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fymagnificentwomcn · 1 year ago

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I still have plenty to say on the topic, so bear with me, the original link is here, it would be too much there I think.

Anyway thank you Sol @palaceoftears for these tags that succinctly sum up the main point of the original post, let's bring them as starting point here:

#joanna you ate this!!! missed reading you#truly love how deeply you analyzed that confronting suleyman IS confronting the system!#also the freeing aspect because like freedom doesn't have to mean happiness?#yes ofc hurrem wouldn't be happy knowing ultimately suleyman didn't love her & her children over himself#but it's still freeing to not live yout whole life brainwashed lol?#like I never get how ppl that loves her watch her going from 'i'll kill the sultan' & 'don't treat us as animals' to dependant on suleyman#and just go 'happy ending :D' about it#mahidevran sultan#hurrem sultan#sultan suleiman#magnificent century#muhtesem yuzyil

You know how much I dislike Surrem, but I absolutely get people shipping it without getting it like "happy in love" (huge kudos to my sis Tisha) since it's an extremely complicated, mutually toxic relationship, while yes they do love each other at same time. But they are both each other's heaven and hell simultaneously throughout the whole show, with H��rrem being in worse position due to power imbalance. Power imbalance that never fully goes away. He might also be dependent on her in emotional way since he himself comes to belief she is the only person who would never betray him (because she truly had least benefit in it). Don't be fooled though, if she had e.g. crowned Bayezid in S3 as Sah intended, he would have shown her no mercy. /I once mentioned a bit about them, also historically here./

And LBR she got mistreated by him (please, he told her to kill herself for him, and the goal was not to determine whether she had poisoned Mustafa truly) multiple times before S4, it was only because of the topic covered I mentioned S4 stuff, especially related to how he screwed her kids.

People think of stuff in "tangible" categories and why stuff like mere "awareness" (without leading a revolution or whatever lol) seems to have little meaning.

Which is again one of the main themes of the show - to give voice also to those who lost and as such do not have the "but we won, we were happy, we lived" defence always acting for them. Bah, even controversies or discussions surrounding them. They are losers, not even worthy to talk about, and put on sidelines. We often discuss what motivated the "big figures" who got to become rulers, even if we do not approve of their actions or criticize them. Rarely we talk about "losers". Which is what Mustafa's letter stressed - people will deem me as traitor, while your name will be written in golden letters because of all your victories. This alone will make your name remembered. And even considering that Mustafa was lucky in that people generally did not believe him to be a traitor, with Bayezid it was much harder because yeah he did openly rebel and it's not something we can deny. But some jump to conclusions like 'he was insolent and one day decided to rebel for no reason' (yes, I've seen such takes) is very simplistic. I do not even approve of a lot of his actions there since while I get his anger at Suly and Selim I hate how he involves plenty of soldiers in a fight without a chance to succeed as long as Suly ass lives, but damn takes like above truly erase what brought him to such point. Because he was the prince with bigger support at that time. He could have waited for his father to die soon and easily taken the throne. /And historically - yes if you actually dig up sources, he didn't wake up and decide to attack innocent cookie pacifist Selim lol/. Show! Bayezid telling Defne that he would be labelled as a "rebellious prince" for future generations with obvious evidence backing it up means a lot because even though he IS one, there is so much more to this story and what bought him to this point, starting from his father's attitude to him since he was a kid.

And damn I do need to stress the need for the critical approach to SOW (which does not preclude stanning the characters/getting interested in historical figures ofc)? Maybe not here, but I still see TikTok shit on “The big 5” introducing feminism to Ottoman harem. There is no revolution we can talk of in any case, but truly, where is feminism involved in Haseki institution? It only privileges one woman over others. The others are still required to serve them, which is why we had the Hürrem/Gülnihal and Nurbanu/Valeria stories. And what it ties with what Sol says once Hürrem tries to kill Gülnihal - her parents' ghosts appearing to tell her It's not revenge. It's not what you promised us. Meanwhile, the men are still in power, with a person like Suleiman having unlimited agency. More.. the man selects the woman he gives those privileges too. And even if he grants her freedom (if HE pleases so), it has little actual effect because we all know she is still forbidden to leave him and would have lost her kids anyway if she had done so. Thus said, the moment when show Hürrem slams the door to Sulyass' stupid face is one of my fave Surrem moments without a doubt and one of fave H moments in general ahsmshs. / BTW One day I will finally talk how Westerners focus more on say legal marriage when it that system having multiple sons was more ground-breaking because even free brides from noble families who did not have children had little power and agency. /

There is plenty of irony involved, just as Mahi finally freeing herself from attachment to Suly once he rejects her freedom to which he is entitled by the System. Bah, only he has the power to do so regarding his women. It's all only at his own discretion.

It is precisely what I also mean by "taboo-breaking" and the questioning Mahi does of Suleiman and the way he (as Sultanate) operates. In that world mere questioning could break the taboo. We do not know what future lay ahead for anyone, but damn what he kept doing was neither just nor wise according to the very norms of the times themselves. Yes, Mustafa was the most promising and fitting candidate for the throne and he did not betray his father, so Suleiman removing him from "open succession" was not even why this method of succession had been established in the first place and demanded from princes assembling their own support, also ensuring that he would be easily accepted to prevent discord and rebellions. Mustafa did it too well, the horror. And that him wanting to do something (also as he himself stated, since he got privilege of being the prince and be able to rule, he should not sit idly, but use it for good purpose and the people) only brought him troubles because of Suly ass own ego only shows again the problems with this system and being centered on one person so much. Suleiman violated a lot for his own agenda, centered around himself, not the future of the state. This is what Mahi is criticizing and stating it to his face when he tried to paint his son as a traitor to present himself as just and acting for the state IS taboo-breaking in itself. Asking the question instead of dismissing it all as "fate", as Mihrimah tried.

Mahidevran tries to awake Mihri, who while rich and "still in power play", is very similar to her in many ways (also with the one big sin that has weighted on them silently). They all lost. Even Selim. Getting Mihri's brother (Hürrem's son) on the throne did not mean triumph and happiness for her. Heck, even Selim is a walking wreck. It's not even about sides because SS truly managed to destroy everyone's lives, not only one side's, so in the end it's not even favoritism. All for him to go with his beautiful words, a show-off victory, and his beloved throne (while saying something else in his monologue). Mahi telling Mihri to stop holding her father blameless IS the moment making someone else's eyes open and maybe do not let actively go for something that will not help anyone out at this point, like causing discord between Selim and his son. These are small things that are important for the theme and how mental freedom is also of value. Same with awareness. Nobody expects revolution or claims something. And we are at a particular point when Mahi already lost Mustafa and says it already in the context with him gone. She won't resurrect him with her words ofc LOL. And Mahi truly didn't have to do this, just take popcorn and look at Hürrem's kids & other descendants fighting even more.

You can precisely see when SS decides how to dispose of Bayezid when Mihri says she will never forgive him and will be dead to him if he executes her brother. The lightbulb over his head in this moment lol. So her continuing to hold him blameless, while putting everything on Selim and Nurbanu is buying his shit and rules of the Sultanate. Mihri might have power, so she can stir things up in attempt to still "win", but.. they all lost. Her acceptance of it and stating it out loud before leaving Topkapi again has meaning. One might continue to have power and live in palace (unlike Mahi), but they all lost anyway. Mere meddling that can cause only chaos to still try to win is meaningless and can ony be harmful. As such, Mahi's words can have at least some impact.

Mahi and fate as Sol's post with Plami's commentary also has this delicious tidbit with mirror - most likely Hürrem would have never ceased to hunt down Mustafa after Mehmed's death because she had decided on eliminating him long before that and kept carrying out the plan via concrete & repeated actions. However, Mahi still questions herself on that because she can never know. And even if it changed nothing, it still tormented her and polluted her conscience. Because culpability is still there, regardless of "system" and circumstances" and whether it has any tangible effect or not. Same with Selim still being culpable even though SS wanted Bayezid executed. He still chose to do so anyway. Bah, he is actually very self-conscious and states clearly that he won because unlike the others he was able to kill his brother.

Similarly, Mustafa, Cihangir, and Bayezid also made their choices. Mustafa could have axed Suleiman and it would have been hard to blame him for this in the situation it boilt down to. Actually, he was the one with biggest support at that moment, so rules of the Sultanate definitely allowed him to dispose of an aging ruler who began making a multitude of mistakes. He had the biggest power at his disposal if he wanted to. Moreover, Musti also chose to invite the member of the opposition faction because she was his sister, despite said sister openly declaring her standing on the opposite side and speaking to him "with her mother's words" last time they met. Once more, instead of rules of Sultanate and how the system expected him to act, he chose familial bonds.

Then again, Bayezid did have Selim on his knees in front of him and chose not to kill Selim, despite Selim never promising him any change or begging for mercy.

They both died, but they also could have chosen differently and compromised their conscience and values in the process.

Yet the opposite choice to adhere to the Darwinist rules and get the throne at any cost is not something mechanic that promises happiness or safety, either. Actually, it can make you painfully blind. We see Hürrem deciding blood will be spilled only of her enemies once she learns her son is going to end up on the throne. When she meets with the witch after Mustafa is dead and the throne for one of her sons IS a certain thing.. it's not what she wanted to hear, starting from her own imminent demise from natural causes. Same with her trust in the "human face" of the Sultanate aka Suly ass:

The "right, sultana?" is an ironic call-back to the beginning of the episode when she uses same words about Suly's power to exclude herself from the matter of Mustafa's death.

Also let us note the use of the word "destiny"😱 .

Also, Hürrem did not come back to ponder her preceding conversation with the witch earlier, as she had another proof of herself not interpreting it correctly - when she assumed Nazenin's baby would be the one the witch predicated as the Sultan. Nurbanu was after all pregnant with Murad at the same time.. so no, the witch was not mistaken, Hürrem was simply so caught up in her own vision of how it would go (also with Baye taking the throne) or assumed the witch to be mistaken, so she didn't notice it was about her grandson.

Another interesting thing is that the witch also predicts Mihrimah's future and that while her physical illness will pass soon, the spiritual pain will soon start and persist.

Because even if we "win" in that we survive, it does not need to bring happiness with it. At all.

It doesn't work like this either (Mihri talks about sacrifing Musti and Cih), while we are at it. There are no simple mechanisms like that! And how Mihri adopts her mother stance and calls her out that only one of her sons can survive according to the Darwinist rules (which is also what Rüstem advocates in any circumstances, only for him there is no support for Bayezid really... any can go) is just irony at its finest, and it stems also from her feeling of guilt - I already tainted my conscience and went again familial bonds, so let it at least mean victory for my favourite brother. She is now quick to accept one of them will die, she just wants to ensure it's not Bayezid.

Another of Hürrem's children that do adopt her "survival no matter the cost" agenda (and no, it's hard going for that to "pacifism" agenda shortly after getting what you wanted), and to a bigger extent, is Selim obviously.. Selim states to Bayezid that he will live because he is capable of killing his brother for his own survival. But we know what sort of life this is (and that he won't live long from history). He might later quote his mother to Mihrimah and convince himself that since nobody is innocent under this dome, so only the deserving win, but outside that, he does call himself a "brother killer" and does consider it a burden. /And Selim being his mother's son is another fascinating topic, since he was like.. her least fave and yet he is the one most alike her and who most absorbed her views and agenda.. to later emerge as sort-of third unexpected faction /.

Neither Mihrimah nor Selim ever found peace after adhering to the System's rules of fratricide. Bah, they cannot even be a family again as the only surviving members.. instead they openly accuse each other of being brother killers. Judging by history, they will eventually learn to co-operate, but nothing will be the same ever again. There is no moral victory in it for sure. Selim does not claim it any point. Actually, he is the one to point out that: We all lost. Innocence died and nothing will be as before. We can accuse Selim of many things, but he is a pretty self-conscious character indeed.

The others might be dead, but they did adhere to their principles and values due to choice.

The power of reflection or questioning is also tied to to the concept of choice as what makes us a human. MC never promises us happy ending (how it could, we all know the ending point), but the mere presentation of choice, of humans trying to create something positive, like Mustafa, Bayezid, and Cihangir deciding not to fight against each other as expected, is meaningful.

Instead we got nobody truly winning or benefitting from what happened LBR. It cannot get worse than that, really.

The whole issue again reflects what I said earlier in that post on how Erdogan historical propaganda works. It's not all sunshine and rainbows, but there is no questioning at all. Instead we have normalization of violence and presenting it as something necessary, and that there is no choice or alternative to what happened. The sultan killed his brothers, but he had to. It was necessary, it was automatic. There is even no person behind it, but a robot always doing the right (even if brutal) choice because "it was like that".

And to some up the great ironies of life, we can remember that Mahi who lost it all... survived them all, so she won the Darwinist game in the end despite being rejected by System multiple times:

#all the ironies of life indeed #'the strongest survive and win'#as if #regarding everything in this statement #the topic of free choice vs system vs fate is soo fascinating in MC #Maybe will talk even more on the topic #let's see #mods opinions #meta

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arytha · 2 years ago

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Talking about OCs post!

Daniel and Daniel (the Dannys): Twins that work on the moon station overlooking The World, alongside Yuri. Both of them present as male, and look almost identical, but one of them Did transition from their assigned birth gender (no one knows which one). And that's a side thing. Their main thing is that they're Yuri's direct assistant/task errand boy and they only recieve one salary, because only one of them actually joined the station in the first place (the other's application was denied). Other than Yuri, few people realize there are actually two of them, and they both constantly get mistaken for the other. Due to loving mischief they both are completely fine with this 👍 and encourage the chaos surrounding them because the observation station gets boring. they've both been there for as long as Yuri and Xena have. Danny tends to be a part of shenanigans even if they didn't start it.

Gawain: (working name for now) The accounting director. He is in charge of the observation station's funding aqcuisition and researcher salaries, and hasn't been seen by those outside the accounting division for the few hundred years he's been on the station. But recently he's been trying to change that! To fit in, not only is Gawain studying really hard about basic human interactions, but has also changed his form to look (what he thinks) the most pleasing to the eye. So he has blonde hair, green eyes, and if you didn't listen closely you'd think he was a womanizer and a playboy. If you look closely, you'd notice that while he chats people up (and seems to truly enjoy doing so), he never makes a move on others and keeps his hands and limbs politely to himself.

Millennium (Mimi): Mimi's the hardest to succinctly describe because she's more of a major character while also being incredibly minor. She was meant to be the protagonist of her own story before I firmly decided on Era's, but I retooled her while also keeping some of her original setting. So! Mimi is a ghost, she was brutally murdered, and she is currently stuck in Data (the embodiment)'s personal home server. Mimi originally hailed from a ~2000s like period on Era's planet, enjoyed computers, and had hardly begun learning their version of Basic before her untimely death 😔 So, newly minted ghost lands herself in the universe's most detailed database ran by the embodiment of actual data, and this ghost learnt how to play with more advanced machinery and code in 10 days with little to no prior exposure. what do u do. She's slated to become Data's girlfriend. Eventually. She's got a super bright and playful personality to contrast with Data's serious one 🥺 and creates super neat code with concise comments and emoticons scattered within. also super keen on vengeance but it happens really easily for her

Side note/setting for Era and Millennium's world while I'm here:

Naming habits on era's planet tend to place importance on chronology and keep time meticulously, and its not uncommon for parents to choose names based on the day their child was born, especially if it coincides with a large change in dates.

So era, originally born december 31st, xx99, is born at the end of an Era. Millennium, born the next day on january 1st, x000, is the beginning of a new Millennium. (and someone *really* messed up on writing the fates for this batch of new souls)

#Mara's Shit #Danny #Mimi #Gawain #OCs #i really love the dannys 🥺 they're supposed to be a good foil for how serious yuri is all the time #and mimi is my new baby everyone say hi to mimi. i am rotating her in my head #also Millenium = Millenium bug #mimi = meme = memetic exposure = a real ghost in the machine on a network

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pluto-art · 4 years ago

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Out of the Cold, Out of the Cavern

Type: Fan fiction (PatB) / Self-insert/Y/N/OC (sort of...) Genre: Hurt/Comfort (what else?) Words: 4,841 Rating: K+

Fan Fiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13724127/1/Out-of-the-Cold-Out-of-the-Cavern

As usual, I recommend the fan fiction version, which includes all of the italicized words.

Thanks to @shuunthenonbeliever, I was inspired to finally write this. :)

“One-sixty… one-eighty… two hundred,” the plump woman said, sliding a packet of bills off her jewel-laden fingers and into yours, like water pouring out of a spout.

“Thank you,” you replied, hesitant to pocket the load with those two, round, black eyes still staring at you, burrowing into your soul. They belonged to a young girl, nine or ten in age, perhaps, with short, auburn hair, her little white and turquoise dress bouncing up and down as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting, watching.

“She’ll need watch every weekday from three to nine,” instructed the woman, barely even looking at you or her daughter as she checked her purse for something. “If you have any trouble you have my work number.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“But you’ll be no trouble. Will you, Elmyra?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am. Nopey nopey nope! We’re gonna have so much fun laughing and cuddling and playing with all my fuzzy whittle animals!” screeched the girl, in a voice that scratched like sandpaper.

“Yes, dear. Be good to your new babysitter, all right? Mommy has to go to work now.”

“Bye byeeeeeee!!” Elmyra waved, smiling widely in mock innocence as her mother stepped out the door.

“Bye,” you called out, a bit half-heartedly.

As soon as the door snapped closed, Elmyra turned to look at you expectantly, beaming.

“All right. She’s gone. You can go play with your pets,” you said.

“Yaaaaaaaay!! I’m coming, my fuzzy whuzzies!”

And off she hopped, skipping down the hall and around a corner ever so gayly, to a spot that you knew to be her bedroom, where all manner of horrible and unspeakable things happened.

You turned, leaned against the front door, and inhaled a long, deep breath of air, practically sliding against the thing as you counted out the greens in your hand -- one one-hundred, a fifty, a ten, and two twenties. Yep. Checked out.

You pocketed the loose change, paused, then got up and stuck it in your backpack instead. It’s not like it was going anywhere for a while. Besides, you hated carrying around more than you needed to in your small pants pockets.

