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mt-musings · 2 years

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Bluebell

Chapter 30

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

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30. Красиві дівчата роблять могили

Cassie crossed her arms as she watched the grave being dug up, trying to hold in some warmth. The rain didn’t help, though it added to the drama of the whole ordeal. The whole thing was surreal—she’d been present at dozens of exhumations, but never of someone she knew. Hell, she’d never even seen a familiar name on a headstone. Neither of her parents had had enough remains to bury.

And yet this man, currently at the bottom of the very muddy pit, could be her grandfather. Was, her grandfather.

Konstantyn Lyvychko. Died 1977. Bludgeoned to death with a claw hammer, which had been left at the scene.

So, at least they had that in common, she thought dryly, though she’d only had her left arm pulverized. It was at least another tie to Montana, besides the murder in general.

“You don’t have umbrellas in America?”

She glanced over to see Detective Melnyk picking his way around the excavator, holding out his umbrella so it would cover the both of them. She huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

“This is the first I’m hearing of them.”

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering her one as they pulled the casket out of the mud. She shook her head, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell.

“You been to the house yet?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll drive you tomorrow. It is not that far.”

She nodded, watching the workers wipe globs of mud from the casket.

“I knew your mother. Or, knew of her, I was very young. Your grandfather was so proud of her, always telling everyone what a talented dancer she was. When she defected—it was like he was another man. That’s when we started getting the domestic disturbance calls, the child abuse claims, the drunken disorder—“

“Child abuse? My mother was an only child.”

“Konstantyn remarried after his first wife died. He had another child—a boy—some time later. He would have been about, uhh, ten years younger than your mother. And he’d beat that boy something fierce. The mother too, but, uh, we could never do much about it. You know how those cases go.”

She nodded. It was an unfortunate reality, one that weighed on her whenever they had to tackle abuse cases.

She thought she would feel something, some connection to this man in the ground. That blood would call to blood, that some primal part of her would recognize him as kin. But there was nothing but a sort of professional curiosity.

Perhaps it was better that way, considering now she knew him to be the sort of man to raise a hand against his family, against his children.

Maybe there were other reasons her mother had leapt at the chance to defect.

---

Spencer knocked lightly on Penelope’s door carrying half-caf double whip caramel coffee concoction that Derek had assured him was her favorite.

“Enter, ye who seeks eternal wisdom! Oh, hello Boy Wonder, what can I do for you?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“I guessed,” she said, grinning at the way he shrunk back, just slightly, under her gaze. “Is that for me? Oooh thank you!!”

“Oh, yeah, Derek told me it was your favorite.”

“I love that man. So what can I do for you, Dr. Genius.”

He sighed before pulling out Cassie’s manuscript. He’d gotten into the office at five after dropping her off at the airport and had spent the four hours until the rest of the team got in double and triple checking it for errors.

“You know how I’m terrible with computers?”

“Oh boy do I.”

“Um—I have to edit the original file with all these changes by Friday and I was wondering if I could maybe bribe you into helping.”

“By Friday? Even Hotch wouldn’t be that mean, that’s got to be like 200 pages.”

“304, but it’s not for work. It’s actually Cassie’s thesis—“

“Oh my god, are we going to have two brilliant doctors on the team now? Oooh, I can make her a new sign for her desk, I’m thinking black and sparkly—“

“She doesn’t—she doesn’t know I have her thesis. She actually was going to pull it because she didn’t think she could finish it in time and—am I overstepping? I don’t know. It’s just—it’s really good and I don’t want her to push off graduation because—“ he stopped himself, unsure of exactly how much he should share. How much he wanted to share.

“Aww, well aren’t you two just too cute? How long have you been together? I can’t believe you managed to sneak past my all-seeing eyes—“

“We’re not! Not together, I mean, just friends. Just two good friends that hang out and do friend things.”

“You’re going to stand there and lie to this face?” Penelope asked, having way too much fun at his discomfort.

“I’m not lying!”

“But you like her. Like like her.”

He just sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Will you help me or not?”

“Only,” she said, pulling half the stack of papers from his hands, “Because it is sweet and romantic and so incredibly nerdy. And because I want to see what goes on in Cassie’s head. But, I get your firstborn. I’m calling godmother, right now.”

Spencer couldn’t help his little snort of laughter at her ridiculous request. “Okay. Sure, it’s a deal.”

---

Dr. Garvey couldn't help but stare at the PCR results that had led to Cassandra's spur of the moment trip to Ukraine. It was a proxy sample, the very thing she'd been working on for nearly three years to match with victim data. A genealogical match--a wonder, really. But it was bothering him--bothering him because the proxy sample didn't just match the blood evidence of the bodiless victim she'd cited in her paperwork for the evidentiary transfer, but it bore a striking resemblance to another DNA panel, one run for one of the specimens from her dissertation.

He was familiar enough with her dissertation that he recognized the familiar marker in the proxy sample, recognized it, but couldn't quite place where. It wasn't until he leafed through her reports on each that he found it--the outlier in the sampling. The only male vertebrae, it's box more worn than the others, labeled carefully in Cassandra's scrawling hand.

Rasmus Orav.

He pushed back from his desk, dropping the panel report back on top of the stacks of paperwork and walked to the main lab, looking for Ayesh. He was hunched over a gel, carefully loading each well with his sample DNA. As was so often the case in the late evening, his boombox was blaring, the Backstreet Boys over-loud in the relatively small space.

"Ayesh, could I ask you a question?"

"Just one second," he said, finishing his work before flipping on the PCR and rolling over to paused the music. "What's up?"

"Do you know where Cassandra got the proxy sample for her match, by any chance?"

"She matched herself. She didn't even bother with a syringe, just knicked herself with a scalpel and called it a day. She's fucking nuts sometimes," he said, rolling over to grab another gel to prepare.

Dr. Garvey fought to keep his face neutral, glad that Ayesh didn't really seem to be paying attention. "She certainly has unique methods. I'll leave it to you."

He left the lab, grabbing Cassandra's report on the remains in question before going back to his desk to wake up his computer. It was simple enough to search for Rasmus Orav. There were a handful of articles about his work as a composer, as a talented, ex-Soviet concert pianist. He'd been active in the DC area before Dr. Garvey had taken the position at the Smithsonian, when he'd still worked at the Natural History museum on New York, which explained why he'd never heard of him. Most of the articles he could dig up were just about performances or debut compositions, that was, until he found an article from a small Montana newspaper describing a grisly home-invasion-turned-murder outside of Whitefish.

The victims had been 40 year old Rasmus Orav and his thirty-six year old wife Lilya Orav. The paper skimmed over the gorier details, but mentioned that the couple's eight year old daughter had been found after a three day search led by the FBI, had been rushed to St. Patrick's Hospital, the nearest Trauma II Center. The article went on to say that the daughter was stabilized and transferred out of state for advanced orthopedic surgery, and that the police had yet to name any suspects and that the investigation was ongoing. The only picture in the article other than exterior shots of the house covered in crime scene tape was a blurry shot of an FBI agent carrying the little girl, covered in grim and blood and drowning what was clearly a man's green corduroy jacket. the only distinct feature he could make out in the grainy photo was her hair, which was black and a mess of wild curls.

He flipped open the report from the bones, comparing it with the proxy sample he now knew was Cassandra's. He stared at the two for a long moment before taking off his glasses and placing them carefully on his desk. He dropped his head in his hands, taking a deep breath.

He'd wondered, when she first started showing up in the lab, fresh out of the FBI Academy and milking the Smithsonian's partnership with the FBI for all it was worth. She'd barely been twenty-one, younger than most of his undergrads at GW, and yet with the intelligence, the bearing of one decades older. She'd always been polite and painfully reserved to the point of rarely speaking. He'd often had to usher her out to lock the building up for the night, having stayed five or six hours even after a full day at the Bureau.

He'd known she was haunted by something the first day she walked in, requesting access to the collection. She hid it well, but it was easy enough to see the signs when you were so personally familiar. Perhaps if it hadn't been for that, he'd have held more strictly to protocol, kept her from the extent of her early research. He'd justified it by the quality of her work, far surpassing most of his fellows. But he knew it was because he had recognized that look, the determination in the set of her shoulders.

And that she had somehow reminded him of his Hanna.

It had taken him a long time to figure out why, exactly. They looked nothing alike--Cassandra was raven-haired and pale and perpetually underweight and Hanna had been blonde, with doe-like brown eyes and practically bursting with life. He thought at first it was because Cassandra had looked so young--even at twenty-one she looked closer to sixteen or seventeen and Hanna had never made it to her eighteenth birthday.

It wasn't until he found her buried in the corner of the lab a year later, no doubt trying to escape his notice so she could work through the night, that he'd figured it out. She'd been hunched over a stack of different test results, her head buried in her arms. At first he'd thought she'd fallen asleep, but then he saw the silent shaking of her shoulders. She'd looked up at the sound of his footsteps, face streaked with tears she'd quickly shoved away, trying to force a smile, trying to brush the whole thing off with a witty comment about hitting another dead end.

It was the same smile Hanna had so often forced near the end, when the cancer was overwhelming her, but she didn't want him to worry. She'd always done it, every before she got sick. Maybe she wouldn't have, if it hadn't just been the two of them, if her mother hadn't skipped out to god knew where when Hanna was scarcely four. Maybe she wouldn't have felt the need to protect him, to hide her pain and struggles. She'd never wanted him to worry, so determined to push through, no matter the cost.

It was that resolve that reminded him of Cassandra. Resolve that scared him, just as much as he found it admirable. It was why he pushed her to apply to GW, to the Smithsonian's fellowship, why he pushed her to spend time with her cohort, with people her age. In that moment he could see how it would consume her, if left unchecked. He knew the rest of the fellows thought he favored her because of her intellect, because of her revolutionary theories, her research. He knew he shouldn't favor any of them, had done well to at least appear impartial with all of his past students.

But the truth was he favored her because she reminded him of his daughter, and he was terrified that she'd crush herself under the weight of all that she shouldered before she'd ever asked for help. He saw it more and more with each passing year at the Bureau--she got better at hiding it, but he knew by the shadows under her eyes, by the slope of her shoulders, by the hollowness of her cheeks.

He couldn't understand for the longest time why she stayed when it was killing her, when the Bureau was so obviously squandering her talents, her brilliance. When it was so clear that most days she didn't even really like it, especially in her old department.

Now he knew.

He knew he couldn't have given up, if it had been Hanna's vertebrae in that box, if the rest of her was still missing, her killer free.

He knew why that box was the most worn, why it so often sat at the corner of her workspace and she studied specimens and lab results. Why it was so often the first thing she pulled off the shelf when she swung by the lab.

He'd watched her pour over those remains for nearly six years, searching for answers, watched her add boxes and names, but never any further resolution. Watched her pioneer new techniques just to search for matches, publish dozens of articles as mere byproducts of her search. Watched her delay and delay her defense, because it wasn't ready, because she didn't have practical success. Because the dissertation itself had never been the point, the focus.

He hoped she'd find some in Voron'kiv, hoped she'd find something, even more than he had before.

He sat back up, wiping away a few stray tears before replacing his glasses on his nose. He tucked Cassandra's DNA panel away in his desk, closing the file before grabbing the only picture frame on his desk, the Polaroid protected behind UV-blocking glass. It was him and Hanna in the Botanical Garden down in Brooklyn, grinning at the camera in the middle of the orchid house. She beamed up at the camera, wearing the butterfly-embroidered bell bottoms she'd begged him for and a striped sweater. She'd been freshly fifteen and it was the last photo he had of her before she got sick. Or at least, before they'd known.

She would have been twenty-eight in May.

He sat the frame back down, carefully, and turned back to the transfer paperwork Cassandra had handed him. He hadn't read much into it, trusting her to have filled it out. He hadn't thought much of the victim before--it had just been a genealogical match, mostly likely that of a grandfather. Now he looked at the details, at the rough translation of the coroner's report, at the horror is skimmed over in its brevity.

He wondered what sort of bitterness it was, to finally find a practical match using her technique, only to find another brutally murdered family member.

He wondered if there was anyone left to look after her.

---

Cassie glanced over the body laid out before her, cross-referencing visible injuries with the coroners report. It took her slightly longer than usual in Ukrainian—she wasn’t familiar with all the technical terms off-hand. He mother had never taken to reading to her from medical textbooks as a child and she’d always much preferred poetry.

Still, she was able to muddle through it without much trouble. Thirty years had all but destroyed the soft tissue, leaving an unfortunately jumbled mass of bone shards. A proper reconstruction could take days, weeks, but she only had hours.

Luckily she was more interested in collected viable samples to take back and test than in putting him back to any semblance of rights.

Still, looking at the damage—she hoped he took the headshots first. There had only been one would the coroner had labeled defensive in the official report, though she wasn’t sure exactly how they’d come to that conclusion considering the extent of trauma.

She’d been struck three times at eight, resulting in a shattered ulna, fractured trapezoid, capitate, and hamate and breaks in her pinky and ring finger that caused those fingers to remain slightly crooked still.

Konstantyn had been struck fifty-eight times. He’d resembled butcher cast-offs more than a human person by the time someone had reported him missing. His wife had died of a heart attack upon finding him and their son, whom she’d learned was named Hadeon, had been no where to be found. Police had suspected him, but after failing to track him down for questioning, the trail had gone cold.

Very little of that information had been in the official file Penelope had been able to track down, instead existing in a jumble of moldering handwritten notes left in an old case file box. She’d copied the entirety of it to bring home and sort through.

Detective Melnyk had taken pity on her and helped, though he had told her it was pointless. She’d just smiled and thanked him for his help.

It wasn’t worth trying to explain or convince him. No one understood, because it was never Orav on the badge they checked, on the request forms she submitted. They assumed she shared the same luxury of disconnect from the case.

Sometimes she wished she did.

---

She stood outside the National Opera House and just stared. She’d ben standing frozen on the steps for the last twenty minutes, unable to bring herself to step foot inside.

She hadn’t seen a ballet since her mother died.

She’d tried, when she’d moved to Boston for college and then again when she’d moved to DC. She’d bought the tickets and everything. She just couldn’t go in. Couldn’t sit in the red velvet chairs without her father sitting beside her, spinning the story of the ballet in a hushed whisper. Without her mother pulling her backstage to say hello to the other dancers, tucking flowers in her hair.

She wiped away a fresh bout of tears with the heel of her hand, turning away.

She’d see another ballet—see the theater her mother had spent half her career performing in—just not today.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #mutual pining #multichapter #slow burn #long reads

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mainsish · 2 years

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Paranormal activity 7

#PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 7 MOVIE#

#PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 7 INSTALL#

#PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 7 SERIES#

After experiencing what they think are a series of 'break-ins', a family sets up security cameras around their home, only to realize that the events unfolding before them are more sinister than they seem. We’ll still enjoy it and have a watch-party, but keeping the tradition would have been nice. Paranormal Activity Series Chronological Order. I’ve always watched the movies on the big-screen with my friends. How Jenny Slates Marcel the Shell with Shoes On Won Audiences Over. This news comes to us from The Hollywood Reporter.

#PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 7 MOVIE#

The horror movie will hit Paramount+ on October 29 and only there. Paranormal Activity 7 is scheduled to be released in theaters on March 4, 2022. Yes! In fact, you will only be able to watch the movie at home as Paranormal Activity: Next Of Kin is only headed to the small-screen. Will Paranormal Activity 7 be available online? When is Paranormal Activity 7 coming out? Just in time for Halloween! It’s coming on Oct. What is the upcoming movie about and how can you watch it? We share all the details with you below. There has been plenty of time since the last chapter, though, so Paranormal Activity: Next Of Kin could be our next new favorite. The horror movie franchise is a personal favorite, but there have been no movies in the series that I’ve enjoyed more than the first three. Needless to say, it’s been a very long time since a new installment premiered. Paranormal Activity 6 aka Paranormal Activity: The Ghost Dimension premiered almost six years ago in 2015. But, at the very least, a new movie from the franchise is here and we can always have a watch-party at home with friends.Paranormal Activity: Next Of Kin is the seventh movie in the Paranormal Activityfranchise and it is about time we get a new chapter! When is Paranormal Activity 7 coming out and what will it be about? Will it be in theaters or streaming? Here’s everything we know about the upcoming movie. Following a string of strange occurrences and discoveries, she soon realizes this community that welcomed them into their. That said, I’m disappointed that Paranormal Activity 7 will not be going to theaters. A documentary filmmaker follows Margot (Emily Bader), as she heads to a secluded Amish community in the hopes of meeting and learning about her long-lost mother and extended family. Watching it with fellow horror movie fans in total darkness.

#PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 7 INSTALL#

Part of the reason this movies install so much fear in audiences, is the big-screen experience. Disneys Frozen continued its remarkable ride at the box office on the first weekend of 2014, topping the chart in North America with 20.7 million and skating past the 600 million mark. Horror Mystery Thriller Margot, a young woman who was abandoned by her mother as a baby, travels to a secluded Amish community with a documentary film crew seeking answers about her mother and extended family. I still remember watching these movies in theaters - what an experience! Not many movies make me scream out loud. Domestic Box Office For Rank Release Metric Fri Aug 5 Sat Aug 6 Sun Aug 7 Mon Aug 8 Tue Aug 9 Wed Aug 10 Thu Aug 11 1: Bullet Train Sony Pictures Releasing: Gross: 12,842,371: 9,685,911. The spare-but-effective supernatural movie famously cost just 230,000 to make but took in a massive 193 million worldwide. 4 :55 am View Link Paranormal Activity 7 Gets Brutally Blunt Review From Producer Jason Blum. Blum’s Blumhouse Productions kicked off its reign as masters of low-budget horror with 2009’s original Paranormal Activity. The first movie in the horror release was released in 2007, so it’s been around for a long while, helping us celebrate many Halloween seasons. After a young, middle-class couple moves into what seems like a typical suburban house, they become increasingly disturbed by a presence that may or may not be demonic and active at night. Jason Blum gives his brutally honest review of 2021’s Paranormal Activity 7. After all, while the plot of the first six movies. Will you be watching Paranormal Activity 7aka Next of Kin?Ĭan you believe it’s been six years since the last PA movie? That’s right, Paranormal Activity: The Ghost Dimension came out in the year 2015. With that said, the fact that there won’t be a Paranormal Activity 7 doesn’t mean that there won’t be a seventh Paranormal Activity movie. The Paranormal Activity horrors are back! After a long wait, another chapter in the Paranormal Activity franchise arrives on Oct.

