basic job in showing the KRAS transformation with the goal that malignant growth slaughtering cells can discover it and attack.

Best of all, from a logical point of view, was that Ms. Ryanвђ™s KRAS change is shared by numerous different patients with colon and pancreatic malignancies. The individuals who offer her tissue type may likewise be great contender for treatment with TILs.

Researchers state they currently have a plan that may empower them to create cell medicines for different patients also. The executioner T-cells have surface particles considered receptors that lock onto changed cells, and it might be conceivable to hereditarily design patientsвђ™ T-cells to give them those receptors and their malignant growth focusing on ability.

To treat Ms. Ryan, the group chosen a culture of TILs with significant levels of safe cells that explicitly assaulted her change. They increased those cells in the research center to create enormous numbers.

Ms. Ryan was first offered chemotherapy to crash the greater part of her white platelets and enable the TILs to thrive. At that point, in excess of 100 billion TILs were trickled into her circulation system through an intravenous line; it took around 20 minutes, she said. Around 75 percent were the executioner T-cells that focused her change. She was additionally given interleukin-2, a substance that invigorates executioner T-cells.

Before being dealt with, Ms. Ryan had seven tumors in her lungs. Throughout the following nine months, six shrank and afterward vanished. The seventh shrank from the start, however then advanced. To expel it, specialists took out the lower flap of her left lung.

Tests of the extracted tumor clarified why it had opposed treatment: It had transformed and never again conveyed the tissue-type marker that had empowered the T-cells to assault it.

The tumorвђ™s capacity to get away from the T-cells uncovers a potential shaky area in the methodology of focusing on a solitary transformation, said Dr. Drew M. Pardoll, the executive of the Bloomberg-Kimmel Institute for Cancer Immunotherapy at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. Calling malignant growth вђњversatile,вђќ he stated, вЂњThe tumor consistently appears to concoct a workaround.вђќ

Even along these lines, he said the examination was вђњa genuine and strong advance forward.вђќ

Today, Ms. Ryan has no indications of cancer.

вЂњI feel great,вђќ she said.

But as of late, two companions kicked the bucket of colon malignancy, she stated, including, вЂњI so trust they can get this treatment to everyone who needs it, and that it works.вђќ

1 note · View note

mariosomething · 5 years ago

Text

MISTAKES I MADE AS A COMIC OR NOTICED AS A BOOKER...

(NOTE: Never say never, but I can’t imagine getting back on stage again. However, now that comedy is returning to clubs--and potentially booming here in Austin--I think this is worth repeating. Especially #15. Enjoy!)

So, I might be hopping on stage again for my own, personal reasons. Number one being distraction from the crushing loneliness that comes with self-employment. Woo! On the first page of my newly-purchased comedy notebook, I started making a list of things I don’t want to do this time around. The comic I don’t want to be, should I continue performing. Getting in my own way with unfounded beliefs about my abilities or lack thereof. I will—NO DOUBT—repeat some of the following blunders out of muscle memory, and if you catch me doing so, by all means, call me out! In no particular order:

1- Worrying about who’s heard this bit before. One cure for this is to never stop writing new stuff. Also, it’s the JOB of a comedian to repeat the same shit with the same zeal and sincerity for different crowds…crowds that probably don’t attend comedy shows as often as we perform on them.

2- Worrying about making the comics laugh. This is still the hallmark of a great comic to me…the person we’ve all seen before but stop the chit-chat when they get on stage. It’s the opposite of a “crowd-pleaser.” In a perfect world, I can please both—as some do—but ultimately, we don’t get paid to make the back of the room laugh. If I’m building a half-hour, those comics may ‘check out’ during my set, and that’s to be expected. If I concern myself with their approval, I’m ignoring the audience, and by extension, disrespecting them. THEY bought a ticket. They deserve my best attempt.