Tossing the backpack next to the living room couch, you collapsed onto said couch and took a gander at your new surroundings.

It was a quaint little abode. Could have done with a new paint job, perhaps, but the yellow interior and old-style furniture wasn’t completely abhorrent. The whole cottage was rather cute, in its own weird way, sporting the occasional gothic chandelier that would have looked much more at home in Edward Scissorhands’ house, or a wastebasket that was far too frilly and posh to even be used for its original purpose. But the seating was comfortable, the cable was working, and, best of all, the fridge, stuffed to its seams, was, according to Mrs. Duff, 100% at your disposal. If there was anything that solidified a job offer for you, it was free food.

Not that the job was all chipper and charm. You knew what you were getting into when you took it, and the intermittent screams coming from Elmyra’s bedroom, as well as the cat that nearly bit your finger off from earlier as you tried to coax him out from under the kitchen table, were stark reminders of that. Everyone in the city of Burbank knew who the Duff family was, whether it was personally or from the horror stories passed down the school halls. Most who visited their house, unless they were a close family friend or relative, never wanted to step back in it again. It was common knowledge that you only went to Elmyra’s if you wanted a nice, long day of yelling and suffering, and all in your dorm would have rather died than take on the job of babysitter when it was posted online. But you took it. You took it… partially ‘cause you had no choice. What with a full-time college schedule and not much else in the cupboard save for ramen and three-day-old apples, cash was in short supply and desperately needed, and even though the last thing you’d rather do was keep watch over this kid, you also couldn’t find a job anywhere else. Besides, the pay was good. Excellent, in fact. Two hundred every Friday. You might even splurge on Chinese this weekend.

Sliding the remote off the thick, wooden table, you flipped through the channels, one-by-one, finally landing on National Geographic. The narrator was deep in discussion about the living habits of bats. Appropriate, you thought, as Elmyra flitted out of the room, make-shift cape trailing behind her and blindfold on, zoomed into the kitchen and grabbed a packet of cookies before zipping back into her room, sounding very much like a bat as she laughed in a loud, screeching tone the entire time. You did a double-take as she slammed the door behind her. Were there… other voices coming from the room? No. That’s silly. You shook your head. Crazy.

The next couple of hours went by surprisingly uneventfully; so much so, in fact, that you wondered if there was any basis in the rumors that floated around about the Duff residence being a literal “house of horror”. Some even said the place was haunted. It wasn’t until 6:55 PM, when you went to remind Elmyra that dinner was almost ready, that you got a whiff that things weren’t… quite what they seemed.

Of the menagerie loose throughout the house, Elmyra owned a total of one cat, a parrot, a turtle, and two white mice. The turtle hid. The parrot squawked. And the mice? The mice… talked.

“Narf! Hello there!” the taller of the two said, as you meandered into the room. You cocked an eyebrow and hesitantly lifted a hand to wave at him.

“Hi…,” you replied, a little taken aback.

The shorter mouse didn’t look up at you. His focus was heavily trained on a notepad rife with complex calculations far beyond your intellect. He was scribbling away as if his life depended on it. He also called you a “disposable hindrance”, albeit indirectly to his associate, something you didn’t entirely appreciate, but you also didn’t dare talk back. Not yet.

“Oooo. Munchie time! Come on, little mousies!” Elmyra cheered, and she grabbed both rodents tight around the neck with her short, groping fingers, stuffing them into her shirt pocket as she ran out of the room and in the direction of the kitchen.

You stood behind for a moment, nonplussed. Okay then.

A soft shuffling down the hallway made you turn. It was the cat. He still looked quite wary of you.

“Hey, kitty,” you cooed, gently but not in a childish fashion; more like you were simply greeting a friend. “You gonna let me pet you this time?” you asked, bending down and holding out a hand for him to sniff.

Tenderly, cautiously, the cat stepped up to you, wagging its tail slightly behind him. You narrowed your eyes. A wagging tail wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when it came to cats, but this was… different. The closer he got to you the more he wagged it, as if he was… excited? Curious? He sniffed your hand… and licked it. Odd. Then he peered up into your face, lolled out a long, pink tongue, and barked.

You sat back a little, wide-eyed, as the cat-dog jumped up onto your legs and actually started licking your face. It was… weird. Cute, but… weird.

After a few hearty licks, the cat, satisfied, jumped back down, scratched itself, and ran off to play with a ball. You wondered why he hadn’t come up to you before. Perhaps he still had more of the cat than the dog in him. You also now understood why some people claimed that this house was “haunted”. Two talking mice and a barking cat. Not exactly “spooky”, under your terms, but definitely unusual. You wondered what other treasures this quirky household held. Pirate bones? Dinosaurs? You had to admit it was rather exciting.

Shuffling back into the kitchen, you found Elmyra at the table, greedily shoveling the macaroni and cheese you’d made for her into her mouth as she watched a cartoon program on tv. The mice sat beside her in a little highchair, both now dressed as infants, the big-headed one looking absolutely miserable. Now and again, Elmyra would shovel a huge spoonful of mac and cheese into one or the other’s mouth against their will. Lanky mouse didn’t seem to mind it too much. Grumpy mouse turned to look at you with an expression that read: “shoot me”.

“Elmyra, be careful with how you feed your pets, okay? They might not like too much mac and cheese…,” you suggested, cautiously, frowning a little at the big-headed mouse in pity.

You knew, of course, about this kid’s harsh treatment of her pets. Everyone knew. But her parents were rich, and could probably buy out the police station and the A.S.P.C.A. if they’d wanted to, and so no one said anything. Still, as an animal-lover, you were curious. Just how badly did she handle her critters? Maybe you could do something to relieve their pain while you were there? And the situation was bad, certainly, but you’d seen worse, and there was only so much you could say besides, at least while she was awake. Too much rebellion and you’d probably be fired. That being said, you fully intended to assist in giving the poor things a little reprieve once Elmyra went to bed in an hour, and so you let the macaroni-shoveling slide… for now.

8:00 PM came and went, with little deviation from the norm aside from Elmyra quickly popping into the kitchen again at 7:23 PM, opening the freezer, and succinctly closing it before racing back into her bedroom. You shrugged at the gesture, barely turning around from the tv, figuring she probably just went to grab some ice cream. Thankfully, Elmyra not only went to bed early, but also was a heavy sleeper, so by the time 8:15 rolled around she was already obediently in bed and snoring, needing only a reminder from you ten minutes prior. The lanky mouse opened an eye as you peeked in. He was sleeping in the bed with her.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making to close the door, but the little mouse sat up.

“Wait! D-Do you mind checking on Brain? Elmyra said he went to Antarctica, but… he hasn’t been back in a while. You’ll go look for him, won’t you?” he asked, twisting his tail as he said it.

“Sure. I’ll look for him,” you responded pleasantly, and you meant it. The mouse smiled.

“Oh, thank you!” he whispered, tucking back into bed. “Good night!”

“Night,” you whispered back, closing the door softly behind you.

You frowned. Antarctica? More than likely, cranky mouse was simply hiding somewhere, but internally you promised to keep an eye out and check a few cupboards.

Several drawers, a pantry, numerous cupboards, and a couple of closets later and you still couldn’t find the little mouse. You even checked the higher areas of the house, wondering if “Antarctica” meant somewhere scalable and colder. Your first thought, of course, had been the freezer, but that was preposterous. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Would she…?

Out of pure curiosity, you headed back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl from a cupboard as you did so. You were hungry anyway and figured that a hearty helping of ice cream before you left in half an hour certainly couldn’t hurt. You had free reign of the fridge, after all.

You set down your little blue bowl on the counter. You grabbed a spoon from a drawer and set it in the bowl. You even snatched a couple of Oreo cookies from an Oreo cookie box nearby and plopped them next to the bowl for good measure. Could never be too careful.

Noticing that Elmyra had left a box of frozen fruit pops on the counter without putting them back, you shook your head, grabbed it, opened the freezer door…… and dropped the box onto the floor with a loud plop. Hastily, you whipped off your red sweater, reached into the freezer, and pulled out a little white ball of frozen fur and whiskers.

“Oh, you poor baby,” you cooed, cradling the small mouse in your sweater as if he were precious cargo. You tittered. “Goodness. You poor thing. She actually put you in here??”

Closing the freezer door, you brought the mouse up close, pressing a finger to where his heart would be. His eyes were shut tight, and he was curled so firmly about himself that it took a little doing to get your finger up to his chest. He didn’t stir as you moved him about. There was a heartbeat… barely, faint as a whisper. It was a miracle he was still alive.

Almost instinctively, you cupped him in your hands, brought him over to the sink, and slowly turned on the faucet, checking that the water was lukewarm before carefully sticking him under the steady stream. You didn’t want it too hot right off the bat. Even a warm temperature might be a shock.

Two minutes later, after you’d let the (hopefully) stimulating mini waterfall wash over him, you turned off the faucet and proceeded to dry him off with a towel -- softly; slowly. He still hadn’t stirred, not even a little, and you gulped. Were you too late..?

8:35 PM. The stillness of the night, save for the now dimmed volume of the television, found you sitting once more on the couch, this time with a fuzzy occupant in hand. Big-headed mousie -- the… Brain… he was called? -- lay cradled in your arms, encompassed about with a very soft, very woolly blanket indeed. It was the fluffiest you could find in the house. Nothing less would suffice, in your mind. You could only imagine how frightening of an ordeal it must have been, shivering, cowering in a freezer for an hour, not knowing if the next breath you took would be your last….

A thumb gently stroked the snow white fur of the sleeping mouse, and you couldn’t help but massage that oversized head of his from time to time, muttering to him in soothing tones as you did so.

“You poor thing…. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you in there earlier,” you apologized, even though he probably wasn’t listening. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, the only indication that he wasn’t dead being the steady beat, beat, beat of his thumping heart every half a second.

“You gonna blink for me, sweet heart?”

And then, as if on cue, the little mouse sloooowly blinked, opened his eyes, and stared at you.

“Hey there, little one,” you whispered, smiling at him. “Atta boy….”

His eyes began to shift around, rapidly, and he frowned, as if trying to take in all at once where he was and what had happened.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” you reassured him, readjusting your grip a touch as you continued to hold him close to your chest. “I’ve got you. Elmyra’s asleep. She can’t do you any harm. And if she tried I wouldn’t let her.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, and subsequently shut it again, as if at a loss for words. Perhaps he really was speechless, or perhaps he was still a little stiff from having been locked up in the freezer for so long. Whatever the reason, he continued to stare at you, almost unblinkingly. As you went to pet him again, he reeled back, breathing faster than normal.

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay,” you said calmingly, pausing a mite before resuming your soft massage of his head. “It’s all right, little one. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

And slowly, hesitantly, he settled.

“‘Antarctica’,” you mused, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you survived that. Poor thing….”

You continued to talk to him; comfort him. After a solid five minutes of being stroked and cooed to, he actually leaned into your hand. You could tell he enjoyed the massage, reluctant as he was to admit it. A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little fellow, even if he had been a bit of a butt to you earlier. How often did this kind of thing happen to him? Weekly? Daily? How often did he bath in this torment? You decided to ask him.

“Does she do this kind of thing to you often?”

He nodded, gaze still trained on you.

“Like… daily?”

He nodded again. You sighed.

“I’m so sorry….”

He actually shrugged.

“It’s… my life,” he coughed out, in a deep, chocolatey voice that was a little raspy. It was almost comical that a voice that low could come from something so diminutive.

“Well, it shouldn’t be your life,” you countered. “You don’t deserve any of this.” He simply blinked at you.

“How long has she had you for?”

He shrugged again.

“Over a year..?” he guessed.

“Over a year…. Sheesh…. How are you still alive?” you asked, actually chuckling a little… and regretting it immediately after. This was no laughing matter.

“I… I don’t know,” the Brain admitted, his body vibrating for a second as it released a shiver. For once, he looked away from you. “I don’t know….”

There was something in the way that he said “I don’t know”, something in the way his voice quivered a touch as it floated off into the air, that made your heart break in two. It was as if he himself couldn’t believe they’d held out as long as they had; that they hadn’t given up all hope by this time. It was a dry admittance, a sad admittance, and he blinked rather rapidly and sniffed after saying it, as if trying to bite back tears.

Any animosity you’d had for such a creature had completely dissipated by this point. His honesty. His helpless quaver…. They’d destroyed it. With all the more tenderness, you rocked him gently to and fro, taking extra care to massage his whole little body, as best he’d let you anyway, trying to iron out every last bit of pain trapped in those delicate bones. He barely even resisted, save for asking once why you even bothered to help him in the first place.

“Because I think you needed it,” was your blunt response.

He’d looked away a little shyly at this, before turning back to look into your eyes.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and it sounded sincere.

You simply nodded, smiling at him, continuing to rub out the pain as best you could.

8:47 PM. You tossed a frown at the clock. Mrs. Duff would be back in about thirteen minutes. The time you had spent with your new charge hadn’t felt like enough. You were fully aware that you couldn’t take him back to your place for extended relief. He’d have to return to Elmyra’s room, or, at the very least, be put back somewhere in the house before the mother arrived. This posed a bit of a problem, however, for by this point he’d fallen back to sleep in your arms. You stopped rocking him back and forth for a moment to simply… look at him.

He was so small. Much smaller than expected for a pet mouse. Perhaps he’d been a field mouse in the past? A body that fragile shouldn’t be thrown around in a house by a volatile little girl. He should be cared for; comforted; loved.

8:48 PM. He was actually snoring, so quietly it was barely audible. Despite yourself, you leaned down… and kissed him on the top of his head. He stirred, but didn’t awaken.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, swallowing thickly.

You looked at the clock. 8:49 PM. You sighed.

You couldn’t do this. You knew you couldn’t do it from the moment you opened the freezer door and saw him lying in there. Two hundred dollars a week wasn’t worth it. You were going to be fired and that was that. Screw the money. The thought of leaving the two mice in such a condition as this was unbearable. You couldn’t rescue all of her animals, of course, and you hated the idea of stealing, but this one had almost died.

8:50 PM. You groaned. This wasn’t going to be easy….

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sunday morning saw you bright and early, topping off some pancakes in your dorm room with maple syrup, cutting up a few tiny pieces, and setting aside said pieces on a small napkin on a table. Two little white mice immediately stepped up. You smiled at them as you dug into your own, much larger portion of the breakfast, watching the sun rise beyond the balcony.

In the end, you’d chosen the lesser of two evils: voluntary departure. The moment Mrs. Duff had returned home, you’d politely thanked her for the payment, but regretted that you didn’t think you could continue to operate as babysitter. She’d been disappointed, but not surprised. It wasn’t the first time a new hire had quit so suddenly. The turn-over rate with Elmyra was high.

And so you left, leaving the two mice behind at the house, but had returned the next day around 1:00 PM while Elmyra was in school and her parents were preoccupied. She had a tendency to leave her bedroom window open, you see, and it didn’t take much convincing to persuade the mice to consider new living arrangements. The taller one, whose name turned out to be Pinky, was a bit uncertain, and felt bad about ditching without even a note of thanks or apology, but the Brain said it wouldn’t matter, that Elmyra would get over it soon enough and find some other tiny rodents to torture, and so Pinky relented. Not that you could blame him for being hesitant. You also felt bad about literally kidnapping them in this way, but you couldn’t think of any alternative.

Watching Pinky happily lick maple syrup from his lips, however, and observing Brain take notes on a pad while he chewed on pancake satisfactorily, you felt it had been worth it. Pinky still felt a bit guilty about ditching Elmyra so suddenly, but he seemed to adjust to change surprisingly quickly, and sweet breakfast food every morning was a-okay in his book. Brain was still getting used to you, and spoke only when necessary, but he hadn’t forgotten the freezer incident. When he did speak to you it was fairly formal and polite, and he’d even let you scratch behind his ears now and again. Pinky was undoubtedly the friendlier of the two, and you enjoyed spending time with him, talking about movies and playing board games, but there was a special place in your heart reserved for Mr. Grumpy. You figured that would always be there after what had transpired several nights prior. All you could see whenever you opened a freezer door now was an ivory, frost-bitten body trembling in your hands.

Bright sunlight was pouring into the dorm room now, alighting the chairs, the tables, the dishware…. Smiling, you stood up, plate in hand, and stepped out onto the porch, choosing instead to rest in one of the outside seats, the better to enjoy the day’s warmth.

Several minutes later, as you popped a piece of pancake in your mouth, something, or someone, crawled up into the chair beside you. You looked down. It was Brain.

“Hello,” you greeted him pleasantly.

“Hello,” he replied. He licked his lips a little timidly. “Umm….”

“Yes?”

“I…. Well, I… I just wanted to say that… you’ve…. Well, it’s… it’s nicer here than at Elmyra’s….”

“Glad to hear that. I would hope so,” you smirked.

“And… I…. Well, I… um…,” he stammered, scratching at his neck.

You smiled.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You’re welcome.”

He looked up at you, then back at the sunrise. A minute passed. Quietly, inconspicuously, he sidled up close to you, and leaned his entire body against yours, closing his eyes as he did so. Your heart warmed at this show of trust. Oh….

Gently, so as not to startle him, you brought up a hand and began massaging him.

“I love you, little one,” you whispered under your breath.

In response, he pressed closer against you. It wasn’t at all what you expected from him, but you gratefully accepted it all the same.

You both sat like that for a long time, enjoying the touch of the sun’s rays, Pinky finally joining in some moments later as he snuggled up to his friend. Brain actually wrapped an arm around Pinky... and smiled. Pinky hugged him back.

A grin tugged at the corners of your mouth as you watched them, before turning your attention back to the sunrise. Hot pancakes. A beautiful view. Soft mice. And no Elmyra. It was nice.

As you petted the two little fuzzies cuddled up next to you, warm and full and far away from any girls who would put them in freezers, one thing became absolutely decided in your mind: no amount of money could ever substitute for this.

The End

--------------------------

Author’s Note:

I promised myself I’d never do a self-insert. Granted, that applied more to drawings, and even then I’ve made a couple of exceptions in the past, but writing out this kind of thing is still a bit embarrassing to me. I feel like it tampers too much with the canon universe, but, then again, so do AUs and even fan fiction in general. Every story is a “what if”.

