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in-cognito1990 · 1 year

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Piper vs. The Brain Bandit

Mindbrokensluts

Another easy class. Piper barely made any notes. She had expected university to be a lot of work but so far she really didn’t feel challenged. She was easily top of the class and her tutors praised her constantly. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for the less intelligent students, she was so proud of her intellect and did her best to keep her mind sharp even when the courses she was studying were vastly oversimplified to her.

As piper walked back towards her dormitory she was distracted by her thoughts and didn’t notice her classmate Charlie approach her. She was only snapped out of it when Charlie grabbed her without warning and pushed her up against the nearest wall forcefully. Piper yelped but was quickly silenced as Charlie’s soft lips pressed against hers and her tongue slid into her throat invasively. Piper’s eyes widened as for the first time in her life she tasted another woman’s saliva as Charlie’s tongue continued its assault on her tonsils, exploring the inside of Piper’s mouth freely and wrapping around her own tongue like a snake coiling around its prey.

Charlie grabbed Piper’s wrists as she tried to struggle free. It was futile, Charlie was considerably stronger and Piper felt so confused and distracted and wasn’t used to fighting. As she stopped resisting their faces separated, mixed spit clinging to each woman’s lips and sloppily dripping down their chins and Piper’s chest heaved as she tried to wrap her head around what just happened. Charlie was still holding her up against the wall, but for the moment she could at least speak to her attacker.

“Ch-Charlie? What are you doing? I didn’t know you were…I mean I’m not homophobic but I really…this isn’t appropriate. You can’t just kiss me without my consent. I’m really not into women so…” Piper was interrupted as Charlie bit Piper’s lower lip seductively which distracted her for just a second.

That second of distraction was long enough for Charlie to move one hand down to Piper’s skirt, lifting it up suddenly and sliding her fingers underneath her panties giving her easy access to Piper’s vulnerable tight slit. As Charlie’s fingers slowly circled her pussy lips causing an unsettling rush of sensitivity and a flush of Piper’s cheeks, Piper gasped in shock (and definitely not pleasure she told herself).

“N-no please! Not there! Stop this Charlie I don’t want this. I’m not a lesbian. Please!” She begged and once again began struggling but Charlie responded by wrapping her free hand around Piper’s neck and she soon felt her face turning red and her breaths shortening and the will to fight drained away as dizziness washed over her head.

“Silly Piper. I’m not really a lesbian. I’m not trying to turn you into one either…although you will no doubt come back to me begging for another steamy session of sapphic pleasure. Still it’s not about that.” She said in a somewhat deep and sultry voice as her fingers rubbed along the entrance of Piper’s most intimate area and steadily increased their speed, drawing out her sticky juices and making Piper whimper uncontrollably.

“Wh-what? What is it about? I really don’t get it…” Piper gasped out as Charlie loosened her grip around the poor confused straight girl’s neck and she inhaled deeply.

Still Piper couldn’t seem to fight back properly. With every moment her strength was being sapped as her body began to writhe in unwanted delight and her virgin pussy opened up and leaked excessively for Charlie’s slender, skilled fingers which were invading her pink little hole more and more. Now she was inserting them deep into her pussy, coating them in gooey girl cum and pressing up to her g-spot frustratingly, just straying far enough that she couldn’t get that burst of sensation, keeping her wet and needy but unable to cum.

“You’re going to have to get used to saying that! ‘I really don’t get it’. You see, I t’s about that great big brain of yours. You’re top of every class. A real life genius. Well I think it’s only fair you share some of that intellect. You know, I scratch your back you scratch mine kind of thing. Except I finger your slit and you lose a little brainpower.” Charlie explained as a dumbfounded Piper was wriggling and humping her hand, moaning softly as she failed completely to fight the waves of heat spreading through her entire body.

“Um I don’t…I don’t understand. Th-that’s impossible. You can’t steal someone’s br-ahhhhh…brains!” Piper stuttered out through rugged breaths and barely suppressed whines of lust.

“Oh I can Piper. Would you believe I used to be a bit of a dummy? A silly bimbo. Then I found out about this power. Now I’m the second most intelligent student in our course. Still you are one special case. I’m going to become incredibly intelligent once I drain your mind. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you some brains. Not enough to continue at university but you know, enough to get a job as a waitress at hooters or something. Won’t that be nice?” Charlie teased Piper who was shivering and quaking in time with the expert fingers sliding into her sopping pink pussy. Bending and moving precisely to Charlie’s will like a sweaty, moaning human puppet. “In fact I’ve already siphoned part of your mind away. I’m guessing you’re no longer top of the class. Can you feel it? Isn’t it a weight off your mind? Literally. You’re probably getting quite lightheaded by now.”

“I don’t believe you. You can’t do that. You’ll never take my brains. It’s stupid. Shut up!” Piper yelled out in anger, partly at the idea of losing the most precious part of herself and partly at the desperate need to cum that was saturating her mind and making it hard to think straight.

Actually it was getting really hard to think straight. Her head did feel strange…bubbler and lighter and kind of…emptier. She dismissed the terrifying thoughts that she was actually having her mind sucked out by this lunatic. In fact it was surprisingly easy to push that idea out of her mind. Somehow she felt like there was some kind of thought gradient where thoughts could flow out of her head with ease but trying to drag them back was almost impossible. It was kind of natural to let them just…slip out of her. Thoughts just dripping out like the constant flow of juices from her overstimulated, tender little pussy that was greedily sucking up Charlie’s sticky fingers and grinding against them eagerly.

If Piper could just cum. It would be so good. She felt kind of like she would willingly give away her brains for a chance to cum right now she was so horny and soaked and flushed and panting and sweaty and needy and soaking and….her mind was going crazy. Charlie once again locked lips with the dazed Piper and Piper could feel the heat of Charlie’s breath and the now familiar taste of her sweet saliva and her head became even more numb. She was starting to feel good to let her mind drain away. Every thought that slipped out of her head sent shivers down her spine and gave her a tiny mental orgasm that she couldn’t resist.

'Don’t wanna think. Take my thoughts. Wanna cum. Take my thoughts. Don’t wanna be smart. Take my thoughts. Wanna get fucked. Take my thoughts.’ Ran through Pipers ever more feeble mind as she pushed out the last pieces of useful knowledge and Charlie’s kissing was interrupted by delighted laughing as she felt the rush of completely draining the once intelligent Piper of her mind.

“That’s a god girl Piper. You’re a dummy now. Barely intelligent enough to serve tables at Hooters I bet, maybe a strip club would be a better suggestion. Anyway I think it’s about time I let you cum.”

Piper, with her tongue sticking out, panting as she drooled mindlessly and whined in desperation at the thought of cumming, was now utterly dim and a shadow of her former intelligent, studious self. Charlie’s fingers bore down on her g-spot and Piper was thrown into mad spasms and delirious guttural moaning as the long awaited orgasm hit her. Unbeknownst to Piper her amazing orgasm was the part that cemented her change. Closed off her newly emptied mind and permanently transferred her lost brains to Charlie. She didn’t and couldn’t understand it. All she knew was the pleasure washing over her, jolting from her pussy all the way down to the tips of her toes which twitched erratically and all the way up to her dizzy, empty head and glassy, dull eyes which rolled back in ecstasy.

Withdrawing her filthy, soaking fingers and smiling down at the mess of a woman who writhed and moaned dumbly before her, still coming down from the high of orgasm, Charlie thanked her former classmate and walked away. Within days Piper was kicked out of the university after she was sent to the counsellor for acting strange during her classes. Specifically masturbating and asking both male and female students sat near her to help her cum. She was deemed her to have some kind of brain damage and later found work at a local strip club where she could play with herself in front of men men on stage and had so much fun

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wits-writing · 4 years

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What’s so Funny About Vengeance, the Night, and Batman? – Two Superhero Parodies in Conversation

Back in 2016, the first trailers for Director Chris McKay’s The Lego Batman Movie hit. A spinoff of the take on the iconic hero, voiced by Will Arnett, from 2014’s The Lego Movie. Those trailers spelled out a plot covering how Batman’s life of crimefighting is turned upside down when Robin unexpectedly enters the picture. It was a funny trailer, promising another insightful comedy from the crew behind The Lego Movie. A promise it handily delivered on when it came out in February 2017 with an animated feature steeped wall-to-wall jokes for the sake of mocking Bruce Wayne’s angst filled crusade that can only come from understanding what’s made the character withstand the test of time.

But there was a thought I and others had from seeing that trailer up to watching the actual movie:

“This seems… familiar.”

Holy Musical B@man! is a 2012 fan-made stage production parody of DC Comics’ biggest cash cow. It was produced as the fifth musical from YouTube-based cult phenomenon Starkid Productions, from a book by Matt and Nick Lang, music by Nick Gage and Scott Lamp with lyrics by Gage. The story of the musical details how Robin’s unexpected entrance ends up turning Batman’s (Joe Walker) life of crimefighting upside down. Among Starkids’ fandom derived projects in their early existence, as they’ve mainly moved on to well-received original material in recent years, Holy Musical B@man! is my personal favorite. I go back to it frequently, appreciating it as a fan of both superheroes and musicals. (Especially since good material that touches on both of those isn’t exactly easy to come by. Right, Spider-Man?)

While I glibly summarized the similarities between them by oversimplifying their plots, there’s a lot in the details, both major and minor, that separates how they explore themes like solitude, friendship, love, and what superhero stories mean. It’s something I’ve wanted to dig into for a while and I found a lot in both of them I hadn’t considered before by putting them in conversation. I definitely recommend watching both of them, because of how in-depth this piece goes including discussing their endings. However, nothing I can say will replace the experience of watching them and if I had included everything I could’ve commented on in both of them, this already massive piece would easily be twice as long minimum.

Up front, I want to say this isn’t about comparing The Lego Batman Movie and Holy Musical B@man in terms of quality. Not only are they shaped for vastly different mediums with different needs/expectations, animation versus stagecraft, but they also had different resources at their disposal. Even if both are in some ways riffing on the aesthetic of the 1990s Batman movies and the Adam West TV show, Lego Batman does it with the ability to make gorgeously animated frames packed to the brim with detail while Holy Musical often leans into its low-fi aesthetic of characters miming props and sets to add extra humor. They’re also for different audiences, Lego Batman clearly for all-ages while Holy Musical has the characters cursing for emphasis on a regular basis. On top of those factors, after picking through each of these for everything worth commenting on that I could find, I can’t say which I wholly prefer thanks in part to these fundamental differences.

This piece is more about digging through the details to explore the commonalities, differences, and what makes them effective mocking love letters to one of the biggest superheroes in existence.

(Also, since I’m going to be using the word “Batman” a lot, I’ll be calling Lego Batman just “Batman” and referring to the version from Holy Musical as “B@man”, with the exception of quoted dialogue.)

[Full Piece Under the Cut]

Setting the Tone

The beginning is, in fact, a very good place to start when discussing how these parodies frame their versions of the caped crusader. Each one uses a song about lavishing their respective Batmen with praise about how they are the best superheroes ever and play over sequences of the title hero kicking wholesale ass. A key distinction comes in who’s singing each song. Holy Musical B@man’s self-titled opening number is sung from the perspective of an omniscient narrator recounting B@man’s origin and later a chorus made up of the Gotham citizenry. Meanwhile, “Who’s the (Bat) Man” from Lego Batman is a brag-tacular song written by Batman about himself, even playing diegetically for all his villains to hear as he beats them up.

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Holy Musical opens on a quick recap of Batman’s origin:

“One shot, Two shots in the night and they’re gone And he’s all left alone He’s just one boy Two dead at his feet and their blood stains the street And there’s nothing, no there’s nothing he can do!”

We then get a Bat-dance break as the music goes from slow and moody to energetic to reflect Batman turning that tragedy into the driving force behind his one-man war on crime. Assured by the narrator that he’s “the baddest man that there’s ever been!” and “Now there’s nothing, no there’s nothing he can’t do!” flipping the last lyric of the first verse. For the rest of the opening scene the lyrics matter less than what’s happening to establish both this fan-parody’s version of Batman and how the people of Gotham (“he’ll never refuse ‘em”) view him.

Lego Batman skips the origin recap, and in general talks around the death of the Waynes to keep the light tone going since it’s still a kids movie about a popular toy even if there are deeper themes at play. Instead, it continues a trend The Lego Movie began for this version of the character writing music about how he’s an edgy, dark, awesome, cool guy. While that movie kept it to Batman angry-whiteboy-rapping about “Darkness! NO PARENTS!”, this one expands to more elaborate boasts in the song “Who’s the (Bat) Man” by Patrick Stump:

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“In the darkest night I make the bad guys fall There’s a million heroes But I’m the best of them all!”

Batman singing this song about himself, as opposed to having it sung by others aims the crosshairs of parody squarely on the hero’s ego. His abilities make fighting his villains effortless, like this opening battle is more an opportunity to perform the song than a life-or-death struggle. Even Joker’s aware of that as he shouts, “Stop him before he starts singing!” This Batman doesn’t see himself as missing out on anything in life, even if he still feels that deep down. Being Batman is the coolest thing in the world that anyone would envy. He’s Batman, therefore everyone should envy him.

The songs aren’t only part of the equation for how these two works’ opening scenes establish their leading hero. While both songs are about Batman being cool, they’re separated by the accompanying scenes. Lego Batman keep the opening within the Joker’s perspective until Batman shows up and the action kicks in. Once it does, we’re shown a Batman at the top of his solo-hero game. Meanwhile, Holy Musical’s opening is about B@man building his reputation and by the end of the song he has all the citizens of Gotham singing his praises with the titular lyrics. Both are about being in awe of the title hero, one framed by Joker’s frustration at Batman’s ease in foiling his schemes yet again and the other about the people of Gotham growing to love their city’s hero (probably against their better judgement.)

That’s woven into the fabric of what kind of schemes Batman is foiling in each of these. Joker’s plan to bomb Gotham with the help of every supervillain in Batman’s Rogues Gallery is hilariously high stakes and the type of plan most Batman stories, even parodies, would save for the climax. Neatly exemplified by how that’s almost the exact structure of Holy Musical’s final showdown. Starting with these stakes works as an extension of this Batman’s nature as a living children’s toy and therefore the embodiment of a child’s idea of what makes Batman cool, his ability to wipe the floor with anyone that gets in his way “because he’s Batman.” It also emphasizes Joker as the only member of the Rogues Gallery that matters to Lego Batman’s story, every other Bat-villain is either a purely visual cameo or only gets a couple lines maximum.

The crime’s being stopped by B@man are more in the “Year One” gangster/organized crime category rather than anything spectacle heavy. Though said crimes are comically exaggerated:

Gangster 1: Take these here drugs, put ‘em into them there guns, and then hand ‘em out to those gamblin’ prostitutes! Gangster 2: Should we really be doing these illegal activities? In a children’s hospital for orphans?

These fit into that model of crime the Dark Knight fights in his early days and add tiny humanizing moments between the crooks (“Oh, Matches! You make me laugh like nobody else!”) in turn making the arrival of B@man and the violence he deals out a stronger punchline. Further emphasized by the hero calling out the exact physical damage he does with each hit before warning them to never do crime again saying, “Support your families like the rest of us! Be born billionaires!” Later in the song his techniques get more extreme and violence more indiscriminate, as he uses his Bat-plane to patrol and gun down whoever he sees as a criminal, including a storeowner accidentally taking a single dollar from his own register. (“God’s not up here! Only Batman!”)

A commonality between these two openings is how Commissioner Jim Gordon gets portrayed. Both are hapless goofs at their core, playing more on the portrayal of the character in the 60s TV show and 90s Burton/Schumacher movies than the serious-minded character present in comics, Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy, and other adaptations. Lauren Lopez’s portrayal in Holy Musical gets overwhelmed by everything thrown at him, eventually giving up and getting out of B@man’s way (“I’m not gonna tell Batman what to do! He’s Batman!”) Hector Elizondo’s Gordon in Lego Batman clearly reached the “stay out of Batman’s way” point a long time ago, happy to have “the guy who flips on the Bat-signal” be his sole defining trait. While the characterizations are close, their roles do end up differing. Lopez’s Gordon sticks around to have a few more comedic scenes as the play goes on, where Elizondo’s exist to set up a contrast with his daughter Barbara and her way of approaching Batman when she becomes Police Commissioner.

These opening sequences both end in similar manners as well; the citizens of Gotham lavishing praise on their respective Batmen and a confrontation between Batman and the Joker. Praise from the citizenry in Holy Musical comes on the heels of a letter from B@man read out on the news about how much they and the city of Gotham suck. They praise B@man for his angsty nature as a “dark hero” and how they “wouldn’t want him any other way!”, establishing the motif of Gotham’s citizens in Holy Musical as stand-ins for the Batman fandom. Lego Batman uses the praise of the Gotham citizens after Batman’s victory in the opening scene as a lead in to contrast their certainty that Batman must have an exciting private life with the reality we’re shown. Which makes sense since Lego-Batman’s relationship to the people of Gotham is never presented as something at stake.

Greater contrast comes in how the confrontations with the Joker are handled, Lego Batman has an argument between the hero and villain that’s intentionally coded as relationship drama, Batman saying “There is no ‘us’” when Joker declares himself Batman’s greatest enemy. The confrontation in Holy Musical gets purposefully underplayed as an offstage encounter narrated to the audience as a Vicki Vale news report. This takes Joker off the board for the rest of the play in contrast to the Batman/Joker relationship drama that forms one of Lego Batman’s key pillars. While they take different forms, the respective citizenry praise and villain confrontation parts of these openings lead directly into the number one common thematic element between these Bat-parodies: Batman’s loneliness.

One is the Darkest, Saddest, Loneliest Number

Batman as an isolated hero forms one of the core tenants of the most popular understanding of the character. Each of these parodies picks at that beyond the broody posturing. There’s no dedicated segment in this piece about how these works’ versions of the title character function bleeds into every other aspect of them, but each starts from the idea of Batman as a man-child with trouble communicating his emotions. Time’s taken to give the audience a view of where their attitudes have left them early in the story.

Both heroes show their loneliness through interactions with their respective Alfreds. Holy Musical has the stalwart butler, played by Chris Allen, try to comfort B@man by asking if he has any friends he enjoys being around. When B@man cites Lucius Fox as a friend he calls him right away, only to discover Lucius Fox is Alfred’s true identity and Alfred Pennyworth was an elaborate ruse he came up with to protect Bruce on his father’s wishes. Ironically, finding out his closest friend was living a double life causes Bruce to push Alfred away (the play keeps referring to him as Alfred after this, so that’s what I’m going to do as well.) After he’s fired he immediately comes back in a new disguise as “O’Malley the Irish Butler” (same outfit he wore before but with a Party City Leprechaun hat.) That’s unfortunately the start of a running gag in Holy Musical that ends up at the worst joke in the play, when Alfred disguises himself as “Quon Li the Chinese Butler” doing an incredibly cringeworthy “substituting L’s for R’s” bit with his voice. It’s been my least favorite bit in the play since I first saw it in 2012 and legitimately makes me hesitate at times to recommend it. Even if it’s relatively small bit and the rest holds ups.

That disclaimer out of the way, that conversation between B@man and Alfred leads into the title hero reflecting on his sadness through the musical’s I Want Song, “Dark, Sad, Lonely Knight.” The song’s split into two halves, the first Alfred reflecting on whether he played a part in Bruce’s current condition and the second B@man longing for a connection. The song does a good job balancing between the sincerity over the hero’s sadness and getting good laughs out of it:

“Think of the children Next time you gun down the mama and papa Their only mama and papa Because they probably don’t have another mama and papa!”

