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leechs · 1 year

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really long essay under cut

Title: Love and Violence in Flannery O’Connor’s “Good Country People” and “The Lame Shall Enter First”

“From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent bear it away.” —Matthew 11:12

What Happens in Milledgeville

Inside a quiet farmhouse in Milledgeville, Georgia, Flannery O’Connor’s modest bedroom sits suspended in amber like a mid-twentieth century fossil.

Unlike the rest of the sparse, picture-perfect home, this cramped living space is adorned with an array of eclectic mementos and oddly-arranged furniture that helps visitors to visualize the personal side of the author’s brief, monastic life. Describing his own trip to the Andalusia property a decade prior, Dr. Paul Reich writes that “for students of O’Connor’s work […] this empty, lonely place is transformed by the context of the author’s narratives; as each part of the farm resonates with O’Connor’s readers, they draw fresh understanding of the literature” (417). On the topic of emptiness, there is indeed something absent from the tables and shelves that line the museum: books. During the tour that I took, a docent remarked that O’Connor’s collections were moved into the nearby Georgia State College archives for preservation purposes—ironically, and despite her contrarian disregard for music, there are now more vinyl records in the house than there is literature. Even so, a few sturdier selections remain in O’Connor’s bedroom for accuracy’s sake, including an especially flirty pink-and-black hardcover boasting the eccentric title “Love and Violence.”

Although a quick Google search reveals that Love and Violence (1954) is actually a collection of Catholic philosophical essays rather than a saucy work of romance fiction, it initially stood out to me because of its potential relationship to O’Connor’s oeuvre. During my visit to Andalusia as part of a field study centered around Southern literature, we were tasked with, in Reich’s words, “avoid[ing] the traps of literary tourism” as we considered the connection between author, place, and text (418). Although O’Connor’s farm is certainly not sensational tourist-bait in the way that William Faulkner’s Mississippi estate or the historic Mercer-Williams house might be, “uncritical sentimentalism” or “hero worship” were still explicitly frowned upon during our visits to each site (Reich and Russell 419). We were instead urged to think about “the author’s house, the guide’s rhetoric, and the region’s self-presentation […] as an extension of textual interpretation” in order to “more deeply understand the reach of close reading as a mode of understanding not just the texts [we] read but the world in which [we] live” (Reich and Russell 419).

As a former student from my institution put it, this room “wasn’t just a space, it was a home. It was where she grew up and became the person that would write all of the things [we’d] been reading and re-reading” (Reich and Russell 428). With all of this in mind, the following research serves as the natural extension of that original pedagogical goal.

As I laid in my hotel room sometime after leaving Milledgeville, however, I kept thinking about Love and Violence. Frantically, and perhaps under the influence of one too many dinnertime drinks, I pulled out my phone and found an original copy of the 1954 anthology on eBay for a whopping $6 plus shipping.

Regardless of the contents of that book, I was obviously intrigued by the concept of love and violence more generally, and I wanted to better understand how these ideas manifested in O’Connor’s short stories as I continued my research. As our other readings from class have shown, love and violence are both prevalent topics across the full gamut of Southern Gothic literature, speaking to this paper’s generic relevance: In Faulkner’s Light in August (1932), Joe Christmas and Joanna Burden’s torrid affair comes to a deadly climax after pages of conflicting romantic messaging. In John Berendt’s Gothic-adjacent Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (1994), the death of Danny Hansford at the hands of his lover Jim Williams serves as the driving force of the narrative, while in the haunting Memorial Drive: A Daughter’s Memoir (2020), author Natasha Trethewey’s mother endures years of prolonged abuse from her own violent husband. Yet, out of all the texts that we’ve read, O’Connor’s stories evidence a particular, recurrent interest in love and violence—something perhaps spawned by her personal studies of religious philosophy.

Describing her own work in Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose, O’Connor writes that “violence is strangely capable of returning [her] characters to reality and preparing them to accept their moment of grace,” and that “violence is a force which can be used for good or evil” (144, 146). As David Griffith writes, “her stories reveal the hidden evil residing in the human heart, the pursuit of good that masks a secret pride.” While much of the existing scholarship characterizes the violence within O’Connor’s fiction as an embodiment of the literary convention of the grotesque, there has been little meaningful discussion of intertwined instances of love and violence in her stories.