This one came about, however, because I was inspired by a friend of mine, Shuun. She’d written a very sweet little story called Haven Forbid (which I suggest you check out), that was, in turn, partially inspired by a soft idea I’d had in which a young woman, taking on the job of Elmyra’s babysitter, discovers Brain trapped in the freezer and proceeds to nurse him back to health. The idea in general is one I’ve had for months and months and months. Whenever I daydream about cuddling and comforting Brain, it often comes back to this particular scenario. So, yes, it’s a flat-out self-insert. Ha-ha. I just normally don’t like sharing these things publicly, but Shuun inspired me to be brave. Heh. :)

Although this is written with a y/n perspective, the character of the babysitter is basically me. This is what I would most likely do if in this situation. Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain is a show that I not only abhor, but that hurts my heart terribly. The pain I feel regarding Brain, watching him get beat up, tossed around, thrown against walls, choked, and all manner of other despicable things, is nigh through the roof. So dearly do I yearn to rescue him from such a predicament that I’ve literally been in tears thinking about what he had to endure in that show, even though it’s technically not canon. He can be a little butt himself sometimes, but he absolutely did not deserve any of what he was put through in that series.

Hand me a little frozen Brain and I’d do exactly what you saw in the story. Let me warm him; hold him; love him; tell him he’s not alone…. He’d probably balk at a majority of it, but, deep down, he wants to be comfortable and secure as much as the next person. I have so much love for this little fellow. A lot of the time he needs a kick in the pants, to be certain, and occasionally he’d rather be left alone than spoken to, but once in a while, even though he’d never admit it, I think he also needs a kiss to the head.

(As a side note, the title of this story was… paaaaartially inspired by the famous “Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire” chapter title in The Hobbit.)

#pinky and the brain #fan fiction

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bemused-writer · 4 years ago

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Game!Hector VS Show!Hector + Some Story Predictions

Originally, this post was going to be about my thoughts on the Castlevania series more generally, but then I had too many thoughts about several characters, so this post just turned into a look at Hector, who I personally find pretty interesting.

His character also demonstrates some of the more obvious changes the show has made and I can attest that people have Opinions about Hector in particular, so I kind of want to talk about the character for a bit.

First, a visual comparison:

Visually speaking, not much has changed. He has gray/silver hair and his outfit is much the same, though some of the more dramatic bits from the game are toned down (most notably the shoes, though you can't make that out here). His skin tone is a little darker in the show, possibly to make his Greek heritage a bit more obvious.

His backstory is... kind of changed. To be honest, the game did not care about backstory. XD I know they had a tie-in manga for the game, but I'm not going to be bringing that into this because I've never read it. This is going to strictly compare what we know from the game compared to what we know in the show, mostly to keep things simple for myself.

So, Hector's background in the game is very simple: he betrayed Dracula after he started killing humans (unclear if the killing of humans was the actual problem or just how he was going about it), left him, renounced his devil forging as evil, married a woman named Rosaly, and then set out to avenge her death after she was burned at the stake for being a witch.

His backstory in the show is quite a bit more detailed, but tonally quite different. He was often isolated as a child for being considered a freak for his ability to raise dead animals (his devil forging), which he kept as pets. His own parents despised him, and at some point he burned his house down with them inside. In other words, he murdered his parents. At some point he met Dracula and the strike up a bond and later joins him to "cull" the humans who have always mistreated him. He very specifically wants it to be a cull and not a genocide; he thinks with a manageable population, people will be ... better? I guess? Anyway, Dracula lies, says sure that's what we'll do, and he joins him. He does not have a wife (this is before he would have met her anyway), and therefore vengeance isn't a plot point.

Part of the problem in comparing this is that these two Hectors are set in different points of time. Game!Hector has already betrayed Dracula and moved on with his life. Show!Hector has just joined him on his crusade.

His personality is where we can see the bulk of the rewrite, however. Game!Hector was a no nonsense, take charge kind of guy that alternated righteous fury and outright bullheadedness with aristocratic manners and gentlemanly behavior. It was simply fantastic. He knew what his goal was (avenge his wife), pursued it (killed Dracula) and then called it a day. Perfect. Maybe not a ton of nuance (but when has there ever been in this franchise?), but definitely satisfying to witness. The man has mastered pretty much every weapon you could possibly hope for, can summon innocent devils through forging, and is basically an all around powerhouse.

Show!Hector is ... not like that. At all. He has a much softer personality and a lot more quiet sorrow about him. Game!Hector was not soft and he definitely wasn't quiet or especially sorrowful despite having just lost his wife. Game!Hector was also a lot more abrasive when angry and almost stiffly cordial when he wasn't. Show!Hector actually has a sense of humor, is quieter, and actively dislikes debate.

As for fighting, show!Hector hasn't displayed his martial skill of yet, so I can't say whether he's any good at it. He uses a hammer for forging night creatures, which could be dangerous, but mostly feels practical. Basically, game!Hector feels like a warrior that cross-classed with a summoner while show!Hector feels like a full-fledged necromancer.

But probably the biggest change in personality, and the one that I think has caused the biggest rift in whether people like show!Hector or not, is that game!Hector had an absurdly strong will and was never placed in a position that made him look weak. Show!Hector has beliefs, but he's hardly flinging himself into the fray to defend them. He has been constantly manipulated and, as of season three, psychologically tortured, has developed Stockholm syndrome, and is basically going to have a lot more to work through than game!Hector ever did in terms of plot.

To put it succinctly: game!Hector was allowed way more agency while show!Hector has yet to break free of the very literal chains that bind him. Game!Hector purposefully joined Dracula, purposefully betrayed him, and purposefully chose everything else in his life. Show!Hector was manipulated by Dracula into joining his crusade under false pretenses, was manipulated by Carmilla into betraying Dracula, was kidnapped, imprisoned, manipulated by Lenore into trusting her, and is now her slave to boot thanks to a magic ring slipped on his finger during an intimate moment.

So, what with all these changes, will show!Hector ever display the backbone we're more adjusted to seeing from game!Hector? First of all, I think it's a little unfair to say he hasn't shown any. No, it hasn't been that overt, take charge attitude from the game, but show!Hector has not meekly bowed to the horrors inflicted upon him. He has survived everything that's been tossed at him.

But, if we really are just talking about when we're going to see a Hector that wipes out his enemies without a single doubt and has the resources to pull it off, well, my guess is not until season 5 at the earliest. His story arc has been pretty whumptastic as you can see. To be honest, I do feel like Hector's plot has probably had too much whump. He's basically being psychologically tortured nonstop as of season 3 and, yeah, it's probably good to point out he's not exactly a "good guy." Lest we forget, he was perfectly all right with wiping out a significant portion of mankind, but his current circumstances are just degrading and certainly aren't designed to deliver justice.

But why do I think we might see him regain his agency in season 5 as opposed to the upcoming season 4? Well, he's been made a slave of Lenore, very literally through magic, so it's unlikely he can do anything to break that of his own free will. Most likely, Isaac will storm the castle and break him out, not out of the kindness of his heart, but because he wants to kill him. However, this isn't the version of Hector he'll want to fight. A battered, broken man? There's no honor in such a fight. And that right there gives us a portion of the game's plot: Isaac wants Hector to regain all of his strength so they can have an epic battle.

Still, things are much changed. Isaac was once a slave himself in this version, and I can't help but wonder if Hector's circumstances might ring more with him in the show than they ever did in the game. I doubt they would become "friends" exactly, but perhaps a new level of understanding could be gained.

There's also the Lenore angle to consider. As I mentioned before, this version of Hector isn't married, but could his attachment to Lenore remain despite her abuse? Could Lenore end up loving him as well? And if Isaac is the one that kills her, could this be what spurs on that craving for revenge that Hector had in the game?

If so, I have mixed feelings on it. I don't believe Lenore can love Hector after what she's done to him. It would be the height of hypocrisy, but, well, she's not a good person, so that probably won't factor into things. For Hector's sake, I hope he doesn't continue to harbor any goodwill towards her. Continuing to genuinely care about her would be catastrophic. But, pretending to be under her sway? After she's already convinced he can't do a thing against her? That could be interesting because it would reverse their roles. Some possibilities there.

Regarding Hector's potential romances, it's interesting (in, you know, a disturbing way) that Hector's intimate scene with Lenore is set side-by-side with Alucard's scene with Taka and Sumi. Both of these scenes ended phenomenally badly. What is initially seen as an attempt at comfort by both Hector and Alucard turns into an incredible betrayal: Lenore turns Hector into a slave while Sumi and Taka attempt to kill Alucard for "withholding" information.

It also shows that, oddly enough, these two are in similar predicaments despite having never met. They both long for intimacy (not necessarily sexual) and for understanding, acceptance, but they never receive it. The fact that these mutual traumas are portrayed at the same time makes me wonder if these two might eventually meet and find comfort in each other, either platonic or romantic. It would certainly be dramatic; they both had ties to Dracula, were on opposite sides of the war, yet harbor basic similarities. Hector seems to long for some peace and quiet; Alucard's abode definitely has that. Alucard probably also wouldn't mind a bunch of undead pets, so... shrug

One thing I am convinced of, though, is that at some point Hector is going to have his comeuppance, one way or another. It would be incredibly disappointing if he goes through all of this and still loses in the end. That would quite the disservice to the character and, in my opinion, uninteresting. It seems much more likely we will see more of his suffering, but also how he will slowly turn it around until he has an advantage of some kind.

Also, with this comparison of the character, I suppose it would make sense to finish off with how I feel about the character. I already noted that I like game!Hector, but in truth I actually really like show!Hector as well. Yes, he's much changed, but he also has a level of depth the game didn't permit. He's sympathetic despite being on the side of evil (which is how I feel about Isaac as well, though for very different reasons). I wish his story hadn't involved so much humiliation, but that doesn't prevent me from liking the character, In fact, I think he's handled his circumstances with a remarkable amount of poise and grace all things considered. It's interesting, and I absolutely must know how he's developed further.

#castlevania #bemused's post #long post

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asocier · 4 years ago

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because i forget my own headcanons and have yet to really flesh out very important details, here is a masterpost of topaxi headcanons and lore pertaining to alison/nathalie, emile, and leah!

tl;dr: new locations mentioned in this post include alsace ( alison and emile’s home country before topaxi ), district 104 ( aka the artists’ corner/the arts district; alison and emile’s home district ), hue ( leah’s family’s home country ) and district 249 ( aka international district; leah’s home district ).

alison/nathalie and emile clair

previously mentioned in this post ( but never discussed at length ): the clair family do not have roots in topaxi. more specifically, the family do not have roots in the city of topaxi, though their home country of alsace located on the continent of gaea is part of the topaxi empire and has been for some time. as such, the decision to move to the city of topaxi was a rather easy one, the move done out of much convenience considering how fast the family wanted to start over after alison and emile’s father’s disbarment.

to elaborate on the disbarment and its effect on the family ( also pulled from that same post from earlier ):

the decision to move to topaxi was hastily made in an attempt to start anew after an unfortunate courtroom incident involving emmanuel clair, emile’s father, who made his living as a well-established defense attorney. his reputation in the courtroom ultimately led to him making some enemies, and a well planted piece of forged evidence in a high profile case led to emmanuel’s downfall and subsequent disbarring ( think ace att/orney tbh ).

the blow to emmanuel’s reputation drew media attention not only to himself but his family as well, and with two young children, it was decided that moving away from their home and taking up a new life would be the best, even if this new life wasn’t as lavished as before. and so topaxi was chosen to be their new home – and topaxi is mostly what emile and his twin sister alison know.

to expand on the last sentence: emile and alison moved from alsace to topaxi when they were five years old, meaning they’re still able to remember their early days outside of topaxi in addition to the family’s move and the reason behind it. they were quite aware of the differences between living in alsace and in topaxi as they adjusted to their new life, and the twins’ slight accent in speech drew attention from classmates who were born in topaxi. all in all, however, the twins do see the city of topaxi more of their home than alsace, and they have a significant attachment to the district their family moved to and grew up in.

district 104, nicknamed el rincón de los artistas, the artists’ corner, or the arts district for short, is well known for its colorful buildings, cobblestone paved streets, street murals, and frequent live performances in the park located at the district’s heart. many of topaxi’s artists, musicians, and writers either have called district 104 home, performed in one of the district’s performance halls, drawing many from all over to visit the city, even if it’s only for a night, or contributed their works to the district’s own museum. during the day, bazaar vendors are often showcasing their handicrafts, and local performers looking for their big break can be seen busking at the train station or outside restaurants. upon first glance, district 104 seems to be thriving, but many areas of the city struggle financially.

similar to how some artists successfully secure and hold onto fame while others struggle, the same can be said about the locals of district 104. on paper, district 104 seems to be doing quite well, but the locals know better than to consider the district wealthy. toci elementary school ( escuela primaria toci ), the school emile currently teaches at, is an example of this dearth in financial support that can exist in some parts of 104. this school, located at 7Sc 19 D104, is home to a little more than 100 students and is considered to be the worst school in district 104 on account of how underfunded it is, how “misbehaved” the children are said to be, and how run-down the area seems to look in comparison to the district’s center.

this school also happens to be where alison and emile attended as children. the twins often found themselves returning to this school even as they aged to volunteer and play with the children, the twins acting like older sibling figures to many in the area. considering the fact that the clair family was generally well off and lived quite comfortably, they did as much as they could to support their local community, a sentiment emile still holds very close to his heart. while alison ends up leaving her home district for the central district, her impact in the community can be seen via the murals that are painted on the side of the elementary school and on the side of some of the local businesses. she played an active role in encouraging the youths in her neighborhood to express themselves artistically, and many of those who bonded closely with alison have taken interest in studying art when they’re older.

leah nguyen

district 249, nicknamed el crisol del mundo ( the world’s melting pot ) or more succinctly, the international district, is where leah calls home. while topaxi as a whole is known to house people from all over the world, district 249 has taken the idea of a cultural melting pot to a new level to draw in tourists. rumored to have been a district that acted as a refuge for those displaced from their home countries by the many topaxi conquests decades earlier, district 249 today is comprised of many ethnic enclaves that neighbor one another and is considered one of the most culturally diverse districts in topaxi. any tourist who comes to visit can clearly see the variety of sights, sounds, and tastes the district has to offer just by walking down the main road that splits the district in half.

originally from hue located on the southeasten part of the houtu continent, leah’s parents found themselves in district 249 after the second most recent topaxi conquest. with much of the continent already under topaxi rule, it was only a matter of time before the topaxi advancement foreces ( taf ) would move into hue next, and despite the country’s effort to defend itself, it was inevitably conquered, sending many to either flee to neighboring nations or to topaxi itself in hopes of finding refuge and better living conditions than their war-torn homeland.

many of leah’s family members participated in the war between topaxi and hue, including her father. while her father speaks little of what he experienced during the war, she’s aware of his continued military service even after he had fled hue with her mother, a story many from hue share as they looked to topaxi for new opportunities and better living conditions than their newly war-torn homeland. enticed by the taf’s promises of honor and good pay, former hue natives swallowed their pride and began to fight on the side of the victor in the most recent set of conquests. this is a story many in district 249 share, as well; after having their homeland ransacked and conquered, many find themselves desperate for ways to support their families and turn to enlisting in topaxi’s army, which seems to be always looking for disposable members. unfortunately, ichor poisoning on account of being exposed to high levels of ichor in a short period of time was common for those enlisted in the army, and it wasn’t long before miasmic symptoms hindered many soldiers from living their lives normally after they were discharged.

growing up in a community so heavily affected by ichor poisoning is actually the driving force behind leah’s decision to attend university and pursue her current research interest. her studies are very interdisciplinary: while she is officially a student of the psychology department, the research she conducts with her supervisor is a collaborative effort between the engineering, psychology, and robotics departments. interested in measuring the public’s perceptions of the newly developing prosthetic technology and capturing the stories and experiences of those who suffer from miasma ( as a result of warfare, ichor mining, or other sources of ichor poisoning ), leah plays a role in the interview and transcription process of the research and works closely with her research team to present this information to the other departments.

having grown up in district 249 all her life, leah was exposed to many different cultural influences at an early age, and as such, she picked up on many useful phrases in different languages during her time in the district. she’s only fluent in two languages, but her ability to understand bits and pieces of conversation in other languages seemed to have added to her appeal to both the admissions office and her current research lab at topaxi’s autonomous cultural university, or universidad cultural autonoma de topaxi ( ucat ). being the first in her family to attend college, there are high expectations resting on her shoulders to be successful, and there’s a constant need for leah to better and prove herself as she navigates academia. she currently resides in district 21, the university district, to complete her studies. it’s a bit far from district 249 so she doesn’t return home often, but she writes to her family when she can and visits during long holidays.

#( private verse ) your name is #topaxi verse #cw: long post #i didn't proofread this dont come at me

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typewriterghcst · 4 years ago

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Title: But For Me It Was Tuesday Rating: also G-ish, but some allusions to probably what we would consider child abuse in the modern day lbr Characters: one (1) OC, Baron, Natori, Yuki Summary: The events of The Cat Returns, but told through the eyes of the smallest-- oh, sorry, my mistake— the youngest kitchen maid in the service of the Cat King. No romantic pairings. A crush or two may be mentioned, though. Notes: Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, even though I emphatically missed the deadline rip. This one was for the prompt of ‘Movie Extra’, which I took to mean, well, pretty much just what I wrote— the events of the movie as a backdrop to another character’s everyday life, lmao This is another one that isn't Entirely Finished, but I've been working on it since June-ish and I've just lost all motivation to finish it. Though, unlike the last one I posted that was unfinished, the only part missing from this one is the ending. There's also a part in here involving Natori that needed to be changed, but I liked the wording and imagery of it, and never did get around to figuring out where else to put it, so some of the pacing in here is Off rip

&&&

She oversleeps. That's the first unusual misfortune that happens to her on this particular day. Opens the day, no less, she thinks to herself as she forlornly stokes the ovens' gently smoldering fires. Her ears are still ringing from the boxing she'd received— the fact that Cook had had to include a little hop to even reach them means what little pride she has feels just as bruised.

