#as a programmer I feel this in my bones

[somuchwatersoclosetohome]

good morning job seekers here are my thoughts on last night's stage/fright!! others have covered the main plot points and points of interest so this is literally ~1000 words of self-indulgent inane drivel that i wrote in my notes app at 1am (so sorry if there's misremembered lines / typos etc.), you're welcome

(will edit as i remember more stuff)

spoilers for stage/fright 22/03 evening show

le general observations

ok first up let me just say the VIBES for this show were IMPECCABLE. as many of you know this is my third watch and i feel like the energy this time was j u i c y

this time and the last time i went were both saturday evenings which i think can be good? like this audience were super engaged but not overly rowdy... it felt the right level of keen-ness that the company were responding to

all of this to say that it definitely looked to me as if the company but especially R&S were 👏 feeling 👏 themselves 👏

also means that when y'all go and see s/f be keeeeen!! they really respond to (the appropriate amount of) whooping and hollering at the right moments. i mean they literally say in the programme "you can't hear smiles" lol and we all know about reece's experiences with the 'corpses' in the producers lmao

speculation.com, i wonder if the company are feeling this but i'm definitely acutely aware that there's <2 weeks left of the run now 🥺 (where did all the time go???), which i'm trying hard not to think about because (1) sad and (2) what will i base my personality on from 6 april 2025

i’m going to cry SO HARD on the final shows

act 1

R&S got a muuuuch longer applause than i've seen previously when they come out in front of the curtain post-hamlet / a house divided scene to introduce the show. like the applause and wooping went on what felt like a solid minute. they looked happy it was cute!!

paul whitehouse was the hostage and lmaoooo did the guy milk it. the bit where they ask him what he's been in he just kept going listing stuff for aaaages

BUT it looked like R&S were having a great time here. i mean tbh reece spent most of this section with his back to the audience or adjusting his moustache bc he was lol'ing so much

an EXCELLENT fast show reference when paul has to do the spanish accent on the phone and len/eddie comes out with "SCORCHIO" iykyk

covered elsewhere but eddie knows paul from gone fisting / gone girl (and one other that i have neglected to remember)

paul whitehouse cannot play the trumpet. like at all. no sound was produced (len/eddie even says "try turning it on" and mimes switching it on haha)

len/eddie/steve's voice goes so high when he says "it's jUst a sTiCK of ceLerY" and tommy/ray/reece visibly loses it cracking up

🚨 jeremy dyson callout 🚨 as paul is leaving he said something about working with the clever/smart one jeremy dyson haha

also from the BCDR wider bit, tommy's voice crack on "you almost died len" was hearTBREAKING reece nailed it 10/10

act 2

let me open this section with HUGO my one true love this character has grown on me so much and he is honestly such a highlight. he needs his own spin-off tbh

reece was also playing hugo turned up to 11 imo

hugo/reece got a full on applause for his elements song dance number i was so happy!! last couple of times i've seen it's just got some laughs but this time people clapped for ages again to the point they had to wait for people to stop clapping before they could continue. YES BBY YOU'RE AMAZING

hugo did the leg amputation bit SO exaggeratedly this time, from the "this one sir?" to dragging the bone saw along the tray when he takes it from madam cragg

in general the p h y s i c a l i t y of reece in this production is just something else. he does it as eddie and hugo and the fucking bunny hops and exaggerated movement are just so good and make such a difference so thank you rs for the commitment to the bit

between the last time i saw s/f and this time i learned about the concept of sleeve garters (i think thanks to @vagueeyes) and now i noticed them on goudron muahah

i'd picked up from others' watches to watch marcus during the trepanning scene and yes! very worth it!! he mouthes along with the lines very nice detail

every time i've seen the musical number R&S have both looked sooo happy and again tonight. honestly petition for both of them but especially r to be in a fully fledged musical bc he smiles so much in this segment man is in his element

standing ovation 💖💖💖

stage door

right ok so first my GOD i have not seen the line this long so far?? like it literally went from the stage door around the corner onto charing cross rd and almost back to the main entrance of the theatre?? and they still came out and signed everything for everyone that was waiting 😭 true kings i'm still in awe at how they just... don't have to do this at all and yet they still do and they're so patient with everyone

i mean i said nothing of note to them bc i was on cloud 9 (hur hur) but just !!! thank you for coming out

i noticed this last time i went but absolute lols how steve is always the always the one carrying all the gift bags etc. from fans and reece is entirely unencumbered (apart from infamous CAT bag) like yas king go off

i overheard someone asking steve if there was going to be a DVD of the show and he said no 😔 but i wonder, who knows if you can trust these jokers... theres_been_a_twist.mp4

and THEN i had A Thought: imagine the concept - a filmed version of stage/fright with a commentary a la TLoG shows..... please simon evans do it for the fans

omg this is so long and i've said like nothing of note hahahaha ok well thanks for sticking with it

(oh also i'm actually writing this from the afterlife because i touched reece's hand)

[damianbugs]

(comic references under cut)

a personal and fav hc of mine is that following jason's death, yes, batman shuts down, yes, he becomes colder and destructive — going out every night and staying out for as long as he can because hurting is better than trying and failing to sleep. i don't think he would have done the same as bruce wayne, though.

bruce wayne pulls away from the public. galas and events are either cancelled by the wayne foundations or go ahead without the man in attendance. no one can really blame him, after the death of his sheltered and beloved second son. there are no comments issued by anyone in the family besides what is strictly necessary and after one unavoidable yet invasive investigation¹ to sedate public obsession, bruce wayne does not speak on the matter at all.

he does however say a lot through action.

within a couple months, a long standing project finally gets unveiled with no big event or publicity. the Jason Todd-Wayne Homeless Shelter, right in the centre of Crime Alley. the Jason Todd-Wayne Children's Fund, offering free lunch meals to school children from struggling families. The Jason Project, focusing on reading programmes in prisons and rehabilitation support. donations under the name Jason Todd are publicly given to a multitude of charities.

the public opinion on these actions are split. some find it wonderful if heartbreaking, how a child can be so loved that their parent will do anything to make their legacy leave a mark in time. gotham hasn't seen such abrupt change in — well, ever. bruce wayne is known for charity, of course, but this is different. this is for one person. this is the most expensive form of mourning.

others are a bit unsettled. if all of this could have been done, why not do it before? why use a dead boy's name to do good that will only benefit the living waynes reputations? is this some sort of ego thing? to make himself feel better? to make everyone else feel bad?

bruce doesn't quite know himself.

part of it feels useless, pouring money and time not spent breaking bones (his own and others) into fulfilling dreams jason had once had. the boy had always wanted to help in a way that was more than batman, more than bruce. is it invasive, to assume jason would have been grateful for this, that jason would have agreed? does he have any right to be so presumptuous?

part of it feels necessary. to implicitly tell the world that even before jason todd had publicly died, the city had lost a hero². that losing him is more than just an article for the front page of the daily newsletter. that gotham has lost someone intrinsically important. to make it clear that bruce wayne is only as good as what his children let him be. that they are the ones who can make change, at the end of the day.

most of it is selfish. the Wayne Botanical Gardens opens a new exhibit for the first time in decades named My Son. the Gotham Library dedicates an entire self to Jason Todd-Wayne. the third door in the living quarters of the Wayne Manor is always locked, except for monthly dustings. there is a lesson, locked in a glass case down in a Cave, labeled A Good Soldier.

¹ : Batman: Gotham Knights #45

² : Batman #125

[blumoontf2]

Absolute Territory (TF2 x Reader)

Part Two! - Cross-posted on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63777574/chapters/169826689

You are the Programmer and you work as a member for GRN - Global Radio Network. With trouble arising in your previous job, you had been reassigned and given a nine month deadline to reestablish yourself as someone worthy of working under GRN, by improving and helping the communications and publicity of Team RED.

But RED is different and a far cry from what you know, and the people seem to distrust anyone who works under GRN.

You've been tasked to help them but really it feels like you've been tasked to survive.

Content Warnings - n/a…? Reader gets thrown like eight times.

“What country were you BORN and BRED in, MAGGOT?!”

Every other syllable rings in your ears. The mental work of dissolving sentences in your head melts with the manner Soldier speaks, pointed and snappy with a direction to his words. It doesn’t help the growing ache in your head that he speaks so loud, nor did it help that you’d been hoisted from the dark meeting room into the heat of Teufort with little say in the matter.

He’d positioned you - more so thrown you, as you’d rather describe the notion - into the shade formed by the first brick building, your shadow not quite reaching the light where he stood himself, marching back and forth like a mechanical toy forced into action. His limbs lay flat and jointless, thick planks of muscle that broaden his shoulders, perpetuating him in an upright stance; his arms swing at his sides like a weighted pendulum, moving in conjunction with his steps: he faces the sun when addressing you, and walks by its side when he’s not. When the light hits him, his contours are lost - fed into the coarse gravel background and turning his face pale like the sand. The light bounces from the muted metal of his helmet and your eyes burn to readjust to the sudden offence.

You… think he meant to say raised… not bred…

From your daze, you scramble for a mental grounding, words blustered and forming uncomfortably in your mouth. You attempt to find your sense, though you must’ve forgotten to pack that when you got this job.

“I- uh… I was born in-”

“Silence SCUM!”

He halts in front of you, body stiff - poised in a formality as though etiquette helped in war - and governed in a way you couldn’t quite say was his own. His finger jabs towards you, following it like a dowsing rod until it stabs into your clavicle, twisting into the bone like he were butting out a cigarette. His features - now darkened from the shade - pull into a vicious scowl, his head tilting up to glare down at you by his nose.

“It doesn’t matter WHAT weak country you were born into - you’re on American ground now: you ACT like you’re on American ground!”

His hat jolts about, the metal rattling against what must have been a cave of a skull, knocking what little sense he may have had. His words come out pronounced - accusatory - and his breath falls chillingly against the heat of your skin.

