#my anthology major waking up to speak

[thebaebushka]

Did you ever think about how post-romantic era vampire stories are modern fairy tales in the sense that they are the ghost of an archetypal concept within the human psyche of watching The merchant class marrying into the aristocracy and transform into colonialist empires?

How somehow vampires are both human and all powerful and the primary angst of most of the stories is the struggle between their humanity and the inhumanity that wealth and immortality can bring you, or how it's merged with Mary Shelley's questions about the struggling between whether you are preserver of of the humane & the collective or a destructor consumer of the humane & collective?

Vampires out here chilling just being hot and mortals who are actually the collective unconscious having some pretty big time angst about post industrial life and the place of things like manifest destiny within it.

[thefanficmonster]

Sign From The Past

Andrew/Abraham (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Spoilers for Little Hope, Swearing, Blood and Injury, Bus Crash (Mentioned)

Genre: Romance, A bit of Angst

Summary: Following the bus crash and the group of students and their professor getting stranded in the eerie town of Little Hope, Y/N and Andrew come to find out a lot about and themselves as in their thoughts and feelings as well as about each other. It does take a little push from the past to pass the threshold though.

Requested by �� Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was a real joy to write. Also thank you so much for your patience - I know the wait has been really long and I’m extremely sorry for that but I still hope you come across the fic and read it. If so, I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

Y/D/N - Your Double’s Name (Same first letter as your name)

Y/N stands behind John and observes as her professor is attempting to wake up the possibly concussed boy sitting on the ground with his back against the roof of the flipped bus they had all been safely seated in less than ten minutes ago. Her classmate and best friend Taylor’s struggling to fetch even the tiniest possible signal with her phone held up in the air, muttering curses under her breath. Two more classmates are unaccounted for at the moment but that’s not what’s bothering Y/N the most right now - maybe it’s messed up, but it’s true. 

The girls main attention and worry is focused on the boy who’s still unconscious. The boy she’s praying will wake up soon.

Being the only one with a med major, Y/N was quick to tend to any external wounds such as the cut on Andrew’s forehead which was rather deep but nothing to get too worked up about. There was not much she could do without a med-kit which made her feel utterly helpless and useless while John continuously reassured her Andrew and the rest of them would all be ok.

Come on, Andrew. Don’t scare us like this

As if overhearing her thoughts, Andrew’s eyes started fluttering open, causing Y/N’s heartbeat to pick up, her legs automatically carrying her closer to him, ducking down in front of him to get a good look at him.

She’s the first person his gaze lands upon before fluttering over to John. His eyebrow seems to raise ever so slightly before he looks at Y/N again, “Y/N, what happened? Who’s that?“

Her heart dropped and so did the smile that appeared on John’s face as a result of Andrew’s consciousness returning.

Overhearing Andrew’s question, Taylor quickly comes over as well, ducking down next to Y/N. “Rise and shine, Andy. We’re stuck in a ghost town, this is no time to be taking naps.”

Andrew scoffs, looking at Taylor, “Maybe you could run that back a bit cause I have no idea where I am or what on Earth happened.” His eyes shift back to you, “Any explanation would be nice, Y/N. Even a shitty one.”

Y/N sighs, “We were going on a fieldtrip and our bus crashed. This is our professor,” she points to John and then to Taylor, “And this is our classmate. Two others are with us but we don’t know where they are at the moment.”

The boy stays quiet for a moment, his gaze distancing and becoming unfocused to the point of scaring Y/N but then he starts talking, focusing again, “You’re a med major, so doc can you please tell me why the hell I remember none of what you just told me?“

Even though the girl is rather shocked by his memory of her and her major, she hurries to recompose herself and reply, “You’re just concussed, Andrew. Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly fine soon, nothing to panic over. I promise.”

Taylor snorts from next to her, cutting the tension, “Wow Andy, you know Y/N AND her major but you can’t even remember our names. Just wow!”

“Not everyone leaves the same impression on a person, Taylor.“ John says, looking between Y/N and Andrew knowingly.

“You got that one right professor.“ Taylor agrees, nudging Y/N’s shoulder with her own, sending a wink her best friend’s way despite the other girl desperately avoiding her gaze.

All she can really do is sit in the intense heat of her blush and hope it’s not as apparent as her crush on Andrew seems to be.

It’s gonna be one hell of a night, she thinks to herself.

If only she knew how right she was...

                                                            *  *  *

“Feeling any better? Any fatigue or nausea?“ Y/N asks Andrew as the two continue down the road, walking ahead of everybody else. This is a routinely question she’s been asking him every thirty or so minutes while hoping she wasn’t annoying him too much with it.

Luckily, he never made her feel like she was, always replying in a friendly, light-hearted manner and even with a hint of a smile, “No, I’m good, don’t worry.”

Right, as if Y/N had a switch to flip to turn her worry off. She’s always been the nurturing type. The one who always over-cares and is always over-kind. She’s been like that with everyone since forever. But with Andrew, though she refuses to admit it, it’s obviously a bit different and more intense.

Seeing as how she’s the only one he remembers, he’s been sticking by her side and gravitating towards her the whole night - much like she’s been doing as well. Little do they both know that even back on campus, in the gardens and the hallways of their college they’d somehow always end up finding one another and walking together to or from class. There are invisible magnetic forces between them, pulling them towards one another so subtly neither of them have noticed. Not yet, at least.

“Hey look! An old train station.“ Y/N points out, looking first to Andrew then turning around in search of the rest of their group members. Her heart drops when all her gaze lands upon is the thick fog that’s been following them everywhere they’ve gone so far and doesn’t seem to show any sign of thinning anytime soon.

Having noticed her mild distress at the absence of their professor and classmates, Andrew hurries to approach her, subconsciously resting a hand on her shoulder, “Hey, they’re probably right behind us, don’t freak out, ok?” His eyes stare into hers so convincingly that all she can do is nod. When she does so, he continues, “Ok, good. Let’s go into the station, see if we can find anything or anyone.” She nods again, praying the blush that’s appeared on her cheeks as a result of the physical contact isn’t visible in the faint light of the streetlight.

As the two turn to venture onward, Y/N nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels Andrew’s hand slide down her arm to take a hold of hers as if afraid he’d lose her in the dark. She tries not to pay too much mind to it and not read into it, biting her lip to suppress the involuntary smile that’s creeping up on her face.

Seeing this moment with the two so at peace and relaxed, the horrors felt mocked apparently and felt the need to intervene.

Just as the two students are about to pass the threshold into the station, a hand covered in cracked ashy skin takes hold of Andrew’s forearm, pulling him in the station.

And simultaneously into the past.

When him and Y/N come to they are shocked at the sight that greets them: themselves. The two of them are standing next to a horse carriage, wearing attire from centuries ago and speaking in hushed tones and whispers but loud enough to be understood at the distance they were at. Y/N and Andrew decide to stay quiet and avoid being spotted by them.

“Never have I thought I’d have to send you off such a way and for such a reason, Y/D/N.” The man who looks exactly like Andrew says, his head hanging low with disappointment, regret and sorrow.

“Abraham, listen to me, this is no fault of yours. You are doing what you think will keep me from harm and I’m grateful with all my heart. I just worry the Reverend will find out you had something to do with me...“

“I’d regret not a single thing even if he did find out.“ The man, Abraham apparently, cuts the girl - Y/D/N - off, his eyes coming up to meet hers again, his hand taking hold of hers. The girl looks around nervously as if to make sure she’s got permission to hold the hand of the man she clearly loves, but then just nods in gratitude.

“I’m forever in your debt, Abraham, thank you.“ She says, bowing her head now too.

“Do not thank me, Y/D/N, and do not speak such nonsense as debt. I would rather die seen as a betrayer of God than see you burnt at the steak or hanged. My lover is no witch and won’t be treated like one till the day I draw my last breath.“

With that Abraham and Y/D/N share one final hug before he helps her up on the carriage which takes off in a direction where Y/N and Andrew see nothing but darkness.

And just like that, the two present versions of those people, are put back where they belong - in the present, surrounded by fog and darkness as previously. The surroundings that previously gave them an uneasy feeling now make them feel comfort because of their familiarity.

“You ok?“ Y/N jumps when Andrew’s hand’s hold on her tightens ever so slightly as if to free her from the web of confusion and fear.

She nods then shakes her head but manages to let out an affirmative hum to reassure him. “You?”

Andrew repeats the same motion she did - a nod followed by a shake of the head, “Yes and no, if I’m being honest. And on the topic of honesty: I haven’t been at the peak of mine as of recent.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, “What do you mean?“

The boy lets out a heavy sigh that is meant to prepare him for what he’s about to say. What he’s about to confess to. “There’s plenty of things I haven’t told you. Things I refused to tell myself too...”

“Andrew, sorry but, I’ve had it with puzzles and riddles all night long. Can you please be straight-forward, I promise I won’t freak out or anything.“

Despite still being hesitant on the matter, Andrew decides to listen to Y/N’s advice - or rather request - and nods before continuing, “You’re one of my best friends, Y/N, I hope you know that and I trust you and I care for you and...and I just tonight came to understanding that it was always something...more than a friend. More than a best friend. I’m sorry if this makes you feel weird or awkward or if you don’t feel the same way please don’t cushion the rejection or pity me. I just...” As he’s talking he makes the mistake of looking her in the eyes which are giving him the most unimpressed look which gets him to shut up asap.

“If you didn’t already have a head injury I’d smack you.“ She says, eyes narrowed, “Andrew, I’m sorry, but you have to be one of the densest and most oblivious guys I’ve ever met. Like, you’re up there at Daniel’s level when he refused to believe Taylor liked him back. That’s how high up you’re on the scale.“

Her words confuse him, leaving him to process all that she’s said until some type of realization hit him. Only one is turning up and he refused to believe it cause it seems so impossible to him.

“I like you too, you dumbass.“ She says, a smile on her face hiding the tons of exhaustion he’d been seeing on it for the past few hours.

“FUCKING FINALLY!“ The familiar voice of no one but Taylor arises from somewhere behind the couple who have now found themselves at a closer proximity than before, arms automatically reaching for the other to take them in their embrace.

Fucking finally indeed, Taylor.

[heejinnien]

p.jimin | lie

word count: 2.1k words

pairing: jimin x reader

synopsis: there is a thin dichotomy between reality and delusion.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: implied major character death, prison, vivid description of gore, reference to murder, implied/subtle sexual innuendo

author’s note: this is the second piece for the wings anthology! this is another horror fic, and i didn’t realize it was over 2k words ksjfjgsdf. the keep reading cut is at the beginning like my last few works since this fic gets right into it

link to wings anthology

cross posted to ao3 here

Beneath the silhouette of your eyelids, you see red.

Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s blood, painting the white walls of your imagination and coating your nose with the tangy smell of copper and iron. It coats your hands, too, a dark, angry shade of crimson that makes your stomach lurch. No matter how hard you scrub at yourself, the fluid remains.

Among the throes of your panic, it takes a moment for you to realize that there is someone else in the room with you. Instinctively, you know who it is, heart pounding. He is facing away from you, laid on his side, and you take a tentative step in his direction.

“Jimin?” When he doesn’t respond, panic seizes you. You scramble as fast as you can in his direction, the discomfort of your hands stained scarlett long forgotten. When you reach him, you drop to your knees so fast that the impact sends a jarring impulse through your body. You quickly roll him so that he is facing you, and let out a guttural scream.

Where Jimin’s throat should be, there is a visceral, gaping hole. Blood pours out of the wound, coating your arms and knees with the thick, vermilion shade. Jimin’s eyes are open and glassy, wide and unseeing. You shake his shoulders furiously despite the crimson ichor spraying everywhere, splattering your face and chest, grief spreading through your veins like an icy current.

“Jimin,” you sob, your strength giving out until you collapse, body hunched over that of your lovers.

You wake up with your heart pounding in your throat, furiously scrubbing at your hands. You quickly reach for the lamp on your bedside table, yanking the chain hanging down so hard you almost pull the lamp off. In the lamp’s waxy lighting, you examine your hands, turning them over and searching signs of blood.

Beside you, you feel the bed shift, and strong arms wrap themselves around you. Jimin gently strokes your hair, covering your trembling hands with one of his own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers. He stays like this until your breathing evens and your racing heart can slow to a strolling pace. “It was that dream again, wasn’t it?”

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. You revel in the warmth that Jimin’s presence provides, blanketing you in a cloak of reassurance. You wish you could stay like this forever, wrapped within the warmth of your love.

Cold seeps under the edge of your comforter, sending a shiver to wrack through your body. A cocktail of unease and wrongness fills your stomach, and Jimin’s arms tighten around you.

“Hey, everything will be okay,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper, unable to describe the feelings inside you.

“Go back to sleep,” Jimin says, gently shifting himself so that you are lying beside each other once more. He leans forward, gently kissing your lips. What should feel right instead feels so wrong, his lips ice cold against yours. “I’ll be here to protect you from the nightmares.”

It’s not me who needs protecting, you think, closing your eyes and letting darkness devour you.

~~

When you open your eyes, Jimin is gone. You blink blearily, rubbing your eyes to clear the haze that settled upon them in your sleep. You had slept dreamlessly, feeling more fatigued than before. Your fingers seek out Jimin’s side of the bed, reaching for him before you can even form a coherent thought, but they are met with cold air.

“Jimin?”

You sit up, and that’s when you realize that you’re not in your bed.

Instead, you’re resting upon a thin cot sitting low upon the ground. A thin, cotton blanket covers you, and metal bars and grey, concrete walls greet you. Panic fills you, and you quickly throw off the mediocre blanket, rushing to the bars and pressing yourself against them, looking for anyone who can answer your questions.

“Hello?” You yell, banging your fist against the metal bars in the hopes that someone will hear you. “Is anyone there?”

“Shut up.” You leap back in shock as a man rounds the corner, standing on the opposite side of the bars. He is wearing a blue, button down shirt and black pants, and around his waist is a black belt.

It’s a cop, you think, relief flooding you. He’ll be able to answer your questions.

“I’m sorry, but, there must be some mistake,” you say quickly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

The man laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “Sure, and I’m supposed to be on Mars.”

He turns, muttering under his breath about deranged criminals. Desperation seizes you, and you lunge forward, reaching your hand through the bars in an attempt to stop the man from leaving.

“Please, I’m not supposed to be here.” You grab the man’s sleeve, ignoring his shout. “I’m sure my husband is wondering where I am — ”

Before you can finish, the man is grabbing your wrist, twisting it painfully. You let out a yell as he yanks it, causing you to lurch forward and slam into the bars painfully. He leans forward, hissing angrily.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of delusion you’re under, but you’re in prison, just in case you haven’t figured that out already. You’re here for murder, and if I were you, I would be really careful about my next moves. Never touch me again.”

The man releases your wrist angrily, throwing it towards you and causing your hand to smack violently against the metal bars. You let out a hiss as he turns, stalking away.