Were she a more superstitious, flighty sort, she might even have taken this setback as the first of likely many portents of an upcoming stressful day. But instead she is only Topolina, the youngest (but emphatically not the smallest; more on that later) kitchen maid currently languishing away in the employ of the illustrious royal castle of the Cat Kingdom.

Of course, it’s there she stops herself. It’s only the chaos of the morning that has her using such bitter language. She should try harder, she tells herself, not to linger on the unpleasant aspects of her current existence, and instead focus on… on… well, she supposes there’s something to be grateful for in all of this.

Like…

Oh! She has a home. A relatively nice bed to sleep in. And meals, every day.

...Meals which she is most often forced to wolf down in the kitchen in solitude as she tends the fires and keeps a watchful eye on the simmering pots.

Ah.

Perhaps she needs a bit more practice with this gratitude thing, is all.

It’s entirely possible her recent light resentment had begun with her very name, Topolina, a name which had been quite fitting when she stood at least two heads shorter than all the other kitchen maids, one she'd even perhaps viewed with some fondness for its endearing quality. And yet, alas, it now exists as a name which seems only heavily ironic— that is, now that she's hit the tender age of fourteen and found herself towering over all but the very tallest of cats. It feels to dear Topolina like some massive, omnipresent joke that she remains her old timid, meek self, still eager to fade into the background and disappear... now without even the faintest hope of being able to do so.

Metaphorical salt in the wound is the undeniable fact that her pinafore's hem, once perfectly aligned with her ankles and cutely poofy, now drapes awkwardly far above its original position. Perhaps it’s comparatively trivial atop all her other complaints, but when she finds herself thinking back to her old unassuming silhouette, she can’t help but feel at least a little crestfallen. Nowadays, she feels quite akin to a pitifully overgrown shrub, no matter how many well-meaning words to the contrary she receives.

All in all, she imagines such a thing might make anyone feel rather less than appreciative.

It’s as she’s sitting there alone before one of the nine stoves in the palace kitchen, contemplating her rotten luck, that she hears— well. She’s not sure, exactly. It’s something of a crunching sound, like rusted metal grinding against itself, and she can’t imagine what its source could be. She stands, and gingerly inspects the oven itself from every angle she can think of. She even studies her fire iron. Yet still she comes up empty-handed.

Defeated, she flops back down in her original spot.

And then— she squeaks, because the ground under her is moving, slowly twisting back and forth as if she’s sitting on a lazy top. She leaps (falls is more accurate) off the emerging ground once her mind comes back to her, once it stops panicking, and stares in confounded shock as the very spot she’d been settled atop transforms into what appears to be a long-forgotten manhole covering. How long had that been there?! She’s never been made aware of an old servant’s tunnel in this area!

Her perplexion only deepens when she spies just who has made use of this abandoned tunnel— a cat much like herself, though she thinks that he looks quite a sight better than she would have had she just crawled through a dirty tunnel. His off-white suit is pressed and smart, for one, and hardly has a tear nor even a wrinkle to show for the abuse he’s no doubt just put it through.

His sharp gaze falls then on her, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of her ill-fitting, nearly threadbare pinafore, the scuffs of dirt and soot smattered across it, and her probably unkempt fur, smudged and mussed from fire-tending. Oh, if she could just will the earth itself to open its maw and swallow her up—!

“Ah,” he starts, in a much gentler voice than Topolina had expected, turning to her and offering a hand to help her up, “I apologize. It was not my intention to startle you.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” she stammers, taking his hand without thinking. (Were she in a right state of mind, she’d never do such a thing— the very last thing her poor Young Maiden’s Heart could stand is for a handsome gentleman to struggle to lift her.) He pulls her up with little difficulty, though, and in her chest she feels a very peculiar thump, and then a flutter.

“A-Are you here for the king..?” She asks impulsively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, appearing to think that over for a fleeting moment, perhaps aware of the myriad of ways the pairing of her question and his response could be interpreted, before he makes his decision.

“Yes. I would like to have an audience with him. It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Y… you’re not here to kill him, are you?” She whispers, perhaps irrationally afraid that the king himself might be listening in on her. And yet, not too irrational— she’s seen his spying Cat’s Eye floating languidly about the castle on more than one occasion.

There’s something pitying in his gaze, she thinks, but he replies graciously enough. “You have my word, miss. I am not here to usurp or otherwise harm your king.” Then, while dusting some nonexistent dirt off his clothes, “I do believe I will need a change of wardrobe, however. It won’t do to adress a king while clad in anything less than my finest, will it?”

He says it without flinching, and in such an earnestly straightforward fashion, that Topolina herself is almost led to believe there really is some flaw with his clothing that she simply can’t see.

“Oh!” She says then in sudden inspiration. Without explaining herself first, she scampers to the open alcove behind him, separated only by an unfinished wall. The kitchen servants have long used the area as a makeshift coat rack, and one particularly bizarre ensemble has been there for as long as she can remember. She comes back around the wall bearing the large hat and cloak before offering it to him, embarrassed now that she realizes that, judging by her actions, this is what constitutes ‘his best’ for her: an absurd hat and a dusty, worn cloak.

He himself appears no less than enchanted at her offering, however, and when he stands before her with the hat cocked just slightly on his head and azure mantle thrown over his shoulders, Topolina finds she’s again being assaulted by those odd, vexing heart palpitations. Is she really such a nervous thing? ...Yes, she answers herself firmly. Yes, she is. But she’s far from convinced nerves are to blame in this instance.

“Oh,” she breathes eventually, clasping her paws together and resting them against the edge of her cheek. “You look like you came out of a storybook.”

Well… that was more childish than she meant it to be.

“Then it’s perfect,” he says succinctly. Then, removing the hat and inclining his head to her, he adds, “Thank you for your assistance, ah—”

“Top— erm, Lina.”

“Miss Lina, it is. I’m quite grateful for your help. I am sorry only to startle you and then run without so much as a token for your assistance, but it’s imperative I make good time.”

Topolina shakes her head. “It’s okay— I-I don’t mind!”

And with a final bow, he leaves her and the kitchen behind.

&&&

Peculiar dashing stranger aside, the rest of her day passes in relative normality. There’s a clamor about the servants some time later, and she catches snippets of an excited buzz about something happening with the prince (something that ties in with a group of special guests, but she’s yet to put together how) as she goes about her duties, but in all, for how bizarre the day started out, it all strikes her as rather uneventful.

She’s instructed eventually to scour the floors in the audience chamber in preparation for a banquet, which means filling an old rusted tub with hot water and soap, and then carting it to said room. She’s no stranger to the task, of course, and thinks nothing of trudging through the hall with this metal burden in her arms.

Perhaps as penitence for her lack of investment in the day’s continuing Wonders, another ill-fated obstacle is tossed onto the tracks before her. In this case, literally.

Earlier that day, a courier had accidentally overturned a loose stone in the hallway floor. Scratching his head, staring down at the disturbed piece of clay as though it had personally insulted him in the most obtuse way possible, he’d eventually looked from one end of the corridor to the other and quietly snuck it back into place, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Unfortunately, Topolina notices.

With a decidedly unfeline-like squawk, she trips over the rogue stone; the tub in her arms ends up the victim of gravity, as we all so unfortunately are.

And who should turn the corner then but Natori, just in time to be the unwitting second victim of her bad luck— drenched by the ensuing sheet of warm, sudsy water and so jarred by it, it seems he can do little other than look rapidly from his own sodden person to her no-doubt horrified countenance for near a full two minutes. In the fraught silence that follows, his glasses clatter to the earthen floor, and the tiny sound echoes in her ears like a gunshot. Trembling, Topolina instantly drops to her haunches, paws clapped together in desperate and tearful pleading.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir! Please, I beg your pardon— I didn't mean— i-it was an accident!"

"...Topolina," Natori finally interrupts quietly, gently, even, but the hum of exasperation vibrates just underneath his patient tone like a trapped butterfly, "—retrieve a mop and a towel, please.”

“Of course, sir! R-Right away!”

&&&

It’s afterward, as Topolina does her best to mop around him while he tries to dry himself without incurring any extra… floof, that Natori deems an appropriate time to address his reason for coming this way in the first place.

“It’s possible that Cook may have instructed you about this task already, but the kitchen staff will likely be needing every pot and pan that can be spared for today’s dinner, so do ensure that you tend to the ones that have been, er, languishing in... that corner.” When she chances a glance at him, she sees that his gaze is inconspicuously trained on a particularly infamous corner of the palace kitchens, one where abandoned cookware is just shy of creating its own ecosystem by now. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, some measure of indignation rises in her; she’s so very close to telling him she isn’t the one to blame in this instance! ...At least, not the only one.

Ah. Alas, once more. Her courage withers in the face of this culpability, small as it may be. Instead, she goes back to her doleful mopping. Still, there is at least enough nerve left in her to present him with one continuing question on the topic.

"Is it... is it for the special guests?"

Natori pauses, giving her something of a searching glance. "...It is, yes." Then, after a few seconds spent appearing to think this over, he continues ringing out the bottom hem of his robe. It seems at some point while she was distracted, he’d laid the drenched towel at his feet. "I see word spreads fast through the kitchens."

To herself, she thinks that he has no idea how true that is, nor precisely how fast it truly does.

Finally satisfied with all that the towel can accomplish in drying him off (and evidently feeling his now damp robe will no longer leave any puddles as he wanders through the castle), he returns it to her. "Now, Topolina, please try to keep the mishaps to a minimum. We do have an exceptional guest today, after all."

She only nods frantically, all too aware of her ears flapping up and down. To this, he gives an approving nod of his own, and then finally turns on his heel and leaves. Secure in her admittedly paltry position for at least another day, Topolina breathes a sigh of relief as she puts the mop away.

...An exceptional guest, he’d said. Curiosity flares again, this time stronger than before, and she can’t stop wondering just who they could be. For the most fleeting of seconds, she remembers the cat who had interrupted her delayed routine this morning, but he’s quickly waved away.

Honored guests did not arrive to their own commemoration by climbing through old servants’ tunnels.

&&&

Once the dirtiest, most grime-caked pots and pans are finally scrubbed to perfection, she peeks around the corner in search of Cook or Natori, wondering what other (insignificant) part she may have to play in the care of these exceptional guests. To her consternation, however, the kitchen aside from her seems rather empty, present only to the sound of a maid or two prepping extra portions of stuffed mice on the off-chance they’re requested.

Cautious as always, Topolina all but tiptoes through, still careful not to draw attention to herself, and— once she’s certain she’s not being scrutinized— peeks out of the kitchen itself into the servers’ hallway. There’s music playing, muffled, down the hall in the great dining room— something elegant, bouncy. A waltz, perhaps. She wonders distantly who it is that might be dancing, and if the well-spoken cat she’d crossed paths with earlier is anything of a dancer himself. She could imagine him dancing… Oh, the flutter is back.

“Lina—”

“Yes!!”

She jumps impressively high, her hackles on edge and tail fluffed out in alarm. Yet, when she whips around to face her unexpected company, she’s met only with Yuki. Another of the kitchen servants, Yuki has existed as a consistently friendly, warm presence, to the degree that she’d willingly adopted Topolina’s attempts to shorten her, well, newly embarrassing name, something a few of the other servants (and Natori…) were still having trouble with. Her fright abated, Topolina tries to greet the smaller cat with a smile, but it wavers.

“Oh— Yuki, it’s you.” She’s carrying a large glass bottle, freshly-filled with some unfamiliar pink-tinged liquid, Topolina notices.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki starts in reply. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-It’s okay!”

“What were you looking at?”

Oh. That.

“I was looking for Cook,” Topolina admits reluctantly. “Or maybe Natori. I’ve finished the dishes they wanted me to clean earlier today.”

“I saw The Corner was all clean. It must have taken a while.” Yuki sounds impressed, perhaps. Topolina doesn’t mention it, of course, but deep down she’s a little tickled. “Natori’s already taken his place in the dining room, though, so I don’t think you’ll have any luck getting more directions from him.”

“Oh…” Thinking back now, she realizes she should have surmised that already. At least, if the banquet has progressed to the point that entertainment is warranted. “What about Cook? Have you seen her?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

After a short silence, it suddenly occurs to Topolina that Yuki seems… a little distracted. Troubled, even. Fidgeting, she gathers her resolve for the third time that day.

“...Are you okay? You look like… um, something’s on your mind.”

Just the mention of her evident disquiet is enough to erase its presence from her expression; Yuki almost instantly brightens some, shaking her head gently.

“No, no. I’m fine.” And then, before Topolina can press the issue, “How about this? Stay here— I have to go back in and serve refills. If I see Cook, I’ll ask her what else she wants you to do and then fill you in when I come back. Okay?”

Topolina is just about to enthusiastically agree (leisure time in the sparsely occupied kitchen? Not being the one to personally ask Cook for more work? Of course she’d be on board!), but a sudden eruption of screams and breaking glass from the direction of the banquet room means the two of them are turning their startled attention to the ruckus instead.

“Wh— what could it be..?” Topolina wonders aloud, shaken.

[ and that's it rip the ending i had in mind was that yuki tells topolina to find a safe place, topolina cowers probably in the kitchen the whole time, especially upon hearing an Explosion. and the next day there's all kinds of rumors and tall tales about baron and The Daring Rescue he pulled off. topolina connects the dots and. well basically becomes haru 2.0 crushing on him and indulging in fantasies where she's also swept off her feet by a dashing hero fjfjkda; ]

#the cat returns #do i #still tag it with the birthday bash tag....#tcr birthday bash #i guess #this was my first attempt at writing baron #also yuki

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ryanmeft · 6 years ago

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Ranking the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Part 1

The culmination of the superhero ride that started with Iron Man back in 2008 is almost here. Avengers: Endgame tickets are selling out fast even though the movie is nearly three weeks away, and speculation as to how this stage of Marvel’s box office juggernaut will all end is at a fever pitch. What better time to rank the movies that have brought us here? Now, no one with even a tiny bit of objectivity sincerely believes Marvel had a ten year plan and executed it precisely according to a grand vision. Looking back through these movies makes it clearer than ever that, more often than not, they made it up as they went along. In fact, considering all the retcons, changed minds, dropped plot threads and unexpected surprises, it’s amazing the continuity holds together at all. It mostly does...but the bottom part of this list contains the few movies even Marvel’s PR team probably wishes they could have a mulligan on, as well as some good-but-not-quite-lighting-the-world-on-fire fare. Let’s get to it. Warning: this article contains spoilers for nearly every movie in the MCU.

21. Iron Man 2

The red-headed stepchild of the MCU. After the surprise success of the original Iron Man, Marvel Studios apparently forgot that the strength of that film was allowing Jon Favreau and the writing team to put heart before brand synergy, and decided to make a movie that was half marketing for their planned Avengers crossover. Dropping Black Widow in here felt completely jarring, and it didn’t help that her role just added to the jumble of plot threads that didn’t seem to add up to anything; at the time, many saw it as proof that Marvel was putting a little too much faith in their ability to pull off this whole crossover thing. That’s only part of the sordid story, though, because the movie is also a mess in nearly every other way. Rather than the tight plotting of the original, this one sees Tony, Rhodey, Pepper and the rest speeding from random situation to random situation---a car race, an unhinged party, a spy caper---with only the barest of plot threads holding it all together. The movie’s only saving graces are the villains played by Sam Rockwell and Mickey Rourke. Each of them deliciously devours every scene they are in, providing the film’s lone moments of enjoyment, but they’re also squandered on what feels like an extremely low stakes plan. Iron Man so well proved that superhero movies can have a soul that it even managed to make some critical best-of lists for 2008. The sequel made us wonder if that might have been a tad premature.

20. The Incredible Hulk

There are some genuinely creative moments in this action-oriented “apology” for the in-reality-pretty-good Ang Lee Hulk movie. The opening sequence showing how Hulk’s blood travels, a chase through a Brazilian favela, tossing Bruce out of a helicopter to incite his other half, and the almost-love scene aborted by the alter ego were signs of how clever the movie could have been if it were not focused on cramming in as much smashing as possible. Nick Nolte’s complex antagonist is replaced with William Hurt chewing a little too much scenery, the new super-villain played by Tim Roth is a dull waste of the actor’s talent, the finale is listless, and the entire movie is just one long excuse to show Hulk ‘roiding out as much as possible. The camera work of skilled action veteran Peter Menzies Jr. and some excellent CG on the title character make it more fun to look at than many of the tights flicks of the time, which is something. As a general rule, things that are made to chase fleeting audience sentiments don’t stand the test of time, and there’s been a quiet reversal since 2008 in which Lee’s more original and creative vision for the character has come to be re-evaluated, while this one has been almost forgotten and relegated to endless TNT re-runs. Maybe with Mark Ruffalo having one more movie on his contract, he’ll get a crack at doing it right post-Endgame.

19. Thor: The Dark World At the time, this movie served as iron-clad proof that the only reason the Thor character worked at all was Loki. The god of mischief is at his delicious then-best here, conniving from a prison cell, partnering with his brother out of genuine concern, and eventually managing to actually take the throne. Sure, that latter development was quickly undone in the next film, but what a parting shot. He’s the only aspect of the movie that fully works, and if you pop it in today you sit patiently waiting for his scenes and snoring through the second, Loki-free half of the movie. Thor himself is lifeless when Loki’s not on screen. The Warriors Three are still nowhere near the right balance of humor and bravery. Natalie Portman remains wasted on a supposedly genius scientist who can nevertheless be stunned into immediate silence by Thor’s golden locks, while Sif is still 100% unnecessary in every way. Perhaps worst of all, the underrated Christopher Eccleston is miscast as a villain who always seems to be doing bad Shakespeare. We all tried hard to forgive it at the time (and director Alan Taylor claims it was made “a different movie” in the editing room, not at all implausible) but thankfully we’ve since admitted this is mostly a misfire.