#Paranormal activity 7

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archived-kin · 3 years

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karaoke night w/ your husband and his co-workers

note from kin: this is a sequel to this solomon piece! originally i was going to go a similar route to the sequel to the simeon with a himbo bf piece and make this some absolute angst exploring how you ended up becoming immortal like your husband in the first place, but i couldn’t bring myself to do it (not yet anyway, i might still write that in the future)

as a heads up, this is an au where the r.a.d. is more of an organisation than a school, and solomon basically just has a day job there. simeon also sort of works there as an ambassador for the celestial realm.

we’re still in the devildom with all the hell lore and stuff, just more domestic!

fandom: obey me!

character(s): male! reader, solomon, simeon, lucifer, mammon, asmodeus, diavolo, barbatos

pairing(s): solomon/reader

warning(s): nope!

genre: fluff!

“I’m here!”

Solomon looks up from the pamphlet in his hands and stuffs it into his pocket, smiling as he spots your familiar form emerge from a deep purple vortex-like mass and begin sprinting down the street. His co-workers scatter like a disturbed flock of sheep as you approach at a speed comparable to a motorbike and crash straight into your husband’s waiting arms, nearly knocking him right onto the pavement.

“Holy shit!” Mammon yelps, leaping behind Lucifer in alarm. At the same time, Asmo claps his hands to his cheeks and coos so loudly that a flock of pigeons on a building nearby flutter away in an agitated cloud.

“Good day,” Diavolo says, sounding only mildly surprised by your sudden appearance. “You’re [Name], I presume?”

“The one and only,” You say cheerfully, pulling away from Solomon and offering his boss an amiable handshake. His grip is firm and confident, you notice. A good leader. “And you’re Mr Diavolo.”

“Exactly,” He responds good-humouredly, then gestures a sweeping arm to the motley crew still standing a good foot or two away from you. “These are some of my colleagues. If you could introduce yourselves…?”

Solomon can’t help but hover just behind you like an overprotective parent watching their kid at playtime as each of his co-workers begin introducing themselves to you. Of course, you already know Simeon, who you say hello to with one of those hearty ‘macho’ hand-shake-and-slap-on-the-back greetings that regular human men seem to like. You very nearly wind the poor angel in the process - sometimes you really don’t know how much arm strength all that heavy artifact lifting has given you - but he smiles and pats your hand happily nevertheless.

You linger slightly at Lucifer, who you’ve heard more than enough about from Solomon to know that you should be wary around him. His calculating gaze seems to pierce right through your thick black cloak (matching with Solomon’s, of course) and directly into your soul, and you get the distinct feeling that he’s trying very hard to read you.

While he may be the once-divine Morningstar, though, you aren’t called the Sun-Snatcher by the magical community for nothing, and you don’t falter in the slightest. A moment passes in almost breathless silence, and then, suddenly breaking the eye contact with a sharp blink, Lucifer nods in what almost seems like approval.

You feel Solomon’s hand close around your own and gently squeeze your fingers, and, giving Lucifer one last, searching glance, you turn to stand beside your husband once more. He’s giving you an odd look - the kind of face that he pulls when he’s not entirely sure whether what he’s feeling is negative or positive. You squeeze his hand back in return, offering a comforting smile, and he relaxes almost immediately.

“Well,” Simeon says brightly, “Should we head in?”

No one bats an eye at your motley crew and your varying senses of fashion - it’s Halloween, after all, so no one’s particularly surprised by the elaborate outfits. You do get confused looks from a few people, evidently unsure as to what your ‘costumes’ are supposed to be, but no one stops to question any of you, so the path to your rented-out karaoke room is a smooth one.

Asmo and Simeon both move to the karaoke machine, and the rest of you are left to either hover awkwardly (Barbatos), settle down on one of the plush seats (Mammon, Diavolo), or have a look at all the polaroids plastering the walls (you, Solomon).

“This one looks like he’s having fun,” You comment, pointing to a picture of a clearly inebriated lad with dark braids and a funny green hat. He’s holding a tankard high in the air that looks dangerously close to tipping over and emptying all of its contents onto his blonde pigtailed friend. “Promising, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Solomon replies, threading his fingers through yours. “Though I hope you’re not planning to get nearly as drunk as this fellow.”

You shake your head with a chuckle. “They’d run out of drink before I could.”

With that, drinks and finger snacks are ordered, the lights are dimmed, and the night begins in earnest. Poor Diavolo ends up having to leave early after receiving a call about an emergency meeting, and Simeon is removed from karaoke machine duty about half an hour after that, when everyone realises that he doesn’t have even the slightest clue what he’s doing and is just pressing buttons.

Barbatos takes over, and though he refuses to sing, seeming perfectly content with bopping his head back and forth to the beat over by the machine, you decide that you might as well give him some pizzazz and purchase him one of the ridiculously overpriced light sticks being sold at the reception. You’ve got plenty of funds, so it’s no trouble, and Barbatos seems to be having fun with waving them about, so you think it’s worth it.

“Your beau’s totally adorable,” Asmo coos over his cocktail, watching you teach Barbatos a little clapping pattern to follow the music with.

Solomon nods firmly, stirring around the cherry at the bottom of his glass. “He is.”

“I heard from Simeon that your anniversary’s coming up soon,” Asmo continues. “Are you planning anything special?”

“It depends, really,” Solomon replies. “I have a specific destination in mind, but if I can’t get enough time off for a proper trip, there’s a faerie garden quite close by our house. They should have some will o’whisps hovering about.”

“Will o’whisps?” Asmo repeats.

Solomon nods. “We first met in a will o’whisp woodland. We’ve made it something of a tradition to visit one every year. The one we originally met each other in is long gone, of course, but it’s quite easy to find some active locations just by listening through the grapevine.”

“Will o’whisp woodlands last for centuries,” Lucifer suddenly interjects. He’d been sharing a rather tense-sounding conversation with Mammon (something about his credit card, if Solomon had overheard right), but is apparently done with that now. “How long ago was this?”

Solomon raises an eyebrow at him. “It’ll be our two millennial anniversary in two years, so that’s one thousand, nine hundred and ninety eight years ago now.”

Credit where credit’s due, Lucifer is exceptionally good at keeping the surprise out from his expression, though Solomon does catch the way his eyebrows shoot upwards for the briefest of moments. “...interesting.”

“You’ve both aged spectacularly,” Asmo says almost wonderingly - as if he isn’t much, much older and still just as young-looking.

“Ya still haven’t told us how you’ve managed to stay alive that long,” Mammon puts in. He looks a little dishevelled, but otherwise seems unharmed. “Humans aren’t even supposed to live for more than a century, are they?”

Solomon’s expression shifts slightly, but none of the three brothers can tell what sort of look that is across for the life of them. An immeasurable number of emotions are crossing his face at once, like dozens of leaves passing by on the waves of a river - each one fleeting and definitely there, but with a presence so brief that one can’t really discern anything from the fact that it is a leaf.

Solomon’s age is only really impressive from a human’s perspective - to demons like the brothers, those sort of numbers are trivial, juvenile even - but somehow, he looks a lot older in this moment than any o the brothers can even begin to understand.

“...it’s a long story,” He says after a while, and the finality is so profound that none of the brothers can bring themselves to ask any further.

Sudden moments of solemnity aside, the rest of the night proceeds amiably. Mammon and Asmo sing their fair share of songs, and even Lucifer is convinced to have a go at a half-orchestral, half-EDM sort of hybrid that he, unsurprisingly, absolutely nails.

Simeon, while unable to operate the machine itself, doesn’t any problems with handling the microphone (apart from a rather exasperating moment where he couldn’t figure out which way round to hold it) , and delivers a rousing ballad that manages to summon a few lonely hearts wandering around the halls outside to the door.

Several hours in, though, neither you nor your husband have had a go on the stage yet, and you’re beginning to get rather impatient. You sidle over to Barbatos during a lull in the song while Solomon is distracted by his conversation with Asmo and begin whispering conspirationally. He nods and starts inputting something into the keyboard, and your eyes immediately light up as they land on the first title in the list.

“Solomon!” you call, pointing at the screen enthusiastically as if he can see it from where he’s sitting. “Look at this! They’ve got our song!”

Solomon’s head pops up from behind the divider and looks to you, raising an eyebrow. You gesture to the title now being displayed on the big lyric screen with an enormous grin, and his face lights up in recognition.

Quickly asking Asmo to mind his drink for him, he pulls himself up and vaults over the back of his seat like the dramatic sorcerer he is (accidentally smacking Lucifer in the face with his cloak in the process) to join you on the little stage as you hit the play button. A series of guitar chords play, and before anyone knows it, you’re already belting out the first verse.

Mammon goes poker-stiff in his seat, choking on his drink and practically going through all five stages of grief as he realises exactly what song you and Solomon are singing. “What— what the hell?!”

“Oh, I never thought I’d hear this again,” Simeon sighs, glancing over at the two of you singing your hearts out on the stage, staring into each other’s eyes like the lovesick idiots you are. “It’s been a while.”

Mammon turns and gives him an incredulous look. “They’ve done this before?!”

“Didn’t you hear what [Name] said?” Simeon asks in reply, tilting his head to the side. “It’s their song.”

“Why—” Mammon throws his arms in the air. “Why would they pick this one?!”

“Oh, calm down,” Asmo shakes his head, sipping noisily from his pink cocktail with a long twirly straw. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, of course you would—” Mammon huffs, but he’s cut off as the music swells, and you and Solomon begin belting out the chorus with every last inch of your hearts and souls.

“BABY, YOU LIGHT UP MY WORLD LIKE NOBODY ELSE!”

“Are they always like this?” Lucifer asks, regarding you and Solomon with some curiosity. The two of you are pointing at each other and belting out the lyrics with such passion that it’s a wonder you haven’t set the stage on fire. Whether or not you’re hitting the right notes is irrevelant - the two of you are far too absorbed in each other to care.

“Well, if you’re talking about the singing, they’re not usually as… energetic,” Simeon hums with a smile. “But if it’s about the, ah… affection, then yes.”

“How do you put up with all that?” Mammon comments, a look of disgust crossing his face. “It’s totally gross.”

“You’re gross,” Asmo shoots back, jabbing Mammon in the shin with the pointed toe of his stiletto. “I bet you’re just jealous you don’t have anyone like that, huh?”

“Wh— don’t assume things like that!” Mammon’s ears go dark. “I don’t need anyone!”

“Well, I’d love to have a husband like that,” Asmo sighs dreamily, looking back over at the stage as you begin crooning the bridge with a degree of sappiness that would wear a hole in the sweetest of teeth. “They look so happy, don’t you think?”

“[Name] likes to say that they’re perfectly matched souls,” Simeon says with a smile.

Lucifer takes a small sip of his drink, looking oddly contemplative. “...it’s almost curious.”

Simeon nods. “I know what you mean. It’s like they were perfectly tailored to each other, isn’t it?”

The four turn to the stage as the song comes to a close. Barbatos’s fingers are hovering over the karaoke machine’s keyboard, prepared to enter whatever song you request next, but you and Solomon seem far too distracted by each other to even think of what’s going on in the room around you. It’s as if your worlds are no more than the space between you - like two planets in their own system, orbiting independently of the rest of the galaxy.

Simeon is the first to look away, and the demons follow suit soon enough. It’s the sort of moment that one can’t help but feel like an intruder on, no matter whether or not it’s happening on a stage in the centre of the room.

Solomon smiles wide at you, bright and unrestrained under the sparkling disco lights. The colours seem to seep into his white hair, and you can’t help but compare it to the Northern Lights that the two of you have watched together on many an occasion, sometimes sharing a conversation, sometimes in content silence. It’s almost ridiculous, likening such a seemingly ordinary sight to a phenomenon like that, but you can’t help how disgustingly sappy your thoughts get, especially at a time like this.

“We should do this more often,” He says after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper so that the microphones don’t catch his words.

“We should,” You reply, and reach up to kiss him.

#unedited #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #swd solomon #solomon x reader #swd diavolo #swd lucifer #swd mammon #swd asmodeus #swd simeon #swd barbatos #male reader #fluff #karaoke night #domestic sorcerer husbands

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“...Nevertheless, in the face of this popular ideal of female domesticity, and in the face of these prevailing constraints on female public activity, some Roman women of the upper classes proved formidable, politically influential figures in the late republic and early empire— Cicero's and Tacitus' own times. It is with such women, and the paradoxical nature of their formidability and political influence, that those who study women in the classical Roman elite chiefly concern themselves. Ancient sources report that several women from Rome's leading houses wielded substantial clout during the forties B.C., a decade rife with civil war and political turmoil.

They encourage modern scholars to accord special attention to such females as Marcus Brutus' mother Servilia and Mark Antony's wife Fulvia, who are portrayed by classical authors as staging summit conferences, commanding armies, implementing political proscriptions, and thereby controlling men's affairs. Tacitus and Suetonius vividly document the powerful roles played by shrewd and redoubtable female kin in the reigns of Rome's Julio-Claudian emperors; their accounts have attracted, and deserve, no less notice. Ancient sources, moreover, regard politically powerful women as a time-honored element of Rome's heritage.

Both the historian Livy, writing in the final quarter of the first century B.C., and the biographer Plutarch, a century and a half later, give serious consideration to a legend which credits a woman, the nymph Egeria, with advising Rome's second king, Numa Pompilius, on weighty matters of state: their assumptions about Rome in the eighth century B.C., may well derive from their observations of Roman politics in later, historical, eras. Perhaps more importantly, even upper-class Roman women who did not possess special political influence nor concern themselves deeply with the workings of Roman government seem to have been perceived by politically experienced and aware Roman males as disturbances and even threats to Roman political order.

Accounts summarizing an oration delivered in the early second century B.C. by the elder Cato serve as a case in point: in this oration, Cato is said to have justified the prohibition against young boys' attending the Roman senate as protecting young boys, and the senate, against the rapidly mobilized forces of their inquisitive and gossipy mothers. Livy, moreover, attributes to the elder Cato a speech expressing outrage at a group of wellborn women who demonstrated against inequitable legislation restricting their personal adornment. This rendition of Cato's supposed remarks characterizes these women as not merely riotous but actually in the process of overthrowing male rule.

By Livy's time, however, other men had joined Cato in regarding women with the most minimal political involvements as nonetheless capable of having considerable political impact. Sallust, writing in the decade before Livy launched his lengthy history and in the years immediately following his own retirement from political life, assigned a character sketch of the aristocratic matron Sempronia a featured place when chronicling the Catilinarian conspiracy of 63 B.C. Yet it is clear from all of our evidence, much of it supplied by Sallust himself, that Sempronia played no part in the conspiracy whatever and was at most deemed a possible influence on various men.

By the first century, apprehensions about the political potential of women altogether removed from public life had become more commonplace. During the emperor Nero's reign of terror in the early sixties A.D., the female relations of his male victims routinely suffered persecution at Nero's hands. Even Nero's adoptive half-sister Claudia Antonia, whom Tacitus pointedly depicts as a quiet and unassertive woman, appears to have met her death because Nero harbored political suspicions about her. Indeed, the assumption that women, especially those of high birth, were instrumental in affecting the course of Roman republican and imperial politics manifests itself frequently and strongly enough in our ancient Roman male sources to render it impossible for scholars today to distinguish clearly between women's actual influence and women's imagined influence in political matters.

Whatever the true extent of Roman women's political involvement, it is indisputable that the political impact attributed to certain of them reflects a general image of Roman women as socially significant and often highly visible individuals. Such an image of course differs radically from that of well-born women in the society to which later republican and early imperial Rome is sometimes likened, that of fifth century B.C. Athens. "Citizen women" of the classical Athenian era barely figure in accounts of political history and are not represented as integrally involved in male social concerns; their social invisibility has created difficulties for generations of scholars merely interested in determining their social status.

In the light of scholars' readiness to note Roman women's paradoxical, real and imagined, political influence and social significance during classical times and to acknowledge Roman women's structurally central, and hence influential and significant, position within the elite family, one might therefore expect scholarship to connect this familial structural centrality and this paradoxical formidability with one another. At the very least one would expect a strong scholarly interest in the dynamics of Roman women's involvement in the politically influential, socially significant, upper-class family itself. Yet the behavior thought appropriate to and the behavior actually evinced by women in their various roles within the elite Roman family—of mother, sister, wife, daughter—are only beginning to undergo examination; the same holds true for the patterns of bonding with and among female family members.

Even in recent investigations into these matters, Anglo-American scholars have not made much of an effort to consider the relationship between the paradox of Roman women and women's conduct in their role, or roles, within the upper-class Roman family. This lack of effort need not, however, be ascribed to scholarly obtuseness. For generations a theory of Roman social development based on the views of the nineteenth century jurist Bachofen and his followers has been invoked, largely in European studies, to account for the paradox of Roman women. This theory pointedly assumes an impact of early Roman family structure and sentiment on women's position in much later elite Roman society.

The theory and its explanation for the paradox of Roman women deserve special scrutiny and detailed refutation for two reasons. Most obviously, its understandable failure to convince most Anglo-American scholars may help elucidate the failure of recent studies to link upper-class Roman women's familial position to their social significance and political influence. More importantly, its shortcomings make clear various problems to be encountered in seeking to relate the paradox of Roman women to their structural centrality in the elite family of classical times.”