The pain quickly fades to the back of your mind as you ponder the guard’s words. You rub absentmindedly at your quickly reddening hand. Murder? You aren’t capable of that. You need to find Jimin, he’ll tell you what’s going on.

You retreat into your cell, pacing anxiously. You need to find someone who will believe you, you think, so that you can sort this whole mistake out.

You don’t have to wait long. Another man wearing a similar outfit to the first slams on the bars of your cell moments later. You jump, freezing and staring at him. The man laughs, inserting keys into the lock on your cell door.

“Who are you?” You demand, voice shaky.

The man laughs, picking up on the tremor in your voice and giving you a cocky smile. “My name is Hoseok. I’m sure you’ll get really familiar with it.” He winks, and disgust fills you. You step back as he swings the door to your cell open, cocking an eyebrow at your actions. “Don’t make me come in there after you, sweetheart.”

You dread having him drag you out of the cell more than you do being near him, so you slowly walk through the cell’s door. Your curious gaze darts all around, taking in the rows of cells around you and the long hallway. You are so preoccupied you don’t notice Hoseok’s actions until you hear a clicking sound, and the cold weight of handcuffs around your wrists.

You whirl, glaring at Hoseok, and he does his best to give you an innocent shrug. “Standard protocol,” he says in defense. “Don’t want another repeat of earlier, do we?”

You flush at his reference to the guard earlier, and he chuckles, taking one of your arms and guiding you down the hall. While most of the cells around you are empty, a few are occupied, and several curious occupants stare at you as you pass. You walk faster, eager to escape their stares, and Hoseok matches your pace, bemused.

You turn right, and he guides you down a nearby hallway, pausing in front of another barred door. He releases his grip on you long enough to fumble with his keys and unlock the door, pushing it open with his hip and pulling you through after him.

On the other side of the door is a small room. A table rests in the center, and seated at it is a kind looking man. Hoseok leads you to the table, pushing you unceremoniously into a chair and chaining your handcuffs to the table. He leaves promptly after, the slamming of the door signaling his disappearance.

There is a slight pause, and the man stares at you, silently assessing you. You shift uncomfortably, the chain binding you to the table clinking, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

“Y/N,” the man finally says, resting his hands on a manilla envelope in front of him. “I’m Dr. Kim, but you can call me Namjoon.” He gives you a gentle smile. “I’m here to assess whether you are menally competent to stand trial.”

Alarm rings within your head. “Trial for what? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Namjoon remains silent, staring at you as if assessing whether or not you are lying. Finally, he speaks slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

“What’s your last memory, Y/N?” He asks, staring at you in a cautious way that makes your skin prickle. You wrack your brain, attempting to formulate an answer.

“I was coming home from work.” Namjoon nods, and you continue. “I had just got home, and I was kicking my shoe off when I heard voices in the kitchen. I investigated, and I saw Jimin with another woman.”

You swallow, throat dry, as you remember the intense flash of anger you had felt. You’re not sure why, and you assume there must have been a reason you felt angry. While you speak, Namjoon slowly opens the manilla file, reaching inside and placing papers from within facedown on the table. When you pause, Namjoon stares at you again, silently assessing.

“What were Jimin and the women doing?” He asks, voice probing.

“I, I’m not sure — ” You stutter, brows furrowing. The memory is hazy, and you close your eyes, chasing after it.

“He had his back to me,” you say slowly, piecing together the memory. “And she — ”

Your eyes fly open as the memory comes rushing back to you. Namjoon stares at you, face unreadable, and you force yourself to continue.

“They were making out,” you whisper softly, staring at the table in front of you in denial.

In the table’s reflection, Namjoon nods, every action clinical and professional. “Did that make you angry enough to murder him?”

“What?” You snap your head up, indignation filling you. “Of course not.”

Namjoon hums, noncommittal. He reaches for the first paper he had set down, flipping it over and sliding it towards you. You reach for it, picking it up

And promptly dropping it, horror filling you.

In the photograph, your husband lies on the kitchen floor, in full color resolution, dead. Where Jimin’s throat should be, there is a visceral, gaping hole. Blood pours out of the wound, coating your arms and knees with the thick, vermilion shade. Jimin’s eyes are open and glassy, wide and unseeing.

“No,” you say, shaking your head adamantly and squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the press of reality. “It can’t be.”

You hear a rustling sound, and you know Namjoon has slid another photograph towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, and you hear Namjoon sigh.

“Open your eyes, Y/N,” he says. His tone is commanding, forceful, and against your will you open your eyes.

You are met with another bloody photograph. This one is of a woman. The woman you had seen with Jimin. Like Jimin, her throat has been torn out. Unlike Jimin, there is a similar hole where her heart should be. Her eyes are wide in horror, and blood stains her hair.

“You did this, Y/N,” Namjoon says simply. His voice is quiet, but it’s as if he spoke in a yell, his words piercing you.

“No,” you say, vehemently. “I couldn’t have.”

“Yes, you did,” Namjoon says, forcing you to accept the terrible truth. “You murdered your husband when you saw him having an affair, and then you murdered the woman you saw him with. The police found you with the knife still in your hands.”

“I — ”

You let out an inhuman wail and lunge towards Namjoon. You are stopped abruptly by the chain handcuffing you down, and Namjoon watches you with pity filled eyes as guards quickly rush into the room, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you back as you scream, the sound one of heartbreak and anguish as the reality of your actions crashes down upon you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Namjoon whispers, a tear sliding down his cheek from your pure anguish as you are dragged from the room.

taglist: @chubsjmin

[everydisneymovie]

Review #19: Alice in Wonderland

Post #22

6/18/2020

Next up is 1951′s Alice In Wonderland

Enjoyment : [3]

I did not have much fun watching this movie. I almost quit halfway through to watch 1988′s Alice out of pure boredom. This movie is charming when it is being artistic, but there is very little to hold onto in terms of story or character. I understand that the source material is very unstructured and more a series of short vignettes, but that style brings out the very worst in Disneys narrative laziness. Characters show up, contribute nothing, and then leave. Alice has no clear goals for a majority of the movie, her chasing of the white rabbit isn’t even prompted by anything. A simple scene showing that the rabbit dropped his handkerchief and Alice was trying to return it would have improved my investment 200% at least. Alice only seems to be motivated by boredom, and because she treats this world as a dream with no consequences there are not stakes until the red queen shows up. The visuals are great but not enough to make me care about it.

Quality : [4]

The animation is standard for Disney. The colors and character designs are closer to movie quality than the anthology films, but there still isn’t on the level of Bambi or Snow White. Some characters are wonderfully animated like the playing card guards and the signing flowers, but other characters feel very... how do I say this? It feels like Disney saw the word “mad” in the original book and just replaced it with “stupid” Characters are drawn with big noses, droopy eyes, speak with lisps, have their tongues hanging out and their words are slurred. The world of Wonderland does not feel like a surreal dream world running on moon logic, it feels like a bunch of drunk assholes breaking stuff as they stumble back home. The story structure is non existence and there is next to no set or pay off for anything or anyone, resulting in a movie that feels immature, not mad. The tone of Alice in Wonderland is the key component, since the story is just “Alice encounters someone wacky, continues walking, repeat.” The tone of this movie is more annoying than it is silly and that makes for a very poor viewing experience.

Hold up : [4]

Right away I noticed how limp the morals behinds this story were. Alice is framed as a ditzy dreamer who wishes for excitement and the world to be a bit more ‘mad’. Normally that would be sort of a monkeys paw situation, where she gets what she wants and learns it isn’t so great. But Alice is not be unreasonable, from what VERY little we see at the beginning her life is a bit boring and she is a bit distracted. Even if it is all a dream her being punished with decapitation for the crime of ‘being a bit bored one day’ seems a little harsh. It also feels very odd for the moral to be “don’t daydream kids, do your homework and don’t ever wish for anything out of the ordinary” coming from a company trying to build a brand on whimsy and fantasy. The movie has nothing too offensive beyond that, but there really is not substance to this movie at all, and that is disappointing. A message about the importance of imagination would have been so easy to push but they don’t even do that.

Risk : [4]

I will give Disney credit, Alice in Wonderland is a risk to adapt, and telling a purely visual story with such unique imagery was a leap of faith. The setting lends itself to great visuals but Disney has not had a great record telling compelling narratives and this was never going to be a movie that highlighted their strengths. I think Disney was too safe and too afraid to really go all out with this movie and thus is ends up feeling cute rather than stunning. They needed to take bigger risks and make this movie really unusual if they wanted to make it their own.

Extra Credit : [4]

I will give credit to the flower song, the cheshire cat, and the animation of the card guards. Those three moments were stunning and Disney really showed what they can do with their movies. However those were maybe 10 minutes total of a 75 minute movie and the rest was just boring.

Final thoughts:

I will state again, Disney replaced ‘Madness’ with ‘Stupidity’ in this movie and it dragged the whole project into the mud. Characters who should be acting strange just act annoying. Moments that should play as silly instead play as obnoxious. A good Alice in Wonderland story should feel like a waking dream. Colors flow into each other, things feel comforting and scary at the same time, snippets of larger places whizz by before we can register them... This movie was just a bunch of cartoon characters shouting really loudly while hitting things with hammers. I cannot stress how many times a character will just be ‘stupid’ and nothing else. It was genuinely weird to see how many characters were animated with their tongues sticking out as they flopped around and made fart noises. This does not feel like madness, it feels like the movie doesn’t care. You can have a movie with stupid characters, the important part is to not treat your audience like they are stupid as well. I was really disappointed with this movie since so many scenes are still vivid in my memory. I am sad to say it isn’t worth revisiting and you can skip it.

Total Score: 19/50

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[the-unconquered-queen]

Please I wanna know more about your thoughts on Dan x mc relationship. I know its been age since ILITW ended but this is a hill I will die on. Like, I didn't romance anyone else on this book. If I couldn't have him then I didn't want anybody else, ����

oKAY, we’re going for it

This is the first time I’ve ever put an answer to an ask under a read more. That should really tell you something about me and about what you’re about to be subjected to.

I would like to start this off by saying that I couldn’t care less about when it ended because it is ALWAYS It Lives hours on my blog and that’s never gonna change. But let’s get into this:

I completely understand why Dan wasn’t an LI. It’s not the same case as with, say, Noah, who’s such a prominent character in the book they could’ve easily added him. Even though Dan’s influence is strong in the series - seeing how his absence brought the group together when they worked to save him - the actual Dan was in a coma for a sizable portion of the book, which would’ve frustrated his romancers to no end. This is why if you look up fan made Dan x MC content, most of it takes place after the events of the book (not including the epilogue), not during them, because at that point, there wasn’t much to go on.

I think that if ILitW had had a sequel that wasn’t an anthology, so a second book with the same MC focused on the same group (which obviously can’t happen because of all the possible combinations of deceased/survivors in book 1), Dan could’ve been made an actual LI in that second book, or maybe players would’ve gotten the first romantic dialogue at the end of book 1 if PB knew they were gonna commit to giving him a route in the sequel. The seeds are all there in the first book, from how close they were in their backstory to how that closeness seemed to linger ten years later even though they’d barely spoken during that time. Dan admitted to never talking to people about his struggles because he was worried people would think differently of him, but with a little bit of encouragement from MC, he opened up to them, which shows a very strong bond between them, which could easily turn romantic in his hypothetical route. I mean, he’d known Stacy for as long as he’d known MC, had interacted more with her since she was the only one who kept in touch with him out of the group and was concerned about his well-being, and yet it was MC he trusted with his feelings.

Also, like I said earlier, the way he spoke of them when they were kids in his scene suggests (to me, at least) that, after Jane, Dan was the one MC was closest to out of everyone in the group. And when, after not speaking to MC for ages, they show up at the orientation he’s attending and tell him they went solely because they knew he’d be there and they missed him, he thought they were joking, but was genuinely happy when they told him they were serious because he felt the same way, which shows that even though they had a falling out that lasted a decade, they easily fell back into a familiar friendly rhythm after just a minute together. Now, as much as I love this ship, I’m not really entirely sold on the idea of Dan having had a crush on MC since they were eight and having it last well into their senior year of high school, but I believe that their easy bond would’ve been a major factor in him developing that crush, and maybe it would’ve already existed by the time the orientation scene took place, only strengthening when they got to actually spend time together when they properly reunited.

But giving it some thought, I doubt he and MC would be a couple right away. I mean, Dan’s been through a lot, and he probably wouldn’t be in the right place to be in a relationship as soon as everything ended, even if he started healing after what happened in the cave. It’s possible that he and MC would’ve mutually acknowledged their feelings to each other so they’d know they were reciprocated but not actually acting on them for a while, just until Dan feels like he’s in a better place to do the relationship and get it right, because I can’t imagine him disregarding that just because he wants to be with MC so bad and then the relationship falling apart because it was too soon, too hasty, and MC would for sure understand that they’d need to take their time to make it work out. 

I feel like even before they got together, MC would be good at reading Dan’s moods when he has off days, knowing when he needs company or someone to talk to and when he just needs space, and they don’t take offense to Dan not being in the mood to talk sometimes because they’d understand that even though Redfield is gone, that doesn’t mean that he’d just go back to what he was like before the PTSD and everything else happened. Dan does the same in return, since he knows MC went through more than their fair share of bad stuff, but he’d also have to learn to navigate that, like I said in my other ask, there would be times when MC might wake up from a nightmare and he’d try to comfort them and find that MC somehow looks even more freaked out and then it dawns on him that MC might be having a flashback of when a dirt monster wore his face in their room and he’d have to talk them down and tell them it’s him.

Moving AWAY FROM THE ANSGT, an established, dating Dan and MC would be such a cute couple. If it happened in-game, the “define the relationship” talk would end with them kissing while the overhead achievement banner reads “Dynamic Duo” (guess why). I feel like it would be a chill relationship in the sense that they didn’t go straight from acquaintances to lovers, since they had a lot of history together being friends for a long time before dating, so they’d be so at ease with each other’s presence and so used to it that they wouldn’t need to be like some of the couples in their high school who’d need to always have their hands all over each other or constantly making out for you to tell they’re in love, because they could do the most low-key stuff and still be happy together.

They’re probably actual relationship goals. Dan would make such a caring boyfriend, always making small gestures that make MC smile, a real Pinterest-type boyfriend. You ever see those pictures of football players running to kiss their partners on the stands? Yeah, that’d be him, because you know MC would show up to every single game and be his personal cheerleader.

MC would probably get along well with Dan’s parents, too, since I bet his mom would be really grateful that Dan’s got someone close to him he can open up to and who makes him so happy. He and MC would probably have stay-in dates where they just cuddle up close and watch Star Trek while Dan’s cat is curled up and purring between them, and Dan’s mom probably makes them mac and cheese because MC missed her cooking from when they would all go to the Pierces’ for lunch. And when they do their stay-in dates at MC’s place instead, MC always pretends to get upset when their cat wants to be on Dan’s lap instead of theirs, but really they love it because, hello, cute boy being cute with animals? They fall deeper in love with him every time. Also, imagine some time later, MC and Dan’s cats having kittens and then they’re trying to co-parent a couple of furry little babies. No, seriously, imagine Dan sitting on the floor while a bunch of tiny kittens try to climb all over him. Get that mental image in there.

