#people contribute often in secret and leave stuff for others to find much later

[ymnes-odde]

I know your god's a thousand seething rats, a dozen more or less for lust or death; yes, rats, or bugs, or men, it matters not, a hundred, thousand, countless, doubtless more. The point is none--no rat in countless rats-- bethinks for mortal plight a caring thought. Each rat among the rats itself regards, and gorging on the dead, and naught besides. For should, perchance, one kindly rat oblige-- and offer paw, outstretched, to mortal folk-- a horde of starveling gods once more descends, and leaves for us but well-gnawed godly bone.

Rat King 1:1-16

[usuccc]

Please talk more about that au, villain Alfred is a guilty pleasure 🙏🏻

*sweats* You and me both! Oh man, where to begin. First of all, thanks for the interest! It means a lot. I can’t be concise, so I’m gonna put this under a huge ‘Keep Reading’ for whoever is interested. Like for real there is a whole ass essay below that cut. I left some stuff out cause it’s already a ridiculous length, but I got the gist of it.

Leave it to me to take a silly gag au and go completely off the rails with it. It’s honestly hilarious gg me.

This au takes place in some fake big city with dark synthwave-y aesthetics where the skies are constantly gray in the daytime from smog and pollution. Over the last ~20-30 years, Jones Enterprises has risen up as the most influential and powerful company in the United States, with their headquarters in (fake big city’s name). They have hands in many industries, spanning the manufacturing, retail, and technology spheres. Over the past 5 years, especially, they’ve seen massive, nearly unbelievable growth, and unfortunate events or sell-outs have conveniently fallen upon their competitors, allowing them to create monopolies in several industries. They also have the government in an iron grip and no one is willing to stand up to them for fear of the consequences. Most people mysteriously feel compelled not to confront them anyway, especially those who live closest to their headquarters.

Francis was an employee for Jones Enterprises’ main headquarters. He saw how overworked and underpaid his colleagues were. Bogged down by overwork in his first year, he eventually tried to get away with slacking as much as he could. After witnessing one of his close coworkers have a heart attack and almost die from the stress of working there, he changed gears and started speaking out on behalf of his colleagues. Some of his motivation came from feeling partially responsible for what happened, and he wanted to evoke positive change across the company instead. He tried time and time again to organize strikes after his attempts to organize a union were completely shattered. The turnout was very little in the beginning, and soon fizzled out to just him. He stubbornly pressed forward on his own anyway and was fired for it. Finding other work turned out to be impossible, his firing acting as an unemployment death sentence. It was not uncommon for employees fired from Jones Enterprises to be shunned from ever finding a decent job again, and Francis’s situation was even worse given the bad publicity he received from his strike attempts.

Ready to resort to desperate measures, Francis started seriously considering moving back in with his parents in France and figuring out a new plan. Jones Enterprises had gained significant influence in Europe too, so there wasn’t a guarantee he wouldn’t experience similar problems there.

Before he could buy a plane ticket, he was visited by Kiku Honda, a stranger with an unassuming appearance. Long story short, Kiku had come to the US with the alias as a simple tourist. His family was presently responsible for safekeeping a secret and powerful magical artifact with mysterious origins. 

The artifact was one of two powerful stones, both of which were in existence since the beginning of mankind. These stones were antitheses of each other, representing and contributing to major moral conflicts throughout history. They were both drawn to chosen human hosts who were destined to face each other. The pink stone, which Kiku was in possession of, gained and gave magical power through love, equality, and hope/healing. It formed a positive, nurturing, non-invasive connection with its host, and gave them the power to protect and inspire hope in others. The other (purple) stone gained and gave magical power through greed, subjugation, and fear. It gave great wrath and influence to its host, whose powers would grow exponentially over time as the two stayed connected. This stone would physically embed itself in its host’s heart, eating away at their mind slowly to bring out the absolute worst in them and shave away at their morals and inhibitions, until they were nothing but a heartless monster. Tendrils would spread out from the stone throughout the host’s body, growing in size and number the longer they were connected.

Kiku had long suspected that the unnatural growth of Jones Enterprises was connected to the purple stone. He had gradually implanted connections in Jones Enterprises and had been monitoring the situation for clues of a potential host. The senior leadership of the company was very hard to crack, however, and the CEO had significantly limited his public appearances in recent years, but Kiku would not let it rest. Any of the higher ups in the company could be a candidate for suspicion. While investigating, he heard of and even saw some of Francis’s brazen attempts to challenge the seemingly invincible company. He was impressed with Francis’s ability to stand up to an insurmountable foe, especially given the influence of the mysterious compelling force that kept most others in the city silent. He wanted to get information from Francis about his experience at Jones Enterprises and to offer him an opportunity to rebuild his life for his bravery. The stone, which Kiku always kept on his person, ended up choosing and bonding with Francis to both of their surprise, and boom Magical Strike was born.

-----

Now onto Alfred and Arthur. Alfred is the son of the founder and CEO of Jones Enterprises and his ex-wife. His parents divorced when he was still a baby, and his father did not remarry. Alfred’s mom remarried right away and had another son, Matthew. 

In his home life, Alfred often felt neglected and overlooked compared to Matthew, whom his mom and stepdad preferred and doted on. His birth father ignored him in favor of growing his company as well. This caused Alfred to act out at school and extracurricular activities, always overshadowing Matthew whenever possible and rubbing it in his face. He often got in trouble at home later for it. When Alfred got a little older, he frequently snuck out after these fights and went somewhere to be alone. One night, he walked down to the neighborhood park and saw another boy alone by the swings where he usually liked to go to mope. This boy was a few years older than him and muttering angrily to himself. Feeling a sort of weird camaraderie for this other pissed off dude, coupled with the fact he’d never seen him before and was curious, Alfred took the plunge and went over to talk to him. Alfred and Arthur’s first meeting was a little rocky, but the two quickly found themselves warming up to each other. Many coincidences found them meeting in the same park after a bad day, and the two eventually bonded and made a thing of it. Alfred found that with Arthur he could open up and be more authentic than he let himself be with his other friends.

By the time he hit high school, Alfred emotionally detached himself from his mom/stepdad, and tried to be a little nicer to Matthew, although their relationship was never close. He and Arthur still met often outside of school, and Alfred tried to reach out to him at school too, but Arthur limited those interactions due to his unfavorable status as an irritable loner. Alfred continued to seek out other people’s attention, forming a ton of superficial friendships with his classmates. He became obsessed with being number one at everything he did and getting everyone to like him to patch up his residual feelings of loneliness and inadequacy, and also to hopefully impress Arthur, whom he secretly had a crush on. Excelling in his sports clubs, and even skipping a grade in his academics, Alfred felt like things would be okay if they kept going the way they were.

Then Arthur abruptly confided halfway into Alfred’s freshman year that he was moving back to England that year after he graduated for family reasons. Alfred didn’t take the news well, and when the time came for Arthur to leave, it hit Alfred hard. They promised they’d keep in touch via phone and online, but that did little to comfort him and his other shallow friendships often made him feel worse. The feelings of loneliness and inadequacy returned tenfold. It was around this time that Alfred was contacted for the first time by his birth father in years, asking to meet and catch up. Alfred readily accepted, not taking a moment to think it through in his low emotional state.

Alfred’s dad was getting into some weird shit since the divorce. He’d been putting obsessive efforts into expanding his company, making strategic partnerships, attending all kinds of rich, bougie events for networking purposes, and exploiting his workers to maximize profits. Despite his efforts, his returns were decreasing and the existence of some key new competitors put him in a tough spot for future growth. When conventional methods didn’t appear to be making any progress, Alfred’s father started hanging around some wealthy, sketchy social circles. It’s through a series of events with these groups that he learned of and obtained the purple stone. After seeing it reject and devour an unfit host before his eyes, he decided he was in desperate need of its supposed power, but he couldn’t risk using it on himself in the case he was judged to be unfit. He had to use it on someone inconsequential if things went wrong, but at the same time malleable, so he could ensure they used the power to further his goals. 

Alfred’s dad put on an act when Alfred arrived, making it seem like he wanted to bring Alfred back into his life, raise him up like he should have been doing all those years. Alfred soaked it up like a sponge, and his dad appeared to follow through on his promises, engaging with him and frequently making secret visits so they could spend quality time together. After a whole year of building Alfred’s trust, his dad was able to convince him to put the stone to his heart, assuring him that only he could do it and he trusted Alfred to make their company and the lives of so many people who depended on it great. The stone embedded itself in Alfred’s chest, causing him to pass out from the pain. When he woke up, still in one piece, his dad was able to calm him down and convince him to keep it a secret, even from the people he was closest to.

-----

Some other tidbits of info:

Arthur and Alfred did keep up communication after he left for England, and he considers Alfred his closest friend. Life got in the way plenty of times, though, and they couldn’t always keep up the most consistent communication. Still, they did what they could and were able to meet in person a few times even. Arthur obtained a degree in England and worked his first job there. But after that, he moved back to the states and got a job at Jones Enterprises, thrilled to surprise Alfred about it. They have a heartwarming reunion. Alfred, himself, graduated high school early, got accepted into an Ivy League college on a scholarship, received his degree in finance and business management due to his piece of shit dad’s wishes, and was being directed by his dad to start using his powers of influence on their competitors. At first, he justified to himself that the outcome would be good and that the competitors he was going after were bad people—which some of them definitely were—but over time, he found himself doing things he never would have before (to unhappy employees for example), caring less and less about the people that were impacted.

-----

So yeah, the main events take place about 10 years after Alfred becomes the host for the purple stone, having plenty of time to grow his power and lose himself to the stone’s influence in secret. When Francis makes his debut as Magical Strike, Alfred starts infusing some of Jones Enterprise’s key weapons tech with his magic and sending people after Francis, who is still learning his abilities. Then, in the latter half of this arc, Arthur becomes the main antagonist against Francis, having just scratched the surface of what’s really going on with Alfred and thinking (in denial) this will somehow help him. At the beginning of the second arc, there would be growing tension between Alfred and Arthur when Arthur can’t explain or keep excusing Alfred’s actions anymore. Alfred would lose control and almost hurt Arthur, whom he had taken the most care to hide his darker side from, which would cause Arthur to join forces with Francis, desperate to find a way to get the purple stone out of Alfred and save him somehow. Alfred mcfuckin loses it when he finds out.

[savannah-lim]

Don’t Be Shellfish || Savannah & Dave

Timing: Current Location: The Codfather Parties: @savannah-lim and @seizethecarpe Content: Gore, violence, discussion of death Summary: Savannah and Dave go out for dinner and the food is a little bit more fresh than they anticipated. 

Savannah could only have been more relieved if Dave had asked her to go for drinks instead of a meal, but she understood his reluctance considering the recent bar fight. There was nothing to stop them having drinks with their food, right? She hardly ever used her daily allowance for food and drink, so still reeling from her conversation with Felix, Savannah decided that fuck it; she was going to treat herself. What was the point of living in the East End and not trying out the best restaurants in the area? The FBI could foot the fucking bill. 

Savannah had called ahead to make the reservation a few nights prior, and even upon arriving, she could tell this place wasn’t her usual setting. Maybe that was why it was so appealing though. For once, she wanted to distract herself with something that wasn’t leftover Chinese food or a burger and fries. Savannah arrived first, ordering some wine while she waited for Dave to arrive, hoping he had the sense to dress for the occasion. 

Dave had been a bit hesitant about coming to the Codfather. He didn’t have the clothes for a place like this, never mind the money. But when she’d suggested this place, Dave could hardly say no to what he ate on the daily, but made fancy. He’d have to cut his food small enough that he wouldn’t need to chew with his teeth caps on, but he had plenty of practice with that. With his neatest plaid and a pair of jeans that were only scuffed and torn  at the bottom hems, he walked in to the restaurant only mildly uncomfortable, quickly smelling Savannah out through the crowd, and using her scent to lead him to her rather than sight. “Evenin’. How’ve you been?”

Rather than be judgmental about Dave’s choice of attire, Savannah found it oddly amusing. There was a sort of cheap thrill that came out of debunking everyone’s expectations. Savannah herself hadn’t dressed completely fancy; just a plan navy blue dress and a little bit of jewelry, but some of the patrons wore what could only have been the most expensive garments. She could sense the entitlement around them. “I’ve been…” she started to answer, shrugging with a vague laugh. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve been fine, but I’ve seen a lot these last few weeks. I’ve learned a lot. How about you?”

“Yeah, Jesus, sounds like you’ve had a more exciting month than me.” Well, that was likely debatable - the bruises around Dave’s neck had slowly shifted into faint shadows, but they still ached. He wasn’t moving his arm as much as normal, where the cut was still healing around carefully practiced stitches. Still, contributing to the banishment of Bloody Mary was no small thing, but he wasn’t the one being chased by witches on broomsticks. Hell. He’d almost bought a vial of Nepenthe, he had stared at it on the counter with his dealer for a long old while before deciding he didn’t want to be that kind of guy, not when he had other options.  “Been better, been worse. Fishing’s always a bit rougher in the winter, but I make do.”

“You’re not a very open person, Dave. You know that, don’t you?” Savannah ordered them each a drink, (whatever Dave wanted), a small, humorless chuckle leaving her lips. “Better and worse. Not very specific. You’re one of the closest things to a friend I have in this town, and I still know nothing about you.” She sipped her beer, shrugging. “Okay. I’ll go first. I’m from Boston. I’m from a Korean-American family, thoroughly upper middle class and very set on their kid’s achieving things. They expected me to be a doctor or lawyer, but this is close enough. I was married. Now divorced, but still keep in touch and have inappropriate conversations every once in a while. No kids. Don’t want them… No pets either, but maybe some day.” 

Dave chuckled, tilting his head in in wry acknowledgement. “I’ve been told that before.” He thanked her for ordering the drinks, watching the waiter go. “Damn. I don’t know if that says more about me or you.” He said it teasingly, but listened intently, focusing on her lips as she talked, mouthing the words subconsciously to make sure he didn’t miss any of it. He smiled at her reference to inappropriate conversations. “Alright, then. Well, I’m from Texas. We travelled around the coast when I was young, not really sticking to any sort of place. Grew up exactly as my parents expected, athletic and charming. Still am, I’d sure you agree,” Dave laughed at himself there. The sands of time had worn away most of his natural charisma. “Was married. Three sons. Haven’t really lived in one place long enough to settle down in the last couple decades. I live on what I fish and what I hunt by and large. Sometimes I sell what I catch, sometimes I help folks find things they’ve lost in lakes and shit.” Dave smiled thinly. “That help at all?” Their drinks arrived, and Dave took a big gulp of his lager with enthusiasm. The problem was that he couldn’t tell her everything. Seemed shitty to be her closest friend here when his whole life had to be a secret, when he idly wondered whether the kind thing was to get someone to take her concerning memories. 

As secretive as he was, Savannah enjoyed Dave's company. Maybe it was a fire-forged friends thing, an unspeakable feeling of kinship without rhyme nor reason, forged out of almost being human sacrificed together. "You're probably right. It does say more about me," she shrugged. "I've often focused more on my work than my relationships. Hence the divorce." She listened as he told her about himself. "Any of your sons close to my age?" she teased, shaking her head. "That right there is more about you in thirty seconds than I've learned in... weeks? Months? Time doesn't seem to exist in this town." She flipped the menu over, handing one to him. "Since you're the resident fisherman, what would you recommend? Fuck the price. I haven't spent my full FBI living allowance in weeks."

“Me too. Never been able to stick to a relationship since my first. Too distracted with other stuff.” Dave said. Too busy getting justice for his first family to be able to get justice for his second. “Hey, watch who you’re calling old,” Dave replied with a wry smile, but it didn’t last. “My sons died, decades ago. Hence the not talking about myself.” He shrugged, the wrinkles of his smiles not quite reaching his eyes. “Prefer to keep to myself. Work keeps me busy, and I’m usually out on the water in one way or another. Not much of a people person.” He flicked his eyes over the menu, looking it over. “I know these folks catch local and fresh, and the lobster in the area is good. That’s what I’ll be going for, either way.”

Oh, shit. His sons had died. Well, now she felt like a dick. “Sorry to hear that.” Savannah took a sip of her wine, as if it would cure the embarrassment of jokingly flirting with a man’s deceased children. “Okay, I won’t ask you any more personal questions until at least dessert.” She signalled the waitress over and ordered a mixed platter of starters to share and a lobster each for the main course. Savannah’s family were decently well-off, as you’d expect successful doctors to be, but she had reasonably simple tastes and rarely went all out like this. She asked Dave about generic things like fishing and hunting while they ate, keeping her promise not to delve into anything more personal. By the time their plates were clean, Savannah exhaled a massive, satisfied sigh. “Wow. I don’t even know that I have room for dessert after that. It was amazing.” It was just as well, because Savannah wouldn’t even have had time to reach for the dessert menu before the soft background music and casual conversations around them were pierced by the sound of dishes and pans clattering in the kitchen, followed by yelps and screams. 

“Me too,” Dave said, sipping from his beer with the same vigour. Talking about dead kids always put a weird vibe in the conversation, but he had the feeling Savannah would have been able to tell if he had lied too obviously, and he couldn’t maintain the same straight face talking about family as when he lied about the supernatural. As the food came, they settled into easier conversation, the kind he could do while remembering how to eat lobster the fancy human way and not the crunch-the-exoskeleton-with-your-jaw way. He managed it, and by the time they were done he was more than satisfied, he wouldn’t even have to go for more later. Dave was about to wave away the dessert, happy to watch her enjoy, when he realised that the room was reacting to something he couldn’t hear. Everyone was looking over to the kitchen, including Savannah. When someone staggered out of the kitchen with a bleeding arm, hand dangling on by just a couple inches of flesh, Dave jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag before striding over to the kitchen to see what was up, without even looking over to see what Savannah was doing. 

 Savannah’s eyes widened in horror at the sight. They got out, someone was screaming. They fucking got out! “Call 911,” she demanded of the nearest person, knowing that giving the task to a specific person was more likely to yield results than letting the whole restaurant fumble and assume someone else was going to do it. Luckily, she’d finally realised she needed to bring her gun to literally every place she went in White Crest, and she followed Dave towards the kitchens, calling after him. “Hey! Hold up. It might be dangerous! Something got loose in there.” However, danger was unlikely to deter Dave, given they’d met one another while volunteering to be human sacrificed as a ploy. The kitchen door swung on its hinges, back and forth as Dave walked through it. Savannah did the same, gasping at the sight that befell her; lobsters the size of everything from cats to Golden Retrievers, running around the room, destroying everything in sight. “I don’t think--I don’t think this is gonna help,” she said, gesturing feebly to her firearm. Where was Kaden and his harpoon when she needed him? 