“I may not be the smartest doo-hickey in the arsenal of nuclear weaponry, but I know a Spy when I see one…”

Teeth flat and grit, he stares at you with a malice you find hard to forget. You get the impression there is an instability to fear of this man - unpredictability. He swiftly swipes his finger up, flicking your nose harshly enough that his rigid nail snags you, making you cup your nose in the utter shock of it. You watch as he backs off, resuming his pacing with a strict formality.

“You’ll be put to the test, Spying Scum! There is no regiment crueller than that of RED!” he barks, sounding pleased with himself, “if you survive my training… then you’ll be put down by my hand…”

At this point, you can’t really hide your annoyance, scowling as he monologues about the ‘superior and dangerous initiation of team RED’. This only makes you wish you were sent to BLU instead. Your duffle bag had started weighing into your shoulder, digging into the skin so harshly you know it’ll leave a mark, your head was still ringing with the emergence of a headache, and the folder Miss Pauling had given you had begun to make your arm ache. And now, as you scrunch your nose, you’re given the choice to die suffering, or suffering to die. What was this? Lose-lose?!

“NOW! On with the tour, newbie!”

Soldier leads the one man march, with you tailing behind with less enthusiasm. He takes several detours, sharply turning in odd directions; you forget he’s actually leading a ‘tour’ and not trying to get you lost. He yammers, hardly stopping for breath, speaking in non-sentient ramblings you quickly learn to tune out. Focusing instead on your surroundings, you find that the base is much smaller than it looked.

The courtyard exaggerates the base's size. Chain-fenced and guarded with cameras, most of it is empty, tracks beaten between buildings and formed by time; you believe the base was previously government owned - demilitarised by the Administrator and renovated by YLW. Where you walk was probably the parading grounds: where you came from - the administrative building.

The building he takes you to first is domed and ugly. A sad beige littered with specks of grey presents itself to you, dug into the ground slightly sending you down a flight of stairs when you enter. The doors make a horrible rattle as they slide open, lights flickering in canon revealing malnourished, brittle shelving that appear to have been cheaply made - the Warehouse. Each row gives ten shelves total for storage with yellow fluorescent lights between them: the thin strings of metal somehow hold the various boxes scattered about with only one shelf crumbling from the weight. Crates are segregated at the back near a large industrial door, second to the one you’d entered from.

You are ‘warned’ (more so briefly and off-handedly told: had you tuned him out this very moment you’d’ve missed it) that the door leading outside is heavily guarded and ‘weaponised with tools only the genius of RED could come up with’. Your presumption is that it wards off anyone from BLU attempting an infiltration: another part of you thinks it’s a way of keeping you in.

When you leave, Soldier drags you through four left turns, effectively circling the large building you’d just been in. As you walk, dragging your feet behind Soldier’s more peppy steps, you catch the sight of some of the other mercenaries as they move on with their day; even from across the courtyard, you can feel their pitying, yet hateful gazes on you. It’s the type of look that portrays you, wounded with bloodhounds on your trail; dread - had it not settled yet - becomes much more evident. They watch you like they’ve seen you before: like you weren’t the first of many.

In particular, the tall kid (you strain to remember his name) laughs mockingly in the distance, seeing your exhausted state from the weight you were carrying and from the laps Soldier was forcing from you. He makes it a point to call out.

“Hey Soldier-!” and he stops so suddenly you nearly crash into his back, “what do you call someone who can barely walk a hundred yards? THE PROGRAMMER!”

He cackles, as does Soldier who stomps his foot and slaps his knee.

“I’d just call them BRITISH!”

Suddenly you think you’re in school again, sitting in a classroom while your classmates laugh through the window. Goddamn comedians… they never get far in life. But neither did you, evidently, to wind up here.

He bolts to the building he was heading to, the longest and farthest from where you stand. You’re sure he does this in an attempt to taunt you, proving you’re weak, slow and beneath him, and in a way, he’s right, but only because you don’t feel like chasing a man who wasn’t worth your time.

For all the efforts the warehouse put into its camouflage, the second building Soldier takes you to immediately nullifies the effect. Usually, you’d describe a building of this state to be ‘one a bomb had been dropped upon, demolishing what little dignity it had towards its function’. In this case, you fully believe it to be true.

The body is charred across its right side, a near perfect split between one half of the building and the next. Where blown out windows are bandaged with wooden planks, broken glass and rubble accompany it, not yet removed from the stage of destruction. It’s a scorn against the image of the base - a shameful mark of carelessness that’s patched in a way of negligence. The wall is scalded with soot stains the shade of black coffee, patterned across the red brick like an oil spill and darkened in the areas of impact. A coal scent lingers, dancing with the vapours of oil. The building’s twin - the left side - remains unmarked, at least, not to the extent of the right. It serves as a reminder to its abuse: to the decency it lost.

Coming closer, the sounds of machinery spark. A garage door stands, sealed on the bare wall to the left, muffling the horrors enacting behind it. It sounds like sundering metal and you can presume who is the cause of it - the Engineer.

“PROGRAMMER!” Soldier speaks suddenly, as though you’ve stepped on his heels, “do you want to see something… FUNNY?”

You perk to the suggestion, a feeling of camaraderie coming to you - an opportunity for connection in this place, to prove yourself worthy of being here! You agree readily, disregarding the feeling you have in your gut, and he grins at you furtively. He leads you closer to the garage door, like a stalker to its game, to a smaller one off-set at its corner. When you’re moments away, he hoists you at the collar, kicking the door and chucking you in.

The weight of your duffle sets you off-balance and you clatter first into the edge of a table, and then second to the ground. Your files spill from your hands, papers scattering alongside a holder of pencils, and your scream is only slightly out-classed by the jolted hollar of ‘DANG NABBIT’. When you peel your head from the tile floor, you're met with the image of a very angry, very stressed, Southern man.

“Lil Pop Quiz for you: when a door has a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on it, what d’you do?”

It’s a simple question yet your words elude you. Turning for support, you find your ‘guide’ has disappeared, leaving you in the wreckage. Your eye twitches involuntarily, yet somehow you feel this is your fault: logic speaks that it’s not, instinct claims it is. You begin your plea, body lifting from the floor like you’re begging forgiveness from the Lord Himself.

“I’m so sorry, I did NOT mean to-”

“You’d better start praying, boy-” he interrupts before restraining himself, knuckles fisting as his sights sit past you, “Soldier. You have a part to play in this.”

It’s not a question but the Soldier answers like it is anyway, ‘affirmative’ coughing from his throat. It’s like he teleports behind you, unable to keep from getting involved in the situation HE CAUSED. You thought he disappeared to have plausible deniability and yet he doesn’t fight to claim his own ‘innocence’.

“...why don’t you get along now before one of you gets hurt?” the Engineer suggests with barely contained irritation.

You make a sound of agreement, scuttling for your papers before you begin sweeping up his pencils by hand: he clears his throat harshly, barely disguising the hateful sneer on his lips. It gives you pause long enough to offer him a loosely grit smile.

“...you don’t want me to-?”

“Just get the fuck outta my workshop,” he stresses, rubbing his temples with his middle finger and thumb.

Message received loud and clear. You back out, passing the threshold, and the door immediately meets the tip of your nose. For a communications ‘expert’, you are making a horrible first impression: what kind of curse was set on you to place you here in Teufort? You know why, and yet you feel the punishment is ill-fit for your crime…

Stupefied, your body turns slowly like a haunted carousel, directing towards Soldier who stands innocently at your side; it takes will-power not to leap at him, mouth agape - near foaming - as you try to kindly word ‘what the fuck his damage is’ without inciting a physical attack. Naturally, you’re stopped before you start.

“That was a pathetic display,” Soldier says and the civil approach you’d planned to use gets thrown to the curb.

“...WHAT DO YOU MEAN-”

“I MEAN! You should GROW. SOME. BALLS, SNOWFLAKE!”

A guillotine, his arm sharply lifts like the blade, slamming onto your shoulder with a pronounced thud you jump violently at. His grip is strong, thumb dug under your collar bone, and you flinch with the thought he’ll punch you.

“If you want pure blooded RED to run through your VEINS, you have to start MANNING UP! You GRN Men are all WEAK: cowering at the sight of conflict…”

He snags you by the scruff of your neck and begins towards the last standing building. At this point, you allow yourself to get dragged along, the fight that had sparked diminished by a tidal wave.

“You will TRAIN. SIX AM. We don’t need WIMPS in this BASE! WE’RE AT WAR!!”

It’s endless! And your will is slowly getting chipped at. He insults your profession, and simultaneously his own - did the man think wars were won without the help of admin? - but then, you’re only ever reminded of war from those who stand on the field.

He takes you to the front of the last building: gnarly and plain with curtained panes watching you like eyes. Squished, the roof is flat, a single story drags on to make up for the lack of height. It’s walls are fashioned plainly, rugged and worn like a charity case. Gun holes scatter down twin doors, displaying the hollowed out wood and meeting with torch marks rising from the bottom. It’s sets you up for a weakened expectation and thin walls: if you expect privacy, you also expect very little of it.

You can understand why YLW use cheaper material now, if only for the frequency the base clearly gets abused. Soldier enters without thought and you catch the door behind him, letting it gently fall shut as you enter after.

It’s a long hallway with a large, arching door at the end of it: the entrance to the cafeteria. Soldier actually points this out - the only useful thing he’s done this entire tour - only to mention something about bread? You care very little, haven learnt not to trust his word. The place has more rooms than people working there. You’re surprised to find everyone HAS rooms rather than being lumped in one shared hall. You spot a communal restroom at the furthest end by the doors to the cafeteria, and next to that you believe are the communal showers.

You move further down, observing the doors as you pass them with keen attention. There’s different logos on each door and you notice a total of nine variations, bar the one Soldier drops you off at - your door - marked with GRN’s logo (a radio antenna).

Entering your room, the first thing you notice is the mirror across to your door. You see your state, all soaked in sweat and grime, knees dirtied by filth and clothing slightly ary: you smooth a hand down your face only to feel how caked in oil it had become. With a click, your door shuts behind you, and you observe your life for the next nine months.

