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your-krazy-uncle-bob · 2 years

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In an appearance this week on CNN, The Nation’s “senior justice correspondent,” Elie Mystal, said he believed that Republican policies generally appeal to the most detestable elements in American society – an assertion reminiscent of Hillary Clinton’s famous “basket of deplorables” reference in 2016. “This has been their party for a long time,” Mystal explained. “At some point Republicans need to look to themselves, look at the kinds of policies they’re promoting, look at the way they want the country to be and ask why do our policies attract the worst people possible? Like they have to ask that question at some point to move forward from what has happened to their party.”

Mystal’s remarks, however, betray his utterly pathetic inability to understand that his own policies and his own worldview – as promoted and popularized by the Democratic Party — constitute the real political magnets for “the worst people possible.” That is, people who are perpetually angry, aggrieved, resentful, jealous, contemptuous, self-absorbed, and ungrateful.

Mystal’s Background

Born in Haiti in 1978, Mystal earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Political Science and Government from Harvard University in 2000, and a Juris Doctor degree from Harvard Law School three years later. After working briefly as an Associate for the New York-based international law firm of Debevoise and Plimpton, Mystal quit the legal profession in 2008 to become an editor and “online provocateur” for the left-wing website Above the Law. Ten years later he joined The Nation, where he continues to write.

Mystal’s Contempt for Black Conservatives

On May 6, 2013, Mystal said of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas: “What’s really happening is that Thomas continues to think that people hate him because he’s a black conservative, when really people hate him because he’s a black a**hole.”

Claiming a Correlation Between the Second Amendment & Racism

In a November 2013 column titled “Is The Second Amendment Racist?,” Mystal stated that “it’s clear that widespread gun ownership helped white plantation owners keep control of their slaves”; that “the right to bear arms was certainly useful when it came time to ‘settle’ additional territory away from the people who were already living there”; and that “[g]un rights, who has them, and who does not, are inextricably tied to our history of racial oppression.” “It’s unsurprising, but still interesting,” he added, “that having a gun in your home is highly correlative with thinking that black people don’t share your values and are violent. People don’t buy guns to protect themselves from their neighbors and friends, they buy guns to protect themselves from somebody else.”

Arguing in Favor of Jury Nullification

On December 7, 2016, Mystal published an opinion piece arguing in favor of jury nullification – i.e., a jury’s refusal to follow the law and convict even an obviously guilty defendant – as a means of undermining America’s allegedly racist criminal-justice system. Some excerpts:

“African-Americans live in a world where the police can murder us and get away with it…. There is no justice for black people. And yet violently revolting against the system will get us nowhere…. Maybe it’s time for black people to use the same tool white people have been using to defy a system they do not consent to: jury nullification…. Black people lucky enough to get on a jury could use that power to acquit any person charged with a crime against white men and white male institutions. It’s not about the race of the defendant, but if the alleged victim is a white guy, or his bank, or his position, or his authority: we could acquit. Assault? Acquit. Burglary? Acquit. Insider trading? Acquit.”

“I WANT CHAOS IN THE PROSECUTOR’S OFFICE. And you can’t accomplish that with a bomb or a gun. But you can with an acquittal. Lots of acquittals. All the acquittals. There are counties in this country where the justice system would grind to a halt if prosecutors couldn’t find black and brown people willing to convict or indict.… The stench of it will choke the system until it is willing to change.”

“Imagine if black people weren’t willing to indict a citizen for punching a white guy in the mouth? White people would lose their s**t, that’s what would happen.… It’s time for us to push back. Civil disobedience, when used in a targeted fashion, is a powerful force.”

Accusing White People of Supporting Racist Police Officers

In late May 2020 – shortly after the infamous death of George Floyd in Minneapolis – Mystal wrote:

“The police are never going to voluntarily stop killing black and brown people. The killings will continue until the majority of white people in this country make the killings stop.

“The police work for white people, and they know it. White people know it too. Deep down, white people know exactly whom the police are supposed to protect and serve, and they damn well know it’s not black and brown people. … A majority of [whites] clearly want the cops to behave this way. They want the viciousness. They want the horror. … They know that having racist police officers around gives them incredible power, and power makes people feel good, even if they never use it.”

Opposing Abortion Restrictions in Mississippi

In a December 1, 2021 appearance on MSNBC’s The ReidOut,” hosted by Joy Reid, Mystal reacted to the Supreme Court’s oral arguments vis-à-vis a Mississippi law that banned abortions after 15 weeks of pregnancy. Said Mystal:

“I can prove that a fetus is not deserving of full personhood rights because if it were, [conservatives] would be arguing that the fetus should be given citizenship. They would be arguing that the fetus should have other rights like a right to education, a right to health care. They would be arguing that I should be able to claim fetuses as dependents on my taxes, which you’ll note, they’re not. They’re only concerned about the right of a fetus when that right can be used to diminish the rights of women.”

Mystal’s Book Deprecating the Constitution

On March 1, 2022, Mystal released a New York Times bestseller titled Allow Me to Retort: A Black Guy’s Guide to the Constitution. In the first lines of the introduction to his book, he writes: “Our Constitution is not good. It is a document designed to create a society of enduring white male dominancy, hastily edited in the margins to allow for what basic political rights white men could be convinced to share.” Several times in his book, he writes that the Constitution is a “violent piece of shit.”

Mystal also attacks liberals who have some measure of respect for the Constitution:

“[You] rarely see liberals make the point that the Constitution is actually trash. Conservatives are out here acting like the Constitution was etched by divine flame upon stone tablets, when in reality it was scrawled out over a sweaty summer by people making deals with actual monsters who were trying to protect their rights to rape the humans they held in bondage. Why would I give a fuck about the original public meaning of the words written by those men?”

“Redeeming our failed Constitution from its bigoted and sexist sins does not require new amendments. It does not require a few new ornaments upon its crooked boughs. It requires the emerging majority in this country to reject the conservative interpretation of what the Constitution says and adopt a morally defensible view of what our country means. I’m here to tell you that the Constitution is trash.”

Mystal again derided the Constitution during a March 25, 2022 interview on the We’ve Got Issues podcast hosted by Joshua Holland. Among Mystal’s remarks were the following:

“We are talking about a document that was written by slavers just straight up. The largest slave owner at the time of the Revolution was George Washington. So not your average everyday neighborhood slavers. We are talking about the captains of the slaving industry, you are talking about colonists, and you are talking about some rich white men who were abolitionists but were willing to make deals with slavers and colonists. No people of color had a say in how the Constitution was written. No women had a say in how the Constitution was written. So the idea that this literal 18th Century slave document represents the best we can do as a society is laughable to me.”

Mystal Advocates Packing the Supreme Court with Democrat Leftists

In a March 2022 interview with Salon magazine, Mystal called for the Supreme Court to be dramatically expanded with the addition of numerous Democrat leftists, so that American jurisprudence would not shift away from the Left, which had dominated it for so long:

“It’s court expansion or bust…. As long as you have six conservative justices, you get nothing on voting rights, you get nothing on gun rights, you get nothing on climate change, you get nothing on police brutality, you get nothing on health care, you get nothing. So you expand the court and take your chances there, or you resign yourself to getting nothing. And people will say, ‘Oh, well, if we expand the court, Republicans will just expand it right back.’ So what? How is that worse than where we are now? I would argue that if we expand the court, it makes it harder for Republicans to expand it back because it makes it harder for Republicans to control all of government, because when everybody votes, Republicans lose.”

In the same vein, Mystal in June 2022 exhorted Democrats to “flood the court” (the Supreme Court) with 20 additional justices.

Depicting America’s Founding Fathers As “Racist, Misogynist Jerkfaces”

On May 2, 2022, Politico reported that an unidentified individual had leaked an initial draft majority opinion, written by Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito, in which the Court had decided to strike down the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision. The following night on MSNBC, Mystal told Joy Reid: “Alito’s fundamental reasoning is that abortion is not a fundamental right because it doesn’t go back to the Founding, because the Founding Fathers didn’t recognize abortion as a fundamental right. He’s right about that. The Founding Fathers didn’t recognize abortion as a fundamental right because the Founding Fathers were racist, misogynist jerkfaces who didn’t believe that women had any rights at all. So, of course, they didn’t believe that women had rights to their own bodies.”

Elie Mystal: A “Jerkface” Personified

The bottom line is this: Elie Mystal detests pretty much everything about the United States – its founders, its history, its Constitution, its people, its laws, and its cultural traditions. And he clearly loves to articulate that hatred to anyone who will listen. Indeed, Mystal’s countenance beams unmistakably with smug satisfaction whenever he appears on television to remind white Americans that they are nothing more than a pack of racist bastards utterly unworthy of even the barest shred of his respect. And yet, this self-identified embodiment of permanent victimhood has somehow managed, at age 44, to compile a net worth of approximately $20 million – placing him, in terms of his wealth, in the top one-one millionth of 1 percent of all the human beings who have ever lived on Earth. Poor Elie Mystal. It must pain him terribly, to be constantly surrounded by so many privileged racists who cannot possibly understand the hell he is forced to endure day after day.

Wrath, Greed, Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Sloth. Probably Lust as well but I have no real evidence for that. It certainly fits the pattern.

Not Bad........six out of seven......but he IS a democrat.......so.

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pazodetrasalba · 1 year

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Dear Caroline:

Here we get a very tantalizing snippet of a story you haven't told in your blog and which you now never will. I would really like to know more about that conversation, and it would probably warrant for a little essay, perhaps with some ironic overtones from Kafka's Metamorphosis. And when might it have taken place? Anything later than your college years seems improbable, and yet your greatest changes, as seen in your blog's writing, come from the time you moved to the Bay Area.

I think it is pretty obvious that you were right in believing you had more than enough intelligence, skills and capability for positive career outcomes, and yet I feel this can be said of a lot of people. I mean, how would you effectively measure one's suitability for being a homemaker and child-rearer versus a professional of worldly success? Perhaps you could focus on some character traits and predispositions like humility, lack of ambition, unwillingness to take risks, enjoyment of domestic chores and a less stressful life..., but in the end this seems like a self-fulfilling prophecy. With the right nudges and encouragement, I suppose most moderately intelligent people could succeed in both the domestic and work fields (and notice I say 'succeed' and not 'excel'). Perhaps more could do the former well, as it is less intellectually demanding. It is a bit like a distorted Peter principle, were you don't promote up to your level of incompetence, but rather, to the self-imposed limits you have interiorized.

One of the problems that comes from being in a nuanced and complex perspective like yours is that you will be getting shot at from right and left, and sentences like 'women are better suited to being homemakers' and 'the sexual revolution was a mistake' have been taken out of context by the latter to pillory you, but they are being superficial and simplistic (even if voluntarily so). Your argument about the dangers of a naive, hedonistic realm of absolute freedom is pretty much spot-on, and it comes as the nth iteration of the perennial conflict between individual and society as it plays out in our postmodern world, where a narcissistic and individual pleasure principle has mostly obliterated collective obligations and responsibilities, and a belief in any power or law above one's own desires.

It is intriguing to see how you use the double negative in an attempt to tone down that, with some caveats, you would still subscribe to the gist of this argument - the convoluted syntax actually makes your position difficult to follow, but from how you expand it, what I take away is that you still think acquiescing to (some) social norms still has (some) value, even if to a lesser degree than you once believed-thought-felt. But you post goes on beyond my excerpt for 3 paragraphs more, so we will expand on this tomorrow.

