#“Student” or “Early Career” would probably be a more descriptive name

[percivalias]

I will be exhibiting at this year's annual Art Walk with Inglewood Open Studios, along with a whole passle of other cool artists! Come find me with the Youth Art Exhibition at the Miracle Theater. If you're in the Los Angeles area this weekend, I hope to see you there!

[covid-safer-hotties]

I loved my teaching career. COVID normalization stole it from me - Published Aug 23, 2024

It might not have been the most favourable, but one of the most memorable comments I ever received on a student evaluation was that I could be “a bit hard to follow, but that was more an example of [my] passion for this subject over anything.” That subject was creative writing. And yes, sometimes, I had difficulty tempering my excitement throughout a teaching career that has now been cut short.

I have – or had – been teaching as a contract or “sessional” creative-writing instructor. Given the competitiveness of the academic job market and my age (I was nearly 40 when I earned the requisite degree, though I had already published four books), I had come to accept that it was unlikely that I would ever have a faculty position. But I could live with that because I still had the rare privilege of making a (barely) livable wage doing something I was very passionate about.

The COVID-19 pandemic took that from me. Actually, that’s not quite right. It was the perceived “end” of the pandemic that really ruined my teaching career.

I am immunocompromised and rely on medication to manage an autoimmune disease. This means vaccine protection from the virus is probably less effective for me than for most people. Also, my particular illness – Crohn’s, an inflammatory bowel disease – has been shown to put me at significantly greater risk than most for long COVID: a potentially chronic condition that can be very debilitating. And despite how it may seem, COVID circulates widely much of the year: We are still in a pandemic.

When universities returned to in-person learning in early 2022, a brief letter from my specialist was all I needed – because of my medical condition – to continue teaching online. But all that changed about a year ago.

Ironically, it is now harder for me to receive accommodation to teach online even though there is less protection in the classroom against COVID. I cannot require masking, which is perhaps our best tool against transmission (particularly respirator-style masks such as N95s), in the classroom. Nor does one-way masking offer as much protection as universal masking. Also, current air filtration in classrooms is generally insufficient. In other words, classrooms are not safe and accessible workplaces for medically vulnerable people. But that’s certainly not how university administrators, and even those who were supposed to represent employees’ interests, perceive things these days.

Last year, trying to discourage me from requesting to teach online, a union rep told me that he “believed in in-person learning.” The most frustrating thing about this comment, and the widely held opinion it represents, is that I too very much miss teaching in person and would, if it were safe to do so. (That said, I believe I am every bit as effective a teacher online.)

On another occasion, a university administrator, after I had submitted my medical documentation, thought “the solution” was for me to co-teach the class so it could include an in-person component and, consequently, less pay for me. After a struggle that went on for months, I taught the class entirely online, but the accommodation agreement I had to sign stated I had “a medical condition that needs limited exposure to as many people as possible.” I nearly refused to put my name to this bizarre description of what is a prevalent disease, but it was too late to apply elsewhere.

It is clear it will only become increasingly difficult for me to teach online as time goes on. The back-and-forth with administrators, department heads and union reps, waiting to find out if I will or won’t be accommodated, and/or what new obstacles will be thrown at me – it has all caused me significant anxiety, which in turn has made it more difficult, ironically, to manage the symptoms of my illness.

I know that the people I have been sparring with are, for the most part, decent folks: They are just ill informed. But I can’t keep trying to do the job of a public-health official to ensure my own health. It’s quite literally making me sick. I’m done. I quit. I have to.

Disability activists have fought long and hard for workplace accessibility to be a right. But the culture has not caught up to understanding the particular accessibility needs of the immunocompromised.

I do not know how to go forward from here. Online courses, especially creative writing, are few and far between. I am looking for online work that utilizes my skills and education and/or that pays more than minimum wage. I have yet to find even an opening for anything like that. For now, I’m grieving: In many ways, it’s a full-time job.

The last time I taught in person was the year I graduated from my MFA program – just months before the pandemic began. After the semester had ended, a student asked if we could have a coffee together so that I could offer further guidance on revising a piece of writing that I had told him was of near-publishable quality. And I only say that to students when it’s true. He also, to my surprise, wanted to share a bit of his own constructive criticism for me – about how I could facilitate workshop discussion a little better. I chuckled at his audacity, though later, upon reflection, took his suggestion. But mostly we focused on his creative work.

As we were getting ready to go our separate ways, he mentioned, in passing, that he had a long drive home: 2½ hours. It has always stayed with me that a student was willing to spend five hours driving for a relatively brief chat over a coffee. Clearly, he thought I was a good teacher, but with more practice and experience, I could become – like a talented, but novice, student writer – an excellent one. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like I will get that chance.

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 10- Salve

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings for brief mention of background character death and description of unprotected sex

Masterlist

“The first person I ever loved was named Kiyomi.”

It’s certainly not how you expected Hawks to start this conversation but it had taken nearly half an hour of him pacing for him to sit down next to you on the bed and spit out even that much so you decide to just let him talk.

“I was 18, fresh onto the hero scene and still in that post-debut hustle trying to prove myself. She was a college student. She told me that we’d make it till she graduates. I told her heroism would be worth the wait but she wanted me in an office with a 9-5. We didn’t last. The next girl I fell in love with was Yua. I thought it’d be better because she was a hero too so she’d understand, but before I could ask her out she died in a villain attack. Then there was this one girl with an attitude I met on a mission up north. We never told anyone we were together and in the end we both had way better things to do so we didn’t last long, but I always think about her when I’m in the area.”

“Hawks why are you telling me all this?” you finally ask, starting to get impatient for him to reach the point. You didn’t relish in hearing about his past lovers even if you figured he was telling you for a reason.

“I’m getting to the point I promise. The last one before you was Mirko. I loved her but I lost her because as great as things were going she wanted more time from me and I loved work more than I did her. But when I met you? Fuck (y/n) it was like every single person before you was suddenly meaningless. That night at the gala I was looking for Mirko but the moment I laid eyes on you I forgot all about her. You are genuinely the first person I’ve ever loved more than anything else and I’m sorry I hurt you baby, I am. It’s not that I don’t love you, I’m just bad at love,” he finally finishes.

“If you’re so bad at love then why are you here right now?” You ask. “Can you blame me for trying to be better? Look I could lie and say you’re the one that will finally fix me but the truth is I don’t know, ok? I just know that I want you to be. I want so badly for you to be. Can’t that be enough?” he asks, no pleads, of you and it breaks your heart. “It’s not my job to fix you Hawks. Especially when I’ve got my hands full keeping my career from going to shit,” you reply. “You’re right. Fuck, sorry, you’re right that’s not what I meant. I just...,” he sighs running frustrated fingers through his hair before turning back to you again with a desperate but determined look in his eyes. “For the first time I don’t want to be resigned to being bad at this. I’m asking for patience and a second chance,” he clarifies. “I’m scared,” you finally admit and immediately Hawks is kneeling in front of you, his hands gently cradling either side of your face as he forces you to make eye contact with him. “I know that you’re afraid I’m gonna walk away again but I won’t. I swear to you I won’t,” he promises and his eyes are so full of conviction that your resolve finally crumbles. There’s no denying how genuine he is in this moment and you are so, so tired of hurting him. So you let go of the anger and the hurt you’ve been clinging to for dear life since the moment you read that damned article. “I believe you Keigo,” you confess and it’s one less weight on your shoulders.

You’re shocked at the desperation with which Keigo surges up to press his mouth to yours, his once gentle grip tightening possessively. He pulls away just a bit, his forehead still pressed to yours. You’re both out of breath and panting already and you’re about to close the distance between the two of you again but Keigo pulls away. You whine your disagreement as your hands go to his shirt to try and pull him back into you but he insists. “Say it again,” he commands, his voice shaking. “What?” you ask dazed. “I need to hear you say it again. Please.” “I believe you Keigo.” “Again.” “I believe you Keigo.” “I love you. I’m so sorry.” “I love you too.”

Finally his hands move to your waist, slipping underneath your shirt to find bare skin, and it’s like cool salve on a burn. You hadn’t even realized how deeply you’d ached for him all this time until he was laying you down against the bed. His body baring down on you as he presses you into the mattress. Your lips connect again and all you can think is that you need more of him. You open your mouth in an invitation he gladly accepts to slide his tongue in and tangle it with yours. The kiss lacks finesse, it’s probably the sloppiest the two of you have exchanged, but now is not the time for gentle, tantalizing skill. Not when the two of you have been denying each other all this time. The two of you separate only for brief intervals in order to shed clothing and underwear until there’s nothing left keeping you apart. Finally, finally it’s just skin on skin, your hearts pounding in your chests as if trying to escape and finally be together. “Need you,” you murmur against his lips and he immediately nods, his yearning for you just as overwhelming as yours for him. He presses his throbbing erection into your tight, wet heat so slowly and carefully as if you might break. Or perhaps more accurately as if you might disappear. You realize that every kiss, every touch, every movement he’s made has carried an element of disbelief, as if he cannot fathom that he’s finally with you like this again. By the time he’s fully seated inside you Keigo is absolutely trembling. The two of you stay like that for awhile, just breathing each other in, appreciating the intimacy of being so connected. One of your hands caresses Keigo’s cheek. “Baby why are you shaking?” you ask, even though you’re afraid of the answer. “I just thought I’d never have this again,” he confesses. “I’m so sorry Kei,” you whisper but he shakes his head. “I deserved it.” “No you didn’t. Not all of it.” “I’m the reason everything’s fucked now.” “Faced with Endeavor and the evidence you had, I probably would’ve done the same thing if I were in your position. And the paparazzi stuff I played a part in too.” “But I hurt you.” “And then I hurt you right back.”

It’s quiet for a moment as the two of you let the words hang in the air. You expected the admission to feel heavy but you actually feel the lightest you have in weeks. “We really are a mess aren’t we?” you finally chuckle with a slight shake of your head. “I’d rather be a mess with you than perfect with anyone else,” he swears. “That’s a bit corny isn’t it?” you tease. “Oh absolutely. But I mean every word of it,” he replies easily before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. It doesn’t take long for it to become heated again. “I’m gonna need you to start moving baby,” you whisper into his ear as one of your hands drifts to the base of his wings to spur him on. “Shit Love, well I guess if you need me that bad,” he smirks but a quick tug on his feathers has him hissing instead. He gives a quick roll of his hips in retaliation before starting to move in and out of you in earnest. God how you’ve missed this, missed him. For the first time since everything went to shit you’re not worrying about your career or All Might or the press or anything else. With each languid thrust, each muttered curse, each lust-filled moan, Keigo cleanses you of the worries and anxieties that have haunted your every waking moment. In him you find relief and bliss and ecstasy, such sweet ecstasy. When the two of you reach your climaxes your moans sound more like sobs as you cling tightly onto each other, scared to let go and risk discovering this was all a dream.

When you both come down from your highs Keigo doesn’t let go, just cuddles you close to him and let’s his feathers tuck you both into your bed. “Do you have any other plans for tonight?” he asks. You shake your head no as you bury yourself closer against him. “Good,” he responds before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Hours pass the two of you by as you simply hold onto each other, barely speaking, just reveling in each other’s company. You don’t even notice yourself drifting off to sleep, it’s just one moment you’re listening to the quiet sounds of Keigo’s breathing and the next you’re slipping into the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time.

You wake up to the sound of Keigo’s alarm. He shuts it off quickly but makes no move to extricate himself from your hold or otherwise get out of bed. “You gonna get up and go to work?” you ask. “Don’t really want to,” he sighs, “I’d rather stay in here with just us.” “We can’t stay in here forever,” you point out. “You sure about that? It sounds infinitely more appealing than dealing with Monoma this early in the morning,” he groans. “Believe me I wish we could too, but you have terrorists to catch and I’ve got people to save so,” you gently remind him. “Five more minutes?” “Fine, five more minutes.”

Five minutes passes by all too quickly and soon the two of you are forcing yourselves out of bed. It’s oddly reminiscent of that first night together. Both of you getting redressed without nearly the urgency you should. Both of you ignoring the dread building at the thought of stepping out of the little bubble you had created. Once you’re both dressed and ready you link hands again and step out of your room. Almost immediately you feel the weight of your responsibilities land heavily on your shoulders once again. The two of you move through the apartment to your front door and it feels like that crossroads moment in the hallway when both of you had run opposite directions without so much as getting a name. You hope he’ll understand why you’re going to once again choose to part ways. “You go on ahead Love, I think I’m going to wait to head to the office until closer to my shift,” you tell Hawks as you hesitate in the doorway. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’m sure. You go ahead though, tell the others I say hi,” you insist. He gives you a worried look but agrees, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before leaving. “Looks like you two are doing better,” a voice comments behind you. You turn around to find your new roommate standing watching you as he eats cereal out of a bowl nonchalantly. “I’m gonna be honest I have already forgotten your name again,” you confess. “Denki.” “Right, Denki. Thanks I guess.” “You’re welcome. Why didn’t you go with him to work?” “All of my coworkers except for the ones who will be busy working with him think I’m a traitorous slut.” “Yikes.” “Yea.” “Anyway I can help?” “You could make me breakfast to make up for picking the lock on my door.” “Fair enough.”

Author’s Note: This was difficult to write tbh because the content from the song it’s based on tapped out pretty quickly and I needed to figure out narratively where else it needed to go, especially considering what’s coming down the pipeline. I hope the result was satisfying and you guys enjoy it though

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp @pokesosa @lildockel @bread0nhead

[storiesforallfandoms]

proud ~ cillian murphy

word count: 2015

request?: yes!

@shady80smusicsingercolor​ “The reader was always tried to get them proud,but nothing,one day the reader remembers their parents how they were never supportive or proud,the reader cried, cillian was passing by their dressing room,he stop cuz he heard the faithful tears,he came in,he ask what's wrong,and the reader explain how their parents never were proud of them but their siblings yeah,and ask him"what's wrong with me"and cillian reassures the reader nothing wrong with them but with their parents yeah,he told the reader he was Damm proud of them”

description: when you’re reminded of your rough childhood, your co-star is there to lift you up when you’re feeling down

pairing: cillian murphy x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angst

masterlist

You were in the middle of taking a picture of yourself in your costume when your phone buzzed. A notification at the top of the screen read that you had you were tagged in a post on Facebook, by your mum.

You cringed, immediately knowing what it would be.

A picture of your mum, dad, and sister sat around a table at a restaurant popped up on your screen. The caption for it read, “A special dinner for our beautiful daughter, who just scored another win on a case!” As per usual, she had tagged your dad, your sister, and you. Not because they wished you were there, but to remind you of your sister’s accomplishments and their pride in them.

Your parents made it very clear at a young age that your sister was the favourite child. They had a vision for the future of their kids, one that included a high paying job and eventually a family, and your sister was the one to follow this vision, in their eyes anyways.

Your sister was a straight A student all throughout her school years, and was accepted into law school with a full scholarship right out of high school. You, on the other hand, found yourself falling in love with acting. You were in drama club all through school and often starred in the school plays and musicals. When you graduated high school you were accepted into one of the biggest art schools, and of course you went.

Your parents were less than enthusiastic about your path, even after your acting career took off. They viewed acting as not being  a “real job” and often ridiculed you, comparing you to your sister or reminding you of your sister’s accomplishments at every opportunity.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. You had to remind yourself that just because your parents weren’t proud of you didn’t mean you should be so hard on yourself. You had a successful career, you were happy as an actress. You weren’t going to let them bring you down.

You went to the family group chat to send a congratulatory message to your sister, one that your parents would see and realize they weren’t going to get to you this time.

“Congrats on your case win sis!”

Your sister responded a moment later, “Thanks sis! you're fantastic on Peaky Blinders! I can’t wait until the next season!”

The text gave you a brief moment of happiness. You and your sister never had bad blood. You both understood that you took your own paths and there was no reason to give in to your parents patronizing.

The happiness faded when another message came, this time from your mum, “Did your sister tell you she was seeing someone? It’s pretty serious, we might have our first son in law soon.”

You tossed your phone to the floor and buried your head in your hands. Of course they were going to start taking jabs at your love life now. Now that your sister had a serious boyfriend they had something else to belittle you about.

You were trying to hold back your tear when a knock came at your dressing room door. You sighed and swallowed the lump in your throat. “Come in!”

Your co-star, Cillian, opened the door. You looked at him through your vanity mirror. “We’re about to start filming soon, are you ready?”

You nodded. “Yeah, just give me a minute and I’ll be out.”

“Are you okay?”

Being asked if you were okay when you were on the verge of tears was always the worst question. You had to look down so Cillian didn’t see the tears forming in your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Tell everyone I’ll be out soon.”

Cillian crossed the room to sit next to you. You kept looking down at the vanity’s desk.

“For an actress, you’re not the best at acting like you’re okay,” he teased, causing you to laugh. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing because you know I’ll force you to tell me.”

You knew there was no use in lying. Cillian knew you better than most people, he’d know you weren’t telling the truth.

You picked up your phone and passed it to Cillian, allowing him to read the most recent messages. His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “I don’t get it, what does her love life have to do with either of your jobs? And why would your mum make a comment about him being a future son in law? Your sister even told her that she’s only been seeing the guy for six months.”