It’s noticeably bare. That was… to be expected and yet the sight sinks in how far from home you are. Your new mattress adorns a thin bedding, draped over itself at the pillow and tucked in at the edges: it’s hoisted up by a thin, fragile frame that creaks in threat when you drop your bag upon it. You briefly consider the survival rate of deserting this job. You don’t think about it too long.

You’re given a work desk - folder flung there, your poor arms ache - a lamp, a ceiling light that flickers and sparks when you test it out, and a single unit for dressing, alongside that mirror that mocks you at the door. The bed aligns itself with the window, a thin fabric hooked across it that barely serves its function, room bright even with the curtains drawn. The first thing you consider is replacing them. On the opposite wall, your dresser and desk sit, aligning with your bedroom door. To the left of the dresser, another door rests. You open it to find a bathroom.

It’s small, cheap and shitty - nothing spectacular and just barely a privilege - with a single standing shower. It comes with a small bottle of MannCo branded ‘5-in-one shampoo, conditioner, body wash, aftershave, and melee weapon!’ you refuse to touch in fear it’ll peel your skin straight off. A bowl shaped sink sits under a dull mirror, fake as though you lived in a dollhouse, the material used probably nothing more than a reflective coating. It’s clear enough to voice your misery and you quickly recede to your room once more.

You have two boxes that were delivered before your entry. The first, you find, are basic necessities. Your favourite mug, a small radio, a few books both for reading and writing: nothing too interesting so you set it by your desk. The next - and you chuckle, guilty at the sight - are your sheets and, in tow, your small collection of plushies. You grab the box and flip it, fabrics falling onto the bed softly and your plushies smacking into the hard mattress. One of the smaller toys (a round toy bomb with a beanbag in it) rolls from the bed and onto the floor with a soft thump. You pick it up and throw it in your hand. You’d won it one summer in an arcade with friends: friends you won’t be seeing any time soon. The other soft toys are equally symbolic, mostly kept as a reach for your childhood, and you almost feel bad for bringing them to this place.

You finally take a seat at the desk - your desk - thumbing through the pages of the file Miss Pauling had given you. You are the Programmer, the identity supplied to you by RED, and you work for GRN.

Global Radio Networking: the company desired control and monetisation. You’re here to paint a picture to both the world and the Administrator: you’re here to lower their guards.

You’re being tasked with the work of five men, you find, with your description outlining report writing, resource allocation, the programming of your station and how it’ll be structured. Half of it is what you were already used to: the other half are foreign demands from team RED. In the back of your mind, however, you have clear instructions from GRN. Gain information.

You’re expendable and they’ve put you here as a bit of a trust fall. You were valuable enough to keep, yet not enough to not question. Your mistakes have marked your name: you have to prove your worth.

Your deadline is nine months. And in nine months, you’ll have either secured your job at GRN, or died trying. You’re being tossed between Death’s hands and it’s only fate that can sway you one way.

You lean back on your chair and sigh. You might as well unpack.

[brodygold]

Twelve Days of Christmas: Day Six

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: six geese-a-laying.

The six men groaned as they stirred awake, their minds clouded and bodies feeling weightless. Each found himself encased in a smooth, glowing, golden egg-shaped pod. The interior was warm and oddly comforting, yet tinged with a metallic hum that resonated through their bones. The pods were suspended in a vast chamber illuminated by radiant beams of gold light that crisscrossed the space like a spider’s web.

For Daniel, the fog in his mind cleared just enough to recall a snippet of memory. It was December, the crisp winter air biting at his face as he and his friends huddled around their table at the diner. Christmas lights twinkled outside the frosted windows, and the smell of cinnamon and pine filled the air. A figure had approached their table—a tall man in a golden soccer jersey, his smile disarmingly bright.

“Want an early Christmas present?” the man had asked, holding up a small golden box. The six friends exchanged curious glances. David had been the first to laugh, joking about it being a pyramid scheme, but their curiosity got the better of them. They each accepted a small golden trinket from the man, its surface warm to the touch. “Trust me,” the man had said, his grin widening, “it’ll change your life.”

Daniel’s head throbbed as the memory faded, replaced by the reality of his current predicament. He pressed his palms against the translucent interior of his pod. A flicker of panic darted across his face as he struggled to make sense of what had happened. The last thing he remembered after the diner was holding the trinket and feeling a sudden wave of dizziness. Now, here he was, encased in this strange cocoon.

“What the… where am I?” he muttered, his voice muffled. He pressed harder against the walls of the pod, the smooth surface cool under his fingertips. Through the golden sheen, he could barely make out the shapes of five other pods, each glowing softly like his own.

“Guys? Are you there?” Daniel called out, his voice trembling. A muffled chorus of confused and frightened responses came from the other pods.

“What is this place?” “I can’t get out!” “Calm down! Let’s think!”

David, a lanky programmer with glasses perpetually sliding down his nose, was in the pod closest to Daniel. He tried to steady his breathing, but the growing sense of dread was impossible to ignore. The chamber around them felt vast, infinite even, the golden beams of light crisscrossing endlessly above. Suddenly, a faint hissing sound caught his attention. He turned to see a golden mist beginning to seep into his pod. It swirled around him, carrying an oddly sweet, metallic scent that filled his lungs.

“What is this stuff?” David choked, pressing himself against the back of the pod to escape the mist. But there was no escape; it was everywhere. The mist wasn’t just filling the pod—it was invading his body, his mind. A wave of warmth began to spread through him, soothing his initial panic. His glasses fogged up as his breathing slowed, his limbs going slack. Somewhere in the fog, a voice whispered.

“You have been chosen for greatness. For the Golden Army.”

The words reverberated in David’s head, erasing his fear and filling him with a strange sense of purpose. He blinked, his glasses slipping from his face as they dissolved into the mist. Shocked, he realized he could see clearly for the first time in years. His vision sharpened, his surroundings coming into focus with an almost supernatural clarity. The voice grew louder, more insistent.

“Shed your past. Embrace your new self.”

David’s body began to tingle, starting at his fingertips. His once-thin, spindly fingers thickened, his nails becoming perfectly trimmed. The transformation traveled up his arms, the bony appendages filling out with firm, sculpted muscle. His shoulders broadened, pushing against the pod walls as they expanded into a powerful V-shape. The golden mist seemed to seep directly into his skin, turning it smooth and glowing with vitality.

His torso convulsed as his ribs and spine realigned. Years of poor posture were corrected in seconds, his chest swelling into a broad, muscular expanse. Abs rippled to the surface, carving themselves into a flawless six-pack. David gasped as his neck thickened, his Adam’s apple becoming more pronounced, his voice deepening with each breath.

The changes continued down his legs. His stick-thin thighs ballooned with muscle, calves becoming rock-solid pillars of strength. Even his feet grew larger, more proportional to his now-athletic frame. A pair of golden cleats materialized on them, glinting in the light.

David’s head tilted back as the mist concentrated around his face. His jawline sharpened, cheeks hollowing slightly to reveal high cheekbones. His nerdy, unkempt hair receded briefly before surging back as a short, stylish cut. The mist reshaped his features into those of a rugged, handsome athlete—a face designed to exude confidence and charm.

As the physical changes completed, David’s mind underwent its own transformation. The golden mist didn’t just enhance his body; it rewrote his identity. His memories of coding marathons and late-night gaming sessions faded, replaced by visions of intense soccer matches and roaring crowds. His love for data and algorithms was replaced with an insatiable passion for the game and an unwavering loyalty to the Golden Army.

The pod opened with a hiss, and David stepped out onto the gleaming golden floor, his movements fluid and powerful. He looked down at himself, admiring the golden soccer jersey that now adorned his muscular frame. A dumb grin spread across his face.

“Whoa, dudes,” David said, his deepened voice brimming with excitement. “I feel, like, totally awesome. My muscles are huge! And, uh… what was I saying? Oh yeah! I’m, like, totally jacked now!”

He flexed his biceps, staring at them in awe. “Man, I used to think about, like, nerd stuff or whatever, but now all I can think about is kickin’ balls into goals and crushin’ it at the gym!”

The other pods began to hum louder, the golden mist swirling more intensely. Daniel, still trapped in his pod, watched in horror as David stepped out, transformed into a towering jock. He banged on the walls of his pod, his heart racing.

“What’s happening to us?” Daniel shouted, his voice cracking with fear.

Inside Daniel’s pod, the mist surged forward, wrapping around him in thick, golden tendrils. He coughed and struggled, pressing himself against the back of the pod. “No! I don’t want this! Please, stop!” But his protests were swallowed by the mist as it invaded his lungs, his body going limp as the warmth spread through him.

The transformation began at his hands, his slender fingers thickening, veins popping as muscle wrapped around his forearms. His arms bulked up, his shoulders widening to a proportion that strained the edges of the pod. His chest heaved as his ribcage expanded, pecs pushing forward into a solid, chiseled form. He could feel his stomach tightening, fat melting away to reveal a defined six-pack.

Daniel’s legs stretched, his thighs swelling with power as his calves reshaped into the muscular foundation of a professional athlete. His scrawny frame was replaced with a body that radiated strength and vitality. His sneakers dissolved into golden cleats, perfectly fitted to his new, larger feet.

The mist enveloped his head, and Daniel whimpered as his features began to shift. His jawline squared, his nose straightened, and his hair shortened into a stylish, sporty cut. His glasses disintegrated, his vision sharpening as though he had never needed them. His skin glowed with health, his face now the epitome of athletic confidence.

Inside his mind, Daniel felt his memories being erased, his identity rewritten. Thoughts of books, strategy games, and his quiet life were replaced by visions of roaring crowds, locker room camaraderie, and the thrill of scoring goals. His protests turned into dumb chuckles as his intellect dulled, his new personality taking over.

“Aw, man, this feels… amazing!” Daniel said, stepping out of his pod. He flexed his arms, laughing. “I’m, like, so huge now! And… uh, what was I worried about? Oh yeah, nothin’! I just wanna crush it on the field, dudes!”