The “I Want” portion of the song coming in the end with the repetition of the lryics “I want to be somebody’s buddy.”

Rather than another song number, Lego Batman covers Batman’s sadness through a pair of montages and visual humor. The first comes after the opening battle, where we see Batman taking off all his costume except for the mask hanging out alone in Wayne Manor, showing how little separation he puts between identities. Compared to Holy Musical where the equivalent scene is the first we see of Bruce without the mask on, which may come down to practicality since anyone who’s worn a mask like that knows they get hot and sweaty fast. Batman is constantly made to appear small among the giant empty rooms of his estate as he eats dinner, jams on his guitar, and watches romantic movies alone.

Ralph Fienne’s Alfred coming in at the end of this sequence witnessing Batman looking at a photo of himself as a boy with his parents for the last time. Alfred outlines Batman’s fear of being part of a family again only to be met with Batman denying he has any feelings ever. Pennyworth’s role as a surrogate father gets put into greater focus here than in Holy Musical, as we get glimpses of Alfred reading a book titled “How to Deal with Your Out-of-Control Child.” Also shown in smaller scenes of Alfred dealing with Batman’s insistent terminology for his crime fighting equipment, like calling his cowl an “armored face disguise.”

Batman’s denial of his pain contrasts how B@man wallows in it. Though he’s forced to confront it a little as the Joker’s plan ends up leaving him with no crimefighting to fall back on to ignore his issues. This montage gets set to the song “One” by Harry Nilsson and details Batman, unable to express his true feelings, eventually letting them out in the form of tempter tantrums. There’s also some humor through juxtaposition as Batman walks solemnly through the streets of Gotham City, rendered black and white, as the citizens chant “No more crime!” in celebration, while flipping over cars and firing guns into the air.

A disruption to their loneliness eventually comes in the form of a sensational character find.

Robin – The Son/BFF Wonder

Between both Bat-parodies, the two Robins’ characterizations are as close as anyone’s between them. Each is nominally Dick Grayson but are ultimately more representative of the idea of Robin as the original superhero sidekick and his influence on Batman’s life. The play and movie also both make the obvious jokes about Dick’s name and the classic Robin costume’s lack of pants at different points. Dick’s origin also gets sidestepped in each version to skip ahead to the part where he starts being an influence in Batman’s life.

Robin’s introduction to the comics in Detective Comics #38 in 1940, marking the start of Batman’s literal “Year Two” as a character, predating the introduction of Joker, Catwoman, and Alfred, among others. Making him Batman’s longest lasting ally in the character’s history. His presence and acrobatics shift the tone by adding a dash of swashbuckling to Batman’s adventures, inspired by the character’s namesake Robin Hood, though both parodies take a page out of Batman Forever and associate the name with the bird for the sake of a joke. Robin is as core to Batman as his origin, but more self-serious adaptations (i.e., the mainstream cinematic ones that were happening around the times both Holy Musical and Lego Batman came out) tend to avoid the character’s inclusion. These two works being parody, therefore anything but self-serious, give themselves permission to examine why Robin matters and how different characters react to his presence. Rejection of Robin as a character and concept comes out in some form in each of these works, from Batman himself in Lego Batman and the Gotham citizens in Holy Musical.

The chain of events that lead to Dick becoming Robin in Lego Batman are a string of consequences for Batman’s self-absorption. A scene of Bruce barely listening as Dick asks for advice on getting adopted escalating to absentmindedly signing the adoption paperwork. Batman doesn’t realize he has a son until after his sadness montage. Alfred forces Batman to start interacting with Dick against his will. The broody loner wanting nothing to do with the cheery kid, played to “golly gee gosh” perfection by Michael Cera, until he sees the utility of him. Batman doesn’t even have the idea to give Robin a costume or codename because he clearly views the sidekick’s presence as a temporary measure for breaking into Superman’s fortress, made clear by how he lists “expendable” as a quality Dick needs if he wants to go on a mission.

This makes Robin the catalyst for Batman’s shifting perspective throughout Lego Batman. When Robin succeeds in his first mission, the Dark Knight is hesitant to truly compliment him and chalks up his ward’s feats to “unbelievable obeying.” Other moments have Robin’s presence poke holes in Batman’s tough guy demeanor, like the first time Batman and Robin ride in the Bat-mobile together, Robin asks where the seatbelts are and Batman growls “Life doesn’t give you seatbelts!”, only for Batman to make a sudden stop causing Robin to hit his head on the windshield and Batman genuinely apologizes. They share more genuine moments together as the film goes, like Batman suggesting they beatbox together to keeps their spirits up after they’ve been imprisoned for breaking into Arkham Asylum. Robin’s representative of Batman gradually letting people in throughout these moments.

On the exact opposite end of the spectrum, B@man needs zero extra prompting to let Robin into his life. Nick Lang’s Robin (henceforth called “Rob!n” to keep with this arbitrary naming scheme I’ve concocted) does get brought into his life by Alfred thanks to a personal ad (“‘Dog for sale’? No… ‘Orphan for sale’! Even better!”) but it’s a short path to B@man deciding to let Dick fight alongside him. The briefest hesitance on the hero’s part, “To be Batman… is to be alone”, is quelled by Rob!n saying “We could be alone… together.” Their first scene together quickly establishing the absurd sincerity exemplified by this incarnation of the Dynamic Duo. An energy carried directly into the Act 1 closing number, “The Dynamic Duet”, a joyful ode between the heroes about how they’re “Long lost brothers who found each other” sung as they beat up supervillains (and the occasional random civilian.)

That song also ties into the contrast between the Batman/Robin dynamic and the B@man/Rob!n one. While Holy Musical is portraying a brotherly/BFF bond between the two heroes, Lego Batman leans into the surrogate son angle. While both are mainly about their stories’ Batman being able to connect with others, the son angle of Lego Batman adds an additional layer of “Batman needs to take responsibility for himself and others” and a parallel to Alfred as Batman’s own surrogate father. It also adds to the queer-coding of Batman in Lego Batman as Batman’s excuse to Robin for why he can go on missions is that Bruce and he are sharing custody, Robin even calling Batman’s dual identities “dads” before he knows the truth.

In the absence of the accepting personal responsibility through fatherhood element, the conflict Rob!n brings out in Holy Musical forms between B@man and the citizens of Gotham. “Citizens as stand-ins for fandom” is at it’s clearest here as the Act 2 opener is called “Robin Sucks!” featuring the citizens singing about how… well, you read the title. Their objections to Rob!n’s existence has nothing to do with what the young hero has done or failed to do, but come from arguments purely about the aesthetic of Rob!n fighting alongside B@man. Most blatantly shown by one of the citizens wearing a Heath Ledger Joker t-shirt saying Rob!n’s presence “ruins the gritty realism of a man who fights crime dressed as a bat.” It works as the Act 2 opener by establishing that B@man and the citizens conflicting opinions on his sidekick end up driving that half of the story, exemplified in B@man’s complete confusion about why people hate Rob!n (“Robin ruined Batman? But that’s not true… Robin make Batman happy.”)

Both Robins play into the internal conflict their respective mentors are going through, but what would a superhero story, even a parody, be without some colorful characters to provide that sweet external conflict.

Going Rogue

Both works have the threat comes from an army of villains assembled under a ringleader, Zach Galifianakis’s Joker in Lego Batman and Jeff Blim as Sweet Tooth in Holy Musical. Both lead the full ensemble of Batman’s classic (and not so classic) Rogues at different points. As mentioned before Joker starts Lego Batman with “assemble the Rogues, blow up Gotham” as his plan, while Sweet Tooth with his candy prop comedy becoming the ringleader of Gotham’s villains is a key turning point in Act 1 of the play. Part of this comes down to how their connections to their respective heroes and environments are framed, Sweet Tooth as a new player on the scene and Joker as Batman’s romantic foil.

Lego Batman demonstrates Batman and Joker are on “finishing each other’s sentences” levels of intimate that Batman refuses to acknowledge. Shown best in how Joker’s plan only works because he can predict exactly how Batman will act once he starts playing hard to get. When he surrenders the entire Rogues Gallery (without telling them) and himself to police custody, he describes it as him being “off the market.” He knows Batman won’t settle for things ending on these terms and tricks the hero into stealing Superman’s Phantom Zone projector so he can recruit a new, better team of villains for a take two of his masterplan from the start. Going through all this trouble to get Batman to say those three magic words; “I love hate you.” Joker as the significant other wanting his partner to finally reciprocate his feelings and commit works both as a play on how the Batman/Joker relationship often gets approached and an extension of the central theme. Batman is so closed off to interpersonal connections he can’t even properly hate his villains.

Sweet Tooth, while clearly being a riff Heath Ledger and Caesar Romero’s Jokers fused with a dash of Willy Wonka, doesn’t have that kind of connection with B@man. Though there are hints that B@man and his recently deceased Joker may have had one on that level. He laments “[Joker]’s in heaven with mom and dad. Making them laugh, I know it!” when recalling how the Clown Prince of Crime was the one person he enjoyed being around. This makes Joker’s death one of the key triggers to B@man reflecting on his solitude at the start of the play.

What Sweet Tooth provides the story is a threat to B@man’s new bond with Rob!n. Disrupting that connection forms the delicious center of the Candy King of Crime’s plan in Act 2. He holds Rob!n and Gotham’s people hostage and asks the citizens to decide via Facebook poll if the sidekick lives or dies (in reference to the infamous phone hotline vote from the comic book story A Death in the Family where readers could decide the Jason Todd Robin’s fate.)

With the rest of the villains under the leadership of the respective works’ main antagonists, there’s commentary on their perceived quality as threats. When Holy Musical has Superman talking to Green Lantern about how much B@man’s popularity frustrates him, he comes down especially hard on the Caped Crusader’s villains. Talking about how they all coast by on simple gimmicks with especially harsh attention given to Two Face’s being “the number two.” Saying they’re only famous because B@man screws up and they get to do more damage. Which he compares to his own relationship with his villains:

Superman: You ever heard of Mr. Mxyzptlk? Green Lantern: No. Superman: No, that’s right! That’s because I do my job!

Lego Batman has commentary on the other villains come from Joker, recognizing that even all together they can never beat Batman, because that’s how a Batman story goes. The other villains get portrayed as generally buffoonish, struggling to even build a couch together and described by Joker as “losers dressed in cosplay.” Tricking Batman into sending him to the Phantom Zone provides him the opportunity to gather villains from outside Batman’s mythos and outside DC Comics in general. Recruiting the likes of Sauron, King Kong, Daleks, Agent Smith from The Matrix, and the Wicked Witch of the West, among others. When I first saw and reviewed The Lego Batman Movie, this bugged me because it felt like a missed opportunity to feature lesser-known villains from other DC heroes’ Rogues Galleries. Now, considering the whole movie as meta-commentary on the status of this Batman as a children’s toy, it makes perfect sense that Joker would need to go outside of comics to break the rules of a typical Batman story and have a shot at winning.

The Rogues of Holy Musical get slightly more of a chance to shine, if only because their song “Rogues are We” is one of the catchier tracks from the play. They’re all still more cameo than character when all’s said and done, but Sweet Tooth entering the picture is about him recognizing their potential to operate as a unit, takeover Gotham, and kill B@man. The candy-pun flinging villain wants all of them together, no matter their perceived quality.

Sweet Tooth: “We need every villain in Gotham. Cool themes, lame themes, themes that don’t match their powers, even the villains that take their names from public domain stories.” (Two Face’s “broke ass” still being the exception.)

Both Joker and Sweet Tooth provide extensions of the shared theme of Batman dealing with the new connections in his life, especially with regards to Robin. However, Robin isn’t the only other ally (or potential ally) these Dark Knights have on their side.

Super Friends(?)

The internal crisis of these Caped Crusaders come as much from how they react to other heroic figures as it does from supervillainous machinations. In both cases how Batman views and is viewed by fellow heroes gets centered on a specific figure, Superman in Holy Musical and Commissioner Barbara Gordon (later Batgirl) in Lego Batman. Each serves a vastly different purpose in the larger picture of their stories and relationship to their respective Batmen. Superman reflecting B@man’s loneliness and Barbara symbolizing a new path forward for Batman’s hero work.

Superman’s role in Holy Musical runs more parallel to Lego Batman’s Joker than Barbara. Brian Holden’s performance as the Man of Tomorrow plays into a projected confidence covering anxiety that nobody likes him. Besting the Bat-plane in a race during B@man’s Key to the City ceremony establishes a one upmanship between the two heroes, like Joker’s description of his relationship with Batman at the end of Lego Batman’s opening battle. Though instead of that romantically coded relationship from Lego Batman, this relationship is more connected to childish jealousy. (But if you do want to read the former into Holy Musical B@man, neither hero has an onstage relationship with any woman and part of their eventual fight consist of spanking each other.)

B@man and Superman’s first real interaction is arguing over who’s the cooler hero until it degrades into yelling “Fuck you!” at each other. B@man storming off in the aftermath of that gets topped off by Superman suggesting he should get the Key to the City instead, citing his strength and longer tenure as a hero (“The first hero, by the way”) as justifications. This only results in the Gotham citizens turning on him for suggesting their city’s hero is anything less than the best, which serves both as a Sam Raimi Spider-Man reference (“You mess with one of us! You mess with all of us!”) and another example of the citizens as stand-ins for fandom. Superman’s veil of cocksureness comes off quickly after that and stays off for the rest of the play. Starting with his conversation with Green Lantern where a civilian comes across them, but barely acts like Superman’s there.

One of the play’s running gags is Superman calling B@man’s number and leaving messages, showing a desperation to reach out and connect with his fellow hero despite initial smugness. Even before the first phone call scene, we see Superman joining B@man to sing “I want to be somebody’s buddy” during “Dark, Sad, Lonely Knight” hinting at what’s to come. The note it consistently comes back to is that Superman’s jealousy stems from Batman’s popularity over him. This is a complete flip of what Lego Batman does with the glimpse at a Batman/Superman dynamic we see when Batman goes to the Superman’s fortress to steal the Phantom Zone projector. The rivalry dynamic there exists solely in Batman’s head, Lego-Superman quickly saying “I would crush you” when Batman suggests the idea of them fighting. Superman’s status among the other DC heroes is also night and day between these works. Where Lego-Superman’s only scene in the movie shows him hosting the Justice League Anniversary Party and explaining he “forgot” to invite Batman, Superman in Holy Musical consistently lies about having friends over (“All night long I’m busy partying with my friends at the Fortress… of Solitude.”)

Superman’s relationship to B@man in Holy Musical develops into larger antagonism thanks to lack of communication with B@man brushing off Supes’ invitations to hang out and fight bad guys (“Where were you for the Solomon Grundy thing? Ended up smaller than I thought, just a couple of cool guys. Me and… Solomon Grundy.”) His own loneliness gets put into stronger focus when he sees the news of Rob!n’s debut as a crimefighter, which makes him reflect on how he misses having Krypto the Super-Dog around. (The explanation for why he doesn’t have his dog anymore is one of my favorite jokes in the play and I won’t ruin it here.)

Where Superman’s a reflection of B@man’s loneliness, Rosario Dawson as Barbara in Lego Batman is a confrontation of Batman’s go it alone attitude. Her job in the story is to be the one poking holes in the foundation of Batman as an idea, starting with her speech at Jim Gordon’s retirement banquet and her instatement as commissioner. She has a by-the-book outlook on crimefighting with the omnicompetence to back it up, thanks to her training at “Harvard for Police.” Babs sees Batman’s current way of operating as ineffectual and wants him to be an official agent of the law. An idea that dumps a bucket of cold water on Batman’s crush he developed immediately upon seeing her, though that never fully goes away.

Her main point is that Batman “karate chopping poor people” hasn’t made Gotham better in his 80 years of operating. A contrast to Holy Musical’s Jim Gordon announcing that B@man has brought Gotham’s crime rates to an all-time low (“Still the highest in the world, but we’re working on it.”) She wants to see a Batman willing to work with other people. A hope dashed constantly dealing with his childish stubbornness as he tries to foil Joker’s schemes on his own, culminating in her arresting Batman and Robin for breaking into Arkham to send Joker to the Phantom Zone.

Barbara’s role as the one bringing grown-up attitudes and reality into Batman’s world does leave her in the role of comedic straight woman. Humor in her scenes comes from how she reacts to everyone else’s absurdity rather than anything she does to be funny. This works for the role she plays in Lego Batman, since she’s not there to have an arc the way Superman does in Holy Musical. She’s another catalyst for Batman’s to start letting people in as another character he grows to care about. Which starts after she lets the Dynamic Duo out of prison to fight Joker’s new army of Phantom Zone villains on the condition that he plays it by her rules. Leading to a stronger bond between Batman, Robin, Alfred, and her as they start working together.

The two Batmen’s relationships to other heroes, their villains, Robin, and their own solitude each culminate in their own way as their stories reach their conclusions.

Dark Knights & Dawning Realizations

As everything comes down to the final showdowns in these Bat-parodies, the two Caped Crusaders each confront their failures to be there for others and allow themselves to be vulnerable to someone they’ve been antagonizing throughout the story. Each climax has all of Gotham threatened by a bomb and the main villains’ plans coming to fruition only to come undone.

Holy Musical has Sweet Tooth’s kidnapping of Rob!n and forcing Gotham to choose themselves or the sidekick they hate sends B@man into his most exaggerated state in the entire play. It’s the classic superhero movie climax conundrum, duty as a hero versus personal attachment. Alfred, having revealed himself as the “other butlers”, even lampshades how these stories usually go only for that possibility to get shot down by Bruce:

Alfred: A true hero, Master Wayne, finds a way to choose both. B@man: You’re right, Alfred. I know what I have to do… Fuck Gotham, I’m saving Robin!

B@man’s selfishness effectively makes him the real villain of Holy Musical’s second act. Lego Batman has shades of that aspect as well, where Batman gets sent to the Phantom Zone by Joker for his repeated refusal to acknowledge their relationship. Where the AI running the interdimensional prison, Phyllis voiced by Ellie Kemper, confronts him with the way he’s treated Robin, Alfred, Barbara, and even Joker:

Phyllis: You’re not a traditional bad guy, but you’re not exactly a good guy either. You even abandoned your friends. Batman: No! I was trying to protect them! Phyllis: By pushing them away? Batman: Well… yeah. Phyllis: Are they really the ones you’re protecting?

Batman watches what’s happening back in Gotham and sees Robin emulate his grim and gritty tendencies to save the day in his absence makes him desperately scream, “Don’t do what I would do!” It’s the universe rubbing what a jerk he’s been in his face. He’s forced to take a look at himself and make a change. B@man’s not made to do that kind of self-reflection until after he’s defeated Sweet Tooth but failed to stop the villain’s bomb. He’s ready to give up on Gotham forever and leave with Rob!n, until his sidekick pulls up Sweet Tooth’s poll and it shows the unanimous result in favor of saving the Boy Wonder. Despite everything they said at the start of Act 2, the people want to help their hero in return for all the times he helped them. All of them calling back to the Raimi Spider-Man reference from Act 1, “You mess with one of us. You mess with all of us.”