“Exactly!” you snapped. “It has nothing to do with the conversation, my mum just wants to tell me she has a new reason to ridicule me. I don’t have a real job, I haven’t had a serious relationship, I’m nowhere near having a kid or being married. But my sister, oh she’s the star child - a lawyer, has a boyfriend now, will probably give my parents their first grandchild.”

You buried your head in your hands again, finally allowing the tears to start flowing freely. You knew the makeup artist was going to be pissed, but you could care less at that moment. You couldn’t leave this frustration to build up while you were filming, it would just guarantee that you'd fuck up the scene and feel even worse.

Cillian took you into his arms, resting his head against yours as he ran a hand soothingly over your body.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s alright, let it all out.”

You felt comfortable in his arms, like it was the best place to be, and honestly, it was. Cillian was your closest friend on set of Peaky Blinders, probably your closest friend all together. There were many a times when he would hold you like this, whether it was a friendly hug, a scene on set, an idle gesture when the two of you were hanging out together. Being in Cillian’s arms was so soothing, it was exactly what you needed.

You finally pulled away and looked at yourself in the mirror. Luckily enough, since you were filming a show that was taking place in the early 1900s you didn’t have to wear too much makeup, mainly mascara and enough foundation that you didn’t look shiny on screen. The makeup artist on set had given you waterproof mascara, which again was lucky for you, but your foundation, however, was ruined from water streaks running down your cheeks.

You grabbed a makeup wipe from your vanity and began wiping the foundation from your face. You had foundation in your dressing room for moments like this, so that you could fix your makeup before scenes so no one would realize you were so upset.

“I get that they may not have viewed acting as a possible job back when I was in high school,” you said as you fixed your makeup, “but I’ve made an actual career from it. I’ve been in countless shows and movies, I’ve been nominated for awards and even won countless ones, and they can’t accept that. They can’t be proud of me for making a name for myself in my own way. They’ve never been proud of me. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing!” Cillian told you. “Nothing is wrong with you. You’re an absolutely amazing person, and you’re so talented and amazing. Just because you chose a different path from your sister and because you’re not following in their footsteps or the path that your parents wanted you to take doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with you. There’s something wrong with your parents, they’re the assholes here.”

You sighed and shook your head, putting the foundation away. “This thing with my sister having a boyfriend is what’s really gonna start getting to me, I already know that. Being an actress I don't really have the time for a relationship, and I haven’t found a genuine guy that I want to be with because so many Hollywood guys are fake assholes who want to date you for their own professional gain. By the time I find someone to be with, my sister will probably be engaged with a child along the way and my parents will never let me live that down.”

As you spoke, Cillian was listening intently, until you got to the end of your rant. That’s when he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you towards him, pressing his lips to you. The gesture shocked you at first and you almost jerked your head away, but, just like being in his arms, kissing Cillian just felt so right. You relaxed into the kiss, cupping his face as well to hold him close.

He pulled away after a brief moment, smiling at you as he did so. “Am I one of those asshole famous people do you think?”

You giggled. “Oh God no, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Well then, this nice person thinks you’re the most amazing person he has ever met, and that your parents couldn’t be more wrong in the way that they treat you. And this nice person wants to take you out on a date when we’re finished with filming today.”

You smiled brightly. “I would love to go out after filming today. But to do that, we should get to filming.”

Realization passed Cillian’s face. “Shit, you’re right. Let’s go.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” you said as Cillian stood. “You go and tell them I’m sorry I’m late but it’s family issues.”

Cillian nodded, leaning down to kiss you once more, before leaving the room.

You took your phone in your hand and checked the family chat to see that the last message was from your sister, explaining to you that her and her boyfriend hadn’t even been together for long and chastising your mother for her message. You took a deep breath and began to type out one final text message.

“I’m really happy for your relationship, sis, and I’d love to meet him, but this is my final message in this groupchat. I’ll be leaving the chat and taking mom and dad off of Facebook. I also probably won’t even tell you guys when I’m visiting home since you’ve made it clear that you don’t even want to see me. I know that I haven’t conformed to your beliefs of “success”, but I love where I’ve gone in life and I’m happy with my career. I’ve been in countless TV shows and movies and I’ve won awards for those things. I love my job, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. As for my love life, if either of you ever cared enough to check in on me instead of flaunting (Y/S/N)’s accomplishments in my face you’d know that I too am seeing someone. Too bad you’ve officially burned all bridges and won’t be meeting him now, but what can you do? Feel free to call if you ever decide to be proud of your youngest daughter for where she is in life and not just for your oldest because she followed the life that you tried to force upon us (I love you sis, don’t take this as an insult)”

After hitting send, you left the chat and promptly blocked both of your parents on Facebook. You took a deep breath and sighed heavily. It felt like a weight had been taken off of your shoulders then.

You inspected your makeup in the mirror to make sure it looked fine before getting up and finally walking to set. The rest of your co-stars were gathered, waiting, when you finally arrived.

“Sorry I’m late,” you told them. “Family stuff. I’m ready to go if you guys are.”

Everyone started getting in place. As the camera was being set up, Cillian looked at you with a little concern on his face. “Everything alright?”

You smiled at him, suddenly feeling more confident than you ever had. “I feel great. Let’s kill this scene.”

[jamielea81]

Just a Simple Lie

Chapter 9

Description: Having worked on small independent films for the better part of a decade, your friend tells you about an opening for a script supervisor with a large studio. Wanting to advance your career, you apply and get an interview. The only downside, they prefer to hire crew who are married. It’s just a simple lie, right?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, pining, fluff

A/N: This is NOT the final chapter. There is one more after this one. Per the usual: this fic is simply for fun. I know nothing about the personal lives of the two actors in this series and mean no harm. I am also totally guessing regarding the studio talk. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome.

Word Count: 3,932

Catch up with Chapter 8

**

“What’s going on with you?” Monica asked.

“Nothing.”

She’s asked you this question for the better part of a month. Not Yours only had a couple of weeks left to shoot, but filming had seemed to drag on despite it it’s short two month schedule.

“Are you still down about Travis?”

Okay, yes, you were still lying. Kind of. After the night of the wrap party where Chris Evans walked out of your life, you took the ring off and put it back into your jewelry box saying a prayer of sorry to your grandmother for wearing her ring. Surprisingly no one brought it or Travis up except for Monica. You kept it vague. Said he wasn’t right for you and the two of you were friends. All of which was true and she didn’t press. Except for when she asked what was wrong.

“Travis and I are friends. And I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. You’ve just been down this whole shoot.”

“Have I not been getting the job done? Have I dropped the ball in anyway?” you asked, nose buried in your copy of the script.

“Duuuuude,” she said bumping you.

“Fine,” you tossed your script on to your desk and gave her your full attention. “I’m just tired. Honestly. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Maybe your pregnant.”

“You’d have to be having sex to be pregnant, Monica.”

“Maybe you’re like three months pregnant and don’t know it,” she said with a smug grin. She was pulling your chain per the usual.

You gave her a smile that verged on a laugh. “You suck.”

“Maybe so. But you still love me,” she replied.

And you did. The two of you had become extremely close on this shoot. Probably because it was being completely shot on the lot with teenagers and people in their early twenties who liked to go out to clubs. Most of the crew were in their thirties so you stuck together. It was for the best. Look where being besties with Chris got you.  

You tried. Honest to goodness tried. The morning after the wrap party you called him with your hands shaking the whole time only to be dumped in his voicemail. You texted him about twelve times that first week and didn’t receive a response. Two weeks later he responded.

Chris: Maybe it’s best we just don’t speak.

Getting that message shot a pain through your heart you didn’t think was possible. Twenty minutes later he messaged again.

Chris: I can’t be with someone who isn’t honest with me. Any type of relationship is built on communication and honesty.

He was right. While he was busy falling for you, you were pretending to be engaged.

Y/N: You’re right. It’s something I’ll always regret but I’ll accept your request. I won’t contact you again.

There was no use pouring your heart out to him again. You had already done so a few times in voicemails and text messages. If anything, you were mad at yourself. Mad for not telling him when the two of you had first gotten close. And again, when you were sick and staying in his rental. Or the numerous times the two of you hung out after filming was complete for the day. You were so ready to let him go after the wrap party until he told you he was crazy about you. Of course, you were crazy about him too, but you had locked that away.

“I’m just having a problem with a friend. I wasn’t honest about something and now we aren’t speaking,” you told her with a shrug.

“If they’re a good friend they’ll eventually come around.”

“I hope so.”

**

“She’s unbearable,” Ian said, running a hand through his hair making it stand on end. “Can you please just stay with us? Or maybe, um. Maybe you can convince her she’s not working enough?” You chuckled at your crazed friend. “The people at Sony must have professionals on staff that can manage her. I just... I just can’t anymore. Not to mention I haven’t put together any of the furniture in the nursery. Haven’t washed any of the clothing or bedding. There just isn’t time.”

He bent over the sink, hands resting on the polished stone on either side, breathing deeply. You clicked the pulse button on the blender giving it another minute to come together. Ian had come into the room with his mouth moving when you were in the middle of blending the pink concoction making you pause. You released the button, walking past Ian’s arched back to grab glass from the cupboard. Walking past him once more, you took off the cover and poured the fruit and spinach filled smoothie into the glass.

Joanna was on the couch, her legs reclined on the empty seats with her tablet in hand.

“Here you go my dear. I’m taking your hubby out for a beer.”

She rested the tablet on her large belly and smiled. “Thank you. He’s driving me up the wall.”

You kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”

**

Travis and Gemma were seated at a four top sitting opposite of each other when you and Ian walked in.

“Oh look, Gem! It’s my lovely bride,” Travis nearly shouted as you took a seat next to him.

Flicking him on the arm, he flinched but kissed your cheek. “Are we ever getting over that?” you whined.

“Never,” he whispered.

“I still can’t believe you assholes never told me,” Gemma replied.

“Ye-ah. It wasn’t my most shining moment and I’d like to forget it. He’s all yours,” you tease, raising your eyebrows up and down.

“Been there. Done that,” she replied.

“Hey! I’m right here!” Travis interjected.

You put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to you. “You’re so pretty.”

“Brat,” he replied.

“I just want a beer,” Ian said, his head resting on the table top.

Travis sprung out of his seat and made his way to the bar to grab Ian his beer because waiting for the server to arrive was just too many minutes wasted.

“So, you’re really done?” Gemma asked, mouth immediately going back to the straw in her glass. Some sort of mojito you thought.

“Mhm. It was for the best. The whole lying thing just was too much.”

During the last week of filming for Not Yours, you gave your notice. You kept it simple that you had some family things going on so you couldn’t commit for the next film. Barbara Floyd, the head of production told you that you had a standing offer there whenever you were ready. It was nice having steady income and influx of films being shot, but you couldn’t continue to work for an employer like that.

Travis returned with three pints, passing one to Ian and yourself.

“Thanks, Trav,” you grinned.

Ian chugged the glass of beer half way down before turning to look at Travis. “Yeah, thank you.” The server stopped by at that moment to check on the table. “One more please.” You chuckled softly causing Ian to look at you. “Anyone else?”

“No, we’re good,” you chuckled again.

“What’s next then?” Gemma continued.

“A low budget, independent. But it’s not a student film. I’ve officially retired from those.”

“Have you official retired from bartending?” Travis asked, knocking an elbow into your side.

“Probably not. It will be my go-to between jobs, probably until I retire.”

**

The drive to Studio City during rush hour was torture. But truly, it was always rush hour in LA. You really couldn’t complain as the film was being entirely shot in Los Angeles. As much as you did like to visit a new location, sometimes you just wanted your own bed.

With a few worthless honks and a hand gesture you would deny later, you found yourself parked and walking with Jonathan to the shared space amongst the production crew. Jonathan was executive producer and welcoming party for the cast and crew of currently titled, Untitled. Hopefully it would be named before filming wrapped. Being that it was an independent and rather short on funds from what you could tell, you were the sole script supervisor.

“And this is your desk!”

You gave Jonathan the politest smile you could muster. “Perfect.”

It really wasn’t. While your “office” in Vancouver was a cubical, it was modern and new. You didn’t even have walls. It was a small table about the width of two cookie sheets. Spaced on either side of you with about thee feet apart were two other tables for other production crew. At least you figured.

“Great. We are firing on all cylinders today with a table read this afternoon. We hope to start filming tomorrow,” Jonathan added.

“I’ll be ready.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I’m just down the hall if you need me. You have my number?”

“Yep. I should be set, but we’ll know more after the read through.”

Jonathan clapped his hands together, spun around and headed down the tight hallway, presumably to his own table. Maybe it was an office. An executive producer at the very least should have a cubical.

**

A large banquet table was set up in the middle of sound stage B with more than a dozen chairs for the cast around it. A row of chairs for the producers, the screen writer, director, assistant director, yourself, and a few others circled around the outside. You were a few minutes early per the usual, chatting with the small crew you had just been introduced to. You were getting aquatinted with Simone, the assistant director that was seated to your left when the cast started to trickle in. If you were being honest, you hadn’t looked in to any of the actors that were cast. You had taken on the job last minute when the previous script supervisor had backed out. It was less than a week to prepare, so you spent that time reading through the script a few times and rescuing Joanna and Ian from each other.

Simone had just given you a run down of all the films she had worked on as the two of you compared friends and colleagues in common when you felt someone lightly squeeze your knee. The offending knee groper walked on as your eyes trailed up to see Scott Evans make his way to a chair on the other side of the table. He sent you a wink and you audible gasped.

Fuck. This is going to be weird.

Really, it was only you that was being weird. Scott had squeezed your knee and gave you a friendly wink. But still. Had you known he was going to be in this film, you would have passed on the project. The last thing you wanted to do was make it awkward for him or his brother.

With the reading finished, you briefly addressed the actors letting them know where your desk was located and to come to you with any questions. When no one said anything, you gave a smile and quickly made your escape. Chris didn’t want to speak to you anymore. He made that perfectly clear. Keeping Scott at arms-length would be respecting that.

**

Scott didn’t film the first week of shooting. It helped ease your nervous stomach knowing you wouldn’t run into him on set or have to provide notes after a scene was shot. You knew he’d be filming the next week, but at least you had the weekend to freak out and hopefully you could just deal with it on Monday.

Cleaning up your table slash desk for the weekend took all but five seconds. Since it wasn’t an enclosed space, you left all personal items including Mr. Fern at home. He was blossoming much to your surprise.

“Hey Y/N.”

You knew that voice. There was no mistaking it. You looked up from your bag you were currently stuffing with your laptop to see Scott in front of you.

“Uh…”

Say something! Anything!

“Hey there Scott. How’s it goin’?”

Yep. You were talented at the art of speaking.

Scott chuckled softly, pulling up a chair from the empty table next to you. “Relax. I come in peace.” You took a shuddered breath. “I’m happy to see you on set. You come with high praise not only from my brother, but from other people you’ve worked with.”

“I doubt that. Your brother is not exactly my biggest fan.”

“I meant work wise sweetie. He can’t deny that.”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Honestly, I didn’t know you were in this film. I took the job when someone dropped out. I’m not like stalking you or trying to get to your brother.” Your bottom lip going between your teeth as soon as you finished your thought.

Scott chuckled again. Shook his head and propped it between his hands, resting his elbows on your table. “You’re cute.”

“Well, I just…I just don’t want to give you the wrong impression is all.”

“You’re not. I never thought that,” he sighed, smile dropping for a second. “Chris is thick headed. I don’t even care if you repeat that. While I think it sucks you lied, I think it sucks that a company also operates like that,” he said.

“Well, maybe they were right.” Scott lifts an eyebrow at this. “What I mean is, Chris and me did get close. Too close.”

Scott sits up straight, hands going to his knees. “But that’s not always the case. Sometimes people are going to fall for each other whether it’s frowned up or not. Listen. My brother has been pretty grumpy for the last couple of months. I was frankly happy that filming started this week because I needed a break from him. He’ll come around. Don’t give up on this.”

You nodded and stood up from your seat. “Walk me out?”

“You got it.”

Despite what Scott had said, you weren’t too sure. Yes, you kissed him and boy, was that quite the kiss. But he didn’t know how you felt. You never got to say the words. And he made it perfectly clear that the two of you shouldn’t speak to each other.

**

After a month and a half of filming, you were officially on vacation. Well, not really. You just didn’t have another film lined up at the moment. Scott had been nothing but a peach during the shoot. He was as sweet as pie and kept you quite entertained. You weren’t quite sure if you were happy or disappointed that Chris never came to visit Scott on set. In all honesty, you probably would have shutdown and hid, so it was probably for the best that he didn’t. You didn’t pry, but Scott had offered up that Chris had been in Boston, so it made sense he wasn’t around.

You were back to bartending part time. It was something to do with your free time and it was nice to have extra cash in your pocket. Thankfully, you were a saver and lived in a one-bedroom rental, so you could afford to take a few months off.

In your free time you were with your friends. Joanna’s mood swings had subsided and Ian didn’t call you for backup as much as he had been. You didn’t necessarily think she had mood swings. She had a rough few months with bouts of sickness and her emotions were running high. But it was nice to be able to go to her house and have fun like you used to.

“Trav, could you pass me the popcorn?”

He shook his head no, holding the bowl against his chest. “You and Gem are just going to eat it all and not share. I know you two.”

“Wow... I am hurt.”

“No you’re not,” he chuckled.

“I promise to make more after we all finish this bowl.”