Quote:

In will be introducing our letter with Walter Benjamin's reflections about a symbolic interpretation of Paul Klee's Angelus Novus, so today's (mildly?) tantalizing snippet with be the painting itself.

#caroline ellison #tradition #endeavor

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anomaly00-archive · 3 years

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WRITEBLR ETIQUETTE: A COMPENDIUM

– But not really, of course. That’s just to make it sound fancy. This is just a quick list of basic (and maybe not so basic) writeblr rules/etiquette compounded together by myself and other fellow writeblrs. While Tumblr as a whole is a hell-void for everyone to yell into, it’s a hell-void with standards. Please keep these things in mind when you are interacting with others in the writeblr community to create a pleasant environment for everyone involved.

– On Taglist

Taglists are a big part in generating interactions for your posts as it’s the quickest and easiest way to inform people interested in your wip “hey, look guys, I posted a cool thing and wanted to share.” However it is important to remember that taglists should always be opt-in only. As in, someone should explicitly say they want to be on your taglists before you add them. Also an important note: If you have multiple wips on tumblr, you cannot use the same taglist for all of them unless it is a general taglist. Not everyone is going to be interested in all of your wips; please be courteous to your fellow writeblrs and let them choose what content they want to enjoy. There are certain exceptions to this, however. When writing a wip intro you can tag mutuals who you know might be interested to signal boost, but it’s best to only do this once and with permission.

Please don’t abuse your taglist by using it at every little thing related to your wip. Try to keep it to major posts such as: OC introductions, excerpts, WIP updates/announcements, etc. While people do love hearing from you and viewing your content, endless tags can get annoying and will clog up people’s notifications.

A side note: There isn’t a foolproof way of getting people to be on your taglists, but going to people’s inboxes/dms and asking if they want to be in it is definitely not the right way. I would recommend posting an interest check instead to see who is interested. Interest checks are also great if you’re participating in an event and don’t want to spam people with a lot of posts.

– On General Tagging

Make sure to add appropriate tags when posting content. Add all the relevant content warnings, trigger warnings, NSFW and NSFR tags as needed. Nudity and sexual content-- no matter how tasteful-- should be tagged NSFW.

When wanting to interact with another person’s posts, pay attention to the OP’s tags! If they say DNI, do not reblog, etc, then don’t. Definitely do not tag their original work as inspo/prompt/etc. because that’s just plain rude. It can be seen as invalidating, or it diminishes their work as simply inspiration for other people to use instead of something that can stand on its own.

– On Self-Promotion

Accept the facts now: Tumblr clout is fake. However as writers, even if you are a simply doing this as a hobby, we still need to learn how to promote ourselves and our work if we want to gain interaction. The absolute best way to gain interaction– meaningful interaction– is to interact with other people. Tagging a whole bunch of writeblrs asking for a “follow for follow” is going to get you nowhere in the long run, and honestly, is just annoying. If you’re part of a writeblr discord, use that opportunity to make friends and generate meaningful interaction. Don’t just use it as a place to promote your work and just not interact with anyone.

– On Ask/Tag Games

Meet and Greet Monday, Worldbuilding Wednesday, Storyteller Saturday, etc. are fantastic ways to interact with fellow writeblrs and gives a great excuse to talk about details of your wip you normally wouldn’t get to share. Sending asks to other writeblrs is a great way to learn about their wips and to interact with them, but on the other hand, please try to send good or relevant asks. These ask games are as much a way to help writers develop their story as well as sharing fun tidbits. Try to do a little bit of research into a person’s wip before asking, if possible. If you don’t have any good/relevant questions, then it’s ok to skip a week.

If you reblog an ask game from someone, send them an ask as well! It’s quick, easy, polite, and will absolutely make their day.

In relation to tag games: don’t make chain posts. If you’re tagged in something, just make your own separate post. Adding to the OP’s post makes it so that every like, reblog, comment, etc. ends up clogging their notifications which is not fun.

– Miscellaneous

If you like someone’s post, consider reblogging it! Not only does it help other people see their post, it’ll make their day.

In the same vein, try to add something to their post. Whether it’s a reaction gif/pic, a comment, a simple “nice” in the tags, or keysmashing. Writers love hearing from people and it’s just extra incentive to work more. Unsolicited advice, however, is never welcome.

Respect people’s boundaries. Enough said.

If you’re posting a screencap of an excerpt, add a transcript, even if it’s under a “read more.” For graphics, it’s really up to you, but try to add an image description anyway.

Long posts should have a “read more”

Credit your graphic templates/psds

And, while this shouldn’t need to be said, don’t plagiarize.

#writeblr #writeblr etiquette #writblr #writers of tumblr #writeblr community #writing #etiquette #vox maddie

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florbelles · 3 years

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any unanswered fic writer asks send tweet

we are no longer on speaking terms. 🌝,😈 & 🧠 answered here, 🌙 & 🌈 answered here xx

what do you like most about your own writing?

— i’m generally very happy with my use of narrative voice, particularly in terms of stylistic choices and structure to create atmosphere or convey emotion. i probably consider the latter my strongest suit. it’s also my favorite aspect of the writing process, which is probably why i feel it’s effective :’’)

what embarrasses you most about your own writing?

— the lack of it :/

i jest. you know what’s embarrassing? my organization/lack thereof. it’s near-impossible for me to piece anything together after the fact so if i don’t have it all in one place immediately then girl bye good luck finding it ( there are legitimately passages i have had to look up from wip posts or excerpt memes because it’s the only place i know, without doubt, i can find them ).

what is one wip you think you may never pick back up?

— none, actually. even if there are projects i know i’ll never continue in their original form — the vast majority of my uncompleted original/non-fandom work qualifies — in all probability i’ll butcher them for parts or otherwise repurpose them. ( i realize this is probably asking about in-progress published works specifically, but since i don’t currently have any of those live on main, that’s n/a ).

do you have any wips that you would never let see the light of day? if yes, what are they about?

— not specifically, no. i have plenty of content that i won’t ultimately use just because it doesn’t serve a justifiable narrative purpose, is experimental, is an outtake that i don’t want to publish because it was cut due to changes or incompatibility with another characterization/narrative choice i ended up making ( which i don’t want to muddle, at least at this stage, but i suppose the what-ifs could have a place on main down the line, so not even those are necessarily hard nevers ). alas, no super secret fic, though.

what is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

— since i’m not on ao3 and don’t have multiple fics posted, my comments/messages are generally tags or comments on my posts here, and i love & appreciate absolutely all of them :’’)

do you write every day?

— i do, actually! i’m not counting what i write for workshops or uni, obviously, since those are on a deadline, but i can’t think of a day in recent memory i haven’t written something for my self-indulgent projects, even if that’s just a few disjointed lines out of context that will inevitably be buried in the depths of my notes app.

are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? is it consistent?

— the only thing is that’s wholly consistent is i absolutely Do Not Outline, i Will Not Do It. otherwise i don’t think i’ve ever gone into a project without essentially knowing exactly where i want things to end up. that doesn’t mean that isn’t subject to change, obviously, i like to leave myself plenty of flexibility to keep things fresh, but generally by the time i get around to actually writing out fic scenes i have a thorough knowledge of my arc as a whole ( i obviously know all the details of lyra’s canon intimately, for example, but i still don’t have an outline in terms of fic pacing/writing schedule/scene presentation order ).

current number of wips?

— one major longfic and 130+ prompts 💕

do you tell people in real life that you write fic?

— again, not specifically, no. fic makes up a relatively small percentage of what i write, especially in the context of what i have finished ( as you all know ); that’s actually one of the reasons why i have comparatively little completed, i already write on deadlines outside of a fandom sphere, so i’m not willing to put them on myself or make time commitments that could lead to burnout. generally when i discuss my writing projects it’s not in a fandom context. it’s not a secret, though.

what is one growth area you have for your writing?

— proofreading & editing. i absolutely do not proofread. never not going in raw, baby. i do make cuts, but only in the form of culling entire passages if i’m not completely happy with them or feel they’re unnecessary weight/are fucking with the impact & pacing ( which is a habit related to my lack of editing, i would rather just axe it completely or rewrite it entirely ). this is unfortunately true of academic & workshop submissions as well as fandom writing. i’ve gotten by with it all my life, but that doesn’t mean i should, or couldn’t greatly improve my work by putting in the effort.

do you read your own fic?

— yes. after the fact. which is why i will notice an entire phrase that was formatted incorrectly and appeared twice in a row a month after the original positing.

what is the hardest part of writing fic?

— writing it. ( no, really, it’s 99% just a matter of finding time & energy for me ).

do you do research for your fics? what’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

— i’ll do cursory research as the need arises, yeah. most of the deep diving i do is related to canon lore, however. ( i have listened to literal hours of far cry 5 dialogue. i have read fps scripts. i have purchased & studied promotional and companion material. i have given myself motion sickness seeking out notes & confirming geographical details. i have a problem. i never wanted this for myself. i never — )

choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.

— i’m not trying to be a twat but i assume this means compliment because it doesn’t make sense to me otherwise :)) uhhhh visceral, poetic, immersive

what is a headcanon you have about your own work?

— kate’s already heard this one but my pet headcanon that will never be canonically addressed is isbaela watching the nukes from her window with her third glass of morning white wine in her hand making a noise of disgust like “i’m sure this is somehow lyra’s fault” and lawrence is like “oh my god, bels give it up what the fuck is wrong with you” but then ten minutes later in hell he’s like “oh lol no shit?”

( i jest. mostly. )

in all seriousness i like to think that since their world is based in mythology & the supernatural that john & lyra are truly reunited in hell where she has taken her rightful place as one marked by god for damnation as lucifer was before her

name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave)?

— i’m just going to recommend my “other fic” tag instead :’’)

if one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

— she wrote in blood and we all know damn well why

do you spend more time reading fic, writing fic, or do you do both equally?

— writing it! i generally don’t seek fic out, i don’t need to because my mutuals are good enough to put premium content on my dash regularly

#honeysides #answered

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jenniferisacommonname · 3 years

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Bonus Level Unlocked

This week marks the release of Jason Schreier’s Press Reset, an incredibly well-researched book on catastrophic business failure in the gaming industry. Jason’s a good dude, and there’s an excerpt here if you want to check it out. Sadly, game companies going belly-up is such a common occurrence that he couldn’t possibly include them all, and one of the stories left out due to space constraints is one that I happen to be personally familiar with. So, I figured I’d tell it here.

I began working at Acclaim Studios Austin as a sound designer in January of 2000. It was a tumultuous period for the company, including a recent rebranding from their former studio name, “Iguana Entertainment,” and a related, ongoing lawsuit from the ex-founder of Iguana. There were a fair number of ghosts hanging around—the creative director’s license plate read IGUANA, which he never changed, and one of the meeting rooms held a large, empty terrarium—but the studio had actually been owned on paper by Acclaim since 1995, and I didn’t notice any conflicting loyalties. Everyone acted as if we always had been, and always would be, Acclaim employees.

Over the next few years I worked on a respectable array of triple-A titles, including Quarterback Club 2002, Turok: Evolution, and All-Star Baseball 2002 through 2005. (Should it be “All-Stars Baseball,” like attorneys general? Or perhaps a term of venery, like “a zodiac of All-Star Baseball.”) At any rate, it was a fun place to work, and a platformer of hijinks ensued.