Dave reached into his satchel, pulling a strange metallic device the size of his forearm. He stepped back from the Karkinoids, quickly unfolding the prongs of the trident and extending out the haft until everything clicked in securely. An imperfect weapon, but decent for driving between the chinks of a nearby Karkinoid’s armour. “No, it won’t. Get out of here!” He barked. He used the trident to fling the karkinoid across the room, looking for where the hell they’d come from. In the corner of the room was an extremely large bucket, that looked surprisingly sturdy for holding just lobsters. It had been knocked over. Unless, of course, they knew they weren’t. Dave groaned, jumping away from one little slash at his ankles. There were what, four or five? He couldn’t kill them with the trident, just whack them around. He’d be able to do more with his teeth, but if he could get them all back in the bucket, it’d be a hell of a lot easier. Dave swore, pinning down one of the nearby karkinoids with his trident while he tried to get something resembling a plan. 

Savannah’s eyes widened in awe as Dave pulled what appeared to be a giant fork from his satchel. What kind of dinner had he thought they were going for? “I’m not--no!” was all she could answer when he told her to leave, and not having a trident to hand, she could only make do with spraying the creatures back with a fire extinguisher to give herself enough room to climb up on top of the counters. Rest in peace to this place’s hygiene rating, but that was the least of their problems right now. Dave was holding his own, and she gazed on, shocked and impressed, but they couldn’t just keep up this avoidance tactic forever. God, she was going to have so many words with the manager after this. “What do you want me to do?!” she asked. Should she call Kaden? No. They’d be lobster food by the time he even got here. 

Dave tongued the covers off his teeth, his fangs descending. He moved spryly on his feet. “I want you to leave,” he growled, words not forming as easily around his canines, although he was careful not to show his teeth to Savannah. “They’ve got to get back in the barrel.” One of the karkinoids swung its giant claws for Savannah, and Dave moved with a feline reflex, grabbing it by the tail and hurling it across the room into the barrel. That was one, but the karkinoids were looking for freedom, and the two of them were the only thing holding the rest of the world from the karkinoids.

“I can’t leave!” Savannah called back to him. His voice was almost guttural. They’d kill her before she even got to the door, and she couldn’t just leave Dave to fight the things by themselves. “Why the barrel? Just--kill them!” As if it was that easy, or that obvious. There had to be some kind of weapon in here, something they used in the event of this ever happening or to get the things in there to begin with. Then she saw it, or rather, them. There were a pair of catchpoles on the wall. One for each claw. “There!” she yelled, pointing. “We can get them restrained!” 

“How do you propose I do that?” Dave snapped back, clambering onto a bench to avoid being snipped at. Instead the claw of the karkinoid cut right through the steel drawers underneath the counter, and the rest of it began to groan as that support was taken out of the picture. This wasn’t his sturdy trident, it was his back up in case of emergency. In the water, this would be piss easy, but while they weren’t fast moving on land, nor was her, and it wasn’t so easy to get his jaw around them here. “Can we?” He repeated, following the line she was pointing at. “Great,” he growled, before jumping over to another counter, and then dropping back down to the floor heavily, rubbing his knee before grabbing the poles, throwing it across the room to Savannah. That was just enough time for a Karkinoid to pinch the flesh of his calf and cut into it deeply. With a roar, Dave caught its tail, picked it up - it was only cat sized - and with his teeth crunched through the red exoskeleton and tore off its pincer, before throwing it onto a counter where the hot top was still on, and it struggled to get off the heat. He checked whether his leg could hold his weight, before looking up to Savannah. They each had a catchpole to deal with the other two. 

“I don’t know!” Savannah answered. Somehow this situation made her even more frantic than the mermaid. At least with Kaden, they had come prepared. “I’ve never killed a giant lobster before.” It wasn’t as if they could boil them until their shells were nice and soft. The catchpoles were all they had to work with. Dave quickly took care of one, though Savannah couldn’t fail to notice the rip in his pants and the blood dripping from his wound when she turned back towards him after grappling with her own. She tried to keep her grip steady around the handle as the lobster struggled to break free. “I think we know why our meal was so filling,” she said, using the pole to edge the creature back towards the huge barrel it had escaped from. “Keep the other one back,” she instructed as she struggled with the creature, clearly less practiced in this area than Dave. 

Dave has killed giant lobsters before, as Savannah called them. But not like this, not in an enclosed space, not with his back up Trident that wasn’t very secure, not while above ground in his human suit. Definitely not, while trying to hide his true identity from an FBI agent. Every time he shifted his weight or tried to step away or towards one of the karkinoids, his leg threatened to give away underneath him. He nodded as Savannah told him to keep control of the Karkinoids that she wasn’t pushing towards the barrel, but even the split second he took to read her lips was enough to get another deep gash on his leg. Yelling, Dave kicked the lobster. He’d aimed for the joints of its exoskeleton. It bounced against a nearby table, stuck on its back for a second. Dave grabbed a nearby counter to take his weight off his leg. Jesus, fuck, that hurt. If nothing else, he was relieved that he hadn’t tried to dress up for today. With the Trident he pinned the Karkinoid in place, And managed to get the Catchpole that he was holding over one of its pincers. The other pincer sliced right through the table and a flurry of pots and pans clattered to the floor, along with a large piece of salmon that had been prepared earlier. Grimacing, Dave used the Catchpole to drag it over to the barrel and drop it inside.

It was incredibly frustrating to not be able to use her gun in this situation. She wished she had Kaden's harpoon or the other tools he was sure he had access to. "Shit, shit, shit--" Savannah repeated frantically under her breath as she tried to wrangle the creature, to get it under control. It was evident that Dave was badly injured, maybe not in ways that would cause permanent damage, but certainly enough to impair him in this encounter. She narrowly missed being grabbed by the one she was wrangling and finding herself in a similar situation. 

Dave fought to get the creature back in the tank, and Savannah did the same. Once they were done, she let go of the catchpole, not even caring that it fell into the pot with them, and then she pulled the lid back on, sealing them inside. She collapsed onto the ground in the pile of recently fallen pots and pans. "Are... Are you okay?" she gasped, eyes widening as she saw the extent of the blood on his leg. "I'll call an ambulance..." 

Dave lowered himself to the floor slowly, extending his injured leg out in front of him. “Been worse,” he said gruffly, the waver in his voice a clear sign that it was not great either. “Looks worse to you than it is,” he groaned, wrapping a nearby tea towel around his legs, staunching the bleed. All the same, this would take him out of the running for a few weeks at least. When she reached down, he pushed his teeth guards back into his mouth. Like hell was he acknowledging that he’d ever taken them off, to begin with. He huffed laughingly. “Think they’ll comp us the dinner?” 

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales (Comic) Reviews!: Happy Happy Valley!/Fight! (Issue #4)

My first look at the IDW Ducktales Comics! And for a comission by @weirdkev27​! Seriously he’s basically my boss at this point. If you’d like to comission your own comic or animation review just pm me or shoot me an ask to get my discord. Single stories for a comic are 3 bucks, single comic issues and single episodes of a show are 5 bucks with deals on multiple issues or episodes of a show. With my shameless plugging out of the way the stories themselves are:

Happy Happy Valley! (The Comissioned Story): The Main Cast sans Beakly end up stranded at a resort where everyone’s forced to be happy all the time. A classic trope with a twist ending you can’t predict.. mainly because it’s.. 

Fight!: The boys have a garage sale with stuff from the broom closet to raise money for Huey’s woodchuck trip. Naturally this quickly snowballs into a samurai fight to the death. 

Wonders, a full recap with spoilers, and extreme stupidity await bellow the cut. 

After a quick commission break for this week’s episode I’m back in the saddle and back into comics no less! It’s been exactly a year since I’ve done a single issue comic review. Oh sure I looked back on house of x, and will again next year, and I do want to cover Empyre at some point and some other comics, but I haven’t done a full recap of a single comic book in some time. But the first story of this issue  really, REALLY confused and infuriated Kev, and rightfully so, so I got the commission call, and of my own volition I’m doing the second story entirely for free. I just wanted to do both for completion’s sake and because when I did read this comic I remembered the stories not being very long so it gives me more to write anyway. And if your curious yes I would gladly review classic Don Rosa, Carl Barks or really any duck writer’s work on a story by story basis, it just works easier to do the Ducktales issues all in one since their both more recent and I don’t have to go back and do it later if, once i finish seasons 1 and 2 at some point in the distant future, I decide to do this series too as well as the Sound and Fury mini that was clearly used to offload stories they had left over. 

As for my experience with these comics I DID read them when they started out. .but quickly petered off and never even got around to this story, I remember reading page one but never read the rest of it. Part of it is I tend to flitter in and out of comics and part of it was the stories just weren’t that gripping, with the characters often feeling like flatter versions of the far more multi-layered one’s in the show proper and the stories being a bit too short to properly flesh things out like the show, especially since for some weird reason each issue has two stories instead of having one big story on occasion. They weren’t bad and there is a story or two I want to go back to like Lena and Webby being spies together, Fethry and Fenton have a story together apparently, we get an early look at Della, and there’s one where Bradford hints at them plotting against scrooge long before the show revealed it. There’s some interesting stuff I might look at eventually, I just have a LOT of show to get through too, and i’m not going to pidgenhole the entire series as bad or lackluster based on a few early issues.. or one story in this issue. But yeah i’ve held it off long enough.. let’s talk about 

Happy Happy Valley!

First off the titles for these are .. pretty lack luster. Their basically just what the stories are about.. Happy Happy Valley and a Fight, that’s.. about it. I didn’t realize just HOW awesome the show is at titles, making each sound like a thrilling and unique adventure which they usually are, until I got to here. It feels like IDW, and by extentsion disney, didn’t care what the stories were called and just wanted a comic out to tie into the show. Which bothers me when they put this on IDW, clearly having a release platform for disney works.. but didn’t bother to use it for their Darkwing Duck comic continuing from the original, the reprint of the BOOM! Studios comic, or the short lived Star VS Comic Deep Trouble, which I will be covering at some point as it was pretty good. Same with the Boom! Studio’s darkwing, I just want to watch more episodes before revisiting it. Point is the title isn’t great. The story is even less than that. 

We open properly with our heroes.. all woken up from their beds in the middle of the night for an adventure. It’s not a bad start, though Louie weirdly starts in constantly about how Scrooge’s rich and can do this and that and Subtley dosen’t exist in this story does it?  Anyways, later, far away from Louie’s bed.. that’s the caption they go with and I love it, the Sunchaser suddenly stops working and Launchpad’s crashing skills come in handy, 

This isn’t a bad scene as Donald brings up good points and likely has his own “times he’s been nearly sacrificed tally” like Louie.. and Della likely also said “Della’s coming out on top!” when her total went into triple digits. Also  “When your rich you can even buy luck launchpad”

It just.. dosen’t fit Scrooge at all.. granted this issue hasn’t BEGUN to not fit Scrooge at all but let’s save that for the end. Anyways rather than hostile locals they find Gladys Seeya, good pun, an overly smiley woman whose eager to please and just wants everyone to be happy and has them carried because tired people aren’t happy. Yeah it’s suspcious as heck and a well worn trope, really nice place with a dark secret, to the point the series proper would parody it in the Mervana episode, and subvert it by having them turn out to just be very nice hippies who i’m still convinced had a three way with Donald... I mean he could use it, they were really nice, and Donald is probably very generous. That’s something you didn’t want to think about but now you have to and it’s there. If you GENUINELY think that’s bad, then you should hear about Goofy’s sex life. 

See way more horrifying. Now everyone’s miserable! Horay! Moving on, point is Donald had a mer-three way and this is a well worn trope, but it is used in an interesting way.. that’s entirely ruined by the stupid ending, but we’ll get to that.  Point is everyone is soon happy, given a buffet, all the food they can eat, and whatever they want. They just want you to be happy.. no secret plot here.. wink. Louie continues his annoying “Every rich person gets X” schtick which feels forced as hell and gets worse with every line and more obvious. It’s one of the weaknesses with this story. It’s basically the writers constantly elbowing you and saying GET IT.. YOU GET IT.. BEING HANDED EVERYTHING YOU WANT IS ANNOYING GET IT. YOU GET IT.  The problem is.. the Island’s moral dosen’t fit that. Kev  helped here as we discussed the issue once I finished it, as I hadn’t thought of it yet, but the valley isn’t about giving you everything you want.. it’s about just FORCING you to enjoy things. Sure you can be happy off some things like the food but when Donald politley declines to dance because he can’t, which tracks with his life in general, they basically all glare at him to do so. Later they basically force acvitites on them with the ducks only agreeing because clealry they worry about what might happen if they DON’T. Telling someone to smile or enjoy something dosen’t make them enjoy it it just makes them miserable. Problems are 1, the issue very clearly WANTS to have the other moral and 2) the series would do this kind of story MUCH better with “Mystery at McDuck Manor!”. That’s not on the writers fault, as this comic started right before the show premiered and this issue came out before said episode, but it really doesn’t help the show came along with the same exact moral of not forcing your idea of fun on someone else and did it WAY better. It’s the same message, the ducks being forced to endure something only one person thinks is fun, but delivered right and wrapped into a very clever and fun mystery. Honestly I might cover that one this week or sometime soon because it both fits the Halloween season and this issue if nothing else reminded me how good THAT episode is. 

But I’m stuck doing this issue. Naturally, and in one of the issues few clever moments, the Ducks try booking it out of there as soon as they can but find their raft gone, and a ring of sharks suddenly there that weren’t before, and Donald understandably doesn’t want to risk the kids lives with that. Thankfully Webby soon comes up with a plan using the activities, and uses a napkin to get it around. This bit.. is actually clever as they use the various bits to get a plan and even Huey has a really clever bit where he just leaves his hat and shirt behind to go looking for the generator, likely on Webby’s request, knowing his brothers can just play him once in a while to draw suspicion. Also apparently Huey wears a tank top under his shirt, which looks weird on him, as he’s not the sporty type, but does fit his “always prepared” mindset well so I like it.  Using Basket weaving and balloon decorating, they create a way out, and Webby ties up their host while everyone escapes. They nearly don’t fit out but luckily Donald contributes. And again i’ll give the story this: Donald does more in this one story than he got to do in the vast majority of season one.  So our heroes escape with other patrons begging them to take them with them and the stories apparently wrapped up. The generator Huey found was to show the sharks were just holograms which given the science in this world makes sense, as does it jamming the sunchaser. What doesn’t make sense, and what got me my three bucks for this review in the first place is this. I”m putting the full picture there both so you can let it sink in and to let you know, since most of you probably haven’t read this comic, that i’m not making this shit up, nor is it one of my jokes. This .. this is the actual twist for the comic. 

...................................................................................................

 This is probably the thrird dumbest line in comic book history. Before you ask the other two are

And why yes those are both from the series. And why no I will not be covering All Star Batman and Robin unless someone forces me too.  My point is WHAT THE FLYING HELL IS THIS.  I mean this makes NO sense on any level. For STARTERS one of Scrooge’s most well known traits, that’s part of his character in every version is that he doesn’t like to spend money. He will to MAKE MONEY and sometimes grumble about it but if he doesn’t. Even if season 1 had it dialed way back, he still reused his old teabags, charged extra on his in house vending machines and tried to get out of buying burritos for recently freed slaves. Being cheap is an iconic part of his character. Granted the series took out things from the comics and original like underpaying employees, barely paying Donald even though in the comics he supports three children, as well as barely paying those children, and refusing to donate to orphans, but still it’s not THAT so far removed that THIS is remotely in character! He had to either buy this old resort or have it renovated to keep up the ruse, pay for the creepy lady running it, pay for the other guests as actors because otherwise his hired minion KIDNAPPED people who were begging for escape, pay for the activities/escape supplies, and pay gyro to build the GIANT GENERATOR THAT BOTH PROJECTS SHARKS AND MAKES TECHNLOGY NOT WORK. While I do think Scrooge would gladly want to teach Louie a lesson, this is a lesson that at best costs hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not at least a million to pull off.  And that’s not even getting into how he forced everyone else to go with it, denied them a good night’s sleep and clearly told NONE of them. Beakly not being there actually makes more sense as she would’ve noped out of this horrible horrible idea and bonked him on the head for this. It makes no sense and it’s GROSSLY out of character. And while I’m used ot that from comics, writers often don’t give a shit about the characters their writing, I expect better from DISNEY when it comes to lisencing shit. They’ve done better. I’ve mentioned better and even SINCE this they’ve done better: Christos Gage’s Incredible’s Comics are excellent and I want to read more of them. And the previous run by mark waid is also suitably incredible, if now sadly no longer canon.  And even in this very ISSUE there’s a much better, if not amazing, story we’ll get to in a moment. I get disney’s greenlit weak tie in material before but this is ridiculously bad and shoddy. Shame on them, shame on the writer, and shame on this INCREDIBLY stupid story. We get an everybody laughs ending, who cares. we’re out. 

Final Thoughts for Happy Happy Valley: 

I don’t have much less to say about this story. This about sums it up. 

Fight! 

We open with a samurai.. though it quickly turns out to be Dewey with a mop on his head hitting Louie with a broom while saying Two Damage! Two Damage! and already in one scene this is so much better and feels so much more natural. Naturally this story has a different writer. The artist is different for both too, and the art is good on both though I do prefer the art for “Fight!” more as it’s a bit more expressive. Though it also benefits from having less characters to juggle so that probably helps.  The boys are having a Garage Sale, or Yard Sale as some call it. As a huge fan of Garage Sales, I’ve gotten tons of stuff from them over the years and good shit too like my G1 Snarl, or even just recently a three in one of the first three loud house Graphic Novels for a freaking quarter. You REALLY can’t beat that. It’s why I love these things. So this story already had my money. As for why, Huey needs money for the Junior Woodchuck Camping trip. How else is he going to hold hands iwth Violet and Boyd under a tree. Wait neither of them existed yet.  Damn. Well i’m retconning that in anyway. If they can retcon the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver not to be mutants, which If eel is getting undone VERY soon, or if not Hickman will use that well, I can retcon this to taking place in season 3. Plus i’ts all very wholesome and innocent... their only eleven. 