The remaining friends, still in their pods, screamed and banged against the walls as they witnessed Daniel’s transformation. But one by one, the golden mist claimed them too, reshaping their bodies and minds into loyal members of the Golden Army.

When the final pod opened, the six transformed men stood together, their muscular frames glistening under the golden light. They exchanged dumbfounded grins, their minds alight with simple thoughts of victory and camaraderie.

“Bro, this is sick!” Ian exclaimed, flexing his biceps. “I’ve never felt so strong!”

“Yeah, man, like, I can’t wait to crush it on the field,” Chris added, cracking his knuckles.

“Let’s go, bros! We’re gonna dominate!” Tommy said, pumping his fist.

David chimed in, laughing as he patted Ian on the back. “Dude, I don’t even know what I was thinkin’ about before, but now it’s like… all I wanna do is hit the gym and, like, totally smash some goals, ya know?”

“Totally, bro!” Marcus said, slapping his hands together. “Let’s get swole and show everyone what the Golden Army’s made of!”

Above the chamber, in a hidden observation deck, a figure watched the scene unfold. Brody, clad in his own golden jersey, smirked as the transformation process completed.

“Perfect,” he murmured to himself. “They’ll make excellent additions to the team.”

Brody’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It had been his idea to bring these six here, to reshape them into champions who would bring further glory to the Golden Army. He turned to the console and pressed a button, speaking into a microphone.

“Alright, recruits. Time to hit the gym. Let’s see what those new bodies can do.”

The six jocks erupted in cheers, their simple minds thrilled at the prospect of pushing their limits.

“Hell yeah, let’s get swole, bros!”

Thanks to my good friend @hypnozys for help with some of the photos!

If you're interested in joining the Golden Army for real, contact me, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001

[dianaburnwood]

THE SPLITTER

SPOILERS AHEAD -

Is this the best elusive target we've ever had???? The LORE on this one? Also very interested in the timeline as 47 and Diana are still working for the ICA in this contract, they're not freelance.

I feel like I have been awakened from Hitman hibernation to freak out over the implications of Valiant and Hei's work on the Romanian programme.

First of all, we have Max Valiant - Jean-Claude Van Damme helloooo - who is a disgruntled ex-ICA agent. The best they had, before 47. Assassinated by his own agency for playing both sides, but Valiant lived, and now has a major bone to pick with the ICA. His master plan is pretty brilliant - giving him the opportunity to take over from his old employer or become their greatest competition - all by creating his own version of Ort-Meyer's work.

This is where my jaw DROPPED.

Valiant has created his own clones. However, they aren't clones like 47, who was born as a baby and raised to adulthood. Valiant, like Ort-Meyer, wanted a way to accelerate the process and have clones who were completely obedient. His clones are grown in tanks to accelerated adulthood - just like Ort-Meyer's 48 series. But in them we see the same flaws. While these clones are excellent, they are inexperienced. Everything they do is mechanically perfect, but it lacks the critical thought that an actual adult has.

Due to this, Valiant's clones are like children. They ask if they've done well, they seek his praise. It's kind of heart-breaking. He pushes them to their physical limits and they do it without question. They are "perfect" and yet lack everything that makes 47 so calculating. They are, in all honesty, innocent.

And so 47 has to take them out. And oh. my. God.

Dressed as a guard he takes over from the one supervising the shooting range. The guard happily tells him he can have the freaks, to which 47 responds with venom: "Think you're the freak."

Because of course. Watching people create clones could not be closer to home for 47. He hates this in as much as he has the emotional capacity for hatred. This makes him as uncomfortable as he can get.

We also get a glimpse of when things go wrong on his project. We have one of the clones in a padded cell, dancing to himself. He is unaware of everything around him. He is childlike in his happiness. And 47 kills him.

The researchers thank 47 for taking him out, saying they couldn't bring themselves to do it. They ask him how he did it with such ease. And 47 responds: "You get numb after a while."

Oh my God????? We rarely get to explore how 47 feels about what he does, because even though there are so many hints throughout the series, he doesn't actually talk about it himself all that much. And numb is such an interesting word choice. Because numb is not indifferent. When you're numb to something, the feelings are still there, but you can't access them. You know they are there, but you are removed from it. Either through shock, or desensitisation, or your brain is protecting you or whatever - you are deprived from the feeling. We've heard from Diana before that 47 knows he is broken and tries to be whole. Here we are getting this from himself, he is numb to what he does. And "after a while" - ahhhhhh???? Now that he has his memory back after Grey, he remembers what it was like to feel and to care. He remembers how he was. He is numb now, but he knows he was not always this way. I'm crying????

Walking into the room with the tanks reminded me so much of Hitman: Contracts when we get that replay of the asylum. All these new clones, grown in tanks instead of raised. I felt sorry for them then, but Valiant's clones have given me an even greater perspective on how these men are essentially children. It's so sad.

Pritchard's open disgust for the whole thing - but also his admitted awe - is another interesting angle for the ICA. I didn't realise before that Pritchard is the ICA's CFO. The board was not aware of what Travis was doing with Victoria in Absolution, and it seems to still be the case that they wish to be "ethical" with their assassination business. But given the cost and the time, I can't imagine that someone on the ICA board wouldn't see the value in what Valiant was doing. And we never find out what the board's answer would have been to Pritchard as he sat on the phone with them during this mission.

Also interesting to me that Hei was not a target. Why did the board authorise the death of Valiant and his clones, and not take out the researcher who made it all possible? Imo, there's material for a whole new game here. I can't imagine that the ICA would not reach out to Hei and have her work for them instead going forward.

My real question is - does Hei know how to restart the program that made 47? Or does she only know about Ort-Meyer's later program that accelerated the growth of the 48 series? Because if she knows how to create new clones the way that 47 was made, and the ICA board sees the value in investing in that rather than in the 48 model, I could see a really interesting future where they start their own child soldier program with Hei. Especially now since Diana and 47 have left the ICA and are essentially their competitors.

[hms-no-fun]

Tell us about Dill and Alexander! I kinda picture them in my head as Kermit and that blue eagle Muppet but gay and gamer/greasy mechanic. Is that where you got the idea? Is sburb's frog fascination gonna play into the story of these boyos?

oh what's that? you want to be the captive audience for a lore dump about my very special guys? completely unprompted and with total investment in everything i might have to say? well well, don't mind if i do!

SO, Dill Croaker and Alexander Falcon are members of a now-defunct group called The Falconers. they are modeled after Star Fox (the team) from Star Fox (the video games). we haven't seen Alex on screen yet, but here's @girlpillz's rendering of Dill for B1 verse 1, where Lenore Lehart shows off her sick bouncy ball skills for Dana Straten to get the attention of Dill.

Alex being a blue falcon, i imagine he looks legally distinct from Falco Lombardi from Star Fox (the video games; the team) albeit less cocky and attitudinous.

there are technical reasons for The Falconers' existence. going into 3.2B, i knew i wanted a secondary supporting cast in the margins capable of handling dirtywork off-screen. for instance, they're decrypting and analyzing Lenore's stolen witch data so the main cast doesn't have to worry about it, leaving us more time to luxuriate in what we're actually here for: feelings.

Star Fox 64 is my favorite game, so when it came time to come up with that supporting cast, the possibilities of a knockoff Star Fox team immediately sold me on the idea (especially since this is the only story where i will ever reasonably be able to get away with such a blatant act of self-indulgence. you wouldn't believe it from looking, but i don't actually do a lot of indulging myself with Godfeels. i try very hard to never throw things in without serious calculation. The Falconers are pretty much the only thing i've introduced that came as an inorganic external mandate of my own selfish making, and even then i've worked very hard to integrate them naturally). as a broken up four-person crew, they mirror the Upsilons-- and so, them helping the Falconers reunite in order to find Alphi and Edie gives these guys some juice. their backstory is a shadow of the Upsilons', and a useful point of comparison as the narrative plugs along. i could've made a girl Star Fox team, but frankly Godfeels is just so women-centered, so female-focused, so tgirl-transfixed that i figured it was about time to throw the boylikers a bone.

The Falconers are balanced as a calculated twist on the Star Fox team. the most immediate difference is that here, Alexander Falcon fills the role of Fox McCloud. he's the charismatic team leader, a little surly (especially these days) but good at his job and deeply committed to the care of his team. Dill Croaker is, obviously, only about five runs through the dryer away from Slippy Toad, and fills the same role. my reason for this is that everyone is mean to Slippy and they're wrong. Slippy is a brilliant engineer and programmer, why do you expect him to be an ace fighter pilot too? that's YOUR job, hotshot! Nintendo themselves have been all over the map with Slippy in terms of characterization, pretty much never getting him quite as right as he felt in 64. so, yeah, Dill is my take on Slippy: a clueless gamer frog who plays with a lot of edgelords but is himself impervious to their venom. he never cusses because he's a good boy, and he respects women.

Dill and Alex have lived together on Crime Planet for a long time. are they fucking? no, i don't believe they are. Dill strikes me as something of an ace king, and anyway i don't think he's Alex's type. mostly they work together in the shop and hang out doing bro stuff. maybe Alex lifts weights while Dill plays shitty space MOBAs. but all this begs the question: who is Alex's type?

as of the B1 solo we've learned a little bit about the other two Falconers. first there is Erol [last name unknown], the oldest member of the crew who's likely analogous to Peppy Hare. which leaves us with Yolo Sionnach. a lot of information can be implied about him from this exchange:

yes, a lot of information indeed. but as much as i would love to enumerate the implications, i must hold my tongue. i mean, i would type it all out, but i can't, because i'm literally using my fingers to hold my tongue in place so that i can't say the spoilers out loud

anyway, i like the muppet comparison. that wasn't what i had in mind at all, but now i'm imagining the Falconers as the puppets Nintendo used to advertise Star Fox Zero and........ ohhhh scope creep you saucy temptress

the Slippy slander is rampant! and that's to say nothing of the ad where muppet versions of Satoru Iwata, Shigeru Miyamoto, and Reggie Fils-Aime slowly transform into Peppy, Fox, and Falco respectively.

i can't say that Sburb/the Universe Engine have much to do with The Falconers' story. they're not godtier, they don't know anything about the UE, they are literally just space mercenary furries. they come from the Lemurian Star System, trained at the Academy on Lemuria, and worked in the Lemurian Sky Corps until starting their own independent outfit as contractors (which i imagine is a fairly common career path in a region racked by interplanetary war and rampant espionage). age-wise, they're in their mid 30s.

thank you for this wonderful question. no one ever asks about the other guys, and i am always dying to talk about the other guys.

