#Chasing Hemingway

[ahoeforfandomsblog]

okay you lovely writers, the covenant is back on netflix. for the love of the universe PLEASE give me some new fics to obsess over! PLEASE i have read every single one on this app! i love you thank you!

[enter-drfrog]

Toby Hemingway as Reid Garwin in The Covenant (2006) is genuinely so hot. But like Sebastian Stan as Chase Collins is really hot. And Chace Crawford as Tyler Simms is also hot. And. And. And. I love this movie

[centrally-unplanned]

I thought this was a well-framed piece on changing tastes in US literature - there absolutely has been a marked shift in what kinds of books are widely read over the past ~50 years. It also slots into some of my own themes around "what happened to all the capital-g Great People" discourse - will there be a new crop of "American Authors" a la Hemingway, Updike, etc, or is that passé, and if so why? Yingling (correctly imo) pushes back on the "death of literary fiction" as being something created wholesale by the internet and trends like declining attention spans - the death happened well before the internet took over everything (it was firmly established by the 2000's), and people do in fact read long books, just as much as they used to (most people never read hefty literature in any era).

Yingling instead posits that this shift is also not due to a change in reader taste, but instead more in "supply" - the death of easy revenue streams for literary authors, changes in how publishers operate, the chasing of awards and genre niches over general readers. To simplify, he believes that one could be an Updike of Our Era, if only one of sufficient talent truly tried and the gatekeepers pivoted to encouraging that. There is truth to the supply issues, but here I think he is overreaching - the supply is instead reflecting the changing demand.

This error is most exemplified in one of his arguments around why it hasn't changed, namely that people still read old literary fiction:

For one, people still read plenty of literary fiction, what they don’t read is contemporary literary fiction. Books like Pride and Prejudice, War and Peace, The Brothers Karamazov, etc still sell many thousands of copies every year, more than even big hits in contemporary literary fiction.5 And look at any survey of contemporary audiences' favorite books. Plenty of literary fiction there.6 So I think there’s a strong enough warrant here that the ‘taste-change’ hypothesis can’t be right either — unless the internet made people’s tastes magically shift away from contemporary literary fiction but not classics.

I don't specifically blame the internet, but I think this is revealing about the author's blindspots - people's tastes absolutely "magically shift" to classics over contemporary works! There is this thing, it is called status? Humans love it, they do so much because of it, and sometimes they even read books due to it! People are reading classic literature precisely because it is classic, it is "the canon". They are also Schelling Points to make reading social - you can easily form a book club around Wuthering Heights because everyone is "supposed" to read it; no one has to read whatever is #46 on the bestseller list today. That in fact drives a lot of media consumption more generally - people read the "hot new thing" and the classics so they can be a part of the wider conversation of society.

From this lens, from where the conversation is, I think you can see more shifts in the demand side that our author misses. He compares the best selling fiction of the 1960's, which was mainly literary fiction, to a sample from 2023:

It Ends with Us by Colleen Hoover It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros Atomic Habits by James Clear2 Dog Man: Twenty Thousand Fleas Under the Sea by Dav Pilkey

Which highlights that three of the five are romance novels (the others are a kid's book, which I don't think says anything, they don't "compete" with literary fiction; and a... nonfiction self-help book? So a typo by the list makers? Let's just ignore that). Now, for one, I would note that this being heavily female is saying a lot about how demand has changed, but that is a bit too obvious to belabor. Instead, I wanna interrogate that word "romance" - I don't think it means what the author wants it to. Let's look at It Ends With Us:

The story follows florist Lily Bloom, whose abusive relationship with neurosurgeon Ryle Kincaid is compounded when her high school boyfriend Atlas Corrigan re-enters her life. It explores themes of domestic violence and emotional abuse. Based on the relationship between her mother and father, Hoover described it as "the hardest book I've ever written".

I'm not saying this is Blood Meridian or anything, but this isn't Harlequin either - it is blending romance tropes with the introspective, the memoir, and some topical politics. At the same time that "literary fiction" has declined, other genres have "grown up" - they cover a lot more diverse ground, targeting demos more specifically and expanding their narrative and thematic scope.

There have been several literary cultural movements specifically playing with this kind of broadening - the decline of lit fic coincidenced with the "memoir boom" of the 90's & 2000's, where "ordinary people" wrote creative-fiction-esque retrospectives on their lives, which you can see covers a lot of similar ground. Hell, to tie it back into gender a bit, if I wanted a serious story about politics & war back in the day, pulp fantasy wasn't gonna do that for you - but it will today! The 2000's was an entire decade of fantasy novels "growing up" (ymmv on how well ofc), and you can get your discourses on the nature of fascism Star Wars™ flavored if that is your tea.

Yingling essentially rests his hat on the idea of the "general reader" being out there still, like literary fiction has deserted them. But I think at least in part, this is a story of evolution, not devolution; in the 1970's we didn't make enough non-general literature to make specialists of the masses. But we do now, they have learned what they like, and aren't particularly interested in coming back to generalist fare. With caveats ofc, there were always be the Hot New Thing and universal appeal, etc - but being sufficiently talented is not going to make that the standard again.

[honey-crypt]

elliott that sings his heart out while drunk asf x gn/m farmer? You know the drill :3

also saying that again, ur writing makes me giggle n kick my feet have a great day dude

a/n: i went all out if you couldn’t tell, only the best for the queen of elliott art herself!!! also attaching the drunk singing elliott art she posted for visualization reasons lol. this was a literal blast to write, i had to rewind somethin’ stupid like a hundred times to get the flow right. also follow @fuerrziah cuz her art is the best and she is da best <3 

word count: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drunk antics, suggestive ending

summary: you knew elliott got a bit silly and unfiltered when drunk, but you didn’t realize that the man could belt it like the best of them until you witness him sing frank sinatra's somethin’ stupid.

★ sinatra - elliott x farmer ★

The Stardrop Saloon was the heart of Pelican Town, a bar and restaurant full of laughter and chatter every night, as Gus brewed pretty cocktails and Emily bounced from room to room taking and delivering orders. To some, it was a place to unwind after a hard day or to spend time with friends while to others, it was a second home. 

Often, you frequented the saloon to treat yourself to a meal and a drink, and tonight was no different. You were too exhausted from harvesting melons, chasing after chickens, and so on to bother microwaving something, much less cooking an actual meal. With a heavy sigh, you plopped down at your usual spot and waved Emily over with a tired smile, “Hey Em.”

“(Y/N)!” the waitress greeted you with her usual sunshine demeanor, “Good to see you tonight!” she clicked her glitter pen and hovered it over her notebook, “The usual tonight?”

“You know me well,” you chuckled softly. Emily scribbled down a few lines and stated, “Should be ready in fifteen. Can I get you a drink beforehand?”

“Water with lemon,” you answered, your mouth drier than the Calico Desert from the summer heat. Emily nodded and went behind the bar, pouring you a tall glass of ice water with a lemon garnish. She returned to your table and set the drink down on the wooden coaster, “Drink up and have a good night.”

“You as well, Em,” you hummed, watching the blue haired woman disappear into the crowd of bar patrons. The walls of the saloon vibrated from the amount of noise produced in such a small space. You weren’t surprised at the amount of people present at the Stardrop Saloon; after all, it was Friday, the busiest night. At least, Emily and Gus will get some good tips. You down your water without care, as some of the liquid spilled from your lips and down your chin onto your overalls.

“Parched?” a deep but honey-like voice hummed. You looked up and locked eyes with your closest friend, Elliott, hovering next to you. Ink stained his strong calloused hands, presumably a remnant of a hours-long writing session. 

“Absolutely,” you exhaled, “It’s hotter than Hades’ taint.”

Elliott snorted, emerald eyes crinkling up while he smiled down upon you, “I can agree with you on that, my friend. I fear that if it gets any degree warmer, I must forgo my long sleeves.”

