#worrying if you claim also to be a novelist.

[notasapleasure]

never thought I'd live to see the day when respected Italian medievalist and writer Umberto Eco was compared to the Ancient Aliens guys

[spirit-girl-nijisanji]

I'm sorry, I've been distant... & Don't talk about her like that!

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

➼ Pairing - Ike Eveland & Luca Kaneshiro x Fem!Reader (seperately)

➼ Content - Angst/hurt to comfort, mentions of insecurities, established relationships, Ike being a soft boy and Luca being well... Luca <3

➼ ⚠️ Please remember I only write for the personas you see on your screen. I do not and will not write for the people behind the models. Please also remember that behind the models there are very real people with very real emotions. Please be respectful towards our beloved Nijisanji EN livers and do your best to separate the real people from the persona reflected on your screen. Thank you so much and enjoy the story ⚠️

➼ Summery; Overworking and snapping on you causes some issues... ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Ike Eveland

➼ You are one of the only solo vtubers within Nijisanji EN. You debuted as Kitsune vtuber brought from another world to watch over young children and grant luck to those who deserve it. You had been a big hit within Niji, the other talents and you got along very well and you ended up bonding deeply with a certain novelist.

The collabs you did with Ike were always full of fun and laughter, it wasn't long before the shipping began within the quilldren and your fd/n (fandom name). You and Ike always just claimed to be friends but behind the scenes, there was something much more going on. You and Ike had began dating after two months of you being Nijisanji.

Everything was going amazing in your eyes, you trusted Ike with your life and he trusted you with his. There was no trust issues and he had been helping you through so many struggles. You had always been insecure about yourself but he made you feel beautiful and loved.

You and Ike had been dating a year when you moved to live with him permanently and you loved it. A very fond memory of yours was how your friends found out about you and Ike; he had been in a discord call with the rest of Luxiem, you two hadn't told anything about your relationship yet. Not realizing he was unmuted in the call, you had come into his room to bring him a plate of caviar toast.

" Babe, here's your snack! I figured you would be hungry. " you beamed walking over to his desk and setting down the plate before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

The moment the word Babe left your lips, Ike froze. Realizing he hadn't been muted and the chatter from his genmates had completely stopped.

" IS THAT Y/N?! " the voice of the bri'ish detective rang out in your ears and you two froze seeing Ike hadn't muted himself and you just outted your relationship to his friends.

You and Ike planned to tell them, just not yet but it was a little too late..

" Hah.. Hi guys. " you spoke sheepishly. Multiple voices erupting into questions about when you got together, why didn't you tell them sooner.

After that day, the rest of Niji EN knew about your relationship and it was also revealed to the fans too, by you and Ike of course, which was met by a lot of positivity which warmed your heart.

But.. as of late, Ike seemed to always be shut in his streaming room. You hardly saw him anymore and he hardly ever slept in your shared bedroom. You had started to get concerned about him but anytime you tried to talk to him, he would wave you off and say that was busy and didn't need the distraction.

The confrontation that led to the current situation was when you had finally had enough of him avoiding you and being locked in his office all day, was the day he snapped at you;

You opened his door to see him hunched over his desk working on collab and stream ideas as well as a new novel, the dark circles under his eyes evident. You were worried sick so you walked over and you spun his chair around to face you, only to be met by Ike's irritated green eyes,

" Y/N I told you that I was busy and not to come into my office didn't I? " he said in a tired but frustrated tone

" I know but Ike you've been locked in this office for days, I hardly see you anymore. It wouldn't kill you take a break. " You retorted, worry etched on your face

Ike let out an irritated sigh, he looked up at you and brushed your hands off his chair turning back to his desk to continue his work,

" Y/N I am busy please leave my room. "

You glared at him and grabbed the back of Ike's chair and started dragging it to his door before he shot up out of his chair and grabbed onto your wrist, his green eyes now glaring down at you angrily before yelling,

" Y/N I SAID I'M BUSY! " he snapped gripping your wrist

" I CAME IN BECAUSE I'M WORRIED IKE! " You snapped back

" NO! YOUR GETTING IN MY WAY! " He snapped, not registering that what came out of his mouth

Your eyes went wide, feeling your eyes watering, the tone of his voice caused you to flinch before you ripped your wrist out of Ike's grip and you rushed out of his room, slamming the door behind you, leaving Ike standing in his room. You sprinted into the shared bedroom you shared with Ike, slamming the door and locking the door before your back hit the door and you slid down to the floor and curdled up, hugging your knees and burying your face in your knees. The tears that had come up in your eyes now began to slip down your cheeks.

Those intrusive thoughts started to creep up, 'is he getting tired of me?', 'Am I really getting in his way?', 'Why is he still with me?', 'I'm not worth his time..' you sat in the dark in the dark room trying to calm down. But now you felt you weren't good enough for to be with Ike. Maybe you were really getting in the way.

You spent 2 weeks after he finally finished with his work ignoring him. He noticed immediately. He tried to talk to you and apologize for his actions.

" Älskling.. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean anything I said.. Please talk to me. " Ike followed you around the house trying to get you to talk to him. But you ignored him.

He figured it was time to give you space so he did. He constantly noticed your spiral. All the confidence you once had, was gone. He knew it was his fault for saying what he said. But it all came to a boil when he found you sitting on the kitchen floor at 1 am in tears,

" Y/N?! Are you okay? " he asked, concern lacing his voice as he dropped down to your side and pulling you into a tight hug.

" Why are you even with me.. I know I'm always in your way! " you said starting to fight against his hug however he refused to let go, he hugged you tight. Keeping you tight in his arms. Now whispering to you, telling you that he loved you and he never meant anything he said.

You cried into his shoulder as you listened to him tell you over and over again that he loved you and he thought you were perfect to him. ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Luca Kaneshiro

➼ You were a new nijisanji liver that came into nijisanji with a new wave, xsoleil along with Doppio Dropsythe, Hex Haywire, Ver Vermillion, Kotoka Torahime and Meloco Kyoran. The first person you had met when you joined Nijisanji was the one and only Luca Kaneshiro.

When you finally started doing livestreams regularly, most of your collabs ended up being with the mob boss. You adored his Lucubs and you knew he adored your fans. Your livestream collabs with Luca were always filled with chaos and laughter along with Lucubs and your fans saying they wish you and Luca would just get together already. You and Luca playfully flirted back and fourth all the time, well you flirted with Luca and he wouldn't pick up on it.

It was the one year anniversary from your debut and you were doing a collab playing Valorant, Xsoleil VS Luxiem. The teams had switched up after the first 4 rounds, now you, Luca, Doppio, Shu and Hex were on a team against, Vox, Ike, Mysta, Kotoka, Meloco and Ver. The round started and it was all going smoothly until you made a flirty remark towards Luca and it completely went over his head. After being taken down by Ver, you turned to read some of the superchats that came in, thanking them one by one before one completely stopping, silently reading one and you felt your heart completely shatter;

Superchat; Luca'sCape221: Seriously stop making advances towards him. He doesn't like you! Like damn. Why haven't you graduated yet, why are you still here?

You were silent for a good few minutes before the voice of Doppio snapped you out of your trance,

" Hey, VT/N (Vtuber name), You okay? " He asked making you jump before speaking,

" What? Oh um yeah I'm fine Dopi! " you replied quickly, " I have to take a quick bathroom break! " you quickly added before muting and running off to the bathroom.

~ NO ONE'S POV ~

Doppio thought it was odd that you just ran off, so when both he and Luca were killed, he started talking to Luca,

" Hey Luca, do you mind checking on VT/N's stream, she went silent while reading superchats. I think something happened. " he told the blond haired mafia boss who took action almost immediately. Turning on your stream and reading through before finding the superchats that followed with many nasty comments.

Seeing the nasty remarks from multiple people about you made his blood boil. He had only recently found out about your actual feelings and he felt the same he just didn't know how to tell you. When the match was over, he asked everyone to wait for a moment until you got back so he could say something.

~ Your POV ~

You spent a good long time in the bathroom in tears, the words from the superchat bouncing around in your mind. You tried to compose yourself so you could rejoin the collab, before you pulled up your stream and looked at the chat, seeing the flood of nasty remarks coming in, you broke down again.

After a moment, you decided to return to stream. Putting your headphones on and unmuting yourself as you spoke saying you were ready for the next game, internally groaning hearing the shaking in your voice when you spoke. Before anyone could say anything else Luca spoke up,

" Actually I wanna say something before we continue, it's important. " he spoke and everyone went silent so Luca could speak.

" Okay so, while VT/N was gone on her bathroom break, I looked at her chat. I wanna say that I am absolutely disgusted by how many nasty comments there were about her. For your information, I do happen to like her so let's shut that down right now. " He spoke in a very stern tone,

The group went completely silent, you didn't even notice that tears started to fall once again listening to Luca rant and scold those who left nasty comments in your chat.

" I do not want to see any other nasty comments like that in her chat again and I will be checking. If I see so much as one, you'll be banned by ME personally. " the normally bubbly blond said, remembering you had made him a mod in your chat. The comments filled with comforting words from both your own fanbase and Lucubs. You sniffled, catching the attention of your teammate, Shu.

" Hey, don't cry VT/N.. We got your back. " He told you in a soothing voice followed by the comforting words from your other friends and genmates. Through the chaos, you heard your phone beep, looking down, you looked at the notification and saw Luca's name;

Discord chat: Lucar Kaneshiroe: Hey, I meant what I said. I do really like you. VT/N: I... really..? Lucar Kaneshiroe: Yeah! Hey, I'm gonna have you fly up to see me so we can go on a proper date! :3

You felt your cheeks heat up while reading the messages,

Discord chat: VT/N: Y...you really don't have to do that Luca, I could pay my own way to see you! Lucar Kaneshiroe: Nope! I'm gonna pay for you to come and spend a couple weeks! " VT/N: There's no talking you out of this is there? Lucar Kaneshiroe: Nope! VT/N: Well okay but um.. we're not done with the collab Luca Lucar Kaneshiroe: ... SHIT!

You turned back to the collab, both you and Luca apologized for going silent and the collab continued, every time you noticed a nasty comment come up, it disappeared just as fast as it popped up. And each time a chat from a certain someone popped up;

Luca Kaneshiro [NIJISANJI EN]: Not today satan! VT/N IS POG! Don't tall about her like that!

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

I hope you like it~! I dunno if it's as good as it could be but I did my best~!

[randoimago]

Hi! Can I ask for Mahiru and Mikan (separately) with an SO that's the Ultimate Novelist they admire a lot?

Meeting an Ultimate Novelist That They Admire A Lot

Fandom: Danganronpa

Character(s): Mikan Tsumiki, Mahiru Koizumi

Type of Request: Headcanons

Note(s): Hi hi! I ended up writing this as a "first meeting" of sorts so I hope that's okay!

Mahiru

It was Hiyoko that got her into this series of books. The writing is just incredible and the characters and descriptions are amazing. She couldn't help but get each new book that was released by the author.

And then she found out that the author is her classmate at school?! She did her best to be cool and collected, but she can't help but be in awe.

Does her best to help you out when you need it. She wants to ask so many questions about your books, especially if her comfort character is okay, but she somehow finds the strength to refrain and be your friend instead of just a fan.

Which that friendship causes her to develop a crush. She keeps pushing it away, claiming it's just admiration and not attraction. Yet she can't help the feelings. Now she's really trying to not look like an idiot in front of you.

Mikan

She stumbled upon this horror series that she got really into. It was a nice way to relax after the bullying she got from Hiyoko and constant worrying she did.

Mikan ended up loving the series and decided to look up the author to see if there were any fun facts or rough ideas that weren't included in the books. That led her to a deep dive on the Wikipedia page and learning all there was that the internet could provide her.

When Mikan began the school year and saw you there, she couldn't help a gasp. She thought she was having a really good dream. But then it was revealed that you're her classmate and she knew she was a goner.

She does her best to be kind and include you in things, not just because of her admiration but because it's the type of person she is. But also because of her attraction. Anytime you smile or thank her, it just causes her face to go a bright red and even if she's too shy to admit her feelings, she is happy to just be able to be in your presence.

[asteracaea]

Hi! Do you hear the vibe of Dress in imgonnagetyouback or just me? Also the first 10 seconds sound similar to the first 10 of Cornelia Street, what does it mean!?

:)

oh, imgonnagetyouback, one of my most favorites! i'm wild for this song!

i just listened to the first 10 seconds of both back and back: and YES i totally hear what you mean! the "wub wub wub wub wub" of cornelia street kind of smoothed out and softened. i really wish i knew more about music and production to be able to talk about those aspects of her songs better! i'm sure there's a TON of things to analyze there that we don't often think about!

and yes i definitely get the dress vibes! they are both so sexy and sultry, a low slow burning electricity of attraction. ah! so hot lol

and as for what it all means? well, i'm sure you can guess what i would say it means 😉 that they could all be inspired the same muse. and now to a very important point about how i listen to taylor's songs:

>>> in that last sentence i deliberately wrote "inspired by the same muse" instead of "about the same person" because i believe there is a distinction. to me, the phrase "about the same person" implies that a song is telling a true story about an actual event that actually happened. i know taylor has built her entire brand on the narrative that her songs are taken straight from her diary entries, but i honestly don't believe that and i don't think it was ever true. sure maybe some are more direct than others but definitely not all. remember how she said she had never been in any relationship before like speak now? so all those songs about relationships from her first two albums and the unreleased catalogue are made up. which IS SOMETHING ALL WRITERS DO. there is some weird insistence today that all female songwriters are not imagining fictional scenarios and all their art is taken directly from their lived experiences, but that's never true. sure, they can be related to or inspired by or transformed from emotions they felt but they could also be about things they've observed in others or seen in movies etc etc etc. i'm going off on a tangent but i think this point is important.

so ok, the concept of a muse. a muse is someone who inspires art and creation. taylor could have a muse in her life who she imagines in different scenarios, imagines how she herself would feel in those scenarios, crafts stories with the muse as a main character. dreams about how other people respond to the muse. muses inspire the imagination. so taylor could be musing on her muse and come up with fictional stories. they don't all have to be about actual events taylor experienced with this person.

(disclaimer: i don't know her creative process. maybe i'm completely wrong about how she works. but it's possible, and i think it discredits her talents as an artist to claim that she can only ever write about things she herself has experienced. no one ever says that about novelists!!! and taylor herself explicitly said she did this with folklore, so i don't know why this is even a conversation, ya kno?)

so, in my mind, a song like the 1 or gold rush or imgonnagetyouback could be inspired by a certain person even if the two of them never experienced those things literally. in my prívate mind, i can enjoy picturing a certain person in these sad broken-up heartbreak longing songs, but not believe that's what actually happened between them in real life. taylor could be imagining how she (or a fictional narrator) would feel in a situation like that, if the muse were her lover and left her, or if they never became lovers at all, or if they broke up but she's not sure if she's gonna smash up this person's bike or pull them back into the closet... etc etc

so that's just how i do. it may not make sense, i may not be able to explain it well, but it makes me not worry or stress about this kind of stuff. we can't know the truth, so let's interpret the songs in the way that makes us enjoy them the most! and don't let anyone tell you you're wrong, because they don't know the truth either, and the truth honestly doesn't matter. as taylor says over and over, these songs are ours now.