[juliansummerhayes]

Moving on

I took some time off earlier in the year; the intention was to go travelling with my wife around the British Isles. It didn't come off. It was therefore inevitable that I had to return to "work", which in my case meant taking two part-time roles: one as an in-house lawyer for a £5M web company, and the other in private practice whose niche is education law (I only do commercial contracts and some low-level disputes work).

As I try, now, to pick apart the bones of my decision-making, I can see the footprint of so many failed jobs; namely, it wasn't so much I wanted to work for either entity but I had nothing else on offer. I did try and leave law but I couldn't find anything or rather no one appeared to want to take a chance on someone with my experience.

And now . . . I find myself at another crossroads. Both jobs have left me feeling empty; it doesn't help that I have so little work, which means I have to try and fill my days while still pretending that I'm working for someone.

If there's a desire to do anything, it's to leave all of this behind and go out on the saunter; but I've said this too many times before and it's come to nothing. Why? Mostly because I've no one to go with -- i.e. my wife; and even if I did travel for a few months on my own, what would I be coming back to? A smaller pot of money (I have limited savings) and the need to saddle up the horse again and get with the programme.

Perhaps I could, before pulling the pin on these jobs or being shown the door (I think it's inevitable I'll leave them), try to carve out a niche and offer my legal services to a small group of SME clients; but that feels like an awful lot of work and as someone who has grown more and more insular, I'm horrified at the possibility of having to network, send unsolcitied pitch emails and having to prove myself all over again.

What is it they say:

You reap what you sow.

Ain't that the truth.

I'd by lying, though, if I didn't still feel the draw of the creative act; but I've tried that too -- on my level at least -- and the road was paved not so much with disappointment but another round of contemplative mayhem whereby I wasn't prepared to compromise my views and that meant that I was more like the gravel in the machinery than an answer to someone else's prayers.

If this all seems very circular, it is.

I suppose, in the end, all I can is be grateful for the fact that I'm still alive and the best thing I can do is to take one day at a time and not get too far ahead of myself.

I'll keep you posted.

Love, Julian

[kaneandfeels]

SO A LOT OF YOU ASKED A LOT OF QUESTIONS So we answered every one we were asked

1. What is an element of your story that surprised you?

How quickly the Holmes and Watson dynamic we used as a writing crutch entirely flipped through our characters growing and developing. Feels became the star rather than the sounding board in a way that is really organic and good - Jack

Its scope. I had dabbled with absurdism before Kane and Feels, but never gone full existential horror. I’m more of a like quiet melodrama type so i love that jack was able to get me writing more esoteric bullshit- Oli

I don’t know if it's surprising, but there’s a tenderness to a lot of the series that I wasn't expecting when we started. It sets its tropes out strongly, and then the characters interact in that space and take it in wildly different directions, while remaining true to the genre. - Jude

2. Is audio drama the only medium you've worked in? How does it compare to other mediums?

Audio dramas are the only form I've ever received feedback for really, I have a literature degree and I am constantly making stories but I don't really have any other published works like this. - jack

I’ve studied in other mediums, but not worked in them. I’ve done bits of filming at school but found quickly my talents laid in sound. - Jude

I’m an audio nerd, through and through. Started as a musician, became a DJ, wrote a sitcom, did a degree, made some docs and factual programmes and then it's been audio dramas since then. It's a difficult medium to master but a rewarding one when its’ done right. - Oli

3. What are some audio dramas that inspire you? Both in general and for your podcast.

Welcome to nightvale was a big early touchstone, the work of Dirk Maggs like batman knightfall meant a lot to me as a child, I had it on cassette tapes

HItchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the radio series) is a big one. I listened to it religiously when growing up. Neverwhere was another one that inspired me from a sound perspective. The shifting brickwork always tickles my brain. - Jude

I listened to a lot of HP as a kid, while going tobed. I graduated onto the BBC7 ‘Comedy Club’ which played a mix of half hour sitcoms and stand up comedy vehicles between 10 and midnight when I was going to sleep… occasionally I would drift into the ‘seventh dimension’ where I’d hear the man in black, Blake 7 and all other sci-fi horrory affairs.  When Nightvale turned up, that was a game changer, cause it opened the field to people like me to go make audio dramas without the clout of the BBC behind us. Same with Wooden overcoats. 

More specifically though, there is a direct line between Aker and Blacker’s “beyond Belief’ on the Thrilling adventure hour’ and the early drafts of Kane and Feels

4. Who is a character that took you by surprise?

Councilman Geoff Grace. Go listen for why - Jack

Jeanine (the housewife) wasn’t surprising, but she was shocking. I just loved her framing and existence in the story. It's one of those ones where you can feel the screen on the scene. you ‘re looking in at this strange commercial of a woman as she lives this warped 50’s vibe. - Jude

For me, its the monster from wonderland. I had this idea for something grotesque, that pulled apart the idea that words don’t hurt. Of course words hurt. That’s why they can lead us to violence or action or whatever. So I had this idea of a monster who said words ‘scar from the inside’. Jack said ‘this is great, what is this monster?”…. And i hadn’t thought that far ahead. I said ‘I dunno, that’s your job, spookyman’ - so suddenly its the voice of the goddess of spite, we get Vivi P, the most terrifying italian woman ever to grace our studios to do her voice, and then pepper her in through out the series making her a serious big bad. Didn’t know she’d have that milage considering it was essentially a joke about sticks and stones breaking bones. - Oli

5. If you're the writer, how did casting/producing change how you thought about the podcast?

No one gave a fuck about our opinions on this particualr subject. - Oli

6. If you are a voice actor or audio editor, what is your favorite blooper moment?

There's a line with constituents in season one episode 4 that I just couldn't say - Jack

I think a lot of our weird bloopers end up in the show, either as the take or buried beneath some stuff. Season 2 is lousy with them, from Chippie’s final monologue to the sound of me and Oli in Thornbush’s charity shop. To even the joke about Paul Bearer in the final episode. - Jude

There’s one take we never used, where Ali Cambell, Jeanines’ actor, improvised a story about their first hamster. In the story, she crushes it to death. We loved it at the time, but it was arguably better than anything any of us had written so I personally coward’d out and didn’t put it in. - Oli (Id’ forgotten about that - Jude)

7. If you could make a crossover (canon or non canon) with any other audio drama, what would it be?

Am I allowed to say ‘Camlann’? Even though its very recent we’d slot in very well.or Victoriocity - Jude

I mean, I want to be on hello from the magic tavern, but not as kane - Jack

Sandman. Wanna work with Dirk. or What’s the Frequency or if Rose Drive ever resurrects.  - Oli

8. What is an inside joke or reference that is hidden in your podcast?

So many wrestling kayfabe references -  Jack

I always think of ‘GET BACK VILE BEAST’ *dunstan throws a spanner at a bird* - The real joke is that a lot of the rocks from St Dunstan made it into Camlann episode seven when the hill opens up into the underground.

The inside joke for me is the loops. “Jude’s discount Loops” - hacking these beautiful pieces of music that Oli has made and getting them to work. They’re all like 14 minutes long and there’s chopping that needs to be done. 

9. What are some of your favorite podcasts to listen to?

World Beyond Number. Westminster Insider, Too many Tabs, Chapo Trap House. I’m a trash person who listens to trash. (other than WBN, most exciting actual play on the scene RN) = Oli

Is it terrible I’m more of a music person? I’m currently spiraling back into Nonagon Infinity by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. I listen to old audiobooks to sleep. At the moment it's the good omens radio series with Mark Heap and Peter Serafinowitz. - Jude

I have an elaborate weekly schedule of podcasts I listen to, my current favorite is 'mom can't cook'

10. Are the podcasts you make / enjoy making the same kind you enjoy listening to (genre, formatting, etc)?

I mostly listen to character improv comedy and comedy reviews of film and wrestling. A little bit of D&D actual play too. so I guess... no? - J

I can’t just say ‘I don’t listen to podcasts’... I mean I can and I don’t. - Jude

No. - Oli

11. Free space! Tell me something cool about your podcast!

The music is crazy good - Jack

The Sound Design is once in a generation. - OliThe writing is ambitious and exciting - Jude

[justforbooks]

Top 10 novels about novelists

From Louisa May Alcott to Philip Roth and Michael Chabon, writers of fiction have long been fascinated by the dramas of their own trade

Writers writing about writers: the fact that there’s a lot of it about should perhaps come as no surprise. From the likes of Jack Torrance in The Shining to Paul Morris in Sabine Durrant’s Lie With Me, writers in fiction are often skewered: preening, blocked, dejected creatures who’ll receive their comeuppance – or salvation – one way or another.

In the books below you’ll find accounts of literary theft and false authorship, washed-up novelists fading to nothing on college campuses, and a fine array of supersize egos. But, you’ll also find hope: people discovering their place in the world through writing and that happiest of endings – a sparkling book deal.

1. Wonder Boys by Michael Chabon

Grady Tripp is a professor at a Pittsburgh university, with a predilection for drink, drugs and extra-marital affairs. He’s also a struggling novelist, failing to finish the long-awaited – and currently just enormously long – follow-up to his last award-winning book. As Grady says, “I had the depressing thought, certainly not for the first time, that my novel might well survive me unfinished.” When Grady’s flamboyant editor Terry Crabtree comes to town for WordFest weekend, cue a caper that is as funny as it is poignant.