At this point I have written a lot about how much I love Dan and I am fully aware that I’m rambling BUT I JUST THOUGHT OF MORE. Okay, you know the iconic Dan x MC Captain Incredible team up? Imagine Dan and MC slaying every single couples’ costume contest ever. They coordinate that stuff so well that they just own Halloween and nobody stands a chance. I mean, I did say they were goals, didn’t I?

And then of course there’s MC being so completely supportive of him when he starts seriously thinking about pursuing psychology as a career to help people cope with trauma. I mean, they know how complicated his own journey was and they are so proud of him for choosing to dedicate his life to that, since his caring nature is one of their favorite things about him. They probably help him prepare for his exams by setting up study dates to keep him motivated and working so he can make his career happen, and he’s just as supportive when it comes to whatever MC chooses to do.

Oookay, not that I don’t have lots of feelings about this, you know, ‘cause I really just went on and on about how I feel about Dan off the top of my head without any organization whatsoever, but I deadass thought “hey, this is a very long response” and put it through a word count and it is, no joke, over 1.4k words, so I really should stop talking now because people are gonna forget that my brand was supposed to be stanning Andy x MC, but the gist of it is Dan x MC is an amazing pairing, even it It Lives in the Woods didn’t explore the romantic potential there.

[tibbinswrites]

Prompt #26

It’s my birthday!!!

So I got you all a present. That’s how birthdays work, right? I wrote you this fic. Prompt #26 on my list because guess how old I am?!

Fair warning: Major Character Death. I made myself cry.

I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #26, #33, #77, #78, #170 (part 1), (part 2), (part 3), #327 and #502 and I’m not accepting any more prompts at this time.

Also, check out the destiel anthology I’m in. We’re 119% funded and saving for hardback so if you want one, get one!

Prompt #26. Afterlife

Getting old sucked. Ever since Dean had found his first grey hair and noticed that the wrinkles around Sam’s eyes weren’t going away when he stopped smiling, Dean had realised that he might actually get to experience old age. It was a thoughts that settled uncomfortable behind his sternum, though he knew it wasn’t exactly bad. They’d defeated Chuck, after all, and only a couple of years after that, Dean had called it quits and retired from hunting… mostly. He’d help out if there was a case in their neck of the woods, Sam always called him first so he could call dibs or pass as he pleased. At least he had, until Sam himself had retired with Eileen and they’d passed the reigns on to the younger generation.

That was just fine by Dean. Sam and Eileen now lived only a couple of blocks away, the bunker a place none of them had been to in years, though sometimes they got visits from the younger hunters, wanting to gawk or advice or to hear some of the Winchesters’ greatest hits, which Dean was always happy to oblige and he and Sam had a tally going of which one of the brothers they’d come to see (Sam was winning, but barely). He liked seeing the way their eyes bugged out when Cas brought out a plate of sandwiches and dropped a kiss to Dean’s hair before settling next to him on the couch, his hands taking Dean’s left in his own so he could fiddle with the ring he’d put there nearly thirty years before.

Now, Cas was the worse part of this getting old deal, because Cas wasn’t. Or… he was, his grace had been irreparably damaged over the years, but slowly. Cas still looked like he was only barely approaching fifty, while Dean had come to realise that he was a shrivelled-up eighty-eight-year-old.

Despite Cas’ assurances that it made no difference to him, that he was still older than Dean by millennia anyway, that his soul was still as beautiful as it had been, Dean still sometimes found himself staring into the mirror in dismay, then looking over at his still-gorgeous husband and feeling even worse. Especially when Dean had had to convince Cas to pretend that he was a carer out in public, or his son, or something that would make more sense than him, a raisin of a human, being married to an angel (formerly of the Lord, now of humanity) who just wasn’t ageing at the same rate and both of them being happier than either had dared imagine for themselves.

Dean watched Cas from his chair while he puttered around outside. Before they’d even finished unpacking their meagre belongings after moving in, Cas had started working on the garden. There was a small beehive at the very back, and lots of decorative birdbaths and birdfeeders they had been gifted with over the years and the plants themselves were an explosion of colour. Dean couldn’t really make it out there on his own anymore. There were a few stone steps to get down into it from the house that he struggled with now and thing was practically a jungle, with roots and uneven ground that was pretty perilous for a man of his age. There was no lawn to speak of, the grass was always too long and there were more trees and plants than open spaces. It was beautiful to look at though, and sometimes in the summer Cas would carry him out to the bench (that was nowhere near the beehive) and they would sit together and watch the birds and insects flutter by, and despite being surrounded by suburbia, they were perfectly alone, a place of calm, like the lake near the bunker they’d gone to years ago.

He got nostalgic a lot, and bitter with it sometimes. And though he didn’t regret the way his life had turned out, not at all, he missed feeling like he had something, anything, to give back to Cas in return for loving him. He couldn’t offer to help around the house anymore. He was confined to his chair most of the time. Cas carried him to bed and helped him hobble to the bathroom and cooked for him and put up with his crotchety-ness when his knees were bothering him. He made sure Dean took all his pills on time and read to him when his eyes wouldn’t focus properly and sign to him when his ears were fuzzy and drove him over to visit Sam and Eileen twice a week. And he still looked at Dean in a way that made his heart melt, like he was beautiful, and just as capable and strong as he’d been at thirty, and not the pile of brittle bones that he had become.

Cas saw him watching through the window and smiled, as though seeing Dean sat where Cas had gently placed him a few hours ago was the best surprise he could have hoped for. Dean shook his head and smiled back. Even after all these years Cas was still a giant romantic dork. It was good to see him smile. He’d been kind of mopey for the past week, though wouldn’t answer when Dean asked him what was wrong.

He came back in soon after that, though he’d only been out for around fifteen minutes. He brought Dean a bowl of soup for lunch and sat with him with his own bowl, telling him how the hive was doing and which flowers had just begun to bud. Dean listened to it all, just letting Cas’ voice brush through him, as soft as his grace.

“Claire called this morning.” Cas informed him. “She and Kaia are planning a trip to Athens next month for their anniversary.”

“Well it’s lucky for some,” Dean said with a smile. “I’ll bet Alex and Patience are jealous.”

“Livid,” Cas agreed. “Claire was very pleased. She’s hoping they might run into ‘something cool’.” Cas’ fingers quoted the last two words. “So I daresay they’ll spend a few days looking for a hunt.”

“And how’s Donna?”

“As well as can be expected. Alex is staying with her for a little while, you know.”

“Yeah.”

Cas had driven them to the funeral a few months back. Jody had died peacefully, surrounded by her wife and her girls, but it was still hard on all of them. Especially Donna and Claire. Jody had been kick-ass even as a pensioner, getting into trouble with the local law enforcement when she decided to voice her complaints about their ‘sloppy new police tactics’. Dean had been sad to say goodbye.

“I think you should call Sam.” Cas said once they were done eating, though Dean hadn’t even managed half of the soup; he missed the days he could devour seven grilled cheeses in quick succession.

One hand still holding Dean’s, the other playing through his wispy, white hair. At least he hadn’t gone bald like his grandfather, though Sam had followed in Samuel’s eggheaded footsteps, which was a fact that Dean never tired of teasing him about.

“Why? We were over there the other day.”

“I know, but… It’s nice to check in. I’ll get you the phone.”

Bewildered, Dean stared as Cas unstuck himself from his side and went to pick up the cordless phone. He dialled and held the phone to his ear, turning his back to Dean and talking quietly so he couldn’t hear or even attempt to lip read what was being said. That was weird.

“Here.” Cas said, a few minutes later, handing Dean the phone before kissing him on the cheek and gathering up the trays from lunch. “You talk to Sam and I’ll clean up.”

“You’re being weird.” Dean told him, but dutifully held the phone to his ear anyway. “Hey Sammy.”

“Hey Dean.” Sam’s voice cracked a little over the words. “How are you feeling?”

“Old,” Dean replied. You?”

“Four years younger.” Sam said, and Dean could hear the smartass grin through the phone.

“Hello, Dean,” came Eileen’s voice.

“No!” Dean said firmly. “I’m not falling for that again. Sam, tell Eileen I say hi and that she’s been pulling the same joke for the past forty years.”

“And you fell for it for the past thirty-nine of them.”

There was a pause, probably while Sam signed something to his wife because he heard her laugh.

“What did Cas wanna talk to you about anyway?” Dean asked. “And why doesn’t he know by now that he can just call you without pretending that I need to talk to you.”

“He’s just paying back the favour.” Sam said, a little too quickly. “It used to be that I was the one playing messenger between the two of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Why do I feel like you’re planning a surprise birthday party or something?”

“That’s exactly it. We forgot to do that in January. You know what my memory’s like now.”

“It’s from all those concussions you got.” Dean said, falling easily back into their old banter. Cas was right, talking with Sam was just what he needed. Sure, they still saw each other a lot, but over the phone he could almost kid himself that they weren’t as old as they looked, and even if they were… then it wasn’t that bad. Because he and Sam had made it through. Against all odds, through Hell and Heaven and Purgatory, they’d stared down monsters, ghosts, angels, demons and God and they’d beaten them all. They were the Winchesters and they’d survived.

Sure, this old age crap sucked, but every day he got to wake up next to the person he loved, knowing that his brother was doing the same. He got to hear stories from the hunters who came to visit, about new weapons they’d developed, new hunters they’d recruited, new lore they’d discovered. He got to hear how the fight was continuing without them and it was kinda nice to not be needed any more. He knew that he’d done his part, given all he had, and still ended up with a life worth bragging about. He didn’t worry about nightmares anymore, didn’t wake up drowning in guilt over things that were long over and done with. He’d made peace with his mistakes years ago, and he’d also learned to appreciate his victories.

His conversation with Sam lasted longer than he’d expected. They ended up, as most of their conversations did, reminiscing on old times. Mostly because there was so little present news happening. The world was quiet, for which they were both grateful, and they had more than earned the right to allow it to pass them by.

But this conversation felt different to the one they’d shared just the other day. Heavier almost. Sure, they laughed and poked fun at each other, just like they always had, even brothers in their eighties were still brothers after all, but Sam told him a few things that he was sure had never come up before, things like how grateful Sam was that Dean had raised him like he had, how he’d known all along the things he’d sacrificed so that he could have as normal a childhood as possible, even growing up as a hunter. He confessed how pleased he’d been to see him at Stanford, even knowing that it meant trouble, and other little moments like it. After hunts when Dean had been hurt, how terrified Sam had been every time. And when Sam got hurt, how much it had helped knowing that Dean was the one patching him up. He told a dozen different stories that emphasised how brave Sam thought he was, how kind, how smart, and he wouldn’t let Dean scoff off those compliments like he usually did.

Sam’s openness inspired his own and he found himself confessing things in kind. It felt good, cleansing, like a too-hot bath, and despite how stilted and slightly uncomfortable the entire conversation was, he was glad Cas had suggested the call.

Eventually, they both seemed to run out of things to say.

“Well, I should probably go,” Dean said. “But we’ll come visit on Tuesday like usual, kay?”

To his surprise, Sam sniffed, and it sounded like he was about to cry. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Love you, jerk.”

“You too, bitch.”

He ended the call and glanced up at Cas, who had returned about an hour ago with a book, though instead of reading it, he was watching Dean.

Dean frowned at him, thinking about how weird Cas had been acting, how today he’d barely left him alone, how he’d caught him up on all the latest family news and made him call Sam. He remembered something Cas had told him years ago, when they’d first begun to let themselves truly love each other, how angels could sense when someone was dying.

“Today’s the day, isn’t it?” He asked.

Cas looked stricken for a moment, then he put the book aside and came back to sit at Dean’s side, curling around him like the world’s most careful question mark. “Yes.”

Dean reached out to grasp his hand. “Thank you. For making me talk to Sam.”

Cas just squeezed his frail fingers.

“Maybe I should’ve cut back on the burgers after all.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean conceded. “But this has been nice though. Our life. Our, post-hunting life.”

“Our together life,” Cas said, his breath soft against Dean’s neck. “Yes, it has.”

“I love you.”

“And it still takes a deathbed for you to say it,” Cas joked, as though Dean hadn’t made a point to say it at least once a day since they’d been married. “I love you too.”

“So, what happens… after?” He had to ask, despite knowing, he had to ask. Because he’d known this day was coming in a far-off kind of sense, and he’d died more often than he cared to count, but knowing that this was it, this would be his final trip over to the other side, well… he was a little apprehensive.

“I’ll find you.” Cas promised. “I’ll need you to wait for me a little while. I have to make the arrangements here and—”

“And be there for Sam.”

“Of course.” Cas said easily. “But as soon as I can, perhaps a week or two, I’ll find you; and we’ll keep… not-living a together afterlife.”

“I’ll like that.” Dean said, just as a sharp pain prodded at his chest.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of visitors too,” Cas said. “Jack will make sure we have plenty of channels between Heavens. The last we spoke he said he was excited to see you again.”

“Be nice to see him too.” Dean said, though he was finding it hard to breathe; Cas stroked his hair and the touch was nice. “And the rest.”

The last thing he felt on Earth was Cas’ lips brushing his skin, and Dean Winchester drifted off, content in his angel’s arms; knowing that this was right, that he was ready, and that when he woke up back in his thirty-year-old body in whatever Heaven he had earned, he was gonna give Cas a hell of a welcome when he joined him.