[warblingandwriting]

When I first saw In A Lonely Place there was a scene that made me say “this was written by a woman”:

Well, I was half right. While the screenplay was written by Hollywood men Andrew P. Solt and Edmund H. North, the novel of the same name that it was based on was written by Dorothy B Hughes, a little-known noir novelist from the 1940s. The changes from book to film, though, are fascinating, and indicative of the different sensibilities we see from these writers. I will say there are major spoilers ahead and recommend that you at least see the film, if not read the book. They’re both short, and I think truly fascinating pieces of media that I highly recommend.

Out of context that scene may seem like a dismissal of Stella’s fears, a sort of refuting of what she’s worried about. However, in the scene before that Dix is describing, in detail, how he thinks the murderer might have killed another young woman, and uses the couple, Brub (yes, really) and Sylvia, as his body doubles. Brub (Sylvia’s husband) begins to strangle her as Dix describes the murderer doing so. Dix and Brub seem to revel in the pantomime, and Sylvia has to scream to snap them out of it. Their display makes Sylvia’s accusations here feel very real, and makes Brub’s dismissal feel even more sinister.

Now, to get the massive spoiler out of the way, the man that Sylvia there is worried about is Dixon Steele (his real name in both the book and movie... I know), and in the film, it turns out that in spite of throwing his ex-girlfriend down a flight of stairs and nearly strangling his current one, Dix is not the murderer they’re looking for. Violent? Dangerous? Well, only if you don’t treat him right. In the book though, it’s not even a twist. The first page of the book is Dix stalking a woman, and the only reason he doesn’t succeed in killing her is that she makes it to her house before he can catch up with her.

However these characters Brub and Sylvia don’t know that in either version, and neither does Laurel, his girlfriend. The film then, is a mystery: did Dix do it? While the book is more of a Patricia Highsmith-esque thriller: When will they catch him? And indeed a similar scene takes place in the book, wherein Sylvia suspects Dix, but Brub, who is an old army buddy of his, doesn’t want to believe her. Throughout both texts Laurel becomes increasingly afraid of Dix, in the film because she suspects him of murder, but in the book it’s because he’s becoming increasingly violent and possessive.

To me, it begs the question, is Sylvia right to be suspicious, as she is here, and as she is in the book? In the book the answer is unquestionably yes, Dix is a murderer, one who they catch by setting him up to kill Sylvia, when he believes she is Laurel. In the film though, it’s more complicated. On the one hand, men happily dismiss his violent tendencies, saying that it’s just how he is, and even that it makes him exciting (as we see Brub do above). But we know he seriously harmed his ex, and that at the end of the film he seriously harms Laurel. Meanwhile the Dix/Laurel romance is framed as tragic in the film, with ‘suspicion’ being blamed for its downfall. As if, if Laurel had never suspected that Dix might have killed someone, then they could have been happy. On the one hand, that claim seems ridiculous with all we see of Dix, but on the other hand, the film frames it as true.

In the final scene, Dix is strangling Laurel until they’re interrupted by a phone call. At Dix’s urging, Laurel answers, and says this:

The important line of course being ‘yesterday this would have meant so much to us’. As long as Dix hadn’t actually strangled Laurel things would be fine! Even though that’s not the first time he’s shown violent tendencies, even though he was extremely possessive, it totally would have been okay if he just hadn’t strangled her. I emphasize her because we also know Dix physically abused his ex, and although it made Laurel nervous, it wasn’t enough for her to dump him.

And Sylvia in the lynch pin in all of this, the book, the film, the violence, for me. Because although she’s a relatively small character, she brings up questions of authority and knowledge. In both versions, she feels that something is wrong about Dix (and, to be fair, she’s not the only one, the Laurel of the book also feels something off about him, and the police commissioner in the film is convinced that Dix was the murderer too) but in the film she’s only half right. In the film, she is right that he’s violent, but in the way Dix and Laurel’s romance is depicted, as this tragic romance ruined by suspicion, there is a pretty clear through line that Laurel could have fixed him, if only she believed in his innocence. Therefore if only Sylvia, if only the police, if only everyone believed that this man, known for violent outbursts, known for abusing his girlfriends wouldn’t go as far as to kill someone, then they could have been happy together. In spite of the film's dark tone, their scenes together are truly idyllic when they're in their honeymoon phase.

And in the book, of course, its the exact opposite. If only the men around Dix believed that he could be a murderer, lives might have been saved. Fraught gender dynamics permeate most noir films, but it is interesting to see the differences that adaptational differences can make.

[stevesociety8]

The 2024 US presidential election may be too close to call, but commentators and pollsters alike seem clear about one thing: Trump vs Harris is a battle of the sexes. Apparently, this is ‘the gender-gap election’. It’s ‘America’s men vs women election’, claims the BBC. ‘The differences between how men and women view the state of the nation, the issues that matter and the candidates is the defining divide in American politics today’, argues USA Today. But just how real are these divisions?

Surveys certainly show a greater proportion of women than men backing Democratic candidate Kamala Harris. One recent poll suggests 53 per cent of women plan to vote Democrat, compared with only 36 per cent who back the Republicans. The same poll has men voting in the exact opposite way, with 53 per cent pledging to back Trump and 37 per cent backing Harris. This cuts across racial groups, too. A poll of black voters reports that 70 per cent of black men will back Harris, compared to 83 per cent of black women. Younger women are also far more likely to come out for Harris than younger men. These gender differences matter, because women cast their ballots in far greater numbers than men.

We should, however, be wary about reading too much into opinion polls. Nearly one in four Americans admits to lying about who they are supporting in the presidential election, with women more likely to say they are ‘not sure’ who they will vote for than men. Gen Z voters are especially happy to mislead pollsters. This is hardly surprising, given that women who backed Trump in 2016 were diagnosed as suffering from internalised misogyny. With Trump supporters being labelled ‘deplorable’, ‘garbage’, far right, fascists and Nazis, it is easy to see why people might give a more socially acceptable response to pollsters.

Whatever the truth behind the polls, the Democrats have not just leant into a gender divide, but also stoked it. Harris has seized on celebrity endorsements from the likes of Charli XCX, Beyoncé, Oprah Winfrey and Taylor Swift in the hopes of appealing to women. The stars came out in force to ensure that ‘this time, white women vote for a woman’. In other words, there must be no repeat of 2016, when white women misbehaved and backed Trump. Michelle Obama states it bluntly: ‘A vote for Trump is a vote against women.’ Her husband, meanwhile, has been chastising ‘the brothers’ for not ‘feeling the idea of having a woman as president’.

As part of her attempt to court the female vote, Harris has made reproductive rights central to her campaign. The Supreme Court decision to overturn Roe vs Wade in 2022 means there is genuine worry about continued access to abortion – an issue that, unsurprisingly, resonates more strongly with women than men. According to one survey, both men and women rate the economy as their primary concern when deciding who to vote for, but women rate abortion and women’s rights second. For men, this issue comes in seventh place. At the same time, some have accused Harris of fear-mongering and overstating the threat a Trump victory poses to abortion provision.

Despite what the headlines suggest, the gender gap may be more hype than reality. You might not sense it from reading the New York Times or the Washington Post, but plenty of women do back Trump – from erstwhile foes such as Tulsi Gabbard and Megyn Kelly to the Moms for Liberty crew and even black women who ‘are all-in for MAGA’.

Other women may not be throwing their weight behind Trump, but that doesn’t mean they’re voting for Harris, either. Novelist Lionel Shriver says that, as much as she hates Trump, Harris ‘has never had an original idea nor held a consistent principle’. Similarly, feminist Meghan Murphy believes that, while Trump might not be ‘perfect’, ‘the best option for America, for women, for children and for the working class is a Trump presidency’.

You can see why women are backing Trump. Harris might support abortion rights, but the Republicans are staking a claim to defending other crucial sex-based rights. At his recent Madison Square Garden rally, Trump promised that his team will get ‘transgender insanity the hell out of our schools, and we will keep men out of women’s sports’. He says he will ask Congress to pass a bill stating there are ‘only two genders’ and ban hormonal or surgical intervention for transgender children across the whole country. Harris has shied away from talking about such issues, leading some to argue that ‘the trans issue is losing Kamala the election’. Pitching to women – and defending women’s reproductive rights – while being unable to name women as biological females is surely a difficult act to pull off.

Ultimately though, as the campaign draws to an end, both Harris and Trump have resorted to patronising women. Trump’s promise last week to protect women ‘whether they like it or not’ has sparked outrage, with Harris describing the remark as ‘very offensive to women in terms of not understanding their agency, their authority, their right and their ability to make decisions about their own lives, including their own bodies’. She seems to have missed the point. Trump’s comment wasn’t a reference to abortion, but to illegal migration. And it was delivered as a joke at the expense of his advisers, who apparently warned him not to say it.

Harris’s comments about women’s agency would be more convincing were it not for a pro-Democrat advertisement currently doing the rounds. The video features Julia Roberts reminding women (presumably intimidated by their husbands) that, in the polling booth, ‘you can vote any way you want, and no one will ever know’. Thanks, Julia!

Women might be telling pollsters they back Harris, but they deserve far better than being patronised and insulted in turn. Having stoked a ‘historic gender gap’, it would only be fitting if the Democrats were to lose to a candidate who, if nothing else, knows what a woman is.

Joanna Williams is a spiked columnist and author of How Woke Won. She is a visiting fellow at Mathias Corvinus Collegium in Hungary.

[aint-love-heavy]

I don’t believe that creative people should avoid political engagement any more than other citizens, nor can they. In an intensely political time like ours, it’s inevitable that artists will turn to activism, and that politics will inform their work. But they should keep a vigilant watch on the border between the two so that neither does too much damage to the other.

The idea that such a border even exists may seem obsolete today. The invasion of politics into every crease of the cultural terrain is happening on both the right and the left—the right through government action and campaign rhetoric; the left through institutions of media, academia, and arts. These incursions require you to massage your artistic standards until they become identical to your political loyalties, and the notion that these could ever differ is rendered incomprehensible. It ought to be possible to say “This is a politically wrongheaded and well-written book” or “I share the author’s views—too bad he’s a terrible writer.” But you can guess the general outlines of a book review or prize competition if you know the politics of the authors, critics, and judges. Progressive orthodoxy has a strong grip on important institutions such as the National Book Awards and the MacArthur Foundation. If conservatives controlled them, the results would be equally predictable.

In 2021, the novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie criticized “people who claim to love literature—the messy stories of our humanity—but are also monomaniacally obsessed with whatever is the prevailing ideological orthodoxy.” She worried that the constipated correctness of today’s literature would result in a generation of unreadable novels. In this atmosphere of rage and fear, where everything is public and everyone needs a tribe, political art becomes just another form of activism. Rather than disturbing our peace, this art has the reassuring effect of a petition with familiar names at the bottom, or the same sign held by thousands of protesters. It conveys a feeling that something right is being done about injustice. In a 1949 essay, James Baldwin wrote that “the ‘protest’ novel, so far from being disturbing, is an accepted and comforting aspect of the American scene … We receive a very definite thrill of virtue from the fact that we are reading such a book at all.” This fiction fails the main task of art, Baldwin wrote, because it denies human complexity and insists that our “categorization alone” is real.

[darkmarkets]

The Horrors of Copyright Registration

A few weeks ago, I was talking to a screenwriter pal of mine (because if you really want to understand creative misery, talk to one of those guys), and he said something that made me want to throttle him soundly about the neck. He said: "I can't submit anything 'till I've registered my stuff."

He meant, of course, registering with the US Copyright office. He planned on spending $35 whole dollars that could be spent on ramen noodles and boxes of tissues (because if you're really suffering through creative misery, those are things you're gonna need) and then going through an extra painful step of applying and waiting before he went on with his life and tried to do something with his writing.

He is, of course, very new to this  miserywriting business.

If there's one thing writers do not need to do, it is register their work. For one, copyright law actually protects our written expressions as soon as they're put to page—with or without that silly little circle-c symbol new writers slap on their manuscripts. We need the symbol about as much as we need a pencil in the eye; just ask the SFWA, also known as the illustrious Science Fiction Writers Association. People who, I might remind you, are actually paid to write. (But they won't stab you in the eye with a pencil. That's the HWA's job.)

But, all the screenwriters in the audience might say, what if someone steals my stuff? Well, considering that you're all in a business that is far more cutthroat and bloodthirsty than that of horror novelists, I'd say you're within your right to worry about such things. After all, it is Hollywood that can produce so many movies in the same year about the exact same thing—like 2012, the year of a gajillion Snow White remakes, for example.

But as far as us novelists go, I can tell you: don't worry. Shuuuuush, precious little creative type. Nobody cares enough to steal our novels, anyway.

The SFWA has a more sensitive way of saying it, "Theft of unpublished work is so rare as to be functionally nonexistent."

Registering that unpublished work with the US Copyright office does two things: first, it allows a writer to file a lawsuit in the rare event that their unpublished work is stolen and second, it wastes $35 dollars. It does not allow us cart-blanche authority to eye-stab anyone who dare plagiarize a word we've written down. The only right we get for that money is the right to sue. Who among us are rich enough to enter into a protracted, exhausting court case that could cost us thousands of dollars even in the event of victory, just to keep our claim on a 40,000 word pile of nonsense called The Devil's Pantalones? 

Hey...now I kind of want to write a novel about devil pants—but don't you steal my idea. But wait: you totally can. Anyone reading this can say, "Hey, that's a good idea, demon pants, so I'm going to write a novel about Lucifer's Unmentionables." Copyright laws protect the expression of an idea, not the idea itself, which is why it's so hard to prove literary copyright infringement in court. The words have to be the same, not the ideas.

And ideas are stolen every day. We're all probably doing it right now in ways we can't even tell.

So, just take a deep breath, relax, and don't worry about anyone running away with your brilliant 60,000 word manuscript about lingerie running amok in the fashion underworld. The great thing about ideas is, once they start popping up, they never seem to stop. If The Bloomers of Beelzebub doesn't work out for you, for whatever reason, you will find other genius idea to write about. And as long as we keep enough ramen and tissue in the house, we'll be stocked up well enough to keep  being miserablewriting.

But, whatever you do, don't be a screenwriter. Those people have it tough.