But let’s skip to the cutscene. The truth is that none of us in the trenches suspected the end was near until it was absolutely imminent. Yes, Turok: Evolution and Vexx had underperformed, especially when stacked against the cost of development, but games flop in the retail market all the time. And, yes, Showdown: Legends of Wrestling had been hustled out the door before it was ready for reasons no one would explain, and the New York studio’s release of a BMX game featuring unlockable live-action stripper footage had been an incredibly weird marketing ploy for what should have been a straightforward racing title. (Other desperate gimmicks around this time included a £6,000 prize for UK parents who would name their baby “Turok,” an offer to pay off speeding tickets to promote Burnout 2 that quickly proved illegal, and an attempt to buy advertising space on actual tombstones for a Shadow Man sequel.)

But the baseball franchise was an annual moneymaker, and our studio had teams well into development on two major new licenses, 100 Bullets and The Red Star. Enthusiasm was on the upswing. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention when voice actors started calling me to complain that they hadn’t been paid, but at the time it seemed more like a bureaucratic failure than an actual money shortage—and frankly, it was a little naïve of them to expect net-30 in the first place. Industry standard was, like, net-90 at best. So I was told.

Then one Friday afternoon, a few department managers got word that we’d kind of maybe been skipping out on the building lease for let’s-not-admit-how-many months. By Monday morning, everyone’s key cards had been deactivated.

It's a little odd to arrive at work and find a hundred-plus people milling around outside—even odder, I suppose, if your company is not the one being evicted. Acclaim folks mostly just rolled their eyes and debated whether to cut our losses and head to lunch now, while employees of other companies would look dumbfounded and fearful before being encouraged to push their way through the crowd and demonstrate their still-valid key card to the security guard. Finally, the General Manager (hired only a few months earlier, and with a hefty relocation bonus to accommodate his houseboat) announced that we should go home for the day and await news. Several of our coworkers were veterans of the layoff process—like I said, game companies go under a lot—and one of them had already created a Yahoo group to communicate with each other on the assumption that we’d lose access to our work email. A whisper of “get on the VPN and download while you can” rippled through the crowd.

But the real shift in tone came after someone asked about a quick trip inside for personal items, and the answer was a hard, universal “no.” We may have been too busy or ignorant to glance up at any wall-writing, but the building management had not been: they were anticipating a full bankruptcy of the entire company. In that situation, all creditors have equal standing to divide up a company's assets in lengthy court battles, and most get a fraction of what they’re owed. But if the landlords had seized our office contents in lieu of rent before the bankruptcy was declared, they reasoned, then a judge might rule that they had gotten to the treasure chest first, and could lay claim to everything inside as separate from the upcoming asset liquidation.

Ultimately, their gambit failed, but the ruling took a month to settle. In the meantime, knick knacks gathered dust, delivered packages piled up, food rotted on desks, and fish tanks became graveyards. Despite raucous protest from every angle—the office pets alone generated numerous threats of animal cruelty charges—only one employee managed to get in during this time, and only under police escort. He was a British citizen on a work visa, and his paperwork happened to be sitting on his desk, due to expire. Without it, he was facing literal deportation. Fortunately, a uniformed officer took his side (or perhaps just pre-responded to what was clearly a misdemeanor assault in ovo,) and after some tense discussion, the building manager relented, on the condition that the employee touch absolutely nothing beyond the paperwork in question. The forms could go, but the photos of his children would remain.

It’s also a little odd, by the way, to arrive at the unemployment office and find every plastic chair occupied by someone you know. Even odder, I suppose, if you’re actually a former employee of Acclaim Studios Salt Lake, which had shut down only a month or two earlier, and you just uprooted your wife and kids to a whole new city on the assurance that you were one of the lucky ones who got to stay employed. Some of them hadn’t even finished unpacking.

Eventually, we were allowed to enter the old office building one at a time and box up our things under the watchful eye of a court appointee, but by then our list of grievances made the landlords’ ploy seem almost quaint by comparison (except for the animals, which remains un-fucking-forgivable.) We had learned, for example, that in the weeks prior to the bankruptcy, our primary lender had made an offer of $15 million—enough to keep us solvent through our next batch of releases, two of which had already exited playtesting and were ready to be burned and shipped. The only catch was that the head of the board, company founder Greg Fischbach, would have to step down. This was apparently too much of an insult for him to stomach, and he decided that he'd rather see everything burn to the ground. The loan was refused.

Other “way worse than we thought” details included gratuitous self-dealing to vendors owned by board members, the disappearance of expensive art from the New York offices just before closure, and the theft of our last two paychecks. For UK employees, it was even more appalling: Acclaim had, for who knows how long, been withdrawing money from UK paychecks for their government-required pension funds, but never actually putting the money into the retirement accounts. They had stolen tens of thousands of dollars directly from each worker.

Though I generally reside somewhere between mellow and complete doormat on the emotional spectrum, I did get riled enough to send out one bitter email—not to anyone in corporate, but to the creators of a popular webcomic called Penny Arcade, who, in the wake of Acclaim’s bankruptcy announcement, published a milquetoast jibe about Midway’s upcoming Area 51. I told Jerry (a.k.a. “Tycho”) that I was frankly disappointed in their lack of cruelty, and aired as much dirty laundry as I was privy to at the time.

“Surely you can find a comedic gem hidden somewhere in all of this!” I wrote. “Our inevitable mocking on PA has been a small light at the end of a very dark, very long tunnel. Please at least allow us the dignity of having a smile on our faces while we wait in line for food stamps.”

Two days later, a suitably grim comic did appear, implying the existence of a new release from Acclaim whose objective was to run your game company into the ground. In the accompanying news post, Tycho wrote:

“We couldn’t let the Acclaim bankruptcy go without comment, though we initially let it slide thinking about the ordinary gamers who lost their jobs there. They don’t have anything to do with Acclaim’s malevolent Public Relations mongrels, and it wasn’t they who hatched the Titty Bike genre either. Then, we remembered that we have absolutely zero social conscience and love to say mean things.”

Another odd experience, by the way, is digging up a 16-year-old complaint to a webcomic creator for nostalgic reference when you offer that same creator a promotional copy of the gaming memoir you just co-wrote with Sid Meier. Even odder, I suppose, to realize that the original non-Acclaim comic had been about Area 51, which you actually were hired to work on yourself soon after the Acclaim debacle.*

As is often the case in complex bankruptcies, the asset liquidation took another six years to fully stagger its way through court—but in 2010, we did, surprisingly, get the ancient paychecks we were owed, plus an extra $1,700-ish for the company’s apparent violation of the WARN Act. By then, I had two kids and a very different life, for which the money was admittedly helpful. Sadly, Acclaim’s implosion probably isn’t even the most egregious one on record. Our sins were, to my knowledge, all money-related, and at least no one was ever sexually assaulted in our office building. Again, to my knowledge. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure we remain the only historical incident of corporate pet murder. The iguana got out just in time.

*Area 51’s main character was voiced by David Duchovny, and he actually got paid—which was lucky for him, because three years later, Midway also declared bankruptcy.

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ethrenisnotthehero · 3 years

Text

What is Fair Use, and When Does Purpose Matter?

Hey, folks.

I’m sorry for being so aggressive yesterday.

I’ll admit that when I wake up to asks in my inbox telling me to die or go eat shit because of how much of a big mean hypocrite I am, I get really tired of dealing with people in this fandom who have no intention to strike up a good-faith conversation. I want to remind everyone that my askbox is for good-faith questions or support for Jill only. Things meant to start a fight or slander either of us won’t be published, and the senders will be blocked.

I had someone ask, much more nicely, this morning to explain why I think using the avatar is the right thing to do, so I’m going to explain that under the cut. I’m also going to make a second post today to address why I’m still active and what my goals are here.

Fair Use is a United States Copyright law that “promotes freedom of expression by permitting the unlicensed use of copyright-protected works in certain circumstances.” Sometimes, original and copyrighted works can be used when they meet specific criteria, even when it would be otherwise illegal to use such work. You’ve probably heard of Fair Use on YouTube, because it’s often a point of contention between creators who reproduce works and copyright holders who issue claims and strikes against them.

In order for something to be protected under Fair Use, it needs to be scrutinized under four separate categories that courts determine constitute Fair Use in reproduced works:

Purpose and character of the use

Nature of the copyrighted work

Amount and substantiality of the portion used

Effect of the use upon the potential market

Let’s take a look at these categories one by one.

Purpose and Character of the Use

How the copyrighted material is being used is extremely important in determining the fair use of the reproduced work. If the work is being used to generate revenue, it is probably not protected under Fair Use. Usually, the copyrighted material must be being reproduced for non-profit purposes, though that is not the only factor in determination. Some uses generally protected are: journalism, parody, criticism or commentary, and education. Here are some examples of Purpose and Character in action:

A user sees a sketch someone on Twitter shared as a WIP for an upcoming commission. They decide to take that sketch and use it as a base for their own commission. This is not Fair Use.

A user creates an avatar and tells their followers that it cannot be used without their permission. Someone writes a blog story about the artists on Tumblr, and includes a screenshot of their identifying information, including their avatar. This is Fair Use.

Nature of the Copyrighted Work

What the copyrighted work is also matters. Factual works and nonfiction are the most likely materials to be covered under Fair Use, but the only thing exclusively not covered is an unpublished work like a private manuscript. Courts also disapprove of the use of commercially available materials; if it’s for sale, you have to buy it! This is the clause of fair use that gets creators like those at YouTube in a sticky situation, because the only real way to determine is something meets this criteria is to have it determined by a judge.

Amount and Substantiality of the Portion Used

How much of the copyrighted work is used is another point of Fair Use. This is another category that is hard to determine outside of a court, but it’s generally accepted in IP law that using only what you need is likely to be covered under the law. Using an entire picture or photograph is likely not covered, but using a low-resolution image or a thumbnail has been ruled in precedent cases as Fair Use. Using clips of a movie to summarize it is probably Fair Use, as is using some song lyrics or an excerpt from a book. The more transformative a reproduced work is (the more it has been changed) the more likely it is to qualify under this section. Here are some examples of Amount and Substantiality:

An artist decides that they like a piece of art on deviantArt, and downloads the piece to make their own. They reproduce the exact same scene with their own characters, changing the faces and colors of the characters in it. This is not Fair Use.

An artist decides that they like a pose from a photograph they saw on deviantArt. They download the piece, and use it as a reference for a pose in a piece that they are making. The end result is a completely new picture compared to the reference. This is Fair Use.

Effect of the Use Upon the Potential Market

This is one of the easier determinants of Fair Use, and one of the most important ones. This clause of Fair Use comes down to what kind of access was originally available: if you could realistically purchase the work or the rights to the copyrighted work, then it is usually not covered under Fair Use. If using the work will damage the market for that particular work or reroute revenue for that work from the original copyright holder, then it is also probably not Fair Use. Here are some instances of Effect of Use:

A YouTuber makes a channel where they summarize movies for the public. They do not purchase the movies, and they use the main parts of the movie, sped up, to give users the full experience. People who watch their channel do it so that they will not have to purchase the movie themselves, thus depriving the original copyright holders of the revenue for the movie they’ve enjoyed. This is not Fair Use.