18. Ant-Man

If you were to judge Ant-Man entirely by the size-changing shenanigans, it would be one of the best Marvel movies. Peyton Reed, building off a script by departing director Edgar Wright and Joe Cornish (and tidied up by Rudd and Adam McKay) gets a ton of mileage out of the novelty of being the size of an insect, from outrunning a flood in a bathtub to that rather brilliant final confrontation in a child’s playroom, using toys as ammo. Further, Paul “I Am Immortal” Rudd is pitch-perfect in the title role, while Michael Douglas and Evangeline Lilly bring a lot to the picture. It’s in the details where Ant-Man falls a bit short (pun intended). To start, we have a single major Hispanic character in the MCU, played by the frankly more-legendary-than-you-think Michael Pena, and he’s reduced to a fast-talking stereotype. Judy Greer and Bobby Cannavale are also worlds better than their roles, which are, respectively, a cliche shrewish ex-wife and a cliche over-suspicious cop. What really drags things down, though, is the lackluster villain, who may be the most inert black hole in the MCU’s rogues gallery. He is neither good enough to engage us, nor bad enough to hate. He could have been played by a grip, for all the personality he’s allowed. The core of the film is delightful. The hill around it is crumbly.

17. Captain Marvel

Marvel’s first female-led flick is understandably a phenomenon, pulling down the sixth-largest opening weekend of all time and serving as inspiration to young girls and target to the kind of people who don’t want women in their clubhouse. So what about the movie that’s causing all this hullabaloo? It’s pretty decent. The movie can be summed up very succinctly as “safe”. It takes few chances and is more like one small step than one giant leap for womankind. Had it been released during the early superhero boom, it would still be fondly remembered as a major link in the genre’s evolution. As it is, it borrows from the buddy-cop subgenre to create what is essentially an adventure/sci-fi movie between Carol Danvers and Nick Fury. It stands out more as a callback to the kind of action pics made in the 90’s (when it is set) than the heavily marketed shared universe of the MCU, and includes standout performances from Annette Bening, Jude Law and Ben Mendelsohn. It meets expectations; it does not exceed them, and if you are a fan of the distinctive style practiced by directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, you won’t find it here. It’s only a month old, and it may be too soon to definitely say how it will be seen as time goes on. Right now, it feels more like a solid first step for the character than a fully realized final destination.

16. Thor

The original Thor has some completely solid, indisputable charms. Chris Hemsworth does physical comedy much more skillfully than he is ever given credit for, it is the debut of Tom Hiddleston as Loki, the third act is a rare-at-the-time case of inventiveness in an MCU finale, and it’s always great to see Stellan Skarsgard in literally anything. I would watch two hours of Stellan Skarsgard eating lunch, with a clone of Stellan Skarsgard. His drinking scene with Thor is a seriously underrated bit of awesome. It helps make up for the fact that the movie has no idea what to do with most of the supporting cast, including in part Loki, who at this stage seems to flail around between personalities, having crazy forced on him in time for the final duel despite it not even being hinted at earlier. It’s as if director Kenneth Branagh just let him do his own thing, and Hiddleston’s not 100% sure what that should be yet. The mirror scene is objectively amazing, but he won’t really come into his own until Avengers. The Warriors Three are utterly wasted; Branaugh and the writers just never nail the right combo of comedy and camaraderie needed to pull them off. Sif is superfluous. Natalie Portman is one of the finest actors of our generation, here reduced to goggling over Thor’s pecs. It’s not bad, especially compared to some of the dreck that gets pumped out of the blockbuster machine. It’s just rather inert.

That’s it for part 1. I’m going to be doing some Marvel/Superhero/General Nerd content leading up to Endgame’s release. Check back next Friday for part 2 of this list, and pop by Monday for part 1 of my predictions on the fate of each character in Endgame. Part 2: https://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/184208179827/ranking-the-marvel-cinematic-universe-part-2 Part 3: https://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/184372777282/ranking-the-marvel-cinematic-universe-part-3

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crashdevlin · 6 years ago

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Bottle- 11: Mission, the First

Bottle Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 2133

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship,non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: none

Tony dropped her near the back side of the compound and she started pushing toward the back. As she rounded the side of a brick wall, Cassie heard boots crunch behind her.

"Who are you? Turn around," the guard ordered.

Cassie resisted the urge to put her hands up, instead putting an indignant look on her features as she turned. The two guards had their machine guns raised and were noticeably confused by the blond girl in the T-shirt and jeans, creeping through the snow. "Zat's a bad idea." She inflected a German accent to her words. "I'm here to see Herr Strucker. Put zee guns down, take me to him and you probably von't be disemboweled for your insolence."

"Who are you?" the taller of the guards demanded.

"If you don't know, zen you von't know. Get on your little radio and tell Strucker 'Junior has come home'. Zose exact vords, no defiation. Strucker vill know vat it means."

They stared at her for a moment before the shorter one lower his gun and pulled out a radio. "Herr Strucker?"

"What?" came from the little speaker.

"We found a woman by the wall. She says she's here for you. She said to tell you 'Junior has come home'?"

The silence on the other end dragged on for several moments before static came through the radio. "Bring her inside."

Cassie walked between the two guards and was brought into the compound. As she walked through the compound, she noticed a young woman and a man standing together, off to the side near several computers. She was placed in a room with a desk and left alone. An overhead speaker came on in the office, and an alert went out. "Report to your stations immediately. This is not a drill. We are under attack. We are under attack."

Over the comm in her ear, which Tony had set so she could hear, but no one could hear her, she heard Tony exclaim "Shit!" and Steve respond with "Language!". As the action heated up outside the compound, Cassie took the comm out of her ear and dropped it in her pocket. Strucker opened the door and locked it behind him.

"452. You've grown into a beautiful young woman. Where have you been?"

"Vell, after you abandoned me at Der Speilplatz, Fury took me to zee Fridge. You know about zee Fridge, yes? It vas a prison. I spent 10 years in a SHIELD prison. I, eventually, von the love of a high-level agent who had Fury's ear and he arranged for my release. I convinced zem all zat I vas... normal, zat I'd fallen for zeir brainvashing. I'd have come to find you earlier, but Fury vasn't entirely convinced. He had an agent tailing me. After zee Battle of New York, I had a chance. I vas vorking to find you, specifically, but you idiots sought it vould be a great time to unveil yourselves, so zat Captain America could dismantle everysing ve spent 70 years creating in secret. You must be so proud."

"Well, we tried to find you, to bring you home."

"You didn't try hard enough. Ten years, Volfgang, and two more whoring myself to a man almost shree times my age so zat I could keep zee act going. And here I find you vis SHIELD artifacts, doing experiments to make people half as strong as me. Vhy didn't you just come find me?"

A nervous look came over Strucker's face. "I didn't know you'd developed abilities. Listen, you need... this building is under attack. We need to get you out of here. You are more important than anything in this compound."

"Even your little projects?" She feigned a mild jealousy. "Go rally zee men, Volfgang. I'm not going anyvere."

"All right, 452. Stay out of sight. Stay safe."

"It's Joanna, Baron."

"Joanna, then," Strucker said, walking out the door.

Cassie watched as the man walked away. She grabbed her ear piece from her pocket and placed it back into her ear. "Stark, we need to get inside." Steve's voice came through the comm.

"I'm closing in. Jarvis, am I... closing in? Do you see a power source for that shield?" Tony responded. Cassie felt that was a question more for her, than for Jarvis, so she ran around to the other side of the desk and pulled out the drawers, looking for a clue of where to start. After finding nothing, she slipped out the door and headed to the right. She followed a staircase up to find a large glowing column.

"There's a pathway below the North tower," Jarvis said in her ear.

"Great. I wanna poke it with something," Stark said.

"Good idea," Cassie said to herself, picking up a piece of pipe leaning against the wall and jamming it into the middle of the generator. It sparked, then exploded, tossing her into the wall.

"Drawbridge is down, people," Tony said.

"The enhanced?" Thor asked.

"He's a blur. All the new players we've faced, I've never seen this," Steve answered. "In fact, I still haven't."

"Clint's hit pretty bad, guys. We're gonna need evac," Romanoff came over the comm, causing Cassie to sit up. Clint was hurt and she wasn't out there where she could help. She wasn't where she should be.

"I can get Barton to the jet. The sooner we're gone, the better. You and Stark secure the scepter." Thor seemed to answer Cassie's concerns. She slowly stood, content that Tony and Steve would be inside soon and the situation would diffuse, now that she'd done her part.

"Copy that."

"It looks like they're lining up," Thor mused.

"Well, they're excited," Cap responded, before a sound of explosion came through.

"Find the scepter," Thor ordered.

"And for gosh sake, watch your language!" Stark teased.

Steve sighed. "That's not going away anytime soon."

Cassie slowly found her way back down the stairs. She went to the opposite side of the hall when she came to the bottom of the stairs, quickly catching up to Steve as he found Strucker. She was down the stairs from where Steve emerged. "Baron Strucker. HYDRA's number one thug."

"Technically, I'm a thug for SHIELD," Strucker quipped.

"Well, then technically, you're unemployed. Where's Loki's scepter?"

"Don't worry, I know when I'm beat. You'll mention how I cooperated, I hope."

"I'll put it under illegal human experimentation. How many are there?" Steve asked as the brunette in the red coat came up behind Steve and blasted him with some sort of energy. He flew down the stairs, where Cassie grabbed him, helping him up. Steve gave her a confused look, before saying, "We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage."

"You'll have to be faster than-" Strucker began before Steve bashed him with his shield.

"Guys, I got Strucker," He said.

"Yeah. I got... something bigger," Tony said, over the comms as Steve picked Strucker up, turning to Cassie.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the jet."

"Tony had another idea. I jumped at it. You wouldn't have wanted to wait at the damn jet, either. Just like you didn't want to wait at the base while Bucky and hundreds of Americans were rotting in a Hydra camp."

"Yeah? What was Tony's idea?"

"I got us in. I brought the shields down, not Iron Man. That man, there, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker, he knows me. Knew me. I used that to get inside, used the distraction of the battle in the woods to get to the generator in the North tower and I blew that shit up. Pardon my language," she said, with a small smirk.

"Not you, too."

"Of course, me too. Now, you want some help with Strucker, or are you gonna muscle that mound of meat out of here yourself?"

"I got him. Get back to the jet. Please, be careful. Watch out for the enhanced," he said, a concerned tone in his voice.

"Yes, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie sat next to Clint on the jet, not leaving his side to join the conversation around the jet. She'd heard Banner lamenting his change and the HYDRA agents he'd killed, but no one had said anything about the fact that she was the third-to-last person to get on the jet. Natasha had glared at her several times, but she'd focused on Clint and the massive hole in his side. At some point in the flight, Clint had reached over, weakly, and grabbed her hand.

As Clint was pulled off the quinjet to be operated on, Cassie was told to stay back. Tony grabbed her and pulled her to the lab. She stared at the scepter as Tony scanned it. "You did good. I'm impressed."

"Well, impressing you is always at the forefront of my mind, Tony."

"No, it's good. I can trust you. And by that, I mean I can convince you to go behind the backs of our teammates and take credit for your work."

Cassie laughed. "I just really wanted that scepter in Asgardian hands. Where it'll be safe. Any means necessary."

"And that had nothing to do with you being offended that Cap told you to wait in the car while the rest of us played exterminator for a giant serpent?"

"Well, that won't happen again, right? I've proven myself. I spent more time in that compound than anyone else."

"Sure," Tony said, succinctly, before continuing. "Unless the reason he wanted you to hang back was less about your capabilities and more about him worrying for your safety."

"Well, he shouldn't be worrying about me. I'm perfectly capable of-"

"What you're capable of doesn't matter. This isn't about your training or your track record. I put you in that compound because you survived a week in the Alps in a hospital gown and then blended in with a small Austrian town. You were born for this shit. Maybe not meant to be on this side of it, but... Cap's issue is not your ability to do this. This is about how upset he is on the idea of you dying without him having a chance to be modestly immodest with you."

Cassie scoffed. "I thought he got the memo. I'm not doing the dating thing. Shit's complicated enough without that mess."

"He didn't get that memo. And you know, he's the boss, really, so... we can keep sneaking behind the boss' back or..."

"If the next words out of your mouth are anything akin to 'take one for the team', I'll walk."

Tony shrugged. "I'm good with things as is."

Cassie sighed. "I'll talk to Steve. Make sure we're good. But I'm not fucking him just because I'm the first one he's wanted since he lost Agent Carter."

"No one said..."

Cassie shook her head. "I'll deal with this. You... concentrate on the scepter."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie walked the halls of the upper levels of Stark tower, rehearsing what she would say to Steve, for forty-five minutes before she ran into him. "Hi, Steve."

"Hey. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I've got nothing. I'm trying to not think too much. I don't wanna say I'm floundering... but I'm floundering. I mean, yeah, the scepter's safe, but Loki's still MIA, and the Avengers are about to break apart until the next time the Earth needs it's mightiest heroes and I don't know what to do with that downtime. Then, there's the awkward elephant in the room."

"You wanna know if we're okay?" Steve asked, succinctly.

"Yeah. I mean... I followed Tony's orders instead of yours. I know that was a slap in the-"

"Cassie, it's fine. I understand. I shouldn't have tried to keep you out of the fight. Never tell him I said this, but Stark was right. There was better use of your time."

She smiled. "I'm glad."

"Look, I understand how downtime can be a bit disconcerting. I know it's not Austria but I'm sure you can find something peaceful to do."

"Austria wasn't peaceful. It was mind numbing, which is what I wanted at the time. I prefer the city, though. Look, I... Pepper wants me to go back to work in the lab, but... I think that would be more boring than working a grill. Please, tell me that you have something useful for me to-"

"Actually, I don't. The only thing I have is tracking those two enhanced. Why don't you check on Barton? I think Doc's finished patching him up. After that, we'll discuss ways that we can put your skills and enhancements to good use. Even if the Avengers aren't assembled, we have use for you. Stick around. Oh, and there's the party."

"I will stick around for that. Definitely. I mean, I live right downstairs," Cassie said, walking away.

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108

#cassie writes stuff #red queen chronicles #ofc #steve/ofc

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escher-room-with-a-view · 3 years ago

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see the thing is with the ending

i feel like they tried to invoke the same feeling and themes as the original film

but since coronation has completely different themes from the original, and those themes aren’t done with the richness and depth of the film, it…really falls flat. and it defies the entire point too. that’s why i like to think that the maria and albert we see at the end aren’t the actual maria and the actual albert automaton. i think that jareth probably made those versions of his parents himself from his and the labyrinth’s memories of them. and because of this, they don’t behave as real parents do or should. they’re shallow facsimiles and they’re overly idealized, so they act accordingly, at least in my “rewrite-that-i’ll-never-actually-write-because-i’m-worried-the-differences-would-be-too-minor-to-constitute-a-rewrite”. i also prefer thinking that beetleglum and other goblins raised jareth for most of his life; so he isn’t unaware that they provided for him, just unaware that beetleglum specifically betrayed the previous king.

i also think the side characters are good but they’re a little too similar to sarah’s friends. aside from that, i found them entertaining. but if i were writing coronation i’d just make them more distinct somehow and that’s about it. not exactly settled on how to make changes without sacrificing the things that give these characters chemistry with one another at the moment, but there’s gotta be something. it sucks because like, on the one hand i am attached to skubbin and tangle and cible, but on the other hand it’s hard to stay attached to them when you remember how similar they are to hoggle, ludo, and didymus, respectively. i’ve gone back and forth a lot in my head over whether or not the similarities are too superficial for me to reasonably care; but the fact that i notice them and find them disappointing should count for something, right? that’s the way i see it, at least. they’re just not as memorable as sarah’s friends, or even as memorable as the other characters we haven’t seen before.

as for themes that weren’t explored, jareth mentions all the time how maria is nothing like sarah. and we’re supposed to think he’s wrong, but i feel like coronation never really does anything with this idea. it especially never deals with the idea that, because they both lost their mothers in a way, jareth and sarah herself are more similar than they think. or the idea that they lost their mothers for opposite reasons; the real maria isn’t in jareth’s life anymore because she tried and failed to sacrifice everything for him, but linda isn’t in sarah’s life anymore for reasons that can easily be interpreted as selfish. of all the introduced cast i feel like beetleglum and jareth’s parents had the most potential. and i think as far as they’re concerned the execution was okay. could’ve been better, but it wasn’t terrible

i originally intended to do a Huge Big Massive Post explaining all my thoughts on this in detail but i realize now that it’s better to do so succinctly so i’m glad i wrote this

i should clarify that i think coronation by itself is uh. passable. from a story standpoint. like the basic setup is actually interesting and good imo and the execution is fine ig. but what im enamored with, with regards to coronation, is the version of it i created in my own head so that the plot and themes would make sense to me

#labyrinth: coronation #labyrinth #jareth #jareth the goblin king #sarah williams #analysis

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xfilesnews · 8 years ago

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FanWorks Wednesdays - crossedbeams

by Keva Andersen

After a short hiatus, we’re back with our author profile series! Meet @crossedbeams. She’s a relative newcomer to the fandom and found her way to The X-Files in a way that’s a little different than most. But despite only meeting Mulder and Scully a short time ago, she’s taken to the characters like an author who’s been with them for years.

Take some time and read through crossedbeams’ collection of “MSR Moments,” a collection of ficlets and prompts that are fun snapshots of Mulder and Scully’s day-to-day life. With a little angst thrown in too, of course. If AU’s are your thing I highly recommend “One Week at Quantico.” The story looks at what might have been had Mulder been teaching at the Academy while Scully was there. Jump in for this line: “But for the sake of argument, quantum physics doesn’t actually rule out time travel” and stay for the rest of the story! And if, like me, you’re looking for a great post-revival kick in the feels check out “Lost Letters.” The story explores how Mulder and Scully deal with Maggie Scully’s death in a world where “Babylon” and “My Struggle II” don’t exist.

We talked with crossedbeams about writing, inspiration, and of course The X-Files.

How long have you been a Phile?

I'm pretty new! I think I watched my first ever episode in November 2015, I completed my first watch through two days before the revival started and I joined the online fandom a year ago! I came at it all kinda backwards... I'm a massive theatre nerd who missed the London run of “Streetcar” (my favourite play) thank to illness, and had never quite gotten over it! The NY show announced summer of 15 and I'd already decided I was going, hell or high water. Then when I was reading about the production it mentioned that “Blanche” was in The Fall, I'd only seen Ep.1 so I got hooked on that, figured I'd see what else Gillian had done, saw The X-Files, I only knew it was one of those cult shows I'd missed thanks to my TV-less childhood and so I figured I'd give it a go... little I knew!