To mediate that gap is knowledge, the following analysis will focus on this dual thematic notion within “Good Country People” (1955) and “The Lame Shall Enter First” (1965) while considering how O’Connor’s understanding of religion tracks onto those two main motifs, especially in the context of secondary themes of gender and family. First, I look at romantic or sexual love and violence in “Good Country People,” and then familial love and violence in “The Lame Shall Enter First,” arguing that O’Connor’s portrayals of love and violence showcase a subtle, albeit distinct, Catholic influence that cannot be explained through the lens of regionalism alone. As I further deduce, this Catholic influence has made an impression upon the Southern Gothic style more broadly. While O’Connor is frequently touted as a foundational author of Southern Gothic fiction, the relative dominance of Protestantism in the American South might otherwise mask the presence of certain Catholic philosophical themes within its literature. Therefore, this study is an important exploration of the author’s legacy beyond the vague umbrellas of both “Southern” and “Christian.”

The Catholic Novelist

Catholicism was clearly an important part of O’Connor’s personal and professional life, and her classification as a “Christian novelist” is a topic that appears many times throughout her essays—as she once famously stated, “because I am a Catholic, I cannot afford to be less than an artist” (Mystery 184). In a prayer book from her days at the Iowa Writers Workshop, a younger O’Connor likewise laments, “don’t let me ever think, dear God, that I was anything but the instrument for Your story,” speaking to Catholicism’s influence on her writing (Robinson).

Still, both modern and twentieth century critics have pointed out that many of O’Connor’s short stories are not explicitly religious, and that the examples which do have an obvious spiritual undercurrent never have an uplifting “Christian” message. As Joseph O’Neil notes, “O’Connor was dismissive of any pressure, whether of religious or secular origin, for more ‘positive’ fiction. She saw no contradiction between her faith and her art.” In the author’s own sardonic words, “the demand for positive literature, which we hear so frequently […] comes about possibly from weak faith and possibly also from [a] general inability to read” (Mystery 238). Rather, O’Connor states that “every serious novelist is trying to portray reality as it manifests itself in our concrete, sensual life” and that if she “had to say what a ‘Catholic novel’ is, [she] could only say that it is one that represents reality adequately as we see it manifested in this world of things and human relationships” (Mystery 214).

According to O’Neil, O’Connor usually described herself as a “thirteenth century” Catholic, not a Christian, and she was a dedicated scholar of religious philosophers like the Rev. Dr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Simone Weil, and Soren Kierkegaard. To put that “century” quip in context, John Morreal states that before the 1500s, the “compartmentalized concept” of religion in which spiritual beliefs were separate from secular life was nonexistent, and that early Catholic spirituality was deeply and fully intertwined with daily life (12). As O’Connor writes, “you may ask, why not simply call this literature Christian? Unfortunately, the word Christian is no longer reliable. It has come to mean anyone with a golden heart. And a golden heart would be a positive interference in the writing of fiction” (Mystery 242).

Fittingly, this fascination with the distinction between old and new world Christianity can be seen within her short stories; O’Connor’s settings are almost always “agrarian, static, unscientific, [and] largely insulated from modern modes of information and movement. […] The dramatic premises are almost premodern, very easily concerned with religious visionaries or with the arrival, into an unchanging locale, of a stranger” (O’Neil). Branching off of the idea of religion being intertwined with reality, religiosity is thus deeply ingrained in her narratives: there is no heavy-handed religious symbolism separate from, or applied on top of, the story itself, as is perhaps the case with Joe “Jesus” Christmas in Faulkner’s Light in August. Indeed, as O’Neil continues, “with O’Connor, there never seems to be space between the words and their creator’s sensibility. You almost never catch a whiff of authorial self-consciousness.” Speaking to her own intent behind the portrayals of violence in her story “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” O’Connor writes: “I don’t want to equate the Misfit with the devil […] however unlikely this may seem, the old lady’s gesture, like the mustard-seed, will grow to be a great crow-filled tree in the Misfit’s heart” (Mystery 145).

Romance, Gender, and Abuse

Now that a brief history of O’Connor’s religious background has been established, it is important to critically consider the intent behind her portrayals of love and violence because it is a theme so clearly dominant in her narratives. Yet, if it is the duty of the novelist to, in the words of fellow Southern Gothic author Anne Rice, “follow their most intense obsessions mercilessly,” where does such an obsession come from?