A YouTuber makes a channel where they summarize movies for the public. They purchase the movies and use some clips of main events in between commentary on the film. At the end, they leave the viewers wondering what the full movie is like, and they encourage users to go watch the movies for themselves, providing links to the original work. This is Fair Use.

Is the Blog’s Avatar Protected by Fair Use?

The only way to realistically know would be to go before a judge, but I believe so. The avatar in question is used to criticize prominent members of the community and educate users about what Ren did to his survivors [Purpose]. I only used Ethren’s face, because that is what Ren is known for, and transformed it as a thumbnail meant to convey that purpose [Amount]. I could not have purchased Ren’s cover photo, since it was not for sale, and neither could anyone else [Effect]. I believe since it was a publicly published work that was used to identify Ren and his characters, the clause of Nature is also met.

If you don’t agree that my use of the image is protected under Fair Use, or believe it is protected but is morally wrong, I understand your argument and you have every right to believe me a hypocrite. I don’t automatically believe that people who don’t believe I’m using Fair Use or who think I have morally ulterior motives are necessarily supporters of Ren; however, I do think that people who have supported someone who defends art thieves and people who continue to support them themselves have very little weight when discussing what is and what is not protected under copyright.

It’s completely understandable to have your own opinions. I encourage you to do so! IP law is incredibly complicated and it’s important to be educated both as art audiences and as artists. Art theft is wrong. Fair Use is important. Those things are sometimes at odds. What isn’t okay is sending death threats to people you don’t agree with. No one deserves to be harassed, abused, and told to “go die,” period. I’ve always believe that, and while Ren is a gross little narcissist monster, he doesn’t deserve death threats, either.

Be good people.

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Note

hi !! i’m a new writer in the fandom, so i was hoping to ask if you had any pointers for getting started. i’m writing something i’m really proud of, and would love to have more people read it !!

good for you, i’m glad you’re enjoying writing it!!! my Hot Tips™ are:

utilize tags! both on tumblr and ao3, if you’re cross-posting. tag content that might be triggering, but tag tropes you’re taking part in, too—friends to lovers, etc. also, activities involved! cuddling! school! if it it’s a common au! tag the ship! tag the characters! use your tags!

if you’re on tumblr, i believe tumblr counts the first 20 tags, so put in things like “sanders sides,” “sanders sides fanficiton,” etc. ao3 is Unlimited, but be warned that tags that take up like a page’s worth of scrolling might turn some readers off

make sure the summary hooks a reader in! make it an excerpt of your story, or a brief quote and then an explanation of the general premise—either way, make it interesting! the big bang’s guide on some ways on how to write a summary is here, and scroll through some of your favorite fics and note how they handled their summaries too!

honestly, look to your favorite fics for a lot of this advice, too, i’ve found that noticing what others do and emulating it in some ways has really helped me

share it with your fandom friends!!! share it with your fandom discord server! i know promoting your own work can be hard sometimes but it really does help!

engage with people commenting!!! this is just a fun part of writing fic regardless, comments are Great, and i try to respond to each and every one over on ao3—tumblr notifs are Bad, tho, so i’m a bit less consistent here. it’s always nice to see usernames you recognize in the comment section!

uh, yeah, that’s what i’ve got off the top of my head! go forth, write, have fun!!!

#Anonymous #ask

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Text

Where Time Takes Us

Destination - Part 1

- - - - - - - - - -

Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

— excerpt from folk song, The World Behind, writer unknown, dated back to the Era of Myth

- - - - - - - - - -

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon...

Her job ends on doomsday.

She should be working, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances had led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them, (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again), the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached.

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. The Adequate’s Tavern was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality.

Pushing open the door, the researcher was met with a swirl of familiar scents, ranging from alcohol, apples, bread, and leather, along with a smokiness coming from the fireplace near the back of the bar.

Closing the door behind her, she walked through the entrance, passing under a wooden overhang, and alongside a long, stone-slated bar counter. She overheard a conversation between the barkeep and a waiter.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The man started shoving her towards the storage door behind the bar. “Yes, yes, now hurry up and stock up on that apple cider. I’ve already turned four full pitchers from the three of them, and the fourth is no doubt on the way. We can turn a bigger profit from those kids than any random alcoholic that stumbles in here tonight!”

The waiter disappeared into the back, and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place.

She walked about the pub, scanning the faces of the men and women alike who crowded by the booths and tables. The tavern mainly housed a sea of Hylians, who let out the occasional drunken laugh, or hearty chuckle. It was a miracle she could hear her thoughts at all, as the air was rich with the sound of clattering dishware and the patter of dancing feet, as in a small corner to the left was a semi-circle stage housing a small band. A Hylian man with umber dark skin, much like her own, blew away at a Lurelin-made, seashell harmonica. To his left, a blonde woman extended her arm in quick and elegant strokes with a bow and fiddle. Two others struck away on small drums and bells, and the playful gig they performed had gotten several people up from their feet to dance for Hylia knows how long. The music wasn’t terrible, but she had heard better, from a certain Sheikah in particular...

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

It hindsight, it was easy enough to expect the bard to be at the table closest to the stage. Yet, it was probably the three heads of cloud white, Sheikah hair that gave them away the quickest. A young teenage boy sat across a square table from two other Sheikah, a boy and a girl. He was looking at nothing in particular, as he plucked away at his lute, presumably tuning it. Wrapped around his head was a small cluster of green wooden beads, woven with brown string. They dotted like a line of stars in his fluffy, white hair, alternating between pine and sage shades. The knot tying the strings and beads around his head hung loosely like vines just by his right ear. He was just asking to look like a starstruck, homeless traveler, if it weren’t for the bright red cape pinned across his shoulders. The golden, Hyrulean emblem holding the crimson cloth together signified his status as an important worker of the palace. Although, no one would be surprised that this thin, skinny teenager was a bard and court poet, and not a royal knight.

Suddenly, the bard looked up and met her gaze, a pair of warm, red eyes catching the light of familiarity. He patted the empty seat next to him and said something to the other two Sheikah in front of him. One of them looked back, a young man with storm wild hair that seemed to part like lightning. He had a beige, long sleeve coat over a red tunic, as was the classic Sheikah style. However, the style of his white jacket told of his rank as a scientist. With chocolate eyes and a contagious grin, he nudged the girl next to him and fake coughed.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly, “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, okay?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Purah turned in her seat and gave a fake gasp. She adjusted her red rimmed glasses at the sight of her. “You’re right, Robbie! I’ve heard about these spirits. They only come at midnight under a full moon, and they appear when you have friends that don’t know how to time manage and haunt you by coming to your birthday party with their terrible fashion sense 45 minutes late!” She clapped her hands along with the syllables of “45 minutes” to let her point be known.

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile.

Adello put a hand on her hip. “Save your breath, I was just working a bit overtime on the Divine Beast sketches. You know, work? For the jobs that we all have? So we can pay our taxes and shit? Unfortunately, not all of us have fancy salaries Mrs. Royal Scientist.”

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Okay, first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

The researcher propped a black leather boot up on the empty chair by the table, flipping her jet black hair dramatically. “How does it feel to be in the presence of someone with an actual on-the-field career?”

Purah stuck out her tongue, and Robbie cupped his hands and booed. However, the boy sitting on the other side of the fourseated table gave a celebratory strum of his lute, giving Adello’s pose a bright background flourish with a few upbeat chords.

She winked. “Thank you Zimiri, at least someone can recognize skill.” The bard gave a little bow with his head, grinning. “A few chords is all it takes to enhance a dramatic, late night entrance.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm.

“Uh, excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling.

Everyone at the table groaned, turning to occupy themselves with something else. Purah started writing in her journal which she pulled out from her satchel, and Adello started to become very interested with the ceiling. Zimiri continued to pluck nothings on his lute.

Robbies crossed his arms, his white long sleeves folding across the Sheikah red shirt underneath. “Oh I see! So when Adello brags, she gets a musical accompaniment, but when I do it, it’s suddenly annoying and embarrassing?”

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright, you don’t get to speak, Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!”

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen.

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual, you idiot.”

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath.

Purah finished off a note in her journal before turning to the rest of the table. “Alright Adello, time to catch up. We’ve been playing ‘Till You Spill and I’ve already got some juicy stuff in here!”

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, okay?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s…c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

Adello tried to hold her tongue to no avail. “Pffft. Yeah, you can try wooing her with your punctuation.” This got a snicker out of Purah, and caused the birthday boy to blush furiously and slump further in his seat. Zimiri finally spoke up.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.”

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up, mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

The poet groaned, but complied. Tipping the cup towards his lips, Zimiri took a hearty slurp of the cider, much to everyone’s amusement. It felt like hot, molten copper mixed with old apple skins. How could something both burn and freeze your throat at the same time? He let out a gag, to which Adello patted him on the back with a short laugh.

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...”

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

While she wasn’t undefeated in this drinking game, she sure as hell was playing to win. Especially since somebody needed to knock that smug expression off of Purah’s face. Adello thought to herself quickly.

Zimiri, no doubt, is probably gonna say something self-deprecating again, as he’s too nice to actually reveal anything embarrassing about anyone else. So...I just need to say something unexpected and interesting...perhaps something embarrassing about...hmm, I’ve already exhausted all my info about those cushy nobles and guards in past rounds…

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “Ooh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers, “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peeked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously rapping the table with his finger. “Well, speaking as a horse guy myself, I can attest to the fact that the childhood horse obsession phase never leaves, so I find Princess Zelda’s collection quite admirable.” He gave a nod towards Zimiri. “Either way, it’ll be tough to top that, Zim. Cute, yet slightly concerning, fact about our future queen? Quite the competition. Shall I signal the waiter for a refill now?”

Zimiri plucked a few more strings from his lute, before finally setting it down on the floor. He tilted his head, playfully. The string with sage green beads seemed to sway with the tavern’s music, and he spoke with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I might be faced with impending failure and ultimate defeat, but hells if I’m not one to try instead of mope.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“Let’s see...to top out on an embarrassing fact about a respected princess...it's natural to combat it with something...personal? That always seems to be the more valuable information in this game…” Adello shook her head. He was playing right into her hand.

“Well...Robbie won last round with the identity of Cherry...so, how about I dish out something similar. See, I’ve...uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh! Well. Court poet, shrine researcher, the job gets you close with the princess...kinda...I’d like to think we’re close anyhow…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and let out a short cough. Then, he went back to fiddling with his short, messy hair.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle, When did my mom move… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters.

“Oh Zimiri,” Purah sighed, “I was rooting for you too.” Seeing the bewilderment creep onto the poet’s face, Robbie answered the question before it even escaped his lips. “Literally everyone here knew that bud, it’s not a secret.”

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-Well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“Oh my gods. Zimiri, you literally talk about her all the time, you’re totally in love. Given that we’re also the recipients of your long spiels and ballads about how ‘intelligent and thoughtful and amazing Zelda is,’” Purah said the words to mimic the tone of Zimiri’s honey sweet voice, “it’s exceptionally, extremely, very, very obvious.”

“R-Recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

The royal scientist leaned across the table and patted his head. “Right, but you also started attempting love songs a coincidental 2 weeks after starting your job of shrine research with her. Your eyes are already red, so whenever she passes by it’s like your pupils magically form into adoring hearts. Try to stay away from poker, it’s for your own good.”