[nightquills]

okay, but imagine andrew minyard loving books and double majoring in english 

it probably has its roots in his childhood

the escapism of reading sounds pretty good when you’re absolutely miserable in your own life

no matter what new house/school he gets moved to, the availability of books is a constant 

andrew definitely “borrowed” books from his foster siblings and probably ended up getting into fights over it

for as little as he chooses to speak, he really can write and argue a point

catch andrew writing cutting analysis of the ways in which an author’s personal bias and upbringing come through in their works

taking a verbal shit on the misportrayal of mental illness in literature across the decades

tearing down the fetishization and sexualization of young people in the literary canon + the casual usage of sexual assault as a plot point

his eidetic memory would mean he can recall quotes at the drop of a hat

i’m not saying to imagine andrew minyard reciting poetry from memory, but i’m sure he had to do it at some point in one of his classes

andrew takes a book along when he drives neil and kevin to their late night practices

andrew lying on his back on the bleachers, holding a book above his face

cutting neil and kevin off when he gets through a certain number of chapters

i imagine the pockets of andrew’s hoodies are probably stretched out from the books he’s shoved in there to free up his hands for a moment 

neil jokes that andrew should get larger armbands so that he can shove books in there. he gets a book thrown at him

holy fuck, english anthologies are so fricking big and heavy??? andrew’s arm and back muscles have another reason for being so fricking built

neil shells out the money to get him a fancy tablet so he doesn’t have to carry around quite so many books

andrew scoffs at it at first, but it allows him to read one-handed so that the other hand can thread its fingers through neil’s hair which is convenient

it becomes A Thing on neil’s bad nights for andrew to sit with him on the couch and read to him

neil never stayed at school long enough to really get through the assigned books, and going to school overseas for so long means he really isn’t familiar with any of the “classics” 

also yeah, there’s no way that neil was told any bed time stories when he was little, so that’s another list of books he’s never read before

andrew’s voice is just... so soothing for neil to listen to. he’s lost count of the times that he’s fallen asleep on the couch to andrew’s voice

neil has definitely tried to convince andrew to do different voices for the different characters

“there’s not enough chocolate in the world for that. 136%”

this maybe inspires neil to read andrew books in foreign languages on andrew’s own bad nights

they’ve discovered together that russian fairy tales are weird as hell 

neil definitely does try to do different voices for different characters, if only to see the way that sometimes particularly funny ones almost make andrew smile 

andrew is always comparing neil to characters in the books

he reads neil the adventures of pinocchio and says “wow, neil, someone wrote a book based on you” 

referring, of course, to the lying

neil comes back with “you made me real, so i guess so”

“.....143%”

of course when he reads neil huck finn, he makes approximately 15 comments along the lines of “look, another run away”

andrew subsequently ignores neil’s comparisons of him to the hero of each story they read

of course this fucking pipe dream is comparing him to the huntsman instead of the wolf

the little prince is one of neil’s favorites for andrew to read to him

“of course you love the one with the fox in it. junkie.” 

and neil does love the fox, but more than that he maybe sees bits of himself and andrew in the story

“i have lived a great deal among grown-ups. i have seen them intimately, close at hand. and that hasn't much improved my opinion of them.”

“what does that mean—tame?" 

“it is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "it means to establish ties." 

"...if you tame me, then we shall need each other. to me, you will be unique in all the world. to you, i shall be unique in all the world.”

"what must i do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.

"you must be very patient," replied the fox. "first you will sit down at a little distance from me—like that—in the grass. i shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. words are the source of misunderstandings. but you will sit a little closer to me, every day..." 

“oh, little prince! bit by bit i came to understand the secrets of your sad little life...”

"of course i love you," the flower said to him. "it is my fault that you have not known it all the while.”

“it seemed to me that he was rushing headlong toward an abyss from which I could do nothing to restrain him...”

"i shall not leave you," i said.

andrew and neil’s eventual apartment together is full of bookshelves that the cats love to climb on 

more than once the cats have knocked over books while andrew and neil are asleep, rudely waking them up 

“i’m going to kick those fucking furballs out, neil” 

....he doesn’t kick them out. he moves the heavier books to the lower shelves and always makes sure to push them all the way back

[samwise-writes]

Merenwen Lavellan

Merenwen Lavellan – Rogue (Dual Wield) – Elf

5’3 – dark red hair – green eyes – green Dirthamen vallaslin

Only child

She is strong in her morals – she has a very strong sense of what is wrong and right.

She wants to help everyone she can. She didn’t even wait for Cassandra to ask her to help the Inquisition. After she saw the breach she cut Cassandra off and asked “How do I help?”

Very thoughtful person, which often means she’s very quiet. And she has the bad habit of overthinking things. She agonizes over decisions she’s made and decisions she will have to make constantly.

While she is terrifying to behold in battle, and is an incredible fighter, she actually prefers to do healing – which she is equally good at. She helped Adan as often as she could in Haven, and then spends a good number of her spare hours she has at Skyhold helping the healers.

She is Bi as fuck

She was in love with another elf from her Clan, Nell, who died at the conclave.

She is really put off by Cullen at first

She has a difficult time trusting anyone, eventhough she wants to trust people.

She didn’t really fit in with her clan, she often would spend time on her own apart from everyone else.

She loves to read, always brings a book with her wherever she goes – Varric was outraged when he found out that she had never read any of his books (Generally she stuck to more theoretical and practical texts things she thought could help her hone his skills and mind. – after her and Cullen become closer at Skyhold she starts reading all of the martial and strategic books he has in his office. Cassandra also gifts her several poetry anthologies and romance novels that Merenwen is delightedly surprised with how much she loves them. She also later forces Cullen to read her a few the poems from the anthology much to his initial embarrassment)

She gets overwhelmed by large amounts of people very quickly – the Winter Palace was a nightmare for that reason.

She often puts people before herself, and will, the majority of the time forget to take care of herself because of it – she’s a huge hypocrite when it comes to Cullen, a fact he points out at every opportunity

Dorian once asked her why she is often quiet, her reply was “I only speak when I feel what I have to say can add to the conversation.”

She is thirsty for knowledge. She forces Dorian to teach her to read, write and speak Tevene, and she learns extremely fast – a fact that Dorian takes full credit of, of course.

It is only after their first month at Skyhold that Merenwen actually begins to feel comfortable with her friends. She starts to become less distant, warming up to the others and even at times teasing them. She is seen smiling more often.

She does not want to return to her clan after everything is over and done with

When she overhears two soldiers talking about how Cullen has missed a meal AGAIN, she starts anonymously sending meals to his office.

In her clan they have a tradition where every year on a certain day, if you have feeling for another person you use the day to make your intentions toward them known (kind of like Valentines day I suppose), but in the two weeks leading up to the day you leave a bushel of elfroot in places that you know they will find – sort of like a secret admirer note so they know someone is thinking of them. – because Merenwen knows no other way to go about confessing her feelings, she begins leaving elfroot on the Commander’s desk, sneaking in and leaving it there, beginning two weeks before the day. Cullen loses it after the fourth day because “who in the Maker’s name is LEAVING ELFROOT ON MY DESK?” and starts leaving his office under false pretenses and coming back in shortly thereafter to see if he can catch the culprit. He finally catches her on the sixth day and she has to awkwardly explain why she’s been leaving elfroot on the commander’s desk. He’s left speechless and she understand that as a rejection. She apologizes and leaves. She proceeds to avoid him as much as possible after that.

After Merenwen returns from her next trip out of Skyhold she finds a bushel of Elfroot on her pillow and a note.

She smiles even more freely once her and Cullen get together

She tried chocolate at the winter palace for the first time and she cried because it tasted so good.

After hearing Cullen sing following Haven, she tried at every opportunity to try to get him to sing again. She failed.

She actually has a lovely voice. She learned part of the Chant of Light because she know how important it is to Cullen, so that she could sing it to him when he wakes up from nightmares.

She is closest with Dorian, he often speaks more than she does, but that’s what she enjoys. He doesn’t expect her to constantly have something to say. And even where they do share a silence, it is not awkward. Dorian often starts reading in her room in the evenings while she reads and answers letter and requests. They’re happy to just share in each other’s company.

She wanted to kill Dorian’s dad when she found out what he did, but still encouraged Dorian to talk to his father, because she felt that even if Dorian didn’t forgive his father, he had a lot he still needed to say to the man after what he did, and the only way he, himself, could heal was by getting it all out.

[blackkudos]

Ralph Ellison

Ralph Waldo Ellison (March 1, 1913 – April 16, 1994) was an American novelist, literary critic, and scholar. He was born in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Ellison is best known for his novel Invisible Man, which won the National Book Award in 1953. He also wrote Shadow and Act (1964), a collection of political, social and critical essays, and Going to the Territory (1986). For The New York Times, the best of these essays in addition to the novel put him "among the gods of America's literary Parnassus." A posthumous novel, Juneteenth, was published after being assembled from voluminous notes he left after his death.

Life

Early life

Ralph Ellison, named after Ralph Waldo Emerson, was born at 407 East First Street in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, to Lewis Alfred Ellison and Ida Millsap, on Saturday March 1, 1913. He was the second of three brothers; firstborn Alfred died in infancy, and younger brother Herbert Maurice (or Millsap) was born in 1916. Lewis Alfred Ellison, a small-business owner and a construction foreman, died in 1916 after an operation to cure internal wounds suffered after shards from a 100-lb ice block penetrated his abdomen when it was dropped while being loaded into a hopper. The elder Ellison loved literature, and doted on his children, so Ralph discovered as an adult that his father had hoped his son would grow up to be a poet.

In 1921, Ellison's mother and her children moved to Gary, Indiana, where she had a brother. According to Ellison, his mother felt that "my brother and I would have a better chance of reaching manhood if we grew up in the north." She did not find a job and her brother lost his, the family returned to Oklahoma, where Ellison worked as a busboy, a shoeshine boy, hotel waiter, and a dentist's assistant. From the father of a neighborhood friend he received free instructions for playing trumpet and alto saxophone, and would go on to become the school bandmaster.

Ida remarried three times after Lewis died. However, the family life was precarious, and Ralph worked various jobs during his youth and teens to assist with family support. While attending Douglass High School, he also found time to play on the school's football team. He graduated from high school in 1931. He worked for a year, and found the money to make a down payment on a trumpet, using it to play with local musicians, and to take further music lessons. At Douglass, he was influenced by principal Inman E. Page and his daughter, music teacher Zelia N. Breaux.

At Tuskegee Institute

Ellison applied twice for admission to Tuskegee Institute, a prestigious all-black university in Alabama, founded by Booker T. Washington. He was finally admitted in 1933 for lack of a trumpet player in its orchestra. Ellison hopped freight trains to get to Alabama, and was soon to find out that the institution was no less class-conscious than white institutions generally were.

Ellison's outsider position at Tuskegee "sharpened his satirical lens", critic Hilton Als believes: "Standing apart from the university's air of sanctimonious Negritude enabled him to write about it." In passages of Invisible Man, "he looks back with scorn and despair on the snivelling ethos that ruled at Tuskegee."

Tuskegee's music department was perhaps the most renowned department at the school, headed by composer William L. Dawson. Ellison also was guided by the department's piano instructor, Hazel Harrison. While he studied music primarily in his classes, he spent his free time in the library with modernist classics. He specifically cited reading T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land as a major awakening moment. In 1934, he began to work as a desk clerk at the university library, where he read James Joyce and Gertrude Stein. Librarian Walter Bowie Williams enthustically let Ellison share in his knowledge.

A major influence upon Ellison was English teacher Morteza Drezel Sprague, to whom Ellison later dedicated his essay collection Shadow and Act. He opened Ellison's eyes to "the possibilities of literature as a living art" and to "the glamour he would always associate with the literary life ". Through Sprague Ellison became familiar with Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment and Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure, identifying with the "brilliant, tortured anti-heroes" of those works.

As a child, Ellison evidenced what would become a lifelong interest in audio technology, starting by taking apart and rebuilding radios, and later moved on to constructing and customizing elaborate hi-fi stereo systems as an adult. He discussed this passion in a December 1958 essay, "Living With Music", in High Fidelity magazine. Ellison scholar John S. Wright contends that this deftness with the ins-and-outs of electronic devices went on to inform Ellison's approach to writing and the novel form. Ellison remained at Tuskegee until 1936, and decided to leave before completing the requirements for a degree.

New York

Desiring to study sculpture and photography, he moved to New York City, where he found a Y.M.C.A. room on 135th Street in Harlem, then "the culture capital of black America." He met Langston Hughes, "Harlem's unofficial diplomat" of the Depression era, and one—as one of the country's celebrity black authors—who could live from his writing. Hughes introduced him to the black literary establishment with Communist sympathies.

He met several artists who would influence his later life, including the artist Romare Bearden and the author Richard Wright (with whom he would have a long and complicated relationship). After Ellison wrote a book review for Wright, Wright encouraged him to write fiction as a career. His first published story was "Hymie's Bull", inspired by Ellison's 1933 hoboing on a train with his uncle to get to Tuskegee. From 1937 to 1944, Ellison had over 20 book reviews, as well as short stories and articles, published in magazines such as New Challenge and The New Masses.

Wright was then openly associated with the Communist Party, and Ellison was publishing and editing for communist publications, although his "affiliation was quieter," according to historian Carol Polsgrove in Divided Minds. Both Wright and Ellison lost their faith in the Communist Party during World War II, when they felt the party had betrayed African Americans and replaced Marxist class politics with social reformism. In a letter to Wright, dated August 18, 1945, Ellison poured out his anger with party leaders: "If they want to play ball with the bourgeoisie they needn't think they can get away with it. ... Maybe we can't smash the atom, but we can, with a few well chosen, well written words, smash all that crummy filth to hell." In the wake of this disillusion, Ellison began writing Invisible Man, a novel that was, in part, his response to the party's betrayal.

In 1938 Ellison met Rosa Araminta Poindexter, a woman two years his senior. They were married in late 1938. Rose was a stage actress, and continued her career after their marriage. In biographer Rampersad assessment of Ellison's taste in women, he was searching for one "physically attractive and smart who would love, honor, and obey him--but not challenge his intellect". At first they lived at 312 West 122nd Street, Rose's apartment, but moved to 453 West 140th Street after her income shrank. In 1941 he briefly had an affair with the seven year older white writer Sanora Babb, which he confessed to his wife afterward, and in 1943 the marriage was over.

At the start of World War II, Ellison was classed 1A by the local Selective Service System, and thus eligible for the draft. However, he was not drafted. Toward the end of the war, he enlisted in the Merchant Marine service. In 1946, he married his second wife, Fanny McConnell. She worked as a photographer to help sustain Ellison. From 1947 to 1951, he earned some money writing book reviews but spent most of his time working on Invisible Man. Fanny also helped type Ellison's longhand text and assisted him in editing the typescript as it progressed.

Published in 1952, Invisible Man explores the theme of man's search for his identity and place in society, as seen from the perspective of the first-person narrator, an unnamed African American man in the New York City of the 1930s. In contrast to his contemporaries such as Richard Wright and James Baldwin, Ellison created characters that are dispassionate, educated, articulate, and self-aware. Through the protagonist, Ellison explores the contrasts between the Northern and Southern varieties of racism and their alienating effect. The narrator is "invisible" in a figurative sense, in that "people refuse to see" him, and also experiences a kind of dissociation. The novel, with its treatment of taboo issues such as incest and the controversial subject of communism, won the 1953 U.S. National Book Award for Fiction.

The award was his ticket into the American literary establishment. Disillusioned by his experience with the Communist Party, he used his new fame to speak out for literature as a moral instrument. In 1955 he traveled to Europe, visiting and lecturing, settling for a time in Rome, where he wrote an essay that appeared in a 1957 Bantam anthology called A New Southern Harvest. Robert Penn Warren was in Rome during the same period, and the two writers became close friends. Later, Warren would interview Ellison about his thoughts on race, history, and the Civil Rights Movement for his book Who Speaks for the Negro? In 1958, Ellison returned to the United States to take a position teaching American and Russian literature at Bard College and to begin a second novel, Juneteenth. During the 1950s, he corresponded with his lifelong friend, the writer Albert Murray. In their letters they commented on the development of their careers, the Civil Rights Movement, and other common interests including jazz. Much of this material was published in the collection Trading Twelves (2000).