As O’Neil argues, O’Connor’s writing is an extension of an “ancient, artistically wholesome tradition of misanthropy.” Perhaps due to a combination of illness and maternal oversight, O’Connor’s isolated life at Andalusia warranted her few romantic attachments. Erik Langkjaer, a college textbook salesman who might have served as loose inspiration for the antagonist in “Good Country People,” wrote of his brief kiss with O’Connor after making multiple visits to the household: “she had no real muscle tension in her mouth, a result being that my own lips touched her teeth rather than lips, and this gave me an unhappy feeling of a sort of memento mori,” noting brutally that “I had a feeling of kissing a skeleton” (Williams). Unsurprisingly, displays of romantic or sexual love in O’Connor’s short stories are similarly limited, and are usually brutally abusive or generally “toxic” in some way.

In the aforementioned “Good Country People,” the motif of romantic or sexual love and violence appears most prominently in the relationship between Joy-Hulga Hopewell and Manley Pointer. After meeting Pointer, Hopewell begins to scheme about seducing him after lying about her age, believing that his identity as a Christian makes him naive and easily manipulatable. O’Connor writes: “During the night she had imagined that she seduced him” and that after kissing him for the first time, “her mind, clear and detached and ironic anyway, was regarding him from a great distance, with amusement but with pity. She had never been kissed before and she was pleased to discover that it was an unexceptional experience and all a matter of the mind’s control” (648, 651). In these passages, Hopewell is characterized as aggressive and calculating in the exchange with the younger, seemingly innocent boy. The fact that she says she sees Pointer “from a great distance” and with “amusement” and “pity” positions her in a predatory role, as she believes she is taking advantage of somebody beneath her intellectually.

The passive violence of Hopewell’s behavior soon backfires, however, after Pointer repeatedly demands “you got to say you love me” (O’Connor 656). After Pointer repeats the phrase multiple times, Hopewell is unable to meet this demand for “love” and resorts to a stilted, overly intellectual answer. Following the awkward exchange, Hopewell quickly switches from victimizer to victimized when she sees Pointer’s collection of obscene objects inside the Bible and is promptly robbed of her prosthetic leg. Pointer’s final assertion to Hopewell that “‘you ain’t so smart’” establishes both a literal and physical dominance over her in the end (O’Connor 663).

Through this mutually violent relationship, O’Connor showcases the irony of Hopewell’s arrogance and entitlement on the basis of her rejection of religion. According to Virginia Goldner et al., however, “abusive relationships exemplify, in extremis, the stereotypical gender arrangements that structure intimacy between men and women generally” (343). As Lea Melandri likewise confirms, “male dominance and female subservience are established by society through a binary and oppositional understanding of sex and gender” (1). In Hopewell’s case, her identity as a highly-educated, atheistic, and disabled woman makes her an atypical female character compared to the idealized Southern Belle archetype; regarding the second characteristic, Pointer says “‘that’s very unusual for a girl’” (O’Connor 651). While this perhaps awards her with a certain level of freedom inaccessible to others her age, none of it protects her from the eventual violation at the hands of her partner.

As Goldner likewise found in her case study, a “rebellion against oppressive gender codes” within the context of abusive relationships “creates a belief that the relationship is a unique haven from the outside world,” evident in the fantastical way in which Hopewell fantasizes about the seduction (360). Indeed, her repeated rebellion against both her mother and broader societal norms is a driving factor in her initial attraction to the idea of seducing Pointer: As she lays in bed prior to their date, she imagines “dialogues for them that were insane on the surface but that reached below to depths that no Bible salesman would be aware of,” again highlighting her obsession with “corrupting” the man she believes to be an innocent Christian (O’Connor 645).

In The Habit of Being, O’Connor uses the ironic phrase “the violence of love” to describe the kind of “self-sacrifice” that embodies the love characteristic of Christ’s non-violence—as Susan Srigley states, “this can be construed as violence against the self, or a ‘death’ of the self, for the sake of others, and ultimately, for the sake of the Kingdom of God” (35). According to Srigley,

the ‘violence of love’ is the […] restraint of one’s own desires. In this sense, love can entail a felt ‘violence’ insofar as it must actively overcome the desires and impulses of the self for the sake of another. O’Connor sees love as an active response to God and other human beings […] and the order of that love means that the self is not the centre of existence. (36)