“No, you won’t,” Gemma whispered beside you.

You knocked her with your elbow and shushed her quietly. Travis stood and passed you the bowl.

“I’ll go make my own,” he muttered before walking to the kitchen.

You let out a loud laugh, taking a large handful of popcorn and shoving it in your mouth.

Jana laid on the couch across from you with her feet in Ian’s lap. He was rubbing them with a peaceful look on his face while Jana smiled at him. They were happy and that’s all you wanted. You hoped that someday you’d find your person.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you. Reaching for a napkin, you wiped the butter off your hands before picking it up.

Scott: Whatcha doin’?

Y/N: At my friend’s house. I work tonight.

Scott: That bites. You work all week?

Y/N: Tonight, tomorrow, and Friday. What are you up to?

Scott: Being lazy. Thinking about a solo dance party.

You smiled at his text.

Y/N: I could really go for one of those.

Y/N: Are you going to be in town for a while?

Scott: A couple of weeks at least.

Y/N: Want to grab lunch next week?

Scott: Sounds good angel. Let me know when.

Y/N: Will do. Have fun with your dance party.

**

Tuesdays were generally quiet, but people seemed to tip better. You weren’t sure if it was because patrons knew your tips would be few and far between or if the Tuesday crowd was just generous.

You had a tall can of energy drink behind the bar that you snuck sips from as the night went on. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but staying up until three in the morning on the nights you worked wasn’t easy. Making it to midnight was no problem, but after that, you were dead on your feet. It was only eight and you were already dragging. Grabbing the can, you brought it to your lips taking a pull.

“Those things will kill you.”

You put the can down and spun around to face the bar top. Your stomach dropped as you gripped the edge of the counter to keep yourself standing.

“Chris,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling his black ballcap low on his face.

“Uh, hi?”

What the fuck is he doing here?

“Can I get a beer?” he asked. You stared blankly at him as he took a seat in the stool directly in front of you. “Whatever IPA you have on tap.”

You couldn’t move. Chris was here and speaking to you as if this was an everyday occurrence.

“Sweetheart?”

“Uhhh. IPA?” you asked, somehow getting your voice back.

Chris nodded his head. He interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the bar. You walked to the far side of the bar to give yourself a minute to breathe. It didn’t matter than there were two IPAs on tap two feet from where he sat, the taps on the far end is where you went. You filled the glass and gave yourself an extra ten seconds to calm down. This was Chris. Your friend Chris who you were crazy about and he was crazy about you. At least he once was. You on the other hand were still crazy about him. You could deal with him in your bar for fifteen minutes or however long it takes him to finish his drink.  

You walked back the length of the bar, grabbing a coaster and setting both in front of him.

“What are you doing here, Chris?”

He took a quick sip, licking the foam from his lips before setting the glass back down. “Straight to the point. I can deal with that. Uh, Scott told me you worked here.”

Scott. You internally rolled your eyes.

“That’s why he asked about my work schedule yesterday.”

Chris cringed a little bit, shrugging both shoulders. “I asked him to. I should have just called you, but I wasn’t sure if you would have picked up for me.”

This time you actually rolled your eyes. “I would have taken your call. You’re the one that doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” It came out way harsher than you meant it to. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” You shook your head, placing your elbows on the bar top and leaned in. “I thought about what I’d say if I saw you again and that wasn’t it. What I meant is I’m sorry. When you and I became friends, I should have told you what was going on, but I was scared. It seemed like such an innocent lie in the beginning but it kept getting bigger. I trusted you, but when it came down to it, I didn’t honor that trust and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Chris visible relaxed, his back hunching as he rested his forearms on the bar. “Sweetheart,” he started. “This isn’t all on you. I get why you didn’t want to tell me and while I wish you would have, I can’t hold that against you. I was hurt. Once we started hanging out, I started to fall for you even though I knew I shouldn’t. It was hard, so hard to hold back and respect the relationship I thought you had. So, it hurt when I found out it wasn’t real. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away that I had. I wish I hadn’t sent you that text message after ignoring you for weeks. So, what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry too. I’d like for us to be friends again.”

Friends. Not exactly what you hoped for, but you’d take Chris back in your life anyway you could get him.

“I would like that,” you said, offering him a small smile. “I’ll be right back.”

A couple had come in and taken a seat at table. You walked over, grabbing their drink orders before returning to the bar. It was probably the quickest margarita over ice and whiskey coke you’ve ever made, but you were walking on air at the moment. Chris wanted to be friends again.

Chris had apparently chugged his beer in the few minutes you were gone. You guessed he was just as nervous as you were about this conversation. “One more?” you asked, coming to stand in front of him again.

“Please.”

This time you went to the taps closest to him. You filled a new glass and stuck his old in the dishwasher.

“How long are you in town?” you asked.

“Just a couple of weeks. I actually wanted to talk to you about that.” You leaned on your forearms as you waited for him to continue. “I start shooting a new movie in a few months. I’m directing again.”

Your face lit up at his news. “That’s great Chris. Are you starring too?”

He took a sip from the glass and nodded his head. “I am. Which is the problem.” You crinkled your brow and quirked your mouth to the side. “See, if I’m directing, it’s kind of hard for me to give myself notes and keep me in line.”

“Yeah, you are a tough one to work with,” you sassed.

Chris smiled, letting his eyes go soft. “So, I need a good script supervisor. Any chance you know of one that doesn’t currently have a new film lined up?”

You smiled brightly before giving him an intense stare. “It’s not in Canada in the winter is it?”

“Nah. New England in the fall. What do you say, Y/N?”

You drummed your hands on the bar. “I’ll take it.”

**

Tag List: @chrisevansfanfic​ @zsuzstyina​ @peach-acid​ @trynnabemultifandom​ @mrsshiddleston​ @tfandtws​ @heyyouwiththeassbutt​ @evanlys19​ @cheeseburgersstuff​  @evemej​ @whymalu​ @straightforwardly​ @deidrashouseofpain​ @samsgoddess​ @fanfictionaffair​ @sweet--rabbit​ @lakamaa12​ @imaginesofdreams​ @captnstarryeyed​ @the-walking-daryl​ @benedicttcumberbabe​ @michellemybelles-world​ @lorilane33​ @divadinag​ @bellaireland1981​ @illi-vanilli @the-walking-daryl @dezzylou24​ @jennabenna12​ @tinycertain​ @perplexed3001​ @tanelle83​ @pinknerdpanda​ @allaboutthebooz​ @estillion14​ @panicfob​ @patzammit​ @heartislubbingdubbing​ @twittytelly​ @linki-locks11​ @ab-baybay​ @impalaimages​ @jesseswartzwelder​ @rainbowkisses31​ @xostephanie​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​ @xxloki81xx​ @thenormreedus​ @firstangeldragonranch​ @soitmightgetweird​ @maeleeme​ @denisemarieangelina​ @rvgrsbrns​ @icanfeelastormbrewing​ @kitkat1690​ @smilexcaptainx​ @suppu97​ @dangerouslovefanfic​ @dwights-new-plague​ @kelbabyblue​ @sweetlittlegingy​ @dont-need-another-fandom​ @velvetwonderbucky​@chrisevansforever​ @evansxxx​ @southerngracela​ @bitterstar88​ @squirrelnotsam​ @kitkatd7​ @marvelislove10​ @the-doctors-fallen-angel​ @hista-girl​ @cocomel0613​ @also-fangirlinsweden​

[mostlysignssomeportents]

College Covid app is a security dumpster-fire

In the early days of the pandemic, the term "contact tracing" vaulted into the public consciousness: that's the shoe-leather- and labor-intensive process whereby skilled  heath experts establish a personal rapport with infected people to establish who they had contact with.

For both good reasons (the scale of the pandemic) and bad ones (tech's epistemological blindness, which insists that all social factors can be ignored in favor of quantifiable ones), there was interest in automating this process and "exposure notification" was born.

The difference is that exposure notification tells you whether your device was near another device whose owner is sick. It doesn't tell you about the circumstances - like, was it one of the people at that eyeball-licking party? Or someone in the next car in a traffic jam?

Exposure notification vaporizes qualitative elements of contact tracing, leaving behind just a quantitative residue of unknown value. There are two big problems with this: first, it might just not be very useful (that's what they learned in Iceland):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/12/evil-maid/#fjords

Second: people might be so distrustful of your data-handling processes that they actively subvert the app, meaning there are so many holes in your data that the data-set is useless. That's what happened in Norway.

https://techcrunch.com/2020/06/15/norway-pulls-its-coronavirus-contacts-tracing-app-after-privacy-watchdogs-warning/

The thing is, contact tracing is high-touch/low-tech because it is a social science intervention. Social scientists have always understood that if you only gather the data that's easy to reach, you'll come to bad conclusions skewed by defects in your collection.

A canonical text on this is Clifford Geertz's "Thick Description," where he describes an anthropologist trying to figure out why a subject just winked: is it flirting? Dust in the eye? Something else? The only way to know is to ask: you can't solve this with measurement.

To a first approximation, all the important stuff in our world has an irreducible, vital qualitative dimension. Take copyright exemptions: fair use rules are deliberately qualitative ("Is your use transformative in a way that comments on or criticizes the work it uses?").

These are questions that reflect policy priorities: in the words of the Supreme Court, fair use is the "escape valve" for the First Amendment, the thing that squares exclusive rights for authors with the public's right to free expression.

But the tech and entertainment industry have spent decades trying to jettison this in favor of a purely quantitative measure: it's not fair use if your image incorporates more than X pixels from another, or if your video or sound has more than Y seconds from another work.

This is idiotic. Solving automation challenges by declaring the non-automatable parts to be unimportant is how we get self-driving car assholes saying, "We just need to tell people that they're not allowed to act unpredictably in public."

(BTW, this is all said much better than I can in a superb Communications of the ACM article by Randy Connolly: "Why Computing Belongs Within the Social Sciences.")

https://cacm.acm.org/magazines/2020/8/246368-why-computing-belongs-within-the-social-sciences/fulltext

All of this is a leadup to the story of @Q3w3e3, an anonymous student at Michigan's Albion College, a private uni that reopened after insisting that all students must install a proprietary exposure notification app before returning to campus to lick each other's eyeballs.

Albion paid some grifters to develop this app. Because of course they did. The app is called Aura, and it was created by a company called "Nucleus Careers."

If you're thinking that's a weird name for a public health development company, you're right. They're a recruiting firm, founded this year, "with no apparent history or experience in building or developing healthcare apps."

https://techcrunch.com/2020/08/19/coronavirus-albion-security-flaws-app/

Aura is predictably terrible. As @Q3w3e3 discovered when they audited it, the app stores all the students' location data in an Amazon storage bucket, and comes with the keys to access that data hard-coded into the app.

The app also allows attackers to trivially discover the test status of any registered user. Techcrunch discovered this bug and hypothesizes that they could get the health data for 15,000 people this way. Did someone say HIPAA?

Nucleus Careers refused to talk with Techcrunch's Zack Whittaker about this beyond a few glomarish nonstatements. But the school administration is standing behind the app, threatening to expel students who don't use it.

And this brings us back to the disutility of the denatured quantitative residue of the thick, qualitative process of contact tracing. Many of the students who have the most at risk from using the app are also at the highest risk of contracting the disease.

People struggling with addiction, queer kids who aren't out and have secret partners, people engaged in survival sex-work are all at higher risk of exposure, and they also have the biggest reason NOT to use the app, lest it leak their secrets.

These are the people who you absolutely WANT to include in public health efforts, but that can only happen through noncoercive, personal, high-trust, low-tech interventions.

In other words, Aura isn't just technologically inept, it's also epidemiologically inept. The cliche that "you treasure what you measure" could not be more applicable here.

Look, these students shouldn't even be on campus. Obviously. And even a good contact tracing system would probably mostly serve as a postmortem for analyzing the inevitable conflagration of infection incoming in 3...2...1

But Albion is still a fascinating case-study in the lethal incoherence of the contempt of both managerial and technology circles for "human factors."

At the very least, we should ensure that the lives they will squander through their hubris aren't totally wasted.

[laetro]

Brie Schmida: Visual Storytelling Through her Illustrations

Visual Storytelling is an art on its own. Several factors determine the effectiveness of the narration of an artwork, such as composition, lighting and colours. And narrating a story solely through a character is even more challenging. Brie Schmida, a visual storyteller, character designer and illustrator, reveals essential factors that aid in successful visual narration and brilliant character design.

Based in California, United States, Brie Schmida is an illustrator, visual storyteller and character designer. Her immense love for storytelling and ardent passion for art can be witnessed through her colourful, quirky and jovial artworks. Graduate from Academy of Art University in B. A Illustration, Brie is currently working as a freelance illustrator.

ORDER A CUSTOM ILLUSTRATION

Q. What inspired you to embark on this journey to become an illustrator?

Brie Schmida: I probably wouldn’t have become an illustrator if I hadn’t been in a horseback riding accident in my early teens. The resulting spinal condition took eight years to cure, and I turned to one of the only non-active things I could do, art. It kept me sane. This is such an enjoyable process that now that I am well, I never want to stop.

Q. What are some of the highs and lows that you’ve faced as an illustrator and visual development artist?

Brie Schmida: Health issues were undoubtedly a significant hurdle. On bad days, I remember laying on the bed, trying to draw. Apart from this, I believe that I am way too hard on myself. I constantly remind myself that others are not privy to my thoughts and might not view my work with similar criticisms. One of the best moments so far has been attending my first Lightbox Expo. I had the opportunity to meet several renowned artists and even made some fast friends there. The artist community is so welcoming and supportive.

Q. What does your daily routine look like?

Brie Schmida: I live on a farm, and so, there’s always something different going on in every season! I work for six to eight hours every day, with occasional snuggle breaks with baby goats or my cat Pickle. Since leaving pieces unfinished irks me, I sometimes spend a little longer on my work. I am not a night owl at all! Once 5 pm rolls around, I go for a walk, enjoy dinner with my family, an episode of a BBC drama and a nice book before bed. On weekends I work in the garden, visit my grandparents, and do various farm activities, namely, snuggling baby goats.

Q. What are some of the critical factors in visual storytelling through illustrations?

Brie Schmida: Outside of critical things like composition, colour, character design, emotion and such, it is essential to have either a bit of whimsy or a bit of nostalgia in the piece. People are drawn to the artworks that they can relate to or those that capture their imagination. Visual storytelling is about creating an entire narrative that can stand on its own without a description. It is about capturing a single moment. An illustration must make the audience wonder about the character and story. Storytelling is all about the anticipation of what’s to come.

Q. The characters that you design portray fascinating personalities and narrate a story on their own. How do you achieve this? How can one subtly portray a character’s personality through design?

Brie Schmida:A character’s personality is a complex combination of their inner thoughts and feelings. This is portrayed through the character’s expression, body language and clothes. If a character is shy, they might not adorn bright, vibrant, attention-grabbing garments. If a character is grouchy, they won’t be sketched with a warm, inviting smile. These can often be understood through keen observation of people around us. There’s a lot you can tell about a person without speaking to them at all.

Q. How vital is a composition in a visual narrative? Could you kindly share a few techniques to improve composition?

Brie Schmida: Composition is extremely important. This is a vast field with an ocean of knowledge, and therefore, I cannot claim to be an expert since I am yet to explore all of its immense depth. However, I often emphasise the importance of ‘value to create a focal point’, ‘contrast’, ‘line of action’ and ‘use of colour’ to my students. These are a few basic techniques to improve composition. I recently learned about the W Composition used since the Renaissance, and it blew my mind! I also explored the aesthetic principles of Shape Composition, which was equally exhilarating.

Q. What kind of story do you like the most?

Brie Schmida:I love stories which sport solid character development and storyline. Pretty visuals are only secondary. One of my recent favourite animated films that sported excellent character development, storyline and stunning visuals was Klaus. I also enjoy stories with historical elements where I can learn about a new culture or historical event. And, of course, those stories that completely surprise you with their ingenuity. Inception is probably that film for me.

Q. What is the one thing that you really look forward to doing someday in your career?

Brie Schmida:Apart from always drawing and designing, I would really like to direct one film. Just one. I know exactly which film it will be, and I really hope that day comes. Since I began my career during the pandemic, I am also looking forward to interacting with a team in person.

Q. According to you, what are the key features of an ideal client?

Brie Schmida: In my opinion, an ideal client can either explain clearly what they want or is willing to brainstorm with me to get there. It is difficult when the clients are vague about their preferences and get frustrated when the end product doesn’t turn out as they envision. An ideal client is someone who is excited about the project and open to suggestions. It is fun to work with a passionate person.

[neurodiversitysci]

Ideas for a mom with decision fatigue

A mom named Emma Marris listed every decision her kids asked her to make that required a decision, on a single day. 

She concluded that decision fatigue is real and constant in her life as a mom.

I empathize. Even without children, I suffer from daily decision fatigue at work, school, even at home (when finding places for things and cleaning up). 

I wonder, though, if she could frame the problem, and respond to it, in a way that would make her life easier.

I get the impression that Emma does not believe she has a choice. Even the title of the post reads, “Every decision my kids made me make in one day.” She seems to believe the decisions must be made, by her, right now. 

I know it doesn’t feel that way, but you’re the mama, you’re the boss, and ultimately, you get to decide whether to make a decision or not. (I know, that’s another decision). 