2. The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz

When down-on-his-luck author Jacob Finch Bonnet takes up a new teaching role at a Vermont college he is under-prepared, uninterested, and feeling impostor syndrome to his very bones. He soon encounters his worst nightmare: an extravagantly confident student possessed of an idea for a novel that is so remarkable that even Jake despairingly admits, “the worst writer on the planet could not mess up a plot like this”. Before too long, the stars align for Jake to make his ill-advised move. The killer plot is now his, and glittering success soon follows. But will it last? Spoiler: no.

3. Bunny by Mona Awad

Warren University’s MFA programme is known for its “experimental approach to narrative”. Its first all-female fiction cohort consists of Samantha, a self-professed outsider, and four “Bunnies”, a tight-knit group of sickly-sweet rich girls. When the Bunnies extend the paw of friendship to Samantha, she can’t figure out whether it’s genuine or comes with cruel intentions; after all, they’re not backwards in coming forwards with their peer review, dubbing her work “wilfully twisted” and “aggressively dark”. Soon Samantha is invited to the Bunnies’ extra-curricular “workshops”, where the boundaries between fact and fiction, nightmare and reality blur.

4. The Wife by Meg Wolitzer

When creative writing tutor and decidedly average writer Joe Castleman says to his student Joan, “You have no conception of how good you are” it’s a perfect moment of foreshadowing in a novel that’s as much about sexual politics as it is about the writing life. When we meet Joan, aged 64, she’s accompanying her husband, now a celebrated writer, to pick up “the Helsinki prize” – and she’s finally had enough of him. As the novel tracks back through their past together, readers will wish that Joan had come to this realisation sooner.

5. The Truth about the Harry Quebert Affair by Joël Dicker

Marcus Goldman’s first novel was a stratospheric hit and since then he’s been enjoying every minute of it, with adoring readers wherever he goes. The only problem is that there hasn’t been much time to write the follow-up, and deadline after deadline has gone whooshing by. But now his publishers are getting mad, there are threats of a lawsuit, and the only person who might be able to help him out of this sticky spot is his former college writing professor, Harry Quebert. Quebert invites Goldman to stay at his oceanside house in New Hampshire to get that novel finished. But Goldman’s wordcount plans go awry when the corpse of a teenage girl is discovered on Harry’s property, buried alongside the manuscript for Quebert’s famed novel, The Origin of Evil. It falls to Goldman to clear his prof’s name – motivated, perhaps in part, by the promise of a million-dollar advance for the resulting book. Murder and megabucks: now there’s a cure for writer’s block.

6. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Jo, the second eldest of the March sisters – and Alcott’s alter ego – is smart, independent, and happiest when she’s at her writing desk, dressed in her ink-stained “scribbling suit”. Enduring an early setback on her road to published authordom (take one slighted sister, add a cherished manuscript and a roaring fire), Jo eventually turns pro, earning hard cash for her “sensation” stories. But when she’s shamed by a high-handed intellectual – reader, she married him; Alcott, what were you thinking? – Jo struggles to find her voice, first abandoning her gothic thrills for moralistic yarns, before toying with children’s fiction, then declaring herself temporarily out of the game until she’s accrued more life experience. “I like good strong words that mean something,” says Jo, and generations of readers have loved hers.

7. Dear Committee Members by Julie Schumacher

As creative writing professor at an undistinguished liberal arts college, Jason Fitger is frequently asked to pen letters of recommendation for his students and assorted colleagues. A year’s worth of such letters makes for an epistolary novel that gives a brilliantly comic insight into the politics, frustrations and occasional joys of academia, as well as a teasing study of a man on the ropes. His sign-off to the very first letter captures the tone of a novel that manages to be uplifting, despite the disappointments that its hero faces: “In sadness but looking to the future.”

8. The Retreat by Mark Edwards

Cash-strapped and lonely, grieving the loss of her husband and daughter, Julia Marsh opens her rural home as a venue for writing retreats. Enter Lucas Radcliffe, a successful horror writer with a tragic past and a severe case of writer’s block. As Lucas and Julia forge a bond, he becomes determined to solve the mystery of her missing daughter. But this corner of deepest, darkest Wales is holding its own secrets, leading Lucas to delve into local folklore, and a sequence of eerie events ratchets up the fear-factor. It will leave you thinking twice about booking your own writing retreat.

9. Jumping Monkey Hill by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

One of 12 stories in Adichie’s 2009 collection, The Thing Around Your Neck, here we meet Ujunwa, a Nigerian woman who’s won a place on a retreat for the fictional Lipton African writers’ prize. The organiser is Edward Campbell, who announces himself “an Oxford-trained Africanist”. Ujunwa’s alarm bells are already ringing as she arrives at a resort for affluent foreign tourists – all of whom are white. Over the course of the retreat she confronts not just the self-important Campbell’s lasciviousness, but also his absurd proclamations of what “authentic African” writing should – and shouldn’t – be. Ujunwa, whose writing we’re treated to throughout the story, makes for a luminous heroine.

10. The Ghost Writer by Philip Roth

Twenty-three-year-old Nathan Zuckerman arrives at the home of his literary hero, the famous recluse EI Lonoff. Initially starstruck, the ambitious Nathan – an alter ego for Roth who would feature in eight further novels – wants not just to learn from the man who embodies creative integrity, “a giant of patience and fortitude and selflessness”, but become his “spiritual son”. Luck’s on Nathan’s side as a snowstorm means his visit is extended. He is enthralled and enchanted – not least by the figure of Lonoff’s assistant Amy Bellette, a Jewish immigrant whose enigmatic identity gives The Ghost Writer the propulsive energy of a mystery novel, as well as being a tender, comic story of mentor and mentee.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[weltonbmarsland]

3, 15, 17, 19, 23, 25, 27 - all the odd numbers please ☺️

All the odd numbers! Thank you for asking these, m'dear! Okayyy...

3. What are your impression now to the boys? I've been impressed with these lads (and their two mates) for a long time now. Enjoyed their work(s) over many years. But there's this thing that can happen as you age into Much Older Than You Used To Be[tm] where you start seeing various things/people from other parts of your life in new patterns of meaningfulness. I watched this show with a friend in my late 20s, and I kept watching it into my early 30s with a new partner (who didn't really get it), and it lay a little fallow but I kept spying the people from it and enjoying them across many different projects (some of which I liked, some of which I really didn't [sorry Mark, Sherlock wasn't for me despite all we have in common – I still love you mate]). But when I fully opened myself up to the experience of Inside No.9, it was like I could physically feel pegs slotting perfectly into holes... like some sort of Chinese wooden puzzle. From this vantage point, I can clearly see that Steve and Reece are two of the very finest actors of my generation. I am in awe of their range and abilities and their fucking dedication to the craft and what utterly unaplogetic theatre nerds they are. Not only THAT, but they're remarkable writers as well – soomit I really didn't appreciate enough when viewing their earlier work at the time. And when I say “remarkable writers”, I mean they are utterly astounding at what they do. I'm completely bowled over by what they do. Not just the canon work they produce, but all the added hours of input on extras they put out there as well – the BAFTA winning Psychoville websites, the official commentaries, the on-their-own-dime commentaries when they couldn't do official ones, the script books, the podcasts, the extensive theatre programme, it's like they're compelled to keep story-telling in every waking moment they have, they're obsessed with sharing stories with whoever's paying attention. I love and appreciate that about them just so fucking much. I LOVE THESE MEN. They've been there, burbling along in my life without tripping me up *too badly* for all those years and then BANG – these clever, beautiful, funny fuckers and their heartstoppingly lovely friendship have me in a bearhug and now that I've fully realised all this, I can't see that bearhug letting up any time soon.

15. Your favourite look of Steve & Reece? (Costume wise)

For Steve – his look as Blake in The Trolley Problem, Spencer in Simon Says or Felix in Lip Service. And have gotta say... Wilma Dickshow is something else, too. :)

For Reece – (I can't really say “Reece” in Plodding On because the question is specifically about costumes, so...) Jonah in The Curse Of The Ninth, Ray in A Quiet Night In, Pierce in The Bones Of St Nicholas and Edward in Mother's Ruin (I know, his costume is pretty much how Reece dresses)

17. Favourite line of the show? (I know, difficult!)

“[...] stole my heart!” from And The Winner Is. As in “Reece Shearsmith stole my heart!”. “Steve Pemberton stole my heart!”

19. Which episode made you laugh the most? Probably a toss-up between A Quiet Night In and The Referee's A W***er

23. When's your date to see stage/fright? and who was the guest! Alas and alack – Australia, mates. :-/

25. Which guest star is on top of your wish list for s/f uk tour? Jeremy Dyson when they get to Yorkshire.

27. Do you have something special to show us related to inside no.9? I've written fic. I have a poem being published in a journal next month that wouldn't exist without IN9. Oh. And I had a big breakthrough about a character in a novel I'm working on... he's suddenly come alive and leapt off the page for me because I realised he's being played by Reece in my mind.

[thirteenthdoor]

What's For Dinner Inside The Doors?

We're eating family-style in the Sister Drum door!

The Sister Drum village has only two meals, possibly since the flow of the story itself keeps track of time in other ways. It's also a pretty quick door, and it has lots of survivors, which means there's less impact in watching the group shrink slowly. Besides, when the guide is making you hike hours each day to sites you've already seen, there are things more worth complaining about.

Meals are taken in the ground-floor main room of the door's living quarters. It's also where people gather when they're not eating, so I guess it makes more sense from a production standpoint to not bother with food unless the story calls for it. I love how it fits into the door's whole ambiguously ethnic aesthetic -- the skin drum is a Tibetan thing, but I like that the production didn't try for any kind of authenticity or consistency on that front. Everything just winds up with a mishmash that looks like exactly what would happen if a programmer bro bought a Generic Asian Cultural Assets value pack from a Humble Bundle and used them all indiscriminately.