What was your first episode?

The pilot! I'm a completist to a boring level, chronology is my jam (which makes late season mythology suuuper fun!). I think I actually saw the pilot three times before I made it further, once with my sister who wasn't interested, once when I was so tired I couldn't remember what happened and then finally the day I watched most of S1 in one hit. Whoops!

How long have you been writing fic?

According to my blog I posted my first drabble on March 28th, 2016! So almost a year, which seems both way too long (I still feel like a desperate newbie) and not long enough.

What inspired you to start writing?

I've always been a reader, no TV as a kid = loaded bookshelves, my family are wordy, my degree is in English literature and I work with books, so words are my most constant companion. I've always liked to write, the process of catching an idea or a sensation just perfectly in a sentence is on of the most satisfying things I can think of, but while I was at Uni, it was like a switch flicked in my head. I think it was perhaps the first time in my life I was truly unhappy for more than a few hours, and also the first time I didn't have anyone to talk to that I trusted. I became very isolated, shut myself in my room a lot and all the words that used to be my friends where just fighting in my head, angry or sad or whatever, the noise was endless. And on day I just snatched up my laptop and started writing. I don't even remember what, probably some self-pitying explosion of adjectives, and for a little while I felt better. I wrote a lot of poetry, essays and journaled while I was at uni, my only attempt at stories was curtailed by a creative writing tutor who I despised, but in one form or another I've been writing ever since.

Who is your favorite XF character to write?

Originally it was Scully, I tend to gravitate to female voices and hers is the kind of awesome, no-nonsense, bad ass lady voice I wish I had, but lately Mulder has crept in and I honestly enjoy writing both their perspectives equally, though Scully still comes a little more easily. “Quantico” was the first time I feel like I successfully pulled off a split narrative between the two and kept both their characters completely clear. My absolute favourite thing to write though are the bits in between the characters, the omniscient narrator parts where you get to dig into your vocab to try and describe succinctly the emotional impact of a word, or the desperation of their need etc. But that's not really a character so... Scully!

Are there any XF characters you dislike or find too difficult to write?

Besides Mulder and Scully, I've only ever tried to write Maggie, and that was in letter format which is kind of a cheat, so I don't feel like I've necessarily got enough experience to answer this well. I'm pretty good at writing within a brief, so I'm not adverse to writing anyone, I just don't have any ideas for most of them! I suppose Reyes appeals to me the least, just because I don't feel like I ever properly connected to her or understood her true purpose in TXF universe (especially post-revival). I don't dislike her at all, I just don't get her and so likely couldn't do her justice.

Is there a story you're most proud of or that's a favorite?

I think “Quantico” will always be special because it took me by surprise; it was the little request drabble that grew and I am still overwhelmed by people's response to it... but.. “Trinity” is my baby, and also my great shame, because it's been a WIP for way too long and I'm still dithering. I'm proud of it because it's the biggest risk I've taken in my writing; my first proper case file and my first attempt at crossover. Writing Scully, Stella Gibson, and Blanche Dubois into one canon compliant universe is possibly the stupidest idea I have ever run with, but so far it has paid off and the feedback from those prepared to risk it has been phenomenal. I love writing Blanche, Stella fights me and Scully is my safe place but the mental process of characterizing that story, advancing that plot, is the most satisfying, terrifying, exhausting writing I've ever done. And I desperately need to get on with it.

Where can people find your work, and what's the best way to send feedback?

I have a master list that I update regularly on my blog header and I'm also on AO3 as crossedbeams and everything is indexed there too. Feedback can be via tumblr message, comment or ask, AO3 comment or people can email [email protected] I'm still amazed that people read what I write so any feedback is the cherry on top! I'm also good with constructive criticism, I'm still new and learning after all.

Do you take fic prompts from fans?

Yes, though it can take a while. There are guidelines to what I will/won't write on the Request A Fic tab on my blog, and a disclaimer too! But I'm always open to discuss it.

Have you written your own original characters outside of fandom?

Yes. I have a few unfinished short stories, a couple of finished ones, and in my previous incarnation on tumblr I wrote a pretty long, often terrible, series that covered several generations of a cast of original characters!

Anything you’d like to share about your writing process?

I'm kind of a messy writer. I write mostly in long sittings and the words just come. Most of my favourite drabbles have been written in a single sitting and posted when the last full stop drops. (Hence the typos in early reblogs!) I find this stops me over working the prose and getting too verbose but it does also backfire at times. I find it much harder to write longer form pieces, because my writing is often emotion driven. There was a six week gap between most of “Quantico” and the final two chapters, a four week gap between parts 3 and 4 of “Close” partly because I put immense pressure on myself to "finish things well" but also because emotionally I couldn't find the right groove. “Quantico” began in a fluffy, happy place where I was optimistic and not in my head, “Close”… I think I was tipsy and had come in from a date! Trying to finish those fics as they deserved to be finished when a week later I was miserable and self-flagellating, or feeling decidedly unsexy felt almost impossible. I often wish my process were more considered and structured, that I could sit and get down a couple hundred words and edit it better later, but my mind just doesn't work that way, and I've learned that I can't force it to.

Do you have a favorite author? (fanfic or published!)

Only about 9000000! Fic wise, @somekindofseizure on tumblr has a gorgeous way with words I envy and aspire to. I could list so many more but I'll only leave people out so I'll just say that if you check my ficrecs tag you'll find so many people, many of whom I'm lucky enough to count as friends, who do so many things so well. Some of them are plot beasts, others ruin me with beautiful language and some are just steam queens.

My favourite print authors are probably Ngugi, John Burnside, LM Montgomery, Roald Dahl, Alice Hoffman and Oscar Wilde.

Is there any advice you'd give to aspiring writers?

Just do it. Keep doing it. Until you've actually scribbled or typed something down it's only ever an idea. Even if you hate it, keep it, try again. You can't get better at something you're not actually doing and thinking your ideas til you're blue in the face doesn't count! Read, learn what you like and don't, be inspired. Keep writing. And don't compare your work to the work of others, you'll never match "their voice" so don't try. Mark yourself against yourself, if you capture something better every time you sit down and write, you're headed the right way. Just do you, do it regularly, ask for help, and keep going!

Anything else you'd like to share that I missed?

I'd just like to say thank you for asking me to participate, I'm still finding my feet in this strange new fandom place and I am so very grateful to you for asking, to all those who read my writing and to everyone who has embraced me and made this such a great year, I've been a fangirl of many things, but it's my first time as part of a family and it's been such a lifeline.

Thank you so much to crossedbeams for talking with us! We’re always looking for authors both new and old favorites, so if you have suggestions please message us here, hit us up on twitter or facebook.

#xfiles #the x files #XFN #fanfic #fanfiction

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surfersofbole · 8 years ago

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Sad Little Love Poems: The Fourth Poetry Dump

Here’s my fourth poetry dump. Less rap in this one... I guess more love poems, along with some other poems. They’re little sad things that aren’t really worth providing individual releases. I’ve decided to name them this time.

I don’t remember if I’ve posted some of these before. I think I may have, but my memory is hazy. Many of these are incomplete poems. Many of these are over a year old. Poems 2-4 are the most recent works I’ve written.

Ditsy*

Ditsy when she talkin’ But man, the way she walkin’

*I wanted to make this into a song, but I couldn’t get past these two lines. I think I made it to the rhythm of Miss Mandy.

Eros Strums the Single String on his Guitar

I’ve convinced myself that the brilliant river Pours such cold water I’ll shiver Whether or not I jump in and catch the undercurrent. After all I have weathered, I look abhorrent; Wave me away; say, “Don’t come near.” Apparently, I wasn’t meant to be here.

Should I be true to stilled moments’ thoughts That startle my beating heart? I should convince myself brilliant rivers Pour such cold water, I would shiver.

I should wither to the berating parade, The beating drums, and lockstep marchers. Oh, would the tone-deaf lover serenade? Would Cupid fire arrows if he were an untrained archer? Oh, the tone-deaf lover provides no serenade. Off-beat drums, bowlegged marchers Falter ‘fore the king and queen of spades.

A False Answer Lies on the Other Side of the Equation

One more breath that I’m expending Before my chest begins expanding. An arhythmic contraction Of my heart confessed attraction.

A reaction of a chemical In my brain makes it seem simple, But, even with that context, My heart makes it feel complex.

I stop holding my breath, Let loose and walk the length A moment’s filled with bliss As another beat is missed.

There’s a scent that clouds the air. I close my eyes, am more aware. So much depends upon* The fair air that fills my lungs.

Is this love or infatuation, This warmest of sensations? It’s no secret how I’ve tried; In you, a kiss that I confide.

*So much depends upon repurposing the words of those who would have wished for the writer to have some imagination and sense of originality.

A Sense of Reassurance...

You don’t have to complicate things; Speak succinctly, ever charming.

We don’t have to play like we’re fools As long as you love me and you.

You don’t have to find other worlds Or dream about other girls.

You don’t have to speak perfect rhymes I’ll love you every single time.

Beneath Thee

So dreary, How I have to sit and watch with little wonder; I’ve not had time of day to lift my eyes up And look beyond.

Go sinking; Leave me all alone and I’ll be here tomorrow. Pick me up my long lost friend, and, you, I’ll follow. Just be near, t’me.

Beneath thee,

It just takes a bit of convincing

Don’t you know the rain Is gonna fall either way? So why cause us this pain Each and every other day?

I find that the gold mines In the mountains up above Hold cases full of cheap wines And, for me, that is enough.

But they liked what they heard...

It seemed quite strange to me that I could not believe What I had then just spake with lips, these lips, my lips, And thought as the subconsciousness, me, moved/spoke to. And I did utter things that I might rarely think. I feel feelings that I’ve long felt, dealt not (for what, No reason under

An Incomplete Parody of Weezer’s Smile

Taking my time To get it all set up, I stand to learn What’s on the up and up. ‘cause he wanted some love, I let it happen.

He think’s he’s acting slick; Your boyfriend’s sucking dick. The way that he just wraps me up Inside his smile...

S’ lucky, this find That I have made tonight,

Wonder If You’re OK

In the dawning of my day, One cold morning, wide awake, Sit up in bed, and start to pray, Wondering if you’re okay.

In your bed, you choose to stay; Welled up tears dry, fill the air. In moon’s reflection, lightning bugs play Before their hit with the light rays.

I’ll be a bitter man.

The months I have logged where I longed And I waited, so cold, For you to return with my broken soul Have diminished in lieu of a promise that I won’t be hurting myself any more.

I sat and I waited in wonder pondering What it is I should do

I’ve tried and I’ve worked ever since To be a better man But I fear that the day I should see you, I’ll be a bitter man.

Amber Embers

Some day, When I’m waiting for the sun, Should I realize That it’s never coming back ‘round for me again. If I close my eyes, Will the amber embers fill my vision? Or will I still remain In the dark and lifeless cell that is this prison.

Advertising Heaven

Don’t you dream with me today? Can’t you see me and my name Plastered up on billboard signs a ways away?

Can’t you hear my silent scream? Can’t you see the wound that bleeds? I swear that you may within my dreams.

And I know I know the rainbow... I know I know how it goes. I know That it follows where the showers should blow.

When your vision starts to show The lustrous, cosmic meadow, Your thoughts will calm your mind and you will mellow.

But if you’ve let it cloud And to darkness, you have bowed, Then fear has you succumbed with tattered shroud.

Would you fear your trow did shatter When you were nude just as a shadow? I think you’ll find that it really doesn’t matter.

A Moment in Hell

Red, I’d seen, when closed my eyes. Through the clouds, color’s still seen. The moon hides not in pitch black skies, And, with fright, my sight’s careened, Searching not to

Heaven’s Wrath is a Heavy Halo

Spreading out my mind, Relaxing in my sleep, Selfcontained in heavy deep, Without light, and so I’m blind. After grinding of my teeth With subconscious, steady pressure My tresured, plesu'ble lesiure Are my pain pills. Heaven’s wreath,

A sickness of sorts. (Working Title)*

A pain grows deep inside; The hurt does, my mind, wind And leaves m’ broken down. A great pain I did find An’ this, t’ you, confide. That I didn’t frown When lover took th’ crown/ When queen had left m’ side; M’ bride had so r’sign’d. M’ love ‘n a grand gown, H’r mother so had cried As she, t’ me, resigned.

Th’ fact is that the pain ’s from our broken lives. Where’s all th’ time w’ spent? This pain of mine deprives ‘nd undermines all gain. Quickly th’t it h’d went

*The original title was “A Sickness of Sorts. (working title)”

I am not prepared.

I am prepared not to cry tears of sorrow. The overflow of joy shall not be present either. Today, I shall cry tears of defeat Because these struggles have chipped away at my fortitude, revealing nothing, And leaving me to be little more than a weak coward. How I’d hoped a river of relief might have washed over me.

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ossyuche · 5 years ago

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My Boyfriend is Selfish. Why Won’t He Change for Me?

My boyfriend, age 59, and I, age, 50, have been together 6 years. We were each previously in long term marriages and have kids.

During the course of our relationship there have been enough rough spots, many, I believe, stemming from his undiagnosed ADD, and perhaps even mild Aspergers, to push for counseling. After years of defensive resistance, we now see a therapist who diagnosed him, he is cautiously trying out different meds (with little effect thus far), and is helping us work toward a better relationship. The issues are his distractibility, impulsiveness, forgetfulness and frequent inability to see things from any perspective other than what works for him. Quite often our disagreements spiral down the proverbial rabbit hole. Weird, nonsensical, insensitive and incredibly frustrating. He has a difficult time processing concepts where the circumstances change and nuance is involved. It is sometimes maddening. And yet, I do love him – very much.

But I’ve also realized that who he is because of how his brain is wired might remain a constant source of frustration and angst. Me wishing he would just “get it”, and he resenting being reminded when he doesn’t. When things are good and I have his attention, I can’t fathom leaving the relationship. And other times, when care and consideration just take flight because something more exciting has caught his attention, I wonder – what am I doing here.

We are both highly educated, financially secure – he more-so (and then some) than me on both counts, well-traveled (something we do very well because I get the companionship I desire and he gets the stimulus he craves), well cultured, well read, politically aligned and family oriented. He is appreciative of me always, generous and genuine with his compliments, tells me and shows he loves me (when I have his attention) and wants to please me. He’s endlessly energetic (also exhausting), effortlessly outgoing (to the point of attention seeking), always up for something new (though sometimes ill conceived), great with my kids (he’s the fun Dad type), affectionate (sometimes in over-drive), handy, helpful (so long as it interests him), and easy-going (unless it interferes with his pursuit of pleasure). You get the idea. Some days he is the best and most wonderful person to be with, other days, it’s like watching a micro-burst of frenetic busy-ness while I’m stuck swinging at the top of a broken Ferris wheel.

Within the first year of our relationship he cheated on me while on a solo trip halfway around the world. Seems he just couldn’t resist the temptation of a pretty young thing at a party at his hotel the night before he flew home to see me – the girlfriend he missed.

Somehow, I knew he strayed. I asked repeatedly, and repeatedly, he lied. The nagging feeling lingered for months. I realized I’d not seen since his return the journal I had given him before he left – in which I lovingly inscribed “write it all down – share it with me” – as it was his habit – to keep little notebooks and jot down memorable tidbits. Months later, there was still no sharing. No journal in sight.

I found the journal sealed and tucked out of sight. The one night stand was succinctly but plainly noted, just another tidbit, referencing her age-25, “blue blood” and “spent the night”. His first reaction was not to console me, apologize or even express remorse. I was crying in a corner and instead of even approaching me, he announced from across the room how he should not write things down anymore. Huh???

He found it difficult to empathize and said he’d understand if I left him. Though he did everything I asked of him, missing was an intuitive understanding of what he could do on his own to make me feel better.

Fast forward to present day. Out of the blue he announced two days ago that he IS taking a SOLO two month trip around the world in a few months, to explore, surf and kiteboard in an “Endless Summer” experience – just because he is turning 60! He doesn’t seem to understand why I’m not fully trusting, or his enthusiastic cheerleader in this hedonistic self-absorbed pleasure driven adventure. He also doesn’t seem to understand why announcing this to his ex wife – not seeing their 12 yr old for two months – is going to result in legal fees for failure to comply with the detailed parenting plan in their divorce decree. It is ALL about him. I told him NONE of it was ok with me. Not the way he presented it as a done deal without even thinking about my reaction, Not the 2 month duration. Not with the trust issues, Not with a sense of nauseating entitlement that pursuit of this sort of pleasure was more important than his obligations to our relationship, his child, his family, his businesses, etc.

I told him if he pursued it I would lose all respect for him and he would lose me. He got defensive and angry and cast me as a controlling, leash tugging gate keeper – just trying to spoil his good time, but that he was doing it anyway. The next day, I wrote a letter detailing all the issues. He heard me, understood my points, and agreed with much of what I said. I’ve never spent two solid months with him, ever, not in 6 years. I see him 2 nights a week and every other weekend. He’s been away at his summer home most of the summer, and only occasionally with me when I make the effort to go to him. Otherwise, if it’s his time to be on the family compound he doesn’t leave.

This type of thing happens all too often. It’s like Jekyll and Hyde. This one, like the cheating, is among the worst.

Do I stay? Do I jump ship?

If it were not for his ADD that I believe leads him to these impulsive, random, illogical, impossible, reckless and insensitive thoughts and actions, I would have left long ago. It does not excuse his behavior – he is a grown up after all, but I have seen up close the strange and darker forces that can dominate his uniquely wired brain when that bright shiny thing is in the cross hairs of his pleasure seeking.

Thoughts, advice?

You get hundreds of letters. I know this one is WAY too long, but the telling was somewhat cathartic for me. So thanks for reading. I love your spot-on assessments. Your wife is lucky to have a consistent thinking, feeling, empathetic life partner.

Kind regards,

Alison

“If your aunt had balls, she’d be your uncle.”

I said that last night to the women in Love U in response to a similar question about a man who was not living up to expectations.

My client was wondering what to do with this guy – whether she should cut bait, how to get him to change – and I simply pointed out something crude I heard from my wife twelve ago.

What it means is that it may be only one change, but that one change fundamentally alters the essence of the object:

If your aunt had balls, she’d be your uncle.