Looking at her description of the sort of questions her kids asked, what strikes me is:

1) Most of these decisions don’t matter.

In other words: If she doesn’t make the ideal decision, the consequences aren’t serious. The child won’t even remember for long.

Can we have waffles? Can we have chocolate chips in the waffles? 

Can I mix it? Can I measure the baking powder? (Worse case scenario: a mess, which kiddo might help clean up).

Will you turn up the music?

Which of these games should we play?

OK, some of them matter a little, like “can we have ice cream for lunch?” (I doubt the answer required a lot of thought). Parents concerned about screen time might care about “can I play on your phone until you wake up?” 

But even where there are potential health consequences, making the wrong decision a few days won’t put the child in the emergency room or on a therapist’s couch. 

What matters is patterns of decisions over years.

2) Many of these decisions, the children can make for themselves. IMO, they should. 

Examples include pretty much any question that doesn’t specifically request the parent to do something, such as:

Which card should I play?

Can I watch x kid’s show?

Where is my coat?

It’s not my business to tell someone how to parent. That said, here’s an important general principle:

The more small, unimportant decisions children make in their lives, the more practice they will have making choices. The more practice they get, the more prepared they will be to make decisions when the consequences actually matter. 

School doesn’t seem to offer enough opportunities. As a result, Tumblr seems full of teenagers and young adults frantically trying to choose a major and career with no idea how to begin.

3) When decisions affect other people, the children’s decisions will have consequences. By experiencing others’ reactions, children can learn cause and effect and negotiation skills.

Can we listen to Dynamite by Taio Cruz instead of this podcast about the Mueller investigation while we make breakfast?

Let’s say Child 1 wants to listen to Dynamite over breakfast, and turns it on. Child 2 wants to listen to something else, and complains. Or Mom wants to listen to the news, and complains. Child 1:

a) Learns Child 2′s or Mom’s current preferences. (And over time, Child 2′s or Mom’s preferences in general).

b) Has the opportunity to negotiate for what they want. (Probably the easiest for a young kid will be something like “one of us listens to this now/the other one chooses what to listen to next”).

4) Mom needs a brain break. If she takes one, she can set an example of self-care!

If I were her, I would tell those little ones, 

“Mom needs a break right now. Please ask me again in [5, 10, whatever] minutes.” 

(It’s important to set an amount of time that’s possible for someone at the child’s stage of development to wait. It probably won’t be enough, but any break is better than none).

Especially at first, and when very young, kids will keep asking. She’ll have to repeat herself. That might feel frustrating and discouraging, but the effort won’t be a failure! She’ll get a slight reprieve, and her kids will learn that:

a) Sometimes people need breaks.

b) When people need a break, they can ask for it. 

c) When people need a break to rest, they shouldn’t be interrupted unless it’s an emergency.

d) When the break is over, people will be happier, nicer, and more fun. (This is the reward).

Of course, poor Emma will have to explicitly, repeatedly, explain what’s an “emergency” question, and what questions can wait. “Back in my day,” parents had rules like this for when they were on the phone. (And when there was an important program on TV or radio, because you couldn’t record back then). 

Kids tend to over-estimate what counts as an “emergency.” So she’ll have to explain, repeatedly and in different ways, that “Fire” or “someone is bleeding a lot” is an emergency, but “I want a popsicle” or “My sister’s looking at me funny” is not. 

Eventually, children will learn what’s an emergency and what isn’t, and gain a concept of “relative urgency” or “relative importance.” 

Emma may need to set a timer, because young kids, and many neurodivergent ones, haven’t developed a sense of time. Ideally, the timer will have a visual as well as an auditory component (such as a Time Timer). Children will stop asking “how much time is left?” if they can see the answer. Eventually, they’ll get used to the process of using a timer, and maybe improve their sense of time. 

Finally, in the process of waiting through Mom’s break, kids can learn how to wait. Waiting is a skill. Perhaps even multiple skills. For example, young kids who can wait for a reward may use strategies, like distracting themselves (see: research on the “marshmallow test”). 

Learning to wait is a win for:

a) The child. They’ll find waiting less painful, and get less negative feedback from adults.* 

b) The mom, who can regain some mental energy. 

c) The child’s teachers. If you’ve observed a classroom with children about ages 3-7, you’ve probably seen that teachers constantly stop the class to ask students to be quiet.

*You know that famous statistic about how children with ADHD get thousands more reprimands than children without ADHD? How much it harms their mental health? Imagine how much of a difference it’d make to reduce the number of reprimands a young child gets, whether ADHD or neurotypical.

Obligatory note about how my advice applies to neurodivergent kids:

Emma doesn’t say whether the children are neurotypical. They probably are. Given my life experiences and audience, I still want to point out: 

A lot of these “life lessons” will take longer for a child with ADHD to learn than a neurotypical child. That “developmental delay of 3 years” that Russell Barkley talks about is real. (Although, the exact size of the delay probably varies from person to person).

That makes it all the more important to start teaching them early (and gently!). 

However, children with ADHD also stand to benefit more from teaching. People with ADHD are especially likely to suffer from decision fatigue. If Mom models coping skills like taking a break, children will ADHD will have strategies to try.

TL;DR Conclusion:

Emma, you don’t have to make so many decisions. In fact, you’ll probably be a better parent by delegating more small choices to your little ones, and by taking decision-making breaks. 

Hang in there! 

If I could, I’d gladly play with/take care of your little ones for a while while you take a much-needed rest.

[chiseler]

Echoes

One book from my childhood has always haunted me. Cursed Be the Treasure, by H. B. Drake, didn't just get under my skin, it crawled inside and gnawed. An "adventure" tale of smugglers and pirates, of guilt and vengeance, it was a cold soak in an alternately reality that I could believe with all my heart.

My mother presented it to me at I'd guess age 10 or 11. Probably it had been in our collection all along. I assumed it was from her own teen years, so in the 1910s. I never knew where my mother came by such things, she seemed to absorb offbeat, peculiar works through some etheric transfer.

Over the years, I remembered little of the plot – just two incidents so horrific that they hung on me like literary albatrosses.

Perhaps five years back, that haunting returned and I felt the need to find that book again – the original had disappeared into the mists of yesteryear. I bought a copy online – a mere $3.50 if I remember rightly – a ratty-spined hardback. I immediately determined not to read it. I couldn't face the possibility that it would be just another "young adult" monstrosity that had overwhelmed my feeble mind. That would be a gut stab.

But with Daniel Riccuito's strong-arm encouragement, looking for an "unusual" book from the '20s or ''30s – my pick – I immediately thought of Cursed Be the Treasure... but "uh-oh, wrong decade." Yet when I flipped back the creaky cover, I found the copyright was 1928. So I committed to reading it again, with dripping trepidation.

And...? It resonates with the "now" of me as solidly as with the "then" of me; it's left an unusual sense of wonder, a "how can the universe work this way?" that I pooh-pooh in daily life.

Before getting to that: Who was H. B. Drake?

I've found minimal online biographical info on Henry Burgess Drake, who had two (at least) parallel careers. Born of British missionary parents in China in 1894, the next to last of seven children, he served in WWI, then taught English in China, Korea (at a Japanese university) and England, sometimes alongside his younger brother, Eric – this bio snippet, an aside to a longer one of Eric, does not mention Henry's writing. During (or before?) WWII, Henry served in the British Intelligence Corps, "to recruit spies to penetrate Japanese held territory" in China.

Of his alternate existence, fantasy and SF sites note him mainly as author of The Shadowy Thing, which had a strong influence on H. P. Lovecraft. You can purchase a 1928 hardback edition online for $967; I don't plan to. Beyond that and Cursed, he penned a few sea and other adventure tales (sometimes as Burgess Drake), and a five-volume Approach to English Literature for Students Abroad during the '40s and '50s. He died in 1963.

I've had little truck with adventure stories. The Conan tales bore me silly – great gnarled nonsense. I recently downloaded a humongous boulder of public-domain fantasy/SF/adventure (many of them novel-length), looking for a simple, non-challenging read. The first four I staggered through were almost malignantly bad – cumbersome slagheaps of adjectives, mostly multi-page descriptions of otherworldly scenery, including, so help me, two travels through nothing – quite literally a void interrupted by different-colored lights. They showed less imagination than an addled exterminator.

It's turned out that what I was looking for in that muck, without knowing, was Cursed Be the Treasure, which harks back to lesser-known works such as R. L. Stevenson's The Wrecker, about a ship ("The Flying Scud") in which the adventure is as much inside the narrator as mired in convoluted events wavering beyond the written horizon. I think Drake also took inspiration from Dickens, especially Nell's wanderings through the countryside with her grandfather in The Old Curiosity Shop. (Though unlike Dickens with his often black and white characters, all of Drake's emanate shades of moral grey.)

The first-person narrator of Cursed is Tommy, recalling his youth from age 6 to roughly 17, consumed in continual flight with his father from the vengeance of what his father calls Shadow-of-Fear. During their flight, they are briefly "trapped" by a witch-like figure, Bite-in-the-Dark, whom Tommy kills by accident. Then the flight continues, because... who or what is Bite-in-the-Dark, and can the greater Shadow-of-Fear be killed?

Baldly stated, this can sound silly. But it's written with a riveting intensity of isolation and unfocused fear. His father will run forever to protect Tommy, but does not feel he can, himself, escape the inevitable. And there are also the magically bright summers at the Dolphin Inn, where Tommy investigates the caves and rock ledges of the coast, the supposed refuge of smugglers, uncovering secret passageways leading to... what?

Along the way, he and his father stop at a supposed haunted house. Tommy sees a ghost (does he?) and encounters a skeleton (he does).When his father must leave on for an extended period, Tommy goes to school for the first time – his father's extensive, intensive knowledge had been enough to meet his educational needs.

Tommy makes friends with Worthing, an older, rule-bound student (who faults Tommy's adventuresome ways). Tommy invites Worthing for a stay at the house, during which Tommy finds a hidden passage and loses it again. In a later stint at the house, he meets Captain Field and his daughter. She, like Tommy, is traveling alone with her father, and like his father, the Captain is haunted by an implacable enemy.

Why no mother for either of these near-bewitched children? The word "mother" never appears in this tale. For both, the single parent and the single child have always been thus.

From here on, I'll leave the plot alone, because it's the method of telling and the near-perfect pacing that make this book, in my mind, close to a masterpiece. Reliving it, retrieving the incidents I forgot through the years, was unlike any other literary experience I've had; 70 years between readings, and it holds the same searing chill. And those two remembered incidents that I did recall – I can't talk sanely about them. The second details perhaps the worst mistake any human being could make.

There's nothing overtly supernatural in the telling, but the possibility of it hangs like a torn curtain. As Tommy slowly uncovers clues, a more enmeshed tale emerges, tying together disparate elements –almost typing them together. Certain small details don't quite fit... but not because Drake is lax. It's because nothing here can be complete, wholly true or fully whole. A "definitive" through line would only cheapen the tale. The passageways by the Dolphin Inn lead to no found end; the lost treasure is truly cursed – through the intertwined vengeance of those who fought and killed for it, and the inescapable guilt with which each must live.

That's the book, as written. But its effect on me goes beyond the words. It reaches something in me as inescapable as Shadow-of-Fear, like a reflected study of my life. Not Tommy's flight – the entire tale. I have none of Tommy's robust, adventuresome spirit... at least not externally. But something of my mind works the way this story works, with the details incomplete, the compounded feeling of guilt, the need for everything to be different, released. It was somehow like I was reading myself.

But a few details....

The novel I've been working on for the past couple years (before I reread Cursed) encapsulates a woman in her early 30s:

raised by her father, from the ages of 4 to 16

haunted by the past and her eerie effects on the present

with no direct memory of her mother, though unlike Tommy, the not knowing torments her

her name is Jenny; Captain Field's daughter's name is Jenny

This litany of congruence rattles my innards.

Did those plot details from Cursed that I thought had been lost remain hidden in the far reaches of my mind?

I don't think so. On rereading, the early chapters seemed fully new to me.

Are there cosmic associations that exhibit when we least expect them, in the least likely ways?

I think that even less.

I see the world as a grand accumulation of circumstances, ruled by laws that we can never directly experience or untangle as they apply to the minute incidents of life. Sometimes these circumstances heap in symmetrical piles that can delight or terrify, as did the Dolphin Inn and Shadow-of-Fear for Tommy.

In my case, the dovetailing of this marvelous tale with driving events in my life is an overwhelming gift.

I refuse to question it.

by Derek Davis

[rosesupposes]

Ivy League

In which Race goes to dinner with Spot, his professor, and his asshole classmate and Spot ends up defending Race’s honor.

This is v v v self indulgent and probably doesn’t make much sense. Just know that Kelly Smaltzer is modern girlsie Smalls who just hasn’t gotten her nickname yet.

Read on AO3.

-

“Thanks so much for your help, Race. I was sure I was gonna fail this test.”

“No problem, Davey,” Race said, packing the empty containers from his lunch into his bag. Spot was on a meal prep kick and Race hadn’t been able to escape it. “After my midterm this morning, it actually reminded me that physics isn’t crazy.”

“Your Planetary Relations class right?” Davey started packing up his bag. 

“Yeah and then my Dance Comp one later. But Albert and I are having rehearsals beforehand and then we’ve got another rehearsal for a showcase.”

Davey looked confused, as he gathered up the trash from his lunch, along with the trash Jack and Crutchie had left when Race and Davey had started reviewing for Davey’s Physics I test. “I thought you and Spot had that dinner with his professor tonight?”

Race groaned and held up the garment bag he’d had to bring along with his backpack and dance bag. “We do. I’ve been lugging my pants and shirt around all day. I have to wear a tie, Davey. A tie.”

Davey rolled his eyes. “You’ll survive. Spot must really want to impress his professor if he’s risking making you wear a tie.”

“I resent that but it’s not untrue. And he does. She takes an intern every summer from her first year classes and he thinks it’s a really good sign that she invited him to this dinner. But she also invited that asshole classmate that Spot’s always complaining about. He’s bringing his girlfriend.” Race wrinkled his nose. 

“Oh, I see. That’s why your wearing the tie,” Davey said with the know it all tone that Race knew meant he was teasing.

“What?”

“You’re trying to out trophy wife the girlfriend.”

“Shut up and go take your physics test,” Race said, pushing Davey’s arm and then walking away from him. His phone chirped with a text from Davey not 30 seconds later. 

I’m adding 3 points to your pettiness score. You’re in the lead now.

-

His Dance Comp midterm went well, even if it ran over. He blamed Albert for drawing the last performance slot because he could have left early otherwise. His whole body ached, protesting the Pilates class from hell that he’d had before lunch and the three hours of rehearsal he’d had after. Going home and vegging out on the couch sounded infinitely better than going to Spot’s dinner. The food would be good, sure, and Spot’s professor was paying but he’d learned early on in Spot’s law school career that when people at law events found out he wasn’t also in law school, they tended to lose interest pretty quickly. He was usually relegated to the role of trophy boyfriend- which he could do and do well but it was kind of hard when he was this exhausted and coming right from a day of midterms. 

He tied his tie while he waited for his Uber and attempted to fix his hair using Snapchat as a mirror. Spot had mentioned that his asshole classmate’s girlfriend was apparently model pretty and Davey was right; Race was nothing if not petty. He was definitely going to be the better trophy wife tonight, even if he was exhausted and coming from four hours of dancing.

As soon as Race was in his Uber and had an ETA he trusted, he texted Spot.

mdtrm ran ovr b there 5 min l8 blame al

Okay

ur gonna wow her n then well get wine drunk w javid 2nite 2 celbr8

After texting Jack and Davey to make sure they could get wine drunk when Race and Spot got home, Race was happy to find his AirPods shoved into his wallet and he put them in so he could start reviewing the choreography for his upcoming Repertory midterm in his head. He got another text from Spot when he was about five minutes from the restaurant.

They're seating us now. Just ask for Taylor Caine.

k eta 4 min ur gonna kill it luv u

Race went right to the hostess when he entered the restaurant. She probably had a fancier title than hostess at a place like this but Race definitely didn't know the word, even if it was probably Italian. "Hi, I think my party's already been seated. I'm with Taylor Caine?"

The hostess gave him a once over, eyes catching on his poorly tied tie. "Of course, follow me, sir." She led Race through the main dining area and to another, smaller area where Race immediately picked out Spot and his group. He waved, hoping to catch Spot's eye and sure enough Spot saw him, his face brightening in a way that most people didn't recognize.

"Speak of the devil," he said, grinning as Race took the empty seat between Spot and who he assumed was asshole classmate's girlfriend. "This is my boyfriend, Antonio Higgins."

"Call me Tony, please," Race said, as if he ever used that name. "I'm so sorry I'm late, my dance midterm ran over."

The woman on the other side of Spot set her menu down and pushed her reading glasses on top of her head, offering her hand to Race, who took it. "No worries at all, we've only just ordered our drinks. I'm Taylor Caine."

"Oh the famous Professor Caine," Race crowed. "It's so great to meet you after all of Sean's stories."

"Only good ones I hope?"

"The best," Race agreed, grinning at Spot, who was getting the look he did when he was almost about to blush. Race decided to back off a little instead of laying it on so thick. "He loves your classes."