You side-eyed Eliott’s sleeved arms, as he borrowed the seat across from you, seeing the outline of toned muscle. You could take your suspenders off, too. you thought to yourself, waving a passing Emily over and requesting another water with lemon, For a beachfront Hemingway, you sure have the physique of a Greek God.

“How did your day on the farm go?” the writer asked, resting his elbows on the table. You plucked your glass off the table and pressed it against your forehead, “I shoulda taken today off, but the mayor just had to request two dozen melons for his outing with the governor,” you grumbled, annoyed at Mayor Lewis but more so at the sweltering heat that suddenly enveloped the room. 

“Rest days are always good,” the redhead let out a low hum of agreement, “Perhaps, you can do so tomorrow?”

“I doubt it. Shane ordered three dozen hot peppers,” you sent daggers to the man in question from across the room, as Shane drank his beer by Gus’s prized wooden bear statue. Elliott’s lips formed a frown, “The life of a farmer, one of never ending labor,” he laughed. 

Emily approached your table and set down another glass of water with lemon for you, “Here’s your usual,” she added before placing a plate of spaghetti by your water, “Want some parmesan?”

“What is this, the Gotoro Empire? Of course, I want some,” you jested. Emily giggled and handed you the shaker of parmesan, “Just let me know if you need more,” she then directed her attention to Elliott, “Hi Elliott! You looking for your usual tonight, too?”

“Yes, please, my dear,” he answered, adjusting his suspenders, “And a pale ale for my friend, as well.”

“Coming right!” the waitress skipped off to the back of the bar. You raised an eyebrow at Elliott while you drowned your spaghetti in heaps and heaps of parmesan, “What’s the occasion?”

“Can I not treat one of my closest friends to a nice drink after a hard day’s work?” the writer clutched his heart, “You wound me, (Y/N).”

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” you rolled your eyes with a playful twinkle in your eyes, “You know I don’t object to anything free, especially a free drink.”

Emily returned with Elliott’s usual, a pint of beer and a crab cake, as well as a pale ale for you, “Enjoy your meals!” she gave the two of you a thumbs up, “Wave me down if you need anything.”

You touched your lips to the cool glass and drank, the hot and ice sensation of alcohol coating your throat, “Shit,” you exhaled, “I needed that, thanks.”

“Of course,” your friend offered you a smile, that stupid smile you often saw on the cover of a romance novel, “How about a toast?” he held his beer up, “To friendship and a hard day’s work?”

“I’ll cheers to that,” you chuckled and clinked glasses together. As the night went on, one glass turned into two, then three, and so on. You tapped out after two glasses, as for Elliott, the Scot in him already finished four glasses of beer. His cheeks were flushed like the color of his hair, his eyes fluttering while he held back a hiccup, “Oh Yoba…” your friend tucked some loose hair behind his pierced ear, “I think… I think I went overboard.”

“You think?” you questioned. Emily returned with Elliott’s fifth glass of the night and you mouthed to her, “Cut him off for tonight,” to which she nodded in agreement. 

“You usually max out at three, is something on your mind?” your ears rang and your head throbbed from the noise of overlapping conversations around the saloon. Elliott finished his fourth glass of beer, a bit of foam smeared on the right corner of his lips, “Oh, (Y/N), I won’t bore you-” he hiccuped, “-with my woes. I’m simply a tortured artist destined to be consumed by my work.”

You grabbed a napkin and leaned down towards Elliott, “Hold still,” you whispered, as you dabbed away the foam from his lips. His face turned to a darker shade of red, “You’re so close,” he whispered back, eyes hazy. You pulled away and set the used napkin aside, “Sorry, you had foam on your face,” you mumbled, averting your gaze.

Behind you, Pam dragged herself towards the jukebox and slammed a quarter in its slot, grumbling to herself about hating the cheerful swing of the current song, “Shit,” you heard her curse, “Wrong button,” the atmosphere of the saloon abruptly switched from chaotic to sombre, as a light guitar riff filled the air. 

“Oh!” Elliott leapt to his feet, “I know,” he covered his mouth to hiccup, “I know this song!” he then approached the jukebox and leaned on it for support, swaying his index finger from side to side to the rhythm of the music. You smiled to yourself and sipped your water, only to choke on it like a Yoba damn fool the moment Elliott began to sing.

“I know I stand in line… Until you think you have the time… To spend an evening with me,” his voice was a neat match to the original singer, a light baritone, “And if we go someplace to dance… I know that there’s a chance you won’t be leaving with me…” 

Elliott unbuttoned a few notches on his sea blue dress shirt, exposing his defined collarbone and a bit of wispy chest hair, “Then afterwards we drop into a quiet place and have a drink or two…” he glazed over your face and body with a drunken smile, “And then I go and spoil it by saying somethin' stupid like I love you…” Elliott untied his ponytail, luscious locks free from their confinement and resting against his shoulders.

Your pupils dilated; no longer was the saloon filled with static chatter and the slamming of glasses, but instead everyone ogled silently at Elliott, his vocals amplified. He pushed himself off the jukebox and stumbled a bit, taking your hands in his, “I see it in your eyes, that you still despise the same old lies you heard the night before…” he touched one of his hands to your cheek and cupped it, “And though it’s just a line to you; for me, it’s true and never so right before…”

“Elliott?” your voice croaked, your blood rushing to your extremities and your heartbeat overwhelmingly rapid. He gave you a lopsided smile and continued to sing, “I practice every day to find some clever lines, to make the meaning come true…” 

No, no. He’s just singing the song. This doesn’t mean anything, you tried to reason with yourself, but it fell short, as Elliott serenaded the next few lyrics, “But then I think I’ll wait until evening gets late and I’m alone with you… The time is right, your perfume fills my head-” he leaned closer to you and inhaled your musk, “-The stars get red and, oh, the night’s so blue… And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like-” you could feel Elliott’s breath against the side of your neck, as he sang in your ear, “I love you…” 

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. The alcohol in your system, the summer heat, Elliott’s closeness, made your mind go foggy; you were hanging onto every single word that spilled from the redhead’s pretty little lips. Elliott passionately belted out the instrumental pause, trying his best not to laugh, earning a laugh from you, nonetheless. 

He stood back up and pulled you off your feet with him, repeating the chorus, “The time is right, your perfume fills my head,” he twirled you around, “The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue… And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like I love you…” even when intoxicated, Elliott was a true Casanova, holding onto you and swaying you side to side to the music.

“I love you…” 

You met his eyes, oh how they shined like gemstones.

“I love you…”

Your knees turned to jelly, you clung to your friend for dear life.

“I love you…”

Your surroundings vanished; no more saloon, no more patrons, just you and Elliott.

“I love you…”

You leaned closer, your chest against his.

“I love you…”

You pressed your lips against Elliott’s, savoring the aftertaste of beer and crab cakes, as the jukebox switched to the next song and the world around you returned to its original state. Elliott kissed you back, you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in control but Yoba, did he taste divine. Oh, to have the confidence of a drunken fool at all hours of the day, you grabbed at his hair and tugged on the strands, Elliott moaning against your wet lips. 

“Hey, you two!” Pam’s voice snapped you back into reality and broke the kiss, “Get a room!” Her words garnered a few similar statements from other bar patrons.

Through glossy eyes and clouded minds, you leaned your body against Elliott’s and asked, “Well… should we?” to which he pecked you on the lips, “That’s a splendid idea,” you tossed your own wallet on the table to pay for the two of you’s meals and interlocked arms with one another, supporting one another’s uncoordinated bodies. To the door and out you went, as you and Elliott roamed the streets of Pelican Town towards his cabin, exchanging laughs and kisses. 

…

…

…

bonus:

Back in the Stardrop Saloon, Pam plopped her ass back in her seat, relieved that the farmer and Elliott were finally gone. She gestured to Gus for another beer and commented aloud, “About time those two lovebirds figured it out.”

“Indeed,” answered Gus, as he dropped Pam a foamy beer, “They make a cute couple.”

“Oh, dear!” Emily walked up to Gus with the farmer’s wallet in hand, “They left their wallet here, should I run after them?”