In the case of both Hopewell and Pointer, they are thereby “loveless” not in their displays of maliciousness toward each other, but in their total inability to decenter themselves in the context of their romantic interactions. Both Hopewell’s mental gymnastics and Pointer’s physical abuse work in this same way: Just as Pointer exclaims that “I been believing in nothing ever since I was born,” O’Connor notes that Hopewell is “spiritually as well as physically crippled. She believes in nothing but her own belief in nothing, and we perceive that there is a wooden part of her soul that corresponds to her wooden leg” (663, Mystery 128). In the religious sense, this selfishness makes them equally unable to actualize the “violent love” necessary to understand God’s grace, speaking to the author’s intent in undermining the antagonist’s cynical authority.

Family, Neglect, and Suicide

Next, in “The Lame Shall Enter First,” the themes of familial love and violence are most evident in the father-son relationship between Sheppard and Norton, as well as the quasi-son figure of Rufus Johnson. Norton is extremely distraught over his mother’s death, although his grief annoys his rational, atheistic father Sheppard who believes that it “was not a normal grief. It was all part of his selfishness. She had been dead for over a year and a child’s grief should not last so long” (O’Connor 1021). O’Connor continues describing Sheppard’s response to his depressed son: “‘Don’t you think I miss her at all? I do, but I’m not sitting around moping. I’m busy helping other people. When do you see me just sitting around thinking about my troubles?’” (1022). From these interactions, it’s clear that Sheppard’s emotional neglect of Norton stems from a misplaced sense of secular altruism: By turning to his new pet-project Johnson, a troubled yet highly intelligent boy who Sheppard believes he can reform through proper education and attention, the father “wanted to give the boy something to reach for besides his neighbor’s goods” in order to feel as if he was doing something right in the world (O’Connor 1030).

When Sheppard’s attempts at reform fail, Johnson continues to uphold both his skewed Christian worldview and tendencies for criminality and thievery while Norton’s needs quickly take the backburner. After Norton becomes obsessed with looking into the sky through Johnson’s telescope, the father states “I don’t want to hear about Norton,” and that regarding his reformation of the foster child, “my resolve isn’t shaken […] I’m going to save you” (O’Connor 1080, 1082). By the end of the story, Johnson is arrested, exclaiming that “I lie and steal because I’m good at it!” and Norton hangs himself in order to join his dead mother in heaven, ultimately highlighting Sheppard’s inability to connect with either of his “sons” (O’Connor 1097).

Utilizing the contrast between Johnson and Norton, O’Connor indicates the futility of Sheppard’s attempts at secular reformation. By putting all of his attention toward Johnson, he deprives his own son of love and affection, leading Norton to find refuge in fantasy and death. The indirect violence of Sheppard’s ignorance toward Norton is consequently the exact kind of selfishness he decries—a behavior that stands in direct contrast to the definition of violent love that O’Connor provides in The Habit of Being. Likewise, as Alicia Matheny Beeson argues, “in his eagerness to practice what he sees as good charitable work to inflate his own sense of self, Sheppard disregards what Johnson actually wants or needs” (50). While Sheppard believes that altruism is synonymous with both love and goodness, his inability to connect with either his surrogate or natural offspring evidences a tragic failure to harness a “love that serves the other, and as such, requires a sacrifice of the self in the form of spiritual discipline” (Srigley 36).

Like both Hopewell and Pointer, Sheppard is spiritually dead not only due to his refusal to accept God—as is clear in his response to Johnson’s vague religiosity with “rubbish! […] We’re living in the space age”—but in his overall narcissism and inflated sense of grandiosity regarding his influence on Johnson (1029). Beyond his blanket rejection of religion, Sheppard’s self-centered idea of what constitutes appropriate emotional behavior in the case of Norton’s grief makes him unable to access the kind of sacrificial love that O’Connor deems to be truly redemptive.