"Oh don't flatter her," the woman next to her said. The way she put her hand on Taylor's shoulder spoke of  years of easy familiarity and it made Race smile to think of having that with someone- with Spot- one day. "I'll never hear the end of it. I'm Dalia."

Race shook her hand and then turned to the man at her side- presumably Spot's classmate. Race offered his hand. The man took it, but not before staring at it disdainfully. He eventually deigned to introduce himself to Race, but not before Race reintroduced himself first. “Antonio Higgins.”

 "Joseph Huntington III. This is my fiancée, Kelly Smaltzer."

"Great to meet you." Race was sitting next to Kelly so he turned to her as well and offered his hand, which she shook. "That dress is absolutely beautiful. Vera Wang?"

Kelly's face lit up. She was very pretty and Race felt a little bitter. "Thank you, yes. How did you know?"

While the others discussed whatever it was lawyers discussed, Race told her about Jack’s internship at the fashion magazine and how they would obsess over spreads together for hours and they fell into an easy conversation about fashion magazines. Kelly, it turned out, was writing for the website of a competing fashion magazine but she quietly admitted to Race that she was hoping to break away from fluff pieces soon and then move to a magazine more like the one Jack worked at- one that was focused on fashion but strived for inclusivity and female empowerment. She had some interesting ideas and Race was slowly starting to like her. She and Jack would be a force to be reckoned with if put in the same room together. If they were relegated to conversation as trophy wives for the night, he didn’t think he would mind it.

Eventually the waiter appeared with drinks. Spot leaned into Race's space to tell him, "I ordered you a seltzer, babe."

Race kissed Spot on the cheek, taking his glass from the waiter. "Perfect, thanks." 

As the waiter took their orders, Race suddenly realized he hadn’t looked over the menu at all- a dangerous choice, since he could be pretty picky with his Italian food. He began reading over but he only got through two appetizers before Spot interrupted him, quietly pointing out two of the menu items. “There’s lasagna you’ll like and a pasta primavera, if you want something lighter.”

“You know me too well,” he said with a wink and Spot rolled his eyes. He thought he heard Joseph scoff but he ignored it.

Once they'd settled back into conversation after ordering, Race found himself the center of attention. "So, Tony," Taylor said as she put away her reading glasses. "Sean tells me you're also at Columbia?"

Race nodded. "I am. I'm still an undergrad though- only a junior. Sean's too smart for me; he graduated high school and undergrad early."

"Don't sell yourself short. You’re-" Spot started but was interrupted by Joseph.

"You're a dance major then?"

"Yes," Race said, taking a sip of his seltzer, "a dance major and-"

“And what do you plan to do with that?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure yet but I also-”

"At Yale, dance is folded into the Theater Studies major. It’s not a very popular major. Most students at Yale choose a more… useful path for undergrad. I majored in political science. Joseph continued, a not so subtle attempt at shifting the focus of conversation to himself..

"Oh, how interesting," Dalia said, sounding perfectly interested though Race didn’t miss the little annoyed look that crossed her face.

Joseph launched into what was probably meant to sound like a description of undergraduate life in New Haven but was actually just a thinly veiled list of his accomplishments. Race nodded politely at all the right points in Joseph’s resume but caught Spot tensing his body out of the corner of his eye. Hoping to head off Spot’s seething, Race grabbed his hand under the table and squeezed it once, shaking his head a little. He waited for Spot to nod back to him before turning to Kelly. God, Spot could be such a drama queen. And, coming from Race, who was now leading on the pettiness scoreboard in their apartment, that was saying a lot.

Race turned back to Kelly, hoping to hear more of her ideas for future articles. She seemed excited just to have the chance to talk about them and after listening to both Katherine and Sarah rant for hours on end, Race felt like he knew how to actually engage in the conversation as an ally without being a total jerk.

By the time their food came, it was clear to Race that Spot’s assessment of Joseph as a Grade A Asshole was correct. He attempted to make every conversation about him and his opinions. He kept making digs at Spot’s less than ideal childhood and cutting off his own fiancée to speak for her. He was sitting next to Dalia but spent the whole time clearly trying to impress Taylor. In his effort to engage with Taylor, he ended up essentially ignoring Dalia, Kelly, and Race, and only engaging with Spot because he had to. No one seemed overly impressed with his accomplishments or his attitude which helped restore Race’s faith in humanity a little but it did not make for a fun dinner table.

Race could tell Spot was getting closer and closer to going off. His jaw was tight and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists under the table. It was one of the things Race loved most about Spot- his righteous outrage in the face of someone treating others like shit- but now was not the time for an outburst. He kept one hand just above Spot’s knee, even while talking to Kelly, slowly rubbing circles right above his knee cap.

Taylor and Dalia were wonderful, trying to keep everyone involved in the conversation. It was when they asked Kelly about herself that Race really started to get annoyed with Joseph. He kept talking over her, even when she was asked a direct question, ascribing opinions to her that Race could tell from her face she didn’t really hold. He told their engagement story with a focus on how amazing his plan had been while barely mentioning Kelly. When he excused himself to use the bathroom shortly after that, Race made it a point to ask Kelly again about the articles she wanted to write for her magazine. Taylor and Dalia both listened intently to her ideas of what fashion magazines could- and should- be.

“Sorry,” she said after a few minutes, putting her hands back in her lap and blushing a little. “I just get really excited about this kind of stuff.”

“No, no,” Taylor said. “Don’t apologize, you have a lot of really intelligent ideas and you’re very good at expressing them.”

Kelly beamed. “Thank you. I don’t have much chance to talk about them, even at work.”

Dalia hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “I remember seeing some profiles on your magazine recently. I thought they mentioned how progressive it was.”

“In some ways, it is,” Kelly said thoughtfully. “But in a lot of ways it’s white feminism and it’s lip service. There are a few articles on intersectionality in relation to feminism that I was sure I would get to write if I pitched them but I’ve been shut down again and again. They only want the type of feminism that’s palatable to their investors and they refuse to push for anything more. And we need to push for more. Intersectionality is the most important part of feminism and if I can somehow provide visibility to trans women or women of color-”

“This again, honey?” Joseph said, grinning as he sat down. “Sorry about that. She gets overexcited sometimes.”

Kelly looked visibly upset but also a little like she was used to it. “I’m not overexcited, Joey. This is important.”

“I don’t know why you care so much. It doesn’t affect you.”

“It does and even if it didn’t, then it’s even more important for me to care.”

Race could see a real argument brewing and, while he wouldn’t mind Joseph making himself out to be even more of an asshole, Kelly didn’t deserve to be put down in the middle of a restaurant, by her fiancee, when she was right. Without even thinking about it, Race took a sip of his almost finished seltzer and then set down his glass towards the edge of the table, tipping it into his own lap. “Oh my god, I’m such a klutz.” He stood, giving Spot a significant look and hoping his boyfriend picked up his cue to change the subject. “Excuse me, I’ll just go clean myself up.”

Race pulled a waitress aside as he headed to the bathroom, telling her about the spill. He cleaned himself up quickly. Thankfully, the air dryer helped with his wet pants. By the time he returned to the table, everyone seemed calm, though Kelly was decidedly not looking at Joseph. Dalia was speaking when Race sat down again. “I can’t say much obviously but it’s very exciting to represent them, even just in the patent filings. I mean, I have a degree in physics so it’s fun to go back to my roots with all the intermediary work before their next spacecraft is ready. Oh, Tony, is everything all right?”

“All set,” he said, taking his seat. “Just a little seltzer. Sorry, did you say you were working on patents for a spacecraft? Is it the Kord Industries one?”

Dalia’s eyes brightened. “Yes, actually, do you know it?”

“I do,” Race said at the same time that Joseph snorted. Race ignored it but could feel Spot seething next to him and reflexively reached a hand down to grab his knee. Spot was not going to blow his shot at this internship over whatever he thought was Race’s honor; not if Race could help it.

“And how do you feel about them? Most people who know enough to recognize them from such a brief description have strong opinions.”

“Oh, he does,” Spot said, a lot calmer than Race would expect.

Race laughed. “I guess that’s fair. I-“

“What would a dance major know about spacecraft?” Joseph had said it quietly to Kelly, who did not look pleased with him. The comment was clearly meant just for her but he hadn’t said it quietly enough because the whole table had heard him loud and clear. 

“Joseph,” Kelly said, sounding scandalized. “Stop it.”

“It’s okay, Kelly,” Race said, forcing a smile onto his face, even though he was kind of exhausted from dealing with Joseph tonight.

“No, it’s not okay,” Spot interjected, standing in his seat and leaning over the table a little. “Antonio is double majoring in Dance and Astrophysics, which you would know if you hadn’t been interrupting him all night. He is the smartest and most passionate man I know. He has more talent in his pinky finger than you have in your entire body and will graduate with two very difficult degrees with no class overlap from an Ivy League school in 4 years. He’s already co-authored 2 papers as an undergrad and presented at 4 major conferences this year alone. And what have you done? Relied on daddy’s name for a degree and law school entry?”

“Spot,” Race hissed under his breath, tugging on Spot’s wrist. Both Joseph and Kelly were frozen on the other side of the table. “Sit down.”

“No, Racer. He’s been rude to everyone all night and he doesn’t get to insult your intelligence because one of your majors is dance and he couldn’t bother to listen to you and find out the other.”

Joseph seemed to have collected himself enough to lift an eyebrow, looking amused. “And you got in based on what? The scholarship for poor orphaned kids from Queens?”

“I’m from Brooklyn, asshole” Spot hissed and Race almost laughed. Leave it to Spot to bring up Brooklyn rather than his LSAT score of 179.

“I’m sorry but that is completely inappropriate language for a restaurant like this,” Joseph said still sounding amused. He looked to Dalia and Taylor, apparently aiming for conspiratorial. “I guess a place at Columbia is no guarantee for good breeding.” He turned back to Spot and Race, arms crossed as if he had won. “You should go now.”

“Actually, I think you should go, Joseph.” All eyes turned to Taylor who did not look happy at all. “Sean is right. You’ve been very rude tonight and I can’t say I blame him for lashing out. Kelly, darling, you’re welcome to stay. I’d love to hear more about your article ideas.”

Joseph’s absolutely shocked face would forever be one of Race’s favorite memories. He seemed frozen in his shock but Kelly jumped to action, standing and pulling Joseph up with her. “Thank you so much, Taylor, Dalia, but we’ll both be going. Sean, it was lovely to meet you. Tony, I’ll send you that article I was telling you about. Thank you all so much again. Have a lovely night.”

Kelly grabbed her coat and purse and pulled a shell shocked Joseph out behind her, without another word from him. Spot relaxed a little as he sat back down but Race saw the exact moment that he realized what had just happened.

“Professor, I am so sorry, that was completely inappropriate. We should go too-”

“Please don’t,” Taylor said. “You and Tony have been a delight tonight unlike Joseph. This is exactly why I do these dinners. You never know how a student behaves outside of class unless you meet them outside of class.”

“Yes, please stay,” Dalia said. “I’d like to hear Tony’s opinions on the Kord Industries spacecraft. The younger generation tends to have the most innovative thoughts on these things, in my experience. But first you’ll have to tell us where the nicknames Spot and Racer come from.”

Spot and Race grinned at each other. 

“Well, you see,” Spot started, turning back to the older women. “My brother likes to think he’s very good at giving people nicknames.”

[douxreviews]

Cloak and Dagger - ‘Blue Note’ Review

"Make them ride the highs and lows with us until we all come out the other side, changed."

Dangit show, please don't make me feel bad for Lia. I refuse to feel bad for Lia.

OK, I feel a little bad for Lia.

This is a story about ascension.

They may have mentioned it a time or two. 'Power up.' 'Get to the next level.' 'Run the scale until you get to the top.' You know, the occasional subtle hint.

In which case, it's probably germane to start the discussion with the title. Forgive me in advance if you're a proper student of Jazz as a form. I'm personally not, as you'll see in just a moment. I apologize for the grotesque oversimplification that follows.

A blue note, in jazz, is 'a minor interval where a major is expected. A note played at a slightly different pitch.' The upshot is that after running a musical scale, instead of playing the expected major finish to the scale you play a different note. A 'blue' note. Typically a variant of the expected major off by somewhere between a semitone and a quartertone.

That feels like an accurate and specific description of Andre's ascension into becoming a Loa, almost certainly intentionally. He's ascending and it's going to end up slightly darker and 'off.'  It helps that Andre himself is specifically underlining the metaphor right from the very first scene of the episode. Ninety-six months before the current events, Andre and his band were about to play a show that was intended to make their name in the music world. Andre specifically refers to the LPs of the jazz greats in the bin at the record studio as 'the gods.'  Further, he clearly states that it's his intention to become one of them through playing his performance. Through running the scale up to the blue note, he intends to become one of the gods. You just cannot state a thematic metaphor more directly than that.

Sadly for Andre, that's the night of his first migraine, which brings the show, and his career, crashing down around him. That's right, a good chunk of this week's episode is devoted to Andre's secret origin.

The timing for this background information isn't terrible, although it does feel a little bit like we're turning our wheels waiting for the big final confrontation. Fortunately they get away with it for a few different reasons. The primary one being the performance of Brooklyn McLinn as Andre. Despite the truly terrible things that we've seen Andre do, and the terrible things he continues to do in this episode, it's impossible not to feel for him during the scenes of his attempted suicide. That's not easy to do, as the scenes are solo and completely without dialogue. The only thing that doesn't really work about the flashback sequences, and it's a minor thing, is the way his migraines are timed to onset with his attempt to hit the blue note. There's an unpleasant aspect of 'you flew too close to the sun' about it that seems to almost be blaming Andre for his own migraines, as if they were caused by his own hubris. That struck an unpleasant note for me, no pun intended.

Another aspect of the structure that made the flashbacks not feel like they were just wasting time is that by devoting a little time to telling Andre's backstory they could simultaneously use that time to clear up a few extraneous plot threads before next week's finale. So Tandy and Mayhem track down Lia's body, while Ty goes to resolve that 'gangs want him dead' issue that's still lingering on the periphery.

I have to say, Ty's 'negotiation' techniques with the gang leaders were just wonderful. I honestly thought he'd let the one die when he threw him off the roof. Good on Ty for knowing how to use his powers to the best effect by this point, and for knowing that he can't really do anything about people buying drugs for themselves. So he focused on what he could, and now the gangs of New Orleans know better than to try to sell drugs which will be used in human trafficking. That was a good resolution to that thread. Obviously in a comic book show you can't have your characters magically 'fix' something as genuinely awful as human trafficking without coming across as crass. This was a good way to show Ty making a difference without crossing a line into something distasteful. Well judged.

Meanwhile, Tandy and Mayhem hash out whether extra-judicial murder is ever justified by the expedience of Tandy believing it is, then looking into the soul of someone who seems truly irredeemable and learning to see their humanity. Mayhem was a good foil for that particular character journey, and neither the character nor the journey outstayed its welcome.

Which brings me neatly back to the last reason that the structure of Andre's flashbacks didn't feel like a waste of time. They used our assumptions about how flashbacks work to pull an impressive rug-pull and have Andre of today's plot suddenly dovetail and interact with the Andre of seven-ish years ago's plot. Apparently, Andre of today sensed Lia being given back her hope and reached out into her despair space of seven years ago and stopped Tandy from giving her hope back to her.

Notice that the above paragraph, when written down starkly like that, sounds absolutely 100% bat-sh*t crazy and does not make a lick of logical sense. But in the episode it makes perfect aesthetic sense, and I've never seen a flashback structure used in that way before, which makes me love it. Who needs logic when you have visual poetry.

So, after giving us some backstory and cleaning up some side plots, the episode arrives at the only tangible thing that you can point to and say really 'happened' this week, if you're just looking at it in terms of pure plot progress. Andre has summoned all the girls he's 'infected' with despair to the sight of that fatal jazz performance and played the blue note, successfully 'leveling up' and getting through the locked door in his despair dimension. Cue next week's climactic battle.

It shouldn't all hang together and feel like one complete piece, but it does without question, and it's all down to the expert application of that ascension theme we started this discussion with. If I was going to compare the plot structure to music, I would call it jazz. Really, good jazz.

Bits and Pieces:

-- Very cool combination trick of Tandy throwing the light knife into Ty who teleported to where it needed to be released. Too bad it was just a little too late.

-- Andre's veve lines lighting up looked a lot like he was finding cell reception.

-- Nice little seed early on of showing Melissa Bowen's records in Andre's record store of despair.

-- I actually believed that Tandy was trying to protect Loa from waking up in an ambulance with strange men after what she'd been through. That was a clever ruse.

-- I feel like we were denied a very interesting conversation of Ty finding out that Evita got god-married.

-- Ty teleporting does not interrupt his cell reception or drop any call he happens to be on at the time. That's suspiciously dependable cell service.

-- I suspect that they showed Adina burning the bloody newspapers both as a way for Ty to understand that she'd murdered Connors and to tell the viewers, 'No, we're not faking you out, she totally killed him for real.'

-- Will Brigid get a turn at being in control of her hybrid body after the crisis is over?

-- It was a little awkward having people suddenly vanishing as a plot point what with the snap still being theoretically a thing. I'm not sure where exactly this season of Cloak & Dagger fits in relation to Infinity War, but it definitely made me second guess if that was related to what happened.