- Judith P. Hallett, “The Paradox of Elite Roman Women: Patriarchal Society and Female Formidability.” in Fathers and Daughters in Roman Society: Women and the Elite Family

#roman #history #ancient #fathers and daughters in roman society #judith p. hallett

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

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sherlock holmes reactions part 4 (?) ive lost count already but unsurprisingly ive grown even more attached to him

using this as the cover image because i made him a playlist. cause im awful

no legit this is gonna need a read more because it's SO LONG SHIHEWIESHEFSHIEWHF

Had three mental breakdowns this week and realized i do in fact kin sherlock motherfucking holmes. this does not bode well for anything in my life mentally I've diagnosed him with so many things

Oh boy lol you want the list I think hes autistic (undisputed honestly) plus also adhd but on top of that there's the manic depression and uhhh the bpd lmao I dont even think that's it those are just. the obvious ones

But yeah man's a fucking mess and a shit person but in the same way as me so 👍

Some highlights I thought were very funny:

watson: we are in fact going to be waltzing into a place where people are Shooting People you do not have your gun. this is a problem

sherlock: don't worry watson I have my trusty stick!

watson: visible pain

This clearly happens like every day or so with them

but yeah there were some really honestly sweet scenes with them at the apartment and why am i getting soft over the crusty man being gay

have you considered tho. have you considered them

have you considered sherlock, who usually only plays absolute garbage on his violin serenading watson to sleep when he was tired and in pain and watson being so fucking in love with the man and waxing poetic about falling asleep to his music and waking up to see him fallen asleep on the couch next to him and oh my god them

They're just really sweet together for such a completely dysfunctional couple so much of the time lol I just. Sherlock being like.

Sherlock half of the time: watson you're fucking stupid. no i won't take care of my personal needs stfu. watson get a goddamn life. watson shut up. watson no one cares about your goddamn opinion. no i need to disturb you in the middle of the night it's for science. hey watson mind if i manipulate mansplain malewife

Sherlock the other half of the time: HELLO SIR YOU ARE MY FAVORITE MAN TO EVER MAN HELLO MAY I SPEND THE REST OF MY DAYS WITH YOU HELLO I WILL DO ANYTHING FOR YOU WE ARE PERFECT MATCHES I LOVE YOU AND I NEED YOU YOURE SO MUCH BETTER THAN ME PLEASE MARRY ME

They're... they certainly are.

ALSO OH MY GOD.

THIS ONE TIME WHEN SHERLOCK WAS JUST PACING AROUND THE ROOM AT 3 AM GOING "IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE >:(((" AND HUDSON LIKE BARGED IN TO COMPLAIN AND THEN WATSON WAS LIKE DUDE YOU GOTTA STOP DOING THIS AND PROCEEDS TO SAY THE LINE "YOU ARE KNOCKING YOURSELF UP, OLD MAN"

BAHGHSFHGRHEWHEWHIFEW

BRB SOBBING

CALLING HIM AN OLD MAN???? KNOCKING HIMSELF UP?? I DONT KNOW WHATS FUNNIER

The main highlight of this part was I have now gotten to see him have a great time watching his homo homie get married

Its so fucking funny.......

I was prepared for a funny reaction by yuumori sherlock's face when he said it lol but. Damn i was really not prepared tbh

watson: I'm engaged!

sherlock: *pained groaning*

watson: do you... not like her?

sherlock: no she's fine she's great you'll be wonderful together bUT I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE ARE HETEROSEXUAL WATSON DO I HAVE TO MARRY MYSELF THEN WATSON? ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME MARRY MYSELF.

watson: yeah... yeah... fair, I feel really bad because you did this whole case and I got a girlfriend out of it and all you got was me leaving you alone fuck man im sorry what are you gonna do without me

sherlock, highly sarcastic: dont worry watson I've always got my handy cocaine! *pulls it out and gets high in front of watson just as he's about to leave*

watson: *in fucking agony*

sherlock: good for you!

I DONT EVEN- THIS SCENE KILLED ME MULTIPLE TIMES OVER WHAT

ITS SO GODDAMN NONCHELANT ABOUT IT SHERLOCK IS JUST LIKE YEAH I WILL IN FACT NOT BE MENTALLY HEALTHY IF YOU ARE NOT WITH ME 24/7 BUT WHATEVER YOU DO YOU /S

I'd like to apologize to watson on sherlock's behalf lmao. man is being a bit too codependent on main

The last thing about sign of four I do need to address is yeah, there's the Horrific Amounts Of Racism in that one and the whiplash hearing it is just ridiculous because they seem to be so knowledgeable in all other areas and fairly... politically correct, taking sherlock's original misogyny as a purposeful character flaw, but then they just mention someone indigenous once and suddenly its all parrotting racist propaganda and just... really awful shit. There's no way I'm gonna speak for the group that just got absolutely hate crimed here but anyone can tell the author just has no clue what he's fucking talking about and it's physically painful.

And I don't know, it's just so bad it seems out of character? Doyle's making these motherfuckers say shit that honestly, Sherlock would know better about. And especially Watson. Come on, you cannot tell me watson is mentally capable of being prejudiced against someone. Please do not make him that way.

I'm not sure how to handle it specifically, or what's the proper way I should handle something like that in a media I otherwise like. Is it ok to say Doyle was clearly a piece of shit on the matter and separate those characters from his bias or is that insensitive?

I don't know, I was Not a fan of it and I'm glad to see they've at least finally shut up about the guy

But anyway yeah, uhhhh onto the short stories because I'm trying to read those before I get to the final problem

Scandal in Bohemia was a fucking ride, first of all, before we even get to Sherlock's girlboss arc we have to discuss how gay the whole situation was and how Doyle's attempt at making them less gay failed spectacularly

Like he's all "ah yes I need to marry off watson and uhhh make sherlock ummmm interact with a woman so they dont look gay" but he does it SO BADLY that it makes them look EVEN GAYER

cause i mean, even the conversation they had about watson getting married back in sign of four was gay af, but how Doyle handled things afterward was in no way straighter.

Cause you know, the man kind of wrote himself into a corner with the fact of Watson narrating these stories. So Watson has to be around to witness them, and to witness Sherlock's own thought process rather privately, so he has to be around sherlock at night, a lot. But trying to come up with a reason for that happening just... it didn't occur to Doyle. He just went. Ah yes this makes sense. And it's Watson just like Sleeping Over At Sherlock's like every other goddamn day and every time his wife leaves town and having them basically still live that cute domestic home life but they have absolutely no excuses for doing it anymore. It's quite funny

Like it was gay already the way they interacted when they officially lived together but it was like, a necessity for them. Now it's not, Watson just comes over because he goddamn wants to, and it's hilarious to me.

LIKE IDK I THINK THEY KIND OF BROKE UP FOR A YEAR OR SO BC OF WATSON GETTING MARRIED AND THEY LIKE DONT HAVE CONTACT WITH ONE ANOTHER BUT ONE DAY WATSON JUST INEXPLICABLY HAS THE URGE TO COME VISIT SHERLOCK ON NO NOTICE AND THEN SUDDENLY THEY ARE TOGETHER NEAR 24/7 AGAIN LIKE BARELY ANYTHING CHANGED AHIEHOEWH

SIT DOWN AND TRY TO TELL ME THOSE ARE NOT HOMOSEXUALS

Watson walks in on no fucking notice after a full year and Sherlock is just. In the middle of some experiment obviously but hes like

Sherlock, carrying around unidenfiable chemical mixtures: W A T S O N you look good you look good! i see you've gained seven pounds!!

watson: uh. thanks??? Hey lol *awkwardly waves* Uh um Wanted to Uhm sEe you

Sherlock: ABOUT gODDAMN TIME AND YES WONDERFUL LOOK LOOK SIT DOWN I HAVE THINGS TO INFODUMP ABOUT

watson: :) ok :) *turns to camera* and we were back to the old days

sherlock: makes a deduction

watson: wowwwwwwwwwwww !! so true bestie !!

sherlock: !!!!!!!!! :))) !!!!! :))) uh fuck im supposed to be smooth Its Elementary Lol

watson: *turns to camera* when i stroke his ego like this and compliment him he blushes like a girl like i just complimented his dress so i do it more because he likes it. this is a homie trait

watson: well i should probably get going! my wife will notice that i am gone my dear buddy bro homie!

sherlock: NO DONT LEAVE IM LOST WITHOUT YOU (pretty much a direct quote lol) your. wife doesn't. get back home until monday. I know this because I am smart and definitely have not been stalking you.

watson: alright :)))))

AND THEN HE FUCKING SLEEPS OVER LMAO FUCKING HOMOS

So yeah they're right back where they were before pretty much and there's a case bc of course there is

And honestly I think this short story specifically was so insane mostly just because of how absolutely fast it all went. Yuumori kind of made me believe the original Irene Adler was more of an important character than she really is? And I think that's. Honestly so funny. Motherfucker shows up for ten pages, girlbosses her way around town, and changes sherlock's entire opinion of the female gender while still keeping him gay?

LIKE NO LOL SHES NOT IN ANY WAY A LOVE INTEREST AND WATSON GOES OUT OF HIS WAY TO SPECIFY THE FACT THAT IN NO WORLD WOULD THEY HAVE BEEN ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED BECAUSE. SHERLOCK. DIDN'T DATE WOMEN.

HE WAS JUST??? SO IMPRESSED AND SHELL SHOCKED BY HER EXISTENCE HE DECIDED IT WAS TIME FOR GIRLBOSS APPRECIATION DAY TODAY AND ALL DAYS HENCEFORTH???

AND THEY HAVE LIKE O N E INTERACTION?? God, the power this woman(?) has. Watson looks at her once like. damb shawty 😳 and she's like "no<3" and he's like FUCK

Like yeah it's pretty much just the king walking up like "help girl the whore is blackmailing me" and sherlock being like "ok lol this will be easy" and then it proceeded to not in fact be easy or even possible

sherlock like... posed as a dead body and tried to get her to give up the location of the photo but she out-acted him and skipped the town the next day after doing the 'good night mr. sherlock holmes' thing with sherlock completely tricked

and she just. sends a letter like "dear sherlock holmes. you're a fucking idiot and i think it's funny that you lost. nice job tho mad respect" and sherlock just SHORT CIRCUITS

the king comes back a bit later like "hey Dude where's my Photo" and sherlock's like oh yeah uhhhhhhhhhhh about that and the king is like HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN THAT GODDAMN HARD i would have dated someone more noble if she wasn't so pretty i swear im on a whole different level from her

and then. GIRLBOSSIFIED SHERLOCK HOLMES RESPONDS "from what I have seen of the lady, she seems indeed to be on a very different level from your majesty" ABSEHHESHEFHHFES ROASTED

and the dude just LEAVES

After that I read a few more of the short stories and well the highlights I got from that pretty much were these conversations

Watson: sherlock. honey. have you. eaten anything today

Sherlock: IT DIDNT OCCUR TO ME DEAR WATSON

Watson: ITS FIVE PM

and:

Sherlock: *having one of his Moment Moments at three in the goddamn mornig* GRRRR CRIME ISNT WHAT IT USED TO BE

Watson: MY DEAR SHERCOCK WHAT IS CRIME S U P P O S E D TO BE LIKE ACCORDING TO YOU

Sherlock: no one's original anymore fucking copycats

Watson: so you want the criminals to make things harder for you specifically.

Sherlock, exasperated: yes!

I love them your honor.

#rowan's hyperfixation essays #rowan screams into the void #rowan views moriarty #sherlock holmes

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fatehbaz · 4 years

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Slugs dwell in close proximity to most humans in the British Isles, feasting on paper in recycling bins in the morning and dining on lettuces by moonlight. Slugs are, we might say, writers of domestic landscapes, leaving trails of mucus on carpet and stone; readers, too, following the marks laid down by their kin [...]. In Britain, it is in the domestic garden or yard, that the slimy choreography of slugs and humans is at its most intimate. If the garden is about summoning certain forms of life [...], then the slug contests that process: by eating plants, yes [...]. Slugs, like other often uncomfortable companions such as microbes [...], bees [...], cougars [...], test our resolve to live ‘convivially’ with non-humans [...].

Yet live we must, for the lives of humans and slugs are stuck together.

Composition is the work of building a common world [...]. It is, simply put, how things come to stick together. [...] [A]gents and materials are never distributed in time or space according to [...] the authorities of Modernism [...]. In this the composers are certainly not all human [...].

In his Snails and man in Britain, gastropod expert Michael Kemey (1996) concluded that since land mollusc population densities were greatest in disturbed landscapes like pasture [...], the success of slugs and snails in post-glacial Britain was due to the spread of human settlement [...] [and] more recently the great inter-war expansion of suburbia in Britain offered a new niche for slugs. Four million suburban homes were built across England [...]. In particular, suburban expansion benefited three species of slug (Arion hortensis, Deroceras retoculatum, Tandonia budapestensis), while what was commonly known as the black field slug was renamed the garden slug. In a wet British spring, slug numbers can top 15 billion, and the average suburban garden can be home to 200 slugs [...]. As the century progressed, Britain grew its own version of what Robbins (2007) called the ‘chemical lawn good life complex’. This complex, in which giant chemical companies, middle-class suburban homeowners, grasses, weeds, and pests were bound together, worked to create gardens that were ‘sterile, monocultural, soaked in poison’ [...]. [Gardeners] can [...] use irony and humour [...] to distance [themselves] from [their] actions [...] [a] combination of killing slugs but professing guilt. [...]

[In some cases] the stickiness of composition leaves a residue that echoes through time, as narrated by [gardeners] shifting their sense of what is possible and good in their gardens after an intense connection reaction to slug death. [...] For Morton (2010), every [interspecies] meeting in fact reminds us that the being we meet is and always shall be strange to us [...]. [H]e insists that everything is not just related, but also that there is something singular, irreducible and vast behind each relation.

When beings meet there is a distance between, such that in encountering the slug we also encounter something beyond the slug -- a multitude of life we cannot sense.

The ethic that emerges from this space ‘between relation’ is, as Yusoff puts it, part of a ‘virtual ecology’ that exceeds encounters with matter. So despite shared histories and the close proximity in which slugs and gardeners live, the slug retains a certain darkness as a creature apart; something is held in reserve [...]. And so fleeting awareness of the irretrievability of the lives of others intensifies poignancy, such that despite a gulf separating the gardener from other creatures, some connection, however, fleeting, is made to something -- however strange.

Refusing to dismiss the everyday and the banal is an ethical response. [...] Slugs are there: sliming, chomping, and oozing around quietly and that should be enough to give them consideration.

---

All text above by: Franklin Ginn. “Sticky lives: Slugs, detachment and more-than-human ethics in the garden.” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers. 2013.

#slugs #ecology #multispecies #landscape #temporal #indigenous #bugs #interspecies #tidalectics #insects #geographic imaginaries #victorian and edwardian popular culture

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

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Sibling Protection Squad ~ Arthur Shelby

He may be a dummy, but he’s so cute c’:

There weren’t too many words to describe the eldest Shelby sibling - Aggressive, maybe kinda dumb, clearly a drunk, an ex-soldier still majorly plagued by the horrors of the war - And it’s true, most of these sound incredibly negative, and it almost seems like there was no redeeming quality for him.

But only God knows how big his heart is, and how he’d give his life for his family, especially for Tommy, because that’s how much he loves them, but in this dark and cruel world, only filled with death and smog, there’s no place for such warm feelings...

Or so he thought, until one cold and snowy winter, where Arthur was walking down the streets of Birmingham with his brother, and suddenly, a honey-coated voice ripped them away from their business talks, and as they looked up hill, he noticed a lovely young woman dancing in the snow with a little girl who looked a lot like her - The little one was playing around with the falling snowflakes, giggling gleefully, while the older one’s hands were freezing as she was making a flower crown from the prettiest winter flowers there were.

The eldest Shelby didn’t even realise he stopped dead in his tracks to gaze at the h/c woman, mesmerised by her...Her everything, really. But was that her sister or her daughter? And, moreover, he’s ugly as hell, a drunk, he talks loud and he’s rough, how could someone as soft and delicate ever even think about staying within a 10 kilometer radius from him?

“Brother, why do you look so upset? Go talk to her.” Thomas put both his hands on his brother’s shoulders, smiling encouragingly at him. “I can’t, Tommy, I can’t. Look at ‘er, she’s...She’s perfect! I’ll just scare her away. And that kid, what if it’s hers? What if she’s married? I can’t just intrude in her life like that.” Arthur sighed, hanging his head and sighing. “Go after her, brother, otherwise, I will, and I will wife her, and she will become a Shelby, just not the you’d wish her to be.” Tommy smirked slightly, provoking his brother, knowing very well how he can be. “Don’t you dare, Tommy! You can’t do this to me!” the elder one pursed his mouth, getting flared up by his brother, who felt like a winner, as always. “Then go there and talk to her! It’s that simple. Now go along. I’ll go home, and when you’re done here, I want to know how it went.” Tommy pushed his brother towards the girl, winking and giving him thumbs up to get the courage to proceed.

Let me call you "Sweetheart," I'm in love with you. Let me hear you whisper that you love me too. Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true. Let me call you "Sweetheart," I'm in love with you.

She sang like a beautiful nightingale, putting the flower crown on her hair, picking her up and twirling around together - It almost seemed like the most blissful, domestic dream, the one that without realising, he wished for the most. However, as he got enchanted by her mermaid-like voice, he noticed another man approaching them, and he tensed up, thinking it was her husband, and his heart sank in disappointed, his dreams completely ruined.