Ironically, Norton’s recurrent obsession with his deceased mother is most similar to the kind of violent love described in the previous paragraphs; of course, his death is a self-sacrifice in the literal definition of the phrase, but the final act of suicide is also a symbolic expression of his devotion to her. As Srigley says,

the violence of love is a sacrifice borne by the self […] a movement of the spirit towards what is truly life giving, perceived when the self is no longer the center of one’s existence. It is not the modern or popular conception of love—commonly tied to the gratification of one’s desires rather than the disciplined ordering of them—but it is at the heart of O’Connor’s religious vision. (37)

While Sheppard sees his son’s persistent ideation of his mother as a form of negative self indulgence, it is actually Sheppard’s thinly veiled attempts at goodwill that are genuinely conceited. Describing his father’s character, Johnson exclaims to Norton, “‘Listen here […] I don’t care if he’s good or not. He ain’t right!’” (O’Connor 1037). The emphasis on “right” speaks to the latent nature of Sheppard’s intentions, which are, in Johnson’s mind, dubious at best. It is a kind of passive violence not unlike the inner scheming of Hopewell, and certainly bears a similar unfortunate end. By contrast, Norton’s wholehearted, innocent dedication to his mother’s memory is evident in Sheppard’s final mental image of his son: “the little boy’s face appeared to him transformed; the image of his salvation; all light” (O’Connor 1100).

A Southern Tradition

Speaking to the effect of O’Connor’s religious vision, Farrell O’Gorman claims that “the recurrent role of Catholicism in [the] Gothic tradition” stems from the fact it is a “religion without a country,” therefore threatening to “break down borders separating American citizens” (1). In the context of a Southern Gothic literary tradition largely concerned with questions of borders, isolation, and alienation, it seems fitting that one of the foundational authors of the genre features Catholic theology so prevalently throughout her stories. A final notion worth tackling when it comes to the topics of love, violence, and religion in O’Connor’s work is thus how this Catholic influence has affected or impressed upon the Southern Gothic style more broadly. In the essay “The Catholic Novelist in the Protestant South,” O’Connor writes that “the two circumstances that have given character to my own writing have been those of being Southern and being Catholic,” and that “this is considered by many to be an unlikely combination, but I have found it to be a most likely one” (248).

Indeed, the “outsider” position of the Catholic within the Protestant-dominated Southern United States perhaps gives the author a unique viewpoint, one that aligns more with the “backwoods prophets and shouting fundamentalists than […] with those politer elements […] for whom religion has become a department of sociology or culture or personality development” (Mystery 261). As this essay has so far considered, religious philosophy has clearly informed the portrayal of romantic and familial love and violence in O’Connor’s short stories, highlighting the comparative desirable values of faith, self-sacrifice, and grace that are lacking in mainstream culture.

In the previously referenced article, Reich ends the discussion of the field study by stating that “our experiences both in and out of the classroom all worked to form a more nuanced reading of the South’s municipalities and extended that multiplicity to our understanding of the classroom and its boundaries” (431). Similarly, my personal reflection on the trip involved a greater appreciation for the importance of experiential learning beyond the traditional academic context; if I had not seen that interesting looking book on the shelf inside that room at Andalusia, for instance, I probably would not have had reason to consider any of the ideas explored in this essay. To be able to make those connections was valuable, and to consider the intersection between literature and biography was something I had done little of in past assignments.

Ironically, however, O’Connor writes that “a work of art exists without its author from the moment the words are on paper, and the more complete the work, the less important it is who wrote it or why. If you’re studying literature, the intentions of the writer have to be found in the work itself, and not in his life” (Mystery 160). It may seem pointless, then, to attempt to consider questions of intent or religious philosophy from a biographical perspective. Yet, as O’Neil so aptly puts it: “nonetheless, a spiritual drama is playing out. Only it is not the one put forward by the self-explaining author, in which she figures as an onlooker occupying the high ground of piety. On the contrary, Flannery O’Connor’s criticism reveals her as scarily belonging to the low world she evokes. She was touched by evil and no doubt knew it. That is what makes her so wickedly good.”

FIN.

Works Cited

Beeson, Alicia Matheny. “The Failure of Compassion: Problematic Redemption and the Need for Praxis in ‘The Lame Shall Enter First’ and ‘The Comforts of Home.’” Reconsidering Flannery O’Connor, University Press of Mississippi, 2020, p. 50.

Goldner, Virginia et al. “Love and Violence: Gender Paradoxes in Volatile Attachments.” Family Process, vol. 29, no. 4, Wiley-Blackwell, 1990, pp. 343-364.

Griffith, David. A Good War is Hard to Find. New York: Soft Skull Press, 2006.

Melandri, Lea. Love and Violence: The Vexatious Factors of Civilization. SUNY Press, 2020.