-- Tandy's plan of borrowing younger-Lia's hope in the form of sheet music and giving it to older Lia in order to give her hope back was a really elegant plan. On most shows that would have worked.

-- “Luke Cage in Harlem rumble” by Karen Page. That entire scene with Solomon is why representation is so important. Luke Cage is a hero that looks like him and because of that he inspires him to try to be better. That. That's why representation matters. Every kid deserves to see themselves in their heroes.

-- When Ty or Tandy touch someone they go into that person's 'realm' for lack of a better world. When Andre touches someone he pulls them into his. That feels like an important distinction.

Quotes:

Tandy: "Tyrone, if you ask me about my feelings one more time I’m seriously gonna kill you."

Tandy: "Brigid was a better liar." Mayhem: "Yeah, well that’s about all she was better at."

Soloman: "Sometimes you can’t fix things. Some things are just broke."

Ty: "Which one is she?" Tandy: "Both of them."

Tandy: "When all hope is gone, this is what’s left."

Tandy: "You can’t kill her. An hour ago you practically begged me not to hurt her." Mayhem: "An hour ago she had something I wanted."

A solid penultimate episode that got all of the necessary setup in place for what looks like to be an explosive finale.

Three out of four abandoned trumpets

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[rosykims]

5 + 10 for emeraude, 14 + 18 for effie, 19 + 24 for arylene and 30 through 45 for imogen bc i love her so much ? 😏😏😏

fdjkfjkfdk thank u SO much maia i absolutely Treasure You !

EMERAUDE HAWKE - DA2

What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

emeraudes fashion sense is probably my favourite out of all my ocs, so uh if u havent looked at her pinterest board yet u should do that bc its Very cute hehehe

anyway for the most part she sticks to dark, practical clothing whenever she's out and about in kirkwall or doing merc work, etc. she picks clothes that convey strength and power, but she likes having a little bit of colour somewhere on the piece, just to keep things interesting. she's not much of an embroider, but was a good way to keep herself distracted during hard times, so she tends to add little patterns here and there whenever she gets the chance!

as for special occasions, for her this would actually just be. a quiet night at home or a relaxed gathering with her friends. bc its so rare for her to have that lmao. anyway for events like that she usually wears light colours and soft fabrics, simple but always decorated with flowers or colourful patterns.

What does your OC keep in a special drawer?

she has a collection of gifts ! that kids from lowtown would give her over the years she spent in kirkwall. she's a very community based person and wants to do right for her city, and shes very nurturing (in an ironical, Cool Big Sister way) so she likes making sure all the kids are safe and being looked after. she gets a lot of trinkets and strange gifts from some of the kids as a result, but she does treasure them (even if she laughs about it with her friends) and keeps them all !

EFFIE RYDER - MEA

Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life?

effie's maternal rolemodel has always been her late mother, ellen. nobody could really fill that role in her eyes, since they had such a close, positive relationship before she passed. her relationship with her dad was a lot more strained and it really impacted a lot of her relationships later on in life too ! she tends to.... see an older man who is Vaguely Nice to her, and then think “ oh, youre my dad now?” which isnt fair to anybody obviously but yeah she,,,, has a lot of unresolved issues regarding alec and tends to unintentionally project so. We stan !

How many times did your OC move as a child? Which area was his/her favorite?

oh constantly lol. With her dad being an n7 and her mother working so hard on her research, they tended to move around wherever her parents work required. she actually enjoyed it this way. she was never good at making long term friends, but she lived meeting new people, and obviously with the move she got to experience a lot of different cultures which really put the idea of adventuring and travelling in her head at a young age.

ARYLENE TORR - TES IV

What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them?

she likes them ! she tends to keep her distance with most communities and groups of people in particular, but she does like enjoys having the odd conversation with the odd street urchin here and there, either sharing with them some strange, ridiculous life advice or – if shes feeling particularly chaotic – telling them the scariest stories she can think of. as for having them, arylene isnt AGAINST the idea, but she has far too much for the foreseeable future for that to ever be a good idea

Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

outwardly, arylene is an almost unbearably easy going person, so you would assume she doesnt hate anyone lol. but she does DEEEPLY dislike cults and groups of ignorant people who are arrogant enough to start messing with the balance of life, or making deals with gods, etc. she believes that people like that can do an unbelievable amount of damage, so she invests a lot of time and effort it sabotaging any group or plot she happens to find !

 IMOGEN FOSTER - RDR2

Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they?

hmm idk if this even EXISTED in 19th century london lol, but she would have done some very tame version of girl scouts as a child! She barely remembers any of it, but she liked the classes on what plants did what, which were safe to eat, and the likes. its something that helps her a lot when on the run with the gang, and something shes always had a personal interest in, as a nurse !

other than that, she’s done a lot of independent study on history, classical literature, and she speaks fluent italian we stan !

What is your OC’s opinion of school? What kind of student was s/he?

imogen comes from a very wealthy aristocratic family, so she was very fortunate that her privilege afforded her the education she got at the time. she is VERY grateful to have attended the schools she did, and she made sure to make the most of it, paying attention in class and studying harder than most of her classmates. she's a smart girl with a very active mind, so knowledge is something she can't get enough of. she was actually petitioning the board of education to allow her to attend university before she left for america – already their had been women accepted into universities at that time, but obviously it was still a very scandalous thing lol, especially since imogen wanted to study medicine.

What subjects did your OC excel at?

imogen is a HUGE overachiever and did pretty well at basically everything from science, mathematics, language studies and later on, in her studies as a nurse. i can tell you what shes bad at though lmao

anything physical really dkdkdks she is TERRIBLE at horse-riding since she usually just went by carriage everywhere in the city. art and poetry and writing in general she was never great at, because she's a pretty logical person and was told she never put enough emotion in her work lol !!! sports...obviously was very limited anyway as growing up in like? the early 1870s lol. and as for the traditionally feminine lessons in like ?? sewing and cooking and stuff well ! she was very average at them which made her  feel worse than if she was actually bad bc she's so used to excelling and making a name for herself oof

What subjects interested your OC?

Imogen loves greek literature and mythology !! the iliad is her favourite book and she keeps her heavily annotated, dog eared copy – a gift from her late father – on her person almost constantly. needless to say its why dutch admires her as much as he does lol.

obviously, as a nurse-trying-to-be-a-doctor, she has a great love for medicine in all its forms. she's always been fascinated in natural remedies, and even moreso when she's running with the van der linde gang and is really relying on the land to survive.

What is your OC’s dream job and/or current profession?

hmm okay so. Technically she's a nurse – she worked in her father's hospital for almost 10 years prior to his death, and she was sort of his unofficial understudy, as in she knows a LOT more than her job description requires lol. but after her father past away, another, less progressive man took his place as chief of surgery and made a lot of changes to the way the hospital operated, and imogen was let go. she and her mother were fighting against it, however, under the ground of unfair dismissal, but obviously given the time period it didnt get them very far. so ! i mean technically she's unemployed rn. but she still has dreams of being a doctor, or at least continuing her career in medicine.

How is your OC working towards their dream job and/or achieved their current profession?

Oh VERY direct action up until she got disheartened and chose to take her sabbatical. she had been working in her role for nearly a decade, and was very obviously one of the most experienced nurses there. even younger doctors would sometimes ask her for her medical opinion dksksks anyway what i am saying is Brain Very Good. she had been fighting to gain admission into a university – any, she wasnt picky – to study medicine officially, but it didnt get very far and she put it on hold after her father got sick. after he died and she was laid off, she fought even harder against the city to reinstate her title, and continues to fight after she returns from america a year or so later.

What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession?

helping people is her entire life, and she wouldn't know what to do without it. she loves being a nurse enough to fight to be a doctor, but also in BEING a nurse, she is hyperaware of all the things current medical standards seem to get wrong, and she has a lot of ideas about how else to go about things. her father, a shockingly progressive and worldly man for the time period, shared her sentiment, but he wasn't able to make the changes he wanted to before he passed, so imogen hopes she can be the change herself, and make her father proud

What is your OC’s biggest dream?

being a licenced doctor, babey ! preferably at her father's hospital, but at the point she will take what she can get.

How does your OC react to and handle stress?

imogen  handles stress very well , which is partially why she makes such a good medic, and also how she managed to survive the first week of being with the van der linde gang lmao. she is very good at shutting out EVERY distraction when things get dicey, and her brain tends to move at a million miles an hour. all traces of english etiquette and politeness go out the window, though, so you'll usually catch her barking orders at people, and yelling at anyone who prevents her from doing the work she needs to do. it.....is a big wake up call for people like dutch and micah, and gets her into a LOT of trouble on multiple occasions.

How does your OC handle anger?

ooo......not great. she’s grown up with parents who maybe encouraged her to speak her mind a bit....TOO much given the historical circumstances lol. she really doesn’t stand for ignorance or prejudices in any capacity, and if she has a problem with someone and it gets in the way of her trying to do her work or help others - she will ABSOLUTELY be having words. she also overestimates her own strength quite a lot. she’s tried to throw hands with micah MANY times, often forgetting she’s this tiny 70kg englishwoman and he’s .... Him sdjkdcjkf. she has a big mouth too so she often says snide remarks without even meaning too, which tends to get her in trouble as well. on the bright side, it also helps her fit in with the gang quite well, because for the most part they all appreciate how wild she is lmao

How does your OC handle grief?

hmm i guess it depends on what you would class as “well”? she doesnt cry very often - being stoic and handling your emotions is important when your a nurse - but she does tend to shove her feelings down far longer than she should, and tries to pretend they don’t exist by simply focusing on other things. she also blames herself when a lot of things go wrong, because she’s a perfectionist and wants to FIX everything, so when she finds something - or someone - she can’t save, it feels like a personal failure. like she let them down :(

What is your OC’s greatest fear?

probably being trapped in an unhappy, unfulfilling marriage with someone who undervalues her. she’s not much of a homebody and doesn’t have too much of an interest in being married, but the idea of feeling FORCED to marry someone in order to have a decent quality of life makes her blood run cold oof

What makes your OC happy?

helping people ! meeting new folks ! learning about other cultures and ways of life! learning about NEW THINGS in general ! proving people wrong ! insulting micah !

as tough and high-and-mighty as she sometimes seems, she’s a pretty easy person to please, honestly. treat her with respect, give her space to do the things she wants to do, and don’t get in the way of her opportunities to learn new things, and she’s mostly very happy !

What kind of sense of humor does your OC have?

she has a fairly macabre and sardonic sense of humour, something she picked up from her mother. she says a lot of Shocking things for the time period, and she’s not shy of dirty jokes either. the first time sean heard her, a soft, well spoken english Lady, make some filthy, crude joke, he nearly had a stroke right there on the spot kjkjkfdjkf

What are some things that greatly upset your OC?

senseless violence, suffering or cruelty. she really hated the gang at first and hoped to escape the first chance she got, because all she could see was the crime and disregard for human life she assumed they all held. fortunately, as she got to know them, she realized this wasn’t exactly the case, but she still has a lot of anger in her heart for a few key members of the gang who seem to enjoy bloodshed more than anything. she also hates any form of social prejudice, and people who gatekeep knowledge and opportunities from others.

What are some things that annoy your OC?

i guess all of the above, but she also dislikes misplaced arrogance, and people who talk down to others. she tolerates dutch, but often gets frustrated with the way he speaks, using as many big words as he can to manipulate and confuse others. she believes that really intelligence doesn’t require obscure jargon and big, fancy words - she likes keeping things simple, so everybody can follow along.

[ooey-and-gooey]

Here is Ran’s bio!

Name: Ran Minamoto

Gender: female

Age: depends on what point in the story, usually 16 in RP

Ssxuality: Bisexual

Occupation: student

Height: 5'4

“Hair” color: cool purple

Eye color: inverted black eyes with yellow pupils

Narionality: Japanese

School: UA

Hero Stuff- Hero/Villain Name: Ran (undecided)

Costume:(none yet)

Quirk: Goo

Weapons: a whip

Personality- Personality: Ran is a very passionate person, the kind of passionate that only pages and pages of essays and debates could help with. She has strong ideals of being a hero and sticks by them closely. She is observant and quick thinking. She knows what she can handle and is the type of person so try almost anything once. The girl is friendly to everyone except those who have- in her eyes - skewed morals/ideals. Ran gives off a very chill vibe most of the time except when it comes to her academics and career, as well as her ideals, any other time she will go with the flow. She’s an extrovert and acts very cool though when she is alone, can be very obsessive. Ran is very very paranoid. She spends most of her time researching things about her parents and such and barely get much sleep. Her calm and collected facade is brought on with people surrounding her - That is when she is the most relaxed. If it were not for her baggage, Ran would probably act this way always. She is easy going and a risk taker around people, but a mess when not.

Likes: pro heroes, social media, winning debates, writing, being listened to, talking, supporting her friends, passionate people, people on journeys, cats, researching, breakthroughs

Dislikes: her parents, people who follow the ideals of stain, stains ideals, villains, people with weak ideals, people easily swayed or persuaded, the crowd mentality

Interests: writing, reading, presenting speeches, sparring Fears: Society changing for the worst, being vulnerable, failure

Goals: - Ran would very much like to confront her parents and try to argue with them -She would like to be the one to capture her parents -She wants to be an influencer, weather that means being a big role model as a hero or trying to become a teacher, she’s all for it - Ran wants to make sure she is known. She makes it a point to make good first impressions so that she is never forgotten thus her ideals are never forgotten.

Family- Parents: Haruhi and Kazuhiko

Siblings: none Relationships-

Friends: Maki Aiko, Maki Harumi, Hitoshi Shinsou

Crush: hmmm

Enemies: her parentsahaha ~~~Quirk~~~ Quirk name: slime Description: 80% of her body is made of the goo like texture you see. She has basic organs and can function like a normal human being however most of her fat, muscle, and other parts are made of the substance. She can transfer her mass but is limited to a simple human body shape. The only removable part of her body is her hair, which she can rip parts of and stick places.

Strengths: most projectiles will not affect her, mostly just getting stuck in her. She can change her appearance. She is a quick thinker and knows what bite would be too much for her to chew. Has a high pain tolerance as some attacks (with blunt objects) can bounce off of her. She can become slippery?

Weaknesses: She lacks in one on one combat and full frontal attacks. She can get carried away with emotion in some cases which causes her wits to become faulty. She can be affected by projectile attacks if they go all the way through her. She does not do well in intense heat, can melt without being about to control it.

Costume description: she wears a tough material (usual hard to rip, water resistant and fire resistant fabric) as a leotard. Her shoes/ankles, bracelets, belt, and rubber band are actually hidden whips - each rectangular shape being a handle. (In her shoes’ case, the handles are built into the sole of the shoe). Her whips are gold in color. Her leotard extends in a drippy pattern to her legs. In the chest area of her leotard, there is a teardrop shaped keyhole though it is placed above her neck and is only there for decoration. (Its not there to show her breasts, That’s why it’s places a litter higher)

Character summary: Ran was raised by her parents for a short amount of time. Because they had seemed so busy with their “work” - some undescribed business they run- Ran was mostly watched after by her grandmother. The family lived in her grandmother’s house, all seeming to get along somewhat. Her parents raised her with a specific set of ideals, telling her to think for herself, to always question authority and question what the general public thought was right. Though she didn’t have much say, this was suspicious to Ran’s grandmother. Years of week long business trips and the occasional conflict between the parents and Ran’s grandmother flew by. This would lead to Ran being a sort of mature child, that tried to keep as in-the-know as possible whenever her parents were leaving and weren’t leaving - that way if she had needed them to be somewhere, she would or wouldn’t get her hopes up. Suspicion began to grow as the windows in which her parents were absent began to grow. This tense curiosity would breech it’s breaking point for Ran’s grandmother when an event was exposed on the news. Some sort of group, terrorizing the city and trying to spread their message- down with hero society. When the leaders of this group were identified, it was Ran’s house that was searched endlessly and the two were questioned. Of course both Ran and her grandmother had no idea what had happened, nor did they even know that both these people had the capability to do such an act. Though the event did not kill anyone, it did injure some with the use of firework-like bombs and some thick smoke that flooded the area. After this horrendous event, Ran’s grandmother was left to care for Ran. At this point, Ran had some vague idea of what was happening, though never asked her grandma about it- feeling she would receive no answer. Ran grew up very loving with her grandma. She was very close to the woman and acted as good as any kid could, though had always been mature for her age. Ran’s parents were on the run, though would most likely never return. As time went on, Ran became more and more interested in the ideas of justice and what it meant to be a hero. At first she was not fascinated by the glamor of heroes, their desire to help people, or the fame, but by the concepts behind it. She had become deeply interested in philosophies of what it meant to be a hero and though she had some mincsule problems about the hero industry, she decided what better way to change it for the better, than to become a hero herself. She also took interest in past crimes and organizations, wanting to be knowledgeable on all potential threats. This was when she had found out about her parents, leaders of some dangerous cult, once that had caused harm then vanished. This wasn’t the biggest effect on Ran, only taking her a couple months to get completely over. They had probably fled the country or something, and she wasn’t even particularly attached to them. With her interest in heroes now becoming a full on blossom, Ran found some interest in the genuine ideals of a hero- helping people and making people feel safe. And so, she had applied for U.A, general studies of course. Though she was excited to become a U.A. student, she hasn’t felt like she could transfer into the hero courses just yet. She hasn’t had much time to train and by entrance exams, the gooey girl wasn’t ready. After being accepted into the general studies, Ran worked extra extra hard to make sure she would be able to at least make an impression at the sports festival. In general studies, the girl found a friend in Hitoshi, who seemed to be one of the most, in her opinion, genuine people she’d ever known. The two hold a tight companionship. Around the time of her first getting in, Ran received a letter on her doorstep. This was one of the few letters that was ever addressed to her. Too early to be an entrance exam result, Ran was confused by its presence. Upon opening this mysterious note, she found it was sent from none other than her parents. A sort of “Good luck! :) We’re keeping an eye on you and Gramma!” Letter, which caused Ran to spiral into a paranoid state. Research and research and connecting the dots online led her to hints that the group might still be active. Rather than going to her grandma for help, Ran decided to take matters into her own hands. Apart from training, Ran protects her property as best she can, swearing that she will always take care of her grandmother and if her parents decide to somehow do harm to her, she’ll be ready for it. Though, the way that her grandma acted had made Ran feel she knew what was going on.