Gus chuckled to himself and shook his head, “Put it in lost and found, I don’t think we should disturb those two tonight. 

[bloodlines-if]

Step off Gail Weathers, there's a new cut throat journalist in town and they're about to kick ass and make multiple saves for every RO!!

Also Mcdreamy your Lore Drop has me Geeking out hope there's more to come

Also Also, im sure you're kicking Twine's coding ass

Haha I love Gale but I have to be biased because MC and the RO’s have my heart too! 💖

"Step off Gale Weathers? I'd say make room." You tap your pen against your notepad, eyes gleaming. "As Hemingway put it, 'Write hard and clear about what hurts.' That's where I come in. I'm just playing in a league where the stakes are higher and the monsters aren't wearing masks." You chase facts. Cold, uncomfortable facts that leave splinters under your skin. Your phone buzzes. Three missed calls. The source is finally talking. Time to show Weathers how it's really done. You can already feel that relentless itch in your fingers that never quite goes away until you've exposed everything. Some call it obsession. You call it Tuesday.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ohohoho someone likes my lore?! Yay! I’m happy to tell you there’s definitely a lot more to come. I have lot’s of lore and ideas already that I can’t wait to share. But right now I’m focusing on getting the character intros and the lore for each Bloodline (like what is an Umbra, physical traits, abilities, strengths/weaknesses etc.) out.

And yes, actually, I’m kicking Twine in the butt right now! I have completed the looks/ui design, character generation is more or less finito and prologue is also almost done! There are still some errors but let’s look on the bright side!! That’s why I posted the intro yesterday because I’m sure I can do it ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

[whencyclopedia]

The Life of Hercules in Myth & Legend

Hercules is the Roman name for the Greek hero Herakles, the most popular figure from ancient Greek mythology. Hercules was the son of Zeus, king of the gods, and the mortal woman Alcmene. Zeus, who was always chasing one woman or another, took on the form of Alcmene's husband, Amphitryon, and visited Alcmene one night in her bed, and so Hercules was born a demi-god with incredible strength and stamina. He performed amazing feats, including wrestling death and traveling twice to the underworld, and his stories were told throughout Greece and later in Rome, yet his life was far from easy from the moment of his birth, and his relationships with others were often disastrous. This was because Hera, the wife of Zeus, knew that Hercules was her husband's illegitimate son and sought to destroy him. In fact, he was born with the name Alcaeus and later took the name Herakles, meaning "Glory of Hera", signifying that he would become famous through his difficulties with the goddess.

The demi-god, who suffered like mortals and who could make a mess of things in life just as easily as any man or woman but perform deeds no mortal could, had great appeal for the people of Greece and Rome. Hercules was a kind of super-powered everyman who suffered disappointments, had bad days - even bad years - and eventually died due to another's trickery. These stories, besides simply being entertaining, would have served an ancient audience by letting them know that, if bad things could happen to a hero like Hercules, they had nothing to complain about regarding the disappointments and tragedies in their own lives. Hercules served as a symbol of the human condition where, to use Hemingway's phrase, "a man may be destroyed, but not defeated." An interesting aspect of Hercules' character is that, because of his divine strength and abilities, he did not have to willingly submit to any of the labors or punishments imposed upon him. He chose to suffer indignities such as his famous Twelve Labors or his servitude to the queen Omphale and did so willingly. His inner strength and ability to endure hardships made him an inspirational figure to the people and a symbol of stability in the midst of chaos, even if it was a chaos he himself had caused. The historian Thomas R. Martin writes:

The only hero to whom cults were established internationally, all over the Greek world, was the strongman Herakles (Hercules). His superhuman feats in overcoming monsters and generally doing the impossible gave him an appeal as a protector in many city-states (129).

Early Life

Although he was seen as the champion of the weak and a great protector, Hercules' personal problems started literally at birth. Hera sent two witches to prevent the birth, but they were tricked by one of Alcmene's servants and sent to another room. Hera then sent serpents to kill him in his cradle, but Hercules strangled them both. In one version of the myth, Alcmene abandoned her baby in the woods in order to protect him from Hera's wrath, but he was found by the goddess Athena who brought him to Hera, claiming he was an orphan child left in the woods who needed nourishment. Hera suckled Hercules at her own breast until the infant bit her nipple, at which point she pushed him away, spilling her milk across the night sky and so forming the Milky Way. She then gave the infant back to Athena and told her to take care of the baby herself. In feeding the child from her own breast, the goddess inadvertently imbued him with further strength and power.

He was brought up at the court of his supposed-father Amphitryon, where he had the best tutors in the land who taught him wrestling, horseback riding, fencing, archery, how to drive a chariot, play the lyre, and sing. Hercules did not know his own strength, however, and killed his music teacher, Linus, by hitting him with a lyre one day during an argument. He was then sent to tend the flocks to keep him out of trouble. This seems to have been an impossibility for Hercules, however, as he heard that the Theban army had been defeated by a band of Minyans and, feeling this was unjust, he led a band of Theban warriors to defeat the Minyans and restore order to Thebes. King Creon of Thebes gave Hercules his daughter, Megara, in marriage as a sign of his gratitude.

Continue reading...

[cyclogenesis]

✨ per @some-stars request, the F. Scott Fitzgerald part of my review of Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast:

After chapter upon chapter of events ranging from "I went to the cafe to write and an annoying guy talked to me" to "I was hanging out with this famous writer and he was such a dweeb lol, believe me I'm a normal guy myself and very qualified to judge everyone I meet" to "I went to the cafe to write but then got drunk. Crazy that I'm so broke" we eventually got to my favorite part, where Hemingway meets F. Scott Fitzgerald and gets so mad at himself for having the gayest possible feelings a man can have that he just has to be a passive-aggressive bitch about it for several thousand words.

TO BE FAIR: F. Scott Fitzgerald is a manic pixie nightmare girl. He's Kylie Jenner writing the Great American Novel. He's my personal series of exciting-but-horrible Aries situationships/girlfriends that I chased throughout my teens and twenties. He and Zelda saw you from across the speakeasy and they like your vibe. Do you want to have the most bad idea threesome imaginable? It involves a magnum of champagne and screaming at each other until you pass out. That's how they fuck. Yes he just asked if you had sex with your wife before marriage. That was his pick-up line. He is a lunatic. He is Zelda's disagreeable wife. You wish that Scott was your OWN disagreeable wife. He has undiagnosed ADHD and a drinking problem (related?). You are never bored with him. God, you wish sometimes you could just be bored with him. He's asking you to rate his dick. You, Ernest Hemingway, take a look at his dick and give him a fair rating (7.5?). You take him to the Louvre to look at statues of naked Greek and Roman twinks and you're literally like, "maybe you're a grower, not a show-er." You tell him his wife sucks. Ernest you old queen. You butch little TEASE.

F! Scott! Fitzgerald! Sorry, this is all because I'm jealous that Hemingway got to hate himself while flirting with My Most Horrible Boy. And it's here that the book comes most ALIVE, that it becomes ABOUT something other than a broke guy in Paris trying to write a book. Finally, instead of just being about ol' Hem secretly disdaining every person that tries to have a conversation with him, we get Hemingway wanting somebody, wanting their attention and regard and time, and it's a delicious disaster. Scott's a wreck, a disappointment, a drunk; Scott's gorgeous, dazzling, and so full of talent Ernest is SEETHING ABOUT IT. They chase each other like carousel horses. It's a clown show. Scott lovebombs him when he's not too drunk to forget to, and whines about missing Zelda when Ernest won't take the hint and kiss him already.

Something very funny about all this is that at the time Ernest was about 25 years old, and Scott - who Ernest thought of, at the time, as "an older writer" - was all of 28. So it makes sense to me that much of this section reads like an @ Zola-esque Twitter thread combined with a Tana Mongeau YouTube storytime video: Romantic Road Trip with F. SCOTT FITZGERALD?! (The Beautiful and DRUNK! not clickbait!) "Hi guys, welcome to my memoir or welcome BACK to my memoir. Before we get into it, don't forget to like and subscribe, and comment down below to let me know if you'd like more storytimes about me being a deeply repressed bisexual, OR if you want me to vlog the next time I go on a bender with Scott and we DON'T hook up, at least not as far as I can remember. So anyway, I was heterosexually at work on my next adjective-less short story..."