If Ted Bundy didn’t murder people, he’d be a really charming guy.

If your boyfriend were less selfish, he’d be an amazing catch.

But he’s not.

You know it. I know it. Anyone reading this email knows it.

a. He doesn’t want to change. He likes who he is.

b. He doesn’t have to change. You’ve stuck with him for six years despite this behavior. Why would he think that this time would be any different?

c. He can’t change. Whether it’s old dog/new tricks, ADD or, as I suspect, narcissistic personality disorder, it doesn’t matter. This is who he is. Take it or leave it.

Like our president, your boyfriend is an overgrown child who acts out but doesn’t pay any price for his selfishness.

Since there are no consequences to his behavior, he keeps acting out – whether it’s cheating, failing to find empathy, or taking off for two months without you.

You can make all the excuses in the world for him – what a great man he is – how charming, fun, and energetic – but that is just to ignore his big design flaw: he’s a shitty partner.

Thus, it doesn’t matter how much you like him when things are good.

How do you like being a second-class citizen within your own relationship?

If you don’t like it, get out.

If you stay, don’t expect things to change.

You’ve already taught him that he can get away with whatever he wants and you’re not going to do anything about it.

The post My Boyfriend is Selfish. Why Won’t He Change for Me? appeared first on Dating Coach – Evan Marc Katz | Understand Men. Find Love..

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My Boyfriend Has Cheated on Me a Bunch of Times. Should I Marry Him?

The Blind Spot In Rori Raye’s Circular Dating

Original source: https://www.evanmarckatz.com/blog/understanding-men/my-boyfriend-is-selfish-why-wont-he-change-for-me

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djgblogger-blog · 7 years ago

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3 initial thoughts on Ready Player One

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The long-anticipated, Steven Spielberg-helmed Ready Player One has just been released in UK cinemas this week, and as a film of obvious interest to DreamingRobots and Cyberselves everywhere, we went along to see what the Maestro of the Blockbuster has done with Ernest Cline’s 2011 novel (which the author himself helped to adapt to the screen).

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We went in with a lot of questions, not least of which included:

How would Cline & Spielberg update the material? (in terms of VR technology, 2011 is so 2011. )

How would the film engage with the modern politics of the Internet and gaming?

How would Spielberg use the most up-to-date cinematic techniques and effects to enhance the film? (would this be another game changer?)

What would the film have to say about our future? the future of gaming? of our interconnectedness? social media? what would the film have to say about the future of humanity itself?

A one-time viewing and a next-day review are, of course, too early to answer such big questions with any certainty. Fortunately, however you feel about the film itself, it will reward many multiple viewings on DVD as even the most unsatisfied viewer won’t be able to resist pausing the action frame-by-frame to catch all the references and fleeting glimpses of their favourite video game characters of the past.

But for now, here are 3 initial responses for discussion/debate:

1. Ready Player One is a morality tale about corporate power and the Internet

Cline’s original novel was very much a paean to plucky independent gamers resisting the ruthless greed and world-conquering ambition of the Corporate Villain (while simultaneously, strangely, lionising the richest and most world-conquering of them all, James Halliday, the Gates-Jobs figure transformed here into the benevolent deus ex machina that built his trillions on creating the OASIS). The film remains true to Cline’s vision, and perhaps even heightens this black-and-white, goodie-versus-baddie (IOI), with a brilliantly cast Ben (‘Commander Krennic’) Mendelsohn and a tragically under-used Hannah John-Kamen heading an army of faceless corporate infantry.

But while this wouldn’t have been at the forefront of Cline’s thinking in 2011, it is impossible to watch this film now, today, and not think of the erosion of net neutrality that was set in motion by the FCC’s December 2017 decision and, more recently, the exposure of Facebook’s data breach by Cambridge Analytica, which has finally woken more people up to the reality of mass surveillance and what personal data corporate giants have and how it might be misused.

There is little chance that Spielberg and Cline had either of these potential dangers in mind when the film went into production. And such issues shouldn’t be vastly oversimplified in real journalism, but storytelling is always a good way to make people understand complex issues and motivate them to action, and if RPO‘s simple story of goodies and baddies can become a cultural rallying-point for the dangerous mix of unchecked capitalism and our social interconnectedness, then that is a Good Thing

2. Spielberg’s film goes a certain way into correcting some of the problems of the original novel (though could have gone further).

Through no real fault of the author, opinions on Cline’s once much-lauded book were revised, post-#gamergate, and what was once seen as an innocent tale of a young (definitely boy) geek’s nostalgic travels from social outsider to saviour of the world (cf. also Cline’s Armada) came to be seen by some instead as a symptom of everything behind the vile misogyny of white male gamers, backlashing out at anyone that didn’t see how they were the best and most privileged of all people on this earth.

Let’s be clear: the gender politics in the film are far from ideal. How is it, for example, notes another reviewer, that two of the main female protagonists are so ignorant of basic Halliday-lore? And there is still a bit too much of White Boy Champion of the World in even this version of Cline’s tale. However, having said that, other critics, too, have noticed a much-improved gender consciousness in the film.

But what is clear from Spielberg’s offering is that women are as much a part of gaming culture as men, and have every right to occupy the same space, and anyone who thinks otherwise can be gone. Without wanting to give anything away, it is enough to note that Art3mis is a legend in the OASIS, a skilled gamer that Parzifal worships, and that one of the OASIS’s best designers/builders (or programmer) is also a woman. Outside of the VR world, the real women behind the avatars are among the best-drawn characters (albeit in a film not overburdened with character depth, but then this is a Spielberg popcorn speciality, not one of his Oscar worthies). Both Olivia Cooke and Lena Waithe are given space to live and to be (the former, in particular, being a much more interesting protagonist the poor Wade Watts, who really is little more than his avatar), and as previously mentioned, John-Kamen is a much more frightening villain than Mendelsohn’s corporate puppet.

This film shouldn’t be heralded as a feminist triumph or a shining example of post-Weinstein Hollywood, but it is a step in the right direction, and it might mean a few more people can forgive Cline for the white-boy wank-fest that they perceive (not without some good reason) the original novel to be.

3. Despite some nods to progressive politics, the film holds deeply conservative views on human nature.

A big attraction of the novel and the excitement of the film, for DreamingRobots and Cyberselves, was the way the novel created worlds in a new reality, and explored the ideas of what humans could become in such spaces no longer bound by the physical limitations of our birth. It’s what we’re looking at with our experiments in VR and teleoperative technologies, and we ask the questions: what happens to human beings when we can be transformed by such technologies? What might our posthuman future look like?

The film does not ask these questions. In this respect, again, the film does not deviate from the original novel. The novel, for all its creativity in imagining such virtual realities, before they were fully realised in real-world technology, was still very much about recognisably human worlds. The film actually regresses to a vision of human experience where the worlds of flesh-reality and virtual-reality are more clearly demarcated. In the book, there was at least a certain bleeding between these two worlds, as events in the virtual world could have consequences in the real world and vice versa. In the film, however, only real-world events have impact on the virtual world. Events in the virtual world do not impact upon the real, and the two storylines, the two battles between goodies and baddies in the virtual and real worlds, are clearly separate. (Highlighted by the fact that there are distinct villains for each location: John-Kamen’s F’Nale Zandor never enters the virtual world, while T.J. Miller’s I-R0k exists only in the virtual. Only Mendelsohn’s Sorrento is the only villain crossing that boundary.)

Spielberg’s vision of 2045 is clearly dystopian: you can see it in the ‘Stacks’, where so many impoverished are forced to live, the utter dominance of mega-corporations, and the inability (or unwillingness) of the state to provide for or protect its citizens. But while so many of the citizens of 2045 take refuge in the paradise that is the OASIS, Spielberg makes it clear that this world is merely a symptom of the dystopian world of the flesh. The opium of these alienated masses, in fact, amplifies the miserable situation of these people. We’re supposed to pity the people we see, caged in their headsets, who can’t play tennis on a real tennis court, or dance in a real nightclub, or find love wherever real people find love.

This is clear at the film’s conclusion, but as we don’t want to give away spoilers, we’ll leave it for you to see for yourselves. But what is evident throughout is that the virtual world should only be a place where gamers go to play – it is not a place where humans can live. And it is only in the world of flesh that humans can really, successfully exist. Again, this is evident in Cline’s novel: ‘That was when I realized, as terrifying and painful as reality can be, it’s also the only place where you can find true happiness. Because reality is real.’

As one reviewer has so succinctly put it:

But here’s the thing. Ready Player One is a tragedy. What seems like a fun adventure movie is actually a horror movie with a lot to say about the way we live now, the way we might live in the future, and the pitfalls and perils of loving video games too much. This is Spielberg reflecting on the culture he helped create, and telling the audience he made mistakes.

The only objection I have to the above quotation is the idea that the film has a lot to say about the way we might live in the future. Because our future will most certainly be posthuman, and this film cannot shake its humanist origins, and its deeply conservative understandings of how we might use technology. In this film, that posthuman being, and the technology that enables it, is as much of a threat to human life as a Great White shark or rampaging dinosaurs.

The film, therefore, cannot at all accommodate what will be the most imperative issues for human beings in the very near future. Such a binary understanding comes straight from the classic humanist guidebook: fantasy is fine, technology can be fun, but what’s real is what’s real, and what is human is human. That meddling in human’s true nature can never bring us happiness, and it is only by eschewing anything external to our true nature can we be truly happy, or truly human, are the usual humanist scaremongering about technology that we’ve seen time and again, since Mary Shelley’s classic Frankenstein did so much to create our present fantasies.

Nevermind that such a worldview ignores the fact that there has never been such a creature, a human being unimpacted by technology. Nevermind, too, that Spielberg’s entire cinematic oeuvre is fantastically, stubbornly, deeply and, sometimes, beautifully humanist (even when, or perhaps especially when, he’s telling stories about big fish or aliens). It is nevertheless a disappointment that such an opportunity, that such a potentially transformative film about the future and how we can be re-shaped by technology, plays it safe and retreats to a nostalgia for a kind of human being that is increasingly becoming obsolete. It would have been nice if Ready Player One was a great film about posthumanism, addressing the vital issues about technology that we are increasingly facing. But alas Perhaps we should dive back into Spielberg’s catalogue and watch A.I.

Having said that, Ready Player One is a fun film and we will be taking our children to see it ironically, perhaps, for the message that games are fun but sometimes yes, you do need to turn them off. (It is definitely worth its 12 Certificate, though, so parents of younger children be warned. And of course we’ll buy it on DVD, to catch another glimpse of our favourite gaming characters.)

(Which films do you think better address our posthuman future? Suggestions below, please!)

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thefeministherald · 7 years ago

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how Sweden's #MeToo movement aims to tackle sexism in the industry and elsewhere.

Unlike Saga Norén in The Bridge, Sofia Helin can smile when she feels like it. I've seen her smile and it's great. The thing she hates is having to smile. Notably on the red carpet, where you are besieged by photographers. "You want to know what the worst thing is? When they say: 'More teeth, please!' What am I? Some kind of horse?" Smiling is okay, but it has to be consensual, not coercive.

Which explains, in part, why, when Sofia Helin made her entrance the other night at the Guldbaggen ("The Golden Beetle"), the Swedish Oscars held at the Cirkus in Stockholm, she was not smiling for the camera. Nor were the other hundred or so Swedish actresses she was hand-in-hand with. They were all wearing the black #tystnadtagning t-shirt. The slogan means "Silence, action" and it's what the director says in Swedish when the cameras start rolling. It's also the hashtag of the Swedish #metoo movement, protesting about sexual exploitation and discrimination in the film industry and beyond.

"We were also wearing comfortable shoes," said Helin. She hates anything that stops her running. "There is no fashion statement that is female that is not uncomfortable," she added. When she watched some of her colleagues recently: "I could see they couldn't breathe. Everything was too tight. Like they were wearing corsets."

Also unlike Saga Norén, Sofia Helin is articulate and funny and good company. She doesn't normally drive a Porsche 911 or wear leather trousers, like her screen alter ego, but she does still have the Saga Norén scar. This is the scar on her upper lip that viewers are able to inspect one more time as the fourth and final season of The Bridge airs. The scar is real. She picked it up in her 20s when she fell off her bike, but it has become part of her persona now and makes her look like a tough yet vulnerable warrior who has been through a few battles. Which, in fact, she has. I asked her about her own experience of sexual harassment in Sweden. "I simply quote the marvellous Sharon Stone," she said. "I've seen it all."

One fan in Australia once got in touch with her via Instagram (where she is "actress_sofia_helin") and wrote that he knew of a clinic where she could go and get surgery for her scar and get it "fixed". It would, he said, be "life-changing". Helin wrote back to him: "I love my scars. Do you love yours?"

Challenging structures

An ex-student of philosophy, Helin is now in her mid-40s, married to a minister in the Swedish Lutheran Church, with two children, a boy aged 14 and a girl aged eight. She is quizzical about the contemporary obsession with personal "happiness" – "What is that anyway?" – and passionate about effecting change in the world. "When I'm old I will look back on my life and reflect on my choices. It will be a pleasant thing to feel I did some things."

Sofia Helin at the Guldbaggen. Photo: Andy Martin

Helin invited me to meet her at the Grand Hotel on the waterfront in Stockholm, accompanied by her friend and "film sister", Moa Gammel, who wrote a refutation of the recent Catherine Deneuve anti-MeToo manifesto.

"It's not sexual freedom if someone is raping you," she said, succinctly. They both had a hand in the front-page article in the Swedish daily, Svenska Dagbladet, drawing attention to the asymmetry of "money and power" in the Swedish film industry. They also share a fondness for the Swedish tobacco product Snus – which you can see Saga Noren popping into her mouth and shoving up into her gums. "It's good for writing," they assured me.

By chance, they also introduced me to Björn Ulvaeus of Abba, the classic Swedish pop group, now bespectacled and scholarly-looking, who was enthusiastic about what they were doing. "We are living in a post-patriarchal era", he said. "Thanks to you."

Stockholm in January 2018 feels a little like Paris in May 1968, with the same fervour and ferment, but more snow. "It's like a revolution," said Moa Gallen. "Only a peaceful revolution."

The movement counts 70,000 women supporters in Sweden. And it's going global, too. After Helin and #tystnadtagning staged a public reading of personal testimonies last year, they received a message via their FaceBook page from some female Peshmerga soldiers, at war with ISIS. "We are fighting the same fight," they said.

Helin has just returned from Cambodia, where she was an ambassador for WaterAid. And they have links with Time's Up in Hollywood, too. But there is no naming of names in Sweden. It's all about "structures" that have to be changed, not about demonising individuals like Harvey Weinstein and Kevin Spacey. "Creating a monster absolves us of responsibility," says Helin.

Changing the script

When I spoke to Stellan Skarsgård (the bad guy in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) who won the Best Supporting Actor award for Borg (about the tennis player Björn Borg), he said that Hollywood had "shone a light on the problem, but now we need to find the solution. You have to start thinking about what to do next." Helin and her colleagues are changing the script in very pragmatic ways.

Helin loved working on The Bridge, which was always filmed during the long winter season. It has to be bleak and grey and they stop filming as soon as any buds start to appear. It's noir, not green – so daffodils are out.

The Bridge was conceived and written by Hans Rosenfeldt, who also wrote Marcella. Together they came up with the character of Saga Noren who is an outsider figure among detectives, socially inept, with a dash of something like Asperger's and whose most famous chat-up line is, "Vill du har sex?" ("Do you want to have sex?")

But Helin is now more committed to projects that are created and written mainly by women for women. She listed and derided all the plays and films and stories, written by men, in which women either go mad or commit suicide or both: Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina, Miss Julie, Hedda Gabler, a lot of Shakespeare.

Sofia Helin is both a neo-Ingrid Bergman and a creative force. Inspired by her experiences in Nordic noir, she came up with the original idea for Honour, a television drama series involving four women lawyers, due to shoot later this year. She is quick to point out that, globally speaking, she is in a privileged position.

Actresses in Sweden are really very fortunate. But we are having an impact on women around the world who are not quite so fortunate. It shouldn't all be about appearance. How you look. It's about the stories you have to tell.

Waiting for wonderful

Helin cites the tragic fate of Marilyn Monroe: "She was an intellectual who was forced to appear as an air-head." Nor, she thought, should fellow Swedish actress Greta Garbo have been known as "The Face".

"To be reduced to your face, as if that is all you are. Known only for your looks. No wonder she dropped out at the age of 35," she said.

Helin doesn't want to be "The Face", with or without scars. On the other hand, she doesn't want to "become invisible", which is what happens to so many ageing female stars. "You shouldn't have a 'best before' date," she said.

Garbo famously said, "I just want to be alone." Helin is the exact opposite. She is collectively-minded, gregarious, and is reluctant to talk exclusively about herself and her own career. "We stand there in the spotlight and it's like there is a competition between us, one woman against another." But now actresses have discovered solidarity. "Our power comes from coming together with other women. I am grateful to acting, but it's lonely. I long for the female family."

In her speech on stage at the Golden Beetle, Sofia Helin referred to Nora's speech at the end of Ibsen's A Doll's House. Finally dumping her stupid husband, Nora says she has been waiting for the "vidunderliga" to happen, but it never did – and now she is leaving and we hear the door slam behind her.

Helin and I try to work out the right English equivalent for vidunderliga. Helin originally suggests "the prodigiously" and we narrow it down to somewhere between "wonderful", "magical" and "sublime". She says: "Maybe it's not possible to describe it with words, but when we meet it, we always recognise it." Whatever it means exactly, I definitely recognise it whether I'm sitting in the lounge of the Grand Hotel in Stockholm or at home watching Saga Noren.

#metoo #sweden #feminism #Sofia Helin #sexism #the bridge

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enchantingtigerbarbarian-blog · 7 years ago

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Chapter 14 - SITUATION ROOM

SITUATION ROOM

Just before seven o’clock on the morning of Tuesday, April 4, the seventy-fourth day of the Trump presidency, Syrian government forces attacked the rebel-held town of Khan Sheikhoun with chemical weapons. Scores of children were killed. It was the first time a major outside event had intruded into the Trump presidency.