But yeah Scrooge in a nice moment if an off-screen one gave them the contents of the broom closet.. which is really just a bunch of old used up brooms, some buckets and other cleaning supplies. Probably stuff Beakly rarely uses or has long replaced and if not.. well he’ll have to pay for them himself won’t he. Unlike the above clusterfuck this.. feels entirely in character. Scrooge likely apricates that Huey is working hard to EARN the money for his trip and that his brothers are helping, especially Louie since he gets nothing out of this unless they go over what Huey needs. But also being Scrooge he still only gives them some old Junk.  But Louie, being louie easily scams a guy into paying 15 bucks for a broom. Still this is slow progress and if Huey wants to be with his poly relationship he’s gotta step it up. Luckily, and naturally given this is Scrooge’s closet, they find an old Samurai helmet, which Huey feels could be worth millions. granted...

But eh it’s going to a good cause, tiny children holding hands by campfires, and when has common decency EVER stopped Louie? Dewey though, wants to start a collection of war stuff.. starting with this. It’s part of why I LIKE the story better: not only does it have much better dialouge but it’s actually rooted in the characters instead of “One trait of Louie’s cranked up to 50 and drilled into our heads”. Huey is trying to earn money for the woodchucks, Dewey only wants something for petty reasons and Louie wants money. It feels like the actual characters and not just cutouts and makes me wnat to read more stories in the hopes of finding more like this.  Anyways naturally nothing Scrooge has in any of his storage areas of the mansion tha’ts ancient isn’t cursed, magical or really neat to look at, and the helmet comes to life as they fight over it, and the helmet clints to Dewey, who talks in a deep red voice calling himself Ronnith of the Twin Samurai. The name.. isn’t great but the concept is. Thankfully Huey knows what it is thanks to the guidebook. and just like the Donald bit last episode this one story gets the guidebook better than season 1 did a lot.  Turns out the twin samurai were two brothers who hated each other and always competed for their mothers affection.. their mother was also forced to sell her beautiful sculptures for next to nothing after their father left. Instead of going after him though they both blamed each other as teens when invaders struck and burned everything including their mom I guess down, and fought the rest of their days, and while Ronnith never settled things due to growing too old, his spirit, and his intense hate, went into his helmet which now curses any brothers who fight over it to fight with the looser turning into a statue. 

Naturally no one wants this but Dewey can’t get the helmet off and Ronnith possess him to destroy the guidebook.. though Huey explains it’s his “third backup copy” which.. yeah again like the tank top thing tracks. Ronnith then manifests armor on Louie and we get the image above.. which is really neat. With Ronnith forcing the two to fight each other, Huey searches for a way to stop it. And while he can’t find it he does figure it out and the solution is REALLY clever: Just as Ronnith’s about to kill Louie, with Dewey apologizing.. Huey blocks. And Ronnith is naturally confused and upon finding out there’s a THIRD brother, the curse dissipates and thus everything’s back to normal. And wrapping things up nicely a guy shows up to buy the helmet and while Dewey tries to just give it away Louie says it’s free with purchase of a bucket for 50 bucks so Huey has his money to go on his romantic camping trip.. though he does ask if hte guy has a brother.. best be safe.  Final thoughts on Fight!: It’s like night and day. While the previous story is stilted, has one of the worst endings in duck history and overall is just kind of bland outside of one or two moments this .. is really good. It doesn’t add much to the world or anything, but it’s a fun side story with a clever monster of the week and resolution, some great lines and some good art. This is what should’ve lead the issue, as the main story is again just dreadful. Overall i’d recommend checking this story out.. though maybe get in in trade instead as the A-Story here is really bad, but you can find both on comixology and this issues on comixlogy unlimited if you want to check it out along with a ton of other great comics. 

That does it for this review, if you liked this I do regular coverage of ducktales every week, I JUST COVERED THIS WEEK’S EPISODE YESTERDAY.  So check that out and until next time vote if you can and check your house for Gary Busey!

[sciencespies]

The Biology of Mistletoe

https://sciencespies.com/nature/the-biology-of-mistletoe/

The Biology of Mistletoe

Some plants are so entwined with tradition that it’s impossible to think of one without the other. Mistletoe is such a plant. But set aside the kissing custom and you’ll find a hundred and one reasons to appreciate the berry-bearing parasite for its very own sake.

David Watson certainly does. So enamored is the mistletoe researcher that his home in Australia brims with mistletoe-themed items including wood carvings, ceramics and antique French tiles that decorate the bathroom and his pizza oven.

And plant evolution expert Daniel Nickrent does, too: He has spent much of his life studying parasitic plants and, at his Illinois residence, has inoculated several maples in his yard — and his neighbor’s — with mistletoes.

But the plants that entrance these and other mistletoe aficionados go far beyond the few species that are pressed into service around the holidays: usually the European Viscum album and a couple of Phoradendron species in North America, with their familiar oval green leaves and small white berries. Worldwide, there are more than a thousand mistletoe species. They grow on every continent except Antarctica — in deserts and tropical rain forests, on coastal heathlands and oceanic islands. And researchers are still learning about how they evolved and the tricks they use to set up shop in plants from ferns and grasses to pine and eucalyptus.

All of the species are parasites. Mistletoes glom on to the branches of their plant “hosts,” siphoning off water and nutrients to survive. They accomplish this thievery via a specialized structure that infiltrates host tissues. The familiar holiday species often infest stately trees such as oaks or poplar: In winter, when these trees are leafless, the parasites’ green, Truffula-like clumps are easy to spot dotting their host tree’s branches.

Yet despite their parasitism, mistletoes may well be the Robin Hoods of plants. They provide food, shelter and hunting grounds for animals from birds to butterflies to mammals — even the occasional fish. Fallen mistletoe leaves release nutrients into the forest floor that would otherwise remain locked within trees, and this generosity ripples through the food chain.

“Yes, ecologically, they are cheats,” says Watson, a community ecologist at Charles Sturt University at Albury-Wodonga (Australia is home to nearly 100 mistletoe species). “People hear the ‘P’ word, they think parasite and they think they are all necessarily bad. But it’s an extremely loaded term.”

The bottom line: Mistletoes share their wealth. “They grab onto these nutrients, and then they drop them,” Watson says. “They’re like, ‘I’ve got all this good stuff, and now you can have it.’”

Many mistletoes make gaudy blooms that attract birds and other pollinators. Tristerix corymbosus (left), which flowers during winter in the southern Andes, is hummingbird-pollinated. The genus Amyema has several showy species, including Australia’s Buloke mistletoe, which bears its flowers in threes (center), and Amyema artensis, which grows on several islands in the South Pacific (right).

(L TO R: Gerhard Glatzel; Martin Bennett; D.L. Nickrent)

They’re wily, versatile and ingenious

To pilfer all those nutrients, mistletoes must infect a host, and researchers are still busy figuring out the fine details. The process goes something like this: The seed lands on a host plant (often delivered by a bird — more on that later) and penetrates the bark with a structure that, for a standard plant, would develop into a root. Secreted digestive enzymes may help it insinuate itself into the tree, says Carol Wilson, a botanist at the University and Jepson Herbaria at the University of California, Berkeley. Once in, the mistletoe squeezes its way around the host cells toward the tree’s plumbing, the xylem. Then comes a fateful kiss: Mistletoe cells connect with the host’s plumbing or nearby cells, and the pilfering of water and nutrients begins.

Mistletoes and other parasitic plants make a well-defined structure for invading their hosts — it’s called a haustorium, from the Latin word haustor, meaning drinker or drawer of water. Mistletoe haustoria are quite diverse, Wilson says, reflecting the varied ways they approach their parasitic habit.

Some species, for example, form a sort of flattened pad that encircles a host branch. A wedge then develops on the pad’s underside and penetrates the host. Other species coax the host’s own wood to develop a frilly-edged mass; these are called “wood roses” and people carve them into intricate figures such as birds and fish. (Wilson, whose workplace houses perhaps the largest collection of mistletoe haustoria in the world, has some carved wood roses at home, including a lizard, a monkey and a chicken.)

Other mistletoes send out slender vine-like extensions called epicortical runners — they have multiple haustoria for more widespread invasions. This approach allows the mistletoe to crawl along the host tree and capture choice sunlit territory among upper branches, but also crawl back toward the tree’s water-laden trunk. And some mistletoes create stringy “bark strands” that spread beneath the host tree’s bark and develop lots of tiny (initially microscopic) haustoria, called sinkers. These tap into host plumbing.

The haustorium has been termed “the essence of parasitism” by renowned Canadian botanist Job Kuijt. And for the essence of this essence, look no further than Western Australia’s Nuytsia floribunda, in a group of plants known as the “showy mistletoe” family, the Loranthaceae. Technically speaking, Nuytsia is not a true mistletoe, says Nickrent, a researcher and professor emeritus at Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, because it infests roots instead of branches. But it’s an extremely close relative and requires a mention, if only because its haustorium houses a sickle-like blade used to slice into host plant roots that is sharp enough to draw blood. Neither buried electrical cables nor telephone lines are immune to Nuytsia’s cutting device.

They exploit animals — and nourish them too

Mistletoes don’t just exploit plants, they depend critically on animals to get around — a varied selection, it turns out. Their name derives from Anglo-Saxon words meaning “dung-on-a-twig” — typically the dung of birds, which eat the seeds and disperse them to new host plants. (There are exceptions: Some mistletoe genera make explosive fruits that hurl their seeds toward nearby trees, reaching distances of 10 meters or more.) Most mistletoe fruits are berries containing a single seed that’s surrounded by a sticky layer of goo called viscin, which cements the seed to a new host tree.

The berries are rich in minerals and glucose, and some contain all 10 essential amino acids. Roughly 90 bird species are considered mistletoe specialists. Some swallow the fruits whole, others peel the fruit then eat the seed and gluey viscin; still others dine on the viscin alone.

A seed of the Alphitonia mistletoe (Amyema conspicua) begins to grow on the branch of a host tree in the Bunya Mountains area of Queensland, Australia. Although parasites, mistletoes do make chlorophyll and get food and energy from photosynthesis, while relying on their hosts primarily for water.

(Martin Bennett)

Australia’s mistletoebird (Dicaeum hirundinaceum) is one such devotee. It devours the berries whole, excreting the seed in record time, thanks to a modified gut that rapidly absorbs glucose from the viscin surrounding the seed. “Within a few minutes, the bird passes the entire seed through the digestive tract,” Nickrent says. The mistletoebird also has evolved specific behaviors that seem to aid the plant. “It wiggles its little behind, attaching the mistletoe seed to the branch of the tree,” Nickrent says.

Birds do double duty: They also serve as pollinators — many mistletoe flowers are rich in nectar. Though the holiday-associated species have rather drab little flowers, others sport outlandishly showy blooms. “If you’re into floral diversity, mistletoes are a crowning glory,” Watson says. Many of the bird-pollinated species have gaudy, lipstick-red flowers, including South America’s Tristerix corymbosus, whose slender blooms are festooned with bright yellow stamens.

And certain mistletoes have evolved elaborate mechanisms that aid in bird pollination: The petals of some of these species are fused together; when a nectar-seeking bird pries open the flower, the pollen explosively sprays the bird’s head.

They take and give

Mammals too, are known to dine on mistletoe berries. Ditto errant fish: There’s a record of the dusky narrow hatchetfish eating fruits during floods. But the largest dietary contribution of mistletoe may be their leaves. Around the world, animals including deer, porcupines, rhinoceroses and possums feed on mistletoes, as do the caterpillars of numerous butterfly species.

Lizards and birds will hunt for insects in dense leafy, clumps of mistletoe, which also can serve as dwellings. Squirrels and other mammals are known to make their homes in mistletoe, as are birds of all sizes, from hummingbirds to waterfowl: A survey in Australia found that 245 bird species nest in mistletoes. And a variety of raptor species — hawks and their kin — use fresh mistletoe sprigs to line their nests.

When mistletoe leaves fall to the ground, their decaying leaves feed plants, insects, fungi and more. “Mistletoe leaves generate a steady stream of nutrients to the forest floor,” Watson says. “It’s like a dripping tap of fertilizer.”

Back in 2001, Watson made the case in an article in the Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics that mistletoes are keystone species on which much of the life surrounding them depends. Evidence for this role has since grown. A study of mistletoes in the savannah of Zimbabwe, for example, found that mistletoe leaf litter pumps additional nitrogen, phosphorus and other nutrients into the soil, influencing the diversity of grasses.

And in one experiment, Watson and colleagues removed some 5,000 mistletoe plants from 20 sites in the Billabong Creek watershed in Australia. Those areas ended up with 25 percent fewer birds, compared with 20 neighboring areas whose mistletoes were left intact.

They evolved over and over and over

Mistletoes are a motley group of plants defined more by their lifestyle than their lineage. They all have three features in common: They are parasitic, woody and aerial (meaning they infect above-ground plant parts, rather than roots). The lifestyle they enjoy evolved at least five separate times in five different plant families.

Yet mistletoes do cluster in one main area of the vast plant family tree, and they all have ancestors that were parasites not on branches, but on roots. Mistletoes made the leap to branches — an event that happened many times over.

“All of the mistletoe lineages represent independent evolutionary events, independent historic moments when something happened and this under-story, root-parasitic, nondescript shrubby thing switched to being an aerial, parasitic shrubby thing,” Watson says.

Moving up the tree helped to solve a problem that all plants grapple with: competing for water and sunlight. (Despite their parasitic nature, most mistletoes still photosynthesize, and so need healthy access to light.) And they never looked back. Orchids, cacti and more: Today’s varieties invade plants of all stripes, including themselves — a number of species have been documented parasitizing other mistletoes. They’ve even been spotted going three layers deep: a mistletoe on a mistletoe on a mistletoe.

And while a handful of species inflict damage on horticulturally important trees, including members of the pine family that are valued for their timber, most mistletoes don’t infect economically important crops, Watson says.

Dig into mistletoe biology and you uncover layer upon layer of complexity — and wily ingenuity. It’s easy to see why they hook in curious minds. “They are sneaky; they’ve worked out these little loopholes,” Watson says.

So maybe there’s poetic sense in stealing kisses under thieving mistletoes.

Rachel Ehrenberg is associate editor at Knowable and a big fan of parasitic plants. Follow her on twitter @Rachelwrit.

Knowable Magazine is an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

#Nature

[callsign-bunnie]

Dependencies pt 1

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Pairing: Analogical (Anxiety x Logic) Warnings: dark themes. You guys know me by now. Virgil’s anxious thoughts are stated. Allusions to sex. (Lust mention.) Food mention. Notes before going in: those who have been following me know by now that I am uh... not all sunshine and rainbows when it comes to my writing. My stuff can get pretty heavy and often pretty dark. However, any trigger warnings will be tagged. And if you ask me, I will tag specific non-general triggers in any future chapters or works. If you simply don’t want to see a fic in general, I would suggest blacklisting the name, which will be in the tags. Thank you. Summary: Logan is very neat and controlled. Virgil is the opposite. Logan, 30, is the leader of a well known underground crime network, though he specifically has managed to remain anonymous, very few knowing his identity. Virgil, 23, on the other hand, is an artist who hates talking to people and has chronic anxiety. Virgil and Logan are thrown in each other's paths when Virgil gets Logan as his professor in the math class Logan uses as a cover identity. (And guilty pleasure but he’ll never admit that.) Already, Logan is... intrigued.

Sometimes, our darkest secrets aren't the ones we hide the most. For Logan, possibly his lightest secret was the one he hid the most. To quickly raise in the ranks, he had to give an appearance of being cold. Unfeeling. Sociopathic. And while yes, he could be considered a sociopath, he could feel some things. Anger. Love. Lust. Happiness. As much as Logan tried to hide this secret, the feelings were drugs for him, just as addicting as Heroin or Cocaine. And anything that sparked these feelings was considered precious to him. He needed it.

However, Logan was incredibly intelligent. This was perhaps how he managed to keep himself from gaining a... dependence. And perhaps how he rose so fast in the ranks. He'd learned by now to never do his own dirty work and to stay detached from it, as well. Lest whoever does it is stupid enough to be caught. Many of his higher-ups had not learned this and of course paid the price for it, once the police caught on. Another lesson he'd learned from observing his higher-ups was to never leave a paper trail. Of course, keep track, but always have a fail-safe. Logan had taken to keeping his documents in a barrel that one could simply throw a match in and light it up. He'd also learned not to trust the internet unless using some kind of code. Unfortunately, lackeys were not good at recognizing and remembering codes. So, he just left all of his business to over throw away phones and in business. Maybe requests and commissions could be taken over the internet, but through nothing that could be traceable and he was always sure to keep his interactions vague, going through a lackey who typed differently so even that couldn't be tracked. And possibly the most important thing he'd learned; have an excellent cover. His being a math professor. He was seen as dorky by his students. No one would ever even suspect him of being who he was.

Of course, maintaining of these self-imposed rules required immense discipline. Possibly even an obsession with order and control. Fortunately, Logan had both of those qualities.

Virgil was the opposite. While Virgil was clever, he wasn't very academic. And his darkest secrets were the ones he kept deepest inside himself. Virgil also had a problem with feeling too much. All of his life, he'd been considered too emotional. Too... anything, really. He'd been told this many times. He figured by this point that if he was too much for people, he might as well not bother them. Other people never usually had anything interesting to contribute, anyway. He was also incredibly out of order.

His room was usually a disaster. And he managed to trip over everything. You'd think this would lead him to keep the floor clean, however, he just didn't care enough to bother. He also didn't care to bother cooking, so he'd become accustomed to eating ramen and anything microwaveable. And take out, when he could afford it. He didn't have a job, however, he received money from his parents and an allowance from what was left of his college fund and then later some weird source? On to that, later.

His parents weren't wealthy, however, and his college fund's remains were not grand. So, he sometimes had to go without a meal or two. Whatever, though. It wasn't a big deal to him. He barely thought about it.

