#what do you mean it's for kids

[callipraxia]

Continuing from the conversation in the reblogs of the link below the keep-reading, since while the broad subject of "let's ramble about mental illness and substance abuse metaphors in this kids' show!" is still the same, I'm on to talking about a different character (Specifically, Fiddleford)/realized belatedly that the OP might appreciate this.

So, Fiddleford and his memory gun.

It is, as usual, impossible to be 100% sure of much about the Portal era, considering that Ford's view of reality seems to have already started becoming distorted by the time he began writing Journal 3, and it is true that Fiddleford's signs of trauma after, say, the gremlobin incident, or his nerves when he realized what the probability of failure was, were actually pretty reasonable responses to the things that he was going through. However, Ford does act as though he's always been a bit concerned about Fiddleford's nerves, and when everything is taken into account, it seems more probable than not that the man does/did suffer from some form of anxiety disorder, probably in the OCD 'family.' Once I accept this premise, his story rapidly becomes a solid metaphor about the dangers of self-medicating.

Yes, yes, I know. The moral of the story is to deal with your problems...but nevertheless: the memory gun works as a metaphor for drugs and compulsions and how they don't really solve your problems, and it works especially well, I think, as a metaphor for alcohol and/or sedatives (Ativan, Valium, etc.). When used judiciously and with deliberate goals and limits, these things can be highly useful, or at least do more good than harm (alcohol is an antiseptic, for a lot of history it has been safer to drink than the average water supply, and it at least used to sometimes be 'prescribed' to people with certain heart problems who couldn't afford expensive medications, nerve pills are actual medicine, and as for the gun, we have the canon examples of the end of 'A Tale of Two Stans' and the finale). If you start to feel you need a drink after work every day to keep coping with your job, though, or needing a nightcap just to go to sleep...that can go real bad, and that's if you aren't developing this habit on top of OCD and/or one of its sister disorders. Fiddleford does appear to have such a disorder, and while he already had some ritualistic behavior (his Cubik's Cube, his alleged superstitions around graves, his tendency toward trichotillomania, the amount he checks and rechecks his work), he really loses control of himself when he gets access to the memory gun.

I suspect, between the temptation to instant relief it presented him every minute of every day and the secretive nature of it (no doctor supervising him, nobody frowning disapprovingly into his trash can, etc.) that memory gunning himself at the slightest inconvenience became both addictive drug and compulsion for him at some point, to the point that he was eventually frying his brain for even such a minor stressor as cutting himself shaving - or rather, for such seemingly minor stressors, since to him...who knows what that looked like? Anxiety Brain is wonderful at forming objectively sketchy connections that spiral into long chains of increasingly frantic 'reasoning.' From an outside viewer's perspective: it's a scratch, big deal. A path I could imagine Fiddleford's brain going along might run more like: "I cut myself shaving - why are my hands so shaky, why did that happen - were my hands even shaking, or was I just not paying attention? I can't do anything right! I can't even shave right, never mind raise a kid right! Which reminds me that I haven't seen my son in six months, I might as well have been cheating on my wife, I'm a terrible husband, a terrible father, just a terrible man, why didn't I do something before things got so out of control?? I could have stopped all of this, but now my Friend is out of his mind, he might end the world any day now, I don't know if my wife would have me back at this point if I even had the guts to go home and beg, and now I have this cult to run - but how can I run a cult when I can't even be man enough to face my own family? And it's slipping out of my control, I never meant things to go this far - They're all gonna turn on me, Stanford and Ivan and Emma-May are all gonna team up and murder me, oh God, it all makes sense now - !").

And then the gun made all that noise just...stop. He could sleep. He could run a cult. He could do things other than worry about Ford blowing up the planet any day now, or what was going on at home, or if the things he saw in the gremlobin's eyes could really happen. As soon as it started, he could just...make it all go away, as often as he wanted, at the click of a button. And by the time the side effects started becoming obvious, and he was losing his ability to speak properly and tearing his hair out without even remembering he'd done it and stealing clothes off scarecrows, well...thinking about those side effects, wondering if this thing he feels he cannot live without anymore could be responsible for them, was almost as distressing as thinking about all those motor accidents. Which, naturally, meant it was time for another mind wipe/drink....

So, there, started a couple of days ago and then delayed until I found this tab again though it is, you have it, @gravi-mania - the tale of how one could, if so inclined, warp the backstory of Gravity Falls into a story about bright young things whose lives fall apart courtesy of one of them getting too many uppers and the other getting too many downers. Make the framing device "Stan finally got out of prison after thirty years and went to visit his brother in the state hospital, where Ford laid eyes on him and immediately started yelling about portals and the end of the world and Stan doesn't even know what; as a result, Stan decides to stick around long enough to narrate the whole sorry tale, Prince of Tides-style, to the new doctor Ford seems to think is their nephew," and you could even get some super-depressing sober commentary on society and the justice system in there, too, along with at least very slightly lowering the research load, since sticking to that point of view would limit the scope of things to what he could see/what he knows about rather than going too deep into everyone else's heads and happenings. Though tbh, I suspect going with "yeah, let's just...not" is still the wisest possible course of action all around. really.

[bowenoke]

I bet they used to sing along to worship songs in the back of the car on the way to church

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

While it may speak to the Inspector’s mindset,

it truly is poor messaging on the programme’s part

for him/her to say ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

AU where Jason comes back to Gotham and begins his plan to confront Batman and all that. Except after only like a week the Joker gets hit by a bus and then shot by a little old lady with a shotgun and dies.

Jason’s plan is now in shambles because the dramatic climax of his plan is no longer possible. But that’s fine. He’ll think of some other suitable alternative. Granted, it’s not quite the same if he uses some other villain. Making Batman choose doesn’t mean nearly as much when it’s not about the person who killed him.