3- Starting your act with a risky joke. Are there exceptions for these “rules” of mine? Absolutely. But they are just that…exceptions. This one always drove me nuts when I ran the Velv. Especially when the rest of one’s act is relatively benign! Would you lead with your “crazy” on a first date? Talk about all of your flaws on a job interview? Or with music you like…if I wanted to get you into Tom Waits, I’m not gonna recommend The Black Rider—an album only die-hard fans might appreciate. I’d start with something accessible, like Small Change or Rain Dogs. Get them on your side first with your palatable stuff, then give ‘em what you want. (Now go listen to Tom Waits’ Small Change and Rain Dogs.)

4- Worrying about looking stupid. This is the big one for me. Even though I KNOW the audience WANTS us to look foolish; even while I KNOW they want us to be both vulnerable and confident about it, I have a crippling fear of embarrassment. And this is NOT a good quality for any comedian. I learned that words account for only 7% of communication. The rest is body language, facial expressions and tone. I’ve always hidden behind my words, and have given up on bits that require me to be more animated. So dumb. Which leads me to…

5- Not doing enough ‘act-outs’ in bits. When I watch amazing comedians, they all have this in common. They perform or act-out dialogue. More show than tell. They don’t just recite jokes or one-liners. Even Steven & Mitch & Todd do/did act-outs in their own, low-energy styles. When you start looking for them, they’re everywhere. So much rolling, sustained laughter derives from act-outs. They don’t have to be BIG, they just have to be well-delivered.

6- Writing what I think they might like, not what I like. Another big ‘duh’ but worth repeating. I fell in this trap on the road. I was lovingly told to “write a dick joke already!” when I was a new, quasi-clever comic. And man alive, did I ever make up for it! Some may have had a fake nose and mustache, but they were dick jokes nonetheless, and I wasn’t proud. But they got laughs, and more laughs meant better comment cards, which meant return visits. Awesome way to remain a road comic…shitty way to evolve or get industry to pay attention. It’s also a fast track to burnout. If you’re not doing stuff you like, resentment builds and ambition wanes.

7- Not having goals. A new, tight 10 minutes is my goal today. If that goes well, a new 30. Then maybe an album. When I DID have things to strive for, they “magically” happened. I kept comedy goal lists on my wall, and most came to fruition. Then I got in my head and stopped making those lists. The more I was learning about the biz, the more inadequate I felt. I stopped writing, stopped going to mics and eventually stopped touring. With no new goals, I lost steam and confidence. I was a competent middle, but a spotty headliner…THAT is my ceiling for now. I’d love to be a rock-solid, reliable closer with at least one killer album to show for it. It’s feasible, but I need to start with that initial aim of a new, polished, consistent 10 minutes that I like.

8- Not watching more pros. Something that baffles me about so many new comics. You have the option to catch A-list comedians for FREE at Cap City, your home club, etc…why would you not take advantage? You learn by watching pros, even if it’s what NOT to do. Or what’s being done to death. You can learn structure, pacing, opening and closing. I used to watch comics I knew I wouldn’t like, but came away with respect for how they did things. People forget or don’t know that the late, great Bill Hicks used to be a clean-ish, set-up/punch kinda comedian. He learned the rules so he can break them effectively. Even at his viscous best, he was still super-polished. It’s respect for the craft, dammit. All of your heroes have it.

9- Getting jealous of your friends’ progress. There is sooo much leap-frogging in this business, there’s no need to denigrate yourself for not keeping pace with a peer. “Comedy is the closest thing there is to justice,” according to Colin Quinn, and I 100% agree. If you’re funny, consistently funny, you will get work. Period. When producers run and book shows, they want reliability more than anything. There is no island of misfit-but-actually-brillant comedians out there, waiting to be discovered. Funny gets noticed by EVERYbody. If you’re not getting booked, start looking inward. Seriously. When Cap City demoted me from headliner, I didn’t fight it. I thought they were right to do so because I knew my 50 minutes was about 15 shy of reliable material. Challenge your beliefs about your own act. Maybe you’re better than you think, but maybe it’s just the opposite. It’s worth asking, “What am I doing wrong?” if you’re having trouble getting past open mics. Maybe you are indeed funny, but still too green or inconsistent. Maybe you had a bad showcase set and your friend killed. Your friend may get Montreal before you, but you might get a manager first. You just don’t know! Keep plugging away, because there’s too much out of your control.