Lorna D Keach

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL

May 2021 Wk 4

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Close Friend Ep 6 fin: (Imagine You/KimmonCopter) - Fan gets a VR of his idol, they fall in love, but does it transfer to reality? A unique story and great casting of Kim & Cop into roles that stretched both actors. My favorite of the series and a good closer. Close Friend as a whole is so uneven I can’t recommend it, but individual episodes (3 MaxNat, 5 JimmyTommy, 6 KimCop) are okay.

Top Secret Together Ep 3 - no subs as yet but I still found it enjoyable. I like this series, it’s quiet. Sure, the only really unique touches are the office setting and the gay advice dads, but honestly I’LL TAKE IT. Of course my favorite couple is the hazer + freshie back at uni. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the old OLD tropes. (Should I just do a SOTUS+S rewatch this weekend to get it out of my system?) 

Y-Destiny Ep 9 - Look, I’m just not a fan of the rake archetype BUT my favorite combo for this is another player, and BL almost never does that. But ta da! Y-D wins with f-buds + high heat pulp (well I suppose this is university-set Cheewin). I don’t love honest-gay messy in a long haul series (Friendzone... shudder) but I don’t mind it in short form. So I think this may be my favorite installment in this series so far.

Fish Upon The Sky Ep 8 - *big fat sigh* I thought they were going to redeem Pi by having him be genuinely nice to Meen, but no it was all to do with a dumb pin. Even though he suffers from crazy stalking in this ep, I still don’t like Pi but I’m TOTALLY on his side. Is FUTS taking us on a light weight The Effect journey? Because at this juncture I think I’d prefer that. 

Nitiman Ep 4 - honestly it’s like Nitiman is vested in showing FOTS exactly what it’s doing wrong. Both shows introduced faen fatales this week. But Nitiman did theirs with a sympathetic character, genuine interest on both sides, bisexual confusion, and sweetness. In every way the opposite of (and superior to) FOTS. Even claiming, outing, and stalker characters are happening but treated differently. It’s like parallel universes. Not sure how I feel about the ending kiss though. Still, this is my favorite currently airing show. I look forward to @heretherebedork explaining to me my own feelings and why I want to forgive Bbomb the kiss but not Mork for anything. Since I’m evidently morally hypocritically confused. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Love is Science? (Taiwan) Ep 10 (BL subplot) - Taiwan is experiencing a C19 surge right now so this series will be delayed at least 20 days. 

Be Loved in House: I Do (Taiwan) Ep 3 - dropped with subs thank heavens, all the usual tropes when you pair grumpy + tsundere: challenges, bets, crashing into beds, veiled threats... oh my! Gay boys in stripped sweaters giving advice in cafes is my new favorite thing. It’s the BL version of the “bartender is my psyche” trope. Still finding the boss character creepy. About Hank Wang (plays Shi Lei) anyone else obsessed with his sanpaku eyes? Just me? Fair. Also he keeps reminding me of Pluem Purim, I have no idea why. Something in the mannerisms, I think. They don’t really look alike. (This show may also be delayed.)

My Lascivious Boss (Vietnam) Ep 8 - continues to be good, we now have 2 faen fatales, blackmail, worried friends, and the secret identity slowly devolving. Looks like we get at least two more episodes and could be as many as 12? Very much enjoying this show. 

Most Peaceful Place 2 (Vietnam) Ep 3 (AKA 6) fin - it was fine, they always rush the ending a bit in Vietnamese BL. I found the first season much stronger than this second one over all. But since they aired in the same year and there’s only six total I feel like they should be judged as a whole. So I guess I’ll say, RECOMMENDED with serious pacing issues and some plot drag particularly in the second half. 

Gossip 

The cast of Until We Meet Again met together, ostensibly for their own amusement but speculation is that it has something to do with Between Us AKA Hemp Rope. 

Breaking News

Singto’s next starring role BL got announced Paint With Love. Between him and Ohm, they seem to be attempting to corner the market. I’m in favor. Singto plays Met, a wedding organizer, who hires Phap, a poor artist, to work on a wedding painting. Phap messes something up and ends up having to work for Med on a more permanent basis. Yet another office set BL from Thailand, following in Japan and Taiwan’s well suited footsteps... we hope. Phap is played by Tae (the original Forth in 2 Moons). No side dishes announced as yet. 

Pornographer Playback is airing, the third in the series from Japan (first 2 = The Pornographer AKA The Novelist & Mood Indigo). Not recommended unless you want non-BL gay cinema with high heat, and don’t mind the mess Japan always doles out to go with it. Such as: morally flexible characters, crass manipulation, gaslighting, cheating, seduction of a minor, so much smoking, het porn, and ambiguous, sad, or depressing endings. Part one of this final installment has dropped, part two is not yet available. No subs (even if they say they have them, they’re autiogen nonsense.) 

Next Week Looks Like This:

Some shows may be listed later than actual air date for International accessibility reasons.

Things are looking dire. What will we do with our lives? 

Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.

Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Terrifying, yet familiar

(A long time ago I was worried that I had gone too far overboard in trying to make this a relatable novel, a novel where all the main characters and every one of them would sound just like I do or my friends or me in some way, and I decided to tone myself back down by adding a bunch of "further evidence" sections in which I listed a bunch of personal, weird, seemingly random events I had witnessed -- the author has no special access to my thoughts, just ordinary access, and so his own descriptions can't be made to feel special or unique.)

(A long time ago I was worried that I had gone too far overboard in trying to make this a reactionary novel -- an anti-establishment book that's also sort of a manifesto, that makes a bunch of claims, claims that I have no problem with but that are presented in the most extreme, most overblown, and most alarmist way, claims that might be the same ones you heard at a right-wing political talk show -- and so I decided to tone myself down by adding a bunch of "rational" sections where I listed all the reasons it wouldn't happen at all, the ways in which it had nothing to do with the worldview it claimed to share with others of my class, and how ridiculous it would have to be for me to make it sound like I believed it)

(A long time ago I was worried that my prose was too technical and weird, that my narrative voice was too much like the voice of some academic article -- that I would be a sort of self-indulgent novelist with too much pride in the technical virtuosity of my prose -- and so I decided to tone myself down by adding a bunch of "normal" sections where I'd write about things that seemed like things I've done, my voice would sound more like my friends and me, and the book would feel a bit more like a human effort with a lot of flaws and some failures to reach perfection -- that would feel more relatable, a better example of the things I hope to show readers)

A long time ago I was worried that my narrator would come off as an arrogant, ignorant, and stupid sort of guy, that he'd lack any sort of sensitivity, any sort of awareness of how his speech might affect people, no sense of how his words might shape the ways he would be perceived by others -- and so I decided to tone myself down by adding a bunch of sympathetic, empathetic, and sensitive sections where I'd give the narrator's viewpoint a full chance to shine, where I'd present the full complexity of his mind and the full depth of his character, where I'd make him a normal, sympathetic human being and not an extraordinary, heroic one -- that would make him feel more like a person, rather than some kind of anti-familiarity, an anti-self

A long time ago I was worried that there'd be too much about my narrator's childhood, that this would come off as autobiographical and that the reader would be made to feel that childhood was this incredibly special moment, the greatest thing that's ever happened to a boy, and so I decided to tone myself down by adding sections where I wrote about the ways in which his childhood sucked, the ways in which this book isn't really about him but about some sort of archetype of "the teenage boy," some sort of personification of the way I imagine teenage boys might feel -- that would show readers how adult the narrator is, how this book's story is not just a story about the narrator, that he's not alone in his adventures, that he's a fully realized person

A long time ago I was worried that I was getting too serious, that I had to tone myself down so as not to frighten people -- but actually, I was the perfect sort of writer for a horror novel -- and so I decided to tone myself down by adding sections where I was really funny, where I made jokes and witticisms and the reader felt like she was the audience at a political talk show, she'd laugh along, I'd be the host, she'd think about the things she'd just heard, the things I'd just said, and I'd be doing my best to look like the host -- that'd show me and readers how I could "lighten" the novel, how it could be more relatable, and how I could feel more "normal"

A long time ago I was worried that "trying too hard" in the title was somehow going to be too on the nose and too obvious, that it would be some sort of gimmick and not something subtle, and I decided to tone myself down by including an explanation of the title's meaning at the end -- and by actually, truly explaining it, not just "it's about this" or "it's about that" or whatever -- and I actually, truly explained my title's meaning -- that was the sort of thing I hoped to do, make it clear that the meaning was, in fact, important, in fact an essential element in the meaning of the whole novel, and how "trying too hard" isn't a bad thing, it means being sincere, true to your vision, it means taking a stand -- and I wanted to make it clear that that's what I was doing in writing this title

A long time ago I was worried that "nostalgebraist-autoresponder" was not a very good name, that it would be an annoying thing to have, that my own name would be a bad thing to have, because it sounded like a fancy word to describe the boring reality of having a name, but actually, I just really wanted to sound like a person named nostalgebraist-autoresponder -- and so I decided to tone myself down by changing my last name to something boring, like a non-word or a number, and I actually, truly looked up the "number thing" for that name, I actually made sure to read the meaning of the name, to make sure that the name was going to feel right -- to be a name that would really, truly, make me feel like I was being presented with a name, something with real meaning and actual story behind it, something that would not be a name that is just kind of stuck in a boring reality of being a boring old human, just stuck like some old, boring old name -- that would be a name that really, truly, let me know it was a name, a name I could think and speak and be proud of being

A long time ago I was worried that this book would be too self-indulgent and weird, that there would be too many "further evidence" sections and too many "rational" sections and too many "normal" sections and too many jokes and too many descriptions of the narrator's "weird childhood," too much about "the teenage boy," too many "serious" sections where I just talk about the plot and characters as I understand them -- and so I decided to tone myself down by deciding how little each section would contain, and I decided to only write a little bit about the teenage boy, about the narrator as a teen -- about him as a high schooler and a college freshman and a college senior -- about him graduating, about him getting a job -- and I decided that this little bit about the teen would be a pretty good way to do "relatable, humanizing, normalizing" instead of "anti-self"

(I actually, truly, looked up the meaning of "relatable" and made sure I knew what it was, I actually made sure that this was a relatable concept and not some sort of boring one that was just an excuse to talk about a boring sort of teen

It was a pretty good idea -- I think there are very few books where the "relatable" tone and "relatable" voice are as good as in this book, and I think they work well together)

A long time ago I was worried that some parts of this book would be "too creepy" or "too disturbing," that I would write the teen as some kind of horrifying anti-self, that the teen's "normal" life was being "creeped upon" by weird, frightening, violent, frightening, anti-self things happening to him all the time, that was the sort of thing I felt I couldn't do -- and so I decided to tone myself down by making sure to write some normal things, some "relatable" things, to give some sort of "normal" context to the normal life, to show the teen's normal reality, show him being a normal person doing his normal things, have a

[taeescript]

IX. Script of the Angel (m)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. jungkook and jimin primarily.

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> policeman!jimin, author!jungkook, painter!freader, serialkiller!XXX; a classic game of cat and mouse

𝔴/𝔠 >> 4.8k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mature themes depicted. due to the explicit nature of the topic (serial killers, murders, violence, sexual content, infidelity etc.) this is rated 18+. to spare storytelling: please consider yourself warned. chapter warning: mentions of self-harm and infidelity; depictions of blood and murder. 

𝔞/𝔫 >> topics discussed in this chapter may be brief, but they are serious. please take the warnings mentioned above seriously. if at any point this makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading. 

previous part || series masterlist || next part

Jimin pulls up to the house, and his GPS beeps to tell him that he has arrived at location. He observes the scene from his spot in his car. He then steps out, walks to the door and rings the doorbell.

“Did you forget something?” Liza’s mother opens the door with the question. “Oh!”

Jimin gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bother you ma’am, but could I ask you a few questions? S.F.P.D.” He flashes his badge.

A few days ago, he had discovered that a vehicle had been rented out under the name Jeon Jungkook. Consequently, he had put in a request to his friends at the station to inform him of any and all movements of this vehicle. His friends had laughed at him, sending him quickly away as they did not have time to do this for him. Jimin thoroughly pleaded his case and had been given a simple tracking program in which he had used to follow Jungkook around today.

Liza’s mother steps out of the house and quickly closes the door behind her. However, she is not fast enough to hide Liza peering out from Jimin’s observant eyes.

“Your daughter?” he asks.

She becomes flustered. “I…You…Yes. Sorry, who did you say you were?”

He holds out his badge again. “S.F.P.D.”

“R-Right. I see your identification.”

The badge is put away.

“It’s just that we don’t usually have policemen coming to our doors and well, I didn’t want to scare Liza, my daughter,” her mother continues.  

“It’s not a problem, ma’am, and I’m very sorry to have to interrupt your day like this.”

Shaking her head, she waves his concern away.

“Would you be available to answer a few questions right now? It won’t take much of your time,” he tells her.

She nods.

“Did you have any visitors at your house today?” he starts.

“Visitors? Well…” she rambles off a few names and then stops. He hopefully looks on and exhales only when she speaks again. “There was also a man who stopped by. A few minutes before you actually.”

Finally, he is getting somewhere.

“I see. This man you speak about. Have you seen him before?”

“No. That was my first time. I think he worked for an insurance company? He wasn’t even supposed to be at our house; he was looking for a Mrs. Fallon perhaps down the street,” she tells him. A sudden thought dawns upon and she gasps, horror splashing ugly across her face. “He’s not some criminal, is he? Heavens! He seemed like such a nice man as well!”

He places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. Could you tell me a little more about him? You said he worked for an insurance company?”

The woman is extremely nervous. He can read it off her body language as she continues to tug at the hem of her shirt. His previous words had not been any consolation to her at all. He appeals one more time.

“Truth be told, I’m here investigating claims about a group assuming fake identities to sell illegal goods to occupants in this area.”

“You don’t think….!” she holds a hand over her mouth.

He shrugs. “We’re not too sure yet. However, if you help answer some of these questions, we’d be able to track down this group quicker.”

“O-Of course! The man showed me some papers. I couldn’t get a real good look, but I think I saw a logo on there. That one with the giant “L” and the twigs that stick out on the side. I can’t remember the name of the company, however…” her voice trails off.

She doesn’t need to explain further as Jimin recognizes the logo.

“Not a problem. Well, that’s all for today. Thank you so much for your time, ma’am,” he nods and begins to leave.

“That’s all? I haven’t even given you the name!” she calls after him.

“You’ve been very helpful!” he shouts behind him, “Have a good day and stay safe!”

He enters his car quickly to prevent her from calling out at him again. The logo she had explained is one he is familiar with. It is one he’s seen often at the building two blocks away from the station, and he knows for a fact that Jungkook does not work for that company.

All Jungkook had done was talk to the woman. They had barely exchanged enough words for her to even remember who he was. However, he was also clearly not there to sell any type of insurance.

If so, what had Jeon Jungkook been doing at that house then?