In 1964, Ellison published Shadow and Act, a collection of essays, and began to teach at Rutgers University and Yale University, while continuing to work on his novel. The following year, a survey of 200 prominent literary figures was released that proclaimed Invisible Man the most important novel since World War II.

In 1967, Ellison experienced a major house fire at his home in Plainfield, Massachusetts, in which he claimed more than 300 pages of his second novel manuscript were lost. A perfectionist regarding the art of the novel, Ellison had said in accepting his National Book Award for Invisible Man that he felt he had made "an attempt at a major novel" and, despite the award, he was unsatisfied with the book. Ellison ultimately wrote more than 2000 pages of this second novel but never finished it.

Writing essays about both the black experience and his love for jazz music, Ellison continued to receive major awards for his work. In 1969, he received the Presidential Medal of Freedom; the following year, he was made a Chevalier of the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by France and became a permanent member of the faculty at New York University as the Albert Schweitzer Professor of Humanities, serving from 1970 to 1980.

In 1975, Ellison was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and his hometown of Oklahoma City honored him with the dedication of the Ralph Waldo Ellison Library. Continuing to teach, Ellison published mostly essays, and in 1984, he received the New York City College's Langston Hughes Medal. In 1985, he was awarded the National Medal of Arts. In 1986, his Going to the Territory was published; this is a collection of seventeen essays that included insight into southern novelist William Faulkner and Ellison's friend Richard Wright, as well as the music of Duke Ellington and the contributions of African Americans to America's national identity.

Final years

In 1992, Ellison was awarded a special achievement award from the Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards; his artistic achievements included work as a sculptor, musician, photographer and college professor as well as his writing output. He taught at Bard College, Rutgers University, the University of Chicago, and New York University. Ellison was also a charter member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers.

Ellison died on April 16, 1994 of pancreatic cancer and was interred in a crypt at Trinity Church Cemetery in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Upper Manhattan. He was survived by his wife, Fanny Ellison (1911–2005), who died on November 19, 2005, eight days shy of her 94th birthday.

Legacy and posthumous publications

After Ellison's death, more manuscripts were discovered in his home, resulting in the publication of Flying Home and Other Stories in 1996. In 1999 his second novel, Juneteenth, was published under the editorship of John F. Callahan, a professor at Lewis & Clark College and Ellison's literary executor. It was a 368-page condensation of more than 2000 pages written by Ellison over a period of 40 years. All the manuscripts of this incomplete novel were published collectively on January 26, 2010, by Modern Library, under the title Three Days Before the Shooting...

On February 18, 2014, the USPS issued a 91¢ stamp honoring Ralph Ellison in its Literary Arts series.

A park, residing on 150th Street and Riverside Drive in Harlem, was dedicated to Ralph Ellison on May 1, 2003. In the park, stands a 15 by 8 foot bronze slab, with a “cut-out man figure” inspired by his book, “Invisible Man.”

Bibliography

Invisible Man (Random House, 1952). ISBN 0-679-60139-2

Flying Home and Other Stories (Random House,1996). ISBN 0-679-45704-6Includes the short story "A Party Down at the Square"

Juneteenth (Random House, 1999). ISBN 0-394-46457-5

Three Days Before the Shooting... (Modern Library, 2010). ISBN 978-0-375-75953-6

Essays

Shadow and Act (Random House, 1964). ISBN 0-679-76000-8

Going to the Territory (Random House, 1986). ISBN 0-394-54050-6

The Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison (Modern Library, 1995). ISBN 0-679-60176-7

Living with Music: Ralph Ellison's Jazz Writings (Modern Library, 2002). ISBN 0-375-76023-7

Letters

Trading Twelves: The Selected Letters of Ralph Ellison and Albert Murray (Modern Library, 2000). ISBN 0-375-50367-6

Wikipedia

[writingscififantasy]

Science Fiction Subgenres from A to N

So, to start this blog off with something fun, I thought I’d do a series of big ol’ masterlists covering sci-fi and fantasy subgenres!  There is a heckin’ large amount of them, so I’ve split it up into four sections with about five or six posts- this one right here is for, you guessed it, science fiction, from A to N.  *cue distant cheering*

First up, a little recap:

Science Fiction: This can be considered a difficult genre to define, simply because it can encompass nearly anything- but the best definition I’ve heard is that it’s “the literature of change”, particularly in areas of scientific advancement and technological growth.  According to Wikipedia, this is a genre of speculative fiction “typically dealing with imaginative concepts such as futuristic science and technology, space travel, time travel, faster than light travel, parallel universes, and extraterrestrial life.” (x)  Science fiction generally encompasses imaginary worlds and universes bound to laws of physics (although not necessarily the laws we know of or follow) that are advanced in some way by science and technology, and experiencing some form of change because of that.  To put it very simply, science fiction can be viewed as fiction based upon science.  Science fiction tends to evoke thoughts of aliens, spaceships, robots, AI, new planets, futuristic cities, flying cars, high-tech things made of shiny metals, lightsabers and phasers, environmental sustainability, and far-future social themes.  Examples include Dune (Dune series) by Frank Herbert, The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, Lagoon by Nnedi Okorafor, The Stars Are Legion by Kameron Hurley, 1984 by George Orwell, Leviathan Wakes (The Expanse series) by James A. Corey, Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee, and Parable of the Sower (Parable series) by Octavia E. Butler.

With that refresher in mind, let’s begin!  (I’d apologize for the word count, but we’re all nerdy writers here.)

Apocalyptic Sci-Fi: Ah, one of the favorites for anybody who enjoys good ol’ destruction and chaos in their books.  This subgenre is characterized by a cataclysmic event occurring that wipes out the vast majority of the human population, often with extensive destruction across the globe.

Common tropes for this include alien invasions, environmental disasters (oooh, one of my favorites- things such as catastrophic climate change), plagues or viruses (bioweapons and bioengineering, including the “zombie” virus as one of the current most popular- who doesn’t love zombies), the technological singularity or failure (the “robot uprising” vs. a worldwide EMP), astronomical events such as meteors, super-flares, or radiation bursts, supernatural events (demonic war, the Four Horsemen on Earth, vampires or other monsters), etc.  

Apocalyptic sci-fi goes hand in hand with post-apocalyptic sci-fi, but the former can be set apart from its counterpart in that it takes place during the exact time of the “apocalyptic” event- however, keep in mind that most books, even if they show the apocalyptic event in the beginning, tend to shift towards post-apocalyptic as the characters learn to survive in the aftermath.  Finding something that is solely an apocalyptic sci-fi novel is rare, and I will admit I had some trouble with it.  

This subgenre is often used to show human nature in chaotic times (how people panic, the “sheep” effect, mass hysteria, how individuals respond to their impending demise), as well as portray extreme destruction of cities and civilization, exemplify survival tactics, and use the setting as a source of action, drama, suspense, plot twists, and personal growth for characters as they act and react to their rapidly changing and dangerous world.

Examples: Life As We Knew It by Susan Beth Pfeffer (astronomical event, meteor strikes moon), The Stand by Stephen King (bioengineered virus and supernatural events), Seveneves by Neal Stephenson (astronomical event, moon is destroyed), Robopocalypse by Daniel H. Wilson (technological singularity, robot uprising), Ashfall by Mike Mullin (environmental disaster, supervolcanic eruption), The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey (alien invasion, environmental disaster, technological failure, and a deadly plague, for all your apocalyptic needs)

Note: Although not books, I also like to include the movies 2012, The Day After Tomorrow, World War Z, and Independence Day.

“Dying Earth”: If I’m being honest, this is probably the most depressing science fiction subgenre- probably even more so than the related-but-not-quite-the-same apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic subgenres- so thank goodness it’s fairly small.  Given the name from the series of works (aptly titled “The Dying Earth”) by Jack Vance which portrayed our Earth, millennia from now, as an exhausted, dying world orbiting an equally exhausted, dying star, the “Dying Earth” subgenre embodies themes of bone-deep exhaustion, depletion of planetary resources, innocence and idealism and (potentially) the loss of both, and The End of Time/Earth/The Universe.  

Common tropes include Earth or other planets physically dying (from the aforementioned resource depletion, going sterile, the sun burning out, being too old), stars burning out/going supernova and dying, laws of the universe failing as it dies, and species falling to extinction (from their planet/sun dying, out of apathy or exhaustion or physical/emotional/spiritual weariness, etc).  The subgenre as a whole can pretty much be summed up as “melancholic”.  

Although it also shows an end-of-the-world scenario, this subgenre differs from simple “apocalyptic events” and the related subgenres by virtue of not having anything so dramatic- instead, it simply shows the world as it winds down into a slow death.  

But wait- perhaps it’s not entirely depressing!  Some works in this subgenre also employ themes of hope and renewal, and the “Dying Earth” subgenre is often used to show optimism in the face of death, human endurance, looking forward to the unknown, and future promise.  Thankfully, it’s not all about the “entropic exhaustion of the Earth” and the fading of “the current comprehensible state of the universe”- talk about a bummer.  

Examples: The Dying Earth (series) by Jack Vance (the books that gave the subgenre its name), The Time Machine by H. G. Wells, City at the End of Time by Greg Bear, Dying of the Light by George R. R. Martin, certain stories in Sunfall (anthology) by C. J. Cherryh, Earthchild by Doris Piserchia (interestingly enough, I haven’t found anything in this subgenre over the past 10 years or so)

Note: Outside of books, the comic series Low by Rick Remender and the video game Dark Souls can be included in the subgenre.  Movies such as Reign of Fire, I Am Legend, The World, the Flesh, and the Devil, and The Quiet Earth could be considered vaguely “Dying Earth”, although they really don’t capture the melancholic, tired aspects that the subgenre embodies, and the endings distinctly lead away from the subgenre.

“Edisonade”: This one’s kind of short, because not only is it really small and generally unheard of, it’s also pretty old- old enough to be primarily from the time of “all sci-fi writers were men” and everything was written to appeal to the male gaze.  Basically, it’s a subgenre that includes stories about a character who is “a brilliant young inventor” in the ways of Thomas Edison, as they use their invention(s) to save their nation, save their love interest, defeat the villain, and presumably get rich and live prosperously as a quirky inventor forevermore.  

Although it is, at its core, something that could be very interesting to write and read- who doesn’t want to write about brilliant inventors?- the fact of the matter is that all the books in this subgenre tend towards a teenage/young man being the inventor, and saving the girl, and defeating the villain (normally foreigners, evil scientists, or aliens).  At the time that stories in this subgenre were written, a lot of them (not all!) reflected nationalistic, misogynistic, and generally racist views and tended to feature things like widespread colonization, exploration of parts of the world with “untamed lands and peoples”, and self-insert characters for boys to relate with on the premise of superiority and “saving the day”.  

The good part?  The “Edisonade” subgenre tends to be progressive in the ways of science, technology, and engineering, and it can be somewhat related to steampunk.  Other than that...the subgenre itself needs a bit of a reboot, so to speak.  Any takers?

Examples: The Steam Man of the Prairies by Edward S. Ellis, Tom Edison, Jr.(series) by Philip Reade, Tom Swift (series) by Victor Appleton

Hard Sci-Fi: And so we come to one of the ongoing debates amongst sci-fi communities- “hard” science fiction versus “soft” science fiction.  Hard sci-fi can be defined in a number of ways, and that has caused quite some controversy over the years- but the general consensus is that hard sci-fi is generally a subgenre of science fiction that depends upon more science, as well as greater scientific accuracy and explanation in its novels.

Novels in this subgenre are generally characterized by a large amount of science to go with the fiction- the “science and technology parts of science fiction are featured front and center, the scientific concepts are founded upon legitimacy, research, and lots of explanation, and the stories are more realistic and heavy.  

Here’s where some controversy comes in- sometimes a novel is “science-y” like that, but it’s primarily left in the background of the story, so it could be considered “soft” sci-fi.  

Also, many “hard” sci-fi works tend to focus on STEM-like areas (engineering, math, formal sciences like physics), or assume that the natural sciences (biology, environmental science, geology, etc) make a sci-fi story inherently “soft”.  

Sometimes, technology is left almost entirely in the background of a sci-fi story, with those natural sciences featuring more.  

Other times, the science that the novel is based upon proves to be faulty, or something is incorrect, or some of it is just plain implausible.  See the dilemmas?  

Anyways, here I am simply defining “hard sci-fi” as science fiction writing that focuses more on the scientific and technological aspects of a story, with an emphasis on legitimate scientific concepts, research, theories, and fact, and that incorporates much of those ideals into the writing and story itself (as plots, background, etc).  

Common tropes in this subgenre include hypothetical, explained logistics for futuristic technologies (faster-than-light travel, terraforming, spaceships, space habitats, etc), more realistic-looking tech, sometimes at the expense of being “less pretty” (spaceships that aren’t made of shiny stuff and still cause pollution, for instance, or spacesuits that look more like spacesuits rather than trendy plastic-wrap), and sometimes a lot of lengthy explanations within the story that you have to read a few times to really understand or some words you have to look up (keep a dictionary with you for some of these books, I mean, wow).  

This subgenre is often meant to show how the future could be soon, to show science fiction in a less out-there, more relatable light, appeal to more literal-minded people who desire scientific fact in their fiction or plots based upon legitimacy, explain the fundamentals of a story without “hand-waving”, and to explore far-future ideals, sciences, and technologies while remaining within the realms of current possibility.  

When done without a certain sense of grace, timing, and ability for relating lengthy expositions of science to plot, character, and setting, “hard” sci-fi can be difficult and overwhelming to read, occasionally preachy if the author tries to explain too much, and generally drag on.  However, when done well, “hard” sci-fi is a wonderful creation, something that teaches its readers, explores the world through the lenses of science, and portrays science as a general positive thing (something we all need in this world). 

Examples: Leviathan Wakes (The Expanse series) by James S. A. Corey, Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch series) by Ann Leckie, The Martian by Andy Weir, Ringworld (series) by Larry Niven, vN by Madeline Ashby, Up Against It by M. J. Locke, Diaspora by Greg Egan, Remnant Population by Elizabeth Moon, A Door Into Ocean (Elysium series) by Joan Slonczewski, Downbelow Station (The Company Wars series) by C. J. Cherryh, The Bohr Maker (the Nanotech Succession series) by Linda Nagata, Lilith’s Brood (Xenogenesis Trilogy: Dawn, Adulthood Rites, Imago) by Octavia E. Butler

“Lost Worlds”: A lesser known subgenre, “Lost Worlds” is characterized by the discovery of a new “world” (i.e, planet, galaxy, continent) that is “out of time, place, or both”- meaning that the world is generally untouched by anything other than native flora and fauna, or that the civilizations there have never been seen before and were isolated from everyone else, or that the remnants of a civilization have been found there.  This subgenre came into popularity when people started finding actual remnants of previous civilizations- the Mayan temples, Egyptian tombs, etc- and began speculating about it and using it for fictional purposes.