“Hello, little lady. Why are you here, alone, when the sun is going down?” the man asked, scaring the girl and pulling the little girl behind her, getting in a protective stance...This man clearly wasn’t her husband, Arthur thought, as he watched carefully the interaction between those two. “Just enjoying this beautiful winter day with my little sister, hoping for no outside disturbances.” she held a smile on her face, but it was clear her voice was passive-aggressive enough, as the man was screaming DANGER with his mere presence. “Well, I’d say it’s getting late. How about I escort you home, safely, and you sing for me all night long, sweet songbird.” the man chuckled, stepping closer to the girls, and Arthur could see how uncomfortable and scared the girl was. “Sis, this man is creeping me out. Can he leave us alone?” the little girl asked innocently, tugging on her sister’s long coat. “He WILL leave us alone...If he knows what’s good for his life.” Y/N’s voice became lower, more threatening, as she slowly letting her chin down, looking like a lioness ready to protect her kin. “Aww, don’t be like that, toots, c’mon, I’ll treat you well!” the creep walked quickly in front of her, grabbing her arm violently, only to get slapped and pushed away. “Go away, if you don’t want to get hurt even more. I warn you now, before I slit your throat.” looking closer, Arthur noticed the glint of metal in her hand, but he was going to intervene before she could get her hands dirty. Just then, the man got visibly angry, his face scrunching into an ugly mug, and he violently grabbed her by the arms, and thus, it was his time to act.

Arthur rushed to save her, dragged the creep away from the woman, punching him in the face enough to scare him to run away from there - But now, he was the violent creep who stalked her and heroically saved her... And looking at her sheepishly, he realised that she was awkwardly shifting on her feet, hiding the knife back in the sleeve of her coat.

“Thank you, Mr. I and my sister thank you. Some people can be really...Bad.” she chuckled awkwardly, letting her sister come out from behind her, and surprisingly, despite her shy demeanor, she went to the Shelby and took off her flower crown, gifting it to him. “Here, Mister! It’s a thank you for protecting us! Y/N did this for me, and now, I’m giving it to you! But you have to tell us your name first! Mine is Stephanie, and my Y/N’s name is Y/N!” the usually timid little girl spoke so brightly, jumping up and down cheerfully in front of the stranger, trying to get him to accept the gift, while Y/N could only stare at them with wide eyes, embarrassed and shocked by her behaviour. “S-Steph, don’t bother the poor stranger like that, you’re gonna scare him away.” Y/N put her hands on her sister’s shoulders, trying to calm her down, but the man grinned in amusement, his heart softening. “Don’t worry, ma’am, she’s a sweetling. Name’s Arthur Shelby, at your service.” he extended his hand to her, and she shook it, a small smile on her face. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Shelby. Thank you again for coming to our aid. How can we repay for your help?” she asked, slowly walking in the direction of her home. “If you would allow me to honour of walking you home...A drink together maybe...” he suggested, which made the girl look up at him, tilting her head to the side briefly, before nodding in agreement, raised her hand to look at her non existent wrist watch, before slapping her forehead. “I forgot my watch broke recently. Well, the magical way the Sun works tells me it’s going to be dinner time soon, so...If you’re not too busy...” she shrugged simply, opening the door to her little, but very warm, welcoming and cosy apartment, but Arthur didn’t dare step inside. “Nothing to do. I promise to bring you back home whenever you want.” he spoke, leaning on the door frame, watching the beautiful woman lecture her little sister - The usual things any older sister who’s taking care of a child all by herself - And then taking her purse to go with him.

He wondered how the hell did he manage to convince this gorgeous woman, without really doing anything at all. This woman was absolutely flawless, without even having to dress elegantly, do her hair or make up, and suddenly, he was reminded of Grace and how much effort she puts into being less than perfect compared to Y/N.

This time, his feet didn’t lead him the Garrison, as they always do - The standard, go there, listen to Grace’s singing that leads to a bunch of drunk men sing completely off-tune, and then he gets drunk too, sometimes shit-faced drunk, and he forgets everything, including his problems. Now, however, he brought her to one of those exclusive burlesque cabaret restaurants, which shocked Y/N big time.

“Arthur, I-...I...I don’t think I can afford getting in such a luxurious place. I’m just a practicing physician, I don’t really make a lot of money...And I didn’t dress appropriately either. I-...” the girl stumbled worriedly over her words, only to earn a grin from the man. “Don’t worry, lass, I’m a man and I asked you on a date with me. It would be unbecoming of me to let you pay. Just enjoy the show and whatever you want to drink...And have that beautiful smile on your face.” he looked down for a brief moment, before looking at her face, noticing a soft blush and the spark of mirth in her eyes.

Watching the beautiful girls dance so so enticingly got the girl mesmerised, studying their every move with fascination, then got the Irish whiskey from the table, poured it in the crystal glasses for the both of them, then grinned, stealing a look at the man sitting in the chair glued to hers.

“Do you know how to dance?” she asked, leaning on her armrest to talk into his ear, as the music was very loud. “Uh...No, I’m not good at dancing, sorry. I can try, if you want to-” Arthur fumbled over his words, a bit embarrassed that he never got around to being as great a charming dancer as Tommy...Or a dancer at all, really. “Oh, that’s absolutely perfectly, I’m dreadful at dancing too. It’s a great thing other women are great at it, otherwise life would be SO boring.” Y/N chuckled gleefully, having her elbow on the table, raising her glass to cling with his, a he mimicked her gesture, laughing boastfully. “You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” he barked, and boy, was he feeling lucky as hell that Tommy convinced him to approach her. “And you are the best man I’ve ever met in my life, without a doubt.” he never would have believed that some simple words would be so life-changing for him, coming from the right person.

And that night, oh boy, he talked Tommy’s ear off, and even Polly was there to hear and congratulate him on having such a great date, and now, they all wanted to meet this mystery woman. She was absolutely stunning, and all the Shelbys loved her, especially Polly, who finally thought dear Arthur found someone able to keep him under control, so he would stop being a rabid dog running astray, plagued by the ghosts of his past as a soldier in France. She was his perfect remedy, and likewise, he was showing her there are ways to have fun in life like never before, and that all started with the burlesque show, then the jazz bar where a band sang, then spontaneously going to the outskirts of the city to visit parks, simply to get away from the monochromatic life from Bleak Birmingham.

Because with together, life was painted in the most magical hues and shades of colours brought to Earth by the angels themselves.

Or so Ada said once when they were eating together, as a family, and it stuck with the both of them, so much, that they were sure every time they embraced, a rainbow shot from their hearts, unifying each other.

With Stephanie being there, they almost seemed like a family, the three of them, and it happened almost in an instant, without as much as realising, but Arthur became the girl’s father figure and loved her like his own child, and despite not having a clue how to behave with children, he spoiled the hell out of her, which made Y/N incredibly happy.

But things can’t always be perfect, and everyone knows the Shelbys and the ones they love essentially have a bullseye painted on their forehead, and one day, when, as usual, Y/N took Steph to the hill to play and sing together, only to have a few people come threaten them - Threaten to torture and kill them, unless they tell them about the Shelby family, and it goes without saying, it was terrifying for the two females.

Aggressiveness, curses, violence - One of them dragged Steph away, while the leader punched Y/N’s face once she screamed, telling them to take her, not her little sister, she’s the only one she has in her life anymore.

It all seemed to go as a complete blur - A shadow of the past that came to haunt their nightmares, a perfect reenactment of that horrible night from 10 years ago - Gunshots, screams, blood, even more curses...And enough dead bodies to start a small cemetery.

It was a split second for Y/N to get desperate enough to get the gun Arthur gave her years ago out of her purse and with perfect precision shot the assailants in the head - And as soon as she realised what she’s done, when all the smoke cleared and the enemies fell down on the ground, and her little sister was shaking like a leaf, sobbing and pulling at her hair.

“Y/N?! Y/N, what the bloody hell happened!” a familiar male voice shouted from far away, waking her out of her trance. “Arthur...?” she muttered, her shoulders shaking, just like her arms and bottom lip, which in turn, caused the girl to drop the gun and waiting for the man to come closer to them, she ran to him, crying and shaking him, alternating with hitting him, the panic still messing with her. “DAMN IT, ARTHUR, LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT THIS! YOU PROMISED, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! YOU PROMISED!” she shrieked at him, but poor him, was so confused and shocked of the sight in front of him.

Y/N has been the calmest person in the whole world, the rational one, the only person who could talk sense and ration into him, and yet, there she was, completely freaking out, trembling, wailing and yelling gibberish, and there was nothing in the world scarier than the love of his life being in this kind of state.

“Y/N, calm down and talk to me, please! Calm down, I’m here, everything’s better now. Talk to me, Y/N, talk to me.” he put his hands on her face, getting closer to her, looking directly in her eyes, something he knew worked because Tommy did it, and it always worked for him. “You promised you’d protect us, Arthur! You promised, and look at this mess! I had to kill them all! I DID IT! I’m a murderer, just like them! And look at Stephanie, she’s...She’s hysterical! You were supposed to protect us! THEY wanted to torture us to tell them secrets on YOU! Damn it, Arthur, you bloody PROMISED!” she cried out, and Arthur was lost for words, but actions spoke louder than them, and so he embraced her tightly, stroking her hair, trying to soothe her down. “Shhh, Y/N, calm down, it’s alright now, thank god for that. You’re incredibly brave and strong. You’re incredible, Y/N. I promise, nothing like this will ever happen again, I swear to you, on my honour as a Shelby...On my honour as your husband, this won’t ever happen again.” he rocked her back and forth, trying to relax her, but in reality, it wasn’t her that was shaken up, it was her sister. “Arthur...Look at her. Ten years ago...Something like this happened to us, ten years ago. Why do you think I was alone in taking care of her? I was 10 years old when she was brought into this world...And it was weird, having to share everything...But I got used to it. But 5 years later...Thieves robbed us. Raped and killed my mother, beat up my father to death...We were next...But dad’s gun was useful, just as the gun you gave to me. And it was hell...She was 5, I was 15. Now here we are, 10 years later...She is 15 like I was, I am 25...I’m married to you, and yet, just like then, there’s nobody to save us, but ourselves. And she’s traumatised. What do I do?! What do I do, Arthur, I don’t know!” she cried in his chest, explaining in great detail the ghosts of her past, and he could only bite his lip and hold her even tighter. “How about you give a fuck about me, instead of coddling up with your useless man who can’t even protect his family! How about you stop freezing up after you killed people in cold blood, and come to reassure me, instead of letting me to sob on the floor for days on end, just like when I was 5?!” Steph shakily got up, glaring at her older sister, who gulped in shock and confusion. “Steph, I-I...I was scared too, you know? I-I’m not perfect, I’m not...Immune to all this...I am as traumatised as you are...But I pulled the trigger. I killed them. And I did it to save us. I did everything I could to support US. So please, don’t act like this.” Y/N tried to reason, still clinging onto Arthur, as she took a deep breath, afraid of what would happen next. “No! NO! You just did what they did to us! It’s your fault I have nightmares almost every other night! And since then...You’ve been overprotective and overbearing! I can’t stand you anymore, Gods, it’s like you’re like a bad luck token for everyone! Just wait until the next person you’ll get in trouble is him, and you’ll weep for him, but not for me! How many more people are you gonna get killed before you end up alone?!” the girl shouted angrily at her older sister, then stormed off away from there, to God knows where. “Wait, no -...Steph, no, don’t go-...!” Y/N tried to run after her, but it was obvios the younger girl wanted nothing to do with her, so she stopped, letting herself fall on the grassy ground, crying hopelessly. “...Y/N...I’m sorry. This is not your fault. What happened was terrible, but this isn’t your fault. You did everything in your power to keep your family safe, and she should have realised that by now.” Arthur sighed, getting next to her, holding her to his chest. “How do you and Tommy get over a fight? I mean...It’s not like you practically raised him...And it’s just a 3 years difference between you, not 10 like with us...But I know you love him to death and would do anything for him...Which is the same as me and Stephanie...I don’t know, Arthur...I just...I’m lost. I don’t know what to do...And what she will do. She never worked, never did anything except go to school but even there, she is below average...But I can’t support her all life, and then, what will happen? Please tell me what to do, Artie, I’m...I don’t know.” she threw her arms around him, and he mentally cursed himself for his inability to keep the family together, but the least he could do was to stay with her and try to make her feel better in any way possible. “Let’s go home, Y/N. Let’s talk to Pol and Ada. They are women, I’m sure they can help us out. We’ll tell them the story and...And if she’s not home yet, we’ll get John to track her down and get her home safely. There’s a solution for everything, that’s what Tommy taught me.” he helped her get up, but instead of letting her walk by herself, Arthur picked her up bridal style, kissing her cheek and making sure she’s alright. “Okay...Okay, Artie...I trust you. I’m sure that...With you by my side...Everything will get better. Eventually, at least. Somehow...But at least I can cope with it.” she muttered, resting her head on his shoulder, sighing softly. “Younger siblings are a drag to deal with, sometimes...But we’re older. We gotta deal with them, somehow, ‘cause we love ‘em. That’s how it works. But at least we have each other now, so it will be easier dealing with their bratty asses.” Arthur barked a laugh, grinning as the girl started playing with his moustache, finally smiling again. “Yeah...Older siblings for the win!” she laughed weakly, hugging his neck.

#peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby imagine #thomas shelby #polly shelby #tommy shelby #ada shelby #john shelby

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fandomlurker · 4 years

Text

A Ponderous Rewatch: Opportunity Knox and Cameo

We’re treated to something a bit special this episode! No, not the art and animation quality, as that’s…kinda weak this time. Or maybe I should say Brain is drawn and animated kinda nightmarishly in a lot of parts? Well, you’ll see.

No, the special thing about this episode is that it’s written by Tom Minton, the writer at Warner Brothers who was the original inspiration for The Brain! The general idea for Pinky and the Brain as characters and as a show came from Tom Ruegger having an office close by to Tom Minton and Eddie Fitzgerald, two writers and storyboard artists who he would often hear laughing and joking around together but usually couldn’t make out what exactly they were saying. Minton usually spoke low and quietly and was more introverted, while Fitzgerald was much more outgoing and loud…basically already like a cartoon come to life (Eddie actually did exclaim things like ‘Narf’ occasionally in reality, which was an aspect that was added to and exaggerated in Pinky’s character). The fact that these two guys who were viewed as total opposites by their colleagues were good friends and spent so much time working together in secret lead to everyone joking that they were secretly trying to take over the world.

That isn’t to say that Pinky and Brain are 100% cartoon copies of Eddie and Tom—our mouse duo definitely veered off into their own distinct personalities very quickly—but the basic bones of their characters came from these two real life men. That makes me wonder about how surreal it must have been for Tom Minton to write for episodes starring Pinky and the Brain. He only did so four times in Animaniacs (and Eddie Fitzgerald never directly worked on Animaniacs or Pinky and the Brain, to my knowledge).

In any case, let’s move on to the actual episode.

We open to a multitude of bubbling beakers of mysterious liquids and one scientist working alone at night in the Acme Labs. She sneezes a few times, and then exclaims that she’s only a few steps away from curing the common cold.

…Man, Acme Labs is a total shitshow when it comes to their work, aren’t they? In addition to all the blatantly cruel experiments on animals that they do, just look at how lax this scientist is about lab safety. I’ll give her props for at least wearing her lab coat properly and tying her long hair up, which is something most media usually gets wrong. The fact that she’s doing this medical experiment while not wearing gloves or proper eye protection or a mask is very troubling. Not to mention that she’s doing all this while being very sick, if her violent sneezes are anything to go by.

Hmm, that cage is looking suspiciously empty.

Well, well! Looks like our mousey duo is up to something.

“Ahehehehe, oh this is gonna be great, Brain! Narf!”

“Quiet, Pinky!”

OH LORD, SHE JUST CHUGS IT HERSELF! Lady, PLEASE! The fact that this “cure” is piss-coloured only makes it worse.

Sweetie, I think this needs more peer-reviewed, double-blind tests before you can truthfully say that you’ve made a cure for the common cold. You have no proper safety gear on and you’re doing this experiment all alone at night with no one to check up on you.

Oh no. Boys, what are you doing?

So they catapult some powdery substance on her and she goes into a more violent sneezing fit than before. She leaves the room to go “back to the drawing board”, but honestly I’m hoping that she just goes home and isolates herself for a while.

“Success, Pinky!”

“Egad, Brain, what is this stuff?!”

“A new strain of pollen I created myself, Pinky. It causes a temporary but uncontrollable fit of allergic sneezing in man.”

Pinky looks very disturbed by this (although I suppose it doesn’t help that Brain has that very smug and devious look on his face) until Brain says that the effect is temporary. It’s a nice little detail that shows us approximately where Pinky’s lines of morality are. Brain makes his own strain of pollen to cause humans to have severe sneezing fits? That’s amazing but horrifying! Oh, it’s only temporary? Well okay, then. It’s fine if it doesn’t cause any lasting harm.

“No human is immune.”

AAAAAAHHHHHHH! Holy fuck, show, don’t give me a jumpscare like that!

“Do you realize what we will do with this pollen, Pinky?”

“Umm… Open a boutique?”

GAH! I told you to stop doing that! Seriously, what’s up with the way Brain’s draw in this episode?

“Yes, that’s it. We’ll open a boutique and sell ladies’ clothing and pollen.”

“Egad, Brain, what fun! I like this idea, I do! Hehehahahaha!~”

Of course he would. Of course he’d like working in a more domestic setting and selling ladies’ clothing.

…Say, now that I think of it, I think this might be the first time we get a hint as to Pinky’s love of what’s stereotypically thought of as women’s clothing. Hmm.

BONK!

“Focus, Pinky, FOCUS!”

Brain, sweetie, not everyone goes into tunnel-visioned hyperfocus like you do.

“We shall do no less than go to Fort Knox, Kentucky: keeper of the nation’s gold supply. There, we will expose the guards to our pollen…”

Despite the general awkwardness of the animation this episode, I like the way Brain is drawn here from over the shoulder. Very nice work.

Also…”our” pollen? Brain, you made that yourself. I guess this is just another example of Brain subconsciously including Pinky in everything.

“…and while they’re sneezing uncontrollably, we’ll move into the vault and take the gold!”

Brain’s plan blueprints are such a treat. Gold! Gold! Gold!

“For he who controls this nation’s capital, controls the nation!”

Okay, this close-up is a little better.

“Off to Fort Knox!”

“Oh! Wait! But isn’t the nation’s capital in Washington, DC?”

BONK!

“Capital as in money, Pinky!”

Oh come on now, Brain. It was an easy mistake to make. Also “capital” in this instance can mean more than money if you want to get semantic about it.