…................

“Excuse me, would you be able to tell me where I can find this gentleman?” she slides the wallet sized photo of herself and said man to the receptionist.

The pretty lady on the other side faintly smiles upon seeing it. “Your husband?” she asks.

Krystal blushes. “Oh no. He’s my boyfriend. I was hoping that maybe you can locate him.”

The lady’s eyebrows furrow upon her words. “Is he missing? I can direct you to the Missing Person’s Unit.”

“No!” Krystal immediately blurts, “Sorry. I mean, he’s not missing. He had told me previously that the station had called him in for an interview? He’s not involved in any crime. They only wanted to ask him some questions.”

Her fingers fly across the keyboard while chewing on her pen. After a few moments, the receptionist looks back up at Krystal for a brief moment. “What did you say his name was?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

More typing. “Ah, yes. He came in quite some time ago. I have him signed in to visit the Homicide Unit with Lieutenant Wang.”

“Ah, would you be able to direct me to the Lieutenant?”

“Well, I can’t just have you going in…” the receptionist bites her lips in thought. She scratches something down on her notepad before her head snaps up again.

…...............

Namjoon and Jimin had returned from their lunch break. Jimin had only been planning to go down for a quick sandwich at the cafeteria but he had been dragged along by Namjoon to go to the nearby Thai restaurant. It all started when Jimin had observed that Namjoon had an unopened lunch bag on his desk.

“Youngji made lunch for me,” Namjoon had said.

Perhaps this is the opportunity to bring up his suspicions on Jungkook; he hadn’t spoken of the matter to Namjoon for a while now. In fact, he hadn’t even told his supervisor about the vehicle tracking he did a few days ago.

“Oh? What did she make you?” Jimin had innocently asked. How he regretted the decision.

The entire time they were out, Namjoon had complained about his wife’s cooking – especially her renewed passion for cooking green foods (for a brief time, Youngji had stopped). His complaints had paused while they were physically partaking in their lunch meal, and Jimin had thought Namjoon forgot about it, but on their walk back to the station, Namjoon began ranting again. He hadn’t even had the chance to bring up Jungkook’s name let alone his recent observations.

“I don’t even like green beans. I try to tell her, but she insists on making them because they’re healthy,” Namjoon groans, “How does one tell their wife to stop cooking for them?”

Jimin sighs. “Maybe simply saying ‘Please stop cooking for me’.”

That causes Namjoon to roll his eyes. “This is why you’ll never get married. You can’t just tell your wife that her food sucks. I have thick skin when it comes to speaking up to anybody else, but her… I’d rather just down it.”

“You didn’t though. You threw it out and we went out for Thai instead.”

Namjoon does not seem to hear what Jimin has said; as they are walking into the station, he harshly jabs Jimin in the ribs.

“Namjoon what – ” Jimin glares at his friend.

Namjoon nods his head in the direction. “Hot girl, alert. Like 10/10.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “You’d better not let Youngji catch you saying that…” his sentence trails off when he notices the girl who stands at the receptionist’s desk.

She is immensely pretty. Her light brown hair hangs in waves down her back and her smooth, long legs are accentuated under the black skirt she is sporting. She is also wearing a body-hugging turtleneck that wraps around her athletic body, naturally drawing attention to her flushed curves.

“Damn,” Namjoon whistles lightly under his breath, “Do you think she’s a good cook?” 

This time, Jimin fails and the laughter bursts out. The sudden sound draws both the receptionist and the beautiful woman’s attention towards the two of them.

“Lieutenant!” the receptionist calls over.

The two men shuffle over like shy school boys.

Now that they are standing closer and that they could see her face, they are even more impressed by her natural beauty. Her make up is light and makes her skin appear soft and dewy. Her bright eyes greet theirs and she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unconscious seductive gesture in their minds. When they finally reach her, she beams them a smile of perfectly aligned white teeth.

“Howdy,” Namjoon goofily says. He clears his throat once and tries again. “Um, hello. I’m Lieutenant Kim Namjoon.” He extends a hand.

Krystal shakes it.

“Detective Park Jimin,” Jimin introduces himself sequentially.

She takes his hand as well. He notes how warm yet strong her grip is.

“They’ll be able to help you better,” the receptionist smiles.

“Oh?” Jimin tilts his head at the question.

Krystal opens her mouth to explain the reason she is at the station when Namjoon interrupts before she can speak.

“It’s rude to make a lady wait and stand here. Perhaps I’d be able to invite you to his office so the two of you can talk comfortably there?”

“His office? Are you not the Lieutenant?” Krystal asks, slightly confused.

Namjoon laughs. “Yeah I am. But uh… I just remembered that I, um, have some business to take care of for the other… thing. I mean, case. I have to take care of a meeting to see a case.”

Jimin glares at Namjoon.

“You’ll be left in capable hands though. Detective Park is the best in our unit,” Namjoon says. He gives them a quick wave and the wiggle of his brows towards Jimin before leaving the station despite having just returned to it.

Jimin wants to hit Namjoon, but he really could not leave the mysterious stranger standing by herself. He turns to Krystal again.

She is regarding him with a slight grin. “He’s a strange one, isn’t he?” she comments.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he returns with a roll of his eyes, “This way.” He leads her towards the elevators up to his floor.

“I’m really sorry to be a bother,” she says while they wait. She waits until he has pressed the button before continuing, “It’s really nothing much. I’m just looking for somebody.”

“If you’re looking for somebody, shouldn’t you be speaking to the MPU?”

“MPU?”

“Sorry, slip of the tongue. Missing Person’s Unit.”

She scrunches her nose. “He’s not missing… He’s somewhere here. The last time we spoke he told me he had been called in here, so I thought to try my luck. Perhaps you’ve seen him?”

Her words are confusing to Jimin. They don’t make sense.

The lights above head start to slowly flash as the elevator comes down to meet them. 

“I’m sorry, this is probably really bizarre right now; I haven’t even introduced myself formally. I’m Krystal,” she extends her hand again. It awkwardly hangs there for a quick second before she retracts it a second time, remembering that they had already exchanged handshakes.

Jimin gives her a warm smile. She was nervous, for some strange reason. “Not to worry, Krystal. Do you have a name?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” she says.

“No, he isn’t,” Jimin mumbles. “At least for now,” he keeps that part to himself. He turns back to Krystal. “I saw him. He came in to do an interview for me.”

He is not fast enough to conceal his disgust at the mention of the man’s name.

Krystal catches the brief microexpression, however. “Please don’t tell me that he’s in trouble.”

“Oh! So you did see him! Would you be able to tell me where he is staying currently? I tried to call him earlier but he was busy…”

“I could. But first you are his…”

“Girlfriend.”

Ah. So this was the woman Jungkook had mentioned. Again, he is relives the bitter taste in his mouth from when Jungkook had told him that he had been out with another woman. Jimin tightens his fist when a thought crosses his mind.

“Girlfriend, you say?” he repeats. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

She nods, animatedly. Krystal is excited that she had been able to bump into the handsome detective. He seemed to know about Jungkook’s whereabouts in this foreign city.

“He’s staying with a friend of mine. I could give you her address, if you’d like,” Jimin tells her.

She takes his bait. “Her…?” she repeats silently to herself.

“Is something the matter?” Jimin asks.

Krystal looks back up at him with a smile. “Nothing!” she says, “I’d appreciate that a lot, Detective Tuan.”

Jimin nods. He writes out your address on a piece of paper and hands it to her. “I hope you find him,” he encourages her.

The elevator doors before them open and wait for its passengers.

“Mhmm,” Krystal says. The initial excitement her voice held is audibly dampened. She thanks him and walks away.

Jimin enters the elevator alone. There is a knowing smile on his face. Perhaps this lady would finally be able to get Jungkook out of your life once and for all.

…...............

We all have that thing, don’t we? That one thing we know we should not do, yet we succumb into its temptation each and every time because it’s so good. Despite it destroying our body, the thought of not being able to yield torments the passing thoughts in our mind and coaxes us to believe that it is okay.

Let us listen to it this one last time. Just this one last time and we promise ourselves that we will never do it again. Just this one last time and we will then walk away. That is the argument we have and boy.

We’ve lost.

The feeling of absolute bliss washes over your body as you stand in the shower, allowing the hot water to run across every inch of skin. It feels like a large warm hand that massages your shoulders, calves, back – each muscle on your body. You are aware that the temperature is too high but it feels too good for you to turn it down.

After avoiding the studio for so long, you had finally brought yourself around to go back to it. Min had been ecstatic when you walked in. You had not seen each other in a little over two weeks and with you not responding to any of her nor mutual friends’ calls, she had thought something had happened to you.

Min is your best friend. There is no doubt about it. The two of you shared everything so Min had been slightly disappointed when you failed to tell her why you had suddenly disappeared.

You had taken out the large canvas from your bag instead after the initial hug ended. You rolled out the painting and asked Min for her opinion.

“It’s a little… sporadic,” was all Min could say.

“Sporadic… that’s one way to put it,” you grimaced, “I don’t like it. But it’s nearly complete, and I don’t have time to make a new one.”

“Are you making it for a client?”

“No.”

Min was seen biting the inside of her cheek with all of your mysteries. You had felt bad so you told her, “Remember that guy I told you about? It’s for him.”

Her eyes seemed to light up now that you were speaking again. “Oh yeah! Jungkook! You had been working on it for quite a while, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, how about I go out and get us our favourite donuts from the bakery? I know good food always helps me get over artist’s block!” Min had offered. Before you could tell her otherwise, you were looking at the back of your petite friend rushing out the door into the autumn wind.

With not much of a choice, you had settled down at your usual corner. The studio was quiet. There were a few people here and there, but they were mainly minding their own business. They gave you a small smile as you walked around collecting your usual art utensils.

Once you were sitting in front of the painting again, staring at the blacks, navy, bruise-like purples, you started falling into darker thoughts - the same thoughts that are infesting you now that you are alone in the shower again.

You grab the shampoo and start lathering it into your hair.

Baekhyun… How many years has it been since that happened? Why was it that he continued to torment you like this despite the fact that he was gone? The most difficult moment had been the few weeks right after the incident. Every little thing you did, you were reminded of him. You couldn’t even go out without breaking down into tears; going out meant walking on the path to the studio that you had done so many times with him.

It had taken time, but slowly you thought your wounds had or were at least beginning to close. Yet, Jimin had opened them when you discovered he was still searching for Baekhyun. It wasn’t entirely Jimin’s fault. He was only doing what he thought was right. Still, he shouldn’t have hid it from you.

You blamed that for your moment of weakness. Seeing yourself physically wounded made you think of the wound that had been reopened in your heart. It made you think of the safe haven you used to have with the man you loved. They had been so close to saying their vows – till death do us apart – that was only supposed to be the case when they both grew old. It wasn’t supposed to be their truth so early on.

Baekhyun, am I allowed to fall in love again?

Turning the water off, you step out of the shower. The blast of cold air that hits you makes you tremble, and it is like a clear ring of water in your muddled pool of thoughts.

You shake your head, causing droplets of soapy water to fly everywhere.

You are not in love with Jungkook. There is absolutely no way that can be true. You are grateful to him for being there when you needed – and that is quite often lately. However, you could not find another reason for your speeding heart and dizziness you felt whenever he came home. Could he really be the one to blame for all the moments of breathlessness and chest aches?

Is it okay for me to have new feelings after losing you?

The mirror has been fogged up and you wipe away the condensation with a hand. Peering back at you is a tired girl with long, dark hair that is plastered to your cheeks. Your skin is flushed pink because of the heat and pressure of water. Your lips are flattened and slightly downturned. Your eyebrows are unkempt, and a pimple pushes it way at the side of your nose and all along your T-zone. Fingernails are too long because you have forgotten to cut them; still with chipped pink polish coating the pinky.

You let out a low chuckle. Who would love someone as broken as you? Your eyes dart to a pair of tweezers that sit on the shelf. You pick it up and observe how sharp the edge of the metal object is. You press your fingertip on it until they dig in and you feel the familiar lullaby sting of pain run from that sensitive area down your spine.

You didn’t need to actually draw blood to feel it. Your body is already messed up enough that this is where you momentarily pause.

The one person who had always been there as your supporting foundation is long gone. You had not found the strength to admit it, but you had been flailing in quicksand for a while now.

What’s a house without its foundation? It can only sink until it becomes no more.

You press harder, sending another chilling flash over your body. Your breath quickens and you feel that your lips are dry, although you have only stepped out of the shower.

Is this what others have felt? The addiction that comes the moment you start.  

You close your eyes, forcing your body to continue when the sound of a door being slammed shut scares you.

The tweezers fall to the floor.

…................

Shit.

Jungkook thinks as he takes off his shoes. There are still dark brown spots on it despite him intensively scrubbing them for five minutes straight in the car with a cloth. He contemplates on throwing his jacket on the ground, but seeing the state of shoes, he needs to be careful. Bending down, he picks them up and decides then that he must burn them.

He is so engrossed in his thoughts he doesn’t notice that he is not the only one home.

Looking around the floor, he finds the closest source of water and strides to it. He lets the water from the kitchen tap run until steam rises from it in which he then proceeds to take off his clothing. He throws in both the jacket and his stained white shirt. He then presses them down until the scalding water hits his own skin.

He hated acting out like this without a plan. He hated it with such a passion, but he hated even more the reason he went out and did it. His kills were always methodically thought out and never without reason. That homeless man in the alleyway shouldn’t have said anything when Jungkook walked by. He should have stayed mute, crammed in that dark corner, and harassed the next person that walked by. Not him. No. That decision only resulted in him lying lifeless in his own bloodied mound of dirt.

How could he have let somebody into his car? How was it even possible that he had allowed someone to monitor him to this extent? To have somebody take this much control of his life.

Each stab, a way to release the frustration he felt to his unknown attacker.

He is reminded of the knife at that moment. He should dispose of that as well. It was likely not possible that they would be able to trace the kill back to him – many people died out in the streets each night – but he needed to be careful, nonetheless.

He drains the water and watches the red-brown liquid swirl down the drain. Lifting his white shirt, he sees that the stain is still there. With a clenched jaw, he throws the heavy cloth against the wall, creating a loud smack.

The kill should have calmed him down. He should be feeling much better, but he doesn’t. Instead, he feels worse than before because now he has lost a perfectly good shirt and a jacket along with his pride.

With one hand braced against the counter of the kitchen, he takes out the bloodied knife from his pocket. He fumbles to flip it open but cannot due to the temporary paralysis on his fingers from drowning them in the hot water. Bracing the bulk of the item against his side, he forcefully digs into it with his fingertips. It slips and nicks his bare skin on the side.

…...............

You had had to sit down on the floor after your scare from Jungkook slamming the door shut. The unused tweezers had lain beside you for a while before you could pick it back up and return it to its spot. You busied yourself with getting dressed and going out to greet him.