Common tropes in this subgenre include, unfortunately, things like references to colonization and “a more advanced civilization meets a less advanced civilization”, in terms of technology/science/weapons.  On the positive side, tropes can also include exploration and travel throughout the world, survival tactics while within inhospitable lands, archaeological intrigue and findings, and good anthropological ideals where newcomers are curious and respectful of their cultures they come across, science fiction mixed with social sciences (anthropological science fiction is a subgenre that will come up in a later post!), and sometimes some pretty Star Trek-like stuff.  

Examples: Dinotopia (series) by James Gurney, The Lost World by Arthur Conan Doyle, Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne, Pym by Mat Johnson

Military Sci-Fi: This sci-fi subgenre is pretty self-explanatory- military sci-fi is characterized by a militarized setting, generally with characters within a military organization/army.  The sci-fi part tends to come along with the futuristic technologies being applied to weaponry, battleships, and military tech, and in that the settings of these battles, wars, or general military outposts tend to be in space (on a spaceship) or on a different planet.  Oftentimes the battle being waged is against alien species, or if it’s far enough in the future, it might be against other humans that are on a different planet/colony/outpost.  

Common tropes in this subgenre include political maneuverings amongst the higher-ups of this military or the people causing the war, characters that are soldiers and/or act out of interest in this war, (have military training, follow military orders, carry out missions, etc), war, fighting, and weaponry tactics discussed in the writing, traditional personality traits for military personnel (such as self-sacrifice, deep loyalty between soldiers, obedience and duty, bravery, and respect as well as disobeying orders to act in the interest of others), and spaceships taking the place of tanks, planes, or battleships of today.  

Military sci-fi can often overlap with the “space opera” genre- it speculates about the future and future wars, uses futuristic weaponry and ships, and is often large-scale in terms of the battle layouts and how/where the battle affects people and places.  

This subgenre is often used to show the political dynamics of a world or the future, how humans might react to meeting alien species (hopefully hostile, otherwise this subgenre would get pretty ugly), and how the military and corporations, government, and agendas expand into space.

Examples: Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee, Mechanical Failure (Epic Failure series) by Joe Zieja, Valor’s Choice (Confederation series) by Tanya Huff, Vatta’s War (series) by Elizabeth Moon, Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card, Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein, The Red by Linda Nagata, Unbreakable by W. C. Bauers, Terms of Enlistment (series) by Marko Kloos, War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells, Fortune’s Pawn by Rachel Bach

Mundane Sci-Fi: This subgenre can be a bit iffy, depending on how you view it.  Generally, it’s described as sci-fi that doesn’t use “high claims” such as faster-than-light travel or aliens, but rather focuses on down-to-Earth (literally) works that use only believable technology and science from the modern day.  Therefore, it’s considered an extension of hard sci-fi, but even more legitimized than that- where hard sci-fi can hypothesize about “high claims” of worm holes and interstellar travel while using a strong basis in science, mundane sci-fi drops that altogether and sticks only to what is known to be plausible. 

Common tropes in this subgenre include hard sci-fi principles, technologies and science based upon proven fact and areas of study existing today, and no speculative technologies.

This subgenre is, to me, something to be viewed both positively and negatively.  On one hand, mundane science fiction promotes the idea of focusing only on current science/technology, rather than speculating about things such as warp drives and spaceships and intergalactic communities, because thinking about such ideas leads to negligence of the current issues we- and the planet- already face.  That’s not a bad thing- focusing on current issues are definitely something that should be done, and ignoring them won’t help anyone- but the mundane sci-fi community also claims, in some areas, that science fiction as a whole should abandon the ideas of space travel and a lot of the typical themes because it’s wrong to speculate on such ideals and it’s “running away from the problem”.  Take that as you will- there’s been a bit of an argument, so to speak, on the matter.  

Overall, the subgenre of mundane sci-fi is meant to show current science and technology through a fictional lens, the effects of current events such as climate change, biotechnology, global politics, and advancing robotics, how the world is changing in the now, “reawaken” the sense of wonder people feel towards sci-fi in the context of Earth alone, and bring in high levels of characterization and plot that are inherently realistic.

Examples: Air by Geoff Ryman, Schismatrix by Bruce Sterling, The Beast with Nine Billion Feet by Anil Menon, The Hacker and the Ants by Rudy Rucker, Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson, Arctic Rising by Tobias S. Buckell

New Wave Sci-Fi: Also a social and cultural movement as well as a literary one, “new wave sci-fi” doesn’t have as much bearing today in terms of being written as often (in the same way as it was then, at the very least).  This subgenre came about in the 60′s and 70′s, and it’s characterized as being “advant-garde” and “experimental” in the context of literature and art- it was more focused on being new and exciting and unique rather than purely accurate, scientifically speaking.  However, this period of time is also what saw a large increase in science fiction in mainstream culture, as well as more writers and readers- the subject itself shifted to become more aware of things such as language, politics, subject matter, writing techniques, and futuristic ideals.  There’s quite a large historical movement there, which I could get into later, but for now I’m gonna stick with the literary stuff.

Common tropes in this subgenre (there are lots) include rejection of classic sci-fi ideals (the Antihero, for instance, came about in sci-fi as a rejection of the typical “science hero”), deconstruction of regular themes, rejection of typical plots and “happy” endings, blurred boundaries between science fiction and fantasy (science fantasy is a subgenre I’ll also get into later!), and high amounts of progressive ideals (this was in the 60′s and 70′s- free-love, equality, and inclusiveness was, and is, a major part of the writing in this subgenre.

Much of what science fiction is now is owed, at least in part, to the new wave literary movement for science fiction.  The genre was more open for women and minorities (to an extent), the stories more all-encompassing, the themes more substantial, dynamic, and fluid- overall, it helped set the course for a lot of what sci-fi is now.

Examples: Dhalgren by Samuel R. Delaney, The Forever War by Joe Haldeman, The Elric Saga (series) by Michael Moorcock, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, And Chaos Died by Joanna Russ, The Hieros Gamos of Sam and An Smith by Josephine Saxton, The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin

And that’s about it!  The next installment, “Science Fiction Subgenres from P to Z”, should be up in a day or two- after that, I’ll be moving onto Fantasy Subgenres (the Part 2 of the series).  I’ll start adding links as I write them- in the meantime, feel free to send me questions or thoughts about these subgenres and anything else!

Parting thoughts- are any of these subgenres completely new to you?  Can you think of any other novels in any of them?  Does your writing fall under any of these subgenres?

[globalworship]

“In Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being” (poem by Denise Levertov)

September 28 (2017) is ‘National Poetry Day’ in the UK, New Zealand, and some other British-influenced countries. “Since its inception in 1994, it has engaged millions of people across the country with live events, classroom activities and broadcasts. National Poetry Day is coordinated by the charity Forward Arts Foundation, whose mission is to celebrate excellence in poetry and increase its audience.” It’s a really big deal in the UK! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Poetry_Day

+++

In honor of this event, here’s a poem I found recently by Denise Levertov:

“In Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being”

Birds afloat in air’s current, sacred breath? No, not breath of God, it seems, but God the air enveloping the whole globe of being. It’s we who breathe, in, out, in, the sacred, leaves astir, our wings rising, ruffled—but only saints take flight. We cower in cliff-crevice or edge out gingerly on branches close to the nest. The wind marks the passage of holy ones riding that ocean of air. Slowly their wake reaches us, rocks us. But storm or still, numb or poised in attention, we inhale, exhale, inhale, encompassed, encompassed.

–Denise Levertov

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Commentary on the poem by Michael Wright:

Breathing is strangely intimate. When we breath in, we bring the life that surrounds us inside our bodies.  It makes sense then that Buddhists talk about ‘going home to the breath’ and that centering prayer uses the breath as an anchor to seek God.

In this poem, Levertov uses the imagery of wind and breath to understand the nature of spiritual experience. She looks at a bird and recognizes that she breathes the same air, even though she’s on the ground. Spiritually speaking, God’s presence  surrounds “the whole / globe of being” like air, and we are breathing it in at all times. And like her feeling of kinship and distance with the birds, she feels the same with the saints.

It’s the saints that risk leaving the comfort of whatever nest they have to surrender to God like birds carried by the air, and while she hasn’t reached these mystical heights, she knows she is still surrounded by the same Presence. When I speak this poem from my own heart, I’m reminded that even in the midst of heart-numbing comfort or unexpected storms we all still “inhale, exhale, inhale, / encompassed, encompassed.”

https://thisiscommonplace.wordpress.com/2014/04/26/in-whom-we-live-and-move-and-have-our-being/

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Priscilla Denise Levertov (24 October 1923 – 20 December 1997) was an American poet. She grew up in the UK and her father was a Russian Hasidic Jew; he became a Christian and then an Anglican priest.

When she was five years old she declared she would be a writer. At the age of 12, she sent some of her poems to T. S. Eliot, who replied with a two-page letter of encouragement. In 1940, when she was 17, Levertov published her first poem.

Her conversion to Christianity in 1984 was the main influence on her religious writing. Sometime shortly after her move to Seattle in 1989, she became a Roman Catholic. In 1997, she brought together 38 poems from seven of her earlier volumes in The Stream & the Sapphire, a collection intended, as Levertov explains in the foreword to the collection, to "trace my slow movement from agnosticism to Christian faith, a movement incorporating much doubt and questioning as well as affirmation."

Levertov wrote and published 24 books of poetry, and also criticism and translations. She also edited several anthologies, and won some major awards. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denise_Levertov

+++

I’ve highlighted some of her other poems in previous blog posts:

‘Kitchen Maid with Supper at Emmaus’ (painting + poem) http://globalworship.tumblr.com/post/160178450720/kitchen-maid-with-supper-at-emmaus-painting

‘Annunciation’ Poem by Denise Levertov http://globalworship.tumblr.com/post/80592209058/annunciation-poem-by-denise-levertov

[booklust]

If the rumors are true that print is dying, then we’re in a zombie apocalypse. Booklr and the self-designated online community of book lovers, as well as publishing professionals and the more dismal-minded of authors, have been predicting the death of print culture for years. Yet it persists, with physical books still outselling e-books by a hugely significant margin. Zine fairs, DIY publishing, and small publishers creating beautiful physical copies are popping up everywhere in my feeds and in the culture, and I’m excited about it. If anything, the intensification of the digital realm has increased the demand--and need--for print publications. They complement each other in ways that no one (or at least, of other non-tech-native generations....no shade dad) could have predicted.

It’s appropriate that the first interview in the series is with the Road Virus, a horror-genre-and-queer-focused mobile bookstore currently traveling the United States. I came across the Road Virus in the digital realm, where we followed each others’ writing. We hit it off right away, because we both have telephone anxiety and have a passion for the non-hierarchical, accessible future of literary culture. Sade and I had a conversation on G-Chat about what it’s like to run a mobile bookstore, Stephen King, accessibility in book culture, how libraries can save lives, and the future of lit. Check it out below:

So first off--thanks so much for your time/agreeing to this interview! I'm super stoked about the Road Virus and everything it's about. Absolutely, and again––thanks so much for doing this interview project in the first place. I definitely feel like now, more than ever, the world needs a good strong focus on things with a literary bent. The best part is that we're the ones writing, in realtime, the history of our own culture. 

Give me your elevator pitch for the Road Virus--except the elevator is broken, so you have more time than you thought.

The Road Virus is a time-tested dream come true. Born out of displeasure with the stasis of ordinary living, my best friend Em and I decided that we wanted to open a bookstore. Books and literature have been in our bloodstreams since before anything else really mattered, so we decided to make that a tangible reality.

Unfortunately, since things in life are so uncertain, opening a brick-and-mortar store just didn't seem feasible. So, we decided on the next best thing––we bought a bus and converted it into a half-RV home, half-mobile bookstore. Lucking out with an ex bookmobile, we decided to focus on fringe genres such as horror, sci-fi, subversive graphic novels and comics, erotica, fantasy, and so on––both due to our limited space and our own inherent interests.

We plan to visit even the most remote parts of the US––and someday beyond––with the concept in mind that a lot of places don't have access to the kind of wares we're totting.

Now, I imagine the elevator creaking, hitching––giving us a fleeting hope––and then plummeting down the shaft. We're probably fine. ------------------------------   keep reading below  -------------------------------

How did you and Em meet to form this dynamic duo of traveling booksellers?

We met by the grace of a mutual friend. A night out drinking in one of the darkest and dingiest bars in the world led to a weirdly cohesive and whirlwind friendship. After discovering our shared love and obsession with books and bookstores, we came around to discussing the idea of opening and running our own. We ended up taking a pretty much spur-of-the-moment trip to Tokyo; something about that trip set reality in motion and things ended up happening so fast that I still look back on it and wonder if it wasn't all just a dream.

Is the name the Road Virus inspired by the Stephen King short story?

It certainly is. With our main focus being on horror and all things related, we felt like we needed a name which not only reflected the contents of our shelves, but also our goal.

In the story, the Road Virus is a car owned by an interdimensional killer; it travels across the US, leaving a swath of death and destruction in its wake. Less on the murder-y side for us, we see it as a way of spreading knowledge––which, of course, can be one of the deadliest and most destructive tools of all. The story, which first appeared in the anthology 999––edited by Al Sarrantonio, this book has been one of my most prized possessions since childhood––has always stood out to me; when we were kicking around ideas for names, The Road Virus was one of the first I jotted down. It came back, and it stuck. 

Also, when I saw that your name was the Road Virus, I couldn't help but connect the resilience of the killer painting in the story with what you both are doing for print literature---in a positive, not at all murderous way--that bookstores are closing down, and people proclaim that print lit is dying, but the Road Virus is an active example of print literature's resilience against all odds. With that in mind---what would you say to people who claim that print lit is dying? and what pushed you to start the Road Virus at this moment in time?

I really enjoy the emphasis we're both putting on this totally not being a murder thing at all, whatsoever.

To those who say that print lit is dying, that books are obsolete, that the internet is the only way to acquire new information and fiction, I say: barring the physical process of a body shutting down and decomposing, something can only truly die if you allow it to.  As long as there is at least one person publishing a book or zine and one person reading it, the concepts and idealism and spirit of print lit will survive and thrive.

Yes! It's so important to me that you connect physical, print lit with physical bodies. The power of print literature is that it creates physical community in a way that digital can't do alone. And physically showing up for something you care about can, and will, keep it alive.

Absolutely. Something that people need to remember now more than ever is that we have the ability to influence anything and everything. There is always a light in the dark, and we always have the choice to make something of ourselves and our surroundings. We are not powerless. For people like us, books have always been an escape, but they're also so much more: calling cards, symbols of power, beacons of hope tying groups together and ripping old systems apart.

Literacy is an extremely important thing to both of us––Em, as you said, is a former librarian, and I myself basically learned all I know from books. Libraries and bookstores were like second homes to us as kids––and sometimes, more so a first home to me personally. I dropped out of school at a very early age and attribute the majority of my ability to comprehend the world around me to the free, open-access presence of libraries. I come from a non-academic background, and Em comes from one of thorough education-oriented leanings; this combination suits us to a t.