Virgil had taken up art to keep from thinking about certain things. It was much easier to ignore issues if he was focusing on lines and color schemes, instead. Art was also a way to release pent up frustration, sadness, even happiness. You'd think happiness couldn't be pent up but when you talk to literally no one, well... it happens. So, he'd found an outlet. A relief. And just as emotions were intoxicating to Logan, art was just as intoxicating to Virgil. Granted, he wasn't making art most of the time, but he was usually thinking about it. Plotting out pieces he wanted to make, deciding where to fit yet another piece on his wall, what color fit what he was feeling, etc. Honestly, the thoughts alone seemed to help at this point, allowing him an outlet where there wasn't usually one

.Virgil stumbled into Logan's sight when he went to his first math class. Stumbled being literal, as Virgil almost tripped and hit his head on the fire extinguisher by the door. Luckily, he was early, always terrified of being late to a class due to having to walk in and everyone watch him walk to his seat. The idea filled him with dread. He hated it. So he made sure to be early to each class. Being early also had the perk of getting to choose his seat. Which he quite enjoyed. He almost always chose a seat in the back, however, math was a difficult subject for him, so he begrudgingly sat in the almost front. Okay, really, he usually sat in the middle of the class. People in the back were usually considered to be angsty, in the front to be go-getters. And nobody thought about those in the middle. It was the perfect place. But in college, with large class sizes, sitting in the middle often meant being unable to focus for Virgil. And since he already struggled with math, he usually decided it would be best for him to sit closer to the front.

He was already dreading this class, however. As he knew he would likely be close to failing it if he didn't ask for help. He'd struggled enough the year before. This year would likely be the same, if not worse. So he was already gearing himself up to have to talk, blegh, to his teacher in order to ask for tutoring options. Much fun was in store for him this year, because then he'd have to talk to whoever was tutoring him. Yay. Oh well, he was taking two art classes this year, so at least he had that. He was already finding himself daydreaming about them. They were independent art classes, which basically meant he got to create whatever he dreamed about creating.

So at least the year wouldn't be so bad, right? And he was... mostly fine in all of his other classes. So no tutoring there. Just math would be difficult.

As expected, he spent most of the class way behind and struggling to comprehend what the professor was saying. The professor was semi-friendly. Was mostly that dry professor who was kind but you could tell they wouldn't take your shit. Virgil tended to like those professors, as they usually left him alone, unable to remember every student. Unfortunately, once Virgil would make his presence known to this professor, he was sure they would remember him and he'd be stuck dealing with them until the end of the year. Yay, again. At least this professor wasn't a fast talker. That would be a struggle if they were. Well, more of a struggle, anyway. He was able to catch some detail, so it definitely helped. He'd taken to writing, in messy inconsistent shorthand, what the professor was saying to try to organize later. He never really got around to later, but hey, he was trying, at least, right?

His anxiety got worse and worse throughout the class, and needless to say, this was not helping his focus. He was dreading having to ask for help. So it was making his anxiety flip out. However, he managed to swallow it, tapping out his racing heartbeat on his stomach in his pocket as he went up to the professor's desk at the end of class. "Professor? Can I talk to you?"

"Of course, Mr..."

"Storm. I'm Virgil Storm. I um... Well, I have a tendency to struggle in Math and I was hoping you could have any tutoring recommendations?" Virgil asked, almost too quiet, but luckily he was heard.

The professor nodded and seemed to glance Virgil up and down. "I do offer tutoring hours of my own. I typically teach until five and I offer to tutor between 5 and 9. However, I will only allow up to an hour, since I'm assuming tutoring will have to be a regular thing?"

Virgil turned red and nodded in answer to the question. "Yes, unfortunately." He was managing to slow his tapping, though. Which was good.

His professor laughed, suddenly, and then stated,  "goodness, you don't have to keep standing. Sit and we'll discuss a time to meet up."

Virgil turned red again and pulled up a chair, sitting in it and slouching slightly. "Since this is my last class of the day, I think tutoring at five would be helpful... So I could just hang around here, you know?" And his tapping sped back up, worried the professor would think that was a dumb idea.

"That would work out. I suppose it might help you to remember, as well." He nodded.

Virgil relaxed and nodded again. "That too. I'm sorry, I forgot your name..."

"Oh, of course. It's Logan Fairling. It's fine if you just call me Dr. Fair, however." Dr. Fairling answered, nodding

.Virgil nodded a bit and relaxed more. He knew he tended to overthink, but it really was a relief when he was wrong. "Thank you, Dr. Fairling. When do you think it would be best to start?"

"Hmm..." Dr. Fairling stopped and seemed to think for a moment. "Perhaps today. Since we already started with a lesson, I believe it might be good for us to start sooner rather than later."

Virgil was a bit surprised but he decided Dr. Fairling was right. It would be good to start earlier. However, he was already nervous about it. What if Dr. Fairling decided Virgil was too dumb to be helped? That he was helpless? It got too much to keep tapping out his heartbeat, so he switched to fidgeting with the sleeves instead, making sure to hide it under the table. "Alright. That sounds like a good plan. I'll come back here in an hour."

"Perfect." The professor nodded and then allowed Virgil to leave.

As Virgil left, he rubbed his throat, finding it a bit sore after talking so much when he usually didn't.

As Virgil left, Logan leaned back in his seat, tapping his pen against his chin. "Hmm..." He felt something unfamiliar but not unknown start to bloom. However, he just couldn't identify it. However, he did know that Virgil was already quite... intriguing.

-----

I will tag people if they want me to. I don’t really care how you ask, I’m not particular.

[autumnslance]

There are days when I post original content—screenshots I’m kinda proud of, stories, lore posts, the rare meme, whatever—and check through the day for notes. I get disappointed too when I don’t see a lot of comments, or reblogs (and the few reblogs often don’t have tags or comments either). I try not to feel too bad about it (some days easier than others), then sort of suck it up and move on as I don’t feel like I peronally can or should make a fuss about it.

It’s no secret there’s been a shift from more Reblogs to more Likes as Tumblr ages; when I started here back in 2012 or whenever, it was smaller and there was more reblogging. But as the site grew and dashes got busier it got harder to keep up, not to mention getting burned with some post types and fandoms along the way.

I try to keep my follows pretty curated—I may need to go through and see if there’s anyone I can/should stop following but not really—and I know for as much as I do reblog, for every one I Reblog, there are a dozen or so more I just Like, or simply scroll past. This is for any number of reasons.

Maybe it’s not my interest or aesthetic.

Maybe I feel like I’m spamming, even if I use my queue with decent time intervals set, especially if I’m reblogging from 1 person a bunch.

Maybe I’m archive diving in someone’s blog and the above applies again.

Maybe it doesn’t “fit” on any of my blogs, most of them character or topic focused.

Maybe I’ve already seen it spammed across my dash a dozen times today by mutuals so feel I wouldn’t be adding much (I may reblog it anyway a day or two later).

I want to check the information on it then forget.

I want to, but also want to make comments or at least tag it for my own organization, but I am on mobile with little time and can’t type on my phone well and then forget/can’t find it.

Maybe I just don’t have the spoons today. Just am “meh” about things in general and that extends to scrolling down my dash.

Maybe I feel like it’s already been posted to more popular blogs than mine with more followers so they really don’t need my measly contribution to spread their stuff when they have three times my followers already, and pretty sure most of my followers also follow them.

Maybe I don’t have time to read that fic now and then forget/can’t find it later.

And so on. And I bet a lot of folks have some of the same, or similar, reasons they hit Like instead of Reblog. To where when I see some posts sighing about lack of Reblogs my auto-thought is “what have you reblogged lately? Friend stuff? Memes? Shitposts? Only really exceptional/unusual creations? Only sexy screens or art?” I generally feel immediately bad for the thought and remember we all do it and we all have our reasons, and then move on again. Maybe leave a sympathy/commiseration Like.

Things I have considered to combat this: trim my dash again, but that leaves out a lot of stuff I want to see and keep. Use the Drafts more; save things I like there and reblog later with the tags and comments I want to add. I already use my Queue a lot and have the intervals set depending how busy the blog is. Attempt more of an effort, but there’s a LOT of content out there, and I have always been choosy about what I Reblog vs Like.

Just a few things to consider, and think about, when wondering about Reblogs, Likes, Comments, etc. For a lot of us this a hobby and validation shouldn’t be tied to your Follower or Note count (easier said than done, and we all like recognition for our creations!). For some writers and artists it IS important and it IS their job and how they get clients and paid for their skills. So it’s a balance.

I dunno how to end this; I’m at lunch on my phone and so it’s slow. It’s not a response to anything or anyone specific, just a general thing I see across blogs and fandoms. People seem to talk a lot about it... without examining, and perhaps accepting, their own habits and limits, or changing their own habits if it means so much personally.

[daresplaining]

Blindspot: Empowering Invisibility

    I’ve been writing posts reflecting back on my favorite parts of Charles Soule’s Daredevil run... and hey, I almost got through all of them before the new run started! The final topic I wanted to cover is Sam Chung/Blindspot, who-- alongside Real Boy Mike Murdock-- is the most significant new character Soule created during his time on the comic.

    Sam has come a long way for a guy everyone thought was Gambit when his image was first released. With his introduction, he became Matt’s first official, long-term “apprentice” and a compelling addition to the ranks of Marvel’s young, up-and-coming superheroes. I’d always wanted to see how Matt would handle a sidekick, so I was very excited about this, and while I think Sam’s story was not as strong as it could have been, I am eager for him to return to further cement his role within the Daredevil universe and beyond.

    Matt has acted as a mentor in the past (most notably to Angela Del Toro, the second White Tiger, during Bendis’s run), but Sam is the closest he has ever come to having an actual sidekick. Thus, his new working relationship with Sam puts him in a fun new role: passing on what he has learned as a superhero, and testing his abilities as a teacher. 

Sam: “Whoa, hold on now... what are you--”

Matt: “And suddenly, everyone can see you. What do you do now, Blindspot? You need to be the weapon-- not some gadget.”

Sam: “I dunno. Iron Man seems to do okay.”

Matt: “You could drop Tony Stark naked in the middle of the desert and he’d fly out in a jet made of sand and cactus needles. It’s not his stuff that gives him power. It’s his brain. Try using yours. You’ll be amazed at the difference it makes.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #2 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    Soule’s run, overall, suffers from a lack of emotion. It is all plot, no character, and this weakens the development of Matt and Sam’s relationship. Beyond a touching glimpse of their initial first encounter in All-New, All-Different Point One (Sam’s introductory issue), we don’t get to see much of their developing dynamic. The run jumps right in after they have already started working together, and that’s mostly the context in which we see them-- work. We don’t get any real bonding scenes. We don’t get to see Matt decide to train Sam (which must have been a huge decision-- Matt would have been hesitant to take on that responsibility, especially since he’d just tightened up his secret identity again) or the early negotiating of their relationship. Sam later comes to see Matt as a father figure, which should be very powerful, but the only way we know that is because he comes out and says it, because of the shortage of actual parent/child-type moments between them. 

    That said, there is a lot to enjoy in their dynamic. Matt and Sam are very similar people, and this makes them great foils for each other. Like Matt, Sam is stubborn, smart, and often reckless. He has an attitude, as well as a huge amount of compassion and a desire to help others. He also has a lot of secrets (neither knows the other’s civilian identity for a significant amount of time, which contributes to the emotional distance mentioned above, but is also completely in-character.)  And Sam and Matt work well as a team and develop a lot of respect for each other. Matt is a tough but fair teacher, and he sees himself in Sam.  

Sam: “Well, I finally got the cast off my arm.”

Matt (caption): “Right. The cast for the arm Elektra broke when I introduced her to you in a fit of utter idiocy.”

Sam: “Thought I might get a workout in. It’s been a while.”

Matt (caption): “A workout. He means he’s going out on patrol as Blindspot. I get it. The hero game’s addictive. It’s hard to stay away for too long. God knows I’ve rushed back out before I was ready a hundred times. [...] He’s not listening to a word I say. Then again, when I was in his place, training with Stick... I didn’t listen much either. I heard... everything. But I didn’t like to listen. Oh, well.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #10 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    The similarities don’t end there. Like Matt, Sam grew up in a low-income single-parent household, and has close ties to a particular Manhattan neighborhood (in his case, Chinatown). But his situation is made even more challenging by the fact that he is an undocumented immigrant, and this distinction between Matt’s experience and Sam’s is actually really interesting. Matt fully sympathizes with Sam, but there is a disconnect that highlights the additional challenges in Sam’s life that impact his budding superhero career. 

Matt: “Wait. I didn’t realize... you’re hurt.”

Sam: “Yeah. One of them got me. Stings like hell.”

Matt: “You need to go to the hospital.”

Sam: “Sure thing. You remember when I told you I don’t have papers, which means I can’t get a real job, which means I can’t get insurance? So, you got a spare twenty grand you can loan me for an E.R. visit, I’ll head right over. Otherwise, it’s band-aids and Advil.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #3 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla 

Sam: “I’ve been working on this suit since I was twelve. It was supposed to be my big break. My ticket out. Until I found out how expensive it was to file a patent. How easy it is to steal inventions from illegal immigrants doing their best to stay off the radar so they don’t get deported. I invented a miracle-- a damn invisibility suit-- and now I have to spend half my pay on batteries just to keep the thing running. How the hell do the other guys do it?”

All-New, All-Different Marvel Point One, “Blindspot” by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    This is what makes Sam extra compelling and unique among the ranks of Marvel’s heroes. As an undocumented immigrant, he is in constant danger. Drawing attention to himself is really risky, because if something goes wrong and the police find out who he is, he could lose everything. The precariousness of his life makes his actions as a superhero, his willingness to put himself into the spotlight and take those risks, all the more admirable. It’s also symbolic that the invention that prompted him to become a superhero is an invisibility suit, because invisibility is a key part of his life. As a non-citizen, he feels like an outsider-- unseen, insignificant. But that invisibility is also a source of protection. The idea of someone in Sam’s position actually weaponizing invisibility, while at the same time making himself visible by became a superhero-- who, by their very nature, are public figures-- is a powerful concept. And of course, there’s symbolism in the fact that Sam is working alongside Matt-- one of the few people who can perceive him while he is invisible. 

    Over the course of the run, we see Sam start to build himself a reputation by becoming a benevolent presence to the people of Chinatown. By working with Matt, he gains the confidence to operate on his own-- which is helped by the fact that Sam is an independent person by both nature and necessity (much like Matt). I love the detail of the shrine in Chinatown where people leave requests for help from Blindspot (“Ghost Brother”). It’s a neat way of depicting Sam’s connection to his neighborhood and his own unique approach to hero work.

Sam: “Okay, let’s see what we got. Wealth, long life, luck... can’t do much about those...”

Daredevil vol. 5 #10 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    Over the course of the run, we see Sam grapple with many of the key questions of superheroing. Sam, like Matt and many other heroes, started down this path to thanks to his family-- in Sam’s case, to protect his mother and sister. And like all of these heroes, he is compelled to continue out of a sense of compassion. Sam’s struggle to decide whether it is worthwhile or smart to behave selflessly, to put his life on the line for strangers, is addressed with a sense of emotional honesty that makes Sam extra relatable. It’s easy to claim to be heroic, but it’s another thing entirely to put yourself out there and actually behave heroically, and to take on the responsibility of ensuring other people’s survival. 

Sam: “Why did I say that? ‘I’m not letting him kill anyone else.’ Who do I think I am? I just want to impress Daredevil. It sounded like something he would say. Do I really mean it? How far will I actually take this? This guy’s a judge. If he found out I was a vigilante, he’d probably deport me. Why should I die for him? Hell, why should I even fight for him?"

Daredevil vol. 5 #13 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

Man: “How do you know that? Tenfingers said he would save us, and he lied.”

Sam: “Because... I... Because I am one of you. I live in this neighborhood. I know most of you. Your name is Mr. Chen, and you run the bodega on Mott Street. Because Chinatown is my home, and I’m going to keep it safe. Because I am Blindspot. And I am not lying to you. Just... just stay in here. I won’t let anything happen to you. I hope.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #5 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    Sam’s story is enhanced by the fact that his origin is so challenging. While he is enthusiastic about working with Daredevil and the idea of being a superhero, he quickly acquires a degree of cynicism thanks to the difficulty of his situation. He became a superhero to save his mother, who doesn’t want to be saved. He is filled with doubt about his own abilities. Every time he does something heroic, he suffers for it: he is blinded after trying to rescue Muse’s victims, his mother is killed when he decides to save Matt from the Beast, and his refusal to kill Muse causes the Hand to attack New York City. He is given reason after reason to give it all up, and for a while he seriously considers it. But in the end, he doesn’t. 

Sam: “It’s getting harder for me to tell the difference between something right and something wrong. When you work on this level, trying to be a super hero, life and death... there’s all these consequences. Things just happen. I’m trying to do things I know are right when I can. That’s all I can do. Muse is back. Maybe you saw those paintings he put up all over the city. I’m going to find him, and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. I know that’s right. I know it. [...] You’re a good person. Don’t let this city take that away from you.”

Hannah: “Why are you talking like you’ll never see me again, Sam?”

Daredevil vol. 5 #599 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    Sam’s journey is informed by the three main antagonists he encounters over the course of this run. One is Muse, who I consider to be the first member of Blindspot’s rogues gallery rather than an addition to Daredevil’s (how cool is that?!), one is the Punisher (who he encounters in DD/Punisher: Seventh Circle), and one is Tenfingers-- and by extension, the Hand. All of these challenge Sam’s superhero aspirations and force him to decide what kind of hero he wants to be. I loved Muse and Sam’s dynamic, and found the Hand a bit less compelling. (I really like the Hand, and they can be used well, but they lacked depth in this run.) But they are significant in shaping Sam’s character development, and they also tie into arguably the biggest theme of his origin story: family. 

    Sam wants to take Tenfingers down to save Chinatown-- but more than that, to save his mother. When he is blinded and grows disillusioned with hero work, his mother calls on the Hand to heal him and train him. Sam’s blinding is another weak area of his story. I would have found it more compelling if he had remained blind (this is Daredevil, after all!) rather than being magically healed right away. While having the Beast restore his eyes causes big problems down the road, it still feels like a side-step away from what could have been a much more interesting twist in Sam’s story. I was at least expecting the eyes themselves to cause him problems, since they’re obviously not normal eyes, but they never did. That whole story arc felt underdeveloped, which was disappointing. However! What really matters is that Sam’s time with the Hand challenges him in character-defining ways. They train him and turn him cynical about traditional superhero morality. His mother pays for the Hand’s help by promising her soul to the Beast, and to save her, Sam settles on a morally grey solution: trading her soul for Matt’s.  