This is the door that teaches you that other players will try to fuck you over, even (or especially) if they seem real friendly. The two meals are appropriately quick, with not a lot of conversation or cameraderie.

It wouldn't be that clear exactly what they're eating for that first meal if we didn't get the closeup on Cheng Qianli, who is happily chowing down on thin, vermicelli-like noodles. Everyone else seems to have similar bowls of noodles and chopsticks to eat them with.

In the book, the food in this door is bad -- almost inedibly bad, to the point where players have to force it down or go hungry. Here, the worst complaint is that the noodles are salty, and Lin Qiushi uses this as an excuse to leave the table and get a drink of water.

Ruan Nanzhu doesn't touch his food, as he is suffering from the terrible problem of being a drama queen who also actually feels like shit. I mean, he's still clearly playing it up a bit, but the current "oh no someone please protect my frail little body~" to "ughhh I actually need to lie down" ratio is not at his ideal.

The second meal looks like bowls of porridge, or at least something porridge-like enough that everyone has to eat it with spoons and that Ruan Nanzhu can sprinkle the ground-up bone flour atop it without its being noticeable.

Again, there are no complaints about the quality.

Worried about getting hungry while you're out on your daily tours? No problem! I'm sure the medicine lady would let you snack on one of those pickled eyeballs or live scorpions if you asked real nice.

[lunarsilkscreen]

B-1 Refusals.

The Rockwell B-1 Lancer is a supersonic variable-sweep wing, heavy bomber used by the United States Air Force. It has been nicknamed the "Bone" (from "B-One"). As of 2024, it is one of the United States Air Force's three strategic bombers, along with the B-2 Spirit and the B-52 Stratofortress. Its 75,000-pound (34,000 kg) payload is the heaviest of any U.S. bomber.

And I literally refused to continue repairing them; which made an impact on Congress apparently....

My military career was focused on repairing each of these Bomber which is valued at more than one-billion dollars; that was before six-years of inflation.

Sitting here and piecing together my personal history up to this point; I think that it was *more* important to my own personal safety to *stop* working on these things.

I've written at length about my own intelligence, my skill as an Aircraft Mechanic and Diagnostician, the value these aircraft bring to the U.S, the hurdles I faced as an enlisted mechanic, PTSD relating to certain events that these craft were involved in, and previously; Exactly why I was underpaid and overwhelmed in the performance of my duties.

I refused to go back to the B-1s... Not once, but three times in the last few years of my career when I requested a special duty in education and training material development.

I keep hitting on this idea that "They let me be a computer programmer" as the primary reason for accepting that special duty.

I'm not certain that's the whole truth anymore.

I hate singing my own praises. I don't like the concept of self-promotion because it feels like I'm trying to force people to believe my own crap.

I fairly certain that my past success, while interspersed with professional failure ... Would have gotten me killed.

Going back to fix more B-1s especially in a deployment environment would have gotten me Targeted with a threat that your average enlisted person just doesn't get... especially not a random Staff Sergeant.

There have been reports of High Value targets before.... One particular report of an Army Sergeant responsible for a few deaths being targeted by foreign terrorist organizations rings in my mind.

And that's why I think my personal "spidey-sense" would not stop going off for such a long time.

Because if I was a High-Value target; undervalued by the Air Force....

Well what's the risk/reward chart look like for that?

Low-Risk/High-Value target; Holy shit... That's me.

A lot of what I have to go on is unverified.

If I had been taken out; that would have literally had such a huge impact on the mission; I can't calculate it.

I couldn't accept working on the B-1 again... Not after the Air Force gave me the literal tools to calculate my worth as a target for the enemy.

And what's worse; I couldn't figure out exactly what the Air Force Machine as a whole was thinking; that they, not only wouldn't warn me directly; they purposefully devalued me.

On top of the mission and operational PTSD I was dealing with; I think I know exactly where my Burnout came from.

When I enlisted... I didn't trust the military; but I understood the reasoning and value behind certain decisions. Even if they weren't in my own best interest. After making it through basic and tech training; I trusted those decisions more.

But at that point at the end of my enlistment... I could no longer understand the reasoning or justifications around *me* specifically.

Especially not after proving myself in an entirely separate career field I was "never trained" to do. (By the AF)

I was a 7-level... As Craftsman, according to the AF; in at least two completely separate career fields; and that didn't matter.

What the hell am I supposed to do then?

What the hell is going on?

Am I literally just unable to associate with people at my own level who are responsible for vouching for me? Or is it something else ...

What else could that be? I'm a master Diagnostician in both Aircraft and Software .... I should be able to figure it out, right?

The correct answer, I think; Was to Quit.

"Quitters never Prosper" they say... And they *weren't* wrong; it's been a kind of hell ever since.

But I cannot guarantee the kind of Hell I would have otherwise faced or not faced had I stayed in.

And everything pointed to "Stay away from the B-1s"

My gut feeling; the last bastion would not shut-up about it. It wasn't *only* that I wanted to do what I wanted to.

I would have done it earlier if that were the case.

It was something bigger. Deeper, more than I was even allowed to perceive at the time.

My Gut feeling; Stay Away, Danger, that Spidey-Sense that just wouldn't quiet down.

Something deeply wrong that I can't quantify has or will happen; and the Air Force doesn't seem to know what to do about it either.

With everything that's happened so far; I can't say it was the wrong choice yet. Just that I don't know.

[soup-her-naturals]

Season 1 Episode 4: Phantom Traveler

Quote of the ep: You know, what are the odds of dying in a plane crash?

Rating: 0/6 on the Kinsey Scale

Soup: This episode's soup is inspired by my worst nightmare on a plane: shitting myself (in a Rorshach style poop explosion (in front of children (and nuns))). Alledgedly Carrot Soup is good for your bowels and it's also just nice so lets get into it.

Ingredience:

Onion (1)

Garlic (4 cloves)

Bouillon (1 cube per 0.5 L water)

Carrots (300 g)

Potato (1)

Chili powder (smidge)

Salt

Pepper

Parsley

Paprika powder

Cooking cream

What to do:

Peel the carrots and the potato, chop everything up. Don't forget to boil water! 1.5 L is a good quantity. Saute your onions for a few mins, stir in your garlic for a bit, then add your carrots and your herbsnspices. Stir for a bit, then add water and bouillon. Boil for 15-20 mins and puree the thing. Stir in cooking cream and bone apple teeth!

Now for the Review:

I can't believe they made this only like 4 years after 9/11. What if it wasn't terrorists or Bush and the demons flew a plane into the twin towers? Or even more mysterious: what if they just did that like JFK's head?

We have our first demonic appearance! I remember their eyes being completely filled by whatever color their demon smoke is but this guy's scleras remain slightly white... Stylistic choice or budgetting reasons? Would black contacts be cheaper than CGI in the early 00's? I guess we can pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars, seeing as this one- well... I shan't say.

WE HAVE AN ACKLES ASS EQUATION

Here's the math for y'all mathheads out there:

I heard recently that people have this tattood on their flesh skin. I will not judge this because I have some goofy-ass tattoos (not to be confused with the above goofy ass-tattoo) in the planning but everyone feel free to be impressed!

I think it's kind of over the top to have the first demon they encounter bring down a whole plane. Maybe it does tie into the post-9/11 sentiment, to establish that this is a SUPER EVIL BEING. That being said they flopped so bad they couldn't even off everyone, such a drama queen for putting 'No sUrViVoRs' on the black box. Queen you better make sure you can cash that check.

I remember a lot of TV programmes in the 2000-2010's featuring plane crash plots. I mean even Breaking Bad had it at some point. The flight industry must have been LIVID at this bad PR. Are folks even still afraid of flying? Lets write more plane crash plots and get people afraid of flying again <3

Ah yes, the plane parts have sulfur on them so there must have been a demon! I think it's cool that sulfur has such an association with hell because it can smell like hell. I had to synthesize a sulfur compound and the whole lab smelled like shit for a day even with the fumehood closed 😭 But honestly if I saw this irl real life in a time before the written word I would also think I would've found the gate of hell:

I totally forgot that Dean has a fear of planes! Love that that's established as a reason for him to drive everywhere. Also that he's wanted for crimes and identity fraud in multiple states. Was airport security already draconian at this point? I don't remember them every flying again so that's a very easy excuse.

Love that Dean tells the stewardess 'I'm afraid of flying' and she's like 'LMAO me too.' That doesn't seem like a very calming thing to say to one of your passengers. Or a thing to be when you're working on a plane as a full-time job. WAIT SHE SURVIVED A PLANE CRASH ADN WENT STRAIGHT BACK TO WORK!? Honey what grindset are you on 😭😭

I say as if I haven't been in two car crashes and still work as a driver but I'm different <3

OH IT'S ON SIGHT WITH THIS GUY

"We're just gonna talk to him"

Can the rest of the passengers not hear this guy shouting from behind the little curtain? OH NO THE PLANE IS POSESSED NOW!! I sure hope it won't fly into two ugly towers 😳

I think it's interesting how the banishing ritual works - seemingly they can recite the entire chant with interuptions, as long as the demon hears the entire thing it's sent back down. Imagine if you're just a demon chilling on the mortal plane for a while and people just mention the individual words to the chant in seperate conversations and suddenly someone says the last word and you're blasted back to hell without warning.

I think it's a cute episode, intriguing introduction to demonic posession. Do they have motives beyond sowing desolation? Probably not, go back to sleep. 0/6 on the Kinsey Scale.