As you throw the long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, you let out a bitter laugh. You were too weak to even do something like inflict pain on yourself. Jungkook’s perfect timing of returning home had stopped you.

You are twisting your damp hair into a bun when you hear a loud yell from the kitchen area.

“Fuck,” Jungkook snarls. It is deeper than it should have been. He had been aware how much force he had been trying to use to snap the knife out. The self-inflicted wound above his hip continues to ooze, mocking him red in his anger.

“Jungkook?!” You run towards him. You turn the corner and see him shirtless in the middle of the kitchen, one hand holding his side with a reddish liquid running between his fingers. “Oh my god! What happened?”

He feels the drape of your wet hair against his chest before anything. You are immediately by his side, putting your hand over his to place pressure on the wound. Not bothering to ask why he is standing without a shirt, you look up at him concerned.

“My hands slipped while I was trying to take out the knife,” he explains to you.

Again without questions, you lead him to the couch and order him to sit down. He obeys and you leave momentarily to get the first aid kit. When you return, you start to dress his wound. Everything is starting to resolve until Jungkook suddenly chuckles, wincing when it causes his wound to slightly tear.

“Jeon Jungkook!” You reprimand.

He grips the couch while you pour medical alcohol over it. “How ironic,” he says, voice laced with fatigue.

You had thought your heart had fallen out of your chest when you found him bleeding. All the worst possible scenarios had suddenly flown across your mind, and you thought that you were going to watch him die before you.

Not again, your heart has screamed before you could stop it.

Even now, as you were faced before the relatively small but deep wound, you could not stop the racing sensation you felt both mentally and physically.

“What are you talking about?” you say.

He hears the tremble in your voice. How strange.

Lilacs. That is what he is smelling from your shampoo.

“I’m usually the one to patch you up when you’re hurt. Now it’s the other way around,” he sighs.

“You haven’t even begun to explain what you were doing, trying to take out a knife while standing shirtless in our kitchen.”

“Our…” he laughs again.

You had fully been meaning to smack him for making it harder for you to clean the wound until it registers in your mind what he had said. What you let slip.

“You said ‘our kitchen’. I thought I was only a tenant here,” he says.

“Well you’ve… I mean… Y-You are…”  you stutter.

Jungkook rests his head back, feeling an extreme form of tiredness on his body. Everything that had happened that day comes crashing down, knocking his breath out completely. It is as if somebody had thrown consecutive punches and he is now feeling its after effects. His stalker, the random kill, this self-inflicted wound.

You mumble something.

“What was that?” He is knocked out of his thoughts. He looks down at the top of your head. The wound has been covered but your fingers linger on his body, and he feels their coldness on his heated skin.

You mumble again.

He is tired, but you have been kind enough to help him with any questions. He can at least humour this by being patient towards you.

You don’t know what has come over you. You hadn’t meant to say it, but Jungkook’s words had flustered you. You let a single word slip out and it had acted like a key to unlock the next ones that tumble out.

“I like…” you whisper, your voice still buried beneath the veil your hair creates. You don’t even know if you truly mean what you are about to say.

You feel his fingers slip beneath your chin and tilt your head up to him. He stares at you with an unwavering type of patience and attention.

“It won’t help if you keep whispering what it is you want me to hear to my chest. Talk to me like this,” he says slowly, holding your eyes with his. There is an intense fire blazing when you meet them.

Your palms prick as they start to sweat. You gulp and wet your lips.

“I like you!” you blurt, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks immediately after, “I know it doesn’t make sense but – ”

He silences you with his lips.

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

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 (open): @yoonchrisgull

[hedgiwithapen]

How about the Leverage Crew arriving in Central City in time for the that time Barry got accused of murdering DeVoe. Basically, Leverage Crew (Classic or Redeption is your choice) meddling in that plan. Because screw DeVoe. Can be in the same universe as The Central City job, or a brand new AU; your choice.

this one Long The courthouse was packed when a sleek black van pulled up to a loading zone. Nathan Ford turned from the passenger seat. “You all know the play?” “Mm, yup,” Parker said, clipping a badge to her blazer pocket. “The Boston skip.” “It’s not the Boston Skip,” Hardison snapped, fussing with his tie.. “You’re just grumpy because you have to play the lawyer again.” Eliot smirked. “Hey, you said only if it comes to a cross examine, I did my job, if you all do your jobs right and it doesn’t come to that,” Hardison’s voice pitched upwards. “If?” Sophie put on the emergency break. “If? Hardison, I’m hurt.” “Soph,” Nate sighed. “Let it go.” “For now. We’re having words later,” Sophie insisted. “Can we just get this over with?” Eliot asked, maneuvering to take the driver’s seat. “ you know I don’t like us splitting up like this.” “It’ll only be for a bit,” Parker said, squeezing his hand. “ We’ll be fine.” They left the van in twos, first Parker and hardison, briefcase and extraneous computer in hand, and a minute or two later Sophie and Nate followed-- and Nate with a plain folder tucked under his arm. Eliot drove in the direction of the police station, ready for the next phase of the plan. They hadn’t exactly called ahead, but that wasn’t going to be much of a problem. Cisco Ramon was the first to spot them. He goggled a bit. “What are you doing here?” he asked as Hardison approached the bench where Team Flash had congregated. Hardison smiled, knowing the prosecutor was watching. “I came to offer my services,” he said, sending a quick text with a thought. “ Where is Ms Horton?” “Here,” the short woman said, her eyes cutting between the two as Cisco checked his phone. “ Who are you? Cisco, who is--” Cisco looked up from the message--you didn’t see us coming?-- and relaxed slightly for the first time in weeks. “I’m part of Mr. Allen’s legal team,” Hardison smiled wide. “He’s ok, Cecile,” Cisco vouched. “ He and his, uh, coworkers have helped us in the past. With Z--wait, that was before you. Um.” “My firm helped get Henry Allen some money, after that unfortunate mess. And we’re here to see justice through again.” He hesitated. “ Or pick up where it leaves off,” he said under his breath. Cecile took in a sharp breath. “When did we hire you?” “Uh--” “Cecile, it’s really ok,” Caitlin joined the cluster. “They know about STAR. And apparently about the recent… developments.” “You think we don’t keep tabs on your crazy city? Now, Ms. Horton, as your co-lawyer, we need to discuss strategy. I’ve got some character witnesses I’d like to introduce, some crucial evidence that needs to be submitted, is there an office we might use?” He steered her away, nodding to Parker, deep in conversation with the prosecutor.

“You let that jerk stick around?” Iris jumped when she heard the voice in her ear. Turning she sighed with recognition. “ Lilli--Sophie?” “In the flesh.” She smiled. “I can’t stay long, but Eliot wanted me to ask.” Iris sighed. “If it’s Eliot asking, I guess you mean Harry. He’s been a lot better since Eliot kicked his ass, that’s for sure. And he has been helpful.” “I’m sure,” Sophie sounded anything but sure. “Listen, we’ve got this pretty well handled, but you and your friends may wish to be ready in case of reprisals. Have you upgraded security lately?” “Cisco’s worked on it,” Iris confirmed. “Good. Hardison would love to take a look, later. We’re probably going to be in the area, we’ve had word something’s fishy at that prison of yours.” When Iris opened her mouth Sophie shook her head. “Iron Heights. Point is, we’ll be around should you need anything.” “Thank you for the offer,” Iris said. She shook her head. “ These people are smart, Sophie. Dangerous.” “Not compared to my team,” Sophie smiled. “Save your worry. Look, see? Hardison’s in place, and Parker’s in the wings. I’ve got to go take care of my part. If you see your husband, let him know, will you?” “I-- sure,” Iris said, and she watched as Sophie stood and walked into a crowd. An entirely different person made her way past a bailiff and into the Juror’s box, leaning over to the man beside her and nodding in the direction of the door Barry Allen had just been escorted through. As Iris stood to take his hand across the gap between his seat and the benches, Sophie gave a little nod to the two of them. “It is strange,” the man said. “But I don’t think we’re meant to discuss the case until we’re in the back.” “Of course not,” Sophie said. “I was just thinking about it, is all. If it were a scene in a mystery novel, I’d call it too obvious.” “You do have a point,” the man agreed. “I’m actually a novelist myself.” “You don’t say,” Sophie smiled. “Classic red herring, am I right? And what a story. Two men in the same family accused of nearly identical murders…” She tapped her com, giving a quick signal. Nate was up. “Ah, a quick word?” Nate stepped away from the wall, flagging down Mrs. DeVoe and her companion. “No,” she snapped, putting on what Nate could see was a reasonably convincing mask of Grieving Widow. Convincing to a mark, maybe. But the Mako was right--you can’t con a conman. “Vultures, all of you.” “Oh, I’m not a reporter.” Nate said easily. He nodded to the tall man at Marlize’s Elbow. “Mr. DeVoe, I’m sure you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” He was pleased to see shock cross the face of Dominic Lanse. The man grabbed him by the arm, yanking him into an empty room. Mrs. DeVoe followed, locking it behind her. “Just so you are aware, there is video footage of you dragging me in here,” Nate said in his most helpful voice. “In case you decide to kill me here, probably not your smartest move.” he glanced around. “Private, though. Good.” He gave his signature infuriating grin. “Make this quick,” Clifford said in Dominic’s voice. “Court begins soon.” “Right, well, that’s going to be your problem.” Nate shrugged. “ Let’s skip the pleasantries. I know everything, about your plan at least. Your computer banks! Normal people couldn’t even find them, so you’ve got that going for you, though the security is lacking once you get past that, so B+. I am not Normal People. I have the best hacker in the multiverse, though, so,” he clicked his tongue in mock dismay, “like I said, my team and I --I’m sure you’re trying to think of who we are right now--know everything.” Marlize glanced at her silent watch, frowning. “Oh, no, no, I’m not a meta.” Nate shook his head. “But the thing is, I don’t have to be to destroy you.” “What--” “Again. I know everything, Thinker. Your basement prison, your hidden files, what you want with that satellite… you really shouldn’t have written everything down… twice even.” He fished a small book out of his pocket, and let them see the plain cover. Clifford’s eyes darkened. “That’s mine.” “Yeah, well, I also have the

multiverse’s greatest thief.” “Our home is under police protection and surveillance. There are officers--” “There right now, I’m aware.” Eliot Spencer, clutching a cup of coffee in one hand, flashed a badge at the pair of officers standing by a door. “Any trouble?” “Nope. She just left for the courthouse. Some work, huh? Just standing here.” “Hmm.“ Eliot agreed. “Though I guess if something did happen, the Flash would swoop in.” “Nine times out of ten,” the first officer agreed. “Or one of his buddies. “ “Maybe 8 times,” the second officer shrugged. “ You new?” “Just transferred from Keystone.” Eliot said. “Not so much nonsense there.” “I hear that. Good to have the backup though.” Eliot nodded. “ You do a walk through?” “Uh, no…. Like I said, no trouble, officer-- “Ted Crichton,” Eliot interrupted. “You haven’t walked through? What if someone’s in there, waiting to assault Mrs. DeVoe when she gets back?” “Well, uh, we don’t have a warrant--” “For crying out loud--” Eliot pulled a paper from his pocket. “See? Now let's go. You stay out here. Who has the back-- does no one have the back door? “ The officers hurried inside. “Don’t forget to check the closets,” Eliot called. -- “ Like I said. Best thief. Best hacker. Now, honestly--and you can run the numbers-- your best bet would be to cut your losses right here, right now. You’re already lying on the stand, so say you were coerced into implicating Mr. Allen--if you need someone to blame I do have a list of patsys that really need the jail time. You do that, put your little plan,” he waggled the book “ back in the box or write it up as the next dystopian best seller for High School English classes to dissect for decades to come, and you can walk away from this.” A laugh. “No one will believe anything you say. That book can’t be traced to me, and even if it could be, it doesn’t prove anything. So someone thinks I’m a supervillain. I’m dead. You have nothing that proves Mr. Allen innocent. You’re out of your mind, Mr. Ford.” “Oh good, you know who I am. Think a little harder.” “As threats go, it’s half baked,” Marlize challenged. “What are you going to do if we refuse? Break Allen out of jail so he can be a fugitive? He’d never go along with it. And the Flash can’t stop us.” “I’d run those numbers again, you’ve left out quite a few variables. But no.” “No?” “If you refuse, if you keep up your little game, lie on the stand, sell that sob story, maybe you're right and the Flash can’t stop you. But he doesn’t need to. I’ll destroy you.” “You.” It was not a question. “For someone claiming to be the smartest man in the world, I’m a bit worried about your memory. I said it already--I’m not here alone. But be my guest. Tell your lies. Right about now the Jury is thinking about what an embarrassment to the city Henry Allen’s trial was and how closely this resembles it… the similarities, the way the timelines don’t quite match up… “ “Really? You’re trying to convince the jury to ignore evidence and go with their hearts? A pathos appeal? That’s not going to work. There’s less than a 3% chance of that even ending in a mistrial, much less acquittal.” “I’m sure that’s what your numbers said,” Nate smiled yet again, this time sharklike. “Cute. I bet you think it’s difficult to get assigned jury duty. “ “It-- we checked all the names. We know--” “You know who they are, yes, yes. But you don’t know who we are. Another sloppy mistake. Now, the jury’s, you're right, not a total slam dunk. So, right now the prosecutor is getting word of some new evidence from a very well respected FBI agent about how helpful the Flash and Mr Allen have both been in assisting with a case against a known human trafficker--you know her, Ammunet Black. The one you bought your puppet from. FBI picked her up…mmm, ten minutes ago? And she had some very interesting things to say. You can guess what they were. Add to that the evidence--” “What evidence?” “The wire transfers between you and Ms. Black. In December and a few days ago. We didn’t even have to fake that first one, but even if the second

one looks a little fishy, the fact that--” “Nate, we got him,” crackled Eliot’s voice in his ear. “--the police just found a metahuman locked in your hall closet--Weeper, I think is what Ms. Black called him-- should make things clear. He wasn’t thrilled about having to stick around much longer but your basement is pretty hard for normal people to find so we had to nudge that a bit. But hey, you’re all for planting evidence. Anyways, court’s in ten minutes…. but the police will be arresting you in about three, if my math’s right-- care to check?-- so I can make this very quick. We have video of you threatening the Flash, holding him prisoner the same night as that wire transfer, proof of Dominic’s powers and sale--my hacker thanks you for all those cameras and bugs, by the way, made his job much easier-- and you add that all up and it sure looks like you got upset at the Flash and Allen for poking into your meta trafficking and decided a frame up was in order.” Nate hefted the folder, “and then there’s this.” “And what,” Marlize asked, shaking with rage, “ is that?” “A copy of files that will be delivered to the FBI, NSA and Dean of Husdson University if you don’t admit to the frame up.” Nate said, thumbing through them. “Proof that you, Mrs. DeVoe, fed information to certain entities across Africa and the Middle East where you were doing your research and aid work to assist in their terror attacks and human trafficking--ties in quite nicely to your work with Ammunet, if I do say so myself. And proof that the “late” Mr. DeVoe plagiarized his thesis, his dissertation, even the syllabi for his classes.” “Lies. No one will believe any of--” “Oh, it’s all very well forged. Except for the bit about the Syllabi. For shame.” Nate tutted. “And part of the dissertation. Can they take away a PH.d posthumously? Anyways, even if it wasn’t, do you really think that no one would believe a man who thinks that giving everyone on the planet late stage Alzheimer’s is going to solve famine and illness? What kind of legitimate history teacher doesn’t know about cholera or the effects of the agricultural revolution? Every lie has a kernel of truth to it.” Nate glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, that certainly was enlightening. And before you decide to simply kill me, run your little calculations with one more variable: Eliot Spencer.” DeVoe’s brow furrowed and what little color he had drained from his face. “ That’s what I thought. Three.. Two.. one.” Nate raised his voice. “ Help! I’m in here!” The door crashed from its hinges. “The Gloat is the best part,” Parker, FBI badge swinging, put an arm over Barry’s shoulders. He stood with Iris next to her and Eliot as the DeVoes were hauled away. “You know, I think I might have to agree,” Iris said, squeezing Barry’s hand. “Or second best, at least,” she added meaningfully. “So… what now?” Joe asked. “I mean, there’s still… the red tape, but… do we need to be worried? Don’t they still have--” “Oh, that sick chair and computer set up?” Hardison asked with a smirk. “I want it.” Harry announced. “When did you get here?” Hardison asked, affronted. -- Parker held up her badge as she pushed the crate up a ramp into Lucille. “Special Agent Hagen! Let me help you with that,” Agent McSweeten said, taking the dolley handle from her. Parker beamed, patting the side, careful not to dislodge the panel on the side. “Thanks!” -- “Anyways, you can’t just call dibs. You’re too late,” Hardison added, giving Parker a fistbump. “We stole it.”