Sorry, I'll stop. Five stars for that entire section of the book, minus one star for the rest of it. Now can someone make a deeply homoerotic film about their relationship, PLEASE.

[streetlightyeri]

and the old men that i've swindled really did believe i was the one

hope that anon who wanted me to write for Javi is still here cause this idea came to me while I was having my weekly Everything Shower and had evermore playing (she's defrosting guys). here's a peek at one of my many wips, this time based off of cowboy like me. I really like the idea of pre-movie Javi where he kind of doesn't care that he's chasing Riggs for money and is willing to do anything to get his business off the ground, which leads him to high society New York where he meets a girl who kind of doesn't care where the money she spends comes from either. trying not to spoil everything, but I really am enjoying writing this so far! I feel like a lot of my FMCs fall into either the grumpy or sunshine archetype, so this FMC is very fun to bring to life.

please let me know how yall feel about this, I feel like this might not have a great reception since this is pre-redemption arc javi with a morally gray FMC, but im really interested in everyones opinions, good or bad.

as always with my tip posts, unproofread. <3

The rain pattered on the tent above the tennis court where Robert Tomlinson IV’s wedding reception was being held. His wife was dressed in a beautiful silk wedding gown, outdoing all the other women in the venue, as to be expected. But from the moment Javi was introduced to her, he couldn’t even remember what the bride looked like.

A business partner of Riggs grabbed him by the elbow, one too many drinks in, and brought him to a standing table towards the center of the room. “Javier, I’d be delighted for you to meet my date for tonight! I think you two would get along wonderfully.”

The way he said his name, so whitely, irked him a bit. But Javi had no room to say no; insulting this man, no matter how drunk, could put an even deeper strain on his relationship with Riggs. And Javi needed his money. While Javi gathered that most of the men in this layer of society had married up (in the sense they married way down their age), he at least expected someone who matched the man in attractiveness. There was no outward signs that this man, who Javi eventually learned was stock broker Albert Hemingway VI and a distant relative to the Belgian royal crown, was a complete and utter creep, but the jokes he laughed at at the bar and the way his eyes lingered a moment too long on his date’s bust made it clear to Javi he was just like the other men in the room who told said jokes. This man, no matter how sleezy, had money and sway and, evidently, was a man Riggs wanted pinned to his lapels.

“Javier, this is my date, Violet.” That’s how Javi found himself eye to eye with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She wore a black silk, floor length gown that he wasn’t sure she’d be able to even sit in, paired with the reddest lipstick he’d ever seen. Her lips were wrapped around a cocktail straw, sipping lightly at the dirty martini in her hand. Her nails were a perfectly manicured nude. And she didn’t seem to care about Javi’s opinion of her at all, if anything, she was judging him. Which was fair in his eyes - he was dressed in his army dress uniform, and who in this walk of life joined the military? He was brushing shoulders with the same people who paid to dodge the Vietnam draft; these were the people whose names were on the buildings and tanks and weapons Javi interacted with every day on base. He had been mistaken as venue staff more than once, empty glasses held out to him by people who didn’t even bother to look away from their conversations.

So, he opted for a tight-lipped smile and nod of acknowledgement for the girl. Her crimson lips pulled into a small smirk. “Hello,” her voice was sultry, a note of an accent that Javi couldn’t place; he just knew that her vowels were wrong, an inkling that she was just as out of place as he was. She just played the part better.

The night proceeded on, Javi’s eyes following Violet the entire time. He had to swerve to avoid glasses and hors d’oeuvre plates being thrust at him. At one point, he accidentally took one as he fixated on the way Violet covered her mouth as she shook her shoulders and crinkled her eyes at one of Hemingway’s jokes; Javi saw the way her mouth stayed stoic behind her hand. Hemingway didn’t look at her long enough to care, instead turning his attention back to his friends. By this point, Violet had abandoned the cocktail straw and downed the rest of her glass when his hand found her waist.

The night continued. Violet was holding her liquor well; Hemingway was not. He was with other men Javi was with at the bar earlier in the night, his forehead connected to the bartop, the other men not far behind. He scanned the crowds, finding her standing outside the coverage of the tent, smoke billowing from her lips. He found himself making his way towards her, the perfectly manicured lawn of the Tomlinson’s Hamptons home squelching under his dress shoes until he made it to the small gazebo she was standing in, alone. It was clear she heard him with the noise his shoes made against the granite floor, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Under the stained glass gazebo, the rain pattered at a more comforting pitch, as though the raindrops were singing to them. A breeze tunneled through the small building. The bottom of her dress was muddied and damp.

“I think you’re in the clear, as far as sleeping with him goes.”

Violet looked at him from the side of her eyes before averting her gaze back to the front. Her voice was coated in that posh accent that he had a feeling wasn’t real. Her Gs weren’t polished and her As extended. “What if I wanted to?”

“Did you?”

She took a long drag before responding to him. “Would you?”

He let a puff of air out from his nose in a humorless laugh. “Would anyone?”

She mimicked him. “He has eight kids.”

Javi’s eyes widened and a real, shocked laugh fell from his lips. “Eight?”

“Yeah, I think he’s hopin’ I can round him out to double digits.” She laughed as well. “He and every other sad, lonely man with too much money on Wall Street.”

From the tent in the distance, a French love song began to play, the live string band increasing their volume, signaling the newlyweds were preparing to depart. A cheer went up by those who were still coherent. Javi repositioned himself, one hand behind his back. He bowed slightly to Violet. “Would you care to dance with me? Have a good moment to remember from this night?”

She tossed the cigarette onto the ground and extinguished it under the toe of her still-wet stiletto. “Dancin’ is a dangerous game, Javier.”

She departed from him, walking back to the tent, no doubt to collect the drunk Hemingway and put him in a limo back across Long Island Sound. He called after her, “It’s Javi.”

She looked back at him over her shoulder, a mischievous grin that Javi couldn’t exactly pinpoint the meaning of. “And it’s not Violet.”

She disappeared into the crowd of people as he gazed down at the extinguished cigarette drenched in red, trying to make out what was her lipstick and what was the moonlight seeping through the red, stained glass rose above him.

[darkmaga-returns]

Go ahead. Play the cat, trapped in a simulacrum, chasing the laser pointer around the house. The biggest story of 2024 will also be the biggest story of 2025: that we are perilously close to full-blown Technocracy. Hemingway famously quipped, “How did you go bankrupt? Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.” Totalitarianism is like that. ⁃ Patrick Wood, Editor.

As the embers of 2024 spit out their dying sparks and tendrils of smoke corkscrew into 2025, I want to ask: what were the important news stories of this year?

Most people will say something international. The war in Ukraine, the atrocities in Gaza, the fall of Assad.

Maybe some will cite elections, it was a big year for voting after all. A global shift-change in the corridors of power saw a dozen governments swapped out for new faces, with 2 weeks of the year left it’s still possible Trudeau, Macron or Scholz may join the procession.

The tech minded might talk about advancements in Artificial Intelligence.

Those are the big stories of 2024. The banner headlines. Sound and fury and all that signifies. But were they the most important?

No, the important story of 2024 was The Great Reset.

Remember that? It was this pan-global supranational plan to tear down and then rebuild society in a “sustainable”, “inclusive”, “fair” and “secure” way that would – totally accidentally – eradicate civil liberties and individual freedom for every single person on the planet.

It was all the rage a few years ago, you might remember. But when it didn’t go over too well with a lot of people, the powers that be dropped the subject and there’s been very little talk about it since 2022.

Does that mean it’s gone away?

We need to have “object permanence” in politics as in all things. Something doesn’t cease to exist just because you can’t see it anymore. The world doesn’t vanish when you close your eyes.

The Great Reset is still the plan.