The idea that they're dying out and being defunded saddens us greatly, and we feel the need to bring back those concepts to the forefront.

Mutually, we wanted this to be a bookselling venture so that we can sustain ourselves through the trade itself; however, we definitely felt the need to interweave the free and open-source aspect of libraries. We're still working out the avenues of providing reading lessons, and have quite a few ideas in mind for things like free movie nights and author readings.   What's being on the road like? Where have you been, and do you have any weird stories/interesting encounters?

Living in San Francisco, we've been very fortunate to have some amazing haunts. I think we owe a lot of our inspiration for The Road Virus to our favorite daily stop, Aardvark Books on the historic Church St.

Actually, we've been drydocked, so to speak. Our goodly vessel has been parked at a friend's about an hour northeast of SF for over a month now; we've been living on the bus full time while we've been renovating and preparing for permanent life on the road. We also unfortunately ran into some issues with the electrical system, which is being taken care of this week.

Regardless, we're both pretty nomadic people, and we can't wait to officially take off. I can say that driving the bus back to the buildsite was a hell of a trip.

Before we got her, Jolene––our name for the bus––lived a quiet life in Kansas City, MO. We flew in and were planning on driving her back in 2-3 days. This, as it turned out, was absolutely impossible. It ended up taking a week, and was rife with complications; we broke down numerous times, ended up sleeping in the uninsulated bus in -20 degree weather, and had endless scares on the road. Driving through the midwest was like traveling through a different world. I don't think I've been stared at that much in my entire life, except maybe in Tokyo (I'm covered in tattoos, piercings, etc.).  

The drive back over the CA state line was like something out of a dream––more a nightmare, maybe. We drove into one of the worst rainstorms I think I've ever seen, to the point where cars were sliding all over the road, trucks were going 20mph on the highway, and vehicles our size were actually barred from driving any farther at a certain point, so we were all lined up on the side of the highway for hours. This was on about 36 hours of no sleep. As far as fun stories on the road, in my experience they are many and not-so-far in between; we'll have plenty to share once we really get going, I'm sure. Driving through the snow-covered Rockies in a 32' bus when neither of us had driven anything larger than a UHAUL truck was certainly one for the books. 

Lastly, in a quick semi-tweet-length: How do envision the future of literature?

Futurelit, the Tweetening: Though ink may run, pages may yellow, & screens may flicker–the world of lit will forever reinvent itself, thriving in the face of adversity. xxxxxxxxx Follow the Road Virus everywhere:

(Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat) @roadvirusbus Communicables: http://theroadvirus.com/blog 

Reading Is Infectious (book subscription service) (http://shop.theroadvirus.com). A book in the genre of your choice delivered to your door every month.

[latesthollywoodnews]

Logan Paul SLAMMED By Model for Using Her As Human Bicycle

Logan Paul SLAMMED By Model for Using Her As Human Bicycle

Jeremy Brown - Latest News - My Hollywood News

Logan Paul SLAMMED By Model for Using Her As Human Bicycle, Hollywood Celebrity News 2019.

Latest Celebrities 2019, Hollywood Celebrities Latest Story 2018, Logan Paul SLAMMED By Model for Using Her As Human Bicycle.

Hollywood Celebrity News 2017 Hollywood Celebrities Horror top Hollywood Celebrities Anywhere is a digital film locker for Hollywood, Pixar, Marvel, and Star Wars-branded films in the United States. It allows for the storage of digital Celebrity rights via purchases from providers such as iTunes, Google Play, Vudu, Microsoft, Amazon Video, and Verizon Fios. Rights to titles can also be added via redemption of Hollywood Celebrities Rewards “Magic/Action Codes” from select titles that provide either a digital HD download or digital copy. The service allows consumers to redeem films produced by Walt Hollywood Pictures, Walt Hollywood Animation Studios, Pixar, Marvel Studios, Hollywoodnature, and Lucasfilm, all owned by the Walt Hollywood Studios. Hollywood Celebrities Anywhere allows streaming of content over the web or mobile apps, along with access to the title through the linked accounts in participating providers. It is powered by a proprietary digital rights system called KeyChest.

Is Hollywood Celebrities Anywhere free?

Hollywood Celebrities Anywhere is an app and website where you can browse, buy and watch your collection of eligible Hollywood, Pixar, Marvel, and Star Wars titles across your favorite devices.

How do you wake up Sleeping Beauty?

Fascinated by the wheel, she touches the spindle, pricking her finger. As had been foretold by the curse, Aurora is put under a sleeping spell. The good fairies place Aurora on her bed with a red rose in her hand and cause a deep sleep to fall over the entire kingdom until they can find a way to break the curse.

Why was Hollywoodland created?

With limited finances, Walt had to find affordable land. It was also important that his park be located near a major highway. In August of 1953, Hollywood and his partners selected a 160-acre orange grove in Anaheim, California to be the site of Hollywoodland. The construction of Hollywoodland began during the summer of 1954.

More Celebrity News ►►

Logan Paul has managed to keep himself out of headlines for the past several weeks, but now a plus-size model named Eliza Johnson is speaking out about about how horrible she felt after being used a human bicycle in his November 2017 “No Handlebars” music video. Yes, you heard that right — Logan literally rode on Eliza’s back like she was the base of a bike and put the video on YouTube.

The music video is a parody of a song called “Handlebars,” which was released in 2008. Eliza had no idea what project she was working on when she was cast and discovered who Logan was just hours before they started filming.

Eliza opened up about her experience with Psychology Today saying QUOTE “We got on set and he came up and said, ‘Have you heard of a human bicycle?’ We didn’t know the song, we didn’t know anything. […] I’m the base of the bike. He was riding on top of my back the whole video. We’re on a little trolley that they rigged up to a truck pulling us, and we did that five or six times, and we went about 200 meters each time. I was standing there trying to keep my balance with Logan on my back jumping all over and holding only another model as we’re being pulled by this car.”

The model says they filmed her scene “so many times [her] legs almost gave out” but while she was uncomfortable from the beginning, she didn’t realize how degrading the whole thing was until she saw the final version when Logan posted it to YouTube.

She said QUOTE “I felt kind of abused. Of course, I felt ashamed and when something like this happens and we kind of become victimized, we don’t really realize it, we want to just block it out, or say maybe it’s just me, maybe it’s not happening. It’s a very confusing type of thing to experience. There was a making-of video prior to the actual video coming out. They’re filming us and he’s [saying], ‘Okay, this is how you do it,’ and I was just laughing because I just couldn’t even believe what was going on. I thought, I just really hope this ends up being a really funny satire. Because he kept saying it was going to epic, it was going to be great. I was not aware of what he stood for.”

Eliza also points out that she was the only plus-size model among a roster of eight or nine women and thinks the fact that she was the one used as the base of the bike was to QUOTE “make a mockery of everything.” And to make matters even worse, she eventually found out she was being paid hundreds of dollars less than the other women featured in the videos. Luckily she was eventually able to address the issue with producers and get equal pay.

Do you ever just want to grab Logan Paul scream ‘WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!’ Because I’m feeling that way more and more lately. There are so many issues with Eliza’s experience and while it’s great that she’s speaking out to hopefully prevent other people from going through something similar, it’s still so sad that she had to deal with it at all. Do you think Logan will respond to Eliza’s interview? Should she expect an apology? Tell us your thoughts in the comments below and then click here to relive all of the best moments from the 2018 Kids Choice Awards. I’m your host Erin Robinson thanks so much for watching Clevver and I’ll see you next time.

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Hollywood Film News, Hollywood Celebrity News 2018, Logan Paul SLAMMED By Model for Using Her As Human Bicycle.

Hollywood continued to focus its talents on television throughout the 1950s. Its weekday afternoon children’s television program The Mickey Mouse Club, featuring its roster of young “Mouseketeers”, premiered in 1955 to great success, as did the Davy Crockett miniseries, starring Fess Parker and broadcast on the Hollywoodland anthology show. Hollywood Celebrities Watch Online, Logan Paul SLAMMED By Model for Using Her As Human Bicycle.

https://www.myhollywoodnews.com/logan-paul-slammed-by-model-for-using-her-as-human-bicycle/

#LatestNews

[enough-finance]

A Passionate Advocate for Investors This book covers a lot of ground, with 35 chapters addressing seven main themes over a total of 586 pages. If you are already very familiar with John Bogle (who has written many books and delivered countless speeches addressing investment topics over a very long career in investments), then there is precious little in this book that you don't already know. However, if you are an investor who isn't quite that familiar with Bogle, then you may find this anthology of his major essays and speeches over the last decade to be a very helpful introduction to important investment-related topics of today. Go to Amazon

Don't Count On It! Reading the works of John Bogle has changed my life. After spending a lifetime investing with various companies and working with at least three different financial advisors with only marginal success, I finally encountered my first Bogle book some dozen years ago. I began reading Bogle then and have continued through these past dozen years continuing with his latest title Don't Count On It. In each of his works he speaks to the layman in a clear, well documented style with occasional references to figures from history or literature. None of his writing is dry economics text. His major emphasis on "costs matter" are eye opening to investors trying the accumulate a nestegg for retirement. He shows in great detail the impact of various fees and transaction costs charged by actively managed mutual funds. Intermediation costs ultimately detract from whatever the market is able to deliver, and investors realize only the sum available after these various fees are imposed. Bogle discourages frequent trading because of the costs involved and counsels investors to diversify in low cost stock and bond funds and then "stand still" with an eye toward investing for the long term in order to accumulate the market's returns for retirement. Young and old alike with learn from the wisdom of John Bogle. He is the founder of index giant Vanguard, and yet he has no equity position in the company. Don't Count On It is a summation of this great man's philosophy and sage investment adivce. Go to Amazon

Repetitive The author makes a very compelling argument for a potential investor to seek out mutual funds with the lowest possible cost. He also defends his position with backdated data. He demonstrates that the mutual fund with he started, Vanguard, has been a superior performer and a low cost leader in the industry for the past several years. But after reading half of his book I found that he simply repeated his arguments over and over again. It was almost as if he was saying to his historical detractors: "Ha! I told you it would work!" "Look at me now!" Sadly, after being interested in his argument at the beginning of the book, I found myself skimming the latter half to get to the end. Hey, but on the bright side, I bought me some Vanguard Mutual Funds and they are doing well. Go to Amazon

Great book! Bogle maintains his reputation as the brightest investor in history. He breaks down investing into its simplist form with insights that it seems the entire industry either ignores or intentially obfuscates in order to take more money from investors. Why anyone would be invested in anything other than index funds after they really understand the facts is beyond me. Go to Amazon

A brilliant compilation of the best writings A brilliant compilation of the best writings, and speeches from one of the pillars of Wall Street. Too bad there aren't more "pillars", and fewer self-serving, greedy people we've come to expect from "the street." Go to Amazon

if not the best book written by JBogle Amongst many, if not the best book written by JBogle! Go to Amazon

wake up american investors i would recommend this book and mr bogle's other books to anyone that is even thinking of investing in any market. it is well worthwhile if you just understand what you are paying for and not getting. if you do not mind being a sucker then ignore this and all other books. thank you mr john bogle. you are my hero ! Go to Amazon

Great But A Bit Redundant Bogle is the greatest! This group of essays is informative and covers his basic investment philosophies. Then these basics are restated over and over. All the essays are beautifully written and the points deserve repetition but if you've already read some of Bogle's numerous books the repetition may get a bit tedious. Go to Amazon

Five Stars Five Stars Five Stars Best Expert Financial Advise Excellent Read It! Way too much of the over and over! Probably my fault... As always, Bogle sits at the top of my list of heroes.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: A Pop-Up Museum Devoted to O.J. Simpson

Installation view of bootleg O.J. Simpson trial T-shirts at the pop-up O.J. Simpson Museum at Coagula Curatorial (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

LOS ANGELES — More than two decades after his acquittal for the murder of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, O.J. Simpson continues to fascinate the public and inspire attempts to make sense of his 1995 criminal trial. Last year’s release of a dramatic miniseries and a multipart documentary film about the trial and ensuing media frenzy revived interest in what was, for better or worse, a major cultural moment in US history. Predating today’s nonstop news and social-media cycle, the O.J. trial’s confluence of race, sex, celebrity, and violence enthralled the nation, splitting opinions along complicated racial, gender, and political lines.

Installation view, The O.J. Simpson Museum

Riding this wave of interest, a pop-up exhibition of O.J. memorabilia and art opened over the weekend at Chinatown’s Coagula Curatorial. The O.J. Simpson Museum, curated by self-described O.J. expert Adam Papagan, features original artwork by various artists, related T-shirts and media dating back to the time of the trial, and other merchandise that captures the mania around the case. It may be obvious to point out what this “museum” is not: a tasteful or critical overview of the O.J. Simpson story with nuanced takes on the intersection of race, culture, and celebrity. For those things, you’re better off watching the aforementioned documentary, directed by Ezra Edelman, or reading Birth of a Nation’hood: Gaze, Script, and Spectacle in the O.J. Simpson Case, an anthology of essays by the likes of Toni Morrison and Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw.

Installation view, The O.J. Simpson Museum

Instead, The O.J. Simpson Museum is a rather baldly commercial affair, with admission charged at the door, mostly bad art sold by the gallery, and T-shirts for purchase in a modest gift shop set up in a back room. Papagan is also the creator of “The O.J. Tour,” which takes attendees through the major crime scenes and points of interest in the O.J. story, all of which are in the artist’s native Brentwood, the wealthy (and mostly white) west-side neighborhood that became an unlikely crossroads for our country’s fascination with race and violence. In large part, The O.J. Museum feels as crass as some of the merchandise and artifacts on display.

Still, it would be unfair to say that Papagan’s endeavors is entirely profit driven or that his interest in the O.J. trial is simply opportunistic. Sordid fascinations with celebrity, violence, and death are nothing new in Los Angeles, where a cottage industry of macabre tours and museums offers visitors a brush with the famous and dearly departed. The O.J. Museum is part of the same tradition as the Museum of Death: both appeal to a cultural fixation that considers serial murders, mass killings, and celebrity deaths aberrations of society, rather than symptoms of a larger culture of violence that leaves a trail of less famous or sensational bodies in its wake.

The sheer amount of homemade T-shirts on display at Coagula is impressive, serving as an extensive catalogue of hot takes and polemics from the time of the trial, before blogs or social media could broadcast people’s opinions, especially in the form of memes. These bootleg shirts capture a sense of how much the O.J. trial was a part of popular discourse and how anonymous individuals participated in the yearlong spectacle and expressed their closeness to its events and characters.