Morreall, John and Sonn, Tamara. “Myth 1: All Societies Have Religions.” 50 Great Myths about Religions. Wiley-Blackwell. pp. 12-17.

O’Connor, Flannery. Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2012. eBook.

O’Connor, Flannery. Flannery O’Connor: The Complete Stories. HarperPerennial Classics, 2015. eBook.

O’Connor, Flannery. The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O’Connor. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1988.

O’Gorman, Farrell. Catholicism and American Borders in the Gothic Literary Imagination. University of Notre Dame Press, 2017.

O’Neil, Joseph. “Touched by Evil.” The Atlantic. 2009.

Reich, Paul and Russell, Emily. “Taking the Text on a Road Trip: Conducting a Literary Field Study.” Pedagogy, vol. 14, no. 3, Duke University Press, 2014, pp. 417-433.

Rice, Anne. “Forward.” The Metamorphosis and Other Stories, 1995.

Robinson, Marilynne. “The Believer: Flannery O’Connor’s Prayer Journal.” The New York Times, 15 November 2023.

Srigley, Susan. “The Violence of Love: Reflections on Self-Sacrifice through Flannery O’Connor and René Girard.” Religion & Literature, vol. 39, no. 3, The University of Notre Dame, 2007, pp. 31-45.

The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. “Matthew 11:12.” Bible Gateway, 2023.

Williams, Joy. “Stranger Than Paradise: ‘A Life of Flannery O’Connor by Brad Gooch.” The New York Times. 26 February 2009.

#writing

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hoppipolla · 1 year

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Khatha's anxiety (headcanon?)

I still could have written another rambling about episode 5 and calling it "the lover's farewell" or "the tragic lover's fate" but knowing what we know now, I can't. Ignorance is bliss. It truly is. I still think there's some hope left. If Khatha truly did meet Dome in that boat then they can't be related.

The fact that the director deliberately chose to add a scene in the first episode that shows Khatha eating a gum meant that the scene itself was relevant to Khatha's character. The first thing that needed to be noticed was the crescent moon on the tin box (?) he keeps his gum in. (I apologise for the low quality of the following screencap.)

I'll try to write something about what the moon might mean for the rest of the series. I might not be able to though so I don't make any promises. (I don't think anyone's looking forwards to reading my MM ramblings but still.) But anyway, you must have realised by now that the moon does play a huge part in this series.

Then comes another reason: Khatha's anxiety. We still don't know much about Khatha's past. However, what we do know is that he went through a major trauma, lost someone important to him, and somehow became immortal. Ever since then, his life turned into an eternal winter with nothing to look forward to. His whole existence is made up of nothing but loneliness, a bitter resentment — towards himself mostly —, and a desperate need to control things. Khatha doesn't accept circumstances that are out of his control. He needs to be the conductor for the orchestra to perform. But the orchestra of his life was always beyond his control and episode 5 emphasised that state of affairs.

Going back to episode 1, Khatha chews his gum when he is taking in what Dome's presence in his museum might imply. He was hurt by the fact that Dome didn't recognise him but he didn't give it much thought because he still offered him to go inside his museum. He said so in a hurry as if he was scared that Dome (who's not Dome) might take flight. But now that Dome is here, he feels anxious because he feels that something bigger has been set into motion. He cannot pinpoint the reason Dome looks so much like the person he has been looking for (?) and it makes him on edge. He looks confused and lost. He was caught by surprise and surprise was never something he found comfort in.

Episode 5 showed us a new aspect of Khatha's personality. He was restless from beginning to end and the way he disregarded Triphop's advice (although he was well-aware that he was being childish and that Triphop was right to tell him to pull himself together) and played along with whatever the high priestess had in mind brought to the fore that restlessness. The way he repeatedly checked his phone to see how Dome was doing (no comment on that one) and the way he remained anxious even after seeing the video proving that Dome was eating again highlight the fact that no reasonable explanation could have calmed him down at the time. Seeing Dome in that state (after using the terrestrial rock) and having to lock him in a room must have been harrowing for Khatha although he doesn't let it show (he tries to at least).

Chewing gum is thought to increase focus via a reduction in stress and anxiety. The fact that he takes one as soon as he arrives at the auction reinforces the idea that he uses gum to try not to get overwhelmed by his anxiety. Leaving Dome in that state in the museum is, on its own, a real stress factor, which makes it hard to focus on winning that auction.