Both heroes’ chance at redemption and self-improvement comes from opening themselves up to the people they pushed out and dismissed earlier in their stories. Batman takes on the role he reduced the Commissioner down to at the beginning of the movie and flips on signals for Barbara, Alfred, and Robin to show how he’s truly prepared to work as a team, not just with his friends and family but with the villains of Gotham the Joker pushed aside as well. Teamwork makes the dream work and they’re all able to work together to get Joker’s army back into the Phantom Zone but like in Holy Musical they fail to stop the bomb threatening Gotham. Which he can only prevent from destroying the city by confessing his true feeling to Joker

Batman: If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have learned how connected I am with all of these people and you. So, if you help me save Gotham, you’ll help me save us. Joker: You just said “us?” Batman: Yeah, Batman and the Joker. So, what do you say? Joker: You had me at “shut up!”

The equivalent moment from Holy Musical comes from B@man needing to put aside his pride and encourage a disheartened Superman to save Gotham for him. This happens in the aftermath of a fight the two heroes had where Superman tried to stop B@man before he faced Sweet Tooth, B@man winning out through use of kryptonite. That fight doesn’t fit into any direct parallel with Lego Batman, but it is important context for how Superman’s feeling about B@man before Superman finally gets his long-awaited phone call from the Dark Knight. Also, the song accompanying the fight, “To Be a Man”, is one of the funniest scenes in the play. What this speech from B@man does is bring the idea of Holy Musical B@man as a commentary on fandom full circle:

B@man: I forgot what it means to be a superhero. But we’re really not that different, you and me, at our heart. I mean really all superheroes are pretty much the same… Something bad happened to us once when we were young, so we dedicated our whole lives to doing a little bit of good. That’s why we got into this crazy superhero business. Not to be the most popular, or even the most powerful. Because if that were the case, hell, you’d have the rest of us put out of a job!

This speech extends into an exchange between the heroes about how superheroes are cool, not despite anything superficially silly but because of it. Bringing it back to the “Robin Sucks!” theme that started Act 2, saying “Some people think Robin is stupid. But those people are pretentious douchebags. Because, literally, the only difference between Robin and me is our costumes.” The speech culminates in what I genuinely think is one of the best Batman lines ever written, as B@man’s final plea to Superman is “Where’s that man who’s faster than a gun?” calling back to the trauma that created Batman across all versions and what he can see in someone like Superman. So, B@man sacrificing his pride and fully trusting in another hero saves Gotham, the way Batman letting Joker know what their relationship means to him did in Lego Batman.

Each of these parodies ends by delivering a Batman willing to open himself up to a new team of heroes fighting at his side, the newly minted Bat-Family in Lego Batman and the league for justice known as the Super Friends in Holy Musical. Putting them side by side like this shows how creators don’t need the resources of a Hollywood studio to make something exactly as meaningful and how the best parodies come from love of the material no matter who’s behind them.

If you like what you’ve read here, please like/reblog or share elsewhere online, follow me on Twitter (@WC_WIT), and consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years

Text

Not Today XXXVII

A/N: SO MUCH good stuff this chapter!! Can't wait for you all to read, because this chapter definitely went off plan for what I'd intended at the end, but I am more than happy to get back on track next chapter, to have let this happen. Anyway, let me know what you think, and I'm off to start writing again! Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

The air had felt tense as the three Vikings sat around, though Asta credited that to the fact that Ivar was trying to discern if Hvitserk was going to be alright, fighting against Björn Ironside, who he had once fought beside- against Ivar. Ivar was watching Hvitserk closely as they sat around, smirking almost as he did so. If nothing else, he was certainly thinking long and hard about something. Eventually, that something came out as he said to his brother, "We leave in spring. Are you..." There was a pause. "Ready? To return to Norway? Are you ready to fight against Bjorn, with us, and the Rus?"

As closely as Ivar was watching Hvitserk, Asta was watching them both. Hvitserk's response made her lift a brow, as he certainly didn't sound as enthusiastic as she'd have liked him to. "I see now that, a lot of my life, I have fought against my fate. But now, I'm resigned."

"Resigned to what?" Asta questioned.

"I have... committed myself to the destructive element," he answered with a chuckle. Hvitserk leaned back into his seat, and Asta shared an unconvinced glance with Ivar, who then turned back to Hvitserk. After a few moments, he gave a small chuckle, almost no more than a breath, and nodded. He was satisfied.

That had been months ago. The cold had gone nowhere, and though Asta knew it should have been time for spring, it felt as though it were still the dead of winter. A part of her began to consider whether Kiev truly had spring, or if it would be like this until summer came, and all of her hoped that would not be so.

Truth be told, she missed the heat. She missed feeling the sun beat down on her, the hot summers she'd known and dreaded in England, the way her sweat had made her hair stick to the back of her neck. But now, when it felt like this cold would never go away, she found that she'd give nearly anything to have that overbearing heat once again.

Hvitserk noticed as they were sitting there how she was shaking, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, even under her furs, and he scooted closer to her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer. "You were not made for this sort of weather, were you, Princess?" he asked her teasingly, and she rolled her eyes and gave him a pointed look.

"I wonder at the fact anyone was," she confessed. "God must truly have wanted us to never build something so tall again, if He'd spread us out like this to keep us from it."

Hvitserk snorted at her words. "Is that why you believe we live so far north?" he questioned. "You believe your... God sent us here?"

She tilted her head briefly to one side, then to the other, as if considering, before she answered. "To an extent, yes, though you've vastly oversimplified it. We believe that there was a time before humanity was spread so far, when we all lived near to each other. At that time, we began to build something- the Tower of Babel, to be exact. Humanity, in our hubris, wanted to build something which could even reach Heaven, and so God made it so we suddenly all spoken in different languages, could no longer understand each other, and spread us to all corners of the world. He realized, I suppose, that if we could build this tower... what could we not do?"

Hvitserk gave something of a thoughtful hum. "And perhaps we would have become little gods ourselves," he surmised, and she hummed as well in response.

"Or too capable for our own good, at the least."

They'd been watching Ivar as he walked along, talking with the Princess Katia for quite some time, and as they finally stopped to warm their hands at a small fire pit, Hvitserk let out a quiet sigh, one which made Asta lift a brow and turn to look at him. "You fancy her, don't you?" she questioned.

This made Hvitserk's cheeks darken just a tad, and he shifted. "So what if I do, hm?" he questioned in response. "She is a beautiful woman. Mysterious, interesting... I think something would be wrong with me if I didn't."

Asta chuckled. "Perhaps that's so," she agreed. "She is all of those things. Though, I'm not sure what else she is. Confusing? She makes you want to trust her, even when you know you can't be sure if you should."

"You struggle with her as well, then," Hvitserk surmised, and Asta nodded.

"I do," she confirmed.

Just then, Ivar broke off from her, started toward them, before he paused, and turned back, saying one more thing to her, and finally walking away for good. When he reached them, he sat down and gestured between his brother and his 'wife'. "What is all this, huh?" he asked, and led Hvitserk to chuckle.

"You should tend more to your wife than to other women," he teased. "She was cold, and someone had to take care of her."

Just as Ivar was about to respond, Asta cut him off by saying, "Yes, and such a wonderful brother Hvitserk is to have helped me when I needed it." Hvitserk pouted, having wanted to use their current predicament to irritate Ivar. She gave him no chance to retaliate, instead asking Ivar, "What did Katia say?"

Ivar gave a small sigh, and glanced back in the Princess's direction. "I'm not sure," he confessed. Neither Hvitserk nor Asta looked horribly certain of this, but before either could question him, the sound of birds chirping in the distance made them all pause, and search for the source of the sound. When they saw the birds flying away, Ivar grinned, and said, "Look. It's spring."

Along with spring came the finalization of all their preparations. The time to attack Vestfold was coming with ever increasing speed, and as soon as spring was announced to Oleg, the first of the strategy meetings was called. It was held that same evening as the Vikings had spotted those three birds. After all, they had no time to waste. Asta stood at Ivar's side, who had just picked up a small, wooden boat- one of the figures on the rather impressive map laid out on the table before them- and he tapped the blue wood, which represented the water, with it.

"This is where we will attack," he announced. "And here, is the mouth of the river, leading into Harald's capital." He moved the boat to that location. "No doubt Bjorn will block it, as well as planning other surprises."

“The famous Björn Ironside,” Oleg commented. “Are you certain he’ll be there?”

“Yes,” Ivar replied. “I can assure you beyond any doubt our brother will be there. So, we should attack the beach.”

“Won’t they expect that?” Ganbaatar questioned, leaning forward onto the map a bit to look at Ivar. The latter actually chuckled.

“Of course they will,” he answered. “Yes. But they will not expect us to know that the beach shelves steeply and quickly, and that our ships…” He took the boat he was holding in his hand, and laid it over on its side at the shore. “…will capsize, if they get too close. Which is why we will bring these smaller barges with us- transfer our warriors into them and simply… storm their beach.”

Igor, who had been paying close attention to this whole thing, tilted his head a little. “Why can’t we attack there?” he asked, pointing to another spot on the map. Ivar grinned, and Asta gave a small smile, brushing a hand proudly through the boy’s hair. He was learning to think much like her ‘husband’.

“That river leads into the mountains,” Ivar explained to him. “It’s an impossible barrier.” He paused then, looking at the map, thinking, and then he turned to Igor with an almost incredulous smirk. The young prince was already smirking up at him. Clearly, he’d had the same thought Ivar was now having. Oleg watched this anxiously. Ivar was having far too much of an influence- as well as Asta- on Igor than he’d like. As much as he was happy to have Ivar on his side, knowing the man to be an incredible strategist, he didn’t exactly want him teaching Igor to think like him.

It was common knowledge that no one could truly get in Ivar’s head, could every really predict what he would do. If the lessons he’d learned were imparted to Igor, then the boy would also become just as unpredictable. This was something Oleg couldn’t have. Unfortunately, Ivar seemed to approve of Igor’s idea, as he began to readdress what had already been said.

“We will sail up the river… to here.” He pointed to a place just by the mountains, and Asta lifted a brow. “And as you can see, the mountain is a formidable obstacle, but we shall climb it. And on the other side…” Ivar dragged his finger up over the mountain, and down into something almost like a little bowl. “Is King Harald’s unsuspecting capital.”

Now, though Igor had asked about landing there, he hadn’t expected Ivar to agree, nor to say he was going to scale those cliffs. He blinked a few times, and fixed Ivar with a skeptical expression. “Are you going to climb the mountain?” he questioned, and Ivar grinned

“Of course,” he replied.

“How?”

A smirk spread across Ivar’s face, and he took out one of the smaller pick axes he carried on his belt at all times. “Like this,” he said, and drove the tip of the axe into top of the wooden mountain. Asta swallowed. She knew Ivar was more than capable of everything he was setting out to do, but there was something no less unsettling about it all. At the end of the day, she supposed, she just had to pray that all went well enough. If she didn’t lose Ivar or Igor, she decided she’d be happy.

Later that night, when the plans had been made, revised, and finalized, Ivar and Asta finally were able to return to their chambers, having returned Igor to his, for the evening. Asta hadn’t even changed out of her day dress when she almost flopped into the bed, and she gave a deep, tired groan when she hit the mattress.

“I think you are tired, hmm?” Ivar teased her. “You will be asleep before I even lay down.”

Asta lifted her head to look at him and gave a roll of her eyes. “And I think you’re dramatic,” she said. As if to prove her point, he looked at her as if deeply offended. A grin stretched across her lips at that. “See? Dramatic,” she confirmed.

“I am not dramatic,” he defended, and she began to laugh lightly.

“You are dramatic! You wouldn’t be making such a defense against it if you weren’t!” she pointed out. He huffed and looked away, beginning to undo the buckles on his leg braces. Asta gave a small roll of her eyes before sitting back up, and moving to help him as she always did.

“No, no,” he interrupted, brushing off her attempt to help. “I am not dramatic enough to need your help with something I have been doing all my life. I can take these off by myself, there is no need for you to-”

She swatted his hands away from the brace he was working on and interrupted him by saying, “You’re ridiculous.” Without giving him time to protest, she began undoing each buckle systematically, as she did every night. She noticed looking at him that he was almost pouting, and so she laughed again and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t change that about you,” she assured him. He immediately seemed healed from his dramatic response, preening under her affection.

“If it gets this sort of response, I think I will be dramatic more often,” he surmised, and she groaned.

“Oh, what have I done?” she deadpanned, and smirked at him when he shot her a playful grin.

Suddenly, Asta found herself caught between his arms, being pulled around his body so she was flat on her back, looking up at him from where he’d laid her right over his lap. She gave a startled squeal as she was pulled, and he laughed quite a bit at the expression on her face.

“Now who is the startled duck, huh?” he asked her. The smirk she soon wore unnerved him, and he discovered he was correct to be unnerved when she launched up, grabbing his arms and using the momentum she built from moving so quickly and suddenly to throw him onto his back. He gasped as he felt himself pinned down, and she crawled up on top of him with a victorious grin.

“Still you, dear Ivar,” she replied.

“I let you do that,” he told her matter-of-factly.

“Mm, did you, though?” she questioned in response. He waited until she started to get off, and as soon as she’d let go of his arms, he grabbed her again around the waist and rolled her onto her back, now hovering over her and pinning her.

“I did,” he confirmed. Asta looked up at him as though he had betrayed her, but before she had time to retort, he gave into a whim, just out of curiosity.

Ivar leaned down to kiss her. He could feel the way she froze for just a moment, shocked, and then she was returning the kiss. Just as he had suspected, then.

When he pulled back a bit, Asta’s eyes opened, and she stared up at him in shock. “What was that for?” she asked, almost breathing the words out. He grinned a little.

“I wanted to see what you would do,” he said.

“You wanted to…?” she began confusedly. “We’ve kissed before, Ivar, what did you expect me to do or not do differently this time?”

He shrugged a little, and then rested all his weight on top of her, his head resting against shoulder so that he could almost bury his face in her neck. She shifted to accommodate this, and slid a hand into his hair.

“The last time you kissed me, we were drunk,” he reminded her.

Asta’s cheeks flushed as she remembered that night, but then she smiled a little, letting the memories of it all fill her mind. “I wasn’t so drunk I wasn’t sure of what I was doing,” she confessed.

He looked up at her in shock. He’d been aware enough of that, having checked on her every moment, but to hear the acknowledgement from her, to hear her confess that everything she’d done that night had been so intentional.

“So everything…?” he asked. Asta smiled and nodded.

“All of it,” she confirmed. “I meant and intended it all.”

Ivar suddenly found his arms wrapping around her tightly, pulling her as close as he could and burying his face in her neck as he’d wanted to a few moments prior. She was a bit startled by this sudden movement, but still held him tightly. Her hand slipped into his hair, and she began to play with it gently. “Ivar, what is it?” she asked him.

No answer came, and so she gave a soft sigh. If she had to guess, he’d expected that she hadn’t really meant anything she’d said or done. Like he said- they had been drinking. But she knew as well as he did that neither had had so much that they didn’t know exactly what they were doing. That said, it didn’t mean Ivar had let himself believe that.

Thus far, Freydis and Asta had been the only ones who had ever shown actual interest in him. After having assumed for so long that Freydis had been the outlier, not Margrethe, it was hard for him still to accept that Asta might just be another outlier. Or, that in fact, she and Freydis were not outliers at all. After that night, though he’d never truly expected her to say she’d had too much to drink- it wasn’t like her to make up excuses after all- he had expected she may confess she’d become confused by their act, their façade they put on for Oleg’s sake, and the sake of all those around him. He expected her to tell him the façade had clouded her judgement, and that the feelings she had expressed were fiction after all.

He hadn’t been sure if he was going to be able to take that heartbreak.

But now, here she was, confirming that she loved him- well, not in so many words, but he knew what she meant. Just as he was well aware she knew him like the back of her hand, he finally felt certain that he knew her like the palm of his. He trusted her more now than he ever had, trusted her more and more with every revelation as to how deep her trust in and love for him went.

In fact, as he looked back up at her, saw her face smiling gently down at him, he grinned, and pulled himself up so he could kiss her once more. “Asta,” he mumbled against her lips. “I have to confess something to you.”

“Mm, have you?” she chuckled against his. He nodded. “And what is that, Ivar?”

“I think I have fallen in love with you.”

Asta’s eyes went wide as she looked up at him, his face mere inches from hers, and suddenly she was beaming. Her hands came up to frame his cheeks as she let out an incredulous laugh. “Ivar,” she breathed. “I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”

Once more, Ivar kissed her, the first of many freely given and freely received kisses to come between the pair. The thing between them finally had a name, spoken aloud between them, and that name was love. It had been hard fought for, and sorely won, but it was theirs, and even as the battle against Björn Ironside loomed in the future, both knew beyond a doubt that they would do anything to protect that love. If either of them had their say, then this would be a love to last until death did them part- but they would put death off, if it meant even another moment spent with each other.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @sylki-simp, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood, @kingniazx, @dekusdante

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

#ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x oc #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc #ivar's heathen army #alex hogh andersen #vikings #vikings history channel #history channel vikings #not today #chapter thirty-seven

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princesssarisa · 3 years

Text

Still more rambling about "Wuthering Heights"

The recent discussion by @astrangechoiceoffavourites and @dahlia-coccinea regarding Nelly's description of Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw's deteriorating relationship in Chapter 8 inspired me to go back and reread that chapter. Nelly's account of how Cathy and Heathcliff both changed as they grew out of childhood is negative to both of them, but she especially emphasizes Heathcliff's change for the worse under Hindley's drunken abuse, and in his interactions with Cathy, he seems to have changed toward her more than she did toward him. It's much more complex than the image of "fickle Cathy" that we tend to find in pop culture.

Nelly criticizes Catherine chiefly for her increasing arrogance, and secondly for the way she would half agree with Heathcliff's insulting remarks about Edgar in Edgar's absence, yet in Heathcliff's absence say nothing in his defense when the Lintons disparaged him. But one thing Nelly doesn’t accuse her of doing yet is snubbing or abandoning Heathcliff.

“She had a wondrous constancy to old attachments,” says Nelly: “even Heathcliff kept his hold on her affections unalterably; and young Linton, with all his superiority, found it difficult to make an equally deep impression.” She goes on to say that Heathcliff was still Cathy’s constant companion whenever he wasn’t working. An interesting detail, which I think sometimes gets lost in adaptations, is that at no point does Cathy actually choose Edgar over Heathcliff. Even when she accepts Edgar’s proposal, what she wants and always tries to have is both men in her life, and even before her dramatic confession of her love for Heathcliff, Nelly can see that Edgar doesn't matter as much to her as Heathcliff does.

We all presumably remember the scene where Heathcliff points to the almanac and the marks he's made revealing how many afternoons Catherine has spent with the Lintons and how many with himself. But here we have one of the book's endless ambiguities – we never actually learn what Heathcliff's almanac-marking reveals, only that he's "on the point, sometimes, of complaining" about it. Easy though it is to assume that Catherine has been spending more afternoons with the Lintons than with Heathcliff, it might also be that she's been dividing her time equally between them, or spending not quite, but almost as much time with the Lintons as with Heathcliff. Any of these scenarios would annoy Heathcliff when he was once the only same-age companion Catherine had or wanted, especially if he already suspects Edgar of having romantic feelings for her.

Catherine is also still as openly and physically affectionate to Heathcliff as ever. Despite having learned to be a "lady" she still gives him "girlish caresses." It's Heathcliff who goes from freely extolling her as superior to everyone on earth to no longer expressing his fondness for her in words and recoiling from her touch as if he suspects her affection is insincere. And the chief person to blame for this change is neither Catherine nor Heathcliff, but Hindley.