10- Not being humble. Jeezus H. Christmas, where did all of this unearned confidence come from?? Not only will I never relate to this, I will continue to chastise and scoff at it. Don’t assume your shit is crushed fruit, especially when you’re new. Don’t trash talk other comics, it WILL bite you in the ass eventually. Or immediately in some cases. Don’t think you’re immediately entitled to the same things that other comics took years to obtain or achieve. There is always something to learn, even from people you disagree with…it’s the definition of being open-minded. There are comics I detest personally, but goddamn if they aren’t great performers/writers. And I’ll probably get push-back for this, but I never called myself a “comedian” until I was able to quit my day job. Until that happened, I was just a dude who “did comedy.” I wanted to earn that title, don’t you?? Skip the business cards and build your act.

11- Not taking chances on stage. I’ve heard from too many comedians that if you’re always killing up there, you’re not taking chances. When I booked a room, I wanted to reward comics who tried new stuff every open mic, or was tweaking it. If a comic kept going up with well-worn bits, I ignored them for a few weeks or longer, even if they got laughs. It’s open mic, the point is to experiment! When I worked the road, I stopped doing mics when I was back in town. Big mistake. I was afraid to try untested jokes in clubs on the road, and too lazy or complacent to take chances at open mics. I stunted my own growth.

12- All agenda, no punchlines. I remember watching a well-known comic in NY struggle with Jesus jokes. He could NOT have been in a more welcoming arena for such, but he wasn’t funny, just angry. So he said, “Oh, I guess you guys don’t like religious jokes,” To which my friend replied, “We do! We keep waiting for one.” I think comedians can be the most insightful people on the planet, and the great ones don’t berate, they put funny first. It just makes sense! If you really really really want your message to be heard, then it’s in your best interest to make it funny. Funny cuts through. Or maybe you just wanna use the stage as a soapbox, in which case, quit comedy.

13- Not presenting both sides. I once told an established headliner he couldn’t return to the Velv, despite the numbers. In fairness to us, it was Valentine’s Day weekend, we were packed anyway. He never gave me a chance to explain why, but here’s why: he was too angry about women and wasn’t self-deprecating enough to balance it out. Conversely, I had a female comedian come through a couple of times, and the bulk of her act is male-bashing, BUT, it’s tight and well-crafted and funny as shit…AND she sprinkles in enough self-effacing humor so as not to divide the crowd. If the guy I banned was her parallel, I would’ve re-booked him. But I’m a freak about balance. While I don’t believe ANY person or group of people is above criticism, you can’t just point fingers at others while patting yourself on the back.

14 - Not putting more of ‘me’ in my act. Trends are fun as a reference, but full bits built around them have a tiny shelf life. It’s fluff and filler at best. Relationships will never be hacky. Aging will never get old. Folks! We all have specific quirks or approaches to life in general, why not explore those approaches? That’s when a ‘comic’ graduates to ‘comedian.’ When they stop saying funny things and start saying things funny. Not my line, but damn accurate.**

15- Knee-jerk hating and never asking WHY? Okay, this one’s a personal lament. When I found comedy, I found harmony. Anyone funny was welcome. I didn’t see us as men or women or gay or straight or black or white, we were comics, and I fucking loved it. We were equals from every walk of life, and no jerks allowed! I found a circle of curious, liberal-minded pals who were always asking why. Friends who would call out each other’s bullshit or hypocrisy or bad bits, then laugh about it at Mugshots. Friends who preferred brutal truth over blowing smoke. It was bliss for someone who values sincere feedback and funny, earnest people. Comedians we respect and adore are always challenging norms of behavior and tradition. Pryor, Chapelle, Carlin, Rock, of course, but even Larry David, who’s the king of offending people by rejecting small, societal niceties.