Fun fact #1: Ran must keep her PH from becoming too acidic. If she comes in contact with something too acidic, she may involuntarily melting. She may use this to her advantage though! Ran had a certain party trick where she will get everyone to gather around her. She demonstrates how her mouth looks, sticks out her tongue, takes a gulp of the freshest soda she can found, swirl it around in her mouth and swallow. She will then show everyone the damage it does on her mouth (mainly her tongue) which becomes a slimey and dripping mess. People usually react in disgust to this or think it’s really cool.

Also I’m always always always open to RP! I love OCs and I do literate RP so :^) RP also helps my characters develop more soo Thank you for reading!! Have an amazing day!!

[recentanimenews]

Memoirs Most Charming, Part 1

I’ve read a handful of charming memoirs lately, and more are on the way!

I’m a Lucky Guy by Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. This was a reader suggestion from Anne!

Here, Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. (writing without sister Ernestine, his sometime collaborator) recounts various happenings and misadventures from his early adulthood, beginning in 1929 when he’s headed off to college and ending somewhere around 1946, when he has returned from serving in the Navy and resumed his career as a newspaperman. These include things like going out for football whilst scrawny, being mistaken for a gun-toting gangster whilst attempting to hide booze (prohibition was still on) from the cops, pranking an odious professor (and, later, an odious superior officer), and repeatedly failing to live up to the standards of a demanding admiral to whom he has been assigned as aide.

On the whole, I found all of these stories entertaining, though the sole moment that made me laugh out loud was when Frank’s soon-to-be wife and mother-in-law completely excused the lascivious behavior of his friend, which a moment before had scandalized them, upon learning he was Methodist (their preferred denomination).

“You don’t think he’s a Ten Commandment breaker?” I asked. “Why, I’d trust him any place,” Liz said indignantly. “So would I,” said her mother. “I’ve always said that people shouldn’t be judged by circumstantial evidence.” “You’re so right,” I assured her. “Probably,” she continued, fishing around for a likely excuse, “probably—well, probably the doctor sent that girl over to your apartment to change the boy’s bandage, again, before he went to bed.” I was tempted to break into a high-pitched giggle, but I looked at Liz and caught a warning. “That’s probably just the way it happened,” I nodded gravely.

Unfortunately, it does seem Frank shares a little of the antipathy toward overweight people that his sister possesses. I don’t mind when he accurately describes a person’s physical characteristics—if a bosom is ample and an abdomen abundant, there’s really no getting around that—but when he makes comments about fellow student Sallye—whom he later proclaims to be “a real friend”—like no “male student in his right mind” would give her their fraternity pen, it’s just unnecessarily mean. True, Sallye has a tendency to be loud and overbearing, and I’m fairly sure that’s part of what he meant, but not the whole of it.

That criticism aside, I did enjoy this book and I’m glad I read it. Thanks, Anne!

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life: A Sortabiography by Eric Idle Initially, although it was an enjoyable read, I wouldn’t have classified this “sortabiography” from the Monty Python co-founder as charming. Idle recounts his childhood, school days, introduction to the world of comedy, the formation of Monty Python, the run of the original series, and the Python movies without a tremendous amount of detail. He does elaborate more about his independent endeavors, and I especially appreciated learning more about the creation of The Rutles. Using the song “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” as a sort of framework, Idle chronicles the various circumstances after The Life of Brian where he was called upon to sing it, ranging from Graham Chapman’s funeral to the Royal Variety Performance to the closing ceremony of the 2012 Summer Olympics.

As is common for a book of this type, there is a lot of name-dropping, but in this case a lot of the names were people I genuinely like, like Harry Nilsson, George Harrison, David Bowie, Stephen Fry, Peter Cook, Robin Williams, and Eddie Izzard. And, too, Idle toots his own horn rather frequently, which is admittedly justified when you’ve accomplished as much as he has, and makes sure readers know there were times in his life when he was having loads of sex.

Where he really shines, though, is penning touching tributes to friends who are no longer with us. My husband and I listened to Idle read the unabridged audiobook version together, and by the end of the chapter entitled “George,” we were both in tears. The chapter about Robin Williams is no less lovely. I cannot stress enough how wonderful these two chapters are; they alone are worth the price of admission. It does make one wonder why he doesn’t delve so deeply into the character of his comedy partners, and only makes a few mentions of Terry Jones’ dementia, but perhaps it is because they were all still living in 2018, when the book was published. I shall have to find out whether Idle penned any tributes to Jones on the sad occasion of his passing last year.

Life Among the Savages and Raising Demons by Shirley Jackson I’d heard such good things about these books, but my reaction to Life Among the Savages wasn’t what I expected. True, some of the “lightly fictionalized” anecdotes Jackson relates are somewhat amusing, like the family’s struggle to find a house to rent in Vermont, or insisting to the hospital intake person that her occupation is “writer” as opposed to “housewife,” or her son’s fascination with all the gory details after he gets hit by a car. But the vast majority of the stories involve her children behaving badly, and I had very little patience with these at all.

I imagine that other mothers sympathize with these episodes. Perhaps they see their own experience reflected, and so they laugh but also feel all warm inside, in a loving, maternal way. Not so me, I’m afraid. No, whenever the son showed arrogant condescension toward his mother, or her daughter became intolerably fixated on proper decorum, or one kid or the other was insolent and disrespectful, it just made me angry. In fact, I might have said “Shut the fuck up!” aloud a time or two. This is why it is probably a very good thing that I am not a parent.

Thankfully, Raising Demons contains less of that sort of thing (though significantly more than none). I really loved the section in which Jackson waxes nostalgic about her adolescent obsession with making clothespin dolls and her snarky description of life as a faculty wife (who is expected to have “hemming dishtowels” among her hobbies). The story of how she got a new refrigerator was a highlight, as well.

You’ll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey: Crazy Stories About Racism by Amber Ruffin & Lacey Lamar Having seen and adored whimsical clips from The Amber Ruffin Show, I was very excited to see that Amber Ruffin and her older sister Lacey Lamar had written a book together. Although the topic is racist incidents the sisters have endured (mostly Lacey, who lives and works in Omaha), the approach at least attempts to be light-hearted. These aren’t stories where someone gets hurt or dies; instead, they elucidate the kind of crap Black people are just expected to swallow or forget.

I did laugh a few times, particularly at Ruffin’s effervescent line delivery—I listened to the unabridged audiobook read by the authors—but after a while, the unrelenting wave of absolutely flagrant ignorance and hate becomes overwhelming. The commentary on the stories is funny, but the situations themselves are stressful and horrible and eye-opening in the most abject, despair-inducing kind of way. I have never been one to deny that racism exists, but I admit to being surprised and horrified by a lot of these stories, espcially the awful things done to kids. A beautiful drawing torn to shreds, a group of teens accused of stealing car keys when none of them is old enough to drive, kids threatened at gunpoint by a crazy neighbor but nobody calls the cops because who will the cops believe… I also feel terribly naive for being surprised.

I’m glad I read this.

Our Hearts Were Young and Gay and Nuts in May by Cornelia Otis Skinner Note: The former was co-written with Emily Kimbrough.

Our Hearts Were Young and Gay recounts the three months in the early 1920s that two young American women spend abroad in Europe, written when they are older (“Emily and I have now reached the time in life when not only do we lie about our ages, we forget what we’ve said they are.”) and nostalgic for more innocent days. It’s written in Cornelia’s voice, though Emily provides many of the details, and tells of the time their ship ran aground, the time Cornelia caught the measles and evaded quarantine, the time they met H. G. Wells and Emily made an embarrassing first impression, the time they mistook a brothel for a boarding house, the time bedbugs gave Cornelia a swollen lip “shining like a polished tomato,” the time their dogs piddled in a swanky Parisian restaurant, etc. For the most part, it’s quite amusing, but there are a few comments that expose the girls’ ignorant attitudes regarding people of other races and sexual preferences.

Rather than focusing on one particular adventure, Nuts in May is a collection of humorous yet unrelated anecdotes Skinner wrote for publications like The New Yorker. Topics include but are not limited to: actors being asked to lend their talents in aid of charitable organizations, a Protestant family’s audience with the Pope, people who laugh at anything, dizzying real estate transactions, and being interviewed by Dr. Kinsey. Occasionally, the tone turns more domestic and reminds me some of Shirley Jackson, such as in “Bag of Bones,” when Skinner’s son insists that the bones they find on a Colorado trail belong to a dinosaur, or “Those Friends of His,” about her son’s reticence on the origins of his friends who come to visit. The latter also makes reference to a car “teeming with hamsters,” which is a phrase and a visual that I adore. Indeed, there were quite a few giggles to be had, and I reckon I might seek out more of Skinner’s work in the future.

By: Michelle Smith

[oselatra]

Perp walk

Comrade Orange equates his problems, his dilemmas and his bulging portfolio of serial wrongdoings with our country's best interests.

Comrade Orange equates his problems, his dilemmas and his bulging portfolio of serial wrongdoings with our country's best interests. As the judicial system slowly and deliberately tightens the noose around his zesty, bulbous neck, he cries, "This is a disgraceful situation" and an "attack on our country in a true sense." Let's not overlook Putin's Pumpkin's invocation of "witch hunt," his go-to description of any effort to expose his seedy resume chronicling a lifetime of bad acts.

Through rheumy eyes, all he sees is l'etat is under attack, substituting it for himself. What about the rest of us? What do we see?

A wall of orange obscures our vision. On closer examination, we discover a 6-foot, 3-inch, 300-pound behemoth clad in an orange jump suit doing what we've all been waiting for: The infamous perp walk.

L'etat c'est bien!

Harry Herget

Little Rock

Zealots

The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette printed two front-page education stories on April 9. One story told about a unique state program that helps pre-kindergarten children with behavior problems. A significant picture went with the article showing the program's diversity. The first-in-the-nation program served three times as many children than expected. Such a successful plan should qualify it for added support.

Considering economics, the difference between the cost of a well adjusted, productive citizen and a criminal for society can run into the millions. When there are thousands of nonproductive citizens, the cost to society defies calculation. Scrolling through the mug shots tires you before getting to the last page, there are so many. The people in those shots were students at one time and, with help, could have avoided a life of crime.

During my 42-year teaching career, I knew many children that behaved like the ones the new Arkansas program helps. Back then, no special help existed and, sadly, the newspaper recorded the crimes of those who did not make it. Felony convictions put many of these good people in prison, costing Arkansas millions each year. Intervention could have saved most of them.

A part-time job during the summer had me working in an Arkansas prison. I needed help moving some heavy equipment and was told to go out into the yard and pick four men. When I walked into the yard, I heard a chorus of voices calling my name. I picked four former students from the many who had passed through my classroom. I politely turned down their invitation to eat lunch with them.

Early intervention is best but special help must be available for every age. New students at every level enroll during the school year. Circumstances can bring about problems at any age. Problems thought solved might need more help later. Some knotty problems need many years of intervention. This is one of those things that spending money upfront saves many times the amount spent later. The problem is having the money to spend upfront.

The other story was about Alice Walton's charter school loans. She sees pumping a lot of money into charter schools as a bold solution to the problem of paying for charters schools. Obviously, the more charter schools started, the more money they need. It appears the Walton Family Foundation stands ready to give a lot of support to what they call "school choice."

A review of the literature does not justify the Walton Foundation's charter school support. However, facts do not impact those who think they are right. It appears the Walton Foundation thinks that charter schools should replace public schools. Charters call themselves public schools and get public funds but are self-governing. The money given charter schools lessens the money for non-charter schools. Less money for non-charter schools concerns only the people who must use those schools.

When there is an obvious need for more support of public schools and giving that help would save money and improve society, why is support lacking? Furthermore, why are extreme measures to change public education so heavily supported by a distinct segment of society?

Cutting to the chase, one can say there is an overlap of charter school and Trump supporters. To simplify, those supporters will be called zealots. Zealots confer on themselves cheap grace that allows them to use whatever means they need to get what they want. For certain, zealots are free to own and use guns, to go to schools where they choose, to keep bad people from entering the United States, to protect "unborn children" from the moment of conception, and to provide their politicians with unlimited funding.

The wealth of many zealots insulates them from the ravages of poverty and all the things associated with insufficiency. That Alice Walton shares magnificent art with the world shows how much she cares for people. Would Alice Walton consider helping Arkansas fund the new Behavior Help Response System at every grade level? One can hope for rejection of "cheap grace" and the Walton Intervention Plan Everywhere (WIPE) helps wipe away expulsions.

Richard Emmel

Little Rock

From the web

In response to Antwan Phillips' April 12 guest column on his experience as a teenager of being stopped by police after a friend waved a BB gun in a car in which he was a passenger:

As NRA-encouraged fear and paranoia increases the number of guns in the hands of "bad guys," cops more often assume everyone is armed.

Bow ties are back in style

In reading the opening sentences, I was worried where this was going. I was thinking to myself, "I'd call the cops, too!" and then "This isn't going to end well!" Thank goodness a lesson was learned and there was professionalism and common sense used on the part of law enforcement. It's a shame in this day and age we have to worry that those characteristics are not widespread.

bwc76

Very well written story, Antwan. Valid points. I think a key sentence is "In a manner of moments, they evaluated and de-escalated the situation." Today, I see law enforcement (used to be called your neighborhood cop) being trained like they are combat soldiers ready to invade a foreign country. I think the recruitment process for law enforcement should involve more psychological tests to weed out applicants who may not have the right temperament to responsibly carry a gun. They need to practice more on how to shoot with better accuracy. There needs to be more training on how to evaluate a situation before you pull the trigger. Officers take their cue from their supervisors who take their cue from mayors and governors. If the attitude being passed down is shoot first, ask questions later, then that does not bode well for anyone, including law-abiding citizens. A jury is hesitant to convict a police officer for a questionable shooting. I see people's attitudes changing and people do not trust policemen as much as they used to and I think we will see the attitudes of a jury change. In Arkansas, we have certain state legislators aggressively pushing guns into every part of everyone's daily lives, and I think they are setting up an escalation of unnecessary shooting deaths. Why they would want to do this is beyond me.

ShineOnLibby

Tragedies happen because stupid people do stupid things. This weak attempt to make it about race ignores the fact that anytime folks want to discuss the shootings of supposedly innocent, unarmed black men, they use the names of two men who were not innocent, nor unarmed.

Trayvon Martin was shot in self-defense while he was on top of George Zimmerman. Trayvon was trying to murder Zimmerman.

Michael Brown was shot attacking a police officer, reaching into the patrol car in an attempt to use his larger physique as a weapon to disarm a police officer.

The boys in that car were very fortunate, indeed, that the person in the other car was not armed, or they would have rightfully been shot by the people in the other car.

While there is plenty of room for improvements in training, as evidenced by the many incidents of unarmed, complying people of all races being shot down by cops, but to make it a race issue is to forget the issue that the lies told by those pushing this narrative still cling.

Why is it that these same activists do not bring up the name of Johnny Crawford, who was gunned down by police in a Walmart because some guy on the phone called in a false report of a man with a rifle threatening people?  His name should be on that list, Trayvon and Brown should not.

Before we attempt to address any perceived issue, we at least need to start from an honest point of view, with the bare facts available.

Steven E

"The boys in that car were very fortunate, indeed, that the person in the other car was not armed, or they would have rightfully been shot by the people in the other car."

In one sentence you have the mentality of the American gun nut. In a nutshell you might say.

Olphart

From the web in response to the April 17 Arkansas Blog post "Hucthinson: 'GIF money is history':

Just wait till all the mayors and city council members in the little towns start screaming about getting kicked off the teat paying for their community projects.

Asa is likely to flip-flop like Donnie Little Fingers does on anything except Russia.

Why don't they just raise their own taxes to pay for these things? (Rhetorical, OK?)

wannabee conservative

Hutchinson knew it was wrong in 2015, but was more concerned about having the money to dole out in the form of political favors. Now all of the sudden - again - it's the wrong thing to do. Someone needs to ask him why he continued the practice when he clearly understood that the practice was tainted.

Vanessa

What will Jan Morgan cause Asa to say tomorrow?

DeathbyInches

Big Deal. Legislators will just find other ways to turn our tax dollars to their own benefit. They are probably working on doing so as I write this.

Kate

Baloney. GIF not dead. Asa just controls it.