So few analyses of Wuthering Heights, even those specifically focused on Heathcliff's character arc, consider how much Heathcliff changes in the two years following Hindley's descent into alcoholism. Nelly makes it clear that in those two years of being brutally abused and overworked, he became increasingly quiet and morose, increasingly struggled with his education until he gave it up altogether, lost all his boyhood pride and seemingly all will to improve his circumstances, and in Nelly's judgmental words, seemed to take a "grim pleasure" in coming across as a repulsive, unintelligent brute. In just one paragraph, Emily Brontë makes the psychologically stunting effects of trauma painfully clear.

Now the contemptuous tone of that paragraph is a definite example of "the Nelly filter": I definitely feel more sympathy for Heathcliff at this point than our judgmental narrator seems to feel. But at the same time, if this description of his 16-year-old self is basically accurate, then his "angry suspicion" toward Cathy's displays of affection seems less the result of her behavior than of his own broken self-esteem. It also seems to be more than just classism and racism that makes Cathy believe (or be able to lie to herself) that Heathcliff isn't in love with her and won't mind when she marries Edgar, and that he'll never better himself on his own and needs her to save him with the Lintons' money. Not that those viewpoints aren't wrong and condescending, but there's more to the situation than just "She becomes a racist snob and treats Heathcliff abominably."

There are only two moments before Heathcliff's three-year disappearance where Cathy is really and truly cruel to him. The first is when she first comes home from the Lintons' on Christmas Eve, where she laughs at his "black and cross" appearance and criticizes his dirtiness. Of course Heathcliff is hurt by this casual classism and racism coming from his once inseparable fellow misfit. But she still hugs and kisses Heathcliff just before she utters those thoughtless words, the next day she sides with him over Edgar in the applesauce-throwing debacle, and Nelly never implies that she ever spoke to him that way again. The second moment is three years later, in their last interaction before Edgar's proposal. Yes, it's wrong of her to lie to Heathcliff, first claiming that she's not expecting any visitor, then saying that Isabella and Edgar "talked of calling" when really only Edgar is coming and she was the one who invited him. And yes, it's inexcusable when she verbally lashes out and implies she would rather spend time with Edgar because Heathcliff "might be dumb or a baby" for all he says or does to amuse her. It's especially cruel because she knows full well that his quiet sullenness and lack of education are the result of Hindley's abuse. But Heathcliff's shocked response says it all: "You never told me before that I talked too little, or that you disliked my company, Cathy!" This is an isolated incident. In a fit of annoyance and anxiety, she says harsh words to Heathcliff that she's never said before. Apart from these two moments, she's not Heathcliff's abuser: Hindley is.

In Heathcliff and Catherine's emotional "dance of death," the same pattern recurs again and again. In some way, Catherine chooses the Lintons' refined world over the half-savage world she once shared with Heathcliff, yet doesn't view it as rejecting Heathcliff himself; but Heathcliff takes it as rejection and distances himself from her in anger, leaving them both in pain. This happens when she first comes home from the Lintons – she laughs at his looks yet still greets him fondly, but he refuses to shake her hand and avoids her until the next night. This repeats through the next three years – she divides her time between him and the Lintons, still giving him all her affection when she's at home, but he becomes sullen and withdrawn. Then she accepts Edgar's proposal, yet still intends to stay as close to Heathcliff as ever while married, but he responds by running away for three years, and when he comes back to find her newly wed, she wants them to live happily as friends, but he dashes her hopes by pursuing Isabella. It's a terrible, complicated downward spiral, and to blame only one of them for it, or to blame only the two of them and no one else, is to vastly oversimplify it.

I could make similar observations about Cathy Linton and Hareton's relationship. I haven't taken time to reread their scenes just yet, but they've always come across to me as two damaged, flawed young people who are both partly to blame for their initial conflict (with Heathcliff and Edgar sharing the blame too), but who eventually choose to put aside their egos and grow together in a way the first Cathy and Heathcliff never did. It surprises me to see other readers blame only Cathy for mistreating Hareton and see only her as needing to learn to appreciate him, or (though this is less common) blame only Hareton and view Cathy as needing to "fix" him. But that's a discussion for another day.

The complexity of all the characters, relationships and situations in this book is truly astounding. It's hard to believe Emily Brontë was only in her twenties when she wrote it: authors with twice as many years of life experience have written with less depth than she did. And the oversimplified views of it that pop culture promotes (of which "Catherine Earnshaw was fickle and cruel to Heathcliff" is only one) definitely need some deconstruction.

#wuthering heights #emily bronte #heathcliff #catherine earnshaw #tw: abuse #meta #rambling #relationships #character analysis

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stxphxn-strange · 4 years

Text

be glad he’s holding me back

a/n: I’ve never written a fic where Peter gets bullied, but i couldn’t stop thinking about how overprotective Stephen and Tony would be and that bloomed into this fic. I’m actually v proud of it, hope you like it too! tw for bullying

It was an innocent quip, a comment that just spiraled out of control. The same sentence Peter used to actually defend his bullies now applied to this situation, the situation being that he told his Baby Sister that he was being bullied at school. The running joke in the Stark-Strange family was that Morgan could smell fear, and everyday she proved that to be more than just a coincidence. She sensed Peter’s discomfort and just laughed in understanding.

“These Animal Crossing villagers can be so mean!” Morgan had said. “I bet it would be AWESOME live on an island with a cool friend who brought me gifts!”

Even in her youth, she was perceptive. She could see her brother relax as she dismissed his comment, but Peter didn’t know that Morgan would probably never forget what he told her that day.

“I already get bullied enough at school, the last thing I want is for my Animal Crossing villagers to be mean to me too! But at least they don’t throw things at me or...”

++++

Stephen was equally surprised and unsurprised when he emerged from the en suite and found Morgan sitting on the bed and talking to Tony. That didn’t, however, stop him from pointing out that it was well past her bedtime.

“I wanted to talk, but I had to wait until Pete went to bed so he can’t hear,” Morgan explained.

“I’m listening,” Stephen said.

Tony cleared his throat. “We.”

The sorcerer disregarded his husband’s quip. “I’m listening,” Stephen repeated, getting into bed and resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“What am I, a cushion?” Tony asked. Between Stephen laying on him and Morgan sitting on his stomach, he felt a bit like a piece of furniture. This, of course, was a role he’d always proudly play for his family. Both Morgan and Stephen ignored his grumbling anyway, as they tended to do when Tony jokingly complained about things.

“What’s going on, Morgan?” Stephen asked. His smile was always soft when he spoke to the kids, especially his youngest, but it faltered the longer she talked.

Morgan was nearly asleep by the time she finished relaying Peter’s earlier words, her head resting on Tony’s chest where the arc reactor once was. “I don’t think he wants you to know, but I don’t want him sad. So I told you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Stephen’s voice was clipped as he softly brushed through Morgan’s hair. “You did the right thing, Little One. Can you just keep playing with him and trying to make him laugh with Illyana? We’ll take care of everything else.”

“Promise?” Morgan asked. Normally she would object to Stephen calling her “Little One,” but tonight she was too worried about Peter and too tired to care.

Stephen and Tony promised their youngest they’d take care of Peter, their tones vastly different even as they said the same words. The sorcerer could hear the fierce, protective growling in his voice and ruminated on it as Tony put Morgan to bed. Once Tony returned, laying beside Stephen and holding him close, his anger gave way to despair.

“Why wouldn’t he say something?” Stephen asked quietly, burying his head in Tony’s chest.

“He gets his sense of ‘I can handle anything and everything by myself’ from us, but he’s trying to prove to himself that he can handle a bully. Maybe part of him thinks he deserves it, and if that’s unfortunately true then he’ll really want to deal with it quietly and not draw more attention to himself. It’s not a matter of whether we failed him or not,” Tony said, trying to assure himself just as much as Stephen. “We can’t choose whether or not he ever talks to us about it, you know? All we can do is support him and let him know that we love him. He does know it, but you can never hear it too much.”

Stephen nodded frantically as memories from his childhood and adolescence resurfaced.

“You know, I have to tell myself a lot that I’m not failing Peter or any of the kids when something like this happens. Any effort on our part to give them the best is already a success objectively and compared to what we knew. You’re a great parent Stephen,” Tony said firmly. “And a great husband, I might add.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Stephen replied.

“We’re not, no. But I thought you just needed a little reminder,” Tony said. He gently kissed Stephen’s hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Stephen murmured, snuggling closer to Tony. It was quiet for a few minutes more, thoughts bouncing around the walls of their minds and the room. “What can we do?”

“Well I’d like to know how this happened, since the school has supposedly an anti-bullying policy. A meeting with the principal sounds good,” Tony said. “And we can determine whether or not pursuing legal action is necessary.”

“You’ll threaten to sue anyway,” Stephen replied knowingly.

“Of course I will, and then I’ll be shown up by your protective side,” Tony said. His tone was teasing now, but his statement was true.

Stephen wasn’t a helicopter parent, but he was protective of the kids (and Tony) in a way that he never thought he’d be protective of anyone. It was just nice to have someone to protect, and to be needed.

“Hey.” Tony cleared his throat and kissed Stephen’s hair again. “Asleep?”

“No... just thinking,” Stephen replied. “Do you think Pete was bullied last year too, before Harley left for college?”

“I’m not sure... but if Harley defended him it also makes sense why we’re just finding out, doesn’t it? He would allow Harley to handle it and hope that he could make it stop, so we wouldn’t need to know,” Tony said. “I don’t honestly know how much we can do, but we won’t know until we try.”

Stephen nodded, yawning as he did so. “Can we handle this in the morning? Or sometime tomorrow?”

“That should be fine, I’m free most of the day tomorrow except for one meeting at 10:45. In the morning I’ll see if we need an appointment with the front office, but I won’t hesitate to name drop to make something work,” Tony declared.

“Worse case scenario, we walk into the center of his office via a portal,” Stephen said, his words muffled as he closed his eyes and shifted to lay his head on Tony’s shoulder again. “Now shush, I need beauty rest for a confrontation like this.”

Tony snickered fondly. “Goodnight, you absolute drama king.”

++++

A plan fell rather easily into place. Christine and Pepper would pick up Illyana and Morgan in the early afternoon while Tony and Stephen would meet with the Midtown administration. Harley even called his parents to offer moral support, though he too was unaware of the bullying.

Stephen was shocked and saddened when he heard that, his heart breaking at the fact that Peter had been silently hurting for so long.

“When is he going to learn that he doesn’t have to go through everything alone?” He’d asked, leaning against Tony.

“He’ll probably figure it out at the same time you or I do,” Tony replied bluntly.

“Does that mean I’m a bad example? I—”

Tony shook his head, quickly cutting Stephen off. He fell into a pattern of oversimplified thinking and rambling when he was nervous, and it was no secret that the sorcerer was nervous.

“We both know that’s not what I meant,” Tony soothed. “Peter is strong and stubborn and independent, but with that comes pride. None of those things are bad, it just means the internal odds can be stacked against you when you try to go against yourself and ask for help. It’s in all of our nature, and you acting as you normally do isn’t showing him that he can’t ever be vulnerable or ask us for advice or assistance. It’s just hard to admit when you need it.”

Stephen nodded, unclenching his jaw. “Somehow this has become about my insecurities, rather than being there for our son.”

“Your heart is in the right place, you know? You want to do right by him. And we will,” Tony promised. “Although it might be a good idea to unpack everything that’s bothering you, if you want to tell me about it.”

“You’re right.” Stephen nodded again, an air of professionalism setting onto his face. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

Traveling by portal hardly took any time, including the short walk to the school from a nearby side street, but today wasn’t the day to be fashionably late. Tony was already fiddling with his sunglasses when the couple walked into the office, opening and closing them in his hands. To most, it seemed like a simple boredom-relieving thing to do while sitting in a waiting room, but Stephen knew that Tony was also nervous. He would present himself as invincible during their meeting, but the wait leading up to it could make Tony second guess himself.

“We’re doing the right thing,” Stephen whispered, drawing circles on the back of one of Tony’s hands.

“Peter hates when we interfere with his life,” Tony muttered absently.

“If we don’t, the bullying might not stop. I’d rather have Peter be a little angry and tell us that as opposed to not tell us that he’s hurting, or that someone is hurting him,” Stephen said. “Because he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Tony replied. “May I lean against you a little, while we wait?”

Stephen nodded. He wasn’t one for PDA in places where someone might use his affectionate nature to judge him or diminish his credibility, at least not large gestures of affection. But there was nothing harmful in Tony leaning his shoulder against Stephen’s, it looked almost like they were just having a private, whispered conversation.

Which, incidentally, they were. They talked quietly until the door to Principal Morita’s office swung open, revealing the man himself standing in the doorway.

“Gentlemen!” He greeted them warmly. “So nice to get your call, Mr. Stark, and as always it’s nice to see you.”

Stephen refrained from calling him a kissass, instead forcing a smile. “Same to you, although I do wish it was under better circumstances.”

Principal Morita closed the door to his office and ushered the couple in. “Yes, I thought I could pick up some stress on your end while we were on the phone. I trust it’s nothing too urgent?”

Tony could see that his husband’s temper was already beginning to flare. Stephen’s back stiffened and he impatiently gripped the armrests of the chair, ignoring the pain that this always caused his hands. To steady him, Tony discretely placed a hand on his back.

“That depends. How urgent is bullying to you?” Stephen asked. He relished in the discomfort he caused the man across from him, noticing Morita beginning to shift uncomfortably in his swivel chair.

“Midtown has a no tolerance policy when it comes to bullying, I assure you. It’s actually very fortunate that you’re here today, Peter has been reported to my office for bullying this past week,” Morita replied.

Tony had honestly zoned out, he was too busy trying to keep Stephen calm and trying to stay calm himself.

But that bullshit caught his attention.

He scoffed. “Peter? A bully? That doesn’t sound right.”

Stephen nodded emphatically. “Our son is not a bully, in fact we came here today to discuss the fact that he himself is the victim of such mistreatment.”

“That doesn’t match the information we have on file,” Principal Morita said skeptically. “Children can lie to their parents about acting out, can they not?”

“Is that really something you want to try to convince us?” Tony asked incredulously, pointing at himself and Stephen with the hand that wasn’t now rubbing Stephen’s back.

“How long ago was it that you adopted Peter? Perhaps he—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Stephen snarled. “We don’t know the extent of what Peter has endured because he believes he can handle everything on his own and would hate to burden another with his needs, no matter what his needs are. People who brush him aside and equivocate as you’re doing now certainly don’t make him feel like he’ll be taken seriously, do you understand?”

“It’s just that... well the evidence is rather stacked against Peter at this point, isn’t it?”

Stephen would have bolted upright if Tony wasn’t holding onto the back of his shirt. He was only grounded by the soft pressure of Tony’s hand on his back, the sorcerer didn’t even give a rat’s ass about his dignity anymore. Not where his family was involved.

“Why don’t you check your files again?” Tony suggested. “If we’re wrong, you’ll grant me the opportunity to threaten our contributions to this school’s funding. I think your statements during this meeting certainly warrant that.”

The principal left the room in a hurry, muttering about “my conduct, of all things?!”

++++

It wasn’t uncommon for Peter walk down the hallways linking arms with Ned and MJ. His friends gave him strength, empowered him to be the best he could, and made him laugh. They were truly the best friends in the world.

Peter just didn’t agree with them when they begged him to report his bullies. He always replied with a “then beg,” sending them into laughter but leaving Ned and MJ with worry for their friend.

“I hate to be a downer,” Ned began, looking to MJ for support. She nodded at him to continue, and so he did. “Peter that bruise looks like it hurts.”

“Oh, my eye?” Peter asked, well aware that he had a black eye. “It’s not as bad as the bruises you can’t see.”

“That’s the point, Peter,” MJ said, as gently as possible. “It’s really bad, and you know your parents will want to know about it.”

“They care so much and don’t want anything like this to happen to anyone, least of all you,” Ned added.

Peter sighed and nodded. “I can’t believe I accidentally told my sister.”

“If you’d told Illyana, I think she would’ve taken care of the bullies herself,” Ned said. “She’s a little scary.”

“Ned, she’s ten (10) and nothing to be scared of. She’s just chaotic and cunning in a way that Morgan isn’t,” Peter replied.

“A boss bitch at such a young age... we love to see it,” MJ added. “Now can we please go to lunch? I want to get good seats.”

The trio continued walking, Ned and Peter reminding MJ that they sat in the same seats for lunch everyday.

“Betty always steals the specific spot I want at our table,” MJ quipped. “I love Betty, but that’s honestly a pet peeve. How can I sketch Peter in disaster mode if I can’t see him?”

“You can’t,” Peter and Ned replied in unison.

MJ rolled her eyes. “Why am I friends with you losers?”

“Because we’re your losers,” Peter declared. As the group walked past the principal’s office, the start of his next sentence was interrupted by a very frantic Principal Morita.

“Peter! Sorry to interrupt, but may I see you in my office for a moment?” He asked.

Peter looked at Ned and MJ. “Go on without me.”

“Like hell we’d do that! Now I have a chance to talk to MJ about the conspiracy theories I read last night,” Ned replied, sitting down on a nearby bench.

“Oh joy!” MJ said, sarcasm flooding off of her as she sat beside Ned.

Meanwhile, Principal Morita ushered Peter into his office. “I need to check something quickly, just go sit down.”

Peter did as he was told, surprised and honestly relieved to see his dads sitting there. “Morgan told you what I said?”

Tony nodded. “She was worried about you, and what she said worried us. Sit down.”

Peter grabbed a nearby chair, sitting on Tony’s right.

“Peter, are you okay?” Stephen asked, shifting into doctor mode.

“There’s no point in not being honest, since you know,” Peter said. “Today wasn’t so bad though. I just got kicked around a bit and shoved into my locker.”

“Am I wrong to assume that you’re understating it?” Stephen asked.

Peter shook his head. “You’re not wrong. I’m ashamed of myself, and why shouldn’t I be?”

“Pete—”

Peter dropped his voice so low that only his parents could hear. “I’m such a good superhero, aren’t I?”

“You are. Your worth isn’t determined by what they say about you or how despicably they treat you. You’ve proven yourself and your good heart everyday, some people are just shitty,” Stephen said. “Peter, who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter, Doctor Dad. They won’t get punished. It’ll only continue and it’ll get worse since the bullies will know you know, and—”

“Take a deep breath, Petey,” Tony encouraged, noticing his son beginning to hyperventilate. “I know this is unexpected, but we’ll figure something out. And I’ll successfully make sure your dad doesn’t kill the principal in the process.”

“Is that why you’re holding him back?” Peter asked.

Tony nodded, still gently massaging Stephen’s spine.

“He’s not really holding me back, I could spring into action if I wanted to. Your father is too short to hold me back properly,” Stephen quipped.

“Okay, rude,” Tony replied.

“If the shoe fits,” Stephen snarked back at him. He looked at Peter again. “Don’t think that question will be left unanswered.”

“Doctor Dad, it doesn’t matter who’s bullying me. After this meeting it’ll just be someone else, someone who didn’t get caught,” Peter said.

“So much for anti-bullying policies,” Tony muttered. “Your principal has a suspicion that you’re the bully, but I doubt that’s true.”

“Why would I want to bully anyone? I’m not like them,” Peter replied.