Zimiri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimiri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Adello watched as the same woman she had seen near the bar earlier made her way to the table. Picking up a pitcher, she poured out a fresh cup of Adequate’s Apple Cider. The four of them had been here so many times, they didn’t even need to verbally ask for the order.

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.”

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her.

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!”

Adello cracked her neck for show, before downing her glass of cider in a few gulps. The stench and tingling sensation seemed to stick to the sides of her throat. It would take more than water to clear that out. “Adequate” was being very generous when describing its quality.

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another raspberry at her.

They played for a few more rounds, the clatter of cups and breaths of laughter decorating the hours. Much to everyone’s distaste, Purah continued her winning streak, getting by with unbeatable information about the King, royal guards, and one embarrassing anecdote about how her little sister, Impa, had caught her writing an interesting letter to the “local archery hunk.”

Yet, Purah laughed along with the rest of them, the eyes behind her red rimmed glasses held no shame, which Adello envied. Of course that sort of attitude would make you a master at this game. Robbie and Adello attempted to team up and be biased towards Purah in an effort to get her to lose, but either Zimiri didn’t take the hint, or he just really liked playing fair which wasn’t exactly out of character, even if it meant more drinks for him.

Suddenly, a bell towards the back of the pub rang, signifying the end of the band’s gig. The dancing paused, as people gave their thanks, varying from politie applause to drunken yelps. Robbie then rapped the table with his hands, excitedly.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.”

Adello scoffed. “Uh, are you kidding? The owner would love for you to play without paying you. Haven’t you heard the talk around town? The Adequate’s Tavern: Home of alright food and acceptable ale, but an outstanding bard!”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip.

He laughed to himself as he stumbled aback. “Alright, alright, but only because the birthday tyrant requested it.” Robbie clapped his hands in a “chop-chop” fashion, to truly signify his role as the newly dubbed tyrant.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Adello grabbed the cup right out of his hands. She tipped it 180 degrees and let the cider spill completely onto the wooden floor. He hopped back, and Purah let out a surprised yelp, saying something about letting the stench seep into the floorboards. Robbie just started to laugh, wildly. Noticing the small commotion, a few other guests looked back at them and started to snicker to themselves.

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.”

The bard pushed his chair under the table. Picking up his lute as he stood and faced Adello, a charming smile on his face. “Heh, well. My singing voice is grateful. I suppose now I’m in debt to comply.” He gave a curt bow.

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage.

A few of the regulars who recognized him let out whoops and whistles, yelling out “Bard!” or “More music!” in support. It seemed that no one really knew his name, but it was nice enough to know that even working here part time would grant you the honor of being recognized by a bunch of random folk. One confused patron, who only associated him with “z” yelled out “Yeah, Zelda!” before promptly slumping under the table. Looking around, a blonde girl caught his eye, as it seemed she was staring at him. He waved, and her cheeks, much to Zimiri’s confusion, turned pink at his gaze and she turned to her friends who started giggling.

Moving past the last of the Hylians with an, “excuse me, sorry!” he finally stepped on the stage. The bard pulled up a small stool to the stage, leaning against it. Most of the folks continued to whoop in approval, seemingly eager for another chance to start dancing. Even the barkeep clapped his hands, probably excited at the thought of a free gig.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before.

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute.

A mass of different voices bounced around the tavern, requests ranging from The Babbler’s Jig, Misko’s Tale, The Eldin Bluffs, and Can I Get More Ale? Although, Zimiri wasn’t quite familiar with the chords of that last song.

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!”

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

The bard smiled, preparing the fingering on the neck of his lute. He turned towards the audience. “Well, I’m afraid I have no choice but to heed to such authority.” He began to pluck the beginning notes, tapping a tempo with his boot against the stage. “Now then, a beat, if you all would be so kind?”

The tavern chattered in approval, before piping down. There probably weren't more than 30 people, but the beat they made was definitely sufficient. The sound of stomping, banging mugs, and clapping filled the room. The tempo didn’t even need much adjusting, as The World Behind was pretty familiar around Castle Town. The beat was like a child pretending to be a marching soldier, unconcerned and playful.

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely.

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Many of the guests had started to dance again, while the rest continued the beat of the song. As Zimiri plucked rapid notes on his lute, he heard a supporting holler from Purah. Next to her, Robbie was slamming his fist to the beat, clearly enjoying himself.

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Another pause between the verses, and the bard played the “decorative” rapid notes in between. He didn’t mean to seem like he was showing off, but Adello would attest to the fact that this happened whenever he got too into the music. Looking towards her, Zimiri saw her give a double thumbs up.

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

At this point, some of the guests were singing along, though not to the point of overpowering his own alluring voice. Laughter rang out around the warmly lit room once again. Zimiri looked out at the dancing patrons and smiling guests, grinning at the feeling in his chest this brought. He continued the last verse.

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Lumbering through the double doors, three guards entered the tavern. The one in front, who had interrupted the music, wore a typical knight’s outfit, the same as his male and female coworkers behind him. However, the black hooded cape he wore atop his metal armour swayed with every step he took across the floor, his supposed rank silencing the room.

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment.

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The guests shook their heads, mumbling. Their booing and insults continued, but their volume quieted, it was too early to be getting cross with a couple of knights. Even Zimiri quietly slipped off the stage back towards his friends so as not to be at the end of the knight’s intimidating voice.

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, your music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to, quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again; the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders.

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged— he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth, girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot he regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

With the attention now towards a single table, most of the guests went back to their idle banter. A few waiters nodded their head towards the table in the back, and the man caught sight of three, white haired teenagers, who were sitting with the dark haired girl who had quipped out earlier.

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table.

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Doctor? Really? Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Okay, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave politely at the guard, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well, look here, son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it lets me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie.

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them.

“Ah yes, well, thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry, wha—”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

“Look, I’m not a nobody. I’m more than capable of fixing up the guardian and any other disasters you might have left lying around the castle grounds. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even lick the kid’s boots, it’s not my first time dealing with this, alrighty?”

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms.

“You’re still following your precious orders, aren't you? How would you know what Dr. Robbie looks like? You can’t be faulted for not knowing someone you never met. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The blonde man behind the gruff, black caped guard, whispered something to his female coworker. Her gaze switched between the girl and the man. Still seeing the uncertainty in their eyes, Adello leaned closer to the knight and lowered her voice. “Come on, have a little heart, it’s his birthday.”

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh.

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

Robbie started to protest, but Adello quickly silenced him with a wink. The guard turned towards the rest of the room, yelling, “The rest of you, the sun is gonna rise in a few hours so save your rioting for then! Am I clear?”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards.

The tension in the tavern was almost immediately cleared, the moment the knights left. Most of the people went back to their normal conversational volume, and the waiters began to patter about with more confidence. However, Zimiri slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh.

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days.

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you two, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.”

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimiri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie.

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room.

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

Looking out at the crowd, Zimiri noticed how the guards' interference had really dampened the atmosphere. The warm and lively laughter that was present just a few moments earlier was now replaced with more monotone chatter.

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a bard for?

Stepping back onto the stage, he strummed an open chord, double checking the tuning. The whooping and clapping started to return, much to his delight. Plucking a familiar melody, the warm feeling in his stomach returned as he watched the new smiles that started to fill the room. However, before he began to sing, Zimiri first focused on craning his neck to look out a window, trying to catch a glimpse of a certain girl in the night.

It seemed the moon and sun were balanced on the edge of the world. The night had started to submerge behind the walls of West Castle Town, with only the brightest stars still perched upon the ink of the navy blue sky. The silver lining of greying clouds just barely glowed from the faint light of the day, still trying to break out of the eastern waters.

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her.

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

Adello shook her head. She turned to retrieve a journal from the pouch on her belt, opening its pages as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “No, it’s fine. I still have some more work I should be finishing up at home anyhow.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The guard took her blunt response as a sign to not continue with the niceties, much to Adello’s relief. Looking up, she gazed at the looming castle. Its towers were like mountain peaks, sitting above the blurred silhouettes of the buildings of Castle Town.

Taking out a bit of charcoal, she started to sketch its outline on a fresh page in her journal. While she only had one color, she tried to capture the shadows and lighting that cascaded on one side of the castle to the other.

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher.

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at Her Highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

Adello finished up the tower of Princess Zelda’s study in her sketch. She smiled to herself at the finished work. It was one of her better pieces. Putting the journal away, she turned back to the guard and scoffed. “Is that so?”

The guard hummed a yes, her blonde braid swaying to each side as she walked. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.”

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw fanfiction #where time takes us #botw oc #adello #zimiri

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buzzdixonwriter · 4 years

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The Four Gospels Of Sci-Fi

The “canon” of science fiction is in the news again in the wake of the recent Hugo awards, and since I’m nothing if not opinionated and I also want to load up my posting queue before diving into my next big project, this struck me as an apt topic to write on.

So settle back; we’re going to touch on the history of sci-fi, the influence of its old guard, how it pertains to religious literature, and perhaps even delve a little bit on Christianity itself at the end.

First off, a quick recap of Christian scripture for those who aren’t read up on the subject. Vacation Bible School veterans can skip this part.

. . .

The foundational works in the Christian New Testament are the four gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

The first three are referred to as the synoptic gospels because they tell basically the same story in the same beats, differing in style and detail, but essentially the same.

Mark is considered the oldest of the three and the primary source for Matthew and Luke (boy howdy! Am I ever streamlining a lot of Biblical scholarship here but bear with me; I’m doing this to make a point about sci-fi, not religion).

The common Christian reading of the three synoptic gospels are that Mark is the basic story, Matthew (because of its focus on Old Testament prophecies) was written with a Jewish audience in mind, Luke was written for gentiles.*

John is the gospel that sticks out.

To grossly oversimplify, the biggest difference is that the synoptic gospels mainly record what Jesus said and did, John focuses more on the who and why.

And that’s all we need to know at this moment…

. . .

The four gospels of sci-fi are Heinlein, Asimov, Clarke, and Bradbury.

(Before we go further, let us stipulate this applies only to those who came to the genre prior to Star Wars -- indeed, an argument can be made it only applies to those who were fans before Star Trek.)

Sci-fi’s synoptic gospels are the oeuvre of Robert A. Heinlein, Isaac Asimov, and Arthur C. Clarke; Ray Bradbury is the oddball.

I say they are the synoptic gospels because truth be told, you can only tell them apart by style, not content, certainly not by point of view.

If all three exchanged story ideas and plot outlines, the end results would be different only in tone and vocabulary, not theme or character.

Heinlein, Asimov, and Clarke were all technically trained and worked professionally as engineers or chemists when not writing; Bradbury was a gosh-wow! fanboy.**

If Heinlein, Asimov, Clarke, and Bradbury are the gospels of sci-fi, their John the Baptist was another John: John W. Campbell

Campbell is a problematic figure in sci-fi, so let’s just get him out of the way ASAP.

He was a good but not outstanding writer, but when you write “Who Goes There?” (basis of the various film versions of The Thing From Another World) you’ve earned your place at the table.

He was a visionary editor and under his helm Astounding / Analog set the gold standard for sci-fi for decades to come.