Most presidencies are shaped by external crises. The presidency, in its most critical role, is a reactive job. Much of the alarm about Donald Trump came from the widespread conviction that he could not be counted on to be cool or deliberate in the face of a storm. He had been lucky so far: ten weeks in, and he had not been seriously tested. In part this might have been because the crises generated from inside the White House had overshadowed all outside contenders.

Even a gruesome attack, even one on children in an already long war, might not yet be a presidential game changer of the kind that everyone knew would surely come. Still, these were chemical weapons launched by a repeat offender, Bashar al-Assad. In any other presidency, such an atrocity would command a considered and, ideally, skillful response. Obama’s consideration had in fact been less than skillful in proclaiming the use of chemical weapons as a red line—and then allowing it to be crossed.

Almost nobody in the Trump administration was willing to predict how the president might react—or even whether he would react. Did he think the chemical attack important or unimportant? No one could say.

If the Trump White House was as unsettling as any in American history, the president’s views of foreign policy and the world at large were among its most random, uninformed, and seemingly capricious aspects. His advisers didn’t know whether he was an isolationist or a militarist, or whether he could distinguish between the two. He was enamored with generals and determined that people with military command experience take the lead in foreign policy, but he hated to be told what to do. He was against nation building, but he believed there were few situations that he couldn’t personally make better. He had little to no experience in foreign policy, but he had no respect for the experts, either.

Suddenly, the question of how the president might respond to the attack in Khan Sheikhoun was a litmus test for normality and those who hoped to represent it in Trump’s White House. Here was the kind of dramatic juxtaposition that might make for a vivid and efficient piece of theater: people working in the Trump White House who were trying to behave normally.

* * *

Surprisingly, perhaps, there were quite a few such people.

Acting normal, embodying normality—doing things the way a striving, achieving, rational person would do them—was how Dina Powell saw her job in the White House. At forty-three, Powell had made a career at the intersection of the corporate world and public policy; she did well (very, very well) by doing good. She had made great strides in George W. Bush’s White House and then later at Goldman Sachs. Returning to the White House at a penultimate level, with at least a chance of rising to one of the country’s highest unelected positions, would potentially be worth enormous sums when she returned to the corporate world.

In Trumpland, however, the exact opposite could happen. Powell’s carefully cultivated reputation, her brand (and she was one of those people who thought intently about their personal brand), could become inextricably tied to the Trump brand. Worse, she could become part of what might easily turn into historical calamity. Already, for many people who knew Dina Powell—and everybody who was anybody knew Dina Powell—the fact that she had taken a position in the Trump White House indicated either recklessness or seriously bad judgment.

“How,” wondered one of her longtime friends, “does she rationalize this?” Friends, family, and neighbors asked, silently or openly, Do you know what you’re doing? And how could you? And why would you?

Here was the line dividing those whose reason for being in the White House was a professed loyalty to the president from the professionals they had needed to hire. Bannon, Conway, and Hicks—along with an assortment of more or less peculiar ideologues that had attached themselves to Trump and, of course, his family, all people without clearly monetizable reputations before their association with Trump—were, for better or worse, hitched to him. (Even among dedicated Trumpers there was always a certain amount of holding their breath and constant reexamination of their options.) But those within the larger circle of White House influence, those with some stature or at least an imagined stature, had to work through significantly more complicated contortions of personal and career justification.

Often they wore their qualms on their sleeves. Mick Mulvaney, the OMB director, made a point of stressing the fact that he worked in the Executive Office Building, not the West Wing. Michael Anton, holding down Ben Rhodes’s former job at the NSC, had perfected a deft eye roll (referred to as the Anton eye roll). H. R. McMaster seemed to wear a constant grimace and have perpetual steam rising from his bald head. (“What’s wrong with him?” the president often asked.)

There was, of course, a higher rationale: the White House needed normal, sane, logical, adult professionals. To a person, these pros saw themselves bringing positive attributes—rational minds, analytic powers, significant professional experience—to a situation sorely lacking those things. They were doing their bit to make things more normal and, therefore, more stable. They were bulwarks, or saw themselves that way, against chaos, impulsiveness, and stupidity. They were less Trump supporters than an antidote to Trump.

“If it all starts going south—more south than it is already going—I have no doubt that Joe Hagin would himself take personal responsibility, and do what needed to be done,” said a senior Republican figure in Washington, in an effort at self-reassurance, about the former Bush staffer who now served as Trump’s deputy chief of staff for operations.

But this sense of duty and virtue involved a complicated calculation about your positive effect on the White House versus its negative effect on you. In April, an email originally copied to more than a dozen people went into far wider circulation when it was forwarded and reforwarded. Purporting to represent the views of Gary Cohn and quite succinctly summarizing the appalled sense in much of the White House, the email read:

It’s worse than you can imagine. An idiot surrounded by clowns. Trump won’t read anything—not one-page memos, not the brief policy papers; nothing. He gets up halfway through meetings with world leaders because he is bored. And his staff is no better. Kushner is an entitled baby who knows nothing. Bannon is an arrogant prick who thinks he’s smarter than he is. Trump is less a person than a collection of terrible traits. No one will survive the first year but his family. I hate the work, but feel I need to stay because I’m the only person there with a clue what he’s doing. The reason so few jobs have been filled is that they only accept people who pass ridiculous purity tests, even for midlevel policy-making jobs where the people will never see the light of day. I am in a constant state of shock and horror.

Still, the mess that might do serious damage to the nation, and, by association, to your own brand, might be transcended if you were seen as the person, by dint of competence and professional behavior, taking control of it.

Powell, who had come into the White House as an adviser to Ivanka Trump, rose, in weeks, to a position on the National Security Council, and was then, suddenly, along with Cohn, her Goldman colleague, a contender for some of the highest posts in the administration.

At the same time, both she and Cohn were spending a good deal of time with their ad hoc outside advisers on which way they might jump out of the White House. Powell could eye seven-figure comms jobs at various Fortune 100 companies, or a C-suite future at a tech company—Facebook’s Sheryl Sandberg, after all, had a background in corporate philanthropy and in the Obama administration. Cohn, on his part, already a centamillionaire, was thinking about the World Bank or the Fed.

Ivanka Trump—dealing with some of the same personal and career considerations as Powell, except without a viable escape strategy—was quite in her own corner. Inexpressive and even botlike in public but, among friends, discursive and strategic, Ivanka had become both more defensive about her father and more alarmed by where his White House was heading. She and her husband blamed this on Bannon and his let-Trump-be-Trump philosophy (often interpreted as let Trump be Bannon). The couple had come to regard him as more diabolical than Rasputin. Hence it was their job to keep Bannon and the ideologues from the president, who, they believed, was, in his heart, a practical-minded person (at least in his better moods), swayed only by people preying on his short attention span.

In mutually codependent fashion, Ivanka relied on Dina to suggest management tactics that would help her handle her father and the White House, while Dina relied on Ivanka to offer regular assurances that not everyone named Trump was completely crazy. This link meant that within the greater West Wing population, Powell was seen as part of the much tighter family circle, which, while it conferred influence, also made her the target of ever sharper attacks. “She will expose herself as being totally incompetent,” said a bitter Katie Walsh, seeing Powell as less a normalizing influence than another aspect of the abnormal Trump family power play.

And indeed, both Powell and Cohn had privately concluded that the job they both had their eye on—chief of staff, that singularly necessary White House management position—would always be impossible to perform if the president’s daughter and son-in-law, no matter how much they were allied to them, were in de facto command whenever they wanted to exert it.

Dina and Ivanka were themselves spearheading an initiative that, otherwise, would have been a fundamental responsibility of the chief of staff: controlling the president’s information flow.

* * *

The unique problem here was partly how to get information to someone who did not (or could not or would not) read, and who at best listened only selectively. But the other part of the problem was how best to qualify the information that he liked to get. Hope Hicks, after more than a year at this side, had honed her instincts for the kind of information—the clips—that would please him. Bannon, in his intense and confiding voice, could insinuate himself into the president’s mind. Kellyanne Conway brought him the latest outrages against him. There were his after-dinner calls—the billionaire chorus. And then cable, itself programmed to reach him—to court him or enrage him.

The information he did not get was formal information. The data. The details. The options. The analysis. He didn’t do PowerPoint. For anything that smacked of a classroom or of being lectured to—“professor” was one of his bad words, and he was proud of never going to class, never buying a textbook, never taking a note—he got up and left the room.

This was a problem in multiple respects—indeed, in almost all the prescribed functions of the presidency. But perhaps most of all, it was a problem in the evaluation of strategic military options.

The president liked generals. The more fruit salad they wore, the better. The president was very pleased with the compliments he got for appointing generals who commanded the respect that Mattis and Kelly and McMaster were accorded (pay no attention to Michael Flynn). What the president did not like was listening to generals, who, for the most part, were skilled in the new army jargon of PowerPoint, data dumps, and McKinsey-like presentations. One of the things that endeared Flynn to the president was that Flynn, quite the conspiracist and drama queen, had a vivid storytelling sense.

By the time of the Syrian attack on Khan Sheikhoun, McMaster had been Trump’s National Security Advisor for only about six weeks. Yet his efforts to inform the president had already become an exercise in trying to tutor a recalcitrant and resentful student. Recently Trump’s meetings with McMaster had ended up in near acrimony, and now the president was telling several friends that his new National Security Advisor was too boring and that he was going to fire him.

McMaster had been the default choice, a fact that Trump kept returning to: Why had he hired him? He blamed his son-in-law.

After the president fired Flynn in February, he had spent two days at Mar-a-Lago interviewing replacements, badly taxing his patience.

John Bolton, the former U.S. ambassador to the United Nations and Bannon’s consistent choice, made his aggressive light-up-the-world, go-to-war pitch.

Then Lt. Gen. Robert L. Caslen Jr., superintendent of the United States Military Academy at West Point, presented himself with what Trump viewed positively as old-fashioned military decorum. Yes, sir. No, sir. That’s correct, sir. Well, I think we know China has some problems, sir. And in short order it seemed that Trump was selling Caslen on the job.

“That’s the guy I want,” said Trump. “He’s got the look.”

But Caslen demurred. He had never really had a staff job. Kushner thought he might not be ready.

“Yeah, but I liked that guy,” pressed Trump.

Then McMaster, wearing a uniform with his silver star, came in and immediately launched into a wide-ranging lecture on global strategy. Trump was soon, and obviously, distracted, and as the lecture continued he began sulking.

“That guy bores the shit out of me,” announced Trump after McMaster left the room. But Kushner pushed him to take another meeting with McMaster, who the next day showed up without his uniform and in a baggy suit.

“He looks like a beer salesman,” Trump said, announcing that he would hire McMaster but didn’t want to have another meeting with him.

Shortly after his appointment, McMaster appeared on Morning Joe. Trump saw the show and noted admiringly, “The guy sure gets good press.”

The president decided he had made a good hire.

* * *

By midmorning on April 4, a full briefing had been assembled at the White House for the president about the chemical attacks. Along with his daughter and Powell, most members of the president’s inner national security circle saw the bombing of Khan Sheikhoun as a straightforward opportunity to register an absolute moral objection. The circumstance was unequivocal: Bashar al-Assad’s government, once again defying international law, had used chemical weapons. There was video documenting the attack and substantial agreement among intelligence agencies about Assad’s responsibility. The politics were right: Barack Obama failed to act when confronted with a Syrian chemical attack, and now Trump could. The downside was small; it would be a contained response. And it had the added advantage of seeming to stand up to the Russians, Assad’s effective partners in Syria, which would score a political point at home.

Bannon, at perhaps his lowest moment of influence in the White House—many still felt that his departure was imminent—was the only voice arguing against a military response. It was a purist’s rationale: keep the United States out of intractable problems, and certainly don’t increase our involvement in them. He was holding the line against the rising business-as-usual faction, making decisions based on the same set of assumptions, Bannon believed, that had resulted in the Middle East quagmire. It was time to break the standard-response pattern of behavior, represented by the Jarvanka-Powell-Cohn-McMaster alliance. Forget normal—in fact, to Bannon, normal was precisely the problem.

The president had already agreed to McMaster’s demand that Bannon be removed from the National Security Council, though the change wouldn’t be announced until the following day. But Trump was also drawn to Bannon’s strategic view: Why do anything, if you don’t have to? Or, why would you do something that doesn’t actually get you anything? Since taking office, the president had been developing an intuitive national security view: keep as many despots who might otherwise screw you as happy as possible. A self-styled strongman, he was also a fundamental appeaser. In this instance, then, why cross the Russians?

By the afternoon, the national security team was experiencing a sense of rising panic: the president, in their view, didn’t seem to be quite registering the situation. Bannon wasn’t helping. His hyperrationalist approach obviously appealed to the not-always-rational president. A chemical attack didn’t change the circumstances on the ground, Bannon argued; besides, there had been far worse attacks with far more casualties than this one. If you were looking for broken children, you could find them anywhere. Why these broken children?

The president was not a debater—well, not in any Socratic sense. Nor was he in any conventional sense a decision maker. And certainly he was not a student of foreign policy views and options. But this was nevertheless turning into a genuine philosophical face-off.

“Do nothing” had long been viewed as an unacceptable position of helplessness by American foreign policy experts. The instinct to do something was driven by the desire to prove you were not limited to nothing. You couldn’t do nothing and show strength. But Bannon’s approach was very much “A pox on all your houses,” it was not our mess, and judging by all recent evidence, no good would come of trying to help clean it up. That effort would cost military lives with no military reward. Bannon, believing in the need for a radical shift in foreign policy, was proposing a new doctrine: Fuck ’em. This iron-fisted isolationism appealed to the president’s transactional self: What was in it for us (or for him)?

Hence the urgency to get Bannon off the National Security Council. The curious thing is that in the beginning he was thought to be much more reasonable than Michael Flynn, with his fixation on Iran as the source of all evil. Bannon was supposed to babysit Flynn. But Bannon, quite to Kushner’s shock, had not just an isolationist worldview but an apocalyptic one. Much of the world would burn and there was nothing you could do about it.

The announcement of Bannon’s removal was made the day after the attack. That in itself was a rather remarkable accomplishment on the part of the moderates. In little more than two months, Trump’s radical, if not screwball, national security leadership had been replaced by so-called reasonable people.

The job was now to bring the president into this circle of reason.

* * *

As the day wore on, both Ivanka Trump and Dina Powell were united in their determination to persuade the president to react . . . normally. At the very minimum, an absolute condemnation of the use of chemical weapons, a set of sanctions, and, ideally, a military response—although not a big one. None of this was in any way exceptional. Which was sort of the point: it was critical not to respond in a radical, destabilizing way—including a radical nonresponse.

Kushner was by now complaining to his wife that her father just didn’t get it. It had even been difficult to get a consensus on releasing a firm statement about the unacceptability of the use of chemical weapons at the noon press briefing. To both Kushner and McMaster it seemed obvious that the president was more annoyed about having to think about the attack than by the attack itself.

Finally, Ivanka told Dina they needed to show the president a different kind of presentation. Ivanka had long ago figured out how to make successful pitches to her father. You had to push his enthusiasm buttons. He may be a businessman, but numbers didn’t do it for him. He was not a spreadsheet jockey—his numbers guys dealt with spreadsheets. He liked big names. He liked the big picture—he liked literal big pictures. He liked to see it. He liked “impact.”

But in one sense, the military, the intelligence community, and the White House’s national security team remained behind the times. Theirs was a data world rather than a picture world. As it happened, the attack on Khan Sheikhoun had produced a wealth of visual evidence. Bannon might be right that this attack was no more mortal than countless others, but by focusing on this one and curating the visual proof, this atrocity became singular.

Late that afternoon, Ivanka and Dina created a presentation that Bannon, in disgust, characterized as pictures of kids foaming at the mouth. When the two women showed the presentation to the president, he went through it several times. He seemed mesmerized.

Watching the president’s response, Bannon saw Trumpism melting before his eyes. Trump—despite his visceral resistance to the establishment ass-covering and standard-issue foreign policy expertise that had pulled the country into hopeless wars—was suddenly putty. After seeing all the horrifying photos, he immediately adopted a completely conventional point of view: it seemed inconceivable to him that we couldn’t do something.

That evening, the president described the pictures in a call to a friend—the foam, all that foam. These are just kids. He usually displayed a consistent contempt for anything but overwhelming military response; now he expressed a sudden, wide-eyed interest in all kinds of other military options.

On Wednesday, April 5, Trump received a briefing that outlined multiple options for how to respond. But again McMaster burdened him with detail. He quickly became frustrated, feeling that he was being manipulated.

The following day, the president and several of his top aides flew to Florida for a meeting with the Chinese president, Xi Jinping—a meeting organized by Kushner with the help of Henry Kissinger. While aboard Air Force One, he held a tightly choreographed meeting of the National Security Council, tying into the staff on the ground. By this point, the decision about how to respond to the chemical attack had already been made: the military would launch a Tomahawk cruise missile strike at Al Shayrat airfield. After a final round of discussion, while on board, the president, almost ceremonially, ordered the strike for the next day.

With the meeting over and the decision made, Trump, in a buoyant mood, came back to chat with reporters traveling with him on Air Force One. In a teasing fashion, he declined to say what he planned to do about Syria. An hour later, Air Force One landed and the president was hustled to Mar-a-Lago.

The Chinese president and his wife arrived for dinner shortly after five o’clock and were greeted by a military guard on the Mar-a-Lago driveway. With Ivanka supervising arrangements, virtually the entire White House senior staff attended.

During a dinner of Dover sole, haricots verts, and thumbelina carrots—Kushner seated with the Chinese first couple, Bannon at the end of the table—the attack on Al Shayrat airfield was launched.

Shortly before ten, the president, reading straight off the teleprompter, announced that the mission had been completed. Dina Powell arranged a for-posterity photo of the president with his advisers and national security team in the makeshift situation room at Mar-a-Lago. She was the only woman in the room. Steve Bannon glowered from his seat at the table, revolted by the stagecraft and the “phoniness of the fucking thing.”

It was a cheerful and relieved Trump who mingled with his guests among the palm trees and mangroves. “That was a big one,” he confided to a friend. His national security staff were even more relieved. The unpredictable president seemed almost predictable. The unmanageable president, manageable.

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