The high priestess' presence in this episode showed us how easily Khatha is unsettled once he realises that things are not going as planned. Losing all rationality, he gives in and buys whatever artifact he can afford just to prove to the high priestess that he can beat her at her own game. However, she is no fool and what she told him at the bar was only a means for her to get what she wanted. And she did although it seemed that Khatha had defeated her by buying the anklet. The face Khatha makes once he realises he has been fooled makes me think that his anxiety will keep on growing :( With Dome being away from him, I'm pretty sure he'll run out of gum soon.

#midnight museum #midnight museum the series #tor thanapob #This is such a messy text post I'm sorry ><#*enjoy my nonsense #*mm analysis

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beardedmrbean · 9 months

Note

https://www.fox26houston.com/news/blue-alert-for-terran-green-james-green-harris-county-deputy-shot-suspects-vehicle-found-10-minutes-away

This blue alert woke me up at 6a. I'm sure anyone that can access Tumblr already got the alert but just in case, anyone in or near this area please be careful and don't try to play hero. The picture of the suspects is in the link.

It's 21 miles from me and from a picture in another news story (I'm not linking it cause it keeps trying to open a pdf on my phone) it looks like their vehicle was towed. So I'm safe enough, but if they're gonna shoot a cop i don't think they have qualms about stealing a car. I'm in an area that the cops haunt because of Denny's so I'm about as safe as possible.

Yikes, let's see what's going on, never heard of a blue alert before

HOUSTON - James Green is now in police custody following a manhunt.

Green was wanted along with Terran Green for shooting a Harris County deputy Wednesday night.

Terran Green is not in custody, but authorities remain relentless in the search.

We will continue to update this story as information becomes available.

ORIGINAL STORY

Authorities are currently engaged in a relentless manhunt for two individuals described as armed and dangerous.

MORE DETAILS: Harris County deputy shot while on duty, suspected shooter was out on bond

The suspects Terran Green, 34, and James Green, 37, are accused of shooting and critically injuring a 29-year-old Harris County deputy during a routine traffic stop. The incident unfolded Wednesday night in Northeast Harris County, prompting a swift and intensive response from law enforcement agencies.

A "Blue Alert," a notification issued when an individual is wanted for either killing or causing severe harm to a law enforcement officer, was sent out to the public's mobile devices, seeking assistance in locating the suspects.

Overnight, authorities successfully located the blue Ford Escape believed to be linked to the suspects. The vehicle was found parked in an apartment garage on Airtex Avenue, approximately ten miles away from the initial scene of the incident. The events began around 7:30 PM last night on Homestead Road near the Eastex Freeway.

The injured deputy, whose identity has not been disclosed, was shot multiple times in the torso during the traffic stop. Following the shooting, the officer underwent surgery overnight and is currently reportedly in critical but stable condition.

Law enforcement agencies are urging caution to the public. If anyone encounters the suspects or possesses information regarding their whereabouts, it is strongly advised not to approach them. Instead, individuals are instructed to immediately contact 911 to report any relevant information that could aid in the ongoing investigation.

It remains uncertain whether the two are related. _____________

Got him, so that's good news.

#nunyas news #anonymous

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minileena-sfw · 10 months

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Zookeeper - part 14

CW: Manipulation, suicide attempt, political discussion, brief mention of sexual assault

So… CW list a mile long. BUT! This is still one of my favourite chapters I’ve written of this story. I really hope y’all like it 🥰

If you maybe aren’t comfy with reading it, a summary can be found here. Enjoy!

I was rudely awakened to the sound of a phone ringing.

I supposed that one of the few good things about living in a zoo is that you get to choose your own sleep schedule. Sure, you’d get the occasional person flicking the glass early in the morning, but the ringtone of the phone was, honestly, considerably worse.

With a huff, I sat up on my pillow and watched as Evelyn reached forwards to answer the call.

The human had set me up on the floor, in front of her nightstand. She let me sleep on a spare pillow.

I… had conflicted feelings about her.

She was my tool for escaping. She was my friend. These two facts could and did remain true at the same time. I was slowly working on letting my guard down, relaxing myself into conversation and trying hard not to intentionally choose the responses that would benefit me the most.