Screen name taken

Lest everyone forget Jon Woods is the sole reason we now have some of the worst ethics rules, extended term limits, doubled salaries and much more garbage after the so-called ethics amendment was passed. Now he is going to prison. Speaks highly of our elected officials doesn't it?

concernedinheber

Perp walk

[shirlleycoyle]

Tracking Down DOPE, the First Computer Language for Normal Humans

BASIC holds an important place in computer programming canon. Hugely popular in the 70s and 80s this programming language introduced an entire generation to computing. The reason for its widespread adoption was simple: BASIC wasn't meant for programmers, it was designed for beginners. The language meshed well with the egalitarian worldview of early home computing. If you could type then you could become a computer user, and if you could become a computer user you could become a programmer.

BASIC didn't come from nowhere. Like any language it has a family tree complete with phylums and roots. The descendants of BASIC are fairly easy to spot, Visual BASIC is about as far afield as they get. But it's ancestry is a different story that not many people know about. The language that inspired a generation does, in fact, have a predecessor called the Dartmouth Oversimplified Programming Experiment, or DOPE.

That name's probably not familiar, but that shouldn't be a surprise. I ran into it almost by chance. Once I learned of this obscure language I found myself in a pretty deep rabbit hole. At the bottom I became one of the few people to run a DOPE program in nearly 60 years. The language is strange, but undeniably shows the skeleton of BASIC starting to form.

What is DOPE, and where does it fit into the larger story of BASIC?

The history of computing is easy to sum up in terms of problems. In the corporate parlance of IBM the worst of these problems were once called dragons, evocative of monsters that programmers were sent out to slay. In the earliest days of the computer one of the biggest dragons around was accessibility. That is, how to get people using computers in the first place. Early computers were hulking beasts in their own right: huge, expensive, and difficult to use. Most often programmers never even touched computers themselves. Instead they would drop off stacks of punched cards for technicians to carefully feed into well protected machines.

In isolation a computer is a novelty. It can hum, crunch numbers, and heat up a room. You need people to actually make computers useful, the more people the better. The state of the art in the late 50s was progressing at a steady pace, but there just weren't enough people in the game. To make matters worse access to machines formed a tight bottleneck. It was never disputed that computers were going to be the future. How exactly that future would develop was another matter.

Programming languages came into being. FORTRAN, ALGOL, and a handful of ancient dialects have their roots in this period. The whole point in developing FORTRAN was to make computing more accessible to non-computer scientists. The key word here being scientists. If you follow FORTRAN's logic then computers are tools for research, something you tuck away in a lab. And while that's one important application it's a limited one. In the grand scheme of things not that many people are scientists. Luckily for us not everyone was a devotee of FORTRAN's vision of the future.

Enter the dragon slayers of our story: John Kemeny and Thomas Kurtz. Kemeny was the longtime chair of the mathematics department at Dartmouth college, and Kurtz was his colleague and fellow researcher.

During WWII Kemeny was involved in the Manhattan Project as a mathematician. While on the project he worked directly with John von Neumann, one of the key figures in early computing. Kemeny spent a year on the project crunching numbers and running figures. In early 1945 his work was done using cumbersome IBM tabulating machines. By the end of the year the first electronic digital computers became operational, and Kemeny witnessed their impact on the Manhattan Project firsthand. The next year Kemeny wrote his first program.

Thomas Kurtz came to the field only slightly later. In 1951 Kurtz attended one of UCLA's Summer Sessions where he saw a computer running for the first time. At the time he was enrolled in Pricneton's graduate program for mathematics. That demo was enough to interest him. Once he learned to program, computing became an integral part of his career. Both saw for themselves how computers changed their own lives, and they realized the technology wouldn't stop there. Computers would only get better and more widespread, the future was going to be digital.

Surrounded by young and impressionable minds the duo set out a task for themselves: teach every student at Dartmouth how to use a computer. STEM students at the college were already being exposed to computers, at least in a limited sense. But that only accounted for a fraction of the student population.

How can you teach an English student to talk to a computer? Why would an aspiring psychologist care about silicon? Sure, computers were going to change everything for everyone. That's nice to say in a lecture, but how do you introduce students to machines?

This would eventually lead to BASIC. Unlike its contemporaries BASIC was designed for non-scientists, and really for non-programmers. Unnecessary constructs were stripped out, data was simplified, syntax was reduced to the bare minimum. The final language would be a masterpiece of restraint. It's not a language a programmer can love but for the vast majority of the populace it's easy to learn.

Compared to its contemporaries BASIC is simple, almost to a fault. Take FORTRAN as an example. In that language variables need to be declared with specific data types, and variable declarations need to be made in specific locations within a program. BASIC doesn't use explicit types, any variable can hold anything you want. You don't even need to declare a variable, just say "LET A = 1" and you are done. Even BASIC's syntax is a breath of fresh air. The language only uses letters, numbers, and a few mathematical operators. You don't have to deal with line endings or brackets.

The downside is that more powerful features are dropped in favor of simplicity. Objects, abstraction, even the aforementioned variable typing, are all absent. BASIC offers just the necessities.

On campus BASIC was a hit. Teachers integrated the language into classes, and students were happy to adopt it. The transition to home computers was an obvious choice. BASIC became the de facto introduction to the digital realm for millions.

The most authoritative source on BASIC's development is the aptly named "Back to BASIC", co-authored by Kemeny and Kurtz themselves. This is where I first encountered DOPE. Or, rather, where I first saw the language mentioned. During the late 50s and early 60s the duo experimented with how to introduce students to computers, specifically looking for a programming language for the absolute novice. When existing languages proved ill fit for this task they shifted to creating a new programming language.

The Dartmouth math department was armed with an LGP-30 computer, a relatively cheap and underpowered machine. In total it had 30 kilobytes of RAM to work with. That computer would see years of hard use and strange experiments. DOPE was one of those experiments, but details in "Back to BASIC" are slim. In a passage near the beginning of the book Kemeny wrote:

"I had a high school student, Sidney Marshall, who was taking calculus at Dartmouth. I had him experiment with a language called DOPE on that same LGP-30. DOPE was too primitive to be useful, but it was the precursor of BASIC."

DOPE was used on the math department's computer and Kemeny supervised it's creation. As a programmer myself I don't really do mysteries—I much prefer resolutions—and this was a massive mystery to me. I've written a good deal of BASIC, it wasn't my first language but it was a big part of my diet early on. I always assumed it was it's own language isolated from any others, and I think that's an easy mistake to make. BASIC doesn't look like anything but BASIC. It's name doesn't hint at some larger lineage. I was left with a glaring hole in my knowledge, and as I soon realized I wasn't the only one out of the loop.

Image: Marcin Wichary/Wikimedia Commons

Running DOPE

There isn't that much readily accessible information about DOPE. Notably a passage written by Thomas Kurts for the book "History of Programming Languages" has a small chunk of code. It's a handful of lines of DOPE, not enough to understand the language but just enough to confirm it's existence. Scouring through interviews and citations I started to build up a picture. DOPE had been developed in 1962. It was only used for a single term in a single math class. It was a step towards accessible programming but didn't go far enough.

The trail led me to a file folder tucked away in Dartmouth's archive. The manuscript within was simply titled "Dartmouth Oversimplified Programming Experiment", filed under a collection of Kurtz's notes. The paper was written in 1962, and for the time gave a radically different approach to programming. It's definitely not BASIC, but it's getting close.

First of all, the DOPE manuscript answered one of my biggest questions: why was there so little information about the language? The name should give a little away, DOPE was an experiment. It was used as a proving ground for ideas Kemeny and Kurtz were brewing. The paper describing DOPE was also never published. Partly, because it wasn't really a formal language description. Instead it was part primer, part lesson plan. Students were being used as guinea pigs on the path to a better programming language.

The next step for me was clear. The DOPE paper laid bare all the details of the language, example problems, logical diagrams, and every idiosyncrasy. Reading it is one thing, but I wanted to understand DOPE, and the only way to understand a language is to use it. The larger issue was that there was no way to run DOPE code that really existed. GNU binutils—the most popular compiler package around—definitely doesn't ship with support for the language, and I wasn't able to track down any of the code for the original implementation. So I set to work reviving the language by building an interpreter. Simply put, an interpreter is a program that can understand and execute source code.

Making my own implementation of DOPE was a way to understand the language on a deeper level, and try to reason out why it failed and what ideas made it into BASIC. That, and preserving a dead programming language sounded like a fun challenge. How hard could it be?

As it turned out, not that hard. Even before I had a running interpreter I was starting to see the connection to BASIC. One of the reasons BASIC became so popular was because it was easy to implement. That was by design. The language was structured to make compilation simple, Dartmouth's BASIC follows very rigid syntax structure. Each line of BASIC starts with a number, then an operation, then arguments. It's simple, easy to parse with a computer, and easy to write for a novice.

Each line of DOPE starts with a line number, then an operation, then arguments. This is where BASIC got its structure. For someone implementing the language that saves a lot of time and code. You just break each line into tokens, the operation is always in the same place, arguments are right after. There is zero ambiguity and zero wiggle room. It's easy to zoom through the process.

The Dartmouth team had similar mileage. According to Kemeny's paper the DOPE compiler could turn code into executables in under a minute. That's slow today, but sounds pretty good for the slow LGP-30. Later this same simplified syntax structure allowed Kemeny and Kurtz to pull some slick tricks with their BASIC implementation. Dartmouth BASIC was compiled, but presented to users as an interactive environment. On the backend BASIC code was compiled on runtime with minimal latency, to students it just looked like the school's computer spoke fluent BASIC.

But there's a hitch, and it's one of the biggest issues with DOPE. BASIC deviates from the rigid format slightly. You can actually write mathematical expressions in BASIC, so "LET A = 1 + 1" is a valid line of code. Under the hood a mathematical expression may be treated as arguments, but to a user you can write math in BASIC the same as you'd jot down an equation.

DOPE doesn't work that way. The language is much more terse, no doubt a result of the limited hardware it was developed on. Let me give you a taste. In DOPE that same BASIC statement, just adding 1 and 1, comes out to "+'1'1'A". That's not very pretty, is it? Superficially, DOPE looks a lot more like assembly language than anything else. Most operations are a single character, each line can only perform a simple operation, argument lists are all of a fixed length. All the usual operations for math, assignment, loops, and printing are present, just in a consolidated form.

The other fun complication is the matter of single quotes. DOPE doesn't separate things with spaces, as near as I can tell this is due to its host hardware. Other languages used on the LGP-30 computer follow the same convention. I think it was just one of those functional restrictions that made life a little harder at Dartmouth. Better hardware was available on campus when BASIC was developed, so it escaped that fate.

Appearances aside, there is something deeper going on with DOPE. Variables are the bread and butter of any programming language, it's where you store and manipulate data. It's also another place where DOPE directly presages BASIC. DOPE has a very special kind of typing system. It's almost implicit, but only slightly.

Every variable is a floating point number, that's a number with a decimal point. Adding a little complication, DOPE has four special variables named E, F, G, and H. These are 16 element arrays, lists that can hold up to 16 numbers. When you work with DOPE you just have to remember that these four variables are different.

There are also no strings in DOPE, you can't store or manipulate words or letters. Nearly every other programming language can handle strings in some way, so this restriction is pretty noticeable. DOPE was only ever meant for mathematical work so lacking strings isn't a total dealbreaker.

There is a little bit of subtlety here that I find intriguing. All variables are stored as floats, so any number you enter is converted. Set a variable to 1 and DOPE turns that into 1.000. When you print a variable DOPE figures out the most reasonable format and displays that. So if the float doesn't have anything past the decimal place it shows up without the decimal. To a more serious programmer this should sound like a nightmare. DOPE takes away any control over data types by just not having data types. Programmers don't like giving up control, this was especially true during the era DOPE was developed.

Image: Marcin Wichary/Wikimedia Commons

This language wasn't meant for programmers. It was meant for english students who didn't know the difference between an integer 1 and a floating point 1. It was designed for political science majors who had never seen a computer before. The bizarre typing system in DOPE meant you could teach programming without teaching about data types. Instead of having to explain the subtle differences between 1.0 and 1 a teacher can just cut to the chase. To the uninitiated these rules don't make that much sense, so just drop them. What you get is a much more gentle introduction to computers.

It may come as a surprise for BASIC users, but early versions of the language had a very similar typing system. In v1 of Dartmouth BASIC every variable was stored as a float, with smart formatting for input and output. Strings came in subsequent versions. But there is a key difference, and it comes in the form of arrays. In BASIC an array is declared using the DIM operation. It tells the computer to make room for a new array, and gives that array a name. In early versions this changed a variable into a 10 element array of numbers. This is one of the areas where BASIC broke from DOPE, and I think in a good way.

DOPE reserved four variables as arrays. That works just fine, but it's clunky. Having to remember which letters are lists and which are numbers is annoying. It adds in a layer of illogical complexity. Why is E an array? Well, it just is. My educated guess is that E, F, G and H were hardcoded as arrays since those are common names for vectors in physics, but that's just a shot in the dark. For a newcomer it's just an arbitrary rule. Kemeny and Kurtz were right to ditch this one.

The last part of DOPE that bears mentioning is also one of the key parts of BASIC: line numbers. Anyone who knows BASIC, or has seen BASIC, will be familiar with this syntax. Each line has a number that doubles as a label and a way to edit your program. With line numbers being explicitly defined a programmer gets to name each part of their code. DOPE also uses line numbers, but in a more limited way. Each line has an implicit number, you start at 1 and go up to 99.

You don't have control over DOPE's line numbers, but each number does have it's own label. These aren't just superficial, line numbers in DOPE are what makes it into a fully fledged programming language. The much-maligned GOTO statement exists in this earlier language, just by another name. GOTO tells BASIC to jump execution to a specific line number. It's a simple way to handle flow control of a program, but there are often better options. Many programmers dislike GOTO for that reason alone, but the statement can also make code hard to read and debug. You can't instantly tell what "GOTO 11" means unless you know what is waiting for you on line 11.

In DOPE the "T" operation lets you jump TO a given line number. Once again, this is the kind of feature programmer's don't really like. GOTO, and by lineage T, has been called a danger to programmers everywhere. It can be unsafe to overuse, if code changes a stray GOTO can jump into the unknown. For large programs jumping by line number gets weird, but that's an issue for programmers.

For the novice jumping by number is simple and understandable. You don't need extra code to add labels. Since most new programmers aren't writing massive and intricate programs a lot of the dangers of GOTO disappear. Conditionals work in a similar way in DOPE, specifying line numbers to jump to dependent on a comparison. Again, in line with early versions of BASIC. And again, kept as simple as possible.

The only outlier here are loops. One of the parts of BASIC that always struck me as strange is how it handles FOR loops. In general loops are how you repeat operations in a program. If you want to do something over and over again you use a loop. BASIC's specific flavor of loop is the FOR loop. As in, do something FOR values of X from 1 to 10.

Most flow control in BASIC is handled using line numbers. Some later versions allow if statements to contain expressions but Dartmouth BASIC only allows for conditional jumps. Loops are different, a FOR loop in BASIC encloses a block of code, ending in a NEXT. Once again this quirk is straight from DOPE, loops enclose a chunk of code to run and rerun until complete.

However, DOPE loops have their downsides. And really, this gets into the problems I ran into with DOPE. Kemeny was right to say the language was too simple, and loops are a perfect example. Really, loops have been something of a thorn in my side during my journey. On the interpreter side that means extra code. Executing code by block instead of line number means loops have to be handled a little differently than anything else in the language. When I was actually able to get DOPE code running loops remained annoying because they only go one way. Loops in DOPE can only increment, and only in steps of 1. Fine. It's a loop. It's the most basic loop possible. It works, but it's very restrictive. Something as simple as a countdown takes a little extra code to achieve.

The total lack of strings also restricts what you can do with DOPE. There are operations to output strings, sort of. One operation lets you print a newline character, and another outputs a string literal. This can be used to format and label your outputs, but without variable strings you can't write very flashy code. I can write the classic "Hello World," but you won't be seeing any games in DOPE. Luckily BASIC would include strings after a fashion.

DOPE's Legacy

What I've found is that DOPE works well for math and not much else. Calculating tables of values is straightforward. Running a loop to figure lists of roots or squares is easy. I've even been able to tackle larger equations in DOPE, so far the most complicated thing I've written is a program that approximates pi. There's a certain zen to converting equations into simple operations, that is if you have some patience. Straying from simple math turns into a struggle. I keep trying to make a number guessing game but running into the wall of random number generation.

This restriction to simple math isn't necessarily a bad thing. The language was developed by mathematicians as a way to introduce complete novices to computing. It's not fully general purpose, true, but that's not important. DOPE isn't the kind of language you could stick with for a career, it was never intended to be. It's just enough to show students what a computer is, what kinds of problems a computer can solve, and how a programmer might solve them.

So why haven't more people heard about DOPE? Is it just a failed language? I don't think so. DOPE has remained hidden because it was successful. The E stands for experiment after all, and after a single class at Dartmouth the experiment had ran its course. The ideas in DOPE worked well enough for Kemeny and Kurtz to continue their line of research. BASIC is the direct result of DOPE's success. The reason BASIC worked so well in classrooms and on early home systems was because it was simple. The language was easy to learn, easy to implement, and easy to understand. DOPE itself didn't last, but the core concept was sound enough to birth BASIC.

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