“Like who?” Stephen asked.

“I found no evidence on file that lists Peter reporting a bully,” Principal Morita announced, reentering the room. “Our records indicate that at least three (3) students have reported him for violent misconduct, however.”

“I didn’t, I would never hurt anybody!” Peter fretted. “The guys who beat me up told me that they’d do that to get me into trouble, and then they shoved me into a locker.”

“Who?” Morita asked, disbelief surrounding him.

“Flash Thompson is the worst of them,” Peter confessed. He proceeded to list the names of Flash’s cronies as well as everything they’d done to him, his face burning. He just wanted to go home and hide.

Morita sighed when Peter was finished talking. His parents shared looks of rage and sadness, Tony consoling both Stephen and Peter. “Thank you for discussing this, Peter. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.”

“Um... may I go find my friends?” Peter asked nervously.

“If that’s what you want, go ahead,” Tony replied.

“Mr. Stark, you don’t speak for me. Especially not if your child doesn’t feel comfortable talking about his wellbeing with you,” Morita said. “Peter, you may go.”

“Love you Petey!” Stephen called after him as he left.

Peter ran back into the office to hug each of his parents in turn before scurrying out again.

Stephen’s gaze hardened, his stare intense enough to bury Morita in the dirt. “If you ever speak to my husband that way again, or treat my son with such arrogant neglect if he needs to report something like this in the future, you will rue this day.”

“I see no reason to take any action thus far, Peter looks fine and the alleged ‘bullies’ families contribute heavily to Midtown’s success,” Morita said.

“As do we... for now,” Tony replied, a low protective growl in his voice. If Stephen wasn’t so angry, he’d be swooning all over his husband.

But there would be time for that later.

“Did you SEE the contusions around and under his eye?” Stephen asked, inhaling sharply. “I assume he has more, but he’s scared to say so.”

“And it’s no wonder why. With how aggressive you two (2) are, why would he discuss anything with you?” Morita replied.

“My mother didn’t raise a bitch, and we’re not raising a liar,” Stephen snapped.

Tony clicked a pen he found in his pocket. “I’m going to strongly advise that you not get him riled up. Why not check the security cameras? If the Thompson kid and his group don’t have any injuries, you’ll know Pete is telling the truth. He doesn’t like to fight and wouldn’t hit back.”

“Is this a... what I’ve heard students call a ‘flex,’ Mr. Stark? You bought the security equipment and paid for renovations to the AV room, why wouldn’t you run an experiment to see if your money is being put to good use?” The principal leaned back in his chair.

Stephen was fully ready to stand up, but Tony kept him still. All things considered, he was doing a good job of keeping the sorcerer level. To be fair, Tony couldn’t (and this didn’t) keep Stephen from yelling, “You have some nerve, you audacious idiot!”

“It’s fine babe, relax,” Tony said. This man could disparage Tony’s integrity all he wanted, it didn’t matter. “At the very least, Mr. Morita, find some way to prove that those boys are uninjured and exonerate my son. We will be withholding any additional gifts until you’ve done that and re-evaluated the anti bullying policy to our standards. As such, I expect a draft of your new policy in my work email no later than 9am Monday, so I can share it with Stephen. We’re done here.”

“Thanks for wasting our time and making our kid feel bad, asshat,” Stephen snapped. He stood up once Tony let go of his shirt, taking his husband’s hand and striding out of the room. Once they were away from the school and out of earshot, Stephen slouched. “That was exhausting.”

Tony just nodded, softly cupping Stephen’s cheek. “You busy the rest of the day?”

“No, why?”

“Because I need a coffee, and you need some kind of sweet or a pickmeup.”

Stephen smiled for the first time since before the meeting. “You know me so well.”

“How could I not? I’m your husband,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes lovingly. “What I would love more than anything, right now, is some caffeine.”

It was Stephen’s turn to roll his eyes. “We can’t have you caffeine-deprived, can we? Let’s go.”

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docholligay · 5 years

Note

DAY 19- "30 seconds of brain activity" Mercy/Pharah

This is DEFINITIVELY not canon to my personal OW canon, in my canon Pharah lives to be in her 90s, she’s fine. BUT FOR TODAY’S EXERCISE LET’S PRETEND THAT’S NOT TRUE. 1500 words, please tell me if you enjoy, and ignore me if you don’t!

Science doesn’t know everything.

Mercy would be the first to admit that, strange as it might seem, and there were plenty of people who had sneered at the way Mercy managed be a woman of science and a woman of religion, all at once. But they were as guilty as the most rabid of preachers at any street corner of vastly oversimplifying the utter complexity of the world and all its contents.

Whether of God or of science, death remained the great mystery, and both seemed sure their way would provide clarity on the charcoal grey veil that passed between worlds. Mercy had sat inside plenty of lectures on dying, on death, and always puzzled a bit at how there was an assuredness to the common idea that hearing was the last sense of all of them to go.

Mercy had often though that, much like Christians’ assurance in heaven (her own faith, being what it was, offered no such promise, and left it up to the Jews to argue over, and Mercy argued it with herself most of all) it was simply a very comforting idea. It was obvious when people could no longer see, and dying being what it was, the idea of smell or touch remaining did little ease woes, but hearing provided some way to reassure the dying, and most of what we fear about dying is our own loneliness.

In her years of practice, she had also discovered it to be a very effective way of stopping bedside arguments from the family.

But she wasn’t sure that made it an absolute reality.

And so, she was as unsure Pharah could hear her as she was of heaven, though in this moment she would have told you how utterly she believed in both, for Pharah if for no other person who walked this earth. If there were a heaven Pharah would deserve it, and if there was any chance that Pharah could hear her as Mercy utterly failed her, Mercy had to try.

There is much fuss made over last words, and the significance of them, but Mercy would have told you that most people’s last words are confused and vague, whatever script we have written for ourselves forgotten in that instant, half in and half out of this world. She had heard grown adults ask for their parents, she had heard them rattle off items as if looking for groceries, and once, a reminder of when the train left for Berlin. But never had she heard anything profound, in those last moments.

And so, she expected nothing, except from herself.

Mercy had asked to face this alone, as she had removed her gloves. She was a physician, as little as she felt every Nobel prize and degree availed her now, and could care for Pharah in any way she could be cared for, and she would know when it all was over. Mostly, she had been allowed, though Tracer had asked at least four times if she were sure, and Ana had said she wanted to be there for Pharah.

“Why start now?” Mercy had replied, knowing the moment it left her mouth she’d be apologizing for it in September, lavishing in the way it felt on her tongue now.

Or maybe she wouldn’t apologize. God didn’t force her to ask for forgiveness, and if it took her the next twenty years to seek it, so be it. She was not feeling like asking God for anything just now, and if anyone should ask forgiveness, God should ask it from her.

She stroked Pharah’s hair as she sat by her side. It wouldn’t be long, couldn’t possibly be, for Pharah was only human, however else Mercy had assumed she was a gift, the sort of angel that cared little for religion or God and so had come to earth. God gives us things to take them away again, and science gives us arrogance that we may fall.

If Pharah had held religion closely to her, Mercy would have prayed, but Pharah had always shrugged it off as more a cultural touchpoint than anything else, philosophical and artistic musings with no logical basis that were very interesting to some people, but not for her. She’d apologized when she’d said that, that rare gleam of sweet and tender fear in her eyes that she had hurt Mercy. She had only been meaning to talk about herself, her life, her mind. Her faith.

She said she had no faith, but Mercy knew there was a deep belief in justice, and in hope, and in the possibility that things could be made right, if enough people worked with enough diligence. They were alike, that way, as much as they were different. Pharah believed, and that was why Mercy was standing in a surgical theater over the top of her, waiting for the last of Pharah’s strength to run out.

But if Pharah had held religion close to her, at least Mercy would have known what to say to her, as she hoped she still could hear.

“I love you.” She had said, in English and in Arabic, and in German, once, knowing that was some of the only German Pharah knew. Answering back to the great love contained in that effort to learn.

Tracer had angrily told Pharah she would pay them back, as a goodbye, and Mercy hadn’t doubted that a second, even as Winston had shook his head.

“I’m sure Lena is on her way to find Reaper now,” she said, tying Pharah into her thoughts, “he will be paying, dearly, I am sure, my Fareeha.”

She told her that because she realized there was nothing else to tell, that she could say, that would be more than she had already said. How many times can you tell someone how much you love them? How they’ve changed your life? How for a few brief years at least, that you knew what it was not to be alone? That they made you realize you weren’t broken, and that you were made for something more than to sacrifice? That maybe you survived that night in Zurich for your own sake?

She had said so much, in so little time, until all of it felt as natural as a mi shebeirach on her lips, repeated and repeated and repeated again, and if God would allow her anything, after denying her so much, maybe God would allow that Pharah would remember this prayer she said, over and over again, as she went on to whatever came next.

Science told her that hearing is the last sense to be lost, and so it made no sense, as she watched the numbers on the monitors dip lower and lower, to hold her hand, to cup her bloodied cheek, and yet she did, because sometimes the things we do are more for us than they are for anyone else.

She was taking too long. She was trying too hard, at a fight she could not win.

“Fareeha,” she said, too quietly, and so, strengthened it, “Fareeha. You have to be going, my darling, I am sure of it.”

How many times had she said she was sure of something, in these past minutes? She was a fool, just as foolish as any scientist, lecturing in a hall, so certain of something that would be disproven in a few years. That voice of authority must come with the territory, and maybe it was the fate of every doctor to forget that the they were children in this world.

“Fareeha,” she repeated, “You can’t stay with me. I know, I know that you would try.”

There was a hitch in Pharah’s breathing, and it tugged at Mercy’s chest. That fear could not be quelled by any knowledge she had of the amount of drugs Pharah had been given, or how far gone she was, or even the general nature of dying. That fear would live with her until her own death.

“Fareeha, please.” she rested her hand on her chest, and trying not to sob, trying to hold strong, so Pharah would not worry for her, “Please go. Please.”

Pharah loved her, and if science could be believed, Pharah heard her, and so, Pharah let out a sigh, and Mercy felt a thump beneath her hand, softer and softer, until it couldn’t be felt at all.

The brain has thirty seconds after the heart stops, she remembered, some man standing at the front of a lecture hall nodding vigorously. She chose, in that moment, to believe it and to believe in the afterlife, because Pharah deserved them, and whispered into her ear the truest prayer she knew.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

#rhiorhino

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fortunatelylori · 6 years

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i don’t know how much of a book reader you are, but while i read your post on pol!jon, i was thinking it’s interesting that in the books there is one time that Dany actually pays for her gains, that being when she wants peace in meereen. And she doesn’t like it by the end, she doesn’t like that she had to compromise and lose some things, and Drogon still manages to save her from that as well and just fix her problems. I think it’s very telling that her one time losing things and she hates it.

Hey, nonnie!

I would say I’m a mid-level book reader. lol I’m definitely not a book purist and I’m not among the fans that deplore each and every one of the changes that D&D made to GRRM’s books.

But in terms of D*ny storyline, I do think they oversimplified her arc to the point where it feels it’s not even in the same show as the rest of the characters. On the one hand you have the interesting, complex Westeros plot and on the other you have this almost video game-type character jumping from one level to the other, like Super Mario. I do think there are narrative reasons for this, as I noted in my pol!jon post but it does become very stale and boring at some point.

By the time I reached season 6 of my latest rewatch, I was genuinely whining every time D*ny showed up on screen: Not her again! I was just having fun! And that’s simply because her narrative is not engaging anymore. It’s just storylines where D*ny accumulates yet another win and you are treated to one-note supporting characters.

But coming back to the books, D*ny’s arc in the books is vastly more engaging and interesting (although I get bored with it some times because I’m not as invested in Essos as I am in Westeros, of course) and goes to the core of the dilemma of being a ruler. D*ny has a black and white worldview that she tries to apply to situations that have no clear cut answers and unlike the show, the narrative doesn’t make it easy for her. She stumbles from one crisis to another because she doesn’t have the political acumen or the personal inclination to be a ruler. She is never happiest as when she’s conquering cities but once she settles in Meereen, she becomes more and more depressed. She simply doesn’t like it.

She hates that she has to compromise and she doesn’t seem to understand the kind of destabilizing effect she has on Slaver’s Bay. When she came to her realization that she had acted more as khal than queen, I thought: Yes! She finally gets it! But she didn’t. What she got was that being queen sucked. Ensuring peace sucked because it meant she couldn’t do what she wanted to do.

The Mereenese Blot essays really get to the heart of the matter of D*ny’s arc. The show oversimplifies this but they point to it as well.

Daario: You weren’t meant to sit on a chair in a palace. You’re a conqueror, Daenerys Stormborn.

And that’s the truth of it. Conquerors don’t make peace, they make war. Conquerors don’t plant trees, they tear them down. Conquerors don’t rule, they “take what is theirs with fire and blood”.

Thanks for the ask!

#anti-daenerys

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minetteskvareninova · 2 years

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Minette watches Victoria season 3, part 7 (A Public Inconvenience)

- Whatever else I might say about it, the fact that the name of this episode is a play on another name for toilets appeals to me immensely, because as we’ll see, Minette is five.

- The main event of this episode were Vicky’s appeasement tactics towards Feodora and Albert. At first, I didn’t like it, mostly because I was still angry (as much as you can be angry at fictional characters - well, fictionalized representations of real people, but in this case the distinction isn’t exactly meaningful) at them, but then I thought about it and... Well, just because Minette wouldn’t do it, doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Minette has a tendency to hold grudges. Still, while the idea was sound, I didn’t like the execution. Vicky acknowledging Feodora’s pain and extending an olive branch should’ve been a much bigger deal, not just small talk over archery practice.

- I am not sure whether I’d forgive Albert anything, but that’s mostly because HE STILL HASN’T APPOLOGIZED. I hope the next episode will rectify this, but for now, he’s still not Albae anymore. The show tried to manipulate me and Vicky by showing him at his most adorable, that is while nerding out - it worked on Vicky and I almost fell for it too, but then he compared his wife to a child once again. They also backpedaled the whole “he doesn’t love Vicky anymore” by “he loves her, just in a different way”, which feels less like a character-defining revelation and more like the most Captain Obvious bullshit in the world. Like, it’s more remarkable that for Vicky, the spark HASN’T died down a little! Still, good on Vicky for admitting the fault might be on her side of the conflict as well, she’s bigger person than me.

- The Don Pacifico affair was vastly oversimplified, and probably not as much in focus as it should be, but I must admit I enjoyed Palmers subduing the entire government, British public and several foreign countries by the power of his big dick. Still no hatesex with Feodora, sadly, and only one snarky, sexual tension-laden conversation this episode. Sigh.

- Of course, we apparently didn’t have time for the Don Pacifico affair or hatesex, considering there was the business with Boring Blonde to attend to. Boring, stupid and increasingly more cliched business. How did the asshole husband or Penge ever connect the nonexisting dots is beyond me, as is how did this turn into a freebie buffet of the most eyeroll-inducing forbidden love tropes. You know, the asshole husband, the low-ranking, but honest and pure-hearted lover, poor woman caught in the middle, the woman being confined by her abusive husband when the affair is discovered... I am getting such massive flashbacks to The Duchess it’s not even funny. And I very much didn’t like The Duchess! What do you think is my opinion of its bargain bin ripoff with much less interesting characters?! The only way this subplot can redeem itself is if it resolves itself with something crazy, like Joseph busting Boring Blonde out with the help of Mr. Penge, or Victoria actually intervening (and I don’t even know if I want Vicky dragged into this mess).

- “You see, lady Caroline Norton...” You mean the famous writer and activist Caroline Norton? That one? Seriously, if the Boring Blonde really had that much spunk, she would have contacted Caroline and joined her crusade for more equal rights - of course, while denying she ever slept with Joseph. Because untill this episode, the asshole was right, he had no fucking proof, and if she left Joseph, there was no way he would get one. But that would require this stupid plot acknowledging there are other solutions to the problem of being unhappily married in the victorian era than fucking the footman, and that this unhappy marriage is in fact a problem that extends beyond Boring Blonde’s inability to openly date Joseph the Himbo.

- Overall this episode was split in two - the culmination of Boring Blonde subplot, which sucks, and the culmination of the main plot, which was a mixed bag just like the rest of the show.

#victoria itv #minette watches victoria

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djinmer4 · 6 years

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Rasputin’s Model 3/? (Lovecraft AU)

“This is fascinating. Here, the two of you need to take a glance at this.” Kitty and Jubilee shared a glance. They’d come for Jubilee’s follow-up appointment, not to participate in one of Hank’s experiments. Still, McCoy was definitely one of the saner adults around, it probably wouldn’t hurt to look.

“Beast, what should we be seeing here?” asked Shroud. The scientist had set up a terrarium in his lab, with about a dozen small plants.

“Do you remember the blood samples I took from you earlier this month Kitty?”

She nodded. “You said all the tests showed up negative, and that you couldn’t see anything unusual under the microscope. Just that all the cells had turned black for some reason.”

“Yes, then you told me about Jubilee consuming some in your spar. Given Ms. Lee’s sudden onset porphyria, I wondered if there might be a causal relationship. So I exposed some Brassica Rapa to your blood. Now look.” Kitty and Jubilee didn’t know what Brassica Rapa was, but they would lay money down that it wasn’t supposed to look dark brown, purple and black with red veins, nor have spikes growing everywhere nor be moving around. Hank dropped a pair of beetles in, and two of the plants stabbed the insects and dragged them into their pots.

“Despite demonstrating no other alterations than refractive spectrum, your blood has developed mutagenic properties. I do believe that consuming it has caused Jubilee to evolve a secondary mutation. Jubilee, you should spend some of your leisure time in the Danger Room, to see what other abilities you are now expressing.”

Kitty turned and walked out of the room. Beast watched after her, dismayed. “Kitty is quite good at interpreting my explanations on a regular basis. Did she not understand this time?”

“Probably better than I did,” said Jubilee. “But what I got out of it is that I’m turning into a vampire because I swallowed some of her blood, is that right?”

“That’s vastly oversimplifying but essentially correct on the main premises.”

“Right then. I’ll go talk to her.” When Jubilee got out, Kitty was right there, on the floor, curled into a little ball with her face smushed against her knees. The younger Asian girl sat right next to her. “You know it’s not your fault, right? I don’t blame you.”

“From the sound of things, you should. It’s my blood that made you this way.”

“You didn’t even know anything had happened when we sparred. Just promise me you’ll be more careful where you bleed in the future.”

“I will.” Kitty looked up at the other. She hadn’t cried, but Jubilee could tell it had been a near thing. “We should go back and listen to the rest of Hank’s speech.”

Jubilee helped her up. “Yeah, I hope he’s got a solution for how to keep this from spreading. Otherwise, you’re going to end up behind a desk again.”

Piotr had a new canvas this time. No black paint, no velvet. This time, it wasn’t going to become a new image of horror. Something light. Or maybe holy. Yes, that was it, he’d paint a cathedral.

He kept to lighter paints, white, gold and ivory, with just a little dark red and black to show the background and the sky. The stars he didn’t bother to pattern, just letting the white fall where it will. He also drew a small figure, clearly human, carrying a torch to illuminate the interior details of the cathedral.

“Painting again? Living on the wild side are we?” Shroud must have just finished her workout and showered. Her hair was still damp, but her clothes smelled clean.