[kohakhearts]

hey taylo my bestie hello please elaborate on the goh cubone jn subtle storytelling thingy

COMING TO THIS SUPER LATE SORRY MAN SCHOOL WAS KICKING MY ASS BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING. IM SO FUCKING GLAD YOU ASKED.

ok so jn015. our intro to goh's family unit, notably his parents. goh explains his dad is a systems engineer and his mom is a programmer. they work together and run their own company (and appear to be a two-man team, when we actually see them at work). right off the bat, ash is surprised that goh has to call to warn his parents he's coming home. goh essentially says he doesn't want to be a bother to them. he's very casual about the whole thing. it apparently doesn't bug him at all. in fact, he goes out of his way to get them and his grandmother gifts and generally seems to be looking forward to seeing them.

he IS disappointed when they turn out not to be home when he gets there, but in true pokemon anime fashion, this is not dwelled on for long. he says it's fine, he doesn't want to make his parents worry, and also his parents are great and scorbunny's gonna love them. so instead of moping about it, he goes out and gets involved in his little park adventure, where he runs into a cubone being targeted by a bunch of mankey.

this is the only time in the main-line anime that cubone's dex entry is given. it is not the first time a cubone has shown up, though, which is...strange, but i'll roll with it. here's what the dex says (sourced from bulbapedia):

Cubone, the Lonely Pokémon. A Ground type. Cubone wears a skull as a helmet, concealing its face as it sheds tears for its long-lost mother. It cries loudly to express its loneliness. It also always carries a long, thick bone.

REALLY interesting choice for Pokemon Of The Day (literally bc it's also the who's that pokemon feature) for the episode where we're introduced to goh's parents.

it's also like...obviously not the only time where we see goh decide to help a pokemon, but i do think that his captures (especially early on in the series) that are framed in this way (i.e. they span over the course of an episode, wherein he befriends the mon before catching it. he doesn't have many catches like this in the series!!) seem to serve a purpose of like, really emphasizing certain traits he shares. before this, we had scorbunny - who is a bit of a loner, kind of the "odd one out," but is determined and stubborn and doesn't really want charity, either (but latches very quickly on to the first human who shows a genuine interest in it). now, we have cubone. the lonely pokemon.

i feel that the WAY he approaches cubone is...interesting? like he's sad for it. his facial expressions are very telling. and this is the first time we see him choosing to help a pokemon without ash around (something we know he never really would've done before meeting ash; and i've mentioned this before, but i do think a lot of his "well, you can't just help pokemon because you think they need it, they need to learn to be independent and help themselves" attitude stems from the fact that he was forced to be independent and help himself from a young age. so i think it's actually pretty profound that one of his first major overtures to a pokemon without ash pushing him is in a situation where he is acting more the parent to his parents than the other way around. he's literally on the way to delivering them dinner to work. and his gift for them is gloves, because it's cold). that tells me he is really affected by what he's seeing. he's empathetic to it (he also never tells it to stop crying or anything when they're looking for its bone, which honestly doesn't seem all that in-character for him at this point. just look at the way he talks to scorbunny a few episodes later when it's trying to learn ember, right?)

anyway, this being the only time it gets a dex entry is already like, kind of in your face enough imo. but then he also catches it. and at the end of the episode, when his parents are talking in the kitchen (and notably they are, again, separate from the other characters - more so onlookers than active participants in the family), his dad specifically says this

like i don't know how much more obvious than that they can get with saying they were trying to draw a parallel between goh and cubone. but lonely - anyone can feel lonely. that's just one aspect of the comparison. cubone is lonely because it misses its mother. because it's an orphan.

isn't it a little...ironic...that goh's parents would be the ones drawing the comparison in the end? but that's the point, i think. i mean, goh's not an orphan. but his parents chose to continue living a lifestyle that reinforced his loneliness and ensured a degree of separation between them. they share with each other their concerns for him, but never voice those to him. obviously there's love on both sides, but emotionally speaking - there's next to no connection there. goh idolizes and idealizes his parents, and goes out of his way to take care of them; in turn, his parents share in a secret concern for his wellbeing and compensate for their guilt at making him feel isolated by supplying him with whatever they can materially (mr six computer monitor set-up in his bedroom at age 7. what the fuck). so he's not literally an orphan...but emotionally? well. that's a whole other can of wurmples :pensive:

anyway, tl;dr he's not a real orphan. but i'll give him the honour because he does kinda have that orphan complex going for him <3

[rnelsoncapstone]

Capstone Log #6 - Troubleshooting

Sixth post, hitting the halfway mark! I'm making good progress, I hope! Trying to get into a habit of having these biweekly, but I was sick for a few days, so some of these posts are a little spread out, sorry! At the very last, I have March, April, and part of may to get these next few posts done as I progress, so thankfully I'm not lacking time whatsoever!

The past couple weeks I've been working on starting a little project of my own - a frogger-inspired game with a twist. It's going to be small and simple, but it's going to be my own! It's very bare bones right now, lacking most of its features, but I've coded in a simple player movement system and added sprite animations to make the player feel more alive! As of right now, the frog sprite you can see in game is a free asset from Itch.io, but I'm working on the animations! Below I've attached the idle animation (when the player isn't moving) of the unique frog sprite I'm working on!

A challenge I've run into while working on this game is that GDQuest's "Learn to Code From Zero", while a helpful tool that taught me lots of basic and intermediate functions, is not yet complete. Lessons are still being added to accommodate all of Godot's features, and one of the key concepts Nathan's lessons don't teach are signals, which are incredibly important to creating a complex game. While I've seen and used signals in tutorials, I've never made my own custom ones, nor have I used them on my own.

So, what I've done is enlisted the help of gamedev Youtuber DevWorm, checking out some of their "Everything You Need to Know" series, which explains Godot's features in simple, easy to understand ways and offers follow along exercises you can do while you watch. DevWorm also has an active discord server with other programmers I can speak with if I ever have any questions, so it's a good way to get into the gamedev community! I watched a video on signals and it got me right back on track! I'll link the video in this post as well.

The only place to go now is up! Keep working on my game and troubleshooting any problems I have. A developer learns by making mistakes, after all. :)

[eaglesnick]

“Boarding school is a wicked thing.”— Kristin Scott Thomas

 We have just suffered 14 years of Tory rule during which time our public services have been cut to the bone, the living standards of ordinary working families have fallen, rents and housing costs have skyrocketed and the economy has stagnated.

Already disillusioned with the new Labour government people are reportedly flocking to Reform UK, led by Nigel Farage, Richard Tice and Zia Yusef.

Question: 

What do the leadership of Reform UK and the leaders of Tory Austerity have in common?

Answer:

They are all male, they are all millionaires and they were all sent to boarding school apart from Zia Yusuf, who attended the “elite” Hampton School, a private education centre in Richmond

The all male leaders of Reform UK, just like Cameron’s inner political circle before them, means no serious female influence on Reform UK policies, leaving 50% of the population unrepresented, and being millionaires’ divorces them from the everyday life experiences of the British people

As important as these two factors are in having a truly empathetic understanding of the daily life of British families,  this is not my concern today. It is the boarding school experience that is truly far more worrying, not because it denotes privilege and unfair advantage, but because of the psychologically damage inflicted by the boarding school experience on individuals.

David Cameron’s parents packed him off to Eton at the age of 13. George Osborne was sent off aged 13.  Boris Johnson was separated from his family at the very young age of 8, and Jeremy Hunt was only  7 years old when he was left at the gates of Charterhouse School to fend for himself.

Nigel Farage attended Dulwich College, a prestigious boarding school in South London, from the age of 11. Richard Tice was sent away from home at the age of 13, and Zia Yusuf attended the fee-paying Hampton School.

The reason I find the fact that six out of seven of the men mentioned above went to boarding school is because of the psychological condition known as “boarding school syndrome". This is how Counselling Directory defines it:

“…a range of psychological and emotional issues believed possible due to the separation experienced by boarding school children. It encompasses a cluster of symptoms that can persist well into adulthood. These symptoms can include difficulties forming and maintaining relationships, emotional detachment, low self-esteem, a fear of intimacy, and a sense of disconnection from others.”  (Boarding school syndrome: A psychological perspective, 13/07/2023)

Forcefully severing the link between child, family and home is akin to a double bereavement and  has been described as “the trauma of privilege”.

Leading psychologist Joy Schaverien discovered many of her adult clients who were suffering mental health problems had been sent to boarding school.

In the BBC programme “How Boarding Schools Shaped Britain”, Episode 2” we are told by one previous boarding school pupil that pupils develop a “survival mask”, an invented personality, to hide their feelings, their vulnerability and their true selves as a means of self-preservation. Consequently, they  have difficulties with intimacy, often failing to maintain relationships due to the defence mechanism of emotional detachment.

Lacking empathy makes for bad leaders and bad policy making.

In the same programme Joy Schaverien states:

“Often the person is very successful with a career but with very little emotional intelligence.”

I would argue emotional intelligence is a prerequisite for ALL politicians. In a democracy politicians are meant to govern on behalf of the whole electorate. To do this they must have an understanding of and an empathy with the people they are meant to represent. Schaverien believes many boarding school pupils have to “stop feeling” because they cannot cope with the loss of family and the accompanying sense of abandonment. What then happens is “dissociation”, an emotional shutdown to help the child survive boarding school but a personality characteristic that persists into adulthood.

In short, the individual is unable to feel emotions and therefore cannot empathize with others. The callousness of Cameron’s and Osborne’s   Austerity policies, the deliberate running down of the NHS by Hunt, and the hedonistic partying of Boris Johnson while ordinary grieving families were forbidden, by him, to attend family member deathbeds and funerals are all examples of the absence of empathy and emotional intelligence.

The country rightly turned on the hard-hearted and compassionless policies of the Tories but is now embracing the rhetoric of Reform UK, a party owned and run by ex-boarding school pupils and the privately educated.

The emotional legacy of the boarding school experience shapes leadership at the highest levels and not for the better. Nick Duffel, author of  “Trauma, Abandonment and Privilege A guide to therapeutic work with boarding school survivors” ( 2016) states that although on the surface these individuals appear confident, can talk the talk, know when to tell a joke, and are socially competent, they are never-the-less  “VERY POOR AT TAKING GOOD DECISIONS”. (BBC: “How Boarding Schools Shaped Britain”, Episode 2 )

We know this to be true of previous Tory governments. Lets not make the same mistake by voting for  Reform UK.