I’m starting to see too much division and moral cowardice in comedy--on and off stage--and this is antithesis to its value, in my opinion. Everything I hated about high school. Cliques and whispers and spiteful exclusion. I will echo what I wrote earlier: NOBODY IS ABOVE CRITICISM. This is the salty to the sweet of “Everyone welcome.” Comedy is a LOT of failing, tons of real-time rejection, and that SUCKS. But if you think it has anything to do with anything but your act, you’re not asking Why. It’s easier to say, “Well, it’s clearly ‘cos I’m ________.” Really? Maybe it’s ‘cos you’re not funny, or not funny YET. Maybe it’s because you haven’t written a new joke in months, or refuse to change the ones that never work. Maybe you think there are no rules to comedy, and you can just get up there and people will love you because so-and-so does it that way. Maybe you don’t have so-and-so’s natural talent or likability. Or work ethic. Or self-awareness. If your first response is to blame a crowd, a booker, society, or whatever, ask yourself: are there successful comics who look like me? Why them and not me? What are they doing differently? My first guess is: they’re addicted to the craft so they keep their head down and write and tweak and fail and ask why and learn from mistakes. Stop complaining and start paying attention. At the end of the day, you and you alone are responsible for your career. If you believe women aren’t funny, I pity your ignorance and sheltered life. If you think men have it easier, tell that to the thousands of male comics who go nowhere in this business.

Maybe I’m an idealist hippy dippy doofus, but I believe that what we admire about others is pretty universal stuff. Regarding comedy, we all like someone who’s fearless on stage. Confident but not cocky. Capable. Quick. Genuine. Someone who keeps writing and honing their act. Someone who connects with people. Someone who comes back once a year with 30 new minutes. Someone who plows forward, not consumed with the opinions of others. Are these gender or race-specific qualities?? Hardly. And when you’re a top shelf, A-list comedian who’s paid their dues, it’s all preference at that level. It’s Gin vs. Vodka vs. Bourbon vs. Tequila, no one is “better” than the next. Maria Bamford is Bill Burr is Dave Chapelle is Carrot Top. They’re all pros who never stop working.

I’ll leave you with this…Comedy is a powerful and special thing, and I’ve always been crazy-grateful to be part of this tiny, uniquely rewarding world. Even if this experiment crumbles after a few months, even if I can’t vanquish some personal demons, it’s been a pursuit I’ve yet to regret. If you’re just starting out, or five years in, or going on the road, relish every minute. Meet all the people. Make all the friends. Get over your fears, get over yourself and get better. xoxo mario

**This is how I first heard it. Comic/comedian or vice versa. You get it. Though I personally feel that “comedian” sounds more like an official title, while you can’t spell “comic” without “mic.” Just sayin’ is all.

#standupcomedy #comedy

2 notes · View notes

theonceoverthinker · 6 years ago

Text

OUAT 3X08 - Think Lovely Thoughts

We’re nearing the end of the arc and it’s just utter PANdemonium!

Shut up, Rumple! That was funny!

Anyway, to find out why, venture below the cut!

Press Release

Pan leads Henry to a secret cave, where he has convinced the boy that he alone can save magic and Neverland itself. But a showdown between good and evil is about to go down as Emma, Mary Margaret, David, Regina, Mr. Gold and Hook find themselves directly on a path to Pan in an effort to save Henry. Meanwhile, back in the Fairy Tale Land that was, young Rumplestiltskin is given a magical item that could help him make a fresh start with his father – who has been anything but a good dad.

Main Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness

Past

This flashback may have one of OUAT’s most mature messages: Sometimes, family can be bad and they need to be cut away from you. There’s no hope of reconciliation and not even a removed heart to blame for it all. Sometimes, they’re just garbage people and trying to keep them in your life will only hurt you.

Malcolm’s abandonemt is one of the most malicious abandonments ever shown on the show. Like, had it not been for Gothel, it would probably be number 1. Malcolm sneers as he tells Rumple he’s the only thing holding him back and then just throws him to the metaphorical wolves. It’s the meanest kind of break up and making it familial just makes it so much sadder.