Lu Wei: “You are thinking foolish thoughts. I can see them in your eyes. The eyes Daredevil took from you. The eyes I sold my very soul to give you back.”

Sam: “You really want us to just go? To forget every evil thing we did here... and maybe, if we want something bad enough, do it again? Moving through life like sharks, preying on anyone useful? No, Mother. I reject that.”

Lu Wei: “You reject me? I have given you everything, Samuel! My life for you! Every choice I’ve ever made.”

Sam: “I know that, and I love you for it. I always will. It’s like you said... only one thing matters. Family.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #28 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    Once again, this plot point is weakened by the lack of emotion in this run. We know that Sam’s relationship with his mother is complicated. She is a good person who has become ruthless as a way of protecting herself and her family from all of the difficulties in their life. Sam clearly loves her. But we don’t see enough of this relationship (or, for that matter, Sam’s relationship with his sister Hannah) to make this story as powerful as it should be. Sam is forced to choose between trading Matt for his mother or trying to save both, and despite his new cynicism and all of the pressures in his life-- from both his mother and the Hand-- to become a killer, Sam makes a heroic-yet-futile choice and tries to save both of them. This results in his mother’s death which, in spite of the lack of development mentioned above, is still one of the most powerful moments in the whole run. 

Daredevil vol. 5 #28 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    This serves as a turning point for Sam that carries over into the rest of the run. Despite everything he has been through and all he has lost, he decides that he still wants to be a compassionate person.

Beast: “You have taken our gifts, Samuel... now, you must repay us. One death. A small thing. Think of how many lives Muse’s death with save. This is a small thing we ask.”

Sam: “No... no...”

Beast: “You want this. You know he will kill you if you do not kill him. You do not want to trade your life for his. Reject us, and we will come for you. You cannot use our power and not expect to pay.”

Sam: “No. I do reject you. I reject death.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #600 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

    While Sam fades out of the story toward the end of the run (he didn’t get to meet Mike!) he plays a major part in battling the Hand when they attack New York. This restores his partnership with Matt, allows him to bring his animosity with both the Hand and Muse to a conclusion, and cements his image in the minds of the citizens of New York. Blindspot officially joins the ranks of Marvel’s superhero community, which-- for an undocumented immigrant who has grown  up feeling displaced and unwanted-- means a lot.

Karnik: “Hey! Beast! My name is Nalini Karnik. I am the Police Commissioner of New York. I serve and protect every last one of its citizens. That includes Sam Chung. He is one of us. You want him... come get him.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #605 by Charles Soule, Mike Henderson, and Matt Milla

    This is hopefully only the beginning of Sam’s story, and I look forward to seeing him again-- both in future Daredevil runs, and ideally also within the wider Marvel universe. 

[wendip-week]

Of Masks and Men: Part 4

Abel's eyes widened at the abrupt end to the moment he seemed to be having with his horticultural aunt and uncle. What Grunkle Mason had implied; he didn't like the sound of that. "W-what do you mean? What are you going to do with me?"

"It's just how it sounds, Abel. You know too much, and that, unfortunately, puts our entire race and secret-society at risk," Mason replied, a serious expression etched on the monster's face. "From Dana, to tourists, to the occasional paranormal-investigator looking to leave his mark in the world of science, one little slip-up could be the end of us."

"That means we're going to have to take drastic steps, I'm afraid," said Wendy, somberly shaking her head, a slight rustle sounding from the leaves in her red-hair. "One way or another, you can't be allowed to give us away."

Abel quickly replied, "I won't tell anyone. I swear!"

"First, we don't allow swearing in our house," the plant-woman said.

"And second," Mason continued, removing a rubber glove (one made to resemble a human-hand) and revealing a brown, wooden hand resembling the end of a tree-branch. "that's a chance we just can't take." The male Pistachion stretched out his exposed hand, which disassembled into vines and extended past his human nephew towards a nearby desk. To Abel, that would have been really cool in a movie. A moment later, he retracted it, carrying what looked an old-timey laser with a big light bulb.

He held it up for Abel to see. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

Abel stared a moment before a look of recognition crossed his face. "Wait a minute, isn't that one of those memory guns or something from the Journals?"

"Yes. This gun is designed to erase specific memories from the target. We could erase this entire afternoon from your brain. You wouldn't feel a thing, and by morning, it would seem like just another day."

"Well..." started Abel.

"There's just one problem, though," Wendy said, cutting the boy off. "There's a pretty high chance it might cause mental-issues, especially if you do that more than once. Not exactly something you might want; and nothing we really want to put up with. Plus, how would we explain that to your grandma?"

"Then there's Option 2," said Mason, looking toward the tarp his nephew was tied up in front of. "This." His wife reached over and pulled it off, revealing a more modern interpretation of a ray gun. "It's one of the MULCH devices we use to convert humans who would benefit us or learn something they shouldn't into plant-people like us."

"Oh, crud! No! Please, just no!"

"Of course, there's still the issue with my sister. I doubt, even with a rubber costume, you'd fool her, your grandfather, or your sister for long."

"And we're really not in the business of turning family, anyway," the female Pistachion interjected. "We didn't do it with Mabel, and we aren't about to start now."

Abel's great-uncle stepped forward, looming over his nephew, now looking rather somber. "Sadly, if we can't do anything that'll leave you living with some kind of permanent effect, there's only one option left."

"Mason, wait. Are you sure there's nothing else to be done? He's our nephew; Mabel's grandson."

"I'm afraid not, my love. Either he knows, or he gets changed somehow. But this way is our only choice. This kind of thing happens all the time around here. And Mabel wouldn't suspect a thing," the scientist reasoned.

The pistachio-headed redhead had a despairing look on her face before turning away. "Okay," she whispered. "But you have to do it. I-I can't bear to watch."

"I understand. I'll tell you when it's over." The male-Pistachion turned back toward his great-nephew.

The young pre-teen started thrashing real hard, struggling to break his bonds (to no avail). Finally giving up, he stared back at his former-hero. "Grunkle Mason, please don't!"

"I'm sorry." The Pistachion slowly reached forward, just beneath Abel's head. Too frightened to look, the boy closed his eyes, ready for the end. He felt the wooden fingers brush against his neck. He felt a snap...

Only to feel the vines tying him to his chair slacken significantly. His eyes shot open. Abel looked down and discovered they had fallen off. And the humanoid pistachio-tree that was his great-uncle wasn't reaching toward him anymore. Abel looked up; the man had his arms folded, and he was... grinning?

"W-what is this? What's going on?!" You didn't need to see to realize that confusion and exasperation were on the young man's face.

"We're letting you go," the Pistachion replied simply.

"What? I don't... what?" He heard giggling to the side. He turned to see his great-aunt with her hand over her mouth, trying and failing to suppress her laughter. "Aunt Wendy?"

"Sorry, but what did you think we were about to do? Hurt you? We're your family, dude."

"But I... I thought... Wait, was letting me out the plan the entire time?" Abel asked, still trying to wrap his head around these developments."

"Basically," Mason said with a shrug.

"But-but why all the tricks and tying me up and stuff? Couldn't you have just let me go, or maybe tell me you're going to after you're done talking?"

Wendy rolled her red eyes. "Yeah, like you'd buy our story. 'The pistachio-monsters cornered their human-nephew... to talk to him!!! Dun-dun-duhhhhn!' We had to get you to listen somehow."

Abel groaned as he stood up. "Point taken."

Mason patted him on the shoulder. "Welcome to Gravity Falls. Believe it or not, this is nothing compared to what we've been through, even at your age."

Wendy: "He's right. When I was a human-teenager, I once got turned into a tapestry. Needless to say, when you're not even a person, you kind of appreciate the simple things in life. Well, once you're a person again and actually alive and sentient enough to appreciate life, anyway."

"The nightmares from that..." Mason reminisced. "Anyway, I bet you're still trying to make sense of all of this. Got any more questions?"

Abel looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually... this explains a lot of things. This is why we don't see you that often, isn't it? You're trying to hide your secret."

"Well, I suppose that's part of it," said Mason. "We do live in another State you know. Plus, our work does sometimes require travel."

"Plus, man, we really don't like leaving Gravity Falls."

"True. You've read about the weirdness of Gravity Falls itself. Right, Abel?"

"Sure. Something about it being a magnet for that stuff?"

"Yes. The valley seems to draw in weirdness. It's essentially the highest-concentrated source in the world. Wendy and I... we basically feel drawn to it. Of course, we called this place our home long before we were MULCH-ed, and we aren't bound inside the weirdness-barrier surrounding the valley, so whether that's a contributing factor is debatable."

Wendy nodded. "And as far as weirdness goes, we're basically a 6 or a 7 on a ten-scale. Anyway, enough about that. What else makes sense to you?"

Abel smirked. "The nut-puns." His aunt and uncle just stared quizzically. "Seriously, 'nut-jobber'? Or how about Aunty Wendy saying how you've always been nuts for her? And there's that joke Grunkle Dipper always says while you're out of earshot."

"What joke?" the redhead asked.

"Wait, maybe we should change-"

"Oh, no. I wanna hear this," Wendy said, not giving her husband a chance to finish that sentence.

"That you're a nut with a rubber bu-"

"Next question!" Mason almost shouted, clearly embarrassed.

"Then there's the thing with Dana's soda and her music..."

Wendy sighed. "Yeah, sorry. Certain soda-brands are potentially lethal to our kind. We're not taking any chances with something unfamiliar. Trust me, she'll get it back later. As for her songs, I just don't like Straight Blanchin' and Chop-Chop. Sue me."

"Okay... I guess this is also why you two lock your bedroom door every night: so Dana and I can't see you without your masks on."

"Yes!" Mason replied (rather quickly, too). "Let's just go with that!"

"Uh, agreed!" said Wendy. "Anything else?"

"Umm... actually, something is bothering me. I'm not complaining, but you said I know too much. Why would you just let me go? I could expose you."

Mason gave a toothy-smile. "True... I guess we're just going to have to trust you with our secret."

"But we really can't have you telling anyone," said Wendy. "And we mean ANYONE."

"Even Dana?" Abel asked?

The Pistachion spouses looked at each other for a moment. Mason turned back to his nephew. "Listen, we're not trying to drive a wedge between you two, but this is strictly need-to-know. My great-uncle Ford trusted me with a secret once that I couldn't share. While that was logical, there was some disdain in there for family due to old, untreated wounds. This isn't like that; we just can't risk anything. We're asking you not to say anything to anyone. Please."

Abel paused a moment, seemingly mulling over all of this. He looked at the two. "I promise," he said with a sigh.

"Excellent," his aunt replied. "And hey! Next time your sister has a slumber party, maybe we can invite the family over and you can see us as we really are."

"Really?" asked Abel. "Man, I think the way I see the world has changed. I have got so much to think about this summer."

"Well, you can start that thinking in your room," said Mason. "You're grounded for the rest of the day."

"Wait, what?"

"Dude, you pulled your uncle's hair. Imagine if it had been real. And even if it was a regular toupee, that would have just been disrespectful."

"But it was Dana's dare!" the pre-teen boy argued.

"And she's grounded, too, as soon as we find her. Take the elevator up and go home. Don't tell the Ramirezes what went down just now. They think you were treated for an alien disease," said Mason. "Your aunt and I will follow; we need to get our masks back on."

"Fine..." he said, defeated.

The two Pistachions waited for their nephew to get inside before they replaced their masks.

"Well, that was something," said Wendy.

"Yeah," her husband replied. "Do you think we're doing the right thing by letting Abel in on this? There definitely is a risk, even if he has no intention of betraying us."

"Well, you said we should make it a point to reconnect with the family outside of the Falls. In fact, isn't that the reason we agreed to look after Abel and Dana? To bond with them? What better way is there than to show that we trust them?"

"But what if Dana finds out? Will that hurt our bond with her or her bond with her brother?"

"If she finds out, she finds out. It'll be alright. Whether things get tense or not, it'll be alright. You and Mabel always seem to hammer things out. Heck, Stan and Ford managed to find that old brotherly-bond they lost years ago. And that's just sibling-bombshells."

Mason chuckled. "You always know what to say, don't you?"

Wendy smirked. "Better believe it. The same way you always somehow give me faith in general just by being you... Dip." She gave the her nut-like spouse a peck on the cheek. "Now straighten your mask and get moving! I'll follow in a bit."

Mason looked confused. "Why?"

Wendy folded her arms. "You think I'm going to give you an opportunity to look at my 'rubber-butt' as we walk home? Forget it, Mister."

Mason gave a half-amused groan. "I'm in the doghouse, aren't I?"

"Pretty much… at least until you make it up to me."

"Well, I'm sure I can think of something."

The End

//

Well, that's the finale. I hope you all enjoyed this. And if it wasn't clear, yes, this is technically a crossover, or rather a sequel to a crossover, with Milo Murphy's Law, which I wrote for Wendip Week. Take care.

[ink-logging]

More Superhero Comics, Revealing My Reactionary and Facile Engagement with Art as Little More Than the  Accrual of Social Capital, Benefiting Nobody But Myself, 4/7/19

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol. 4: The Tempest #5 (of 6), Alan Moore, Kevin O’Neill, Ben Dimagmaliw, Todd Klein: This is an often very funny issue, set up like a pasted-together UK edition of old US pre-Code horror and crime comics, which, in addition to being funny, plumps up the page count as the plot moves maybe two or three tics forward in advance of the very-last-issue-of-LoEG-ever. The conservative in me wonders why we’re being this digressive in the penultimate number of the entire saga, but then -- at least since “The Black Dossier” -- this project has been more about positioning various strands of fiction and their accrued cultural baggage against one another than telling a propulsive adventure story. Anyway: the realm of Faerie, having easily survived an attempted nuclear strike on the collective imagination by a military-corporate black ops fiction squad comprised entirely of various revamps of James Bond, has brought in every character from every game, comic, cartoon, TV show, movie and book reality with everything for a HUGE apocalypse! 

Scenes of bedlam involve: the life story of Victorian painter and murderer Richard Dadd; cameos by Stardust the Super Wizard and David Britton’s Lord Horror; the oeuvre of musician Warren Zevon, brought to terrifying life; a Corbenesque image of a nude muscleman’s massive dick flapping into battle in 3-D; Mick Anglo’s Captain Universe, presented by Moore in unmistakable evocation of his own Marvelman/Miracleman stories of decades ago; a ghost wearing the word CRIME on his head a la Charles Biro’s Mr. Crime, the greatest American comic book horror host; at least one figure from the annals of racist caricature firing powerful sound waves from his mouth; a monster named Demogorgon, the leviathan of Populism, which the heroes allegorically cross as a footbridge en route to a safehouse named the Character Ark; a page-long parody of Batman (via the forgotten UK superhero playboy character the Flash Avenger), describing his origin as motivated entirely by hatred of the poor; a text feature telling of UK comics artist Denis McLoughlin, who worked consistently since the end of WWII, never made enough money to retire, and spent decades as an elderly man drawing for survival on titles he hated, eventually taking his own life in his 80s; and the secret of what happened to all the British superhero characters after the midcentury, which is that they were all eaten by Capitalism, pretty much. I laughed a bunch, but if you think LoEG is tedious shit, this probably won’t turn you around.         

*

Savage Dragon #242, Erik Larsen, Ferran Delgado, Nikos Koutsis, Mike Toris: The latest installment of the longest-running Image comic written and drawn by one of the Image founders, now deeply dove into problematic network tv drama stuff. The Dragon’s relationship with his partner Maxine is still strained in the wake of her sexual assault, a video of which the Dragon viewed in the police archives; meanwhile, the mother of one of the Dragon’s young children has been telling them all the truth about their parentage, further disrupting the peace of the household. Also, a formerly aggressive sex robot has joined the gang, dressed as an anime maid. And, the Dragon reluctantly teams up with the mid-’00s-vintage sexy heroine character Ant (which Larsen purchased from creator Mario Gully a few years ago) to foil a scheme by elderly elites to project themselves into the bodies of mythic gods in order to provoke the Rapture. Most interesting to me, however, is a bonus segment in which Larsen presents newly-lettered pages of his preliminary solo work on “Spawn” #266 (Oct. 2016), which would later be filled out by contributions from Todd McFarlane, colorist FCO Plascenscia, and letterer Tom Orzechowski. 

As usual, I prefer the ‘unfinished’ version (top) to the official release product (bottom).

*

Superman Giant #9, Erika Rothberg, ed. 

&

Batman Giant #9, Robin Wildman, ed.

These are two of those 100-page DC superhero packages they sell for five bucks exclusively at Walmart (for now; later this year they’re gonna have them in comic book stores too), which marry one new 12-page story per issue with three full-length reprint comic books from elsewhere in the 21st century. I just wanted to know what was inside them. Here is what I found:

-The new Batman comic is written by Brian Michael Bendis as a very conspicuously all-ages prospect, where the story is about nothing more than what it’s about, and the title character is presented as a serious-minded but inquisitive and compassionate man of adventure. This issue -- just in time for the remix of “Old Town Road” featuring Billy Ray Cyrus -- Batman and Green Lantern travel back to the Old West, trade in their superhero outfits for cowboy clothes, and meet up with Jonah Hex. Nick Derington draws the heroes smooth and squinting with Swanian sincerity, and Dave Stewart colors it all bright and sunny. This is not my thing at all, but it’s confident to the point of acting like almost a rebuke to the rest of the book, where literally everything else is chapter whatever of a nighttime doom ballad drawn by either Jim Lee or something trying very hard to look like him. 

-Like:

I can spot the differences, sure - if nothing else, reading superhero comics trains you to spot differences in otherwise similar things. But, there is absolutely an aesthetic at work. The top page is from an issue of “Nightwing” that tied into the 2012 “Night of the Owls” crossover in the Batman titles, produced by a seven-person drawing and coloring team fronted by pencillers Eddy Barrows & Andres Guinaldo. The writer, Kyle Higgins, has Dick Grayson fight his semi-immortal great-grandfather, who is an assassin for the Court of Owls: one of the more popular recent Batman organizations of villainy, presented here as a fascist group mediating society’s function through murder from the gray space between social classes. The Graysons, therefore, are the Gray Sons, but Nightwing resists the pull of destiny by winning a big fight, slinging the villain over his shoulder, and walking away toward a better future of just beating the shit out of bad people instead of killing them, I think. The Batgirl story -- from 2011, written by Gail Simone -- is comparatively orthodox, finding the character gripped with uncertainty about the superhero life and going about some downtime character-building activities, though most of it’s a big fight with a villain with a tragic past. The penciller, Ardian Syaf, kind of has trouble blocking the action so that characters’ movements are clear; I think Syaf is best known for having his contract with Marvel terminated in 2017 for slipping what were widely interpreted as anti-Christian and antisemitic references to Indonesian politics into an X-Men comic. 