“This time I didn’t let my imagination run away with me. Just man, exploring cathedral at night.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll look. But if this turns out to be one of your horror scenes, I’m going to have to ask you to stop for a while.”

“Nope, completely innocent.” Kitty came around and smiled. “Oh, I don’t recognize anything at all!”

She spent a few minutes admiring the painting, careful not to touch the still wet paint. But the longer she looked, the less she smiled until she almost seemed fearful. “Piotr, what type of structure is this supposed to be again?”

“Cathedral?”

“Why does it appear to be made from bodies?”

“какие?”

“Look at the pillars. Look at the lintel above the door. They’re all in the shape of people!”

“I don’t- maybe it’s carved like that. Some houses of God do that! Or maybe it’s ossuary so people could still be with church!”

“One face is turning away from the light. Another has eyes open and it’s pupils following. A third is smiling at it. I don’t think statues would be carved at just the right angle to react to a torchbearer.” Now that she had pointed it out, he could see the same things. And some others- “Is that a tail on the wanderer?”

It was. A tail and tentacles reaching back and forth from the wanderer to his lighted staff. Piotr resisted the urge to just throw a bucket of paint on his work.

“I think I should stop painting for a while, Katya.”

“I agree.”

“I don’t know what it is, Paige.” Beast grasped the younger girl’s hand carefully between his gloved fingers. “From your description, I thought it was cancer but all the tests came back negative.”

“Is it some sort of parasite maybe? Something I picked up from our last mission in space?”

“No, the tests state that it’s still your body. Still your own DNA.”

“If that’s true,” she wailed. “Then why am I developing tentacles!?!”

“I don’t know. Did you happen to spar with Kitty before this occurred?” The blonde shook her head. She hadn’t seen the other girl since before the mission in Germany went to hell (literally).

“Then all I can recommend is that you cease the use of your mutant ability for now. You said the blot increases every time you dispense with your epidermis. Maybe if you discontinue its use, the canker will recess.”

“But I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” She ended up so hysterical that McCoy had to sedate her.

Scott ignored the whispering. Careful observation had proved the voices were all in his head. None of them sounded like the people he lived with, so it was easy to distinguish the paracusia from reality.

The rivers of blood flowing down the walls and the corpses covering the ground were much more difficult to discount.

“Jean a quick scan, please. Have all of the AIM agents been neutralized and is everyone alright?”

Phoenix raised her hands to her head and closed her eyes for a second. “McCoy reports few injuries to the students and staff. Darwin and Marrow each got shot but received First Aid, and the operation to remove the bullet from Marrow was a success. Darwin has healed himself and is currently assisting in the clean-up. All other injuries were along the lines of bruises and broken bones, so he says everyone will be as good as new in a few weeks.”

She frowned. “Most of the AIM agents have been neutralized and are here except for three. Rogue is bringing an unconscious agent down from the roof, Iceman-” Someone ran by them, dumping a frozen body on the ground. “-killed his target. And Logan is chasing the last one into the woods.”

“Well, let's dump these guys into their van.” Scott followed words with actions, while Jean assisted with her telekinesis. Once that was complete, he and Jean followed Logan to pick up the last one.

When they got there, they saw Logan hunched over the body of the AIM operative. “Jean, do I hear chewing?”

She frowned, then activated up her fiery halo. “Yeah, I hear it too. Logan. Logan!”

No response.

“Wolverine, report!” Scott’s voice cracked in the air like a whip.

That caused the Canadian to respond. He dropped the body on the ground, jumped up and turned to face them, giving Scott a professional salute. “Yes, sir. At 2000 hours-”

Neither Scott nor Jean heard a word he said. Instead, they stared at the body Logan had been cradling. They could clearly see the bite marks, that started at the throat then went down the chest until they reached the torn open belly. From the ragged hole, the bitten off entrails were also visible.

Jean averted her eyes from their teammate, but Scott kept his gaze on Logan, his hand hovering by his visor. “Logan, what you just-”

“Logan? Who’s Logan?” The genuinely confused look on the shorter man’s face stopped Cyclops words in his throat.

Scott took a deep breath and coughed to regain his composure. “Jean, have Kitty and Piotr call Yana as soon as we get home.” The redhead nodded, stunned into silence.

#lovecraft #X-men

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iamlordmeatwad · 7 years

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One More Final: I Need You (an Evangelion fanfic)

The ocean of blood went as far as the eye could see. Unspeakable anguish in the place of the midsummer land that was once their home. The Third Impact.

Somehow, the world was able to become what they knew it to be after the Second Impact. People were able to come together and rebuild, and breathe life into something so hollow and so longing.

Miss Misato witnessed that, but it very much seemed like she was gone, as was anyone else. All that remained was Shinji’s feeble hands clutched to her throat, thumb against the windpipe.

Numb.

She guessed that she felt numb. It was hard to say.

They killed her, didn’t she? She lost that battle. She awoke and became one with her Eva, her mother, and she killed all of the enemy Evas. She ripped them to shreds but somehow it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because she didn’t matter.

Then she died.

But she had it. Three and a half solitary minutes of faith in herself, a victory that cracked her smile so sharply. Permission to be the cocky pilot again. She could quip and joke and destroy. But that was over now.

Her crumbled arm wrapped in bandages longed to touch, to be remembered again. It needed to feel, so her hand came up to Shinji’s face and touched it.

Nothing. There was nothing there.

Yet he felt something it seemed for Shinji’s tears began to empty onto her face like hail. His hands bent inward and retracted back to him as he clawed at the ground, back arched like a feral cat.

It was at this moment that she felt a tremor in her flesh, a dangerous hollowness that created a panic.

Something was wrong with her eye. Everything seemed so narrow, like peering between the crack of a door.

Watching Shinji cry like this was almost amusing. This method of seeing, this distant image of him before all the red, gave her some voyeuristic delight.

It was because there was a bandage over her face that concealed an empty void. They must have taken her eye. Her fingers caved into her palms as she imagined tearing the Evas apart again, but then she remembered that they were likely gone, as was her Eva Unit, and that she was just a fourteen year old girl again, just like everybody else.

Like everybody else.

She was breathing.

She didn’t want to be breathing. She didn’t ask to breathe. She begged for death and it welcomed her, and they forced her to live, forced to fight, and now she was here at the end of the world.

And the people who made them fight were dead.

Shinji wouldn’t stop crying. Stupid Shinji.

On the shore of a new world and neither of them could get up.

In this moment of quiet, it felt as if she should become suddenly cognizant of a breeze passing through. Anything, there had to be some kind of sensation to pick up on in a moment of desolation. But there was nothing but Shinji’s tears.

She wanted to kill him. This cowering, loathsome creature that couldn’t look away from his phantoms for a moment to reach out to her and help her. She wanted to wrap her hands around his throat to and watch him sputter and squeal as the life faded from him.

Yet she remained there, flat as a board, as dead as the rest of them.

At least Shinji had the courage to move.

Her eye narrowed and some recognition floated through her mind.

It wasn’t them that did this to her.

Surrounded by black, choking, phantom hands to her phantasmal throat, her eyelids refusing to shut, and she could feel it all happen, their screams as the thousands of Rei crawled across the planet and ended every last one of them.

People who regretted everything, people who regretted nothing, people who didn’t know how they felt, people who saw this as fitting despite the absurdity of it all.

It would have been nice.

And as she thought that little phrase, it echoed all around her in the empty chamber, rattling her arms, some pain desperately trying to claw its way out of her and breathe.

Her chin thudded into her chest and her eyelids drooped over her. How nice it would have been for Rei’s deinty hands to hold her face as she melted away into nothing. She wondered if it hurt as much as it appeared to.

Then she became angry because she hated Rei.

But it would be nice to die to a friend.

To somebody who loves me.

Then she screamed she knew Rei hated her too.

And the scream rang loudly and pierced her own ears, and she crumpled into a ball, knees folded to her chest, to escape the echo she had caused.

Stupid quiet Rei. She could see those eyes that didn’t ever find the need to open all the way, that tiny expressionless smile that didn’t deserve any praise. How was it that this girl who felt nothing could be so powerful, could be so useful and such a warrior?

Rei’s crimson eyes watched her from far away in the darkness, no different from the eyes that watched her from plain sight, and Asuka shut her eyes, hoping they would go away, the current of the darkness bending her head upwards, her hair drifting away from her face.

And a tiny voice echoing through her mind, a whisper, a hand just for her to hold onto, a hand that beckoned to her.

“Forgive me,” it hissed to her. Wavering, too friendly, too broken, too fragile, not strong enough.

Disgusting, pitiful.

Crimson red miles away and all of a sudden the hand wasn’t a hand, it was one long finger curled up to her.

Glowing green eyes.

Her breath cut short, quivering, heart contracting inward, everything growing apart from each like, the body collapsing.

Her eye, she actually lost her eye. Good, she deserved that.

Her Eva looked at her, the finger on her cheek, and she felt tears drip out of the empty socket on her face.

This was her mother, and like always, she felt so eclipsed by her. Even when she was dead, the memory of her hanging from the ceiling wouldn’t go away. But now she was floating there in space with her. She had seen everything Asuka had accomplished.

I matter because I pilot Eva well.

Another oversimplified thought echoing throughout the chamber, spoken back to her in such a chipper tone, a voice that knew nothing. She twitched and her hair fell over her eyes, which was nice, because she needed to be alone right now and it was difficult with the Eva floating there, waiting for her to do all the talking for the two of them.

It was supposed to be her — she was the one destined to pilot Eva. Not stupid Shinji or soulless Rei, a girl who so thoughtlessly died for her.

It wasn’t the same Rei that came back to them. Even Shinji could see that. Rei was never real; she was just some tool for NERV to use to kill Angels. It was sickening, and she pitied her. She smiled at the thought of Rei lying in the blood, attempting to feel something.

Maybe that was why she destroyed the world. Or maybe the world that did this to them deserved to die.

It didn’t matter. Because she died before the others because she was weak.

Hands slamming against levers that wouldn’t budge, screaming for a machine to listen to her, to let her feel that bliss again.

Without the Eva, I am nothing.

Everyone knew who Asuka really was. It was obvious. She overcompensated, she hated everyone so she could spend at least a few moments each day not remembering that she hated herself the most. So shallow and superficial and empty and utterly

Worthless.

The word echoed throughout the chasm, bubbles blowing by quickly, the Eva creaking as the moment passed between the two of them.

They were all always dying, this moment was not a surprise.

Shinji, curled up in his bed, paralyzed in grief, so unloved by his father, and terrified of making any decisions, who became something terrifying when given power, something that should not be allowed near any Eva.

Rei, deathly quiet as she listened to jokes and expressions that made no sense to her, committed to piloting Eva vastly more than the other children because nothing else in life was programmed to make sense to her.

Miss Misato, crying, all her prestige and stratagem fading away at the absurd notion of having to sleep alone for just one night, something burdened by so much pathetic insecurity. Sleeping around willingly making bad choices to fix something every way but the right one. Melting away into nothing at the sight of Kaji.

Kaji.

She had wanted him so badly.

But she was nothing to him, and the most received from him was laughter as he rolled her tiny frame off of his body.

I’m an adult. I’m more mature than the rest.

Everything was so obvious. They were all so weak and fragile. They all knew this about each other.

But when Shinji laid comatose in his bed every evening, did she care for him? Did she lay down beside him and ask what was wrong?

Did Miss Misato say anything when she heard Asuka scream in the shower when she thought she was alone?

A twinge of pain, a lie and her eyes widened as her Mother’s gaze held steady on her.

I pretended I thought I was alone. I wanted them to hear me.

When the second Rei came to them, Asuka merely blinked, and spat at this creation even though she was only a baby. Her only sin was that her sister dared to make a sacrifice.

And when Asuka ran away and tried to —

Her Mother’s warped finger brushed her cheek.

“Forgive yourself,” it whispered.

When she tried to kill herself — did they care?

No. They made her fight.

Tendrils impaling in her, holes in her body breathing, blood becoming a mist.

This was what she wanted: the abyss.

She remembered what she had done, and it had reset.

Her bare feet laid on top of the mossy wooden planks, her hands pulled off her final scrap of clothing, and she felt real for a second.

She watched herself lower her clothes onto the chair, folding them nicely for whoever found her. Looking through the gaping holes in the ceiling, she felt the warm sunshine touch her bare skin, and it was the last good thing she would ever know..

She was so small, so tiny, so childish, only fourteen years old. A child pretending to be this powerful warrior, but here she stood, naked to the world. This was how her body should be found; they should see how worthless she was after all, alone and pathetic and needy and clingy and evil and cruel.

It was the perfect death.

Even though it hurt her to do so, she plucked the Eva clips out that were always on proud display in her hair. Because she would never pilot Eva again, and she was never a good pilot. She never deserved that badge of honor, all her brashness and bravado could no longer hide it. They had seen her try to move unmoving levers too many times.

She tossed the clips to the floor and they slid away into the shadows.

Nothing left.

Her clammy hands clapped her hips and ran down her thighs. Flat and boyish. It hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Completely and utterly normal. Plump little thighs laden with baby fat, awkwardly joining her stomach which jutted outward from her hips, a strange crease above her thighs where her misshapen body came together.

Utterly featureless and plain in the mirror, the only color coming from a tuft of hair growing between her legs that made her so human and weak.

Flat-footed on the floor, she held back hot tears as she glared at the steaming bath tub, chastising herself for every moment not taken to step closer.

Blood ran through her veins that she was going to empty from her soon.

She wished she could have ran farther, hid where they would never find her, but it had to be now. Otherwise she wouldn’t — couldn’t — do it.

Cold steel brushed against her cheek, and it hurt despite the soft caress of her Mother. She felt a hesitation from the tiny touch. There was a longing from both to merge and hold on, but they could not. Her body could barely handle her mother’s touch.

The finger drifted away from her and she floated their in space again, her ravaged body sticking to the bloodied clothes and bandages.

Her Mother wanted something more for her, to be someone else, to leave it behind and move on. To be a person. To be her mother’s daughter and live a life beyond the tragedies she had passed onto her.

She could not speak or even move, facing this monstrosity in the darkness, this thing that she could not tame because she was weak. This thing telling her to forgive it—her, her mother.

This wasn’t real.

Another reality, a world where she became a failure, a washed-up fighter who struggled with sleepless nights that told her to kill herself — this wasn’t the same person she knew so well in the mirror, or at least, what she forced everyone to see.

But no, this was real, it was the obvious ending to such a loser, and suddenly she was in that bath tub again and she was naked, hairless and pure and flat and forbidden and weak.

The little hairs not yet submerged stood on end from the chill, the rest of her skin below breathing.

Those sullen eyes that had held onto a blank darkness closed as her chest rose and fell with the steam and she smiled.

Asuka Soryu-Langely.

Floating in that space before her Mother, her hair fell to her shoulders and brushed the skin and she longed to be alive again.

How stupid of her, she thought. How Shinji of her to break down like this. Do you want to pilot the Eva or not you loser—this issue, this concept of not—being—able—to—be—yourself—was—ridiculous—and—

Pathetic.

But still, she wanted to wake up, she wanted to be the Asuka who piloted Eva and killed Angels better than anyone again. Even though there was no Eva to pilot or Angels to kill.

I guess…

Her Mother cocked her head to the side, massive finger resting under her chin.

I just want to be whole for right now.

Her wrist tightened, snapping under pressure, chin collapsing into the chest, shoulders slumping upward.

Maybe she could be strong this time.

Wake me up, please, wake me up now, I want to see the light.

“How disgusting.”

Everything dead and gone, disappeared and probably happier elsewhere.

Shinji didn’t notice when Asuka stood up and limped across the sands, nor did her splashes register to him as anything beyond white noise.

Ankle deep in the red, this was the world that they had for them, and if they died so would the world.

Already after her revelation, she felt a gnawing in her chest. She wanted her Mother back, to hold her again, and to guide her. But that was a relic of the old world and there was nothing she could do to bring it back.

She had already died once before after all.

She wanted to wade out into the ocean and swim until her body gave up on her.

A headache rippled through her as she stepped back to the shore and nestled into the sands, looking at this deranged vision of the world that was theirs to wander.

No Angels and no Eva, but she was still Asuka.

Asuka Soryu-Langely from Germany, born to Kyoto Zeppelin Soryu, daughter to a scientist that lost her mind to her work.

This was an experience that no longer made sense in this wreckage, something that could never be understood and would soon be forgotten.

“Shinji-kun, come here,” Asuka said softly. She seated herself on the sand and waited for him to come to her.

A kid brother and his kid sister who needed supervision. In charge of a planet.

Sand shifted, piling up against her ankle as a shaking hand fell next to hers. She hesitated, then took it and clutched him tightly.

The blood moved in waves just like any other ocean.

A tingle up the spine, slimy skin rattling, desperate to become blackness once again, but her heart remained steady.

Shinji’s pupils had shrunk so much. At any moment, he could go away too, so she held his hand tighter and he responded in kind.

There had to be more out there, more people who had the nerve to return to the bleakness, more people like Shinji.

Neither of them were special. There was no destiny. She bonded with the Eva because it was already born into her; not because she was an exceptional pilot or the fiercest warrior.

No history book would remember her and no one would ever love her. Not without the Eva.

She turned to Shinji, her face still frozen in a horror so unlike her. Three words came to her.

But they were not heard and her lips merely puppeted the movement of speaking. To be so vulnerable to this weakling was stupid, and suddenly she felt no different than she did in the abyss.

“Huh?” Shinji asked dumbly. He said everything dumbly.

She looked away and muttered under her breath, “Can you sit on my right side? I can’t feel with this hand.”

A tiny grunt to signify he heard her, and he obediently crossed past her, crawling actually, over her body, and she laughed.

He sat beside her and held her other hand and she was amazed at the sensations it gave her.

“I want to die,” Asuka said weakly to Shinji. “I think I’m sick.”

Shinji couldn’t think of anything to say. Stupid Shinji. He was the worst one of them all to talk to about this.

“Do…” Asuka breathed in. “Do you want to die too?”

Shinji’s lips shook as he responded in kind, weakly saying in that pathetic way only Shinji could muster, “Yes. I hate myself.”

“Well then you are a fool,” Asuka said plainly. Shinji’s grip loosened and she felt him staring at her. “You are an amazing person. You were the best pilot of us all. You gave it up because you didn’t want to hurt anyone and I don’t know anyone else more deserving of a good life than you.”

Waves rolled against her feet. Just like water. Maybe a little thicker.

“We need to keep each other alive, okay?” Asuka said again, her voice awkward in the abyss of silence around them.

“Okay.”

His curt response was so fragile to the pain around them. She held him tighter even though it made her squirm. She knew that it meant something to him.

She grinned even though it felt disingenuine, and looked to Shinji like Miss Misato maybe would, and nudged him, and she got that smile she was looking for, even if it lasted less than a second.

It felt good and it brought a warmth to her chest.

Asuka looked away from Shinji and to where his eyes fell: the broken head of Rei lying in the ocean of blood, eyes forced open with a deadly smile.

She wanted to look away but there wasn’t much else to see.

“Shinji,” she said in a clipped tone, hands pushing in towards her, dragging the sand upwards,

“Yeah?” Shinji replied.

“I need you.”

#evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #nge #rebuild #the end of evangelion #asuka #shinji ikari #asuka soryu-langely #hideaki anno #anno #fanfic #fanfiction #evangelion fan art

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mathematicianadda · 5 years

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Historiography of Galileo’s relation to antiquity and middle ages

Our picture of Greek antiquity is distorted. Only a fraction of the masterpieces of antiquity have survived. Decisions on what to preserve were made by in ages of vastly inferior intellectual levels. Aristotelian philosophy is more accessible for mediocre minds than advanced mathematics and science. Hence this simpler part of Greek intellectual achievement was eagerly pursued, while technical works were neglected and perished. The alleged predominance of an Aristotelian worldview in antiquity is an illusion created by this distortion of sources. The “continuity thesis” that paints 17th-century science as building on medieval thought is doubly mistaken, as it misconstrues both ancient science and Galileo’s role in the scientific revolution.

Transcript

To praise Galileo is to criticise the Greeks. The contrast class of “Aristotelian” science is constantly invoked to explain Galileo’s alleged greatness, both in Galileo’s own works and in modern scholarship. But this narrative gets it all wrong, in my opinion. It is based on a caricature of Greek science that effectively ignores the Greek mathematical tradition.

Francis Bacon put it well: when “human learning suffered shipwreck” with the death of the classical world, “the systems of Aristotle and Plato, like planks of lighter and less solid material, floated on the waves of time and were preserved,” while treasure troves of much more mathematically advanced works were lost forever.

Aristotelian science is not the pinnacle of Greek scientific thought. Far from it. It is not the best part of Greek science, but the part of Greek science that was most accessible and appealing to the generations of mathematically ignorant people who populated the universities in medieval Europe for hundreds of years. And perhaps some generations who still do.

Mathematicians have always felt differently. “So many great findings of the Ancients lie with the roaches and worms,” said Fermat. They are lost, in other words, these mathematical masterpieces that once existed. That’s how Fermat put it, and all his mathematical colleagues agreed. And they were right.

In the 20th century a few such masterpieces were recovered. So these 17th-century mathematicians were proven right in their intuition that great works were forgotten and hidden away among “roaches and worms” indeed.

In 1906, a work of Archimedes that had been lost since antiquity was rediscovered in a dusty Constantinople library. The valuable parchment on which it was written had been scrubbed and reused for some religious text. But the original could still just about be made out underneath it. As one historian put it: “Our admiration of the genius of the greatest mathematician of antiquity must surely be increased, if that were possible,” by this “astounding” work, which draws creative inspiration from the mechanical law of the lever to solve advanced geometrical problems. If even this brilliant work by antiquity’s greatest geometer only survived by the skin of its teeth and dumb luck, just imagine how many more works are lost forever.

Also in the 20th century, divers chanced upon an ancient shipwreck, which turned out to contain a complex machine (the so-called Antikythera mechanism). Again historians were astonished: “From all we know of science and technology in the Hellenistic age we should have felt that such a device could not exist.” “This singular artifact is now identified as an astronomical or calendrical calculating device involving a very sophisticated arrangement of more than thirty gear-wheels. It transcends all that we had previously known from textual and literary sources and may involve a completely new appraisal of the scientific technology of the Hellenistic period.”

Another example. The Greeks appear to have been much further ahead than conventional sources would lead one to believe in a number of mathematical fields. One example is combinatorics. Of this entire mathematical field little more survives than one stray remark mentioned parenthetically in a non-mathematical work by Plutarch:

“Chrysippus said that the number of intertwinings obtainable from ten simple statements is over one million. Hipparchus contradicted him, showing that affirmatively there are 103,049 intertwinings.”

“This passage stumped commentators until 1994,” when a mathematician realised that it corresponds to the correct solution of a complex combinatorial problem worked out in modern Europe in 1870, thereby forcing “a reevaluation of our notions of what was known about combinatorics in Antiquity.” It is undeniable from this evidence that this entire field of mathematics must have reached an advanced stage, yet not one single treatise on it survives.

These are just a few striking examples illustrating an indisputable point: the Hellenistic age was extremely sophisticated mathematically and scientifically, and we don’t even know the half of it.

Scores of key treatises are lost, and we are forced to rely on later commentators and compilers for accounts of the works of Hellenistic authors. It’s like trying to understand modern science and mathematics from popularisations in the Sunday newspaper. It’s vastly oversimplified and dumbed-down. It reduces complex science to one or two simplistic ideas while conveying nothing whatsoever of the often massive technical groundwork that it is based on. That’s the state of our sources for much Greek science: all that has come down to use are some clickbait headlines and blurbs by people who are themselves not scientists and wouldn’t understand the first thing about the technical details of the works they are trying to summarise.

Actually this is a misleading analogy. The situation is even worse than this. Here is how one historian puts it:

“Nearly all that we know on observations and experiments among the Greeks comes from compilations and manuals composed centuries later, by men who were not themselves interested in science, and for readers who were even less so. Even worse, these works were to a great extent inspired by the desire to discredit science by emphasizing the way in which men of science contradicted each other, and the paradoxical character of the conclusions at which they arrived. This being the object, it was obviously useless, and even out of place, to say much about the methods employed in arriving at the conclusions. It suited Epicurean and Sceptic, as also Christian, writers to represent them as arbitrary dogmas. We can get a slight idea of the situation by imagining, some centuries hence, contemporary science as represented by elementary manuals, second- and third-hand compilations, drawn up in a spirit hostile to science and scientific methods. Such being the nature of the evidence with which we have to deal, it is obvious that all the actual examples of the use of sound scientific methods that we can discover will carry much more weight than would otherwise be the case. If we can point to indubitable examples of the use of experiment and observation, we are justified in supposing that there were others of which we know nothing because they did not happen to interest the compilers on whom we are dependent. As a matter of fact, there are a fair number of such examples.”

In previous episodes we have discussed the many ways in which Greek sources already showed full awareness of many things often attributed to Galileo. Taking this context of filtering and lost sources into account means that we should give all the more weight to those arguments.

Sadly, however, the lack of appreciation for science among these ignorant commentators continues among scholars today. I collected some quotes on this by some very respectable classicists of today.

“The state of editions and translations of ancient scientific works as a whole remains scandalous by comparison with the torrent of modern works on anything unscientific — about 100 papers per year on Homer, for example. An embarrassingly large number of classicists are ignorant of Greek scientific works.”

“Classicists include many who have chosen Latin and Greek precisely to escape from science at the very early stage of specialisation that our schools’ curricula permit: and often a very successful escape it is, to judge from the depth of ignorance of science ancient and modern that it often secures.”

It is remarkable how strongly these authors make this point. The first quote is from Lloyd, the Cambridge professor. It takes a lot for people like that to almost condemn their colleagues to their face. They wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t serious.

Little wonder then that Greek science is systematically misunderstood and undervalued, and that simplistic ideas of philosophical authors and commentators are substituted for the real thing.

Galileo’s relation to the preceding philosophical tradition has been systematically misunderstood because of this.

How did modern science grow out of mathematical and philosophical tradition? The humanistic perspective is that science needed both: it was born through the unification of the technical but insular know-how of the mathematicians with the conceptual depth and holistic vision of the philosophers. The mathematical perspective is that science is what the mathematicians were doing all along. Science did not need philosophy to be its eye-opener and better half; it merely needed the philosophers to step out of the way and let the mathematicians do their thing. So which is it?

Many historians have tried to stress commonalities between Galileo and the Aristotelian philosophers who preceded him. That is to say, they argue for the “continuity thesis” which says that the so-called “Scientific Revolution” was not a radical or revolutionary break with previous thought. Here is what they say:

“Galileo essentially pursued a progressive Aristotelianism [during the first half of his life—the period of] positive growth that laid the foundation for the new sciences.”

“A particular school of Renaissance Aristotelians, located at the University of Padua, constructed a very sophisticated methodology for experimental science; … Galileo knew this school of thought and built upon its results; this goes a long way toward explaining the birth of early modern science.”

“The mechanical and physical science of which the present day is so proud comes to us through an uninterrupted sequence of almost imperceptible refinements from the doctrines professed within the Schools of the Middle Ages.”

“Galileo was clearly the heir of the medieval kinematicists.”

I agree with these authors that “those great truths for which Galileo received credit” are not his. But the notion that they were first conceived in Aristotelian schools of philosophy is wrongheaded.

The argument of these historians is based on a simple logic. First they show that various concepts of “Galilean” science are prefigured in earlier sources. Then they want to infer from this that these sources marked the true beginning of the scientific revolution. But in order to draw this inference they need two assumptions: first, that Galileo was the father of modern science; and second, that the Greeks were nowhere near the same accomplishments. These two assumptions are simply taken for granted by these authors, as a matter of common knowledge. But in reality both assumptions are dead wrong, and therefore the inference to the significance of the Aristotelian sources is unwarranted.

It is interesting that the continuity thesis on the one hand devalues the contributions of Galileo, yet at the same time desperately needs to reassert the traditional view that “Galileo has a clear and undisputed title as the ‘father of modern science’,” as one of these historians puts it. They need to say this because this is what gives them the one point of connection they are able to establish between medieval and modern science. The entire argument stands and falls with this false premiss. Therefore, if one proves, as I have done before, that Galileo was a mediocre scientists of negligible importance to the mathematically competent people who actually achieved the scientific revolution, then the continuity thesis collapses like a house of cards.

The defenders of the continuity thesis are equally ineffectual in establishing the second false premiss of their argument, namely the alleged absence of these “new” ideas in Greek thought. In fact, even continuity thesis advocates make no secret of the fact that the medieval tradition was built on “remnants of Alexandrian science.” For example, “although we are left with few monuments from the profound research of the Ancients into the laws of equilibrium, those few are worthy of eternal admiration.” Obviously, “masterpieces of Greek science [such as the works of] Pappus, and especially Archimedes, are proof that the deductive method can be applied with as much rigor to the field of mechanics as to the demonstrations of geometry.” All of that are quotes form Pierre Duhem, a passionate advocate of the continuity thesis.

How can people like Duhem acknowledge these “masterpieces” “worthy of eternal admiration” from antiquity, yet at the same time attribute the scientific revolution to medieval or renaissance philosophers? Here’s how. By writing off those ancient works as minor technical footnotes to an otherwise thoroughly Aristotelian paradigm. Only if this picture is accepted can any kind of greatness be ascribed to the pre-Galileans, as is evident from passages such as these:

“Some philosophers in medieval universities were teaching ideas about motion and mechanics that were totally non-Aristotelian [and] were consciously based on criticisms of Aristotle’s own pronouncements.”

“Admittedly, most of these significant medieval mechanical doctrines were formed within the Aristotelian framework of mechanics. But these medieval doctrines contained within them the seeds of a critical refutation of that mechanics.”

“The medieval mechanics occupied an important middle position between Aristotelian and Newtonian mechanics. [Hence it was] an important link in man’s efforts to represent the laws that concern bodies at rest and in movement.”

“The impressive set of departures from Aristotelianism achieved by medieval science nevertheless failed to produce genuine efforts to reconstruct, or replace, the Aristotelian world picture.”

If Aristotle is taken as the baseline, this looks quite impressive indeed. But why should Aristotle be accepted as the default opinion? Aristotle was one particular philosopher who was a nobody in mathematics and lived well before the golden age of Greek science. Medieval and renaissance thinkers indeed mustered up the courage to challenge isolated claims of his teachings almost two thousand years later, while mostly retaining his overall outlook. This does not constitute great open-mindedness and progress. Rather it is a sign of small-mindedness that these people paid so much attention to Aristotle at all in the first place. In my view, it is not so much impressive that they deviated a bit from Aristotle as it is deplorable that they framed so much of what they did relative to Aristotle, even when they disagreed with him. This is very different from post-Aristotelian thought in Greek times, where there is no evidence that any mathematician paid any attention to Aristotle’s mechanics.

In any case, “extravagant claims for the modernity of medieval concepts” suffer from “serious defects.” One historian has summarised it well:

“There was no such thing as a fourteenth-century science of mechanics in the sense of a general theory of local motion applicable throughout nature, and based on a few unified principles. By searching the literature of late medieval physics for just those ideas and those pieces of quantitative analysis that turned out, three centuries later, to be important in seventeenth-century mechanics, one can find them; and one can construct a “medieval science of mechanics” that appears to form a coherent whole and to be built on new foundations replacing those of Aristotle’s physics. But this is an illusion, and an anachronistic fiction, which we are able to construct only because Galileo and Newton gave us the pattern by which to select the right pieces and put them together.”

The main piece of such precursorism is the so-called “mean speed theorem.” This is a completely trivial result. You can visualise it in terms of a graph with time on the x-axis and velocity on the y-axis. Suppose you plot the graph of a uniformly accelerated motion, such as a freely falling object. It makes a straight line going from the bottom left to the to right. It starts from no velocity and goes to a certain final velocity. How far did the thing travel? Distance travelled is the area under the graph. So it’s the area of a triangle. Base times height over 2. That is to say, the time of fall, times half the final velocity. Or another way of putting it is that half the final velocity is the same thing as the average velocity. The triangle has the same area as a rectangle with the same base and half the height. The “mean speed theorem” is just this. In terms of distance covered, a uniformly accelerated motion is equivalent to a constant-speed motion with the same average speed. A very simple thing to see.

Some people praise this as an “impressive” achievement of the middle ages—”probably the most outstanding single medieval contribution to the history of physics,” derived by “admirable and ingenious” reasoning, according to one historian. Even though these medieval authors did absolutely nothing with this trivial theorem and only deduced it to illustrate the notion of uniform change abstractly within Aristotelian philosophy. Later the theorem became central in “Galilean” mechanics since free fall is uniformly accelerated. But it “was, in fact, never applied to motion in fall from rest during the 14th, or even in the 15th century” (only in the mid-16th century there is a passing remark to this effect within the Aristotelian tradition, “without any accompanying evidence”).

Let us not radically inflate our esteem for the Middle Ages by anachronistically praising them for pointing out a trivial thing that centuries later took on a significance of which they had no inkling. Let us instead recognise the theorem for the trifle that it is. Then we shall also not have any need to be surprised when it turns out that Babylonian astronomers assumed it without fanfare thousands of years earlier still. The utterly trivial “mean speed theorem” was implicitly taken for granted in Babylonian astronomy. They were too good mathematicians to make a big fuss about something so evident, unlike the medieval philosophers who sat around a proved this at length. They were so bad at mathematics that this trivial thing was the cutting edge to them, in their ignorance.

Galileo owes other debts to previous philosophical tradition as well, according to many historians. For example, we are told that there are “unmistakeable Jesuit influences in Galileo’s work”: “Above all Galileo was intent in following out Clavius’s program of applying mathematics to the study of nature and to generating a mathematical physics.” That’s a quote from Wallace. The preposterous notion that this was “Clavius’s” program can only enter one’s mind if one only reads philosophy. It was obviously Archimedes’s program, except, unlike Clavius, he proved his point by actually carrying it out instead of sermonising about what one ought to do in philosophical prose. Philosophers (ancient and modern alike) have a tendency to place disproportionate value on explaining something conceptually as opposed to actually doing it. After all, that is virtually the definition of philosophy. Hence they praise certain Aristotelians for explaining some supposedly profound principles of scientific method even when “it is quite clear that [none of them] ever applied his advocated methods to actual scientific problems.”

Descartes—a mathematically creative person—knew better: “we ought not to believe an alchemist who boasts he has the technique of making gold, unless he is extremely wealthy; and by the same token we should not believe the learned writer who promises new sciences, unless he demonstrates that he has discovered many things that have been unknown up till now.” Unfortunately, such basic common sense is often lacking among historians and philosophers assigning credit for basic principles of the scientific method.

There is a contradiction in the way modern historians try to trace many aspects of the scientific revolution to roots in the middle ages. On the one hand these historians like to claim that the traditional view of the scientific revolution is ahistorical and based on an anachronistic mindset, whereas their own account that sees continuity with the middle ages is more sensitive to how people actually thought at the time itself. Ironically, however, their view, which is supposed to be more true to the historical actors’ way of thinking, is actually all the more blatantly at odds with how virtually all leaders of the scientific revolution thought of the middle ages. One historian summarises it accurately: “The scientific achievement of the Middle Ages was held in unanimous contempt from Galileo’s time onward by those who adhered to the new science. Leibniz’ scathing verdict ‘barbaric physics’ neatly encapsulates the reigning sentiment.” This was not for nothing. Leibniz was an erudite scholar well versed in the philosophy of the schools. But he was also an excellent mathematician. The latter enabled him to pass a sound judgement on the “barbaric” science of the middle ages.

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killing-the-innocentt-blog · 6 years

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Sex secrets ;)

To start with, I want to remind you of these differences between how people approach and experience sex.To set the stage, I want to talk about"experience"As humans, we utilize our five key senses to take in information about the planet. This is known as"Perception." The majority of this occurs on an UNCONSCIOUS degree.We then choose what we get out of our senses and we process that information. We compare it to what we've experienced previously we categorize it, it is imagined by us in various ways, and we've got UNCONSCIOUS reactions.Nextwe make decisions about what we're likely to do with what we just experienced. These are largely UNCONSCIOUS.

Ultimately we take action on what we chose to perform. You guessed it... again, mostly unconsciously.This description is oversimplified, but I think it's a useful model to utilize here.Basically, I believe that men and women go through these four phases a bit differently. When it comes to sex, I feel they go through them.I cite this because most men and women deal with other people the way they want to get taken care of. They communicate in a way that make sense. They usually assume that they understand what's ideal without checking .This just makes sense. Most individuals don't walk around saying to themselves"Hmmm, I wonder if Sarah tastes the same matter as I do if she drinks coffee?" And"I wonder whether water tastes exactly the exact same for her... or when it's just slightly different..."Most people have asked these questions one or two times in life, but they generally stop asking once they decide that most people have exactly the very same experiences as they do if they drink coffee, etc..Here's the deal: When it comes to many'gross' experiences (meaning average amount ) like getting struck with a baseball, tasting salt, or viewing a colour, we as people normally have pretty similar experiences.But in regards to'subtle' adventures (meaning less intense, and within this context, also more complex) individuals, and especially different sexes, have vastly different experiences.

For example, if you show a man and a woman an image of a Victoria's Secret catalogue, the guy will usually notice all of the girls, while the girl will observe the clothing, including the colors and the details.Ultimately, the sequence or order of thoughts and experiences have a significant function in the responses that men and women demonstrate.In the region of sex, men are usually pretty simple: See hot lady, get turned on and need sex. Overall about 1-3 minutes. A man can be out working on his vehicle and see a gorgeous woman from the corner of the eye, and immediately be in the mood.On the flip side, girls are a little more complicated. If a woman sees a guy, she'll RARELY get sexually turned on.

The very first thing women experience when they SEE an appealing person is usually more of a fascination or intrigue... a wanting to find out more.If a man smiles at a girl, the girl usually interprets the smile as"Hi, you look nice and friendly"If a girl smiles in a man, the man usually interprets the grin as"I am interested in sex"This 1 gap causes many first encounters to go the wrong way.

Here's the deal: Generally speaking , it takes women longer to get in'The Mood' for intercourse, and it occurs differently than it does for men.Since I discuss sex and how to do it better, you need to keep this in mind. Some may sound like just'interesting' ideas, or items that are odd to do.Not so.While they may be unusual and interesting, they are all specifically to appeal to the female mind and mating preferences. Girls had to figure out some way to determine whether a man was likely to be a fantastic provider and a loyal partner.I believe that the concept of'Romance' was that manner.When a guy was really interested, he would go through several demonstrations of his devotion... and be happy to await sex.And so it goes. Women love things like'taking your own time ','anticipation',''sensory encounters ',''romantic talk' and'foreplay.'I know, I know. Most of us want a woman that gets turned on by watching hair that is filthy and your unshaven face in the daytime. However, these are the cards and we might as well learn how to perform with them. Onward.Therefore I simply mentioned a lot of ideas. Let's tie them together.So Far as the perceptions go: In general, women get turned on with a few Significant categories of items:

1. Voice tone, sensual (not ) language, and descriptions. Ladies really like to hear a hot voice describing thoughts, feelings, and scenarios in painful detail.