Brain grabs Pinky’s tail to drag him away again. It’s a wonder that Pinky’s tail isn’t as kinked up and injured as Brain’s is by now.

Ooo, improvised tools time!

“But how are we gonna get to Fort Knox, Brain?”

“We’ll simply borrow one of the lab’s technological resources:”

“The minivan!”

Pinky, are you mildly swooning over Brain acquiring a minivan? I…

This does bring up a point I wanted to make, though. Sometimes fans will question why Pinky and Brain stay at Acme Labs despite being put through so much inhumane and humiliating bullshit. While it’s true that Brain doesn’t much like the experiments he’s subjected to (Pinky is…another story entirely), I’m pretty sure he keeps the labs as his home because it’s incredibly convenient for his world domination plans. These are ACME labs, after all, and regardless of how terrible the experiments are, Acme has access to just about every bit of technology in the Warner Brothers cartoon universe. Brain can find or order whatever parts he needs for his latest world domination plan whenever he wants, and no human bats an eye at mysterious bits and bobs showing up because, well, it’s Acme. Acme is in the business of doing absolutely everything. No matter what daytime tortures Brain goes through, the lab is an incredible asset to him, and he’d be foolish to give that up.

Hello again, Warner siblings! I hope you’re having fun tonight.

That’s an awfully tiny sack of pollen to take for this trip…

“Won’t we get in trouble, Brain?”

“’Get in trouble’? Pinky, we’re going to take over the world!”

I just like the tiny silhouettes in this screencap.

“Besides, we’ll have the van back here by 8 am.”

“Oh! All right, then!”

[Quickly googles how long it would take to drive from Burbank California to Fort Knox]

…Are you sure about that, Brain? Are you really, positively sure?

Oh my goodness, a little winch and pulley system! That’s a little convoluted, but it’s adorable.

“Oi! Nice threads, Brain! But, err, why the disguise?”

“If we are to succeed in our mission, I must pass for an average, non-descript motorist, Pinky.”

I agree, Pinky. Brain always looks good in a suit.

Also he’s on a literal soap box, holy shit.

“So while we’re driving, call me Mr. Perkins.”

A trillby?!? Put it back! Putitbackputitbackputitback!

“Say no more! Brilliant, Brain!”

“Mr. Perkins.”

Oh no, he’s threatening to punch the audience now!

“Ooo, right, right. Narf! Heh, Mr. Per-kins.~”

“Pinky, start your engine!”

So Pinky tugs on a rope tied to the car keys to start the minivan, and I bet we can all already tell that he’s going to be doing most of the hard work for this roadtrip.

“Now depress the brake!”

I half expected a joke here where Pinky would say depressing things to the brake, but that didn’t happen. It’s just as well, I suppose. Pinky’s not usually the type to be mean to anyone or anything.

Instead, he pushes himself into the brake.

This made me curious about how strong real mice are. According to this scientific article, the average mouse can lift approximately 70 g in weight.That’s not a lot compared to us humans, of course, but seeing as the average weight of the common house mouse is 19 g (and common wood mice are on average 23 g), that’s really impressive! Still, for Pinky to be able to depress the brake is quite a feat that’s worlds beyond what the average real-life mouse can do.

Yes, yes, I know. It’s all cartoon logic and physics. That’s not going to stop me from having the headcanon that Pinky and the Brain have both been modified so much by Acme Labs that in addition to becoming sapient and intelligent, they’re basically little mouse superheroes in strength, too.

“Yes! Now I’ll shift the transmission into gear and…you give it the gas!”

Man, Pinky just slams his entire body onto the gas pedal with all his mousey might! You can hear him physically strain against it. Well done, Mr. Paulsen!

“Now Pinky, let us, in the vernacular, ‘take this hog out on the road and see who’s boss’!”

Oh lord, Brain’s on a slight power trip just from being able to drive a vehicle. If he ever does rule over the world one day, I fear he may explode from the sheer ego-high of it.

Anyway, on the way to Fort Knox they get stuck behind a rather slow transport truck. Well, Brain can’t have that! He’s got to get back to the lab by 8 am after all!

“Pinky! Prepare to pass a slow-moving vehicle!”

“Righty-o, Brain!”

Again, Pinky, I’m pretty sure you really aren’t supposed to stick your ass and chest out while saluting. You’re supposed to keep your posture straight.

…What am I saying? Pinky can’t do anything straight.

“Call me Mr. Perkins! Activate left turn indicator now.”

Aww, a little hop!~

Unfortunately it’s the wrong lever.

“…Let’s try that again, Pinky.”

“Narf! Wrong switch.”

He sits down to think and of course he gets it right that way.

Anyone else enjoying a lesson on how to drive from Pinky and the Brain? No? Just me? I mean, I already know how, but this is super cute.

“Exemplary work, Pinky!”

Brain, he just…he just pulled a switch. By accident. The fact that he’s so sincere about complimenting him for this is very cute but also very odd. I guess Brain’s in a good mood tonight.

“But we’re slowing down. Quickly, step on the gas!”

“Gas, check!”

Pinky, no!

Oh lord, he just lets himself fall directly on the gas pedal. You okay there, dude?

“Maintain pedal pressure, Pinky!”

I don’t think he has much of a choice, Brain.

So they get beside the freight truck and the driver of it picks up his CB radio mic.

“Hey, breaker breaker one nine, this here’s Big Red. Eh…what’s your handle, good buddy? Over.”

“The name’s Perkins. MISTER Perkins. Just an average, non-descript motorist.”

Wh—Why is there a CB radio installed in the Acme Lab minivan?

Pinky chooses this moment to lift himself off the gas pedal and then jump back on it in a weirdly showy, semi-acrobatic way. The first screencap has the tip of his tail almost in the shape of a heart, so I had to include it.

Our duo pass by the freight truck. Needless to say, the truck driver is still pretty rattled by his run-in with “Mr. Perkins”.

“I gotta quit eatin’ them double onion chili dogs!…”

Usually people just run with it on this show, but this is one of those rare moments where a human being doesn’t inexplicably fall for one of Brain’s horrible human disguises.

The minivan’s grill looks like teeth here and it’s almost menacing.

Uh oh, Brain’s getting dozy.

“Pinky…I’m in need of some music to keep myself raptly alert. And use the cruise control this time so we don’t lose speed!”

I don’t know why I’m so charmed by Pinky pressing the cruise control button like this, but it’s very cute.

“Cruise control on, Br—aaaerr—umm, Mr. Perkins!”

He is trying his best. :3c

“[yawn] Stellar, Pinky. Now see if you can locate a local radio station frequency.”

“Narf! Wrong knob…”

Smacking the hell out of the right knob make the radio explode into a loud yet incredibly mild generic rock tune. I’m surprised Pinky’s so alarmed. I wonder if Brain—

JEEZUS FUCK! You gotta stop giving me a heart attack with these sudden messed up close-ups of Brain, episode!

“Turn off the radio, Pinky!”

“Heeey! This knob’s loose!”

Aaaand there he goes.

“Oohoo ahaha! What’d’ya know? The lighter works!”

I wonder if Pinky knows what that’s actually for at this point, considering his utter disdain for smoking later in the spin-off?

“The radio, Pinky!”

“Ooo, right. Almost forgot!”

Uh oh.

“Whew. Suddenly I feel downright feverish, I do…”

Pinky has become a Charmander, and he’s not happy about it.

So he’s screaming and shouting his verbal tics all over the place and what’s Brain’s reaction?

“There’s no need for you to entertain me personally, Pinky. I’m quite awake now.”

BRAIN! You wipe that smug smile off your face right now, you little jerk! I know Pinky will be okay because he always is, but still.

One screen wipe later…

“Kentucky, Pinky! We made it!”

“All right, Brain!”

“Mister PERKINS!”

Brain, I think Pinky’s just not into this roleplay tonight. Or it might be your trillby. Lose the damn trillby.

“Fort Knox is mere miles away. Nothing can stop us now!”

Well, looks like you jinxed yourself.

I’ve got no love for cops, but his “what the fuck” expression here is choice.

“Good evening, officer. Was I exceeding the speed limit?”

“By about a hundred miles an hour.”

Oh, is that all? They’d need to be over by, like, a thousand or so miles an hour to make as good of a time as they did getting here.

Maybe this guy is going to arrest them for breaking the laws of time and space.

“I’m sorry, y’see—“

Shining a flashlight directly into your eyes? Yup, this is definitely a cop.

“I’m Mr. Perkins, an average, non-descript—“

“Can I see your license and registration, please?”

And then Pinky immediately interrupts the shakedown with a happy, matter-of-fact “We don’t have any! Zort! :D” and now my mind wanders off into let’s-overanalyze-the-shit-out-of-this-joke-scene territory because… Look at this. A cop pulls over a vehicle from Acme Labs doing about a hundred miles over the speed limit and finds Brain, a mouse in a suit trying to pass as a human driver. Then Pinky, who is dressed in no such disguise because why would Brain ever think of an obviously important detail ever in one of his plans, pops up to say that they don’t have a driver’s license.

…So what does this scene look like at this point from the cop’s perspective? Besides the very rare outlier like the truck driver from before, humans usually take Brain’s word for it that he’s also human, no matter how shoddy his disguise is. There are a few possibilities here, and I honestly can’t decide which is funniest:

1. The cop can see through Brain’s poor disguise just like the truck driver from earlier can, and knows that these are actually two mice that have stolen a truck and have been speeding down the highway with it.

2. The cop thinks Brain is a very odd-looking human without a driver’s license who’s been driving down the highway at insane speeds with his loose pet talking mouse by his side.

3. The cop believes that Brain really is an odd-looking human who has no license and has been wildly speeding down the highway and also there’s an equally odd-looking human man with him who is stark naked for some mysterious reason.

I’ll let you decide which one is the most likely canon scenario as we continue as Brain tries to clear up this scenario.

“If you must know, we are two lab mice out to control the world by seizing its gold assets. But when we assume power, rest assured our budget will result in substantial new funding for law enforcement.”

…

Leave it to Brain to truthfully spell out his global domination intentions for no good reason and then lie his little mousey ass off to try and bribe his way out of going to jail.

Also, again, it’s “when we assume power” and not “when I assume power”. Hmm.

“…Oh.”

“Bwuhyuube… Be--best be on your way, then.”

“Thank you, officer.”

I’d say I was surprised that white privilege extends even to white lab mice here but…that would be a lie.

“Oh man, I do miss them witless teenage speed demons…”

So they finally make it to Fort Knox.

…And I guess the Warner siblings do, too!

The two mice have parked on a hill overlooking their target and gosh Brain, you’re looking extra pudgy here.

“It’s time to make our move, Pinky.”

Judging by the look on his face here, I think Pinky just noticed how thicc Brain’s behind has suddenly gotten.

Nevertheless, they begin their pollen assault on the guards.

Finally, the moment has arrived!

Brain’s head is shaped like a football and is almost as wide as Pinky is tall here, but besides that this is a cool shot.

This bit was also used in the spin-off’s theme for some reason, but now it will forever remind me of the absolute chaotic laughter that erupted when I got some friends to sit down and watch an episode of PatB. The stream decided to stop on this specific shot for buffering and they all just lost it. Most of the reaction was through voice on Discord, but luckily there were some friends using text chat too:

I live for moments like these when we’re streaming shows and movies.

“Egad! This is even better than a Ducktales episode, Brain!”

That’s pretty high praise, Pinky. I love the shadowing done on him here as well.

“Pinky… Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“Wha—I think so, Brain, but balancing a family and a career? Oof, it’s all too much for me!”

Pinky did…did you see all this gold and immediately begin envisioning yourself using the money to settle down and start a family?!? And so far in this series you aren’t dating anyone and you probably don’t even know anyone besides Brain and…

Okay, listen, I know it’s established later on that Pinky has wishes and daydreams about having a very domestic life, culminating in that one “Somewhere That’s Green” parody fantasy where he and Brain live together like a 50s couple in the Elmyra spin-off but… But…!

Well, you’ll kind of get a family along with your world domination “career” in a few years, Pinky. It’s probably not going to be quite how you envisioned it, though.

“The gold, Pinky! It’s all ours. Let’s move it out!”

Umm…

“One…two…three…and lift!”

I just realized that out of context the poses and faces in this screencap could look, uhh, questionable. But will that stop me from sharing it? No.

“I believe my plan has a…fatal flaw…”

About 27.4 pounds worth of a fatal flaw. You two might have super strength in comparison to other mice, but it looks like you both have a hard limit.

“I am in intense pain, Pinky.”

“Ditto, Brain. Zort!”

Well, okay, I guess it’s good that you are both cartoons, then. You boys should be able to shrug this off pretty quickly, especially Pinky.

OH GOD!

Is this what all those nightmarish close-ups of Brain were preparing me for?!?

“Fear not, Pinky, for the unwieldy atomic weight of gold will not thwart us tomorrow night.”

“Why? What are we doing tomorrow night, Brain?”

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky… Try to take over the world!”

You know, most cartoons would settle for them just being covered in bandages. Not Animaniacs, though. In Animaniacs were have to know that their removal from under the gold bar was so difficult and painful that fur was pulled out and they were left with bare, raw patches of skin. T-thanks, Warner Brothers?

Let’s end with a somewhat longer cameo appearance, as I suspect at this point Tumblr will have another fit if I try to combine two full episodes again.

The very next episode of Animaniacs has a skit called Hercule Yakko, which is a vague parody of Hercule Poirot mysteries. We get a good handful of cameos from the stars of other Animaniacs skits as passengers on a luxury cruise boat on the Nile.

The basic premise is that the Marita, one of the Hip Hippos, awakens in the middle of the night to find her comically large diamond necklace missing. The Warner siblings are a detective team who happen to also be onboard the ship and offer to help the hippo couple find it.

Before you ask, yes, this is the same episode as the infamous “fingerprints” joke.

Eventually the Warner siblings begin to go around knocking on the doors of the other passengers’ rooms to ask questions. They come across Slappy Squirrel first, who knows nothing about the missing diamond and just wants to be left alone to sleep. Then they meet Minerva Mink and, well, you can guess how that went. Then Yakko knocks on the last door.

“YES?”

Smol.

Look at them in their matching lederhosen! That’s absolutely adorable. Bravo to whichever of the mice had the idea for these “disguises”.

“Did you steal a big diamond?”

“No. We are Swiss hikers on holiday.”

Okay so maybe I’ll deduct a few points for wearing lederhosen, which is more associated with Bavaria and Germany, but claiming to be Swiss. Not that people in Switzerland didn’t also wear it, but you’d probably want to make your cover story as unsuspicious as possible, right? And that’s not even going into the idea of wearing a garment made from leather in hot, hot Egypt. These mice must be drenched in sweat…

“Look at me, Brain! I’m Heidi! Yodelehe-NARF!~”

Well at least someone in this duo is trying his best to reference things from Switzerland.

…Brain is the one that fucked up the lederhosen cultural background thing, isn’t he? Goddammit, Brain.

He just bonks the hell outta Pinky and silently slams the door in Yakko’s face.

After briefly talking with Marita, Yakko exclaims that he knows where the diamond is and asks that everyone assemble together in the state room. And so they do!

Aww, they’re sharing a chair because they are so, so tiny. :3c

“You’re probably all wondering why I called you here!”

“To reveal the thief?!?” says everyone in unison.

Minerva, you’re looking kind of weird in that second pic.

“No. It’s because you can’t play charades with three people.”

“That’s it! I’m goin’ back to bed.”

“So am I. I didn’t take the diamond!”

Man, Minerva really got a raw deal in the 90s. She only has two episode skits of her own and makes a few tiny cameos elsewhere, like in this one. I get that she was put on the back-burner as a character because her skits were considered “too suggestive”—and to be honest they were a bit over the top—but there are certainly ways that you can write a character who uses their sex appeal for comedic effect without it being disrespectful. It’s a shame they never tried to tweak the tone of her episodes just a tad.

But anyway, mice!

Brain is looking at Minerva with…worry? Concern? Confusion? Which is a very atypical reaction to Minerva. Gee, I wonder why.

Pinky is Looking Respectfully.

I’m never going to get over how cute they look in these outfits.

“I also am innocent.”

“Umm… I may have done it! I walk in my sleep, you know.”

Pinky, sweetie, I know you’re trying in your own odd little way to help but there’s no way you’d be able to carry a diamond of that size.

BONK!

This is the very last clear shot that the mice are in and it’s not very significant but I liked the angle of it.

Oh, you’re asking who took the diamond? No one did. The diamond was lodged in Marita’s butt fat the entire time. It’s the typical style of “humour” from skits with the Hip Hippos. Now you all know why no one is clamouring for their return in the reboot.

That’s it for this post, though. I should have the next episode that I promised would go with this one up in a day or two.

See you next time, folks, when we go off to the races!

#Pinky and the Brain #PatB #Opportunity Knox

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officialwallacebreen · 4 years

Note

gordon, is there any list of who breen kins please tell me i have to know

I kept looking through his notes app for this which I hated and found it. It is very disturbing. Here it is copy pasted:

MY 'KINS' (SERIOUS) ((NO DOUBLES))

- Shadow The Hedgehog (Sonic)

- Colonel Volgin (Metal Gear Solid 3)

- Sheldon Cooper (Big Bang Theory)

- Ben (Talking Ben)

- Papa Smurf (Smurfs)

- Gaston (Beauty And The Beast)

- Jerry Seinfield (Factkin)

- Domestic Cat (Factkin)

#freemancast #concerned citizens #CONCERNED CITIZENS MY ASS!!! AAGH

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batskulldrag · 4 years

Text

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Here’s chapter Two

Trigger warnings for abuse, this story has a lot of abuse mentions in it.

Chapter Two: Let It Burn by RED

The trio watched in stunned silence as Payton argued with the receptionist over something and stormed past her. Just to look at him or be near him made their collective blood run cold. Something came off him, something untrustworthy. This was a man who could bend and break people, and he used to practice on them.