He was a white supremacist of the paternalistic bent, and while on the one hand that’s better than being an outright hate monger, on the other it’s more insidious since it presupposes a correct worldview without challenging that assumption.

He was a male chauvinist of the same stripe, not particularly open to female writers but willing to publish the occasional story with a female protagonist…written by a male.

He was a crank who believed a bunch of goofball ideas, from psionics (ESP, telekinisis, etc.) to dowsing to the Dean Drive to the Hieronymus Machine (a device so wonderous that even a schematic drawing of it would work!).***

Campbell by all accounts was not a bad individual and the field is still replete with those who knew and loved him, but like the cranky patriarch**** who refuses to divulge the contents of their will, forcing everyone in the family to kowtow to them, Campbell’s position atop the highest paying / most prestigious market in science fiction shaped much of the genre around him. (Full disclosure: One of the greatest highlights in my writing career was finally placing a story in Analog after fifty years of trying!)

Writers would typically aim at Astounding / Analog first, and failing to sell there, the Campbell rejects would start a long, laborious trudge down the stairs to the cheaper markets.

This held true even in the 1950s when sci-fi magazines of a more literary bent (Fantasy & Science Fiction and Galaxy in the US, New Worlds in the UK) started attracting stories written for them, not Campbell hand-me-downs.

As Jeannette Ng observed in her acceptance speech for the 2019 John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer*****: “Through his editorial control of Astounding Science Fiction, [Campbell] is responsible for setting a tone of science fiction that still haunts the genre to this day. Sterile. Male. White. Exalting in the ambitions of imperialists and colonisers, settlers and industrialists.”

Campbell’s absolute faith in science and technology to solve all our problems (including the ones created by science and technology) while ignoring the very real problems that plague humanity since time immemorial (lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride) coupled with his prime market position led to a genre that unquestionably accepted those settings as the only viable ones.

Campbell certainly held more direct sway over the writings of Heinlein and Asimov than he did Clarke, but Clarke’s earliest sci-fi sales were to Astounding and nothing he wrote in his first decade as a writing professional fell outside the big cushy box Campbell crafter for the genre.

And even though Heinlein and Asimov broke off for cushier writing gigs elsewhere (Heinlein in novels, Asimov mostly as a popular science promoter), they remained steadfastly loyal and respectful -- as did Clarke -- to the ends of their lives.

And on a personal, individual level, that’s a good thing -- we all need friends who will stick by us.

But Bradbury never got invited to the party.

Which is not to say he didn’t try to crack Astounding -- he did, on four occasions, two of them humorous short-shorts for the magazine’s “Probability Zero” feature, one run of the mill magic-shop-disguised-as-super-science-store tale sold in the middle of WWII when Campbell’s best writers were on active duty, and the last in 1950 when he was no longer Ray Bradbury, fanboy, but Ray Bradbury, Important American Writer!!! and Campbell published an excerpt from The Martian Chronicles.******

. . .

We’re going to take a sidebar here to discuss one of Al Ries’ immutable laws of branding.

Ries long observed there are only two models for any brand category:

A single dominant top brand with a distant second place competitor then a host of niche brands (Microsoft then Apple then everybody else)

Two big rivals fighting for first place with a competitor placing a distant third then a host of niche brands (Coke vs Pepsi with RC Cola trailing third then everybody else)

The way to break through in branding is not to waste time and effort trying to knock out a dominant brand but to create a new category to dominate!

That’s what Bradbury did in the late 1940s and early 1950s: He stopped aping the default Campbell / Astounding style and began writing more lyrical / less techno-focused sci-fi.

Heinlein, Asimov, and Clarke were no dummies and soon they too branched out more consciously to mainstream audiences.

But as successful as they were, none of them ever fully shook the influence Campbell weighed down upon them.

That is why telling people today they must read the old masters results in eyerolls.

Too often the old masters trafficked in cleverness, not as Faulkner observed “the human heart in conflict with itself.”

Heinlein managed to transcend the genre a few times, but finding the gems in his work requires a lot of effort.

Clarke remains dry and antiseptic: it speaks volumes that his best known character is HAL 9000.

And Asimov just isn’t that goof in either concept or execution. His Three Laws of Robotics demonstrates a failure of nerve and imagination: Humans won’t build robots programmed not to harm humans because the first thing humans will make robots do it kill other human beings!

So there’s our canon: Mostly irrelevant, often impenetrable.

The last author standing is the least technology oriented of the lot and Bradbury’s stories continue to work and delight because he doesn’t lecture on weights and measures but allows the reader to imagine along with him.

. . .

Okay, short Christian content now; if you came just for the sci-fi you can either stop reading or skip ahead to the footnotes.

Any field of human endeavor that does not constantly re-examine itself and challenge previous assumptions is doomed to irrelevance.

This does not mean established works need to be rejected out of hand, but we do need to ask what those works mean to us right now.

Truth is indeed timeless, but the package has a sell-by date and the contents do no one any good if they aren’t periodically taken down from the shelf and examined.

Modern Christianity -- in particular mainstream American protestantism -- has failed to closely examine the contents for quite some time.

While the field of sci-fi brims over with exciting new voices, we’re still straining to listen to the cracked / garbled / low fidelity wax cylinders of theologians long dead.

We need fewer Christians. We desperately need better Christians.

Instead of demanding those outside or struggling with the faith must read things the way we were taught to read them, understand them the way we were taught to understand them, follow along the way we were taught to follow along, perhaps we should show faith in the material and let those who will read and re-imagine the text in the light of their own experience a fair hearing.

The old canon in sci-fi fails today because it is too dated, too rooted in the mindset of a bygone era. The exception -- Bradbury (he himself a Christian and it shows in his stories) -- stays vibrant and alive and appealing because he doesn’t tell us what to think, he walks with us as we discover things for ourselves.

* Acts Of The Apostles is a sequel to Luke and while Jesus appears briefly in the beginning in almost a flashback fashion, that book focuses on what his disciples did afterwards.

** An interesting trait Bradbury shared with Harlan Ellison was that despite their fanboy origins, both were one helluva lot more savvy to the business of writing and publishing than anyone else in the genre, and both skillfully created public personas that served them well (Bradbury’s better than Ellison’s, granted) while they guided their careers through the treacherous shoals of gatekeepers and public fancies. Bradbury has written of his fanboy epiphany when he asked himself if he was satisfied being a fan / autograph hound or if he really wanted to be a creator, and immediately began directing his career in a fashion that could only be described as ruthless were it not attached to such a charming gentleman. Wannabees are urged to study his career and how he did it if they want to be truly remembered.

*** All well and good as fodder for sci-fi stories, not so good in reality. As the movie They Might Be Giants states: “[Don Quixote] carried it a bit too far. He thought that every windmill was a giant. That's insane. But, thinking that they might be... well… all the best minds used to think the world was flat. — But, what if it isn't? — It might be round — and bread mold might be medicine. If we never looked at things and thought of what they might be, why, we'd all still be out there in the tall grass with the apes.”

**** To stretch our Biblical analog to the breaking point, if Heinlein, Asimov, Clarke, and Bradbury are the New Testament gospels and John W. Campbell is John the Baptist, then sci-fi’s Old Testament has patriarchs such as Swift, Verne, and Wells plus the matriarch Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, a major prophet in Hugo Gernsback, and a host of minor prophets in various pre-WWII niche media including comics.

***** An acceptance speech which in turn won a 2020 Hugo for Best Related Work -- how cool is that? ****** Basically, Bradbury was perceptive enough to recognized he turned a creative corner in 1944 with “The Lake” and broadened his submission range to include far more prestigious slick magazines such as The American Mercury and Mademoiselle and Collier’s and The New Yorker and when tipped off that Warner Bros. planned to plagiarize “The Foghorn” as the basis for The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms he didn’t waste time or money suing but sweetly judo leverage this to get his name prominently displayed on the movie posters as “Ray Bradbury…Saturday Evening Post” writer and then holy %#@& he was a Major American Writer! I loved Ray, but his gosh-wow sweet exterior camouflaged one of the most brilliant strategists I’ve ever met.

#science fiction #sci-fi #Robert A- Heinlein #Isaac Asimov #Arthur C Clarke #Ray Bradbury #John W Campbell #Christianity

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deancasroaringtwentiesbang · 4 years

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All participants are required to read, understand, and follow the rules, requirements, and schedule for this challenge. Failure to do so will result in disqualification from future rounds. It is the participant’s responsibility to contact the mods for clarification.

All participants are responsible for familiarizing themselves with the challenge schedule and making sure to meet all deadlines and check-ins. Emails will be sent out to all participants beforehand, though it is still important to be aware of the dates. Extensions will not be granted except in cases of natural disaster.

All participants are required to meet all deadlines and check-in points as stated in the schedule. These check-ins are to ensure that everyone is on track to finish by the deadline. Check-in forms will be open four days before the deadline. If you have any trouble accessing the forms, please contact a mod.

All participants are required to maintain polite, timely, and professional contact with their partner and the mods. Failure to do so will result in disqualification from future rounds.

All participants are required to have reliable internet access, email, and a working writing/arting device to participate in this challenge. (Writing devices include: laptop, phone, tablet, desktop, etc.)

All participants must have the proper knowledge and materials to create their works and backup plans established incase of software/technology failure.

All participants must be 18 years of age (or older) on the day they sign up for this challenge. There will be no exceptions to this rule. Please don’t try to trick us since this rule is in place to protect minors from exposure to adult themes, and adults from the need to censor themselves in an adult space.

At no time may money be exchanged for service in this challenge. If an artist, author, beta-reader, or pinch-hitter requests money for their work, please contact a mod immediately.

All participants will be matched up with a partner at Art Claims. Participants may not form their own teams, and must be open, communicative, and respectful throughout the collaborative portion of this challenge to avoid conflict. Communication is key in these situations, requiring both participants to be on the same page about posting availability, art preferences, and posting locations. If conflict does arise, please contact a mod.

Teams must be in contact within 48 hours of being assigned. If you are unable to get in contact with your partner, please contact a mod after 48 hours.

Participants may register as both an author and an artist, but can not claim their own story, or be a part of the author channel on the discord server (to maintain the anonymity of the authors during claims.)

All participants are required to join the discord server as this is our hub for communication. If you are not on discord, please set up an account. Feel free to email the mods if you would like assistance.

All participants must be polite, kind, and welcoming. Bullying will not be tolerated within the challenge, either towards the mods, or your fellow participants. If this should occur, you will be removed from the discord server, disqualified from the current round, and barred from future rounds of the challenge. We don’t like doing this, but we want this to remain a safe, inclusive space for everyone.

Authors

Fics have a minimum word count of 20,000 words with 75% finished to qualify for art claims. There is no maximum word count.

As a result of this challenge being exclusive to 18+, adult content and themes are more than welcome, though not required. This includes explicit sexual content, violence, and other more mature themes.

Under no circumstances can there be explicit sexual content between minors, or minors and adults. We will not promote this content, so please do not write it for this challenge. Anyone participating in graphic sexual acts in your story must be at least 18 years of age. Past histories of sexual abuse involving an underage character must be tagged appropriately and graphic mentions are NOT allowed of the actual act.

All stories must be based around the 1920s era from the end of WWI through to the Great Depression. If you have any questions about this era and what pertains to it, please feel free to contact a mod.

Authors may write a maximum of one fic per round. A co-written story fulfills this requirement and a second story may not be submitted as a solo author or as part of a second writing team.