-There is a whole lot of Jeph Loeb among the reprints. He is not a writer who has been in critical fashion for much the past two decades, but he has undoubtedly sold a lot of comics for DC, and they probably feel he can do it again. The Batman book is serializing (deep breath) “Hush”, a 2002-03 storyline notable for its extraordinarily easy-to-solve central mystery, and generally being a taped-together excuse for Jim Lee to draw as many popular Batman characters as possible across 12 issues; it sold like hot cakes. The highlight of chapter 9 is probably a bit where a three person fight ends in one panel, and then one of the characters leaves, and then a second character wakes up from unconsciousness and also leaves, and then the first character comes back and nurses the third (also unconscious) character back to health, and then Batman arrives, all in the transition between the aforementioned panel and the next, which takes place in the same room; such is the befuddling desire to race ahead to more spectacle. Jim Lee (with Scott Williams and Alex Sinclair) is indeed Jim Lee (et al.) throughout, though at one point the team drops a howler of a swordfighting panel where Batman’s blade appears to grows to JRPG length due to what I think is the colorist filling two whoosh lines with the same hue as the swords.      

Meanwhile, the Superman book is serializing a 2004 storyline from “Superman/Batman” -- the series where Loeb has Superman describe the action on the page with his own Superman-branded captions, and Batman does the same with Bat-captions, and Superman says tomayto and Batman says tomahto -- in which the late Michael Turner, one of the rock star 2nd generation Image artists, illustrates a new introduction for Supergirl. But this isn’t quite the same comic that was originally published... can YOU spot the difference?

Is this like how Walmart won’t sell CDs that have an explicit content sticker, but with teen superhero g-strings? It’s hard to explain to younger readers how the low-rise/thong panties combo forever sealed the horniness of a generation of het male superhero artists into the late 1990s, and maybe DC doesn’t want to face that. Or, they’re just leery of how Turner slipping some peekaboo glimpse of Supergirl’s underpants or bare thighs into virtually every panel in which she is depicted below the waist might affect the marketability of the comic in 2019 - although I guess it could have happened in an earlier reprint somewhere too.

-The new Superman comic is a series of 12 splash pages depicting a race between Superman and the Flash. There is very little sense of speed, because Andy Kubert (inked by Sandra Hope, colored by Brad Anderson) draws the characters as frozen in time in a way that prioritizes muscular tension in the manner of contemporary superhero cover art; at one point the two characters part the sea with the force of their bodies, and it looks to me like they’re gesticulating in front of a theatrical backdrop. And, anyway, the story pulls back almost every other page to depict Batman standing on a ledge, or Lex Luthor in a sinister chair -- or some birds flying next to a building, or the Earth as viewed from space with streaks on it -- as the race occurs deep in the background or off to one side. The point is not excitement, but reflection, as imposed upon us by the between 13 and 21 narrative captions and/or dialogue balloons pasted atop all but the first page. 

The writer is Tom King, whose “Mister Miracle” (with artist Mitch Gerads) gets a double-page advertisement later in the book, festooned with breathless blurbs from major media outlets. His narrator here is a little girl who is literally chained in captivity, clutching a Superman doll, and delivering her soliloquy in a manner of a superhero-themed TED talk with handclap repetitions on the nature of contradiction. Being faster than a speeding bullet is a CONTRADICTION. Being as strong as a locomotive is a CONTRADICTION. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound is a CONTRADICTION. Superman is about to lose the race, but then he wins, because to beat the Fastest Man Alive is... a contradiction. No wonder the GQ entertainment desk was blown away. DC comics do this kind of thing a lot, where they just have the writer tell you how great the characters are, and since you’re still reading superhero comics in the 21st century, you’re expected to pump your fists in recognition, because you and the writer and everyone at DC are just big ol’ fans... but I am not, because I am Jesus Christ, the only son of God. 

-Elsewhere in the Superman book is an issue of “Green Lantern” from 2006, drawn by Ethan Van Sciver (inked with Prentis Rollins, colored by Moose Baumann), who is known today mostly as a conservative ‘personality’ online. He also netted more than half a million dollars last July in a crowdfunding campaign to make a 48-page comic book which he has not yet finished; funny to see an American right-winger on the French schedule. Funnier still to see the kind of people (mostly guys of a certain age) who mill around such personalities croaking about how diversity is ruining comics, because ALMOST EVERY FUCKING STORY IN BOTH OF THESE 100-PAGE BOOKS IS DRAWN BY EITHER SOME DUDE FROM THE 1990s OR SOMEBODY WORKING EXPLICITLY IN THAT STYLE, but - I guess when you’ve been pampered for so long, every paper cut feels like a ripped limb. Speaking of dismemberment, the writer here is Geoff Johns, who is often pegged as a superhero traditionalist, though he also has a grasp of gory pomp which occasionally pushes the comics he writes into a Venn diagram set with loud youth manga... at least in terms of how the action plays out, all broad and pained. So, needless to say, he’s currently writing “Doomsday Clock”, which is DC’s present attempt to extend the publication life of the valuable “Watchmen” property, so that they needn’t return it to the original creators, per the original writer, Alan Moore.  

-To hear Alan Moore say it, the America’s Best Comics line was done on a work-for-hire basis as a means of ensuring prompt payment of the various creators from Jim Lee’s WildStorm, the original publisher. WildStorm was then acquired by DC (Jim Lee is now their co-publisher and chief creative officer), and Moore -- who has been (fairly) criticized in the past for taking ethical stances that cause financial harm to his artistic collaborators, who are in a less economically flexible position than writers in the comic book field -- allowed the line to continue under DC’s ownership, as to cancel everything would disadvantage everyone working on the titles. One of those titles, “Tom Strong”, was written by Moore and pencilled by Chris Sprouse for a while, and then there was a long line of guest creators, and then Moore and Sprouse came back when the ABC line wrapped, so that the concept could reach its logical termination point in an apocalyptic manner... Moore does love an apocalypse. The final story in the Superman book is a very recent, late 2018 issue of “The Terrifics”, in which we find an attempt to revive the DC-owned Tom Strong characters as players in broader DC stories. Jeff Lemire & José Luís are the primary creators. Jack Cole’s Plastic Man is there, as well as the John Ostrander/Tom Mandrake version of Mister Terrific. It’s a lot of offbeat characters; we even see Moore’s own parody of Hoppy the Marvel Bunny, because, I mean, Alan Moore does a lot of riffs on preexisting characters too, right? It’s a big blob of cartoon whimsy, filled with available characters running around. If they’re available, you might as well roll ‘em out, off the new releases rack and into a supermarket reprint package stacked in a box next to squeeze toys and discount Pokémon merchandise, which I bought, because it was really cheap.

-Jog                   

[ibmiller]

Hey so you seem to know stuff about Steph (obviously) and mid-2000s Batman stuff, do you have any ideas about what might've changed if War Games hadn't happened? This is something I've been poking at but there's a lot of major events going on in the comics at that general point in time and it gets confusing, I'm pretty sure Tim and Cass wouldn't be in Bludhaven for instance (would Tim even be back as Robin?) but I can't guess at much else and I'd like some more knowledgeable input

Thanks for the question!

I think the question of “what would have happened without War Games” is really a question of “what would have happened if DC hadn’t decided to go grim and edgy in 2004-2006″. To me, that means a couple of things.

1) Identity Crisis doesn’t happen, or if it does, they don’t push to have it include rape, heroes becoming murderers and brainwashers, and deaths calculated to be as nasty as possible. In terms of the Batfamily, I’m speaking specifically about the death of Tim’s father.

2) Infinite Crisis isn’t as destructive, both in-universe (with Cass not going evil), or out of universe (with Greg Rucka getting fired from Wonder Woman - I just did a runthrough on Comichron to see what his sales were like, and there was definitely an artificial boost from the various tie-ins he’d gotten, but it seemed like they could have let him do at least one more year on the book). One Year Later is a huge mixed bag, with an attempt to push both lighter, more fun and hopeful directions (with Paul Dini and to some extent Grant Morrison in the Batman stuff) and really dark, grim stuff, with the weekly miniseries “52″ covering both sides of that push.

Obviously, these are some of the events you’re talking about when you say that comics from about 2004-2007 were quite confusing. As someone who simply doesn’t read anything with “Crisis” in the title, I’m not a huge help to you on that front (outside of reading wiki summaries :) ), but I do think that there was a real problem from the end of War Games to the beginning of Grant Morrison’s “Bat-Epic” (in roughly 2006-7). You do have some fondly remembered things, most noteably “Under the Hood/Under the Red Hood” where Jason returns, but outside of the fact of his return, I think more people seem to fondly remember the animated version of that storyline, rather than the actual story. What DC chose to do with Jason for the next 4 years was kind of frustrating, too.

I would be very curious to know how much the architects of War Games knew about Jason’s return. People say that Hush, in 2003, foreshadowed Jason’s return, but so much of War Games was hammering home two things:

1) Batman is super sad because Jason is super dead and will never come back

2) Stephanie is too much like Jason, including being dead

In terms of the nitty gritty: If you remove War Games, you probably also have to remove Identity Crisis when it comes to Tim’s storyline, because so much of what they built for that character had to do with him being sad and alone because Steph and his dad die, and there’s all the drama of him being Robin because his father finds out. Honestly, once his father found out, his father was almost certainly dead, because DC wasn’t cool with people knowing Batman’s secret identity back then (these days they seem much less hardcore about it, though they don’t give it out like candy). So I think Tim’s father wouldn’t have found out, and Tim wouldn’t have quit, thus Steph wouldn’t have been Robin. All of those massive changes were just put in to service the overall story of War Games and Identity Crisis, and make Tim sadder. 

Cass had some fun stuff going on in Bludhaven, but her character was kind of aimless due to creative shifts (it’s been a few years since I did my blitz through her solo series, and I didn’t make careful note of issues or dates, so I’ll be interested to see what Cass fans have to say about my impressions here). It’s actually an interesting question if the writer during War Games, Dylan Horrocks, would have quit if War Games hadn’t happened, since it seems to me that he was deeply unhappy with having to write that story, and it contributed to the problems which led to him leaving the title. Many Cass fans are a bit torn about Horrock’s run, so I don’t know, long term, if they would have been excited about that, or would have preferred Gabrych to come on when he did. I don’t know who pitched the end of Cass’s series being the revelation that Shiva is her mother, but a lot of that seems directly tied into the fallout of War Games (with dead Steph appearing in a dream), so it’s possible that either they wouldn’t have chosen that direction for Cass, or it wouldn’t have been as harsh an ending as it turned out to be for the title.

The other major Bat-title that I know about from that time is Birds of Prey. That period was smack in the middle of Gail Simone’s amazing first run. That book was profoundly impacted by War Games - the Birds’ main base, the Clocktower, was blown up, and they moved out of Gotham and started having more international adventures again (as they did in the Chuck Dixon run). This was all part of the “Make Batman be alone again” plan, and was stupid - but Simone did a wonderful job, showing Dinah (who’d mentored Steph a few times) mourning, and Babs using Steph’s story to scare Misfit into not claiming the Batgirl title for herself. The Birds title didn’t often impact the main Batman line, and it’s unlikely that much would have changed in terms of the storylines Simone wanted to tell. But the framing likely would have changed significantly - she might have not set as many stories outside of Gotham, and she might have been able to write her favorite Batman (the hugger) a bit more.

Without those two stories, I think Tim continues to be Robin, and Steph probably continues to be a fun girlfriend, but not really growing or changing that much (both Jon Lewis and Bill Willingham liked using her, but didn’t really seem to have any plotlines devoted to her that weren’t editorially dictated). Without a Chuck Dixon, Bryan Q. Miller, or James Tynion, Steph was probably just going to keep being a supporting character, instead of getting a chance to be a solo or lead. This one fact, actually, is a large part of why, even with how stupid the event got, I’m somewhat glad that War Games happened, because Steph got three months as a lead, solo character, and fans really rallied to her, and even more after her death felt so unfair. Without that, I think her fans would have continued at pretty low levels - people loved her, but they didn’t see her as representative of something really key - the outsider who desperately wanted to be in. Without War Games, we don’t get the redemption story of her Batgirl run, and we don’t get fans who cheered when James Tynion brought her back as Spoiler in Batman Eternal.

[disruptedvice]

Cooking fluff (b99 fic)

Because everything over on ao3 looked sad

Summary:

Jake is an amazing cook. Amy didn't find this out about him until after they started dating.

Over all the years she had known him as her partner, she assumed he was a horrible cook, because why else would he choose to eat mayo nut spoonsies if he could make something actually edible.

Amy was the worst cook she knew, but even she wouldn't sink that low. She’d rather eat tree bark than the nasty concoctions that he came up with.

Then, one night, Jake decided to “spontaneously” make dinner from scratch. She thought they’d order in pizza and continue their movie night, but he said he had a better idea, and told her to sit back and relax on the couch while he fixed something up.

She only waited a few minutes before checking on him, because she was genuinely worried about Jake making something she was expected to eat.

AO3 Link

___________

Cooking fluff ___________

Jake is an amazing cook. Amy didn't find this out about him until after they started dating. In fact, it was a few month into their romantic relationship before she got even a hint of how good her boyfriend was at making meals.

Over all the years she had known him as her partner, she assumed he was a horrible cook, because why else would he choose to eat mayo nut spoonsies if he could make something actually edible.

Amy was the worst cook she knew, but even she wouldn't sink that low. She’d rather eat tree bark than the nasty concoctions that he came up with.

Then, one night, Jake decided to “spontaneously” make dinner from scratch. She thought they’d order in pizza and continue their movie night, but he said he had a better idea, and told her to sit back and relax on the couch while he fixed something up.

She only waited a few minutes before checking on him, because she was genuinely worried about Jake making something she was expected to eat.

She found him in the kitchen, his back towards her, facing the stove and sprinkling spices over something.

The scent wafting over to her nostrils was mouthwatering, though.

Over his shoulder she could see some sort of vegetables covered and being steamed, a pot of water filled with potatoes, and a skillet that's sizzling chicken covered in some intoxicating spices that she could almost taste on her tongue.

“How in the world did you manage this?” She near gasped, and Jake looked back over his shoulder, noticing her standing there for the first time.

“I know it seems like a miracle compared to you, but most people have at least some ability to cook.”

“I know I suck in the kitchen, but I’ve watched plenty of other people mix and bake. This is not just ‘some ability,’ Jake,” she told him. “It's not even finished yet, and it's already the best thing I've ever smelled. When did you start cooking? How could you not tell me you started cooking?” Amy knew this had to be a recent development, and she couldn't believe that Jake didn't tell her when he started learning how to cook.

“I've always had a bit of master chef in me,” Jake answered. “But I've been a great cook for forever. Learned when I was a kid, so pretty much my whole life”.

“There is no way you've been great at cooking since before I met you,” Amy scoffed, immediately dismissing such an unbelievable claim. “This would be the best secret talent anyone's ever hidden and you're the last person to hide even your worst talents. No way. If you could always cook this well, why would you reduce yourself to eating gummy bears dipped in chocolate milk when you had the skill to make something that wasn't disgusting? No way you've kept this secret talent hidden the whole time I've known you. You didn't always have this. I would've known.”

“First off, gummy bears and chocolate milk are delicious,” he corrected her vehemently. “I eat them because they're delicious. Second off, is it really that hard to believe? Single mom, remember. Had to cook for myself a lot. Though my nana was the one who taught me how to actually do it well. I had years of practice before I even got to high school. Whole life. Well, I wasn't allowed to touch the stove until I was ten, but even before that I did all the mixing and spices with the rest of the ingredients when Nana did the hot stuff so I wouldn't burn myself.” ___________

Amy narrowed her eyes. She wanted to believe him, she really did. But this was Jake.

“Okay, where did you get the ingredients? No way you ran down to the store and back in 180 seconds without me hearing the door even if you had superhuman speed. I would've heard from the couch if some sweet old neighbor of yours brought over some fresh ingredients when you texted them cooking 911. You couldn't have gotten these in the time I was just in the other room without me noticing. How do you explain that then, mister?” She jabbed his shoulder with her finger, and Jake chuckled at her accusatory tone.

“I got them from my fridge, Amy. Hate to disappoint when you think I have some power to make food appear out of nowhere, cause that would be the best power in the history of ever, and I would so not use that power for good. But no dice. We were talking in the other room, I walked in here, pulled everything out of my fridge, then started cooking. I'm not that sneaky to have covert ingredient deliveries. Hate to burst your bubble.”

“Jake, I've seen the inside of your fridge many times before. I've seen the horrors you keep stocked in there. You don't keep fresh things that any human can stomach other than you. I don't even open your fridge anymore when I'm looking for a snack, because I know the exact kind of ‘food’ you keep in there. You never have anything like this handy. Fresh ingredients are the kinds of things you have to buy in advance. Maybe if you were actually a healthy eater it wouldn't be suspicious if you just pulled stuff like this out of your fridge without warning.”

She thought she had him there.

“Maybe this meal is a little less spontaneous than I initially led you to believe,” Jake said casually as he lifted the lid off the vegetables and stirred them, when she knew it was anything but.

That he had actually been planning this, even though he was too embarrassed to let her know that. And it was probably the most adorable thing ever all the effort he put into it, and all the effort he put into hiding all that effort. Jake trying to pretend that not ordering in tonight was one of those Jake Peralta whims when he had actually been planning this at least a day or two in advance.

Instead of replying to his confession, Amy just hugged him from behind.

He stiffened for a millisecond after her surprise embrace and his not at all casual meaningfulness, but he relaxed into her two milliseconds later.

“Thank you,” she murmured, kissing the back of his neck sweetly. Without even looking, she knew he was smiling. ___________

“Oh my god, that was amazing. You should cook like this more often,” Amy said, actually pushing away her empty plate with a groan after she finished off her seconds. She’d been singing him praises the whole time they ate, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen Jake smile at her so happily and shyly as he did with every compliment. She swore he actually blushed a couple times. “We could do it together, you know,” she suggested.