It’s still happening. It’s just distributed now. A compartmentalized strategy uploaded to the cloud, everywhere and nowhere. A million nanobots working a million angles to change a million tiny rules and build a million tiny cells.

Like the end of The Usual Suspects, stand the right distance back and you can see the pattern.

Just last week, the UK’s chief medical officer Chris Whitty published his annual health report. What does he recommend? Sin taxes on “unhealthy” foods and 15 minute cities. Labour have already increased “sin taxes” on sugar, salt, alcohol and tobacco. Next comes red meat, dairy and just “carbon” in general.

Earlier this year the UK introduced licensing for keeping chickens. They banned smoking too.

By 2035 it will be impossible to buy a new petrol car in the UK. Or the EU. Or Canada. Or New Zealand. Or Australia. Or Mexico. Or South Africa. Or California, and 11 other US states.

From that point you and your car will be anchored to charging points. Even better your new car will probably have automatic drive features, speed limiters – oh and remote kill switches.

This week, all of sudden, the news tells us that wood burning stoves cause cancer. A ban is already being discussed. Since coal is already a no-no for domestic users (since 2023), there effectively goes your last chance of energy and heat independence. If they ban stoves there will be no heating available to you that can’t be hooked up to a smart meter, surveilled, controlled.

Unless you count burning a candle inside a plant pot. And they’re coming for those too.

The much-publicised murder of Sara Sharif has already been parlayed into a new bill taking away parents “automatic right to homeschool their children” – if the state deems them “vulnerable”.

Digital IDs are coming for everyone from everywhere. Here’s just a selection of reasons –

To secure the border and ensure electoral integrity in the US.

To protect children on social media in Australia.

To promote efficiency in the EU.

To combat illegal immigration in the UK.

To track migrant workers in Russia.

Because they said so in China.

[vitalphenomena]

TO CALL IT THE HEMINGWAY HOUSE WOULD BE AN INSULTING UNDERSTATEMENT. Benedict and Carolyn own a sprawling, well-maintained manor with lush grounds that are hardly ever utilized. There are two spacious garages and room left over to construct a guest house, but Benedict and Carolyn love an excuse not to host family long term. (There are, of course, plenty of bedrooms so that when Benedict's brother Benson is in town, he doesn't have to find a hotel up to his standards.)

Kelly knows the land almost as well as Margot does, at this point. He knew to hide in the second garage because it is the only place where Carolyn allows clutter to accumulate. He knew to run towards the road through the trees on the edge of the property because he would be difficult for Margot to spot and impossible to hunt if they approached civilization. She's already revealed herself to Kelly; she can't risk greater exposure.

Inside the house proper, Benedict and Carolyn sleep soundly. Margot had allegedly gone up to bed hours earlier. It is approaching Christmas. There are no twinkling lights. In her only pair of sweatpants and a hoodie from a tournament in New York City, Margot doesn't feel the chill. Cold sweat sticks strands of hair to her face.

@cardiomyapathy said: stop chasing me!

Stop running from me!

Margot and Kelly are both in remarkable shape. His chest will start to ache soon, though. His heart is more fragile than hers. She has never touched cocaine.

Margot can hear Kelly's breathing, his heavy thudding feet. In front of her, rocks piled around the trees. She picks one up while hardly breaking her stride.

She only stops to fling the stone at Kelly—and fling it hard. She knows that, if she hits him, it is more likely that she will hit the broad expanse of his back than his head or his ankles.

She keeps running.

[prettyoddfever]

hi! there’s a poem that brendon supposedly posted in august 2008 on “dylan’s myspace” that a lot of fans call “the summer poem” and i was wondering if you could confirm if he wrote it or not. i know you touched on the fact that there were a lot of fake accounts made around that time, but this specific poem has always felt more genuine than other posts and the writing style fits his tone. i’ve always really liked it, but i was never 100% sure of its validity. thank you!

ok so I had to google this to see what the "summer poem" was and I found this tumblr post, which had this link at the bottom:

and that links to the dilloncornbreadandchicken myspace as the source of that poem, which explains everything.

So towards the end of the Honda Civic Tour (and shortly after Pete Wentz got married), one of Pete's dog Hemingway's supposed extra myspace accounts posted a bulletin that said “it would make me happy if you would add my buddy dillon. here's his myspace" and linked to the dilloncornbreadandchicken account. The fact that Dylan's name was spelled wrong and she was misgendered was a little weird. Also, Hemingway's real account didn't post anything about this. (Side note: Yes, Panic's myspace got hacked around the end of the Honda Civic Tour, so even the legit myspace accounts could occasionally do something unusual. Also can I please just complain that the hackers could have posted some highly entertaining stuff "from Adam" on Panic's myspace if they'd had any imagination. Like we all know what's going on, so why not just do something absurd for a laugh).

But the dilloncornbreadandchicken account seemed questionable on its own anyways. Keep in mind that a lot of fans were obsessed with the idea that Brendon & Shane were dating... like a lot of the Ryden enthusiasm got channeled there in 2008 because at least it still implied that Brendon was into guys.

Some random things that seemed odd to me:

Several of the pictures on that myspace were absolutely not Dylan. Similar looking dog, but definitely not her.

One of the songs that played on Dillon’s profile was “Ur So Gay” by Katy Perry.

The account said things like "yea i have 2 daddys... out of the ordinary? daddy brendon and shane both take excellent care of me.”

Many girls had convos with the “Shane and Brendon” who ran that myspace. That account was also very active with replying & commenting on other's profiles. June was still a busy month for the real Brendon, who was finishing the Honda Civic Tour (and doing a lot of publicity/media stuff) and then getting ready for Europe.

In July (while the band was still in Europe), fans asked Shane about Brendon's comment to Kerrang about how the last time he cried was when he heard that Dylan ran away for a few days. Shane explained that Dylan was living with his parents while Panic was on tour, and that she'd run away on a nearby golf course to chase rabbits for a few days. Shane also apparently seemed confused when a fan at the Astoria show told him she was friends with Dylan on myspace.

There were a ton of fake myspace & facebook accounts for everyone in PATD over the years. Some of them even managed to spell Brendon's name right. But Brendon just would not be talking to fans on myspace like that (or even be on myspace at that point period). The band had stopped doing even basic journal updates by 2008, but even in 2006 Brendon & Ryan had put a lot of distance between themselves and fans, and we heard from them less & less. The guys didn't even run their band's social media in the Fever era. This whole episode reminded me of how in late 2006 many middle school girls swore they'd been talking to Ryan on AIM and he'd shared secret lyrics with them, and I was like omg common sense please.

The person who wrote that "summer poem" sounds like a school schedule still factored into their awareness, and they're possibly trying to make a subtle connection to Brendon's old part_time_lovah livejournal account. I stopped paying attention to the dilloncornbreadandchicken myspace after seeing so many big fans similarly conclude that it was fake, so I don't remember much about the poem. I'll only say that it should be regarded with some suspicion... even just posting a poem anywhere online like that would have been very out of character for Brendon. (For context, that poem was posted while Brendon was busy being a tired, sick, sweaty mess on tour in Asia and the band was heading to Australia next).

[projecthipster]

The Great Gatsby

This super cool rendition of the iconic cover eyes by @sadder-daisy. Follow the link.

I love the Baz Luhrman soundtrack, but let's save that for a long post on that movie. For now: it's all jazz baby.

“I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

Back when I wrote on The Perks of Being a Wallflower, of all things, I said that because I’d already written about the cultural monolith that was The Catcher in the Rye, I didn’t have any reason to be nervous about writing on The Great Gatsby.

That was a lie. It’s still scary. Because despite the fact that I suppose this novel may be Hipster just for its associations with those other books, I mean, just read what Holden Caulfield says about it:

Ignore the bit about nukes.