He moved past them without so much as a glance in their direction. Good. And stormed directly towards a single room. A doctor took everyone by surprise and blocked his path.

The doctor in question was a tiny morsel of a person with bright red hair and glasses that framed their face. That this of anyone would stand up to the literal worst was amazing.

“I’m sorry, but no one in allowed in this room right now.” The doctor said, all five feet of them standing confidently.

“I’ll have you know that my son is in that room! And you have no right to forbid me to see him!” Payton seethed.

“Your son,” The doctor spat the words back at him. “Has been sedated and is now sleeping. And I have every right to keep you from charging in there and waking him up!”

“I could sue you for malpractice as easy as I could snap my fingers!”

“Oh, on what grounds?” They mocked in return.

“Operating on a minor without parental consent! And denying access to the legal guardian.”

“We did no such thing. And all I asked was that you don’t charge in there and wake up a child who had just been through considerable trauma.”

“Do you have any idea who I am in this city?” He hissed.

“I don’t care if you’re Jesus, you stay out here until the doctor decides that our patient is ok to have visitors.”

“Let me through or I will have no choice but to report your insubordination to an actual doctor!” Many people looked over at him as he yelled.

“You think you can get up in my face ‘cause I’m TINY?!” The doctor snapped right back at him, not moving an inch. “Because if I call security right now only one of us is getting thrown out for causing a disturbance! I’ll let you guess who!”

“You- you should be arrested for impersonating a doctor!” He fumbled the insult as he backed down.

Roman walked up to the doctor as if he were in a western.

“Is this guy giving you trouble?”

“No, I took care of him.” The doctor said smugly.

“It seems like you’re suddenly everywhere, Roman.” Payton sneered.

“And it seems you weren’t home when I pulled your son from a burning building.”

“Well if you were so conveniently there, I think that would make you a suspect.”

A tired, disgruntled police officer came between them. Roman knew them.

“So, you’re the kid’s dad?” The cop, Officer Joan asked.

“I am, and it was my house that’s been burnt to ashes.” He rubbed his temples. “I feel like the world is testing me.”

“Where were you at the time of the fire?” Joan didn’t care about his problems.

“I was meeting with my campaign manager from ten o clock until twenty minutes ago, when I was called and told that my son was in the hospital.”

“Can they verify that?”

“Am I a suspect in this? Why would I destroy my own home, or endanger my son?”

“I have to ask everybody these questions, I asked crazy twin guy the same things.” Joan rolled their eyes, pointing backwards at Roman. “Do you have any enemies?”

“Yes, and more keep coming out of the woodwork.” He shot a glare at Roman. “I’m a very successful prosecuting attorney, I’ve put plenty of criminals in prison and angered even more defense lawyers. I’m also running for mayor, on the platform of clearing the city of immorality, which gives my opponents a motive. And my brother and his friends have started a smear campaign against me. Which I suppose makes them suspect, especially when you consider who was at the scene of the crime first.”

“Crazy twin guy has an alibi that can be verified by about two hundred people. Save your bullshit for your day job.” Joan made a few notes. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to accompany me to the station so I can ask you a few more questions.”

“About what? You can’t honestly believe I started that fire!”

“No, this is about a few things we found odd about your house layout and son’s condition.”

“I beg your pardon!” He said through gritted teeth.

“That’s what you say to a judge, not a cop. You gonna come quietly or do I need to put the cuffs on you?”

“What has Virgil been saying!? I demand to speak to him immediately!”

“He’s been passed out for the past hour. And he was barely conscious when he got here.” The doctor chimed in. “He hasn’t said anything. Why? What were you expecting him to say?”

“I invoke my right to speak to my accuser.” Payton hissed, rapidly losing control of the entire situation.

“Me bitch.” Joan said, pulling out handcuffs. “Let’s talk in the car.”

“Payton Foster, I’m arresting under suspicion of domestic abuse, child endangerment, disturbing the peace and arson.” Joan slapped the cuffs on. “You have the right to remain silent…”

The sound of Joan reciting the Miranda bill faded as the two walked down the hallway and outside.

“Doctor,” Patton asked timidly raising a hand. “Can you point me to the bathroom? I think I need to throw up.”

“Right down that way.” They pointed.

Patton darted off and only just made it to the toilet before everything came out. Had Payton really… could he? Sure, supposedly anyone could but, how could they?

# # #

So many memories of Payton just walking out and leaving him or their mother with the baby. Because he knew they weren’t going to leave a newborn to fend for himself. He never once thought to test of Payton would still walk out if he refused. But part of him always knew the answer.

A tornado of his brother’s cruelty hit him upside the head with a tree.

“Another ‘D’?” The taunting voice of his sibling echoed through. “Why do you even try? You should just quit school and see if someone will hire you as a janitor.”

“If only we still had a class system so that people of your skill level could still find work.”

“The only good thing about you being gay is that you won’t be able to have kids to raise to be gay.”

“Your retard called, he realized he was too good for you after all.”

“Patton does that retard know you were held back. That you literally couldn’t keep up with things the rest of us find easy?”

“If you ask me, the retard’s parents had the right ideas.”

And the ever present “What are you going to do cry about it?”

And a lifetime later, alone in a bathroom stall Patton cried about it. After some time, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t need to turn around or say anything to know that it was Logan. Wordlessly he slid his own hand on to his husband’s and squeezed it as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Child protective services just came in.” Logan said trying to mimic a soothing tone. “They’re going to be looking for next of kin, I think we should talk to them.”

“Is this my fault?” The words came out barely audible.

“No. It’s not.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t help. I may have made things worse.”

“Patton,” Logan stooped down to his level. “It doesn’t make sense to dwell on that. We’re here and we can’t change anything. The important thing is that Virgil is safe tonight, and his father may end up losing custody of him.”

“To who? What if it’s someone worse?”

“That’s why we’re talking to CPS right now. Come on.”

Patton pulled himself together and joined Logan back in the land of the standing. He stopped to splash some water in his face so it wouldn’t look like he had been crying and the pair went out together.

The social worker was a short man who was composed mainly of muscle. He looked like he could punch a hole in the wall, granted the hole wouldn’t be very close to the ceiling, but still. Patton couldn’t say anything about what this guy would do, but he was certain that this one could tackle somebody to the ground. But he had a kind face, and Patton could read him from across the room. He looked so sad as he listened to the doctor tell him about the case. And just a bit angry.

“Boy am I glad he’s not mad at us.” Patton whispered to Logan as they got closer.

Cobra Bubbles sighed and rubbed his face with both hands as if he were trying to wash the information off. They stopped in front of him and he looked them over.

“I’m Patton Foster.” Patton held his hand out uncomfortably while trying to pull his hoodie down over his sleep shorts. “I normally wear pants I swear.”

It wasn’t until this moment that he realized that he was criminally underdressed for any kind of interview. He wished hell would go ahead and eat him as he stood there in just his cat hoodie, with no shirt, and Blue’s Clues shorts (normally made for women, but he got an extra-large pair) that were just barely longer than his boxers, which he just realized were inside out. He looked at his feet to escape eye contact and saw that he was wearing one shoe and one sandal. Never mind hell eating him, he was already there.

Logan didn’t look any better, sure he was wearing longer pants but they were white with unicorn print. And you could totally see his underwear through them. He had tried to cover that by dawning a long coat, but that just made him look like a school shooter. And the coat was unbuttoned anyway. Patton dared a glance at Logan’s feet and saw that he had his unicorn slippers on instead of shoes. But the worst part, oh the worst part was that Logan wore a powder blue t-shirt that had “Paw-ton” written in block letters across the chest with a big old heart. It was Patton’s shirt, and now everyone knew it was his shirt. And they knew what it implied, Logan wearing Patton’s shirt.

Their eyes met in a glance of mutual horror as Logan pulled his coat closed with inhuman speed. They shared the same hope that maybe no one saw. Patton quickly sniffed the air, he couldn’t smell anything coming off them, maybe they were in the clear, at least in that instance.

“It’s one in the morning.” The social worked cracked a smile. “I didn’t think you’d look presentable just now.” He shook Patton’s hand. “I’m Thomas.”

“Oh, ok.” Patton retracted his other hand and kept trying to pull his hoodie down. “I’m Virgil’s uncle. Payton is my older brother.”

“Why are you both down here? We haven’t even started calling the next of kin yet.”

“Our friend broke his arm getting Virgil out of the fire. He called us to get him.”

“Hi.” Roman waved his cast.

“Hi.” Thomas nodded.

“I’m Logan Berry,” Logan stepped up. “I’m Patton’s husband.”

“So, I take it that you two are ok with taking care of Virgil?” Thomas said, shaking Logan’s hand. “At least until we hunt down his mother.”

“She immigrated to Italy after Virgil was born.” Patton stared at the floor. “I-if she wants custody of him, I won’t keep him from her. But I don’t know if she does.”

“Poor kid.” Thomas looked back to the room. “Well, his mom still has parental rights, so we need to talk to her. But if she left the country and left her baby behind, I’ve got a pretty good guess on how that’s gonna go.”

“Then it comes back to us.” Logan finished the idea. “And we’d be glad to take him.”

“Yeah, and we’re all teachers. So, we’re great with kids.” Patton added.

“It’s nice to finally hear some good news.” Thomas sighed. “Virgil’s not allowed any visitors tonight, so you can go. Come back in the morning and we’ll get everything sorted.”

“Ok, I’ll be back in the morning.” Patton agreed. “I’ll be here with pants on.”

His attempt at a joke seemed to fall flat, but Thomas gave him a good-natured smile. Patton and Logan backed away awkwardly before turning around and walking like normal people. Roman joined them and they all got into the car in silence. As soon as the doors were closed, Roman broke the silence by laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked tonelessly from the front seat.

“You two and the social worker.” He choked. “And dressed like that!”

“We came down here at one A.M to get you from the emergency room.” Logan protested. “We were in a hurry!”

“It would have been weird if we were dressed!” Patton added. “This actually proves that we’d be good parents, because our priorities are in order! When you get called from the emergency room you throw clothes on in the dark and come down!”

“Must have been a good night if you didn’t have clothes on when I called.” Roman snickered.

“FALSEHOOD!!!!!!!” Logan screeched, his entire body turning red.

“I meant to say shoes! You throw shoes on in the dark! Because you already have clothes on!” Patton fumbled an explanation.

“So, Logan has a shirt with your name on it because he belongs to you?” Roman teased.

“You noticed?” Patton whimpered, turning red as well. “Do you think the social worker noticed too?”

“Ok. No one is allowed to talk until the sun is up.” Logan ordered.

When the sun did come up, and it came up rather soon especially for a Saturday, the three had other things to talk about anyway.

“Ok, Patton and I are in one room, and you occupy one room.” Logan began.

“I knew that SIRI.” Roman sighed. “What are you getting at?”

“Well, there’s still Remus’s old room, Virgil can stay in there.”

“We turned that room into a storage closet after Remus went to grad school.” Roman groaned. “I suppose I’ll start moving boxes.”

“I believe that I’ll be doing most of the moving today, given your injury.”

“I can still move things!” Roman protested.

“No.”

“Can I help arrange the stuff in the attic? That just requires me to slid stuff across the floor.”

“I will allow that. And we may find something in storage that we can use.”

“Kill two birds with one stone.” Roman nodded.

“That’s cruel and has nothing to do with-… oh. Right, a metaphor.”

# # #

Patton walked timidly into the hospital whishing he had stayed behind to get the room ready and sent Logan to deal with the paperwork. But as the legal next of kin, he had to be the one to sign everything. He wondered if he might get to meet Virgil while he was there. But what if Virgil didn’t like him?

“I see you’re alone this morning.” Thomas startled him. “But at least you remembered your pants.”

“Logan and Roman are getting the house ready.” Patton said quickly. Why did he feel so guilty, he hadn’t done anything? “They’re clearing out a room and all that stuff.”

“You seem to be adapting to all this pretty well.” Thomas smiled warmly.

“I guess, but we haven’t done any of the actual parenting.”

“What, are you worried about what you’ll do if he comes out as straight?” Thomas joked. “You won’t have time to mess up, you’ll have me breathing down your necks.”

Patton smiled back, temporarily relieved. At least this guy was friendly, he couldn’t handle a jaded, world weary social worker.

“Let’s go over the paperwork and the background checks and afterwards we’ll see if the doctors will let him have visitors.” Thomas offered.

Patton nodded and followed him to administration.

# # #

Logan finished organizing the attic and walked down the stairs only to meet Roman in the middle, dragging up a large wooden object. He used one hand and his elbow to grip it. Tell Roman he can’t do one thing and that’s all he wants to do.

“What is that?” Logan pointed stunned. “And I told you not to lift things!”

“A portion of my own bed from when I was in my teens. I got it from my parents’ attic. Now move, this thing is heavy.” Roman disregarded him.

Logan ran up the stairs, propped the emptied room’s door open and ran down to help Roman with the rest of the bed frame. After three trips, and a good deal of swearing they got all of it into the room. It was then that the truth about this bed came out.

“Roman, this is the skeleton of a futon isn’t it?” Logan asked, ready to face palm.

“Remus set my actual bed on fire! This was all they could do! And he set this one on fire as well!”

“So. There’s no mattress either?” Logan completed the face palm.

“No.” Roman looked at the ground.

“Ok, this will have to do until we get him a proper bed, and we will get him a proper bed.” Logan sighed. “Let’s just put it together, where are the instructions?”

“In the past, no one has seen them in over a decade.” Roman answered hesitantly. “But I helped put it together, I should be able to manage it.”

# # #

Logan felt a migraine setting in and Roman had exhausted his vocabulary of insults from screaming at the futon. An hour had passed, Patton would be home any minute to see what a pair of failures they were. He was at his breaking point.

“Of course!” Roman yelled triumphantly. “We can google futons like this one and use their instructions.”

“Why didn’t we think of that an hour ago?” Logan said in a strained whisper.

After that putting it together only took twenty minutes. This only added to their fury.

“Ok,” Logan sighed. “I’m going to go scream into a pillow, then we’re going to get a mattress for this monstrosity.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. We could get a normal mattress and put it on this, so then it’ll just be a normal bed.”

“Roman, you’re a genius.”

“Wow, you are out of it.”

# # #

The paperwork took longer than Patton had thought it would, and the background check took forever. Which was especially annoying because he didn’t have any criminal record. But all that was finally over, he was now prolonging the inevitable as one of the doctors explained everything that was wrong with Virgil.

“So, Virgil is a good deal underweight and he currently has strep throat. And according to his records, he’s been sick a lot both this year and last year. And there were more than a few injuries. We haven’t had anyone analyze him yet, but we suspect that he has severe anxiety.”

“Ok.” Patton nodded.

I hate my brother.

“He has a few burns from last night, mostly on the palms of his hands and the bottom of his feet. He inhaled a good deal of smoke, but there doesn’t seem to be any damage to his lungs. He also got a few scrapes and bruises from falling off the landing, and he broke his foot when he hit the ground.”

“Poor baby.” Patton exclaimed automatically.

“And the last thing is,” The doctor sighed. “He has a few older bruises on his back, torso, arms and legs. They all seem to very in age.”

Payton if you don’t go to hell, I will petition all the saints to send you there!

“Is-is that why you suspected Payton of… of hurting him?”

“Yes.” They sighed as if the weight of the world was on top of them. “One of the bruises is in the perfect shape of a belt buckle. There’s no explanation for that.”

Patton felt his heart racing, and everything turned red. All he could think of was the innocent little baby that he and his mother had taken care of because Payton wasn’t going to. It didn’t look like they were living in a kind universe, but he really hoped it was a just one.

# # #

Roman and Logan pulled into the driveway with a mattress strapped to the roof and an old dresser shoved into the back. The dresser had belonged to Remus, and for some reason he spray-painted it black, but that was ok. They could paint over that. At least it didn’t have any bodily fluids on it. Hopefully.

Roman jumped out and ran to open the door, only to trip on a medium sized box someone had left there. There was a note on the obstruction.

Crazy twin guy, dude’s going to jail for a while. Cleaned my closet out last month and was too lazy to get rid of this stuff. It’s your problem now. -Joan.

“We have a benefactor Logan!” Roman said happily. “Officer Joan has given us some old clothes and a message of encouragement.”

“What encouragement?” Logan asked, untying one of the ropes.

“Dude’s going to jail for a while.” Roman recited as if it were Shakespeare.

“That is good news.” Logan smiled. “Should we bring up the mattress first or the dresser?”

“Mattress, it should be easier. And there is not a doubt in my mind that my brother put his penis on that dresser at some point.”

“Sometimes I really feel like Remus needs to be sedated and institutionalized.”

They both pulled down the mattress and hauled it inside.

“I can’t believe we’re supposed to be identical twins. That means we have one hundred percent the same DNA! How does that make sense?”

“Only one of you got brain damage.” Logan shrugged. “Besides, Patton’s brother turned out to be a narcissist, do you know how rare that is?”

They fought the mattress up the stairs.

“Sure, but it’s not like everyone in Florida is one, just Payton. Seems pretty rare to me.”

With that they threw the mattress onto the frame.

“There.” Logan said proudly, “A bed and Payton’s old desk, now all we need to do is haul up that dresser.”

“Let’s just get that over with.” Roman sighed.

The two drudged down the stairs and found one of their neighbors standing in the driveway. This one was a particularly annoying middle-aged woman. Single and childless, yet somehow a self-proclaimed expert on both relationships and child rearing. Logan turned right back around and went back inside when he saw her. Roman reluctantly went up to talk to her, it was the only way to make her leave.

“Can I help you?” He asked flatly, hoping he couldn’t.

“What are you three doing? I heard you leave at one in the morning last night, and now you’re going back and forth bringing furniture into the house. Are you getting another roommate?”

“Yes.” A satisfactory lie of omission.

“Where’s Patton? I saw him leave this morning, and he’s not back yet.”

“He has a day job.”

“But he’s not there, I already checked.”

Roman rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t this one be a sweet old lady? Or I nice couple? Or a cute single guy, gay of course?