As co-writers, both participants will need to sign up individually in order to receive emails and verify age requirements. Only one partner will need to submit the draft for claims, selecting both authors names on the form to ensure both authors are linked for the rest of the challenge round.

All works must be brand new, previously unpublished works/WIPs to be eligible for this challenge. No part of the work may be posted elsewhere, in any level of completion, before the assigned posting date.

All works must have a complete ending, without cliffhangers. The work may be a part of a series, though it must work as a standalone, requirening no further reading to understand the events of the story written for this challenge. If you are unsure if a story/WIP qualifies, or have circumstances outside of those named, please contact a mod.

No author may commission or request other artists to create artwork for their fic, or choose who their partner will be for art claims, as it is not in the spirit of the challenge. Don’t hesitate to contact the mods if you have any issues.

All stories must be posted in English. Translations into other languages after posting of the original story, when the current round is complete, are welcome, but the story submitted to the collection must be in English.

All drafts must be typed for draft submissions. Photos of written notes will not be accepted. We will not be able to take you at your word that word count requirements have been met or that you will be finished by the deadline.

No part of the story may be posted before Art Claims to ensure the anonymity of the process. This includes sneak peeks, excerpts, summaries, themes, tropes, prompts, or any other revealing details that may lead an artist to identify an author's fic based off of the claims information they are given. This includes discussing your story with private groups that may contain people outside of the challenge, or those who could potentially participate as an artist. Stories may be discussed in the Author channel of the discord server, or with an alpha/beta-reader.

All finished stories must be posted to Archive of Our Own and remain publicly available for at least one year. An official AO3 collection will be set up for each round and all stories must be added. If you do not have an AO3 account, contact the mods if you require help in setting one up.

If you should choose to remove your affiliation with the fic, we suggest orphaning the story instead of deleting so that readers may still enjoy it in the future.

All stories must be posted in their entirety on your set posting date, meaning we do not allow serial posting (posting in parts over a series of days, weeks, or months) on any website.

Story Requirements and Restrictions

All fiction genres/universes are welcome as long as they are set in the 1920s, including, but not limited to:

- AU (alternate universe)

- Fusion fics (SPN universe fused with another fictional universe)

- Crossovers (SPN universe intersecting or crossing over into another fictional universe).

- Speculative and Literary fiction.

All ratings are welcome.

Stories may use preexisting works as inspiration, including, but not limited to:

- Books

- Movies

- TV Shows

All preexisting works must be used for inspiration, not for specific plot points. In essence, your story must be unique, and not just a copy of the original work with substituted characters. All stories based off of a preexisting work must have an author’s note stating the original work and crediting the author for inspiration.

All stories must feature a relationship between Dean and Castiel as the central relationship in the work. Though it is not against the rules to have Dean or Cas in a relationship with other characters, you should not expect an endgame relationship that is NOT Dean/Cas to go over well with the audience that is most likely to read these stories.

A romantic and/or sexual relationship is not required between Dean and Castiel and can simply be a close friendship if that is what is preferred.

All of AO3’s major archive warnings must be tagged, including:

- Major character death (MCD)

- Non-con

- Graphic violence.

- Underage sexual content is prohibited in this challenge.

You may not choose to withhold a major archive warning. You may select the “Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings” option and include a regular tag detailing the warning or, if including the tag is considered a spoiler, you may include the information in an endnote, directing readers there in the author’s note at the top of your story, or in the tags, but you may not use the “No Archive Warnings Apply” option if you are choosing to warn in this manner.

All major archive warnings must be included in your Art Claims information.

All authors are required to have a beta reader read through their story before their final posting date. They must display your best effort and ability of storytelling and grammar, though this does not mean perfection is required. It is up to the author to find their own beta reader, either through their own means, or through the Beta-Reader channel in the discord server. Should you choose to work with a beta-reader before art-claims, please let the mods know.

Due to the nature of the theme of this challenge, and the rich well of inspiration that is the Roaring Twenties, we ask that authors tag any real-life tragedies with “references to a real life event” or something to that effect.

Artists

Artists will create at least 2 pieces of art and a banner per fic claimed, though they may create more than the minimum requirements if they so choose.

Artists may create paragraph separators/chapter headers for your author to use, though they will not be considered as one of the art pieces.

Art may be an original illustration or a photo manipulation, and all materials and styles of art are welcome, including traditional and digital.

Photo manipulation must go beyond filtering or collage, and must be changed significantly enough to create a unique image.

Artists may post their art on the hosting site of their choice. It can be embedded into the story with the author’s consent, but must be made publicly available for at least one year from the end of posting.

Participants can register as both an author and artist, but can not claim their own stories, or make additional art for their own stories, as it is not in the collaborative spirit of the challenge

#dcrt 2021 #Dean/Cas Roaring Twenties Bang

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anotherkindofmindpod · 4 years

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I just read both interviews, Part 1 and 2 of Jann Wenner's Rolling Stone Interview of 1971. It sounds as though John and the other Beatles DID have a realistic gripe about Paul taking over, directly projects, handing out musical assignments, etc., etc. and I'm sure he had the ego by this point to match! I would probably have become irritated by Paul as well. And no hints or even reading between the lines of John being emotionally hurt by Paul with regard to loss of intimate relationship.

Hello and thanks for writing in, Listener!First, I’d like to point out that we haven’t reached the Lennon Remembers portion of our Break-up Series, and will dig into it much more thoroughly in a future episode (stay tuned!).

Presumably this ask isn’t in response to anything we’ve actually discussed on the podcast, in which case I feel that I should explain that what we do on our show is reevaluate conventional wisdom and contextualize public statements within the realities of actual behaviors. In other words, not taking things like Lennon Remembers at face value is AKOM 101.

If what we were doing on this podcast was as easy as simply reading the most infamous interview John Lennon ever gave (the one upon which the conventional story of the Beatles break-up is founded), it wouldn’t be much of a podcast or a very groundbreaking analysis, would it?

Second, I’d like to mention that listeners/readers can hear the entire (3.5 hours!) interview on You Tube. Very evocative with audio! Wenner’s editing in the print versions often make John sound more coherent and less vitriolic towards everyone but Paul than the audio reveals (i.e. the shitty comments about Paul are always printed but the ones about George, Brian, etc often aren’t).

Next, we’d like to state the usual disclaimer (which everyone is probably already aware of but is a good reminder anyway!): John later disavowed this interview. In fact, he was so angry at Jann Wenner for publishing it as a book, it apparently created a permanent rift between the two. You may choose to view/value this interview as John being super honest, but please consider that in this allegedly “truthful” book/interview, John:

claims George is musically/creatively inferior to John

declares the McCartney album “rubbish”

reveals his belief that he and Paul’s confidence levels are intrinsically, inversely related to one another

says George was so aggressively rude to Yoko that John wished he would’ve punched him over it

proudly admits that he “maneuvered” the other Beatles to get Klein in as manager

bemoans the fact that everyone says Brian Epstein was so great “just because he’s dead” and that Brian cheated and robbed the Beatles

makes derisive comments about “fags” at least five times in the printed version alone and calls Lee Eastman “a wasp Jew, man, that’s the worst kind of person on earth.”

admits to lying in interviews and deflects accountability on the basis of being “just a guy” who mouths off about stuff

As for Paul, John is admittedly all over the place, swinging fairly wildly from nostalgic (reminiscing about having “a good mind like Paul’s” on his side and co-writing with their “fingers in each others’ pies”) to bitter (”Paul thought he was the Beatles,” etc).

As for the accusations that Paul was tyrannical, we’ve addressed these before (particularly in Break-Up Episode 2). Just as Geoff Emerick, Michael Lindsay Hogg and Doug Sulpy (and even John, when he was feeling more generous) have articulated, we too feel that Paul stepped up and led the band in a time of need and deserves unequivocal credit for that. We believe much of the subsequent complaining from the other Beatles is akin to the kind of griping one directs at a colleague who gets promoted (“who died and made you king!?”) and while some of it was likely based in genuine irritation at Paul’s communication style, much of it was probably petty. This is why we are looking at the situation from all angles, to get a better sense of what is reality v. spin. In any case, we don’t dispute that there were power struggles within the band.Any reader is free to choose John’s side in any/all of these battles. But our overall takeaway from this particular interview is that John was unloading a lot of pent-up rage; against teachers, fans, Aunt Mimi, his mum, critics, Paul and anyone else who didn’t properly recognize his genius and praise him for it.

“That’s what makes me what I am. It comes out, the people I meet have to say it themselves, because we get fuckin’ kicked. Nobody says it, so you scream it: look at me, a genius, for fuck’s sake! What do I have to do to prove to you son-of-a-bitches what I can do, and who I am? Don’t dare, don’t you dare fuckin’ dare criticize my work like that. You, who don’t know anything about it.”

Based solely on Lennon Remembers, one could reasonably believe John didn’t like anyone but Yoko and Allen Klein (of whom he also speaks with reverence). Fortunately, John gave a million other interviews in his lifetime, so even though this one is given a disproportionate amount of weight (probably b/c it is the most inflammatory and “raw”) we can compare John’s comments, behavior and art over a broad spectrum of time. We feel this gives us a better, more thorough and more authentic portrait of John’s POV. This is a good idea with ANY public figure, but especially important in John’s case, since, by his own admission he has a tendency to say what he feels in the moment and doesn’t necessarily stand by his own statements afterwards.

John in 1976: “I get a bit absolute in my statements. [laughs] Which sometimes get me into deep water, and sometimes into the shallow.”

To your other point, our overall impressions about John’s feelings regarding “loss of an intimate relationship” with Paul certainly do not hinge on Lennon Remembers, nor have we ever suggested they do. In fact, LR is commonly used as the primary proof-point by McCartney detractors and Lennon/McCartney deniers (those who willfully and sometimes passionately ignore and/or deny the deep love between John and Paul, as described by John and Paul themselves and everyone in their lives) that Paul was a tyrant who destroyed the Beatles with his massive ego.

We have never disputed the existence of Paul’s ego. But consider this: John refers to himself as an egomaniac REPEATEDLY throughout this interview. Why is there a loud faction of people who consider John being an avowed egomaniac perfectly reasonable (sexy even!), but find it unforgivable that Paul is the same way? Consider these excerpts from Lennon Remembers:

Do you think you will record together again?

I record with Yoko, but I’m not going to record with another egomaniac. There is only room for one on an album nowadays.

How would you assess George’s talents?

[…] Maybe it was hard for him sometimes, because Paul and I are such egomaniacs, but that’s the game.

Who do you think is good today? In any arts…

The unfortunate thing about egomaniacs is that they don’t take much attention of other people’s work. I only assess people on whether they are a danger to me or my work or not.

[Tangential]

But the Beatles were artists, and all artists have fucking’ big egos, whether they like to admit it or not […]

Yes, John rants repeatedly about Paul’s ego during this interview- while he simultaneously declares his own genius and artistic superiority over others. We find it mind-boggling how this irony continues to evade some people, but there it is.

George Harrison has repeatedly complained about BOTH John & Paul’s egos (and their shared ego IRT “Lennon/McCartney”), but again, this is often ignored in favor of singling out Paul as the villain.