Jake raised a curious eyebrow, leaning forward, like he was subconsciously trying to get closer to her sitting across from him.

“Cooking, I mean,” Amy clarified. “If you wanted to do something like this again. We could do it together. Or I could try and help. Cause you know I’m no good at cooking myself-”

“You can say that again,” Jake muttered under his breath with a teasing smile. Everyone at the nine nine’s got their fair share of close calls when it came to food prepared by Amy Santiago.

Amy just rolled her eyes. “As I was saying, if you- if you wanted to. If you wanted to pull out your secret cooking talent again, I could try and help out or something, and maybe we could make dinner together sometime.”

“Yeah,” Jake nodded, smiling, without a hint of teasing in it. Just a genuine smile. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” ___________

Then it becomes a thing that they do. ___________

The thing about Jake Peralta cooking is that the end result is always amazing, and he can make things in record time, but he always leaves the kitchen in a disaster area in his wake. It’s really the only way to describe it- he’s just a tornado in the kitchen. He leaves out every single ingredient, and always makes a mess.

The thing about Amy Santiago cooking is that she can’t. Even with someone as good as Jake guiding her. Her last major screw up came when Jake gave her a measuring cup and asked her to fill it with baking powder and dump it in the bowl while he was doing this weird thing called basting to some turkey. They didn’t find out until after they sat down to eat that Amy didn’t fill the measuring cup with baking powder, but baking soda (“What? I thought they were the same thing!” “They’re not! They’re so not! People clean with this stuff, Amy! You use like a teaspoon of baking soda if you’re making bread, and any more than that is the amount you use to scour a bathtub! Why didn’t you just ask? You know I know your kitchen skill level. I wouldn’t have called something anything other than what the label says when I’m cooking with you. There is a very big difference between baking soda and baking powder. Huge difference.”)

So yeah, she’d pretty much lost her ingredient-contribution privileges.

But that turned out to be for the best. Because while Amy was not a chef, she could admit she was a bit of a neat freak. She liked keeping things orderly and clean. And after she was absolved from actually trying to help Jake make amazing meals for the two of them, that’s when their actual kitchen partnership began to shine.

Every time he was making meals she followed his tornado wreckage that he made over the counters and picked up what he left out, the spills and messes he made, and just cleaned up a bit while he continued tearing through the kitchen.

They made great kitchen partners.

Jake liked cooking, he was good at it, and he was incredibly messy. Amy liked cleaning, she was good at it, and she couldn’t cook to save anyone’s life. They were a good match.

___________

~FIN~ ___________

Author’s note: this was lowkey inspired by a comment in a jennamarbles video from two years ago about Julien being a great cook but a tornado around the kitchen leaving a mess, and Jenna following around and picking up the disaster zone cause boy doesn’t know how to throw away a paper towel I thought that sounded like how Jake and Amy’s partnership in a kitchen would be like

So yeah, this fic was conceived of back in 2016, published now because all the peraltiago stuff looked so sad this morning on AO3

[merigreenleaf]

World Building June 2018 - Day 8, Government

The question for today is “How is your world run? Who’s in power?” Government is something I've answered in previous WBJs for Concordia, so I have a pretty good idea for that, but a lot less about the other places on the continent. More info is under the read more link.

Concordia’s ruling government meets in the capital city of Silveridge and is made up of an elected council of nine people who change on a regular basis, probably once every three to five years. Each person represents one of the country’s guilds and is selected by that group to be their representative. (Sometimes I'll use the word “class” to describe the groups of people who work similar trades and tend to hang out together, but it's not a very accurate word because “class” has connotations that aren't accurate. “Guild” is probably what I'll go with.) One person from each of the guilds serves as a representative and any laws passed are decided by majority vote. This means that no one group of people has more say than any other group. The way it's supposed to work is that the chosen representative listens to their colleagues-in-trade and speaks for their guild as a whole, not from their own self-interest. This likely isn't always the case, but it's how it's supposed to work.

So far this is what I've come up with for the nine guilds:

-Artisans: these are the arcane artists. Not every Artisan has magic, but most do; those that don't tend to either marry artists and help with the business side of their art, train to become sentinels (bodyguard-spouses to artists who are part of the Protectorates), or get chosen to be docents, but there are some who decide do none of the above. This is usually a type of diplomatic or scholarly career.

-Protectorates: as close as this culture has to soldiers. They guard the country’s arts and creations; this group include the sentinels, who protect individual artists. Also includes people who protect the population as a whole, such as police and fire and the like, but since the population is so peaceful, most Protectorates guard trade.

-Docents: the historians and record keepers, almost a sort of clergy in a country that doesn't really have religion. Some of the docents travel around the country to serve as judges when someone's accused of a serious crime; the docents' telepathy allows them to see the truth and dispense a mental punishment if necessary. Some of the docents study magic (although they don't themselves have it) including current and past uses of it or keeping track of which buildings and objects need to have the magic inside them refilled before it runs dry. People are selected by docents seemingly at random from the population to train to become one, usually when they're in their teens.

-Merchants: the ones responsible for the country’s trade. I think this is also likely the group in charge of currency and banking and collecting taxes and the like, but this is always overseen by the council. Within this guild are the art dealers who specialize in buying and selling the creations of the Artisans-- I've mentioned before that these people are often a problem.

-Performers: some Artisans do have magic that lends itself to music and performance, but that's separate from the troupes of carnival performers who roam the country and the continent. Concordia is big on entertainment, so there are enough carnies to justify them having a say in the government. Carnies have roles besides performance, too- I mentioned here how they help protect the Artisans by finding and returning art that was stolen from them. They'll also travel around the continent looking for people who have art magic and need training, then bring these people back to Concordia. Basically the carnies are kind of all purpose eyes wherever the country needs eyes.

-Healers: this group includes both healers (the people with healing magic granted by the land) and medics (those without magic). Some are specialized in a specific field, some are general healers. Many of the arcane healers are Protectorates or were once Protectorates before they retired from being guards.

-Tradespeople: the group that make more day-to-day practical things that aren't created by the Artisans. They're not necessary less talented than the Artisans, they just don't have magic. This isn't a bad thing- it means that while the Artisans direct a lot of time on single large projects, the tradesmen are contributing more reliably and regularly.

-Farmers/growers: these are the people who grow and raise the food the country consumes. Concordians do eat meat, but they also use every part of an animal so nothing is grown just for food, so this also falls under the jurisdiction of this group. Many of the farmers are retired Protectorates because Protectorates have a closeness to the land.

-Laborers: they fill in a kind of “and the rest” where it’s everyone else who works to make the country work. I don't really like the term “laborer” because I feel like it implies being less, so I'll change this when I think of a better word.

There are sub-guilds or hierarchies within each of these groups. I know the most about the Artisans’ guild, which also uses the number nine like the ruling council since there are nine branches of art, each headed by a grand master. These grand masters are also chosen by those who share their type of art/magic every few years and these nine people chose from themselves which will represent the Artisans on Concordia's ruling council.

All-in-all, Concordia's government functions well and has the population's best interest in mind. No one is homeless or starving or denied medical care, and everyone is pretty happy with how things are. This post is getting long, so it’s probably fortunate that I don't know a lot yet about how the other countries on the continent are run. I do know that representatives of each country meet regularly in the neutral trade hub at the center of the continent to make sure trade and things are running smoothly and to discuss laws that affect the continent as a whole.

Galanvoth is something of a monarchy since there's one family that has been in power for a long time. That said, I think that because the country is so large, there are secondary families that rule over parts of it. These are still under the control of the ruling family, but have some amount of say in how their own part of the country is run. I'd imagine there are some councils in place in Galanvoth, too, to make sure things run smoothly. This country doesn't function as well as Concordia does, or at least isn't nearly the utopia that Concordia is, but it does function and the population is pretty happy about things.

Know who isn't happy? Most of Monglace. Or most of what's left of Montglace since everyone above ground has vanished and only the people who were exiled underground by the above ground people are still there. This underground city is a theocracy or a … whatever it's called when people with magic rule over a place. The magic users are the clergy and they're the ones with 100% say in what happens-- or at least the people with the strongest magic who are at the top have 100% of the say. Those with weak magic aren't seen as much better than the part of the population that supplies all the labor and I don't think those with weak magic are much happier than the laboring people. This place has only functioned for as long as it has because the common people are afraid of the elemental-controlling magic that the priest/esses have, so they do what they're ordered to do. Even if they could find a way to leave the city when this is something that isn't allowed, they wouldn't get far because they live on a frigid, barren mountain on a frigid, barren island. Considering how much of the population has magic and the most powerful have a tendency to be cruel... yeah, it’s pretty terrifying to think of standing up to them. (Terrifying but not impossible. There is a resistance forming... can I make a pun that it’s an underground underground? Because it’s a secret resistance and the city is underground, you see. Ha ha ha.)

My ideas are still pretty vague for these places, so I'll focus on this later for Galanvoth and Montglace. I think it'll start to come together more once I start planning the books that take place in those locations. If you’d like to be added to my worldbuilding tag list, let me know. If you want off it, also let me know. And please please tag me in any writing stuff that you share. :) (Tumblr’s alert system/activity feed is all screwy right now, but I’ll always interact with stuff I’m tagged in if I see it!) @lynnafred @ageekyreader @worldbuildingwren @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @ghostsmooches @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @dreameronthewind @forlornraven @pen-for-sword @homesteadhorner @shadow-maker @loopyhoopydrabbles @emptymanuscript @madmooninc

Day 1 (Intro to my writing/series) / Day 2 (Geography) / Day 3 (People) / Day 4 (History) / Day 5 (Civilization & Architecture) / Bonus: Art Theft  / Day 6 (Gender & Sexuality) / Day 7 (Economy)

[divinelydivorced]

Goodbye, Grandma

My grandma passed away yesterday morning. Even though we knew it was coming, it is still hard.  Tuesday around 3:50 am, I awoke suddenly and couldn’t quite get back to sleep until 4:30. Come to find out, the end started around four and she was gone around 4:20.  It’s amazing how souls are so connected that we can feel the loss happening at the exact moment it occurs.  The older I get, I am made more aware of how similar my grandma and I are.  I’m proud to have inherited so many of her quirky traits and have come to embrace them.  In fact, I see them as a tribute to the impact she had on my life.  So, in honor of the life my grandma lived, here are the 25 things she has taught me:

1.     Bladder problems ARE a joking matter.  My grandma was a hot mess, God love her. Whether it was peeing her pants in an elevator in front of a bunch of strangers or never leaving a restaurant without a huge stain on her top, she always managed to leave a trail.  Most people would cry or die of embarrassment, but she’d just hee-haw, laughing so hard she’d likely pee again.  She passed on her small bladder and the ability to find humor in the embarrassment to me, which has provided my friends with endless counts of entertaining stories. College friends still text from time to time, “Remember when Adam Harris finally asked you to hang out and you had to say no because you’d just peed on your long sweater and had to shower and change?”  Yes, yes, I remember.  

2.     If you want it, get it.  She always knew what she wanted and wasted no time in purchasing it.  I remember, around age ten, her saying how much she wanted a bird feeder.  I went home and made one out of an old milk carton.  When I showed up to proudly give it to her, only two days later, there in her front yard was a brand new gorgeous wooden one.    

3.     Eat it and get it over with.  My grandma was notorious for eating an entire watermelon in the course of an afternoon.  This also contributed to her bladder problems.  Once, my sister went to take a nap at her house.  While drifting in and out, she caught a whiff of the sweet smell of a butter braid (a very large pastry you’d take to a party).  When she awoke excited for dessert, she went out to discover my grandma had de-thawed it, cooked it, and ate 99% of it in the course of two hours.  To this day, whenever I make any dessert-I eat 99% of it while it’s still hot.  We all know what’s going to happen so just get it over with already.

4.     If it annoys you, get rid of it-no matter its practicality. My grandma loved buying things almost as much as she loved getting rid of those same things three months later.  One time she showed up at mom’s house with a car full of lamps.  She decided she hated lamps and wanted them all gone.  My mom, always the practical one, kept them so when my grandma realized later they were necessary, she wouldn’t have to buy more.  Any of my friends know I’m the same.  I served wine in a juice glass the other day.  My friend asked, “Don’t you have wine glasses?” “I did,” I said, “but just got rid of them.”  “Why? You didn’t use them?” he asked.  “No, I used them all the time.  I just got tired of looking at them.”

5.     Never stop moving.  My grandma moved all the time.  She’d often announce it at the latest holiday dinner.  She would wake up, be suddenly sick of her place, and a month later would be somewhere new.  She once left a home, only to return to it a few years later.  A constant mover myself, I was looking forward to staying in my current place for more than a year (a new record) until I recently found out I had to vacate in 30 days due to construction.  Although annoying and inconvenient, I was not surprised when I found myself thinking the other day, “Actually-I’m kind of over this place, so that worked out.”

6.     Crazy is charming.  My grandma was nuts, as am I.  Yet we embrace the crazy and combine it with big hearts.  That’s why people keep coming back.  A little crazy never hurt anyone…and we are a lot of fun on road trips.

7.     The flu is for sissies.  We’d often stay at her house when we had the flu. Grandma gave us whatever we wanted, which included the time my brother insisted he wanted to eat a bunch of tacos.  You can imagine my mother’s frustration when she arrived to pick him up and found him vomiting ground beef and shredded cheese everywhere.

8.     Pools and convertibles aren’t luxuries, they’re necessities.  Life’s too short.  GET THEM BOTH.

9.     Dogs are our children.  She had an antique cradle for her dog to sleep in and was the first to introduce me to a dog stroller.  I get it and think it makes absolute sense.

10.  You don’t need a man.  Most of my life she’s been single.  Men have chased after her and she’ll let them buy her lunch or keep her company, yet it goes no further.  Because at the end of the day, she’s her own woman and has no need for a full-time man dragging her down.  This is a lesson I’m still learning.

11.  Soap operas are good television.  She lived near the high school, so at lunchtime, my girlfriends and I would take our lunches to eat at her place and watch Days of Our Lives.  Those were some of my favorite memories.  If the show got really intense and it was time for us to go, she’d try convincing us to drive her car back, at age 14, so she didn’t have to leave.  She even took me and my aunt to a Days of Our Lives festival one summer.  When it came to idolizing celebrities, her and I saw eye to eye.

12.  Dairy Queen can be dinner.  When she helped move me to Michigan, we spent a week eating Dairy Queen snicker blizzards for every meal.  She was doing Weight Watchers at the time and, although two of these, met her quota for the day-she was willing to make the sacrifice.  I remember thinking how brilliant this was.  When we got tired of Dairy Queen (rare), we’d hit up the Chinese Buffet.  No excuses and no shame-it’s how we rolled.

13.  Why choose when you can have both.  My grandma loved driving with the windows down.  She also would sweat profusely.  Once, we got in the car on a blazing summer day and I asked if we should turn on the AC or roll down the windows.  Her answer?  Both. We cranked the radio up, let the wind tousle our hair as the cold AC blasted our faces.

14.  Underwear is optional.  In fact, it’s often preferred you go without.

15.  Sing loud and proud.  My grandma had one of those loud operatic voices which she’d use to pelt Amazing Grace in church.  We grandkids would chuckle, but in reality, I always loved how she simply didn’t care. She was singing for Jesus.

16.  Spend your time how you want.  There were years where she’d choose hours of Farmville over leaving the house.  I’ve been known to spend an entire 48 hour weekend playing Sims-taking breaks only to run to the bathroom and grab a snack.  It’s our time-we will do what we want with it, and if that means interacting with computerized lives over human ones, so be it.

17.  There’s always something burning in the oven.  Every holiday she left something in the oven.  EVERY. HOLIDAY.  How no one caught on, I don’t know.  How I managed to inherit this trait, despite being annoyed by it, beats me. It seems the rolls always take the biggest hit…who needs carbs anyway-more DQ.

18.  There’s no time for sentimentality.  At a family event, she once walked out with crates of old photographs-including her wedding photos-and announced to the family she was throwing them away the next morning, so, “grab what you want.”  Everyone started arguing with her and refusing to take anything.  Meanwhile I did a clean sweep, loading boxes into my car.  Later, everyone was grateful because she kept to her word and burned everything I didn’t get my hands on.  Years later, I marched out to the living room with a box full of the photos I’d taken and said to my mom, “I’m throwing all of these away tomorrow, so take what you want.”  You better believe she took them-lesson learned.

19.  Sausage gravy is love.  As long as I knew her, she had a part-time job of sitting with an elderly person, a job I’ve now inherited.  As soon as I could work, she started taking me along and then giving me some of her shifts.  She taught me how to make sausage gravy-the first meal I ever learned to cook.  “Old people love sausage gravy,” she told me. She was right.

20.  Rules are meant to be broken.  My grandma didn’t give a f***.  In fact, she invented the phrase.  Sometimes she’d do stuff simply to get a reaction out of you.  There was no rhyme or reason-she went with her urge. I remember walking through the shoe store with my mom a couple years ago and asking my mom, “Do you ever get a strong desire to just start knocking things over?”  

21.  If it can go in a blender, it should.  Grandma introduced me to smoothies and I’ve never looked back.  “Everything can go in a blender!” she once enthusiastically told me as she threw in leftovers along with fruit and hit “blend.”  Now I buy pineapple in bulk and enough produce to feed a small village for a month.

22.  New fads are meant to be tried.  My grandma purchased every diet pill and vitamin that existed, as well as any exercise devise.  She had one of those machines that shook you, vibrating a strap around your bottom and promising to eliminate cellulite by simply standing there.  She had the utmost confidence they would work.  Each time she’d pull the latest tool or pill out of the box, I’d watch in awe as she demonstrated its powers, believing she’d discovered the secret to staying fit and healthy.  She instilled this hope in me.  I carried a crystal around for weeks once after reading it’d get my period to finally to start.  I paid an obscene amount of money for Cindy Crawford’s miracle elixir, returning it 30 days later, and then surprising myself by purchasing it a second time years later during a 5 am workout binge when the infomercial reappeared.  My recent purchase was a $100 fascia blaster which I use with fervor, while watching Friends episodes, and later have to justify when explaining the bruises on my legs to friends with a, “Yeah, it hurts but I can feel it working!”