“I don’t know then.” None of her business anyway.

“You know what I think,”

You forgot to ask if I cared.

“I think it has something to do with his brother, you know the one who’s running for mayor, his house burned down last night. It was all over the news.”

“If you don’t mind Logan and I still have a lot of work to do.”

“Is it true what he said? You know about his and Patton’s mother?”

“No, it is a blatant lie Patton already submitted proof of that.” Roman swung the trunk open and dragged the dresser to the door one handed. “Good day.”

# # #

Patton bit his lip as he listened to the phone ring on the other end.

“Hello Patton,” Logan answered in his usual manor. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I just need some advice.” Patton sighed.

“Well, what is it?”

“Virgil’s awake, the doctors are taking care of him now. And I get to meet him when they’re done. But should I wait and introduce us all at once or do it one at a time?”

He was answered by a brief silence, then Roman.

“Hey Patton,” Roman said quickly. “Logan and I are just dealing with nothing going on right now.”

“Logan! Did you just punch me!?” Roman suddenly yelled. “You just did it again, you friggin book germ! Why are you signaling me to shut- oh.”

“Roman?” Patton asked, now very suspicious.

“Never mind all that. What do you need to know?”

“Well, I’m gonna meet Virgil, but I don’t know if I should have us all meet him at once or do in in little bits.”

“Ok, you’re already there, so I think you should just meet him as you. But you should definitely tell him that we exist.”

“Ok.” Patton smiled for no one’s benefit. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing, good luck with the kid. Bye.”

With that Roman hung up on him.

“Ok, love you, bye.” Patton said to the dead phone.

Patton returned the phone to his pocket and took a deep breath to steel himself. He glanced down at the stuffed bear he had bought from the gift shop, it had a little hive that said ‘Bee Well’ across it. That was the perfect dad joke to break the ice, and a cute animal to boot. He could do this.

He looked through the window and saw several doctors and Thomas talking to a teenage boy. Patton paused. He didn’t recognize him. The baby face had been replaced with Payton’s jawline and Virgil had no baby fat left. In fact, he had almost no body fat at all. That can’t be good. In place of his little blond tufts of hair was long black hair, well long in the front any way. His bangs swept over his face like a curtain. The only things that were the same were his eyes. The same amazing violet eyes. Worry was reflected in them now, but they were still beautiful.

Right now, he was biting his lip and pulling his knees to his chest. Thomas said something and he started chewing on the bandages that covered his hands rather than his lip, the news was out now. Thomas sat down next to him and said something else, at that Virgil put his head on his knees and covered his head with his arms. With his messed-up hands, he fruitlessly pulled at his hair. Thomas talked to him for a minute more then walked to the door to let Patton in.

Never mind. I can’t do this. Patton walked in quietly.

Virgil didn’t look up.

I can’t do this!

“Virgil,” Thomas said trying to sound upbeat. “This is your uncle, Patton. And he’s going to be taking care of you for a while.”

Virgil shuddered, and though he was trying to hide it he was visibly shaking.

Ok, natural greeting. Neutral.

“Hey kiddo.” Patton said softly.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!!

“I know this is a lot to take in, and that you’ve been having a rough time.” Patton paused, where was he going with this? “So, uh… I’m not gonna press you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. And… I would like you to come stay with me, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I mean.” Virgil finally spoke, his voice was strained. “I don’t wanna live on the street, and that’s kind of the only other option.”

Patton walked up to the bed. He knew what to do, it was as if his instincts kicked in.

“Can I sit down?” He asked. Pointing to a spot besides Virgil.

“Do whatever you want.” Virgil mumbled into his blanket.

Patton sat next to him and gingerly placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Virgil flinched. He flinched and made a kind of whimpering sound in his throat. Patton felt a rage burn inside his chest. He feared that if he tried to talk, he would breath fire.

“It’s ok,” He soothed. No fire, good. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Isn’t that the bare minimum?”

“I said we’d take baby steps. Nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

“Yeah?” Virgil looked up at him, his eyes red with tears.

“Of course.” Patton smiled reassuringly and ran a hand through his nephew’s hair.

Virgil closed his eyes and sighed almost euphorically at the contact. Patton bit back bile at the thought that this poor, innocent kid was so completely starved for affection that he would all but melt for the first person to show him basic human kindness. If Payton didn’t go to hell…

Virgil slid his head down and rested it on Patton’s shoulder. He had stopped shaking and was just at rest. Patton wished he had brought a camera, but he knew he’d remember this moment even without pictures. This one was going in the vault.

#logicality #parental moxiety #parental anological #platonic lamp #sanders side fic #sanders sides

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ozarkhealingtraditions · 5 years

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From the Archives: Bird Lore

FBA: “Folk Beliefs from Arkansas” by Mary Celestia Parler OFM: “Ozark Folklore and Magic” by Vance Randolph

Devil Birds:

“Blue Jays are evil birds. They fly to the devil everyday and report the doings of the world.” ~FBA

“Blue jays are supposed to be very rare on weekends, and children are told that these birds go to hell every Friday to help the Devil gather kindling. Another story is that the blue jay spends Friday breaking off twigs to be burned by wicked people here on earth. There is an old song with the chorus:

Don’t you hear that jaybird call? Don’t you hear them dead sticks fall? He’s a-throwin’ down firewood for we-all, All on a Friday mornin’.” ~OFM

“To kill a buzzard is bad luck because it is kin to the devil.” ~FBA

“If you see a jaybird carrying sticks, he’s going to build a fire for the devil.” ~FBA

“Snakes, frogs, snails, buzzards, and blue jays are in league with the spirits of darkness.” ~FBA

“It appears that many old settlers have a peculiar feeling about the wren; some of them really believe it is different from all other birds, and that there is something supernaturally evil in its habits. The bite of a wren is supposed to be deadly poison, perhaps because wrens eat so many spiders. I have known country boys who were accustomed to rob every birds’ nest they could find, but had never even seen a wren’s egg, much less touched one, although wrens were nesting all over the place. Several of these fellows told me that it is very bad luck to kill wrens, the best course being to let them severely alone.” ~OFM

Death Birds:

“When a person is dying and a whippoorwill starts calling outside the house, that whippoorwill is trying to catch the soul of the dying person to keep it from reaching heaven.” ~FBA

“Whippoorwills seldom alight on buildings, but if one (Joes come to rest on the roof of a house and gives its characteristic call from this position, there will be a death in the neighborhood within twenty-four hours. Any sort of a bird rapping on a windowpane, or trying to get into the cabin, is a very bad sign; a man from St. Paul, Arkansas, tells me that when a turtle dove flies into a house, somebody is sure to die soon.” ~OFM

“The Ozarker does not like to hear a screech owl near his cabin, since it is always an unfavorable sign and may indicate sickness or approaching death. But above all he cautions his children never to imitate the call of such a bird under these conditions. If an owl hears its cry answered from within the cabin, it will return again and again and sooner or later descend the chimney and scatter the fire out on the floor, so as to burn the whole place down.” ~OFM

Poultry:

“When a rooster crows in the dawn, all spirits depart for the spirit world.” ~FBA

“There are several magic tricks to protect domestic fowl from birds of prey. Mrs. Lillian Short, of Galena, Missouri, tells me that one of her neighbors used to take a smooth stone from a runnin’ branch, just about big enough to fit the palm of the hand, and keep it in the oven of the cookstove this was supposed to prevent hawks from killing the chickens. Most hillfolk of my acquaintance use a horseshoe instead of the stone, and some think that a muleshoe is even better. It is frequently fastened in the firebox of the stove rather than in the oven. In the old days the muleshoe was hung up in the fireplace, or even set into the mortar at the back of the chimney.” ~OFM

“Some chicken grannies pull one feather out of each chicken in their flock and bury these feathers deep in the dirt under the henhouse or henroost. As long as the feathers remain there, it is believed that those particular chickens cannot be carried off by hawks or varmints, or stolen by human chicken thieves.” ~OFM

“The great horned owl is often called a witch chicken, perhaps because of the belief that owls can charm a chicken off its roost.” ~OFM

Seasons and Weather:

“One often hears frogs piping very early. Mr. Kufe Scott, attorney at Galena, Missouri, has noticed for many years that during court week (the second week in March) the frogs holler for the first time. In this locality it is commonly believed that the frogs always come out too soon, and are ‘froze back’ three times before spring really arrives. The birds known as killdeers are much more reliable than frogs, but even killdeers are sometimes mistaken about the weather. One certain sign of spring, however, is the return of the turkey buzzards; the old-timers all agree that there is never any freezing weather after the first buzzard is seen.” ~OFM

“If a big owl hoots in the daytime, or calls loudly and persistently near the house at night, there will be a heavy rain within three days.” ~OFM

Magic Birds:

“The great plicated woodpecker, rare in most sections of the country, is still fairly common in the Ozarks. Most Ozarkers call it a woodhen, but it is also known as ‘God Almighty’ or ‘Lord God Peckerwood,’ doubtless because of its large size; it looks as big as a teal duck, or a crow. This bird is supposed to have some supernatural powers, and I am told that various portions of its body are highly prized by witches and goomer doctors.” ~OFM

“The body of a buzzard is somehow used to treat cancer, but this must be done secretly, for the killing of a buzzard means seven years of crop failure for the whole countryside, and the man who shoots one of these birds is naturally unpopular. Dr. Oakley St. John, of Pineville, Missouri, tells me that a farmer who killed a buzzard some years ago, to treat his daughter’s cancer, so enraged his neighbors that they threatened him with bodily harm, and several people came into town to see if he could not be punished by the county officers.” ~OFM

“In some places one finds people who believe that the blood of black birds or animals has some special virtue as a treatment for any sort of skin eruption.” ~OFM

“At many points in Missouri and Arkansas country folk treat chickenpox by bringing a black hen and chickens into the sickroom and making them walk over the patient’s body as he lies in bed. Near Bentonville, Arkansas, I knew a woman who brought a black rooster into her house and placed it again and again upon the bed where a little boy lay sick with chickenpox.” ~OFM

“Every old woman has heard that owls’ eggs are a sure cure for alcoholism. Owls lay their eggs in March, and it is said that many Ozark children are kept out of school and sent by their mothers to search for owls’ nests in the tall timber. Many a hillman has been fed owls’ eggs, scrambled or disguised in one way and another, without knowing what he was eating.” ~OFM

“A man in Fort Smith, Arkansas, told me that his father placed the entrails of a big horned owl over the door, to keep witches away. And Otto Ernest Rayburn tells of a man on trial for hog-stealing who wore ‘the dried gizzard of a hoot-owl tied round his neck for good luck.'” ~OFM

Love Birds:

“Some girls hunt birds’ nests on May 1. If the first nest a girl finds on that day has eggs in it, she’ll be married soon; if the nest is empty, she will be an old maid. ‘But what if there are young birds in the nest?’ I asked the girl who told me about this. She cast down her eyes, blushed, and made no answer. Her mother overheard the question, and called the girl into the house at once. I have never been able to learn what happens to the girl who finds young birds in the nest.” ~OFM

Bird Signs:

“Various sorts of birds are believed to carry warnings. A woman in my neighborhood whipped her grown daughters unmercifully, until one day ‘the redbirds come an’ ha’nted her’ by tapping on the windowpane, which gave the woman a terrible fright and caused her to mend her ways. Another of my mountaineer friends was greatly disturbed when a “rooster redbird” hovered about his door; he said that it was a warning of death, and sure enough, one of his daughters died within a few weeks.” ~OFM“It is said to be very bad luck to count the birds in a flock. Nevertheless, Ozark children have a little jingle to sing when they see crows flying:One’s unlucky,Two’s lucky,Three’s health,Four’s wealth,Five’s sickness,Six is death.”~OFM“If an owl hoots or a wolf howls in the vicinity the watchers are seriously disturbed, because these sounds signify that one of the group will die before the year is out.” ~OFM

#ozarks #traditional witchcraft #folk magic #ozark folk magic #Ozark Folklore #ozark folkways #traditional healing #traditional medicine #birds #bird lore #folklore #ozark healing traditions

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sstthings · 4 years

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President John Tyler - by Dr. Lyon Gardiner Tyler

My granddaddy, John Tyler, was President of the US way back in 1841-45. He was born in 1790, 228 years ago. My Aunt Pearl died in 1947 at a ripe old age and whose grandfather was John Tyler, Sr., the president’s father, who was born in 1747. This marvel, that 3 generations could span 200 years, was written up in Ripley’s Believe It or Not. My “little 89 year old brother” and I are already at the 228 year old mark.

I heard too much about presidents growing up. A few years ago I met a lady who told me that she had come to our house in Virginia when I was probably 3 or 4 years old and I met her at the front door. She said that she had asked me, “Are you going to be President when you grow up?” and I said, “I’ll bite yo head off.” She said she said “And what will you do with the bones?” and I replied, “I’ll pit ‘em out!” In college, a buddy of mine brought me down to earth by saying, “Tyler, the best part of your family is underground.” I had to agree.

John Tyler was President of the United States from 1841-45. He agreed with the principles of the Jeffersonian tradition of limited federal government, strict construction of the Constitution and fiscal frugality. He opposed the American System of Henry Clay and John Quincy Adams, which advocated federal building of roads and canals, a Bank of the United States, controlled by private interests, and a high tariff on imported goods. Tyler believed in the so-called “manifest destiny” of the United States to expand across the continent and to help. the blessings of freedom__ and democracy around the world.

John Tyler’s father, also named John, was Thomas Jefferson’s roommate at the College of William and Mary. Jefferson and John Tyler, Sr. shared the same political views, played their fiddles together in college and remained life-long friends. John Tyler, Sr. was speaker of the House of Burgesses, and he and Patrick Henry organized a militia company just prior to the American Revolution. John, Sr., served in the Virginia legislature, where he made the motion that eventually led to the United States Constitutional Convention. He also served successively as Judge of the Admiralty Court, the General Court and the Supreme Court of Appeals, as well as on the U.S. District Court at President Jefferson’s urging. He also was Governor of Virginia. He had 8 children. After his wife died, when the future President was just seven years old, the father took care of all of them, besides serving as surrogate father for 15 or 20 foster children. A busy man!

John Tyler entered the College of William and Mary at age 13 and graduated soon after his 17th birthday. He gave the Valedictory address, remarkably, about the importance of women’s rights – especially in the field of education.

Before I attempt to discuss Tyler’s presidency, let me say a few words about his previous career and some things that can show us the kind of man he was:John Tyler was a state legislator in his early 20’s. Then he was a congressman, Governor of Virginia and US Senator. As a senator he was a loyal Democrat, but was disturbed by some of President Andrew Jackson’s over-reactions, similar to his earlier unauthorized invasion of Spanish Florida and his later reaction to the South Carolina attempt to nullify the Federal tariff when Jackson threatened to hang John C. Calhoun, his Vice President.

Both Jackson and Tyler opposed the recharter of the Bank of the United States, a privately owned bank which kept the government’s funds, but Tyler thought Jackson had gone too far when he removed the government’s money from the bank before its charter expired and put it in state banks which had supported him, hence known as Jackson’s “pet banks.”

Tyler in his campaign for the U.S. Senate had stated that as a Senator he would obey the instructions that might be given him by the state legislature. But he would soon face a dilemma concerning that promise. The US Senate had adopted a resolution to censure Jackson for removing the funds from the Bank. Then the Virginia legislature instructed Tyler to support a measure that would rescind the censure, which he felt was wrong because Jackson had broken the law. At the same time Tyler could not go back on his campaign promise to obey the state legislature. So he resigned and made this statement:By the surrender of the high station to which I was called by the people of Virginia, I shall teach them to regard as nothing place or office, when either is to be obtained or held at the sacrifice of honor.President John F. Kennedy included John Tyler in his Profiles of Courage for this incident.

It was always his children who were his primary concern. In his letters to his many sons and daughters the need for honesty is a regular refrain. Hear, for example, this from a letter to his son, John, Jr., back in 1832:

Truth should always be uttered no matter what the consequences. Nothing so degrades a man as equivocation and deceit. When I am in company with a double-dealing man – one who has one language on his tongue and another in his heart—I am involuntarily made to avoid him as I would a poisonous reptile. Trust such a person with not even the slightest circumstance on earth; for he will deceive you, if it be to his interest to do so. Learn then, my son, to speak the truth always. By doing so in trifling matters, it will grow into a habit from which you will not afterwards separate yourself.

In the words of a toast once offered to Tyler, he was a man “too firm to be driven from his principles—too upright to be swerved by the laws of ambition or power.” Indeed he was known as “Honest John.”

In 1840, the Whigs chose as their candidate William Henry Harrison, former Governor of the Indiana Territory, and victor over the Indians in the Battle of Tippecanoe and then the British in Canada in the War of 1812. For the Vice Presidential spot Henry Clay and the Whig Party settled on John Tyler of Virginia, hoping he could attract disgruntled Democrats.

It’s interesting that the future President Harrison and Vice President Tyler in this election grew up in the same small Virginia County just ten miles apart. Actually through Tyler’s mother they were kin. Through my mother’s side I am not descended from President Harrison, but I am from his father, Benjamin Harrison, Governor of Virginia and signer of the Declaration of Independence.

The Whig campaign of 1840 was the first modern campaign with all the trimmings: buttons and banners, songs and slogans. The Whig slogan “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,” really meant, “We’ll give you Harrison, a war hero. He’s for a strong national government, roads and canals, a national bank, and a high tariff, but if you don’t like that; we’ll give you Tyler. He’s for states’ rights and against all that other stuff.

The Whigs won easily and Harrison became president, but Harrison had already given away the store. He had agreed to be a one-term president and to have just one vote in the Cabinet which was to be hand-picked by Henry Clay, but Harrison died of pneumonia a month after the election. Nobody, including John Tyler, expected that he’d become president. The Whigs in Congress were shocked. They refused to recognize Tyler as the real president, since this was the first time a president had died in office.