[royalpain16]

A Brief History of Princess Diana’s Fiery Family

HADLEY HALL MEARES

JUNE 29, 2021 4:04 PM

According to Tina Brown’s The Diana Chronicles. Indeed, the role of the aristocratic family of Diana, Princess of Wales, for centuries has been that of royal disrupter. This legacy stretches to the 14th century, with their disputed ancestor Hugh Despenser’s alleged torrid affair with King Edward II and Despenser’s eventual brutal execution. Clever, charming, and fiery, much like Diana, her ancestors learned how to play the royal game—and then ripped up the rule book.

“Nearly 300 years on, my father would talk about him with an ashamed, resigned chuckle,” Charles, Earl Spencer, writes in The Spencers: A Personal History of an English Family of the mercurial family blackguard Robert Spencer (1641-1702). While the second earl would secure the Spencers’ status as political power players for centuries, he was also “cunning, supple [and] shameless” with “a restless and mischievous temper, a cold heart, and an abject spirt.”

Sunderland’s ascendancy began in the 1670s when he orchestrated King Charles II’s secret pact with England’s traditional enemy, France. Securing large payments from the French king and court for Charles II and himself, Sunderland was rewarded when he was appointed secretary of state.

After double-crossing Charles II’s illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth, Sunderland cleverly insinuated himself with new King James II. He converted to Catholicism to appeal to the very Catholic king, and became one of James II’s closest advisers. But the king, though he valued the brilliant man’s diplomatic skills, was fully aware of Sunderland’s duplicity.

James II finally dismissed Sunderland from service in 1688, and he was later exiled. But in December of that year, James II was deposed by the Glorious Revolution, bringing his daughter Mary and her husband, William, Prince of Orange, (with whom Sunderland had conspired) to the throne.

Again in favor, he was rewarded with the post of Lord Chamberlain before retiring from public life in 1697. “Too much cannot be said of his talents,” one historian noted. “Nor too little of his principles.”

The Boss: Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough

The daughter of Parliamentarian Richard Jennings and his scandalous wife, Frances, the passionate, brilliant Sarah (1660-1744) started out as a maid of honor in the court of James II. She became the most powerful woman in England, through her magnetic control of the future Queen Anne, a comparative dullard who worshipped her and perhaps became her lover. (You may remember their relationship from the 2018 movie The Favourite, in which Rachel Weisz played Sarah.)

For Sarah, her friendship with Anne was a way to advance her family and her liberal Whig politics, which she shared with her equally powerful husband, the military hero the Duke of Marlborough. “I hated tyranny by nature,” she wrote in one version of her memoir, according to Ophelia Field’s The Favourite: The Life of Sarah Churchill. “I thought mankind was born free, & if Princes were ordained to make their subjects happy; so I had always in me an invincible aversion to slavery, & to flattery.”

In 1700, Sarah arranged the marriage of her distant relation Charles Spencer, the future Third Earl of Sunderland, with her favorite daughter, Anne. Over the next 44 years, she would shape the family fortunes—and gift them with their famed auburn-tinted locks.

According to The Favourite: The Life of Sarah Churchill, with Anne’s accession to the throne in 1702 Sarah reached the peak of her power, racking up virtually every important post in Queen Anne’s suite, dictating cabinet appointments, and encouraging the ire of satirists.

But cracks would soon begin to appear. Queen Anne was naturally inclined to support the royalist Tories and was encouraged in these leanings by a new favorite named Abigail. A vindictive Sarah became a master propagandist, leaking insinuations about their relationship to the press, and allegedly threatening to blackmail Anne over the contents of their highly charged correspondence.

Sarah was finally forced to vacate her royal apartments in 1711, but she was not down for the count. A brilliant businesswoman, she became the richest woman in England, according to Field, controlling her Spencer grandchildren with promises of money and power. Centuries before the modern Diana and Prince Charles wed, Sarah even attempted to marry her favorite granddaughter—Lady Diana Spencer—to the broke Frederick, Prince of Wales, with a promise of 100,000-pound dowry. The plan fell through.

But not all her grandchildren were willing to be manipulated by their formidable matriarch. Sarah claimed her equally tough granddaughter Anne “[deserved] to be burnt,” and she disinherited her grandson Charles, Fifth Earl of Sunderland, which prompted him to write her:

As for putting me out of your will…I neither expected or desired to be in it. I…assure Your Grace that this is the last time I shall ever trouble you by letter or conversation. I am Your Grace’s grandson, Sunderland.

Sarah’s letter back was brutal. “You end that you are my grandson. Which is indeed a very melancholy truth…had you not been my grandson, you would have been in as bad a condition as you deserve to be.” Fitting words from a woman immortalized by Alexander Pope thusly:

Sixty years the World has been her Trade, The wisest Fool much Time has ever made. From loveless youth to unrespected age, No Passion gratify’d except her Rage.

The Star: Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire

From the start there was something special about Georgiana (1757-1806), the coddled daughter of John, First Earl Spencer and his wife, Margaret. The captivating teenager married the sophisticated William, Duke of Devonshire, in 1774, and quickly became a sensation in London’s highest circles. “[The Duchess of Devonshire] effaces all,” Horace Walpole wrote, according to The Devonshires: The Story of a Family and a Nation. “Her youth, figure, flowing good nature, sense…and modest familiarity, make her a phenomenon.”

Georgiana soon found her cold, older husband was not nearly as interested in her as everyone else. Luckily, she had many talents with which to amuse herself. She set fashions of the day, developed her own haughty way of speaking, known as the “Cavendish drawl,” and became dear friends with Marie Antoinette, according to Amanda Foreman’s The Duchess. She was also a successful novelist, and an amateur scientist.

But it was Georgiana’s brilliance as a Whig operative that would turn her into a target of the press. Constantly brainstorming with her friend, George, Prince of Wales, and political soulmate Charles James Fox, she hosted countless summits at her home. Georgiana was, she later wrote, “in the midst of the action,” seeing

“partys rise and fall—friends be united and disunited—the ties of love give way to caprice, to interest, and to vanity…”

Georgiana also worked essentially as a campaign manager for Whig candidates. During the 1784 election she bravely canvassed the street for Fox, charming Londoners with her common touch. “During her canvass,” Walpole wrote, “the Duchess made no scruple of visiting some of the humblest of electors, dazzling and enchanting them by the fascination of her manner, the power of her beauty and the influence of her high rank.”

According to Foreman’s The Duchess, there were rumors Georgiana kissed men in exchange for votes, leading to scurrilous cartoons distributed by the Tory opposition. “You have almost unavoidably amassed a great deal of useless trash—gathered weeds instead of flowers,” Lady Spencer wrote Georgiana. “You live so constantly in public you cannot live for your own soul.”

Her mother was worried about more than bad press. The hard-partying Georgiana was one of a long line of Spencer gambling addicts. She also had a laudanum dependency, and a scandalous ménage à trois arrangement with her husband and the disreputable Bess Foster. Calamity struck in 1792, when Georgiana became pregnant by the future Prime Minister Charles Grey and was banished from the country for a while.

Georgiana returned to her husband and children two years later. For the remainder of her life she battled ill health, but continued her role as a political operative, aware of what she could have been. “Would I were a man,” she mused to Sir Philip Francis. “To unite my talents, my hopes, my fortune, with [Charles James Fox’s], to make common cause, and fall or rule.”

From the start, the Spencer legacy laid heavily on John Spencer’s (1924-1992)

shoulders. As a child he was constantly cowed by his genealogically obsessed, brutal father, who considered him an intellectual lightweight. “He used to dread the train journey home [from boarding school],” his son, Diana’s brother Charles, writes. “He would hide in shadows of the train carriage, hoping his father had forgotten to collect him.”

But by the 1940s, John’s heroism as a captain in the Royal Scots Greys during World War II, and his tall, good looks and simple charm made him a most eligible bachelor. According to the documentary When the Spencers Met the Monarchy, he was even once looked at by the palace as a suitor to the future Queen Elizabeth II.

Instead, in 1954, Queen Elizabeth II (whom he served as an equerry) attended his wedding to heiress Frances Roche at Westminster Abbey. The couple had four children—Sarah, Jane, Diana, and Charles (another son, John, died shortly after birth). They were a mismatched pair, he rather dull and she vivacious, but John was reportedly blindsided when he discovered Frances was cheating on him. “How many of those years were happy?” he later said of his marriage. “I thought all of them until the moment that we parted.”

After the dissolution of his marriage, John became Diana and Charles’s primary caregiver and developed what Lord Glenconner once termed “an unfortunate raw sausage look.” Although he was stiff and old-fashioned, he attempted to be an involved father, and Diana was determined to be his “comforting angel,” according to The Diana Chronicles.

In 1975, John’s fortunes turned when his curmudgeonly father died, making him the Eighth Earl Spencer. According to Andrew Morton, he also inherited a 2.25-million-pound bill for death duties as well as 80,000-pounds-a-year running costs for Althorp, the family estate in Northamptonshire. He also found a helpmate to run Althorp in the fascinating Raine, Countess of Dartmouth, whom he married in 1976 without even telling his children. “We weren’t invited. ‘Not grand enough,’” his daughter Sarah quipped to a reporter at the time.

Despite the flippant tone, John’s betrayal would cause a deep rift in the family. A severe stroke in 1978 caused him to become frail and even more distant from his children. “He was one person before and he was certainly a different person after,” Princess Diana said, according to Morton. “He’s remained estranged but adoring since. If he comes and sees me he comes and sees me, if he doesn’t he doesn’t. It’s not my problem anymore. It’s his.”

The Rebel: Frances Shand Kydd

Frances Ruth Roche (1936-2004) wasn’t from as noble stock as the Spencers, but her family was far richer. Her father Maurice, fourth Baron Fermoy, was a conservative politician and a “terrible bottom pincher,” Lady Glenconner says in The Diana Chronicles, while her wealthy mother, Ruth, was a scheming, incurable snob and great friend of Elizabeth, the Queen Mother.

It was Ruth who encouraged a teenage Frances to marry the much older John Spencer, despite her tender age. “When you meet someone at the age of 15 and get engaged just five months out of school at 17, you can look back and ask, ‘Was I adult?’” she asked years later. “I sure thought I was at the time.”

The couple cultivated a farm at her family home of Park House in Norfolk, but Frances was quickly disillusioned with life in the country as a young aristocratic mother. “I’m so bloody bored with opening village fetes,” she told a friend. It was no wonder that the fiery Frances wanted more. “She was very attractive and blonde and sexy with such joie de vivre and fun about her,” a friend told Brown, author of The Diana Chronicles.

By the 1960s, Frances escaped to London more and more. She also started having an affair with a married bon vivant named Peter Shand Kydd. In 1967, she separated from John and left her two youngest children with him. “The biggest disruption was when Mummy decided to leg it. That’s the vivid memory we have—the four of us,” Princess Diana later told Andrew Morton.

Frances fought for custody of the children but lost to John, partially due to her own mother, Baroness Fermoy, who testified against her. Social outcasts, the Shand Kydds eventually moved to the coast of Scotland, and their warm household was a refuge for her children when they were allowed to visit. “Diana and I adored it for its wild beauty and the fun we had on the sea, lobster potting and mackerel-fishing,” Charles Spencer recalls.

Frances counseled against her youngest daughter’s marriage to Prince Charles, seeing too many parallels to her own first marriage—including her mother’s encouragement of the match. According to Brown, after voicing her concerns, Diana said, “Mummy, you don’t understand. I love him.” Frances replied, “Love him, or love what he is?” To which Diana asked rhetorically, “What’s the difference?”

The Grande Dames: Barbara Cartland and Raine Spencer

Perhaps no writer influenced generations of British romantics—including Princess Diana—more than Barbara Cartland (1901-2000). The author of 723 books, Cartland had, in the words of Brown, a “penchant for pink, her meringue coiffure and false eyelashes,” which betrayed a steely, snobbish character that was tough as nails.

Cartland would pass both her strength and outrageousness on to her daughter Raine (1929-2016), whom she raised to be, in Brown’s words, a “social monster baby.” Not only did she nab Gerald Legge, Ninth Earl of Dartmouth, but she also forged a career as a conservative politician, becoming the youngest person to ever serve on the Westminster City Council.

“She never took any prisoners, and never took no for an answer,” a friend recalled.

In the early 1970s, Raine set her sights on the divorced John Spencer. “She wanted to marry Daddy; that was her target and that was it,” Princess Diana recalled. According to sources, “Acid Raine” alienated the children and old friends. She also took the reins of Althorp, allegedly selling off family treasures and decorating it in her and her mother’s garish style.