Not to mention Gatsby’s status as a product of the 1920s Paris of A Moveable Feast (look at all these connections!) Despite all that. It’s still a cultural force like little else. The last public jigsaw puzzle I worked on at the Central Library was “The World of the Great Gatsby.” There’s been, how many movies? There have been prequel and spinoff novels written to welcome Gatsby into the public domain. And there’s that Lord Huron album and its spinoff movie where to “follow the emerald star” is to pine for and chase down an ultimately doomed reunion with a lost love. That’s not what it is without Gatsby. At my favourite literally underground literary-themed cocktail and jazz bar on Notre Dame Road, you ask for the daily special drink by requesting "today's Gatsby."

So yeah, buckle in. This one's going to be a lot.

It doesn’t seem like there’s much point recounting the actual plot of The Great Gatsby. You all know it. If not, go read it. It’s like a hundred pages, it’s pretty quick, I promise you’ll enjoy it, and it’s probably not too hard to find a copy considering there are 25 million of the things. And I already know I’m going to give it top marks. So what even to talk about?

For starters, I guess, there’s the fact that every sentence in those hundred pages could be a little poem, replete with meanings and double-meanings. Take that famous opening, for example. Our dear narrator, the somewhat scrutable Nick Carraway (like the tasty seed, though spelled differently; or like apathy, you know, to throw one’s care away) tells us, dear readers, about how dear he holds his father’s advice to check his privilege and not to judge others. This as the opening to a novel in which every character is judged, passively, without acting much, by our man who stands by within and without! This irony is pointed in in the academic marginalia of my copy’s previous owner, which makes it especially easy to identify. I like to think, or at least to hope, that I might have been able to identify this myself, but let’s not put too much faith in my fairly sorry interpretive abilities.

Apparently some people can’t stand having previous readers’ notes and interpretations scrawled into their paperbacks. I can’t understand this. I also have lots of marginalia in my used copy of Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro. I’ve made my own notes too, not in library books of course but in my own secondhand paperbacks of Tolkien and Homer and Herbert, because I find it fun. It’s like being part of a huge, worldwide book club separated across time. I don’t know who made the notes (much neater and better than mine!) in my copy of Gatsby, but I appreciate them. Tell me your thoughts, and I’ll tell you mine, somewhere down the line when someone finds my vandalized copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. There’s more to text than text. There’s context and subtext and interpretation aplenty.

Back to that first sentence, and all the characters Nick judges. In fairness to him, though we may not be able to trust Nick wholeheartedly in everything he tells us, it’s fair to see that a lot of the people he encounters in the gilded circles of the jazz age American aristocracy that the novel moves through, are pretty shitty people. In the very first chapter we meet some, as Nick goes to that famous dinner party scene with all the ethereal imagery of billowing curtains. Nick is invited as family, which may perhaps rightfully make the reader raise an eyebrow at his posturing at being the objective outside observer. The sun at the centre of this golden-white star system is the utterly awful Tom Buchanan. To tell the truth, there’s something refreshingly simple to the modern reader about how simple and justifiable it is to hate Tom with one’s whole heart. He doesn’t have a sympathetic edge, a tragic backstory, or an understandable drive. No, he’s just the old money, athletically acclaimed, socially privileged in every possible way strapping, boisterous ideal of an egotistical and chauvinistic and domineering straight white man, who’s only known the top of the heap in all his time, and so any shift in the heap seems a threat to him. Nick says as much in his judgmental judgment-reserving narration. “Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart,” he says. The reader today can probably think of far too many contemporaries who unfortunately fit that description exactly. Your country might be run by some of them.

So if Tom feels like a Trumpian terror of fragile machismo, what does that make Daisy? The bystander, innocent technically but part of the system. Daisy is complicit but complicated, more so than people seem to often want to think. Even in that first chapter, that famous line that the best thing a woman can be is “a beautiful little fool” belies an understanding of the systems of gender hierarchy in her gilded house, along with an acceptance of their unchangeability. Daisy is frustratingly passive, an object rather than a subject, and you just want to shake some spine into her, but what could she do?  She’s powerless in her place and time. The best you could say about Daisy is that she’s a subtly keen survivor. She does also kill someone with a car but that’s not until later when the postured morals have been thoroughly eroded by Plot Stuff.

Last in that Chapter 1 dinner party main cast is good old Jordan. Maybe I’m just biased based on Elizabeth Debicki’s charmingly wide-eyed and energetic portrayal in the 2013 movie (an adaptation that I like quite a lot, for the record) but I’ve always liked Jordan Baker. She’s this kind of lazing, chilled-out, independent figure of the Modern Single Woman that you see in cartoons from Fitzgerald’s era, cartoons that were meant to be mocking at the time, but that a century and several waves of feminism later, end up making their subjects look pretty cool.

Later on we learn that she cheated at golf, which I guess is bad. I still can’t help but think that Jordan kind of rules. She and Nick might be using each other to both pass as straight. Maybe Jordan’s not a commentary on anything; maybe F. Scott just wanted a bit of his dear wife Zelda in the book, a famed flapper socialite who from the sounds of it was only willing to marry into at least a modicum of success and fame, prompting Fitzgerald's writing career. There's a bit of Zelda in Daisy, too, then.

There’s just one person for whom Nick forgives pretty much everything, as he says right on the first couple of pages and that’s the titularly exalted Gatsby himself. And as the title character, obviously he’s gonna take some more talking about, but it is all interrelated within this lens of the uniquely American reach upwards; the famous green light, the colour of dollar bills, but also of spring, of youth, of fresh blooming daisies. Gatsby pines for Daisy, creating a facade of a life in the hopes that she’ll come by to look at it. But is it Daisy as a person, her simple beauty and charm, that he pines for, or is it Daisy as a concept, what she represents? And what does she represent? Her wealth, her status as arm candy for those of unachievable aristocratic birth? Or does she represent the lost years before the war, of her and Gatsby’s halcyon youth? Fitzgerald wrote as part of the generation perdue, after all. The rattling of the world by the Great War can’t be uncoupled from Gatsby or any of the 1920s. The answer of course to “what does it mean” is all of the above and more. That’s the beauty of this and of any great novel: true meaning and ironclad motivation of any really good character is more of an electron cloud of probability than any set orbital, as it is in reality with everyone we meet, including ourselves.

Take ours truly Narrator Nick, for example, turning again to the one character we spend the most time with. We still don’t know everything about him, even living in his head for 200-odd pages. He’s fascinated by Gatsby’s mystery, that much we know and can understand. It’s pretty often thought, very reasonably, that Nick is actually in love with Gatsby. There is, after all, that weird scene at the end of Chapter II that begins in an elevator and proceeds, in a browned-out stupor of concealing drunken flashes, to show Nick seemingly sleeping with a male photographer. Why wasn’t that in the movie, Baz? Of course you can’t just say “oh, it’s not fascination as a concept, just love and attraction.” I don’t know of any situation where the latter can arise to any proper degree without the former as at least a  companion sentiment, if not the source. That inseparability of love and symbolism in the object of one’s desire, that applies to Daisy as the fulcrum of the Gatsby-Tom triangle, that applies to Gatsby in Nick’s eyes, that applies back-and-forth somehow, probably, to whatever’s up with Nick and Jordan, that applies to Tom keeping Myrtle as a mistress even when he’ll break her nose for bringing up the fact, that applies to Myrtle keeping Tom as the Other Man even when he breaks her nose, because he gives her a chance to be someone else and wear party dresses. Everything and everyone is a tool for our own identities, our own self perceptions, and our perceptions to others, in this Americanesque world of ladders and status and ever receding green lights. And what is it for? We make images of ourselves to bring in others, who become part of the image-making, and the end goal is...

And at a certain point when it all begins to collapse, you follow the logic to this narrow point of illogic, and you just have to shrug. Because there is no point to it all in the end, is there? It gets to some kernel too deep to do anything but:

And that’s the American Dream babyyyyy. You gotty, Scotty.