23.  Walk everywhere.  It’s great exercise, sure.  But, more importantly, it gives you a chance to catch up on the town gossip.

24.  Careful-you can give a man your yeast infection.  This statement alone is self-explanatory.  Yet my grandma felt the need to retell an in-depth twenty-minute story of how her and my grandpa discovered this to be factual, leaving me scarred for life.

25.  When life pushes back, you push harder.  The beginning of my grandma’s life was not easy.  In fact, as I understand it, it was quite hard. My grandpa rescued her and she fell madly in love.  When he died so young, it would have been easy to give up.  But she didn’t.  She found job after job, she gave of herself whenever she could, and always left people laughing.  She was resilient.  She didn’t take the easy way out and, in fact, often took the road less traveled. She made no apologies and left some scars.  Although I will miss her greatly, I am grateful she’s in heaven, reunited with my grandpa-right where she’s always wanted to be.  

So, sing loud, grandma.  Eat your fill of watermelons and leave your underwear here on earth.  I won’t say rest in peace because that never was your style and, besides, I can hear the hee-hawing from heaven already.  In the end, she had it right.  We don’t need all this stuff we carry around because it’s only temporary. All that matters is how you make people feel, the laughter over tears, and never giving up.  And, of course, always knowing where the nearest restroom is.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Hey you, during the course of this season i Have seen more and more people leave the fandom or grow disinterested in spn, and im confused why that it. I get why maybe s12 wouldnt be a fave season but if I look at the wank and bads of the previous ones (destiel fiasco in/out the show s9, charlies death Dean cruelty to Cas in s10, Dean/baby love interest s11) s12 didnt really do much that would drive people away en masse I feel? Yet it seems like more people left it :(

Heya! :D

Idk, maybe it was that more vocal people drifted off? I always feel like people’s attention spans are usually only a few years or so. I mean, I feel like I’ve been in the fandom a Long Time and I’ve only been here since the end of season 9, so really this is only my 3rd hiatus, and coming up to 4th year watching with fandom, on a 12 year show I’ve been watching for nearly 10 years, for the most part as a moderately casual viewer… I think I clock up about 5 years major interest and then drift, based on me vs several other things like how invested I was in LotR or Harry Potter or Animorphs, or whatever (to go back in time to my pre-teen interests :P) and it’s not a bad thing and I still love 2 of those franchises and have engagement in them but back to being a casual fan (if “religiously watches LotR at Christmas” is casual allowing for cultural/social stuff, but I’m not composing Legolas/Aragon smut in my teenage journal in secret code any more :P) 

Anyway the season 8 bubble of fandom could be deflating about now - that’s long enough for people to feel they’ve given the show their full attention and it’s still going so it’s getting tiring. That’s the major feeling I get - people are exhausted and we had a baby boomer fandom around season 8 so that ~generation~ of fans is now reaching the natural end of its attention span in a very human natural way. But there’s a ton of new or newer fans who are still enjoying the heck out of it, and the fandom’s still huge and full of people with a commitment to the show or ships. And some people don’t work like that and are loyal from start to finish or commit to TV shows fully to see them to their end. I would dump a show I was getting bored of but come back to watch the end later in a big marathon to find out what happened, but Supernatural hasn’t given me a reason to get totally un-invested until that time… I suspect a lot of people will watch the entire show ONE DAY but don’t want to do fandom and give it all their leisure time any more either.

[under a cut for meandering rambling]

But yeah I think you’ve named some pretty big mass exodus moments (I would like to clarify “Dean/baby” is “Dean/Amara-as-an-infant” right? Because Dean/Baby totally was a thing in 11x04 and it was GLORIOUS :P) and I feel like I DID lose people from my dash all through the time I’ve been watching. Heck, I hit up fandom right after 9x18, and started following people, and that was the JIB of “we don’t play it that way” so I immediately was following several abandoned blogs and I’d barely even started to get to know the landscape :P I feel like people HAVE been jumping ship the entire time and I remember most of those instances as sadly clearing several favourite people off my dash or turning them into different fandom blogs that I eventually unfollowed out of confusion… 

I don’t know, I think people leave when they want to leave because as long as you like the core of a thing and it holds your interest, you can forgive or ignore or scowl at but hold out for better the bad bits and problematic parts. I’m sort of weary of them killing all the women and PoC but I’m still at the stage where I identify it sucks, but I still care too much about the main characters that I’m sort of stuck on this ride with them. 

(I have 2x21 paused on the screen next to me right as Sam meets all the special children, aka introducing Lily the lesbian who dies horribly as a disposable red shirt to show how awful this situation is, and Jake, a black guy whose power is being super strong and to fall to Azazel’s manipulation, kill Sam, and then get killed with extreme overkill by Sam. In the same season he set the cops on Gordon, also a black man who was really aggro and cruel, but in the next season becomes a monster and Sam kills him also one of the most brutal kills he has up there with Jake. Basically, the show’s always had some issues and if we carried on watching all the way to season 12, well, apply self-reflection, but at this point if you’ve been watching as long as I have, you just kind of accept the show sucks at certain things, and for ME personally it’s not kicking off the sort of weariness that others felt about Billie and Alicia and Eileen being killed off this season)

… I don’t really have a point, expect about the demographics of fandom during season 8 getting to the end of their interest now. I don’t think EVERYONE who did will leave, and we’re getting fresh blood all the time, but I think that’s just part of the nature of being in fandom. I don’t think season 12 is particularly bad from my experience, although some pretty high profile bloggers have gotten exhausted - again, they’ve been maintaining blogs and producing content since single digit seasons so they’ve contributed a LOT to the fandom and there’s a fatigue about contribution as well… 

That’s partially why I meta and gif and write fic and occasionally make random shitposts… I don’t want to burn out because any one of those things on its own can get pretty boring, even writing fic. Or especially, idk, as a writer I tend to bounce around projects, so this is keeping me weirdly focused on writing my original fiction on one side of my brain and fan fic on the other and it seems to be a better way of splitting my attention… But I digress. :P 

I know how to manage my own brain to some degree but I have a lot of time to contemplate and self-reflect on why I’m in fandom and what I get out of it, and mostly I just conclude I’m bored and house-bound and I’ve found a few tried and tested things that get me some positive attention in a non-weird rat with a pleasure button way like people running hate blogs or something… But I know my own head and that I can get bored of stuff so I marathon a lot of other shows and think about other things than fandom stuff as much as possible and just let this be the gutter my brain drains into when my attention span is too shot to hell to do anything else and I just want to slump over a keyboard and do the easiest activity I know bar playing Animal Crossing for hours. 

Other people with busier lives and actual jobs and energy and limbs that don’t just randomly stop working when they do anything for more than 5 minutes and so on might not be casual fans but they make a certain space in their life for fandom and get out of it what they need but it’s a high quality demand thing so if their carefully allocated me-time isn’t rewarding them like it should it’s totally their right to go find another OTP to amuse themselves with a fandom producing stuff they want to see and a media source that’s giving them what they want immediately and in a way they don’t have to “look for scraps” as some people were saying about Destiel in season 9, 10 and 11 while things were thinner on the ground.

And as one of the too-much-free-time fandom contributors, I’ve got an enormous luxury to stick out things people who don’t have time for being jerked around or over-analysing to find what they want to see have… Although I’ll try and pass on my thoughts for the people with less time to think them to try and help them enjoy themselves as much as possible :P Anyway I think a whole range of reasons happen that people might get fatigued of the show especially as lives change and people blogging enthusiastically one day might get a job or a new relationship or a dog or SOMETHING and just not spend quite so much time online and then discover they don’t NEED to spend so much time on fandom, and drift naturally… Then try and find some reason on the show they’ve stopped watching, but often it’s just that things look worse after time away when the spark has started to fade because it’s not being nurtured in the same way any more. 

And 12 years is a LONG ASS TIME to be invested in something, so I think in general the fatigue or changing interests is all over the place and we might see it more and more as people drift… People who might watch it all as a catch up one day maybe a year or two after the show ends, but just don’t have the patience to stay in fandom and put in that energy over and over and over. 

Also the show is in a really weird place where it has some of the best writers it’s ever had in Berens and the newbie writers, and Dabb’s doing some fascinating things with the plot, but Buckleming are the executors of the story, in several interpretations of that phrase :P And there are people who skip MotW and find them unimportant or would judge the season on the plot, not the heart of the story… It’s a pretty precarious place, quality-wise. I think season 11 and 12 are a proper like, silver age revival of the MotW (with Nancy Won and Robbie giving last season a massive boost) where I think those episodes are really innovative and interesting, and the writers are being allowed a lot of freedom to play on THOSE canvases, but while the character development and *reasons* for the story have been fascinating and important, obviously 5 of the plot episodes this latest season were Buckleming and crucial to watch to know wtf was going on, even though the writers of those episodes seem to have such a terrible problem with hating the audience (literally, it’s in their scripts and off-screen comments), the genre, second drafts, common human decency towards characters and understanding why they’re important, pacing, you name it… :P So the show literally has 2 faces these days and depending on which one you see when you think of season 12, probably defines how you feel about the show as a whole and all that. I treat the plot episodes these days as a necessary evil between episodes written by people who actually like the show and care about it and its characters (see also: my non-stop sobbing about 12x22 since it aired)… But seeing the other face can really cast a cloud over the show and I’ve seen it make people wonder why the other writers even try. (I mean Perez did an incredible salvage job on Crowley in 12x15 only for it to immediately get yanked away again the next time BL wrote him and I think only they really got to play with him for the rest of the season, meaning all that work to make it seem important and thematically relevant that Perez had set up in 12x12 and messed with in 12x15 ended up being for nothing and Dabb had no time to do anything deep with Crowley, because 12x13 turns out to be the big Crowley & Rowena farewell episode, except for how it flubbed the entire premise of Grand Send Off Episode a la 7x10 or something despite all the ingredients being there…)

I am just rambling now so… Gonna hit post. Hope this makes sense :P This is just my interpretation of how people are feeling/how fandom as an entity seems to work, so it’s pretty subjective and others might feel very differently especially people who have been in negative echo chambers while I’ve built myself a reasonably positive one plus SENSIBLE and CONSTRUCTIVE wanky criticism that doesn’t go off the deep end :P

[squaleboy]

Success as a Fragile Construction

For I have a single definition of success: you look in the mirror every evening, and wonder if you disappoint the person you were at 18, right before the age when people start getting corrupted by life. Let him or her be the only judge; not your reputation, not your wealth, not your standing in the community, not the decorations on your lapel. If you do not feel ashamed, you are successful. All other definitions of success are modern constructions; fragile modern constructions.

The Ancient Greeks’ main definition of success was to have had a heroic death. But as we live in a less martial world, even in Lebanon, we can adapt our definition of success as having taken a heroic route for the benefits of the collective, as narrowly or broadly defined collective as you wish. So long as all you do is not all for you: secret societies used to have a rule for uomo d’onore: you do something for yourself and something for other members. And virtue is inseparable from courage. Like the courage to do something unpopular. Take risks for the benefit of others; it doesn’t have to be humanity, it can be helping say Beirut Madinati or the local municipality. The more micro, the less abstract, the better.

Success requires absence of fragility. I’ve seen billionaires terrified of journalists, wealthy people who felt crushed because their brother in law got very rich, academics with Nobel who were scared of comments on the web. The higher you go, the worse the fall. For almost all people I’ve met, external success came with increased fragility and a heightened state of insecurity. The worst are those “former something” types with 4 page CVs who, after leaving office, and addicted to the attention of servile bureaucrats, find themselves discarded: as if you went home one evening to discover that someone suddenly emptied your house of all its furniture.

But self-respect is robust –that’s the approach of the Stoic school, which incidentally was a Phoenician movement. (If someone wonders who are the Stoics I’d say Buddhists with an attitude problem, imagine someone both very Lebanese and Buddhist). I’ve seen robust people in my village Amioun who were proud of being local citizens involved in their tribe; they go to bed proud and wake up happy. Or Russian mathematicians who, during the difficult post-Soviet transition period, were proud of making $200 a month and do work that is appreciated by twenty people –and considered that showing one’s decorations –or accepting awards –were a sign of weakness and lack of confidence in one’s contributions. And, believe it or not, some wealthy people are robust –but you just don’t hear about them because they are not socialites, live next door, and drink Arak baladi not Veuve Cliquot.

Personal History

Now a bit of my own history. Don’t tell anyone, but all the stuff you think comes from deep philosophical reflection is dressed up: it all comes from an ineradicable gambling instinct –just imagine a compulsive gambler playing high priest. People don’t like to believe it: my education came from trading and risk taking with some help from school.

I was lucky to have a background closer to that of a classical Mediterranean or a Medieval European than a modern citizen. For I was born in a library –my parents had an account at Librarie Antoine in Bab Ed Driss and a big library. They bought more books than they could read so they were happy someone was reading the books for them. Also my father knew every erudite person in Lebanon, particularly historians. So we often had Jesuit priests at dinner and because of their multidisciplinary erudition they were the only role models for me: my idea of education is to have professors just to eat with them and ask them questions. So I valued erudition over intelligence –and still do. I initially wanted to be a writer and philosopher; one needs to read tons of books for that –you had no edge if your knowledge was limited to the Lebanese Baccalaureat program. So I skipped school most days and, starting at age 14, started reading voraciously. Later I discovered an inability to concentrate on subjects others imposed on me. I separated school for credentials and reading for one’s edification.

First Break

I drifted a bit, with no focus, and remained on page 8 of the Great Lebanese Novel until the age of 23 (my novel was advancing at a rate of one page per year). Then I got a break on the day when at Wharton I accidentally discovered probability theory and became obsessed with it. But, as I said it did not come from lofty philosophizing and scientific hunger, only from the thrills and hormonal flush one gets while taking risks in the markets. A friend had told me about complex financial derivatives and I decided to make a career in them. It was a combination of trading and complex mathematics. The field was new and uncharted. But they were very, very difficult mathematically.

Greed and fear are teachers. I was like people with addictions who have a below average intelligence but were capable of the most ingenious tricks to procure their drugs. When there was risk on the line, suddenly a second brain in me manifested itself and these theorems became interesting. When there is fire, you will run faster than in any competition. Then I became dumb again when there was no real action. Furthermore, as a trader the mathematics we used was adapted to our problem, like a glove, unlike academics with a theory looking for some application. Applying math to practical problems was another business altogether; it meant a deep understanding of the problem before putting the equations on it. So I found getting a doctorate after 12 years in quantitative finance much, much easier than getting simpler degrees.

I discovered along the way that the economists and social scientists were almost always applying the wrong math to the problems, what became later the theme of The Black Swan. Their statistical tools were not just wrong, they were outrageously wrong –they still are. Their methods underestimated “tail events”, those rare but consequential jumps. They were too arrogant to accept it. This discovery allowed me to achieve financial independence in my twenties, after the crash of 1987.

So I felt I had something to say in the way we used probability, and how we think about, and manage uncertainty. Probability is the logic of science and philosophy; it touches on many subjects: theology, philosophy, psychology, science, and the more mundane risk engineering –incidentally probability was born in the Levant in the 8th Century as 3elm el musadafat, used to decrypt messages. So the past thirty years for me have been flaneuring across subjects, bothering people along the way, pulling pranks on people who take themselves seriously. You take a medical paper and ask some scientist full of himself how he interprets the “p-value”; the author will be terrorized.

The International Association of Name Droppers

The second break came to me when the crisis of 2008 happened and felt vindicated and made another bundle putting my neck on the line. But fame came with the crisis and I discovered that I hated fame, famous people, caviar, champagne, complicated food, expensive wine and, mostly wine commentators. I like mezze with local Arak baladi, including squid in its ink (sabbidej), no less no more, and wealthy people tend to have their preferences dictated by a system meant to milk them. My own preferences became obvious to me when after a dinner in a Michelin 3 stars with stuffy and boring rich people, I stopped by Nick’s pizza for a $6.95 dish and I haven’t had a Michelin meal since, or anything with complex names. I am particularly allergic to people who like themselves to be surrounded by famous people, the IAND (International Association of Name Droppers). So, after about a year in the limelight I went back to the seclusion of my library (in Amioun or near NY), and started a new career as a researcher doing technical work. When I read my bio I always feel it is that of another person: it describes what I did not what I am doing and would like to do.

On Advice and Skin in the Game

I am just describing my life. I hesitate to give advice because every major single piece of advice I was given turned out to be wrong and I am glad I didn’t follow them. I was told to focus and I never did. I was told to never procrastinate and I waited 20 years for The Black Swan and it sold 3 million copies. I was told to avoid putting fictional characters in my books and I did put in Nero Tulip and Fat Tony because I got bored otherwise. I was told to not insult the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal; the more I insulted them the nicer they were to me and the more they solicited Op-Eds. I was told to avoid lifting weights for a back pain and became a weightlifter: never had a back problem since.

If I had to relive my life I would be even more stubborn and uncompromising than I have been.

One should never do anything without skin in the game. If you give advice, you need to be exposed to losses from it. It is an extension to the silver rule. So I will tell you what tricks I employ.

• Do not read the newspapers, or follow the news in any way or form. To be convinced, try reading last years’ newspaper. It doesn’t mean ignore the news; it means that you go from the events to the news, not the other way around.

• If something is nonsense, you say it and say it loud. You will be harmed a little but will be antifragile — in the long run people who need to trust you will trust you.

When I was still an obscure author, I walked out of a studio Bloomberg Radio during an interview because the interviewer was saying nonsense. Three years later Bloomberg Magazine did a cover story on me. Every economist on the planet hates me (except of course those of AUB).

I’ve suffered two smear campaigns, and encouraged by the most courageous Lebanese ever since Hannibal, Ralph Nader, I took reputational risks by exposing large evil corporations such as Monsanto, and suffered a smear campaign for it.

Treat the doorman with a bit more respect than the big boss.

If something is boring, avoid it –save taxes and visits to the mother in law. Why? Because your biology is the best nonsense detector; use it to navigate your life.

The No-Nos

There are a lot of such rules in my books, so for now let me finish with a few maxims. The following are no-nos:

Muscles without strength,

friendship without trust,

opinion without risk,

change without aesthetics,

age without values,

food without nourishment,

power without fairness,

facts without rigor,

degrees without erudition,

militarism without fortitude,

progress without civilization,

complication without depth,

fluency without content,

and, most of all, religion without tolerance.