And really, is he going to try and get Batman to kill Black Mask or something? Scarecrow? Red Hood is competent; he could do it himself so why bother.

So Jason lays low continues to build his criminal empire with astounding speed and efficiency. If only he could think of a good way to announce his return. Nothing he can think of is dramatic enough.

Meanwhile, the Bats are freaking out because who is this guy that’s taken over half of the Gotham underworld in like a month? He’s obviously trained, but they just can’t seem to get any information on who he is or where he came from. It is beyond frustrating.

After a few months Jason is frustrated that he just can’t seem to find any dramatic good way of making Batman prove himself. It has to be something big! Something magnificent!

During his weekly chat with Talia he complains about his problems and she suggests he come back for a visit. He argues that he can’t just leave, but she says if he has competent enough lieutenants it’d be fine. He spends the next three weeks making sure that everything will be fine if he leaves for a week. He will not have all of his hard work falling apart and going to waste due to incompetence. Absolutely not.

So then once his lieutenants are sufficiently prepared (and the rest of Gotham’s criminal element sufficiently cowed), he heads to Nanda Parbat, only to find Ra’s on the phone with Bruce, who is demanding to know if the Red Hood has any affiliation with the league.

Oh. Oh. He can give them affiliation.

A new plan begins to form.

He’s going to be the most affiliated he can be. Jason immediately goes to Talia with his newest plan: Overthrow Ra’s and takeover the league. Talia whips out her forty step outline for overthrowing Ra’s and tells Jason she’s so proud of him.

Jason has a new goal now, so he gets to work. He checks on things in Gotham, but everything seems to be fine and there haven’t been any unplanned explosions so it should be fine if he stays here for a bit.

Taking over Gotham really was good practice, as it turns out. Thanks to Talia’s plans and previous foundational efforts the takeover happens in no time.

Meanwhile the bats are still freaking out. Red Hood hasn’t been seen in three weeks, he may or may not have league of assassins connections, and even in his absence his goons seem to be managing things competently.

Back in Nanda Parbat, Jason and Talia finish their takeover. And now, finally, he’s ready to confront Batman.

He arrives in Gotham as the new head of the league. His arrival is loud, elaborate, and dramatic enough to fulfill his inner theater kid’s dreams.

Batman is speechless. And not his usual grunts instead of words, but actual surprised speechless. Jason is alive?!?!?!?

Jason was not expecting all the tears. And hugs. And mother henning. Goodness gracious, this was not part of the plan.

Bruce is obviously struggling with Jason’s revelation that he took over the league, but the newest little birdie seems almost relieved at that(?) and Dick and Alfred both seem strangely proud. Whatever. Even Bruce seems to be at least mostly ignoring that for now.

Then someone asks him if he knows Red Hood. Jason blinks. Says that yeah, he knows Red Hood. Everyone seems to ease at that. One mystery solved. Jason quickly realizes that most of them have no idea he is Red Hood. Cass seems to be the only exception but also appears amused and willing enough to not mention it.

Dramatic appearance complete, Jason now has a new goal: see how long he can keep the bats (minus Cass and potentially Alfred) in the dark about his crime boss identity.

He will bribe Cass as much as it takes to keep her on board with the causing chaos plan, but she seems eager enough. Favorite sibling status definitely unlocked. (The whole killing thing is fought over at great length and a truce of sorts is eventually made)

David Cain is never heard from again.

Damian shows up at some point.

At least one league member has suddenly found themselves as an HR rep for Gotham criminals? They’re still not quite sure how that happened.

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[jo-gakky]

Various LMK drawings i had an idea for (Implied Dragonfruit, but tbh i just enjoy the duo, it isnt necessarily romantic)

[botanyshitposts]

public libraries are so crazy man. like you’re telling me I can read this book for free

[mellosdrawings]

It's "bully Azul" time !!

(Og post here)

[soupdweller]

he is trying his best :)

[divineandmajesticinone]

4 MINUTES (2024) I EP. 6 & EP. 7 "You're still afraid of dogs."

[a-most-beloved-fool]

makes me a little sad when star trek ignores IDIC. like. vulcans are logical. that is true. But 'logical', for vulcans, does not amount to 'without compassion,' and it definitely doesn't amount to 'racial superiority.' Belief in 'infinite diversity in infinite combinations' should NOT result in the weird racist/speciest stuff we're getting in some of the newer treks. It does make sense that some vulcans are discriminatory. They're still flawed. But that should not be common or expected, like it seems to be in SNW. If it is, then it's a race of hypocrites, which. doesn't seem very true to Star Trek's message.

I think TOS Spock does a pretty good job of embodying this. Not always, it was the 60s, after all, but mostly. He was often trying to find non-violent routes, and get by without killing - even if they were in danger or had already been attacked. (See: the mugato, and the horta (until Kirk was the one in danger, lmao. t'hy'la > IDIC), the Gorn ship). Kirk, in his eulogy, calls him the most human soul he's ever known, and I've always read that as Kirk calling out Spock's overwhelming compassion.

It's just so much more interesting when Vulcans get to be radically compassionate. I want them to believe that everything and everyone has value. I want them to respect all ways of being. I want them to find ways for even very non-humanoid aliens to exist unfettered in society. I want them to see hybrids and think that it's amazing. Also, like, disability rep. I want Vulcans to have The Most Accessible Planet and available resources because they want everyone to feel accepted and valued. It makes for better characters and more interesting stories.

[1800-lemon-boy]

Friendly reminder that Jason spent months looking for Leo and only stopped when Chiron forced him to enroll in school.

<33

[lucabyte]

Perceptive kid, I wonder just how much they pretend not to overhear.