Present

Our present segment is kind of like “Into the Deep.” Like that episode, its character work is expressed not through more open-and-shut story, but through character interactions in the midst of plot progression. For a series like OUAT, I think these episodes are important because there’s always so much going on and this style keeps up the momentum of the season and of the two I’ve seen, I’ve liked them both!

It’s fantastic seeing everyone come together, flaws and and anger and all. We haven’t reached the “look how far we’ve come moment” yet, but the payoff is starting to emerge. We see bits of hope of reconciliation between Rumple and Neal, Neal forcing Rumple to do right by David, Neal and Killian working together better...yeah, there’s a lot of Neal, and I like that! Neal’s becoming a real favorite of mine and I’m really sad we’re gonna lose him soon.

But honestly, Pan is the true star of this episode again. What makes Pan such a good villain is how well he exploits tropes. He knows what buttons to press to make heroes do what he wants them to. “All heroes are tested.” He knew Henry would go tip over to his side with a line like that. Because Henry loves these tropes so well, Pan has been able to play him like a fiddle and that bit of manipulation is terrifying and fascinating.

Insights - Stream of Consciousness

-”Follow the lead, gents.” Not even being subtle (And I use subtle loosely), are we? XD

-”You’d be better off without him [Rumple’s Papa].” Fuck yeah, he would be!

-Wow, watching this again shows me just how much “The Black Fairy’s” flashback fucked us over. Like, here, Malcolm doesn’t outright detest Rumple, there are just a million things he’d rather do than take care of Rumple. In “The Black Fairy’s” flashback, well, he outright hates Rumple from the second he learns of Fiona’s fate.

-Pan’s influence and manipulation, not over just Henry, but all of the Lost Boys, is incredible!

-I fucking love the Spinsters. They are such sweet old ladies! They offer to teach Rumple and they’re so friendly! Rumple, stay with them forever. Tell Malcolm to fuck off!

-”Names always make things better.” FUCK. YOU.

-”I didn’t think I had any talent.” Damn! That is so sad! Baby Rumple went through a good chunk of his childhood without any real positive reinforcement. Like, I want to say what that does to a person, but we already know and...DAMNN.

-”Your father will always be your burden, Rumplestiltskin.” Honey, you don’t know the half of it.

-OMG! Malcolm did the Rumple laugh! I love this show!

-”But you trust me. Don’t you son?” “I want to.” Holy shit. That line could’ve come JUST AS EASILY out of Rumple and Bae’s mouths.

-Rumple’s family is so freakin’ ass-y with fathers and sons! Gideon, either don’t have kids or have those Belle genes kick themselves into high gear!

-”You suddenly interesting in what I have to say? Thought I wasn’t to be trusted.” Rumple, shut up. Your karma evaporated for a damn good reason! Don’t act hoity toity!

-”No deals, no favors, understand?” YESS KING! This is what I’m talking about with Neal. He’s not giving Rumple a fucking INCH and why should he? I said this before and I’ll say it again. Neal’s death had nothing to do with Emma but EVERYTHING to do with Rumple because Rumple would never be allowed to be sleazy again had Neal stayed alive.

-*Rumple grabs Killian’s sword right from his waist* *Jenna grins like a fucking idiot*

-”Thanks mate.” *A bro nod is exchanged* *Jenna grins harder*

-”You did that for me?” Let’s talk about this line. This fucking line! Neal never had anyone try to save him like this as a kid and now he learns that the Darling family was even more amazing than he ever thought! I love this show!

-”You told her I was dead?” NOT NOW, RUMPLE!

-”It was easier than telling the truth -- my own father abandoned me.” *Jenna cries like a little bitch*

-*Malcom falls* KARMA, BITCH!

-God, Malcolm is creepy as fuck as he remembers Neverland. He looks like he belongs in an asylum.

-”Well apparently, that’s the only thanks I need these days.” *sighs* You don’t get it now, Rumple, but you will in about four seasons.

-”You promise not to be long?” More like, “You promise not to BELONG?”