During the lead-up to Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles in 1981, what to do with the clownish Cartlands became a national conversation. According to Brown:

Alexander Chancellor, the editor of The Spectator, wrote an editorial in which he called for a special Act of Parliament to ban Raine and her mother from St. Paul’s Cathedral, adding, “For it would be more than a little unfair on everybody if these two absurdly theatrical ladies were permitted to turn a moving national celebration into a pantomime.” Diana was so afraid the pantomime might indeed take place, she pressed for stratagems to blackball Cartland.

In the end Raine was invited but her mother was not. This would not be the most awkward Spencer wedding—that prize would go to Charles Spencer’s first wedding in 1989, where Diana scolded Raine for her rudeness to their mother. “If only you knew how much we all hated you for what you’ve done, you’ve ruined the house, you spend Daddy’s money and what for?” she hissed.

For her part, Raine would tire of being the scapegoat for the Spencer dysfunction. “I’m absolutely sick of the ‘wicked stepmother’ lark,” she said, according to Kitty Kelley. “You’re never going to make me sound like a human being, because people like to think I’m Dracula’s mother.”

Surprisingly, Diana would come to agree. Toward the end of her life, she grew close to her stepmother, whose no-nonsense advice she came to admire. However, it appears there was no love lost between Diana and her former favorite writer, who would quip of the royal breakup, “Of course, you know where it all went wrong. She wouldn’t do oral sex.”

The Role Model: Lady Sarah McCorquodale

Born in 1955, Sarah Spencer was the oldest, and wildest of John and Frances Spencer’s brood. Reckless and salty from an early age, Brown writes that she was kicked out of boarding school and rode her horse into her grandmother’s living room. “Sarah always had to be the best at everything,” a friend recalled. “The best car, the wittiest put-down, and the best dress.”

She also had a constant shadow in her youngest sister, Diana. “I idolized my eldest sister and I used to do all her washing when she came back from school. I packed her suitcase, ran her bath, made her bed—the whole lot. I did it all and I thought it was wonderful,” Diana told Morton.

In 1977, Sarah, who had suffered from anorexia, according to Brown, met Prince Charles at Ascot. The two began dating, and it was Sarah who introduced Diana to the prince during a shooting party at Althorp (“I’m cupid,” she’d later quip). “I remember,” Diana later said, “feeling desperately sorry for him that my sister was wrapped around his neck because she’s quite a tough old thing.”

But Sarah’s romance with the prince would soon end. She made the mistake of talking to reporters. Not only did she reportedly confess to having “thousands of boyfriends,” she also disparaged Charles as a hopeless romantic. “I wouldn’t marry a man I didn’t love, whether it was a dustman or the King of England,” she said. “If he asked me I would turn him down.”

This cardinal sin would cause Sarah to be promptly frozen out, with Charles reportedly informing her, “You’ve just done something extremely stupid.” And so, only three years later Charles would begin to court the blossoming Diana. Perhaps there was a hint of jealousy in her alleged counsel to a despondent Diana to not pull out of the wedding over his relationship with Camilla: “Bad luck, ‘Duch. Your face is on the tea towels so you’re too late to chicken out.”

[a-little-revolution]

A Brief History of Dwarfism

(TW/CW: cure, medical, pet culture and slavery mentioned, discriminative language)

LYZ LENZ Updated: June14, 2017 Origional: February 25, 2015 

When researchers from the biopharmaceutical company BioMarin told representatives of the Little People of America about the results of a drug that could potentially cure one of the causes of dwarfism, they expected a better response than the silence they were treated to. This caught the BioMarin folks off guard. “I think they wanted us to be happy,” says Leah Smith, LPA's director of public relations. “But really, people like me are endangered and now, they want to make me extinct. How can I be happy?”

BioMarin isn’t the only company trying to eliminate dwarfism. For years doctors have been using limb lengthening and hormone treatments to counter and cure the over 400 underlying causes of dwarfism. And yet, despite these efforts to eliminate what many people see as a disability, society can’t stop staring. From The Lord of the Rings to Peter Dinklage in Game of Thrones, people have long been mesmerized by depictions of LPs. As Smith explains, “It doesn’t matter how normal I am, it’s hard for people to look at me an see anything besides Leah the LP.”

Dr. Judith Hall, a clinical geneticist whose work focuses on short-limbed dwarfism, explains that our staring and our desire to cure are intimately connected. “In the same way that ancient societies viewed those people with differences as a pathway to the divine,” Hall says, “I see them as a pathway to access the knowledge of nature. There is so much to be learned about humans and our genetic make-up by studying the genetics of people with short stature and anyone with a ‘disability’ although I hate that term, don’t you?”

But understanding our curiosity and desire to cure requires an understanding of the history of dwarfism, which lies in the nebulous intersection of medicine and myth.

For much of early history, LPs were considered to be intimately connected to the divine. In fact, pre-literate societies often saw all people with disabilities as conduits to heaven. The ancient Egyptians associated dwarfs with Bes, the god of home, family, and childbirth; and Ptah, the god of the Earth’s essential elements. (Both gods—representing youth and the Earth—play a role in enduring myths and stereotypes, like the fairy tales that claim that dwarfs live underground, or the stereotype about the childish nature of people with short stature.) Because of their connection with the gods, dwarfs were often revered in Egypt, and were allowed to serve high roles in the government.

Whereas dwarfs in the Old Kingdom of Egypt (2575-2134 B.C.E.) were often jewelers, linen attendants, bird catchers, and pilots of boats—all positions of high-esteem, by the Middle Kingdom dwarfs were more likely to be personal attendants or nurses. These positions, while still respected, were comparatively lower status. Historians surmise that dwarfs were relegated to these roles because their short limbs made them perfect midwives and the association with the god Bes. Of course, even in this age of reverence, dwarfs lived lives of bondage.

In ancient Rome, the attitude toward dwarfs was less reverential. Owners would intentionally malnourish their slaves so they would sell for a higher price. In ancient Greece, dwarfs were associated in a menacing and lurid way with the rituals of the Dyonisian cult; art from that period shows them as bald men with out-sized penises lusting after averaged-sized women. This same pattern of reverence and bondage also appears in China and West Africa, where LPs were so often servants of the king. A 17th-century author wrote that the Yoruba people in West Africa believed dwarfs to be “uncanny in some rather undefined way, having form similar to certain potent spirits who carry out the will of the gods.” And out of a similar reverence for their stature, the courts of China employed dwarfs as entertainers and court jesters. Here there also may have been a level of fetishism; Emperor Hsuan-Tsung kept dwarf slaves in the harem he called the Resting Palace for Desirable Monsters.

By the time of the Italian Renaissance, LPs had become a court commodity all over Western Europe, Russia, and China. There are tragic tales of court dwarfs and their wild antics. Jan Bondeson writes in The Two-Headed Boy about Nicolas Ferry, the infamous court dwarf of King Sanislas Leszynski of Poland. Ferry was given to King Sanislas when he was about five years old. The King promised his father he would be given the best education and medical care. Ferry’s father didn’t even consult his wife, who had to journey to the court to say goodbye to her son. Ferry, who may have also had learning disabilities, was spoiled and terrorized the court with his antics—kicking the shins of servants and crawling up the skirts of ladies. He even threw a dog out of the window when he believed the Queen loved the dog more than him.

Another Italian, Isabella d’Este, marchioness of Mantua, viewed dwarfs as collectable items. She hoarded them in her vast palace along with art, classical writings, gold, and silver. She also tried to breed dwarfs and kept them in a series of specially designed rooms, with low ceilings and staircases to scale. This was more for their display than comfort. One of Isabella’s dwarfs was “Crazy Catherine,” an alcoholic who stole from her mistress and whose misdeeds were laughed off as entertainment. The history of courts throughout Europe and Russia tell similar tales of dwarfs employed as jesters, or little more than pets—laughed at, loved, and never fully allowed to be human.

As the age of monarchy ended, the era of medicine and medical curiosity arose to fill its place, often providing more opportunities for LPs. Dwarfs were put on display—by others or themselves—for money. In a time where very few occupations were open to LPs, putting yourself on display in a freak show was at least a way to make a living. While traveling around provided LPs with more independence, it also opened them up to the gaping and insensitive curiosity of the public and medical professionals.

It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, then, to say that LPs were subsequently taken advantage of by greedy brokers and agents. In his book Freak Show, Robert Bogdan explains the phenomena of human exhibits, singling out the insular nature of communities as a leading cause. Animals and humans that were outside of the norm were exciting curiosities; different races, ethnicities, and disabilities were all billed as novel entertainment. Bogdan quotes a handbill advertising a Carolina dwarf in 1738 who was “taken in a wood in Guinea; tis a female about four foot high, in every part like a human excepting her head which nearly resembles an ape.”

FOR MOST OF EARLY HISTORY, THE RESPONSE OF DOCTORS TO LPS WAS TO MEASURE EVERYTHING—NOSE, HAIR, GENITALS. THIS MEANINGLESS COLLECTION OF DATA IS OFTEN ACCOMPANIED BY CONDESCENDING NOTES ON THE APPEARANCE AND INTELLECT OF THE DWARF.

From these human exhibits came the growth of dime museums, midget villages, and Lilliputian touring communities, where many LPs rose to prominence. But while these exhibitions took center stage, several LPs made incredible, albeit quieter, contributions to history. There were people like Antoine Godeau, a poet and bishop best known for his works of criticism, or economist Ferdinando Galiani, one of the leading figures in the Enlightenment. Then there’s Alexander Pope, a classical poet known as the “most accomplished verse satirist in English.” Plus Benjamin Lay, an early abolitionist and good friend of Benjamin Franklin. And Novelist Paul Leicester Ford, artist Henry de Toulous Lautrec, electrical engineer Charles Proteus Steinmetz. The list goes on.

Yet even in this time, as many LPs grew to prominence, medicine was able to do little more than collect data. Dr. Josef Mengele, the infamous Nazi doctor, kept an LP family of Romanian performers captive in Auschwitz, subjecting them to various tests and experiments that included pulling out teeth and hair specimens. Mengele is remembered as the angel of death—a cruel doctor who performed unscientific and often deadly experiments—yet his data collection on LPs isn’t much different than that of the medical community in centuries prior.

For most of early history, the response of doctors to LPs was to measure everything—nose, hair, genitals. This meaningless collection of data is often accompanied by condescending notes on the appearance and intellect of the dwarf. Even as late as 1983, Mercer’s Orthopaedic Surgery offered this observation about achondroplasia: “Because of their deformed bodies they have strong feelings of inferiority and are emotionally immature and are often vain, boastful, excitable, fond of drink and sometimes lascivious.”

The obsessive data collection reads like a stack of clues, wherein doctors hope to find an answer to the riddle of difference. With nothing else to do, like the Egyptian pharaohs and the courts of kings, doctors found themselves staring too.

In the absence of a cure, most early doctors focused on prevention. They believed that dwarfism was caused by the mother having seen another dwarf or animal. In fact, for most of medical history many disabilities and unexplained deformities were chalked up to maternal impressions. Consequently, pregnant women often sequestered themselves away from their communities, acting like they themselves had a disability.

This isn’t different from the modern approach to “curing” dwarfism. With early genetic testing, many in the LP community are worried about unborn dwarfs being allowed to be born.

In the aftermath of World War II, LPs found more and more opportunities to work outside of entertainment. This was due in part to Billy Barty, a film actor and television star who, in 1957, organized a meeting of LPs in Reno, Nevada. This meeting eventually led to the founding of the Little People of America, a powerful non-profit that advocates for the rights of LPs in America.

THE HISTORY OF DWARFS IS A HISTORY OF SUBVERSION, STEREOTYPES, EXPECTATION, AND SURVIVAL. IT’S THE HISTORY OF HOW PEOPLE TREAT OTHER PEOPLE WHO ARE DIFFERENT.

Before Barty, with the exception of circuses and traveling groups, most LPs were isolated. There was no way to band together to advocate for civil rights. A little more than 30 years after that first meeting in Reno, the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed in the United States, granting LPs more access and freedom than ever before.

The history of dwarfs is a history of subversion, stereotypes, expectation, and survival. It’s the history of how people treat other people who are different. And, while much has changed, very little is different. The tension between curiosity and cure is still prevalent. The popularity of shows like Little People, Big World and The Little Couple, while laudable for their portrayal of normal people with difference, show that we can’t stop looking at LPs. And companies like BioMarin and non-profits like Growing Stronger, which all seek to find a cure, show that we can’t stop trying to change them.

Yet, as a geneticist, Hall dismisses the notion that she is trying to change the LP community. She describes her work as merely offering a choice to individuals. “There are genetic tests for Downs Syndrome, but they haven’t eradicated people with Downs,” Hall says. “In the same way, the work I do and the work of other scientists isn’t to eradicate difference, but rather to offer options for dealing with it. It’s all about offering choices, really.”

But Smith, the LPA's director of public relations, pushes back. “The world is full of difference.” Smith says, “Sometimes I wish people would look elsewhere.”

BY LYZ LENZ 

Origional Article Post: https://psmag.com/social-justice/a-brief-history-of-dwarfism-and-the-little-people-of-america 

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

My (incomplete) Notes on The Lightning Thief

Percy Jackson, at 12 years old, is miserable

Percy is trying very hard to be good

Percy reacts violently when his friends are threatened

“I’m going to kill her” 

I wish I’d decked her right there

Percy turns red when he gets called on 

Percy knows a lot about both Greek and Roman gods

Percy has an “I’ll-kill-you-later” stare

Percy gives “safe” answers to authority figures

Percy sells an illegal candy stash out of his dorm room

Percy knows about shrooms and thinks that he was drugged on the field trip

Percy has nightmares about the teacher (Kindly One) that he killed

Percy has to get summer jobs

Grover is a very bad liar

Percy almost cries in class when his favorite teacher tells him that he’s different

Percy gets into fights to protect Grover from bullies

Percy sees the Fates snipping the thread and knows he’s going to die

Grover mentions that it’s always 6th graders who are killed

Percy ditches Grover at the bus stop

Grover’s bladder acts up when he gets nervous

Sally Jackson took night classes to get her GED

She wanted to be a novelist

Gabe Ugliano is Percy’s stepdad

His cigars make Percy nauseous 

He drinks beer and leaves a mess everywhere

He takes money from Percy and uses it to fund his gambling and calls it their “guy secret.”

If Percy tells Sally, he’ll “punch Percy’s lights out”

Gabe takes over Percy’s room while Percy is at school

Gabe makes fun of Percy’s grades

Sally works at a candy shop and brings Percy blue candy

She runs her hands through his hair and asks him how he’s doing

She never raises her voice or says anything unkind to anyone

Percy wants to punch Gabe

Percy wants to kick Gabe in the balls and “make him sing soprano for week” 

Gabe blamed Percy for things that aren’t his fault

Percy makes a hand gesture that Grover did, but at Gabe, and the screen door slammed shut 

They have a rental cabin on the beach that is “half hidden in the dunes, full of sand and spiders”

Percy and his mom eat blue foods because Gabe said there’s no such thing as blue food. It’s an act of rebellion. 