But Tyler believed that according to the Constitution he was the President and he was determined to be President. He would make the decisions. He would not promise to let Henry Clay run the show. As a matter of fact when Henry Clay showed up to tell the Accidental President whom to appoint and how to conduct his office, Tyler thundered, “You go, Mr. Clay, to your end of the Avenue where stands the Capitol and there do your duty as you see fit and, so help me God, I will do mine at this end of the Avenue as I see fit.” From then on Clay had the votes but Tyler had the vetoes.

Tyler’s first act as President was to proclaim a National Day of Fasting and Prayer, to mourn the death of President Harrison, in which he stated, “When a Christian people feel themselves to be overtaken by a great public calamity, it becomes them to humble themselves under the dispensation of Divine Providence, to recognize His righteous government over the children of men… and to supplicate His merciful protection for the future.”

If Tyler had gone along with Clay and the Whig majority in Congress he could have had an easy road and many would have deemed his presidency successful. But he refused to take the easy road. He vetoed the bill to re-charter the Bank of the United States and the Whigs read him out of the Party. The veto caused his Cabinet to resign, except for Daniel Webster, his Secretary of State. Instead Tyler proposed a banking system with a Board in Washington and branches in various parts of the country, a system almost identical to the Federal Reserve System which was subsequently adopted in 1913.

Tyler was unable to do much of anything in the domestic area, but his administration is being increasingly recognized for his accomplishments in foreign affairs, including the settlement of the boundary line between the United States and Canada over half way across the continent. Tyler invoked the Monroe Doctrine to prevent the British and French from taking over the Hawaiian Islands. He sent the first American mission to China, which resulted in a treaty in 1844, opening for the first time the profitable trade between the two countries and granting American citizens in China extraterritoriality, the right to be governed by their own laws and not those of China. Tyler pushed through the annexation of Texas at very end of his administration by the novel use of a joint resolution by both houses of Congress.

Tyler’s first major biographer called him a Champion of the Old South – but I believe that is “incorrect.” Tyler had troubling doubts about slavery and never saw it as a positive good, though he was a slave owner. In 1832 he had introduced a bill to end the slave trade in the District of Columbia. He was also president of the Virginia Colonization Society, which aimed to resettle freed slaves in Liberia.

Tyler’s administration was hog-tied but its social life excelled. His first wife Letitia Christian, a beautiful Christian woman, was an invalid when Tyler became president and died during his second year in office. His daughter-in-law, Priscilla Cooper Tyler, then served as White House hostess, with the help of former first lady, Dolly Madison.

Tyler’s second wife was Julia Gardiner, my grandmother, a 24 year old debutante and beauty from Long Island, New York, who married the President when he was 54. Tyler was completely captivated by her vivacity, good humor, poise and stamina. When someone asked him if he wasn’t too old for her, he replied, “Well, I’m in my prime.” The reply was “When she’s in her prime, where will your prime be?” But John Tyler kept his into his seventies, later siring seven more children by her.

There was tragedy in their love affair, however. The navy had a new ship, the “Princeton, which was equipped with a huge new cannon dubbed the “Peace Maker.” The President, his cabinet, and all the important people in Washington were invited to a cruise down the Potomac. The cannon was fired when they passed Mount Vernon and everyone retired below for food and music. On the return trip someone suggested they fire the cannon again. Most of the people went up on deck but the President and Miss Gardiner stayed to hear one more song. The cannon was fired and it exploded killing the Secretary of State Abel P. Upshire, the Secretary of the Navy Thomas Gilmer, and others, including Miss Gardiner’s father. She fainted at the tragic news and President Tyler carried her down the gangway and sent her to the White House. Soon afterwards they eloped to New York City and were married there.

Tyler’s new young bride, Julia Gardiner Tyler, was a great political asset. The Whigs called Tyler “a man without a party,” but most everyone in Washington turned out for Julia’s parties. Julia had made the grand tour of Europe and had been presented at royal courts. She had been the first woman ever to be featured in a newspaper ad. She was called the Rose of Long Island.

After John Tyler retired, the couple went back to Virginia to the place he had purchased during his term in office. For a time he was very unpopular but he harbored no bitterness and he eventually regained the respect and admiration of the people of his state. Since he had incurred the displeasure of both parties and since he was accused of being an outlaw like Robin Hood, he renamed his plantation “Sherwood Forrest.” Julia made the plantation the social center of Charles City County. She decorated and they enlarged the dwelling until at 100 yards in length, it became the longest frame house in America. John and Julia had seven children to go with the eight that he had produced in his first marriage. The ex-president loved children. He never tired of them, took them hunting, fishing, riding and boating. On summer evenings, he would play the fiddle and sing with the black and white children.

He ran the farm himself. There were no whips, lashes, or brutal overseers. He saw that the slaves were adequately fed, clothed and honored. He would not sell any or break up families.

My great, great grandfather on my mother’s side was Edmund Ruffin, known as the “Father of scientific agriculture in America.” He was the same age as the ex-president but two more generations back from me. He had opposed Tyler, but he came to visit and was captivated by him. Ruffin would give up farming and research for politics. He was to be one of the fire-eaters who stirred up the South to Secession and he hated Yankees. He would wrap himself in a Confederate flag and commit suicide after the South lost the war and leave these last words in his diary, “Would that I could bequeath these words to every Southerner living or yet to be born, to have no traffic with Yankees nor any political, social or business dealings with the vile, perfidious and malignant Yankee race.”

Nevertheless, Ruffin could recognize virtue even though he could not seem to exercise it. In spite of all the ex-President’s enemies, Ruffin had hardly heard an unkind or hostile remark from Tyler and he would confide to his diary after the ex-President’s death in 1862 these thoughts: “How difficult and how much worse would I have acted in this their situation. I should have returned these undeserved manifestations of hostility, and of ingratitude, with scorn, contempt and hatred. I would have so increased and kept alive and increasing, the hostile feelings of all other persons to me - and I should have become a miserable misanthrope, living and dying without a friend. But more wiser and more politic was John Tyler.” Ruffin would even say that John Tyler completely exemplified the description of love as found in St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians.

After Henry Clay died, Tyler spoke at his memorial service. Tyler admitted that “We gave each other a few bruises, but he was a great man.” He noted Clay’s many accomplishments including his work in effecting the Compromises of 1820 and 1850, which helped to keep the nation together for a considerable time.

When the Deep South states seceded Tyler pleaded with the Virginia legislature to call a meeting of the Border States to try and form a bridge between the two sections. But the state delayed and invited all the states to what was called the “Peace Convention” which sought to find a way to restore the Union and prevent a war. John Tyler addressed the assembly in this manner:” Our godlike fathers created; we have to preserve; they built up. You have a new task equally grand, you have to preserve the Government and to renew and invigorate the Constitution. If you reach the height of this great occasion, your children’s children will rise up and call you blessed.”

But it was too late. On the same date the convention met at the Willard Hotel in Washington, the seven Deep South states met in Montgomery, Alabama, to establish the Confederate States of America. President elect Abraham Lincoln soon after arrived in the Capitol City in disguise for fear of assassination and told Tyler that it was too late to reconcile the sections, that the die was already cast.

When Virginia seceded Tyler saw no other course than to stick with his state. Elected to the Confederate Congress, he died suddenly before he could take his seat in 1862.

The unknown President could be an example to us all. We might ponder these observations from people who knew him:

“An honest, affectionate, benevolent, loving man, who had fought the battles of his life bravely and truly, doing his whole great duty without fear, though not without much unjust reproach.” (Henry A. Wise)

“A career which for rapidity in achievement, consistency of conduct, and exalted moral character, finds few equals, and no superior in the annals of American history.” (George L. Christian)

On the grave marker of his horse “General,” John Tyler wrote these words: “He never stumbled. Would that his master could say the same.” John Tyler was not perfect, but he came close.

#john tyler #lyon gardiner tyler

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perkwunos · 5 years

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Across the Fertile Crescent, clay figurines of pregnant women and domestic animals—together with geometric tokens—had, since Neolithic times, provided communities with a shared language of signification. Almost since the beginnings of farming the manual process of shaping, fi ring, and even breaking these miniature forms seems to have been closely linked to the conduct of important social transactions, perhaps involving exchanges of kin as well as animals and other goods. Around 7000 bc, in northern Mesopotamia, the symbolic role of clay in regulating commodity transfers was extended through the development of specialized sealing practices for storage vessels. This involved placing a band of wet clay over the mouth of a container and impressing it with a carved stone amulet (which did double service as a personal ornament), leaving a distinguishing mark that could be used to trace the product back to a particular individual or institution: a point of origin.

This seemingly innocuous development would have far-reaching consequences, still detectable in today’s consumer cultures. The presence of a clay sealing demonstrated the integrity of the package and its contents, particularly important in the case of organic comestibles, and had the potential to reduce the risks involved in exchanges between unfamiliar partners. But it also introduced a new potential for mystification into the circulation and consumption of commodities. Then, as now, breaking a seal always disturbs a prior set of relationships: between the owner of the sealed object, the owner of the seal used to fasten it, and the agencies evoked by the image carved on the seal’s surface, which were sometimes of a supernatural kind. It is therefore both something of a violation and something of a temptation, setting in motion a chain of consequences, the outcomes of which cannot always be foreseen, and may lead to misfortune. Seals have the potential to rewrite social history, and as such have often been viewed as portentous and dangerous objects in their own right. Later Mesopotamian ‘dream omens’ credited them with magical powers, including the power to produce or destroy off spring.

As the range of commodities expanded during the Ubaid period, the miniature designs impressed onto their clay sealings became more vivid and diverse. Among them we find a new bestiary of real and fictitious animals in poses of violence or copulation, a panoply of scenes showing people drinking and feasting, and a hybrid figure with human body and ram’s head, who holds aloft a pair of snakes. This rapidly expanding cast of characters—and the real human agents behind their production—now stood guard over the world of commodities, occupying an important space of the social imagination between products and their consumption. Once broken and removed from their containers, clay sealings could also be stored as records of transaction, and evidence from Tell Sabi Abyad in northern Syria suggests that this was an aspect of their use from the very beginning. New possibilities of control were thereby generated over a vital social commodity: the memory of relationships formed through the exchange of goods.

David Wengrow, What Makes Civilization: The Ancient Near East and the Future of the West

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tlatollotl · 6 years

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Archaeologists have struggled to explain the rapid rise and fall of Cahokia—the mysterious Mississippian mound-building culture that sprang up about a thousand years ago in the fertile southern Illinois bottom lands just across the river from modern-day St. Louis.

Scholars have painted the civilization as a hierarchical, highly centralized society where ruling elites demanded tribute from lowly peasant farmers who toiled in a culture spiritually obsessed with and highly dependent upon the cultivation of corn.

While there's little doubt that farming was the civilization's lifeblood, a new book by a paleoethnobiologist at Washington University in St. Louis offers a compelling case for a much different understanding of the Cahokian culture.

The book also offers a road map for the rediscovery and possible recultivation of an array of highly nutritious wild food sources, including a North American cousin of quinoa, that were once a staple part of the early American diet.

"The real story of Cahokia is about much more than maize and decisions made by a small group of elites," said Gayle Fritz, professor emerita of anthropology in Arts & Sciences and author of "Feeding Cahokia: Early Agriculture in the North American Homeland" (2019 University of Alabama Press).

"It's clear that the vast majority of Cahokia's farmers were women and it's likely that their critical knowledge of domesticated crops and wild food plants would have earned them positions of power and respect at every level of the society," she said.

Chenopod, which produces tiny seeds similar to quinoa, has been cultivated and consumed by Native Americans for thousands of years. Also known as lambsquarter or Goosefoot, its young leaves and buds can be prepared like spinach or broccoli when fresh. Credit: Gayle Fritz

Cahokia's rise and fall

Classified as a UNESCO World Heritage site, the Cahokia Mounds complex was the site of North America's largest and most populous city prior to European exploration.

Reaching its apex in the early years of the first millennium (1050 to 1200 A.D.), the city and immediately surrounding region boasted a population in the tens of thousands and exerted influence over other native settlements scattered across a wide swath of the American Midwest.

Then, for yet unexplained reasons, the civilization began to fade. By 1300 A.D., populations living in and near the Cahokia city center were plummeting. By the early 1500s, when European explorers first visited southeastern North America, the great city of Cahokia lay abandoned.

Some scholars suggest the demise was due to periods of heavy flooding or severe drought, or even a massive earthquake, and the impact these calamities may have had on an agricultural system that had grown increasingly dependent on maize.

Domesticated long ago by Native Americans, Marshelder, also known as sumpweed, can still be found growing wild in marshy bottomlands near Cahokia. Ill. Credit: Gayle Fritz

Fritz is not convinced

She questions the evidence for these disasters at Cahokia, as well as the notion that such severe weather events could have crippled the city's ability to feed itself. Her research shows that the city's food production network was extremely well diversified, stable, sophisticated and situated in some of the world's most fertile farmland. While natural disasters may have sparked de-stabilizing social or religious unrest, the women who controlled the society's farming complex were more than capable of weathering severe climatic disturbances, she argues.

Fritz documents early uses of what may have been America's first domesticated crop, a strain of bottle gourd that first floated to these shores—genetic evidence suggests—from Africa. She explores the origins of other early food crops, such as a native squash, sunflower, erect knotweed and chenopod, which were domesticated in the midcontinent and grown by generations of farmers before, during and after Cahokia's heyday.

Cultivating nature's bounty

Fritz details how these and other ancient food sources were gradually incorporated into field cultivation systems, with some eventually showing signs of genetic changes related to domestication. She backs up her assertions with clear overviews of the best available archaeological evidence, including her own early work on ancient stashes of native seeds in protected bluff shelters of the Ozark Plateau.

She also explains how early Americans learned to maximize harvests of wild nut crops, such as hickory and acorns, by giving the best mast-producing trees a competitive edge—girdling inferior trees and routinely burning off underbrush to gradually create stands that European explorers later described as "nut orchards."

Ku-nu-che ball, three inches in diameter, made from cracked, sifted and pounded hickory nuts, for Cherokee hickory nut soup. Credit: Gayle Fritz

As her book makes clear, the evolving consensus on Cahokia's food culture is a function of rapidly improving scientific techniques and field work practices that are unlocking evidence often overlooked in earlier archaeological investigations.

Science still unlocking Cahokia's secrets

Recent studies have employed isotopic analysis of human bones from Cahokia to show that a surprisingly large percentage (perhaps 20-30 percent) of the residents arrived there from other locations in eastern North America.

A key breakthrough, she argues, is the now routine use of water flotation techniques to separate seeds and other organic particles from excavation dirt, allowing these fragments to be identified and further analyzed in the laboratory.

Early proponents of flotation studies, such as Patty Jo Watson of Washington University, used the technique to study samples collected along the Green River in Kentucky near the Salts and Mammoth caves. Their research showed that American hunter gatherers began adding cultivated crops to their diets as early as 2,500 B.C., resulting in heavy reliance on plants such as sunflower, marshelder, chenopod, erect knotweed and maygrass.

Cucurbita pepo gourds, such as these growing wild in the Illinois River Valley near Grafton, Ill., were one of the first plants to be domesticated by early Native Americans. Credit: Gayle Fritz

Seeing the cornucopia beyond the corn

In the past, researchers may have underestimated the importance of small grains in the diets of ancient civilizations because researchers sifted excavation dirt through larger screening devices designed to uncover pottery sherds, tool pieces and other larger-scale artifacts.

Traces of corn, with its large kernels and cobs, were easier to document than tiny wild grains the size of quinoa.

Dozens of large archaeological projects at Cahokia and surrounding sites have generated flotation-derived data showing that the native seed crops were produced in copious quantities during the centuries before and after Cahokia's rapid rise.

"The most unexpected finding was that pre-maize crops did not decline after corn was embraced at A.D. 900. Instead, all available crops—old and new—increased in abundance, giving urban Cahokia a biologically diverse food base, quite different from the corn-dominated cuisine sometimes described," Fritz said.

The Keller figurine, one of several flint-clay statues from the Mississippian mound-building culture unearthed near Cahokia Mounds, was once seen by some scholars as a “corn goddess” sitting on a row of corn cobs. Credit: Tim Vickers via Wikipedia Commons

Cahokia's women found power in the fields

But larger artifacts also figure into Fritz' theories about the role of women in Cahokian society. She builds her case for a farming system dominated by women and their daughters in part on a reassessment of small, flint-clay ceramic statues of women that have been unearthed at Cahokia and other Mississippian sites.

The figurines, which other researchers have described as corn goddesses, often depict an older woman kneeling with outstretched arms. The statues are embellished with intricately carved snakes, plant stalks and vines, and flower heads that some scholars have been quick to characterize as symbols of corn and fertility. Moreover, the statues have been interpreted as serving the goals of an elite-controlled priestly cult.

Fritz argues that many of the carvings more accurately represent sunflower seed heads and squashes, and that the tendency for other scholars to see corn is a function of zeacentric bias—an exaggerated fixation on the culture's perceived ideological elevation of maize.

Her explanation draws heavily on the work of Carol Diaz-Granados, a research associate at Washington University, and other scholars who have studied the imagery behind Native American art and rock drawings. This context suggests the Cahokia figurines represent a character known as "the old woman who never dies" or "grandmother" who is central to the beliefs of modern Siouan speaking tribes, such as the Mandan and the Hidatsa.

Women in these tribes who belonged to organizations called "Goose Societies" played a dominant roles in tribal farming and spiritual life, with younger women moving up through the ranks by virtue of their industriousness and the skills manifested by themselves and their kin groups in the farm fields.

"Long before corns, beans and squash became such a staple part of Native American diets across the midcontinent, it's likely that the women farmers of Cahokia were appealing to a similar Earth Mother to guide their cultivation and harvest of native grains, such as maygrass, sunflower and chenopods," Fritz said. "This alternative scenario situates the women—the farmers themselves—as key players rather than placing them under the control of an elite-centered priesthood."

#archaeology #native american #first nations #indigenous #women #woman #history #food #corn #squash #cooking #cahokia #illinois #mississippians

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