-“Because you don’t belong.” Holy crap! I wasn’t wrong!

-”Are you okay?” Neal, Emma just did a fucking back flip! You tell me!

-Blocking the moon out to get rid of shadows? Emma, you are a fucking genius! <3

-Is it any coincidence that I’m fucking humming “Brandy” while watching this episode? Damn, Guardians 2 hit me.

-”Oh, it’s for the best, Rumple.” Part of me isn’t sure if that’s the best bedside manner or not. On one hand, Fuck Malcolm with a rusty nail-covered bat. On the other hand, he’s an emotionally distraught child.

-”Pleasure to see you too, Baelfire.” Pan is such a little shit!

Arcs - How Are These Storylines Progressing?

The Mission to Save Henry - “We’re all going back. Together.” I love how everyone is together for the crescendo of the arc’s “climax” (Or one of like, three of them)! As I said before, it really delivers on the payoff promised at the end of Season 2 and the beginning of Season 3.

Emma Accepting Your Parents - “Maybe it’s just you rubbing off on me, but I refuse to believe that.” Until that line was said, to be honest, I was torn between being cynical of Emma for her rigid thoughts on family and her inability to understand the nuance of the situation and prideful in the character development she showed by fighting for her family. But once that line was said, I was on the latter side HARD! Also, this follows Emma’s line of thinking throughout the rest of the episode! She really wants to keep her parents!

Regina’s Redemption - Another small, yet big sign of Regina’s redemption is Regina apologizing for insinuating that Emma shouldn’t have rescued Neal right to Rumple’s face. Good job!!!

Killian’s Redemption - If my arch enemy called me a “cowardly pirate,” I wouldn’t smile. I’d gut him. I’m gonna give Killian points for being better than me in that regard!

Rumple’s Redemption - Rumple’s redemption is handled so well here! He’s still an asshole, almost charging David for the Dreamshade cure, but he’s really cooperating with the group because he knows he’s the center of a lot of bad blood. He’s trying to earn their trust because he knows Henry’s life means more than him being the top dog. And seeing him overcome his internal issues with Pan only to still lose hurts so much as a result!

Favorite Dynamic

The Nevengers and Rumple. Oh My Stars! The group teamup against Rumple was dramatic in the best way EVER. Just...everyone slowly making these points against Rumple as he weakly tries to throw a case for himself together was dramatic, tense, and incredible. All of Rumple’s bad karma comes to a head at the worst possible time and it is GLORIOUS! And the tense peace they reach is just as great! All of that distrust still remains, threatening to shake things up going forward. ”You life so much as a finger to perform magic, you’re gonna spend eternity in this box.” YESSS, Neal! And eventually, Rumple’s honorable decisions are recognized by Emma, Neal, and Regina!

Writer

David Goodman and Robert Hull are today’s writers and after their stellar start this season with “Nasty Habits,” I had high hopes for them. And they did a fantastic job here! Everything comes together very naturally, the dialogue is super en pointe, and the pacing for the packed story is just amazing!

Rating

Golden Apple. What an awesome episode. It’s a great rush seeing the final pieces come together for the grand Neverland rescue, seeing everyone work together as a team and sniping at each other while cooperating, and getting a great and comprehensive flashback at the same time! Also, everyone feels really intelligent and earnest to who they are and want to be, making this episode feel more real. It’s honestly such a great time watching it!

-----

Thank you for reading and sorry again for the smaller review. I got caught up by my backlog after coming home from the con and losing two of my review days, so it looks like you’ll probably be getting four reviews next week. Still, I promise I’ll make something a lot better for next time to redeem myself! In the meantime, I really appreciate your patience with me! <3

Also, thanks as always to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for putting this project together!

Season 3 Total (76/220)

Writer’s Scores: Adam and Eddy (19/60) Kalinda Vazquez (17/40) Andrew Chambliss (17/50) Jane Espenson (10/30) David Goodman (20/40) Robert Hull (20/40) Christine Boylan (10/20) Daniel Thomsen (10/30)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 3x08 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat

31 notes · View notes