2. A assortment of touching, cuddling, stroking, caressing, and licking.

3. Smells and smelling. Women love great perfume. And girls enjoy being smelled.

4. Tastes. Ladies like to be fed all kinds of things like chocolate, Strawberries, and candy.Can you notice anything missing from the listing?I left

out SIGHT on my listing. Why?Well, women do not get turned on as much by sight since they do by other perceptions. Visuals united more turn on Guys.Women are turned on more by others.It's true that what you seem like can block you from being attractive because of not taking good care of yourself, not being 'kind' or whatever.But I believe (and have proven to myself over and above ) that in the event that you pave how correctly, you can overcome looks and get a woman VERY sexually stimulated by using her other senses and her creativity.Then I discussed how girls notice details. Things that are subtle are noticed by women. She will feel comfortable and friendly, if you rub on the hand of a woman.In the event that you really very gently and gradually run the ends of your fingers on her hands, she'll start to get aroused (other states need to be right, of course).If you kiss a girl on the lips and stick your tongue down her throat, she will most likely be disgusted. But if you kiss her gently... then slowly pull away and look to her eyes... then kiss her slowly and gently... you'll start a fire inside of her which will build (if you do everything else correctly too ).I also mentioned romance. Love is demonstrating this whole encounter and'connection' with her is purposeful. It's a way of saying"I want to create a great adventure for you" to her. If you play up the love too much, you'll push a button inside a girl called"He loves me and wants to marry me" Be careful.I recommend sticking to the kinds of love which involve the senses, and not the sort that involve cash, gifts, and love letters. There is nothing wrong with these... it is only that they direct to the M term. If you want a spouse, great. Otherwise, take adhere and care with the senses.

AnticipationI feel that excitement, anticipation, and tension are a few of the biggest turn-ons that a woman can sense. Ladies LOVE to wonder what is coming next. They LOVE to be surprised. They LOVE to be awaiting the edge of their chairs.Listed below are a Couple of ways to do it:1. Say"I have a surprise for you." Then say"But I'm not going to give it to you however... it is for later." The surprise may be anything from a piece of chocolate which you purchased to rub on her buttocks. It doesn't matter. Make her desire to understand what it is and the crucial thing is to pique her curiosity.2. Put a blindfold on her. Women LOVE to get! Don't ask, just do it. Go grab a scarf out of your cupboard (silk if you have it) and place it upon her. Bear in mind, women are turned on more by their other senses anyhow. Their other senses heighten and makes them more responsive.3. STOP when you are doing something which's turning her on. This looks counter-intuitive, but it is the promise land. Guys like to find what seems good and KEEP DOING IT BABY. Girls like to have what seems great removed from... so that they can feel some more expectation!Do you get it? Come up with your own tactics to build anticipation. Tell her a story about someone that felt anticipation. Tell her you are feeling it. Whatever. Make her anticipate what is coming.Stimulating Her SensesSo how can you stimulate these four senses in a way that will turn her on? Now that's a wonderful question.1. Touch her really very slowly and gently. Use the tips of your fingers. Run them on her arms, neck, shoulders, lips, hands, thighs, and feet... everywhere. Should you avoid her breasts, crotch, and buttocks, you'll also get her turned on for afterwards (Remember anticipation? It will drive her crazy..."When is he likely to touch my tits?") .2. Kiss her sensually. Let the first kiss be very mild... nearly a brush. Then wait (anticipation). Kiss her 100 times on the neck and shoulders. Suck on her lips gently. Lick on her only a bit on the neck, shoulders, and lips. Consider eating an ice-cream cone, then tone it back a bit. Like you are tasting her a bit every time.3. Feed her small bits of things which are sexy. Try strawberries, champagne, chocolate. Also, go out and get yourself some of the'Kama Sutra Oil' in the adult store. The type not only tastes good, it HEATS UP in the event that you breathe and place on it. Nice.4. Smell her. Smell her shoulders and neck for about 5-10 minutes STRAIGHT. No kissing. No licking. Just smelling for 5-10 minutes. Gently run your lips and nose over her buttocks and smelling her. Say"Mmmmm... you smell great. I am only going to smell you ." You're going to love how she responds to this.5. Talk alluring to her. Men like to hear"I need it more challenging large boy"... girls like to listen to"Your lips feel so soft and hot. I love the way your lower lip feels when I kiss it... And that I can just kiss you for hours... it feels so wonderful." Women really like to hear about the DETAILS, recall?6. Tell her stories, and describe what you're going to do to her. Have a few minutes to whisper exactly what you're going to do to her if she is getting turned on. "You know what I'm going to do next? To begin with, I'm going to gradually and softly kiss your shoulders... and then work my way up to your neck... smelling your hot perfume... mmm... you smell soooo good... then, I will kiss you deeply..." Get it? Additionally tell her what seems good in the exact same detailed manner. Use a soft, slow, deep tone of the voice.

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plasticsharks · 6 years

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Why Some Psychics Are Better Than Others

Does it seem like the more you get to know about psychics the more muddled everything becomes? For instance, one might tell you your Aunt Bess who passed away over a couple of years ago is coming through only to discover you don’t have an Aunt Bess, although there could be one twice removed from an acquaintance three blocks down across the street, uh hem.

Yet another psychic starts out by saying that you’ll be meeting your soul mate soon, just around the corner, “Great!” you think “Can I get a clue as to which corner?”

Not all psychics are this vague but it does typify what a lot of people have come to expect. Through it all and however much you want to believe, nothing seems to pan out, leaving you a little light in the wallet and all the none wiser for the experience. What is it that makes each psychic so vastly different? One can be spot on each and every time while another will miss the mark more often than not. Have you ever just wondered why that is?

Psychic Equality?

One erroneous assumption a lot of people make is that all psychics are created equal and should therefore provide the exact same services. The truth of the matter is that some may be simply more experienced than others, still others should consider being lawyers or brain surgeons as more lucrative and honest options and, even more subtle, not everyone has the same resources from which to share their gifts. Resources in this case referring to the environment we have been raised in with its unique information, education and cultural considerations.

In my travels I’ve had ample opportunity to investigate the differences between the good, the bad and the psychically challenged. In all, there’s been a lot of bad to be fairly alarmed at how they continue to operate; however, on the up side, there’s also been a sufficient number of good ones to believe that they do exist, and likewise enough of the moderately gifted to appreciate that there is still a lot of budding talent out there.

Don’t automatically assume that after having one disappointing reading that all psychics are frauds or fakes; there are many genuinely gifted psychics out there, you just need to find them and with a little help you can. Of course, you’re probably not likely to revisit a bad or marginally gifted psychic again too soon, but it would be nice to know how to avoid them or even better yet, what to do if you’ve managed not to avoid them after all.

What Makes a Psychic a Better Psychic?

Just as a gifted pianist doesn’t remain gifted for long if they don’t practice, the same is true for any psychic. Although the penchant for playing the piano may always be there, a piano will never be anything more than a wooden box of potential until someone sits down to interpret the intricate beauty of its melody hidden deep within.

For a psychic the wooden box is analogous to the universal energy we are all surrounded by, and the melody hidden deep within is the spiritual tapestry upon which we are all writing our journey. Like a maestro conducting a symphony, the same is true for the genuinely talented psychic, they both tap into the unique elements of their boxes in order to create astounding feats of splendor.

From this perspective, although we are all psychic per se; in terms of “professional” psychics I am referring to someone who has skillfully honed their abilities to a point of being a master pianist. In some cases as with the child prodigy, many psychics have played their pianos before in previous lives and as a result seem to possess an uncanny capacity for their art in this lifetime.

The Nature of the Beast

To better understand the nature of the beast it’s best to get a basic grasp of psychic fundamentals. First, is the fact that we are all by virtue of being human, naturally imbued with some level of psychic ability. That is to say; our spirit, otherwise known as the part of us that lives on after physical death, provides us with special inherent psychic abilities.

Second, although it is our human birthright to possess this talent, it’s wholly up to each of us whether to exercise that right or let them lay dormant for however long we choose. In some cases these abilities remain dormant for reasons unique to the individual, usually associated with their present life learning process. After all, the best learning is through experience and best experiences are those that are unexpected and spontaneous. Who knew that being ignorant had its merits?

Finally, that said, those who have chosen to become “professional” psychics have developed those skills through the only medium that any of us are presently aware of; our physical world. In connection with this unique medium, the body’s five senses and human thought at its center serve as our preceptors of this reality. As a result of living within such a dense medium, spiritual communications can be rather limited and the learning curve for such professionals quite steep. If to err is human, then to make errors is perfectly human – just assume some psychics can be more perfect than others in this respect.

Finding the Better Psychic for your Needs

Bearing in mind that not all psychics are created equal anymore than any two humans are exactly alike; the measurement of a psychic’s ability or “quality ranking” can be very tenuous at best but not impossible. The first thing you need to consider before finding a psychic is the reason you’re seeking them in the first place. Just as you probably wouldn’t see a foot surgeon to take care of a headache, you might not consider seeing a Forensic Psychic if all you want to know is when your next love is coming into your life.

Understanding some psychic lingo of the trade can be very helpful when considering your options. For instance if you see the words:

1. Psychic Intuitive – you can expect to see someone whose skills are more in line with educated guessing. Yes, they are psychic; however, their level of awareness borders more on gut feeling than objective awareness. The plus part of an Intuitive is that they are more often than not reasonably priced, their accuracy is probably a little better than average, but most of all their insights can be very helpful and better than most.

2. Psychic Medium – this is a person with exceptional psychic abilities who is very adept at contacting relatives and/or loved ones who have passed over. While their accuracy is very keen, you can expect to pay quite a bit more for their services depending on the demand.

3. Psychic – is an oversimplified term that will require some investigation. Don’t be afraid to ask what their gifts are and request an explanation if you’re not sure. Generalities like this often assume you will not ask any difficult or detailed questions. It’s your nickel, be sure to get the best advice your nickel can buy.

4. Forensic Psychic – a person who specializes in solving crimes.

5. Clairvoyant, Clair audient, Clair essence, and Empathic – all denote some form of psychic ability dependent on the senses. These terms are used to help clarify how the psychic provides their services. Again, prices should be reasonably in line with an Intuitive and their element of accuracy.

There are many other forms of psychic specialties, each with their own implied limitations and price range. The best rule of thumb is to ask yourself how valuable this service is worth to you and are you willing to pay the price for that service. If the answer is no, then don’t.

Tips on Finding a Better Psychic

“Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.”

One of this century’s most renowned psychic mediums, Edgar Cayce, once said “Spirit Is the Life, Mind Is the Builder, the Physical Is the Result.” Simply stated, “As your spirit goes, so you will think, which will ultimately determine how matters will proceed and end up.” If you’re predisposed to thinking all psychics are fakes, chances are all psychics you meet will be. On-the-other-hand, if you keep an open mind and consider the possibilities, chance is that you’ll greatly enhance the likelihood of finding a genuine psychic sooner than later.

“Look with before you leap.”

Be prepared to ask questions and get answers before settling on any one psychic. If you can, look for references regarding the psychic’s prior work. Most psychics cannot provide a guarantee as their underlying clause is “For entertainment purposes only.” Consider wisely where your money is going before you give it.

“Don’t prime the pump unless you’re willing to get dirty.”

If you’re being asked for additional sums of money for special ceremonies or rites, kindly pick yourself up and leave. Chances are in this situation that you’re being baited for more and more funds and it will not stop if you allow it to continue. A genuine psychic will respect your wishes and provide the best services possible at the agreed upon price without bilking for more.

Conclusion

Being a better psychic isn’t just a matter of experience but is much like an artist and her paint; you can have all the tools you’ll need but if you lack the passion and vision to create a masterpiece chances are you’ll be painting by numbers and wondering why everything looks the same. After all, it is our love and the desire to share it that creates the foundation of a better psychic, anything short of that is like painting in thin air; it may feel right at the moment but in the end there isn’t much to see.

Whether you desire is to become an outstanding psychic or you’re looking to find one, the process is still the same. Ask the universe or God for what you need and then have the courage to find it. A lot of us know how to ask but later fall short of the goal expecting it to land in our laps without much effort. Anything good in life is not without its dues and as Thomas Edison once remarked, “Genius is 95% perspiration and 5% inspiration.”

from Psychic Giant – Find The Best Online Psychic! https://ift.tt/2CIf0OX

#Why Some Psychics Are Better Than Others #Psychic Giant – Find The Best Online Psychic!

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princesssarisa · 4 years

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Giving definitive MBTI types to fictional characters – an almost impossible feat

I’ve come to a realization this week: I don’t think it’s possible to assign a definitive MBTI type to Jean Valjean from Les Misérables.

I had thought he was an INFJ. I was comfortable thinking of him as an INFJ. But then Charity of @funkymbtifiction, whose typings and insights I generally agree with, typed him as an ISTJ. That made me stop, think, go back, and reread several of his key chapters in the novel. The more I reread, the more I thought to myself that yes, he’s most likely a Sensor, not an Intuitive. His focus is almost always on there here and now, not on abstract ideas. Abstract, Intuitive language that I had previously read as being his inner voice is actually more the voice of INFP Victor Hugo as narrator.

But is he really an ISTJ and not an ISFJ?

I might be biased as an ISFP, but I’ve never once viewed him as a Thinker. Of course he can be pragmatic, he has to be, but all his inner struggles and decisions seem to revolve much more around moral, ethical right and wrong than around pragmatic usefulness. He contrasts in this way with the very ISTJ Javert, who lives only to pragmatically serve the law. In the novel, at least, I think he also shows signs of high Fe in his interactions with Cosette – overprotective, yes, but in a very gentle, smiling, “let’s swallow all negative emotions and pretend everything is fine so we’ll both be happy” way, rather than in the overbearing, controlling TJ-ish way that some of the adaptations portray. (I fully agree with the ISTJ typing for the BBC miniseries Valjean.) And yet when we hear his inner voice, as @funkymbtifiction argues, his moral compass seems much more like Fi than Fe. He makes decisions based on what he personally feels is right and wrong, not on what others feel is right and wrong or on what will make everyone happy – he lets a whole town fall into poverty to save one innocent man from prison, and later goes against the will of all the barricade boys by secretly freeing Javert. Yet he doesn’t come across as an ISFP: he seems like an IJ, driven by principles first, emotions second.

This makes me think of another recent post of Charity’s, about the characters in Hamilton and how hard they are to type. She argues that because of the show’s rapid-fire pace, and because its focus is more on the way it tells the story than on deep characterization, the characters often become composites of different MBTI types. Hamilton himself feels like he should be an ENTJ (and most likely was an ENTJ in real life), but tends to be written more like an ENTP, probably because Lin-Manuel Miranda is an ENxP and projected a lot of himself into the musical’s Hamilton.

I think we see a bit of the same thing with Jean Valjean. He seems like he should be an ISFJ, but because he’s written by an INFP author, his moral compass seems more Fi than Fe. Or, alternatively, he seems like he should be an ISTJ, but Hugo’s own Feeling preference makes him more of a Feeler. As for my original typing of him as an INFJ, maybe that’s not just me mistaking Hugo’s narrator voice for Valjean’s thoughts: maybe it’s also Hugo’s Intuition sometimes creeping into a character he generally writes as a Sensor.

Maybe this explains some of the difficulties people have with typing other fictional characters.

I’ve posted before about how hard it’s been for me to type Musetta from La Bohéme. I’ve never been quite sure whether she’s an ExTP or an ESFJ. She seems like she should be an ExTP: a feisty, cunning, freedom-loving maverick, who defies the rules of how women are supposed to behave and who pragmatically leaves her charming yet poor lover Marcello for the comforts rich older men provide. But I can’t help but see her as too flamboyantly emotional and too obsessed with how other people feel about her to be a Thinker. I don’t think she’s an ESFP either, because none of the Fi-users I know are skilled manipulators or attention hounds the way she is.

Likewise with Belle from Beauty and the Beast: I’m still not sure if I agree with the INFP typing that most people assign to her, or if I think she’s more of an INFJ or even a reserved ENFJ. In the village she seems like an Fi-user, a solitary individualist who never tries to fit in. But at the Beast’s castle she seems more like an Fe-user, clashing with an Fi-user (the Beast) until he comes out of his moody shell and shows her the social graces she values.

Or what about that character whom Belle is often compared to, Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice? It’s astounding how many vastly different types fans have assigned to her: ENTP, ENFP, ESFP, ENTJ, INTJ, ENFJ, INFJ, or INFP. She’s probably most often typed as either an ENFP or ENTP, though, and again, the debate about which is the right typing mostly comes down to the Fi vs. Fe debate. Some insist Fi, because she so often defies others’ demands and expectations and because she refuses to marry a man she dislikes for mere security or for her family’s approval (although the idea that she’s only willing to marry “for love” is only in the adaptations). On the other hand, as with Belle and the Beast, her initial conflict with Darcy feels very much like Fe on her part clashing with his obvious Fi: she cares very much about social grace and manners, and she makes the mistake of judging others by their outward charm or lack thereof. Maybe some of these fans are oversimplifying what Fi or Fe really mean. Or maybe Elizabeth is another character who seems like she should be one type, but whose author subconsciously nudges her in another direction. Maybe she’s set up to be an Fe type (since her Fe-like traits are the source both of her main flaw and of her chief positive influence on Darcy) but INTJ Austen’s own Fi creeps through her.

None of these characters are badly written in the slightest. None of them seem inconsistent. But they defy easy MBTI typing.

Maybe this shows that while MBTI can be useful to help real people understand themselves and the people they know, and while it can be fun to apply to fictional characters, we shouldn’t assume that every fictional character has one true typing. If an author sets out to write a character very different from themselves, but hints of their own personality still manifest in that character, then typing is hard. Or if the author is more focused on plot than character and the character’s behavior changes to move the plot forward, then typing is hard. Even if we accept that every real person in the world is one and only one of the sixteen MBTI types, maybe the same just isn’t true for fictional characters.

#mbti #myers briggs #myers briggs type indicator #personality types #fiction #fictional characters #rambling

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castawaychloe · 6 years

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Why Some Psychics Are Better Than Others

Yet another psychic starts out by saying that you’ll be meeting your soul mate soon, just around the corner, “Great!” you think “Can I get a clue as to which corner?”

Psychic Equality?

What Makes a Psychic a Better Psychic?

The Nature of the Beast

Finding the Better Psychic for your Needs

Understanding some psychic lingo of the trade can be very helpful when considering your options. For instance if you see the words:

4. Forensic Psychic – a person who specializes in solving crimes.

Tips on Finding a Better Psychic

“Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.”

“Look with before you leap.”

“Don’t prime the pump unless you’re willing to get dirty.”

Conclusion

from Psychic Giant – Find The Best Online Psychic! https://ift.tt/2CIf0OX

#Why Some Psychics Are Better Than Others #Psychic Giant – Find The Best Online Psychic!

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