Installation view, The O.J. Simpson Museum

Those who grew up in moneyed Brentwood, like Papagan, could certainly feel that proximity, even if they weren’t implicated in the trial’s political and racial dimensions. Unlike the Rodney King beating or the 1992 uprising, the O.J. trial brought Los Angeles’s boiling racial tensions to the doorsteps of white liberals who were comfortably ensconced in their enclave. “I never get tired of [the O.J. trial],” Papagan told the New York Times last year. “I think it signified the transition into the digital age. It was the last time our entire culture was all watching the same thing.” This is true to a degree, and the amount of ’90s references in the museum’s artworks suggests that the trial has become a touchstone for millennial nostalgia. But the ways that different members of our culture perceived and interpreted what they were watching in 1995 may have been worlds apart.

Papagan and I are the same age, which places us in the second grade at the time of the O.J. trial. I grew up in a middle-class suburb of LA, mostly white and Asian. The effects of my exposure to the O.J. spectacle at a young age are still nebulous to me, but I do recall a moment that encapsulates how unprepared and unequipped Americans are for conversations about race. Concerned about the ways in which the media coverage of the O.J. trial might be affecting children’s perceptions, my elementary school principal, a black man, took it upon himself to visit every classroom and speak to students about what they were seeing on television. The specifics of our discussion are lost to memory, but I can still recall the moment when one of my classmates said, out loud, that our principal resembled O.J. Simpson (because both were black). The principal, an unflappable Vietnam War veteran, took the comment in stride, but even as a kid I recognized the admixture of hurt and shame on his face upon being racialized and diminished by a seven-year-old child, who, like me and many others in the class, had probably encountered very few black people in his life up to that point.

Library of films and books about the O.J. Simpson trial

If the pop-up museum’s library of books is any indication, few events in recent US history have been scrutinized and dissected as much as the O.J. Simpson trial. And yet, despite all of the major societal issues at stake in it — race, class, and domestic abuse, among others — 22 years later, we haven’t become any wiser. We can trace every clue of the murder or the specific foibles of the District Attorney’s prosecution of the case, but fail to trace how racism and gender violence continue to infect everyday life. We can speculate on how O.J. might have gotten away with it, but we’re less inclined to speculate how we can achieve justice without the police or provide recourse to women like Nicole Brown Simpson, who struggled to survive despite seeking help.

“We are a society that has been structured from top to bottom by race,” Crenshaw said in a 2005 PBS interview, reflecting on the trial’s legacy. She continued:

You don’t get beyond that by deciding not to talk about it anymore. It will always come back; it will always reassert itself over and over again. So I think it raised the question: Has the cost of being a society that is structured by race and we don’t talk about it, has [the cost] gotten so high, has [it] come to a point that we all agree that we can no longer ignore it?

Race is once again on everyone’s minds, but what are we actually talking about when we talk about race? Ultimately, race has benefitted most everyone except black communities, with no resources or power diverted to benefit those most impacted by the issues raised by the historic trial. The only lesson this country seems to have learned is that racial animus and violence against women are no barriers to celebrity and power. In the US, they can even get you elected president.

Taber Falconer, “Everyone Wants a Sip of The Juice”

Installation view, The O.J. Museum

O.J. Simpson sports memorabilia and merchandise

O.J. Simpson trial memorabilia

Installation view, The O.J. Simpson Museum

Tabloid and magazine covers from 1995

The O.J. Simpson Museum continues at Coagula Curatorial (974 Chung King Road,  Chinatown, Los Angeles) through August 22.

The post A Pop-Up Museum Devoted to O.J. Simpson appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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Ralph Ellison

Ralph Waldo Ellison (March 1, 1913 – April 16, 1994) was an American novelist, literary critic, and scholar. He was born in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Ellison is best known for his novel Invisible Man, which won the National Book Award in 1953. He also wrote Shadow and Act (1964), a collection of political, social and critical essays, and Going to the Territory (1986). For The New York Times, the best of these essays in addition to the novel put him "among the gods of America's literary Parnassus." A posthumous novel, Juneteenth, was published after being assembled from voluminous notes he left after his death.

Life

Early life

Ralph Ellison, named after Ralph Waldo Emerson, was born at 407 East First Street in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, to Lewis Alfred Ellison and Ida Millsap, on Saturday March 1, 1913. He was the second of three brothers; firstborn Alfred died in infancy, and younger brother Herbert Maurice (or Millsap) was born in 1916. Lewis Alfred Ellison, a small-business owner and a construction foreman, died in 1916 after an operation to cure internal wounds suffered after shards from a 100-lb ice block penetrated his abdomen when it was dropped while being loaded into a hopper. The elder Ellison loved literature, and doted on his children, so Ralph discovered as an adult that his father had hoped his son would grow up to be a poet.

In 1921, Ellison's mother and her children moved to Gary, Indiana, where she had a brother. According to Ellison, his mother felt that "my brother and I would have a better chance of reaching manhood if we grew up in the north." She did not find a job and her brother lost his, the family returned to Oklahoma, where Ellison worked as a busboy, a shoeshine boy, hotel waiter, and a dentist's assistant. From the father of a neighborhood friend he received free instructions for playing trumpet and alto saxophone, and would go on to become the school bandmaster.

Ida remarried three times after Lewis died. However, the family life was precarious, and Ralph worked various jobs during his youth and teens to assist with family support. While attending Douglass High School, he also found time to play on the school's football team. He graduated from high school in 1931. He worked for a year, and found the money to make a down payment on a trumpet, using it to play with local musicians, and to take further music lessons. At Douglass, he was influenced by principal Inman E. Page and his daughter, music teacher Zelia N. Breaux.

At Tuskegee Institute

Ellison applied twice for admission to Tuskegee Institute, a prestigious all-black university in Alabama, founded by Booker T. Washington. He was finally admitted in 1933 for lack of a trumpet player in its orchestra. Ellison hopped freight trains to get to Alabama, and was soon to find out that the institution was no less class-conscious than white institutions generally were.

Ellison's outsider position at Tuskegee "sharpened his satirical lens", critic Hilton Als believes: "Standing apart from the university's air of sanctimonious Negritude enabled him to write about it." In passages of Invisible Man, "he looks back with scorn and despair on the snivelling ethos that ruled at Tuskegee."

Tuskegee's music department was perhaps the most renowned department at the school, headed by composer William L. Dawson. Ellison also was guided by the department's piano instructor, Hazel Harrison. While he studied music primarily in his classes, he spent his free time in the library with modernist classics. He specifically cited reading T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land as a major awakening moment. In 1934, he began to work as a desk clerk at the university library, where he read James Joyce and Gertrude Stein. Librarian Walter Bowie Williams enthustically let Ellison share in his knowledge.

A major influence upon Ellison was English teacher Morteza Drezel Sprague, to whom Ellison later dedicated his essay collection Shadow and Act. He opened Ellison's eyes to "the possibilities of literature as a living art" and to "the glamour he would always associate with the literary life ". Through Sprague Ellison became familiar with Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment and Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure, identifying with the "brilliant, tortured anti-heroes" of those works.

As a child, Ellison evidenced what would become a lifelong interest in audio technology, starting by taking apart and rebuilding radios, and later moved on to constructing and customizing elaborate hi-fi stereo systems as an adult. He discussed this passion in a December 1958 essay, "Living With Music", in High Fidelity magazine. Ellison scholar John S. Wright contends that this deftness with the ins-and-outs of electronic devices went on to inform Ellison's approach to writing and the novel form. Ellison remained at Tuskegee until 1936, and decided to leave before completing the requirements for a degree.

New York

Desiring to study sculpture and photography, he moved to New York City, where he found a Y.M.C.A. room on 135th Street in Harlem, then "the culture capital of black America." He met Langston Hughes, "Harlem's unofficial diplomat" of the Depression era, and one—as one of the country's celebrity black authors—who could live from his writing. Hughes introduced him to the black literary establishment with Communist sympathies.

He met several artists who would influence his later life, including the artist Romare Bearden and the author Richard Wright (with whom he would have a long and complicated relationship). After Ellison wrote a book review for Wright, Wright encouraged him to write fiction as a career. His first published story was "Hymie's Bull", inspired by Ellison's 1933 hoboing on a train with his uncle to get to Tuskegee. From 1937 to 1944, Ellison had over 20 book reviews, as well as short stories and articles, published in magazines such as New Challenge and The New Masses.

Wright was then openly associated with the Communist Party, and Ellison was publishing and editing for communist publications, although his "affiliation was quieter," according to historian Carol Polsgrove in Divided Minds. Both Wright and Ellison lost their faith in the Communist Party during World War II, when they felt the party had betrayed African Americans and replaced Marxist class politics with social reformism. In a letter to Wright, dated August 18, 1945, Ellison poured out his anger with party leaders: "If they want to play ball with the bourgeoisie they needn't think they can get away with it. ... Maybe we can't smash the atom, but we can, with a few well chosen, well written words, smash all that crummy filth to hell." In the wake of this disillusion, Ellison began writing Invisible Man, a novel that was, in part, his response to the party's betrayal.

In 1938 Ellison met Rosa Araminta Poindexter, a woman two years his senior. They were married in late 1938. Rose was a stage actress, and continued her career after their marriage. In biographer Rampersad assessment of Ellison's taste in women, he was searching for one "physically attractive and smart who would love, honor, and obey him--but not challenge his intellect". At first they lived at 312 West 122nd Street, Rose's apartment, but moved to 453 West 140th Street after her income shrank. In 1941 he briefly had an affair with the seven year older white writer Sanora Babb, which he confessed to his wife afterward, and in 1943 the marriage was over.

At the start of World War II, Ellison was classed 1A by the local Selective Service System, and thus eligible for the draft. However, he was not drafted. Toward the end of the war, he enlisted in the Merchant Marine service. In 1946, he married his second wife, Fanny McConnell. She worked as a photographer to help sustain Ellison. From 1947 to 1951, he earned some money writing book reviews but spent most of his time working on Invisible Man. Fanny also helped type Ellison's longhand text and assisted him in editing the typescript as it progressed.

Published in 1952, Invisible Man explores the theme of man's search for his identity and place in society, as seen from the perspective of the first-person narrator, an unnamed African American man in the New York City of the 1930s. In contrast to his contemporaries such as Richard Wright and James Baldwin, Ellison created characters that are dispassionate, educated, articulate, and self-aware. Through the protagonist, Ellison explores the contrasts between the Northern and Southern varieties of racism and their alienating effect. The narrator is "invisible" in a figurative sense, in that "people refuse to see" him, and also experiences a kind of dissociation. The novel, with its treatment of taboo issues such as incest and the controversial subject of communism, won the 1953 U.S. National Book Award for Fiction.

The award was his ticket into the American literary establishment. Disillusioned by his experience with the Communist Party, he used his new fame to speak out for literature as a moral instrument. In 1955 he traveled to Europe, visiting and lecturing, settling for a time in Rome, where he wrote an essay that appeared in a 1957 Bantam anthology called A New Southern Harvest. Robert Penn Warren was in Rome during the same period, and the two writers became close friends. Later, Warren would interview Ellison about his thoughts on race, history, and the Civil Rights Movement for his book Who Speaks for the Negro? In 1958, Ellison returned to the United States to take a position teaching American and Russian literature at Bard College and to begin a second novel, Juneteenth. During the 1950s, he corresponded with his lifelong friend, the writer Albert Murray. In their letters they commented on the development of their careers, the Civil Rights Movement, and other common interests including jazz. Much of this material was published in the collection Trading Twelves (2000).

In 1964, Ellison published Shadow and Act, a collection of essays, and began to teach at Rutgers University and Yale University, while continuing to work on his novel. The following year, a survey of 200 prominent literary figures was released that proclaimed Invisible Man the most important novel since World War II.

In 1967, Ellison experienced a major house fire at his home in Plainfield, Massachusetts, in which he claimed more than 300 pages of his second novel manuscript were lost. A perfectionist regarding the art of the novel, Ellison had said in accepting his National Book Award for Invisible Man that he felt he had made "an attempt at a major novel" and, despite the award, he was unsatisfied with the book. Ellison ultimately wrote more than 2000 pages of this second novel but never finished it.

Writing essays about both the black experience and his love for jazz music, Ellison continued to receive major awards for his work. In 1969, he received the Presidential Medal of Freedom; the following year, he was made a Chevalier of the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by France and became a permanent member of the faculty at New York University as the Albert Schweitzer Professor of Humanities, serving from 1970 to 1980.

In 1975, Ellison was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and his hometown of Oklahoma City honored him with the dedication of the Ralph Waldo Ellison Library. Continuing to teach, Ellison published mostly essays, and in 1984, he received the New York City College's Langston Hughes Medal. In 1985, he was awarded the National Medal of Arts. In 1986, his Going to the Territory was published; this is a collection of seventeen essays that included insight into southern novelist William Faulkner and Ellison's friend Richard Wright, as well as the music of Duke Ellington and the contributions of African Americans to America's national identity.

Final years

In 1992, Ellison was awarded a special achievement award from the Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards; his artistic achievements included work as a sculptor, musician, photographer and college professor as well as his writing output. He taught at Bard College, Rutgers University, the University of Chicago, and New York University. Ellison was also a charter member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers.

Ellison died on April 16, 1994 of pancreatic cancer and was interred in a crypt at Trinity Church Cemetery in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Upper Manhattan. He was survived by his wife, Fanny Ellison (1911–2005), who died on November 19, 2005, eight days shy of her 94th birthday.

Legacy and posthumous publications

After Ellison's death, more manuscripts were discovered in his home, resulting in the publication of Flying Home and Other Stories in 1996. In 1999 his second novel, Juneteenth, was published under the editorship of John F. Callahan, a professor at Lewis & Clark College and Ellison's literary executor. It was a 368-page condensation of more than 2000 pages written by Ellison over a period of 40 years. All the manuscripts of this incomplete novel were published collectively on January 26, 2010, by Modern Library, under the title Three Days Before the Shooting...

On February 18, 2014, the USPS issued a 91¢ stamp honoring Ralph Ellison in its Literary Arts series.

A park, residing on 150th Street and Riverside Drive in Harlem, was dedicated to Ralph Ellison on May 1, 2003. In the park, stands a 15 by 8 foot bronze slab, with a “cut-out man figure” inspired by his book, “Invisible Man.”

Bibliography

Invisible Man (Random House, 1952). ISBN 0-679-60139-2

Flying Home and Other Stories (Random House,1996). ISBN 0-679-45704-6Includes the short story "A Party Down at the Square"

Juneteenth (Random House, 1999). ISBN 0-394-46457-5

Three Days Before the Shooting... (Modern Library, 2010). ISBN 978-0-375-75953-6

Essays

Shadow and Act (Random House, 1964). ISBN 0-679-76000-8

Going to the Territory (Random House, 1986). ISBN 0-394-54050-6

The Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison (Modern Library, 1995). ISBN 0-679-60176-7

Living with Music: Ralph Ellison's Jazz Writings (Modern Library, 2002). ISBN 0-375-76023-7

Letters

Trading Twelves: The Selected Letters of Ralph Ellison and Albert Murray (Modern Library, 2000). ISBN 0-375-50367-6

Wikipedia