Furthermore, it’s helpful to bear in mind when consuming Lennon Remembers that John and Yoko had received training in media-messaging by this point and were very savvy at Public Relations. We know from people close to them that they drafted their stories in advance before offering them to the public. This fact, combined with Lennon’s tendency to “mouth off” means we have the right and responsibility to question and examine John’s claims rather than simply parrot them mindlessly.

If you are genuinely interested in our take, we recommend our Break-Up Series. We think you will find it well-researched and thoughtful, even if you disagree with some of our conclusions.

Or if you simply dislike McCartney and find him “irritating,” that’s fine too. Not everyone has to like everyone!

For additional discussion/analysis of Lennon Remembers, I recommend any of several threads on Erin Torkelson Weber’s site, the Historian and the Beatles.

the flawed lens of Lennon v. McCartney

Jann Wenner’s bio

how Rolling Stone shaped the breakup

discussing a podcast appearance

Thank you so much for this ask! It is always a pleasure to share information. Have a wonderful day.-The AKOM crew

#Lennon Remembers #John and Paul #jann wenner #anotherkindofmind podcast #Beatles #HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

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tangenciales · 3 years

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bixgirl1 · 5 years

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New Fic - Glompfest!

Title: Life Lessons Author: Bixgirl1 Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy Rating: Heh. Explicit. Word Count: 68k Content/Warnings: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Wandless Magic, Banter and flirting and snark - oh myyy - UST!, accidental kissing, intentional kissing (just really a lot of kissing), Epistolary elements, Auror Harry, Humor, dancing, weird plotty stuff ‘cause I can’t help myself, mentions of childhood trauma and previously-made sexual threats, wanking, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex, rimming (omfg I just realized I forgot that in my AO3 tags!), intergluteal sex, semi-public sex. Summary: On the cusp of a promotion, Harry needs a little help with his image. Enter Draco Malfoy — who doesn't really do that, Potter — to whip him into shape… and make him feel things he hasn't for a very long time. Featuring: odd jobs, surprising chemistry, lots of accidental kissing, the Prophet living up to type, owls exhausted by the carrying of dirty letters, a secret no one can talk about, a merry band of Slytherins (none of whom really approve), and an enchanted mirror (who really, really does).

Author’s Notes: For @m4g0rtz. I’ve wanted to write for you for the LONGEST time, sweets. Your comments before we met always made me absolutely light up, and then I got to know you and I realized you’re just as fabulous as you seemed. Your friendship has meant so much to me from the beginning, and this fest gave me the perfect excuse to say so in fic; I hope you can forgive my sneakiness while I wrote this for you. lolol.

A huge thanks to my lovely betas, @lqtraintracks and @coriesocks. You guys were both so effing patient with me and both so encouraging and helpful - you made this like a zillion times better than it would have been otherwise. <333333

And a huge thanks to the mods, too, for running such a fun, wonderful fest!

Excerpt (under the cut):

It was one of the most fundamental truths of Harry’s life: as soon as things were going well, everything would turn to shit.

You’re a wizard, Harry — just be on guard for that murderer hunting you. You have a godfather, Harry — but be careful not to get too attached to him. From his relationship with Ginny (which never got back off the ground after the war) to his life after defeating Voldemort (which would never resemble anything approaching normal), there was always some sort of caveat. Privately, he called it “End of the School Year Syndrome.”

The fact that this time it had actually been scheduled for late June was simply ironic.

“That’s not even six weeks away,” Hermione said, frowning.

“Your confidence in me is inspirational,” Harry said. “And the maths isn't really what I’m having a problem with.” He took the invitation back from her and re-buried his face in one of the sofa pillows. It smelled a little like feet and Ron’s deodorant, as though Ron had Transfigured it into a footstool and then only had time to hastily return it to form and freshen it with a charm before Hermione saw and got on him again about just using one of their existing footstools. Harry tossed it to the floor, face smooshing against the sofa cushion as he blindly reached out in search of another pillow. He heard Hermione huff just as one hit him on the back of the head. Harry shoved it under his face. “Thanks,” he said, muffled.

There was a beat of silence, and then Hermione sighed and rested her hand against the back of his head. “How long do you need to sulk?” she asked, stroking her fingers through his hair.

Harry slumped a little deeper. “Five weeks.”

“I’ll give you until Ron gets back with dinner,” she said, more to herself than him. "And for goodness’ sake, Harry, at least take off your glasses.”

Harry managed to take them off without lifting his head or breaking them — proof, he supposed, that he wasn’t entirely incompetent. Hermione took them from his hand and rose with a final, fluttering pat on his shoulder blade. Harry exhaled and tried to consider his options, but was quickly lulled by the drum of the rain on the windowpanes and the pop of the fire. He listened to Hermione putter around her kitchen and relaxed; more than for the advice or commiseration, this was why he’d come, if he was honest. Ron and Hermione’s cottage was homey, calm, most of their furniture crafted from Ron’s magic, the air inside scented by the lavender Hermione had planted in the beds below their windows. Harry missed the company, and the lived-in quality of the tiny flat they’d shared before Ron and Hermione moved out, the distracted mess of three people training for unrelated careers, always someone either there or about to be.

He liked the flat he'd moved into on his own just fine, but working the hours he did left it with a silent, sterile quality he could never seem to get rid of, even when he left the wireless on or avoided laundry for a few days. He’d tried to spruce it up more than once, but Neville wouldn’t even let him buy plants anymore, not after the Solicitous Succulents he’d brought over on Boxing Day — When they bloom, they emit soothing pheromones! You can’t kill them, they barely need any attention! — had weaponised their thorns within an hour of Nev’s arrival; a defensive measure they took when they were in danger of drying out, Neville told him later, and one he’d thought was a myth.

The sound of Ron’s Apparition to their front door roused Harry from his reverie, but he didn’t get up. He heard the rustle of takeaway being opened and dished out, a low hum of murmurs, and his own name — and then Ron shouted, “What the bloody fuck?” and stomped, fuming, into the parlour. “They’re not going to give it to you?”

Harry pushed up from his prone position and shrugged as Ron glowered down at him. “They might,” he said. “Robards said they might still.”

“Give over,” Ron said, and Harry dutifully scooted to make space. Ron threw himself down onto the sofa. “It’s utter shit, Harry.”

“I know.”

“He’s been telling you that job’s yours for… for years!”

“I know.”

“You’ve worked longer hours and closed more cases than anyone in the entire department!” Ron said. His outrage was soothing, both to Harry’s temper and his self-esteem, and a grateful smile tugged at Harry’s lips.

“I know,” he said again.

"You should just run," Ron spat. "Hermione's been saying it, we'll organise a campaign--"

"We'd have no time to prepare for it now. Besides, even if I wanted to, it would look… wrong. Robards would step aside, but… He didn't even have to run in the last election five years ago, and and no one's ever won who wasn't backed by both the exiting Head Auror, the Minister, and at least half the Wizengamot," Harry said, shaking his head when Ron took another deep breath and opened his mouth. “And anyway, Robards said it's not as simple at that.”

“The age thing again?”

Harry scowled. “I wish.”

Twice before, Robards had put off retiring when certain members of the Wizengamot had made it plain that, no matter Harry’s accomplishments to date, they had no intention of promoting someone barely into their twenties to the position of Head Auror. Trying not to take issue with their reasoning — or the extra work Robards piled on him to make a point of his capabilities — Harry’d not made a single complaint as his twenty-third and twenty-fourth birthdays ticked by. But with every successfully closed case since, Robards had assured him that by his twenty-fifth he’d have his promotion.

And then he’d called Harry in for a meeting today, offering Harry a drink before he’d even sat down.

Ron made a disgruntled sound and folded his arms across his chest. “What’s the problem this time?”

“As I was trying to tell you, husband-mine,” Hermione said dryly, walking in and levitating three plates behind her, “It's supposedly Harry.”

“What's Harry?” Ron asked, shooting her a sheepish look. He lifted two of the plates from midair, passing one over to Harry. The salty grease of Ron’s selection — fish and chips — teased at Harry’s senses and he tried to recall when he ate last. Breakfast, probably.

“The problem,” Hermione said, taking her own plate and sitting between them. “It’s Harry.”

“And I’m supposed to be the tactless one,” Ron stage-whispered to him.

“I’m not a problem,” Harry said, pulling a wounded face at Hermione.

She made a little sound of protest. “I didn’t—”

“Arguing with her never ends well,” Ron said. “You might as well just get on board with being a problem, capital P.”

“I don’t want to be a Problem,” Harry said. He turned beseeching eyes at Hermione. “Couldn’t I be something like Trouble instead?”

Ron nodded sagely. “You’ve got enough experi—”

“Oh my god, fine!” Hermione said, dropping her utensils on her plate. Cheered by the clear exasperation on her face, Harry laughed and looked at Ron, who popped three chips in his mouth and quirked her an unrepentant grin. Hermione rolled her eyes and elbowed Ron, but the look she shot him was fond and warm. “Hush, or you’ll end up with your own problem — with a capital P,” she said warningly. She turned back to Harry. “There is a point to be considered about your image, that's not wrong.”

“Hermione!” Ron said, but Hermione looked at Harry steadily, waiting. Expectant.

Harry frowned, effectively distracted from distracting himself. He squeezed a lemon wedge over his fish and opened a packet of vinegar, sprinkling it over his chips to buy some time.

“Well, it's not right,” he said at length.

“No, I know,” Hermione said, gaze softening.

“All right, can someone actually explain then?” Ron asked, waving his fork at each of them in turn and then stabbing, a little viciously, into his fish.

“It’s me. My conduct outside of work isn’t ‘befitting a senior Ministry position,’” he quoted, sounding sullen to his own ears. “The way I talk to the press, or the way I avoid them. Maybe both. The Head Auror is responsible for releasing public statements, and you know me.”

“So?” Ron said, brows drawing together. “You’re a little short-tempered with them, so what? S’not like they’re ever asking you about cases, are they? It’s always about who you’re seeing, or was that really your bum in those pictures. It’s been almost three years since you hexed one of them. Just write up the statements and release them that way.”

“There’s other things, too,” Harry said. He flushed. “The way I am with the public—”

“You’re great with the public!” Ron said, starting to look angry again. “You talk to every kid you meet, you donate, you—”

“I lose my temper with people, though.” Harry took a breath. “I arrested that man last year who wouldn’t leave me alone—”

“He was trying to shove his hand down the back of your trousers!” Ron sputtered.

“—and that whole thing in the Prophet questioning how much of an asset I could be to the Ministry when my name got in the way of my job… Well, it got a lot of traction,” Harry said. He looked down at his plate, stomach suddenly churning. “And whenever I go to public events, I stay on the sidelines, or I’m accidentally rude to some diplomat—”

“That happened twice!”

“Four times.” Harry grimaced. “More, really. Apart from little things like spilling wine all over Ireland’s Minister for Magic or insulting that envoy from Brazil by having to leave early when I got sick off the Firerolls they served at their event, apparently my dress robes are all wrong, I’ve not once used the correct fork, I may as well eat my feet for how often they’re in my mouth, and I refuse to dance, no matter who’s asking.”

“Well you’re not good at it!” Ron fairly yelled, getting so red in the face his freckles were barely visible. “How the bloody hell can anyone blame you after what happened last time!”

Read the rest on AO3

#new fic #my fic #glompfest #life lessons #gift fic #for m4g0rtz #you wonderful darling #drarry

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