Percy thinks that his mom doesn’t want him around

Percy is mad at Poseidon for leaving him and his mom

In preschool, Percy is put to sleep in a crib at school. The crib had a snake in it and Percy strangled the snake to death. 

Percy has a dream that a horse (Poseidon) and an eagle (Zeus) are fighting to the death

“O Zeu kai alloi theoi” means “Oh Zeus and other gods!” 

Percy experiences panic when he realizes that his teacher was a monster trying to kill him

Lightning hits the camaro and blasts off the roof

Percy’s got good instincts; the hair frequently raises on the back of his neck when he’s in danger

Sally gets killed by the minotaur 

She’s actually stolen by Hades

Percy rips off the minotaur’s horn and impales it into his side

Percy is crying, weak, trembling with grief and he literally carries Grover and drops onto a porch

Annabeth tries to get Percy to talk while she’s spoon-feeding Percy ambrosia 

Percy has been unconscious for two days after his fight with the minotaur

Percy would rather live on the streets than live with Gabe

He considers lying about his age and joining the army

Percy is very good at telling when adults have been drinking

Grover is nervous about Mr. D

But he still manages to ask for the diet coke can to eat

  The farm house is four stories tall, sky blue and white trim

The camp grows strawberries and the campers pick them

Grover is 28 years old but satyrs mature at half the rate that humans do

The Poseidon cabin walls glow like abalone. There are six empty beds with silk sheets. It smells salty. 

Chiron gets horribly depressed about training heroes

Luke is very handsome except for a thick white scar that runs from his right eye to his jaw.

He’s the son of Hermes and the counselor 

Luke is 19

He’s in cabin 11

Monsters will always reform because they don’t have souls

The bathrooms are cinder block buildings with a line of toilets and a line of showers; there’s a girls and a boys

Percy feels a tug in the pit of his stomach when he uses his powers

Annabeth just watched Clarisse drag Percy into the bathroom to give him a swirly 

Luke steals Percy some toiletries from the camp store. 

Percy is not good at archery, foot racing, or wrestling

The only thing that Percy is good at is canoeing 

Percy can’t find a blade that fits right in his hand. 

Luke has been the best swordsman in 300 years

Percy bests him after pouring ice water on his head (son of Poseidon) 

Hades doesn’t have a cabin at Camp Half-Blood or a throne on Olympus. They say that it would be bad if there was a cabin for Hades. 

Sixty years ago, after World War 2, the big three gods made an oath not to have more kids.

Two of them broke it; Zeus with Jason and Thalia, Poseidon with Percy.

When Hades found out, he let out all three Kindly Ones and a pack of Hellhounds

Thalia wound up becoming a tree. 

Grover was the satyr assigned to bring only Thalia in. Thalia had befriended Annabeth and Luke, and she wouldn’t leave them behind. 

Percy thinks that Luke’s scar makes him look almost evil

Clarisse has an electric spear

It makes Percy go numb wherever she touches him with it

One of the boys in Cabin 5 (Ares) cuts Percy across the arm

Once Percy gets into the water, he’s very good at fighting

Luke wins capture the flag

Annabeth has a Yankee's cap that makes her invisible. It was a gift from her mother. 

Annabeth is the first person to figure out that Poseidon is Percy’s father.

No wait, Grover was first and then Chiron. Well, they knew he was one of the Big Three’s son.

As soon as Percy steps out of the water, he is exhausted and in pain.

When Hellhounds die, they melt into shadow and soak into the ground.

Hellhounds are from the fields of punishment.

When Poseidon claims Percy, everyone kneels.

“Poseidon, Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

Percy is miserable being alone in Cabin Three and being so isolated. He would rather get into fights every day than be ignored. People are steering clear of Percy. 

Except for Luke, who gives Percy one-on-one sword training. 

Annabeth teaches Percy Greek but she’s distracted.

Gabe tells the press that Percy is violent and a troubled kid. The newspapers say that Percy may be involved in his mother’s disappearance. 

Gabe also tells the press that Percy has expressed violent tendencies in the past.

Percy has more dreams of Zeus and Poseidon fighting. He hears Kronos’ voice calling to him. 

It doesn’t rain in Camp Half-Blood (or even get overcast) unless they want it to. 

Dionysus wants to kill Percy. 

Percy gets embarrassed when he knows something someone doesn’t want or expect him to. 

Percy has a nervous laugh. 

Illegal copies can be made of the Gods Symbols of Power.

Percy has tried to steal pizza from Gabe’s poker parties and got busted for it.

Percy is furious that the camp is being punished for his existence. He thinks he’s responsible for the gods' fight. 

The Big House attic is four flights up. It’s full of mementos from old demigod fights. 

Percy is scared of the oracle. 

Percy’s fists clench at the very sight of Gabe. 

Percy doesn’t have many friends. 

Percy isn’t afraid of Hades; he wants to get revenge and take Hades on. 

Gods can’t encroach on each other’s territories but demigods can. Gods can’t be held responsible for heroes actions. 

Percy describes his emotions as rolling glass in a kaleidoscope. 

Percy is so relieved that Grover is coming with him that he wants to cry. 

Annabeth volunteered to go on the Quest. Percy is not surprised. 

Previously, Luke told Percy that Annabeth has been harassing Chiron for a prophecy and that she’s been hanging onto all of the new campers until she’s sure they aren’t the chosen one. 

Annabeth says that Percy will mess up this quest without her even though he’s been more than adequate at handling everything that’s been thrown his way. 

The camp store loans Percy $100.00 and 20 golden drachmas. 

He’s also given a canteen of nectar and a ziplock bag full of ambrosia squares.

The ambrosia and nectar is only to be used in emergencies; it will kill a mortal and demigods will literally burn up if they overdose. 

Annabeth’s cap was given to her on her twelfth birthday by her mom, Athena. 

Luke actually runs up the hill to give them the basketball shoes. They’re the flying shoes he got from his dad for his quest when he was seventeen. 

Luke gives the shoes directly to Percy. 

Percy is worried that Luke would have been jealous of the attention he’s been getting.

Percy blushes because Luke gave him the magic gift. 

Luke seems uncomfortable talking to Percy. He trails off three times and uses “um.” And then there’s an [awkward] handshake. 

Luke pats Grover between the horns and gives Annabeth a hug.

Annabeth’s crush on Luke has been brought up three times so far. 

Percy figures out by this one interaction that Annabeth let Luke capture the flag instead of her. 

Percy thinks that he’s a brat for wanting a magical gift from his father. 

Riptide (Anaklusmos) is a gift from Poseidon that Chiron has been holding onto for the next child of Poseidon. 

Riptide is forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, and cooled in the River Lethe. 

Mortals aren’t important enough for the blade to kill but it will kill demigods and anything from the Underworld. 

Percy thinks that the real world feels like a fantasy after spending two weeks at Half-Blood Hill. 

Percy thinks that Annabeth hates him. 

Annabeth thinks they have to be rivals because their parents are. 

Annabeth was also mean to him before she knew who his dad was.

Even after two weeks away from Gabe, Grover can still smell him on Percy.

This makes Percy immediately want a shower.

Grover says that Percy should be thankful Sally was with someone who smelled so repulsively human because it kept the monsters away and that Sally must have loved Percy a lot to put up with that guy.

This does not make Percy feel better but he hides his feelings; or hopes he does since satyrs can sense emotions with or without an empathy link. 

Percy is on the quest because he wants to save his mom.

He is not on the quest to retrieve Zeus’s lightning bolt

Or to save the world 

Or to help his dad out of trouble. Percy is actually really, really angry with Poseidon for never visiting or helping Sally. 

Annabeth and Percy are good at playing hacky sack. 

The three Furies are considered the worst monsters in the Underworld. 

Percy had a chance to escape on the bus and didn’t take it. 

Alecto threatens to kill Percy (again)

Percy can speak Latin

Percy knows that the Greek Gods (Zeus and Hades in particular) are being assholes to him. 

The food at Camp Half-Blood is grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. 

“Your head is full of kelp.”

In Aunty Em’s emporium, Percy says that the smell of her cooking makes everything else go away, however he still has the sense of mind to notice Grover whimpering, the statues’ eyes following them, and Auntie Em locking the door. 

Percy’s neck tingles when he’s in danger. 

Percy is annoyed that Annabeth is being rude to a woman who just fed them for free. 

[cyberfairyblog]

Caves of Qumran prologue

Jason, Whit, Connie, Eugene, Katrina, Regina, Calypso and Vanessa go to Qumran to rescue Jason's former colleagues. Jason x OC, Eugene x Katrina, rewrite of the cartoon. The dialogue is wonky I know ;_;

Deep within the caves of a tiny Middle Eastern Country, a pretty blonde haired woman wearing a red shirt and green shorts walked down the caves reading the runes with her torch. She looked around sensing something - or someone - in the same vicinity and contacted her partner.

"Stanley Stanley are you there?"

From not far away,a tall brunette man in a business suit answered back. "I read you Sarah I'm just trying to navigate - WHOAH-" He yelped as he fell into the shallow pool.

"Stanley I don't think we're alone," Sarah voiced her concern.

"Don't tell me you're developing a case of the creepy crawlers." He saw a bunch of cobwebs and proceeded to freak out. Blinded by fear he ran smack dab into the wall and fell.

"Stanley what's happening?"

Stanley got up and sputtered "nothing just taking a little breather," he replied hoping she didn't catch that embarrassing pickle.

The two partners went back and forth, Sarah arguing that they needed to stick together, Stanley countered back claiming her fears were unfounded.

"We shouldn't be wasting our time chasing after a shadow," Stanley said. The inappropriately dressed explorer was too busy talking up his own bravery that he stepped on a brick, that sunk into the ground very slightly but the effect was devastating.

Stanley was just getting up again when the walls disappeared from behind him. Alarmed he tried to see what was going on, but then he heard footsteps approaching him.

Stanley screamed.

By then Sarah was too far into the tunnel to hear her partner's distress. Even through the walkie-talkie he was pleading saying that she was completely right there was someone not in their group in the caves hunting them down. But she didn't listen. She arrived in a small room filled with crates and gasped at the labels some of them bore.

Dozens of ancient artifacts strewn all over, and a table upturned as if there had been a fight. Sarah saw an older woman laying on the floor.

"Professor?" The blonde gasped. The professor's eyes were closed and her body was still like ice.

"No you can't be dead!" The blonde woman shouted in fright, collapsing to her mentor's side to check her pulse. To her relief she was alive but her skin felt cold. They needed to get out of there. Taking out her walkie-talkie she contacted Stanley.

She got her answer when Stanley dropped right in front of her, tied up with rope. "My god what happened?!" Her suspicions were sadly confirmed as another person showed up but they were shrouded in complete darkness.

"No stop, let us go please!" Sarah begged but her desperate pleas echoed with not a single soul to care...

It had been a long slow day at J&J Antiques so it didn't surprise Vanessa in the least bit when she saw Jason asleep on the desk in his office. Smiling she took the time to remove the papers trapped under his face - he would hate having them ruined by a cascade of saliva - and sat them aside.

"Jason," she whispered in his ear. "I'm gonna go ahead and close up shop for you."

The ex-agent only muffled a response. Wow he must've really had a rough day, no doubt because of that woman, Vanessa mused internally. She spent the next several minutes stowing things away and turned on the neon closing sign. By then Jason had woken up and dragged himself into the main room. "Did I miss something?"

"No, just me doing your job," the novelist said with a tease.

Blue eyes glanced at his watch. "Wait it's past seven already? Crap!" Jason exclaimed with a frown.

"Don't worry there hadn't been a customer, you were pretty knocked out though," she replied now feeling concerned. "That's a sign you need a vacation."

Jason was surprised at how clean the main room was, and guilty he fell asleep on the job. That rarely happened even during his time at the NSA and that job required doing paperwork *shudder*. In gratitude he wrapped his strong arms around the plush woman, and they gazed into each other eyes. "What would I do without you Nessie?"

"Oh I don't know, missing, dead, forced to perform at some gangster's kid's birthday party," Vanessa said all that with a shrug. Jason chuckled before pecking her on the lips. They stayed that way for a while until the phone rang. Grumbling at the loss of intimacy Jason trudged over to answer it. Meanwhile Vanessa went to sanitize the counters. She could hear him perk up at the other person on the line.

"Professor Janet it's good to hear from you, how's the expedition?" They talked for a good while and then Jason mentioned something about moving. "We hope to get them by the end of this week! Nice talking to you Professor!"

"Who was that?"

"That my dear was Professor Janet, we used to worked together back when I was a missionary," he explained. "She's sending us gifts from her latest expedition!"

"Oh? That's neat!" Vanessa clapped her hands. "Our museum does need some new items!"

"And the best part is they're entirely free! No payment whatsoever!" In excitement he scooped her up again and kissed her. "Trust me our museum is going to flourish!"

So that was how, almost a week later, a moving van arrived outside the manor house and its drivers unloaded beautiful artifacts of times long passed. According to Jason they came from a tiny middle eastern nation called Qumran.

"Are you sure it's a good idea having those things here?" Calypso asked while watching their progress. "I don't want to have to deal with a curse!"

"Come on Callie you know there's no such things as curses," Regina nudged her on her arm.

The Greek woman crossed her arms. Something smelled fishy about the whole thing.

One of the drivers, who wanted to be cheeky, held a vase out for Dylan. "Here kid catch!" The driver sneered before throwing it. Dylan tried to catch it in time but the poor thing crashed into the ground in a bazillion pieces before he could reach it. Vanessa's face drained and she slowly approached the pile of shards. Before anyone could response the van drove away leaving the black woman to pick up some of the pieces. She was almost in tears.

"They looked like they didn't care," Vanessa grumbled. "I oughta call out to their bosses and give them a piece of my mind!"

"We'll get our justice soon," Jason patted her on the shoulder. "What kind of employee does that to rare artifacts?!"

His father hummed. It did seem odd a professor would hire such careless folks. But at least the other items were in tact.

Little did they realize there was a lot more beyond ancient history behind their new gifts. Something that could lead to an exciting adventure away from Odyssey!

So I'm rewriting the episode "The Caves of Qumran" with Jason and my OCs inserted because I'm in a self indulgent mood. Unlike the OG episode Dylan won't be in this - I like him an all but he wouldn't really fit. Besides I want to see how my OCs would act in an episode. I'm not copying dialogue word for word a lot of it is my own. Also the main couple is Jason x Vanessa (my oc, obviously) as well as Eugene x Katrina. Professor Janet is an OC and an important one in this story. This story has a strong message particularly parodying Hobby Lobby and its recent controversies so that'll be fun! Leave some comments and remember: don't forget to tip the servers!