Maxwell Perkins, one of the most famous editors of the twentieth century — Hemingway dedicated his final novel to Perkin’s ability to polish a story into a finely trimmed gem for the ages — allegedly said that Gatsby, the character, was too much of a cipher, that he ought to have been figured out in a more concrete way by the novel’s conclusion. It’s a good thing Fitzgerald didn’t listen. On the other hand, it is a good thing he changed the title. Are you ready for the original working title? It's strikingly awful. Trimalchio in West Egg. Being a reference to some sort of utterly forgotten Roman classic. Sounding more like some kind of deli sandwich. Francis Scott, I know you can do words. So what in TJ Eckleburg's name is a fucking Trimalchio?

Do I really need to give a rating to one of the great books?

Alright.

I give this hipster book a rating of old sport.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the twentieth result for "Hipster," the always longwinded The BBC and Goodreads Declare: "If You Score 20+ on This Quiz You Qualify as a Hipster"

Up next: another good old book, but one I don't have a copy of on hand. A response to a later war, with more parties and more jazz and more cars, but no one gets hit in this one.

Stay deck.

[catchyhuh]

SCARS!!!

SO COOL!! THESE PEOPLE ARE ALL VERY TRAUMATIZED

WARNING FOR TRANSPARENCY’S SAKE: a little discussion of accidental, unintentional self-harm to a degree so tread lightly. tip toe here.

lupin: oh tons. he’s lost count. the majority of them admittedly are pretty tiny, like little nicks from knives, both from Murder and even just oops my finger slipped when i was making dinner. most of them are on his forearms and his torso, front and back, but the deepest one is on his back. it wasn’t even the result of one specific attack, it’s just that, when you’re running away so much, a lot of shit tends to hit your back, and it doesn’t really get a chance to heal unless you cut out that thieving shit for a month or two. lotta scar tissue back there. otherwise most of his scars aren't even that visible because of how damn PALE he is put that guy in the sun for two minutes. lord.

jigen: he actually does have a canon bullet scar on his arm (jokes on you people you thought this was just a mildly obsessed writing dump but really i'm here to share lupin facts with you!! hemingway papers baby) and it’s DEEP it did not heal properly. like almost like a mini crater from the impact of the bullet. beyond that he’s got a few tiny scrapes along his back, and his knuckles on both hands are a little rough, but his hands in general are kind of rough so you don’t really notice unless you’re reaaally looking

fujiko: the problem with chronic backstabbing disorder is that you are the company you keep, and, uh, most people don’t take well to that sort of thing believe it or not! not that many on her back though, as she tends to be a very defensive fighter in situations like that, and doesn’t let the opposition get too far out of her sight. like lupin, though, she’s got a bunch on her arms, but ALL the way up on her arms, and a few near her stomach, including a few tiny burn scars. these people really do not know when to quit. BUT you’d never see any of these because she usually covers them with makeup. always keep the public guessing and remove any identifying marks on your body! 

goemon: you already know about that shoulder baby we don’t even need to talk about that shoulder which is great! because thinking about it too much makes me lightheaded. goemon might be the only one out of them to not have ANY scarring from bullets. not even like, grazed. he’s just freakishly untouchable in that sense. of course, cuts and scrapes are there, and does have some burns along his chest though from when he and lupin met (if you’re buying that specific origin story because god who can keep track anymore) but that’s only because he kept them WAY too exposed to the elements. 

zenigata: guy’s RESILIENT. RESILIENT like jerry. the only reason he doesn’t have as many scars is because he’s the only one who manages to take care of most of them somewhat regularly because he’s not throwing himself in front of guns and knives AS often (note: not because he's actually responsible and on top of the proper healing process, he's just in that Can't Afford for This to get Worse grindset). on the opposite end though, that means the ones he does have like. 90% of them come from stupid things he did to himself. “oh damn this is a big one on your arm i bet that came from fighting with lupin” uh no that would be when he panicked during a car chase and jumped a little too early and fucked up his elbow. that one would be from a ramen cup spill. that one would be from a particularly mean cat. he’s probably got an ACTUAL cool dangerous one somewhere but it’s definitely not any of these 

[whencyclopedia]

The Life of Hercules in Myth & Legend

Hercules is the Roman name for the Greek hero Herakles, the most popular figure from ancient Greek mythology. Hercules was the son of Zeus, king of the gods, and the mortal woman Alcmene. Zeus, who was always chasing one woman or another, took on the form of Alcmene's husband, Amphitryon, and visited Alcmene one night in her bed, and so Hercules was born a demi-god with incredible strength and stamina. He performed amazing feats, including wrestling death and traveling twice to the underworld, and his stories were told throughout Greece and later in Rome, yet his life was far from easy from the moment of his birth, and his relationships with others were often disastrous. This was because Hera, the wife of Zeus, knew that Hercules was her husband's illegitimate son and sought to destroy him. In fact, he was born with the name Alcaeus and later took the name Herakles, meaning "Glory of Hera", signifying that he would become famous through his difficulties with the goddess.

The demi-god, who suffered like mortals and who could make a mess of things in life just as easily as any man or woman but perform deeds no mortal could, had great appeal for the people of Greece and Rome. Hercules was a kind of super-powered everyman who suffered disappointments, had bad days - even bad years - and eventually died due to another's trickery. These stories, besides simply being entertaining, would have served an ancient audience by letting them know that, if bad things could happen to a hero like Hercules, they had nothing to complain about regarding the disappointments and tragedies in their own lives. Hercules served as a symbol of the human condition where, to use Hemingway's phrase, "a man may be destroyed, but not defeated." An interesting aspect of Hercules' character is that, because of his divine strength and abilities, he did not have to willingly submit to any of the labors or punishments imposed upon him. He chose to suffer indignities such as his famous Twelve Labors or his servitude to the queen Omphale and did so willingly. His inner strength and ability to endure hardships made him an inspirational figure to the people and a symbol of stability in the midst of chaos, even if it was a chaos he himself had caused. The historian Thomas R. Martin writes:

The only hero to whom cults were established internationally, all over the Greek world, was the strongman Herakles (Hercules). His superhuman feats in overcoming monsters and generally doing the impossible gave him an appeal as a protector in many city-states (129).

Early Life

Although he was seen as the champion of the weak and a great protector, Hercules' personal problems started literally at birth. Hera sent two witches to prevent the birth, but they were tricked by one of Alcmene's servants and sent to another room. Hera then sent serpents to kill him in his cradle, but Hercules strangled them both. In one version of the myth, Alcmene abandoned her baby in the woods in order to protect him from Hera's wrath, but he was found by the goddess Athena who brought him to Hera, claiming he was an orphan child left in the woods who needed nourishment. Hera suckled Hercules at her own breast until the infant bit her nipple, at which point she pushed him away, spilling her milk across the night sky and so forming the Milky Way. She then gave the infant back to Athena and told her to take care of the baby herself. In feeding the child from her own breast, the goddess inadvertently imbued him with further strength and power.

He was brought up at the court of his supposed-father Amphitryon, where he had the best tutors in the land who taught him wrestling, horseback riding, fencing, archery, how to drive a chariot, play the lyre, and sing. Hercules did not know his own strength, however, and killed his music teacher, Linus, by hitting him with a lyre one day during an argument. He was then sent to tend the flocks to keep him out of trouble. This seems to have been an impossibility for Hercules, however, as he heard that the Theban army had been defeated by a band of Minyans and, feeling this was unjust, he led a band of Theban warriors to defeat the Minyans and restore order to Thebes. King Creon of Thebes gave Hercules his daughter, Megara, in marriage as a sign of his gratitude.

Continue reading...

[nils-elmark]

My New Book About three Brave Americans

On August 25th 1914, a group of young Americans joined the Foreign Legion and “with a cowboy swing” marched through Paris, wildly cheered by the crowd. They were the first Americans in the Great War. I have written the intimate story of three of those young men: • David Wooster King - a 21-year-old dropout from Harvard and son of a rich businessman whose family can be traced back to Mayflower. • Alan Seeger - a 26-year-old poet and a dreamer from New York and a family of highly educated intellectuals. His ancestors too, can be traced back to start of the American nation. • Eugene James Bullard - a 19-year-old entertainer and boxer from Columbus, Georgia. His father was born a slave and his mother was Creek Indian. King ended up as an officer in the US Army chasing German spies in Switzerland in 1918. Later, he became a modern global adventurer, met rulers across the world and was sent to Casablanca in 1941 as the very first OSS agent reporting to President Roosevelt. Eugene Bullard too survived the war years. He was wounded at Verdun and invalided out of the French Army but despite all odds he became the world’s first black aviator. After the war, he married a young French woman and settled in Paris where he opened a bar. In the roaring 20s he was surrounded by every artist and intellectual of the day from Hemingway to Louis Armstrong. Bullard fought for the French again in 1940 before he was wounded and had to flee to New York with his two children. Here he was ignored except by the first lady Eleanor Roosevelt. The French never forgot him, and Bullard ignited the eternal flame at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris in 1954 and was kissed on both cheeks by President Charles de Gaulle.

The third legionnaire, Seeger, was not so lucky as his two comrades. He was killed during the Battle of the Somme on July 4, 1916. However, six weeks earlier, he wrote the famous poem, ‘I Have A Rendezvous with Death’ which was to become his legacy. President Kennedy’s daughter Caroline recited it for her father six weeks before his fateful trip to Dallas in November 1963, and the poem has since inspired a line of American presidents during the 20th century. It has become an indestructible poetic lifeline linking France and the United States of America. The three young Americans, rooted in the nation, each has an amazing story to tell. But when their adventures are brought together we get a three-dimensional perspective on how America broke its isolation from the world and started to unite as a nation during the 20th century. The three men represent different pillars of the American soul, and their lives and dreams symbolize the story of how America became modern and remind us of the strong historic ties between France and America. Most of all, this book is a fantastic saga full of brave men, great adventures and terrific sacrifices that bring hope and a new direction in a time of human division.

You can buy the book at most online bookshops and at my publisher Pen & Sword.

[gacmediadaily]

Great American Family Announces 6 weeks of Saturday night movie premieres from the Great American Pure Flix library of films.

See six movies that exemplify themes of faith, family, loyalty, inspiration, good over evil, and love.

I've included the promo trailer for this special movie event below.

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Mr. Manhattan Premieres: August 3, 2024 Starring: Carlos PenaVega and Alexa PenaVega Storyline: In "Mr. Manhattan" Carlos PenaVega plays an ambitious attorney who struggles to balance his career and the demands of fatherhood after becoming caretaker to his niece and nephew. Along the way, he’s forced to reevaluate his priorities and lost faith. Movie Review: 🌟 Mr. Manhattan – I thoroughly enjoyed this family-friendly movie from Great American Pure Flix starring Carlos and Alexa PenaVega. There is a bit of a sad element to the story, however, as two young children lose their parents in a car accident and must move from their home and live with their Uncle Mason (Carlos PenaVega) in the city. Alexa PenaVega portrays Mason’s ex-fiancé, Dani; the two work together to care for the children after their loss. Mason is struggling with the decisions he has made with his life and is currently dating a woman, Tish, whom he is obviously not in love with. The children are gradually adapting to life with their Uncle, but there are still difficult moments of sadness and everyday troubles. However, there is also a mix of joy, hope, and peace- with many delightful, uplifting moments, too! Best of all, faith is also weaved into the movie subtly, but beautifully, as Dani encourages Mason to trust in God when he is discouraged with raising the children, finding the right housing, and his work. I think most viewers will enjoy this inspirational movie when it premieres on Great American Family. Carlos and Alexa’s performances in this dramatic storyline are excellent, along with the children who portray Carlos’ nephew and niece. This movie does a good job of showing grief and happy times. It’s a hopeful story of overcoming loss. ~Net **********************

God's Country Song Premieres: August 10, 2024 Starring: Justin Gaston, Mariel Hemingway, John Laughlin, Christopher Michael, Justene Alpert, JJ Miller, Coffey Anderson Storyline: Only God knows if Noah can be the man and father he’s meant to be. Will Noah stop chasing selfish dreams, heal broken relationships and start down God's path for his future?**********************

Nothing is Impossible Premieres: August 17, 2024 Starring: David A.R. White and Nadia Bjorlin Storyline: Scott Beck's life has not gone according to plan. Working as a janitor at the high school where he was once the star of the basketball team, he's dealing with an ailing father, a busted truck, and memories of Ryan, the girl he loved long ago. Opportunity soon arises when Ryan, now the owner of the Knoxville Silver Knights, decides to hold open tryouts. Scott tries to make the impossible happen by not only making the team, but getting back the woman he loves.**********************

Finding Faith Premieres: August 24, 2024 Starring: Ashley Bratcher, Jonathan Stoddard, and John Schneider Storyline: Victoria, a Christian advice columnist writing under the name Faith, begins to lose her faith after a series of life events. On her journey back to God, she finds her way back to love as well. Movie Review: 🌟 Finding Faith – (streamed on Great American Pure Flix) This is an impactful story with a heavy plot that deals with marriage difficulties and infertility for Victoria (an anonymous Christian advice columnist) and her husband, Billy, who is a musician, often traveling away from home. Victoria uses the pseudonym Faith, when giving advice to others, but she’s struggling to deal with her own life issues and finding her faith. Actor John Schneider portrays Victoria’s father; he’s trying to cope after losing his wife of many years, while Victoria grapples with the pain of losing her mother and a painful secret from the past. It is revealed that one character had an affair many years ago, and how grace and forgiveness have healed this person’s heart. Throughout the film, we see the wounds and scars of these characters – and gradually we see their healing after surrendering and turning to God. Due to the subject content, this is a movie best-suited for a mature audience. ~Net **********************

Divine Influencer Premieres: August 31, 2024 Starring: Featuring: Lara Silva, Jason Burkey, Jesse Metcalfe, Micah Lynn Hanson, Rebecca Koon Storyline: When an entitled influencer loses everything, she must humbly trust God to understand what the meaning of true influence is. Desperate, she takes a job at a homeless shelter only so she has a place to lay her head and quickly realizes the joy and purpose that comes from serving others. Movie Review: 🌟 Divine Influencer – (streamed through Great American Pure Flix) At first, the main girl, Olivia ‘Liv’ Golden (portrayed by Actress, Lara Silva), is rather conceited and self-centered as a social media influencer, but when she loses her apartment and ends up working and living at the local homeless shelter – we begin to see the incredible influence this has on her life as she opens up to caring for others and discovers a renewed sense of faith. Overall, the entire cast is spectacular and the production quality is excellent. It was also nice to see Jesse Metcalfe have a role in this, as well, in the supporting cast. This inspirational, family-friendly movie is heartfelt, humorous, and uplifting! I would love to see this movie also air on Great American Family! (Update: I'm so delighted my previous wish is coming true!) ~Net **********************

Engagement Plan Premieres: September 7, 2024 Starring: Jack Schumacher, Ted McGinley, Mia Pollini, Eva La Rue, Emily Topper, Eric Lutz, Judd Nelson and Faith Ford Storyline: In The Engagement Plan, Wade (Schumacher) has a plan for everything! Wade’s plan to propose to his girlfriend, Kayla (Pollini) may be the crowning achievement of plans. With a 3-carat diamond ring in tow and reservations booked at the Waldorf for his parents, Dash and Margot, (LaRue, Nelson) and Kayla’s parents, Ed and Mama Marilyn (McGinley, Ford), Wade marvels at the absolute perfection of his engagement plan. Until his plan hits a dead end on a dirt road, a country road. Kayla changes the plan to have Wade meet at her family’s farm to help her mom and dad, whose cow is expecting a calf any day. Dressed in business best, Wade – a fish out of water – has an unexpected – and definitely an unplanned encounter with a family who is not convinced he is right for Kayla. Then Wade meets her ex-boyfriend who tries to prove it.**********************

Promo video:

I hope you all will be inspired by these Great American Pure Flix films. I have seen three of these movies, thus far, and I can share that all three were deeply meaningful, uplifting, and inspirational- Mr. Manhattan, Finding Faith, and Divine Influencer.