I hated that I was still aware of them, though. Because yes, with every single sentence I spoke, I knew what the correct thing to say would be. I knew precisely what vocabulary to use to elicit the responses I wanted. I didn’t think I would ever stop being aware of that. The best I could do was to choose the responses I wanted to choose, regardless of whether or not they’d be the most beneficial.

I think I’m slowly getting better at it.

Evelyn answered the call with furrowed brows. “Jasper?” She put the call on speakerphone for me.

“Evelyn, what the hell were you thinking?”

Fuck.

“I… what? What do you mean?” Evelyn asked, with a painfully obvious hint of concern in her voice.

“I got called in early to deal with the mess you and your parvinnet left here. I’m betting you’ll get a call from Bonnie pretty soon, too.”

I had just started working on treating Evelyn like a friend, too. Now she had to become a tool again. Fucking Jasper.

Okay, so… loyalties. Evelyn tried to cover for me on instinct. That was a good sign. If her feelings towards me and her employers hadn’t changed throughout the last three weeks, then I was pretty safe. I didn’t have any guarantee of that, though, since throughout the past three weeks, I haven’t been able to work on strengthening her resolve to free me due to being constantly surveilled. If those feelings hadn’t degraded, though, she’d value me and my freedom over her job. Would she deal with being arrested for me, though? Legally, I am the property of the zoo, and I’m valuable at that. She committed a theft for my sake. Would she give me back just to get out of being charged?

“I… J-Jasper, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh, sweet Evelyn. It’s time to give up now. We can’t lie our way out of this one anymore.

“I listened to the whole conversation you had with it,” Jasper sighed, exasperation dripping from his voice. “You helped it get out. I heard you talking about the cameras—and for the record, yes, the cameras wipe footage every twenty-one days, but they start indexing at zero, not one. You made your move a day too early.”

I supposed she was already caught red-handed. Hopefully she’d agree that there was no need to bring us both down if she had already been exposed. And she respected me enough to not hand me over for something as small as a more lenient charge, right? But what if she would, for example, be fined if she handed me over and arrested if she didn’t? How deep did the loyalty go? I supposed that this was only relevant if rational thought were a factor, and I could absolutely just manipulate the situation around that. Evelyn was in panic mode right now, and I could exploit it if necessary—tell her to let me go now, promise to meet back up with her later. If I stress urgency, she might make a decision before thinking about the ramifications of it, and I could remove myself from the situation before she could realize that she’d be fucking herself over by letting me—

“Don’t worry, the footage is gone and I’m not reporting it,” Jasper sighed.

I…

Huh.

…What??

“Don’t know what the fuck was going through your head there, but I’m not super inclined to let you get arrested,” he continued. “Obviously if someone questions me about it I’ll throw you under the bus, which you deserve for being a fucking idiot. Oh, and by the way, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Prick,” I muttered to myself.

“Is that the fucking parvinnet on the line!?” Jasper hissed.

Evelyn gave me a look.

“I didn’t think the mic would pick that up!” I protested. “Besides, it’s not like it matters. He already knows pretty much everything, the only thing that changed is that he knows where I am now. I guess the worst he could do is come over and kidnap me and then bring me back to the zoo, but that would barely even benefit him, so I think we’re fine.”

“I can’t believe you let a goddamn rodent talk you into committing a felony,” Jasper groaned.

“I’m not a fucking rodent,” I spat. “And now that I can finally talk back to you without consequences, fuck you. You are the biggest piece of shit on this god forsaken planet, and I will spend the rest of my life praying to any god or deity that will listen to make your every waking moment a living hell.”

“Christ, Layna,” Evelyn breathed.

“Oh my god, you named it,” Jasper muttered.

“My mother named me,” I spat back. “The last time I got to hear my own fucking name was as she and my sister screamed it at me when I was ripped away from them and sent to spend the rest of my life in a cage with the world’s worst company.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jasper huffed. “I’ll cover for you, Evelyn, but I’m coming over later so that we can have a talk about this. You’re my friend, and I’m genuinely worried about you. I would say that we’ll talk at work, but Bonnie��s pretty pissed and she’s definitely gonna fire you, so I guess I’ll come by this evening. And then we’re gonna talk about… god, we’re gonna talk about how you made friends with a wild animal and then let it talk you into breaking it out of a zoo.”

“I’m assuming this is non-negotiable,” Evelyn sighed. “Fine. See you in a bit.”

“One last ‘fuck you’ for the road?” I offered before the line went dead.

“Oh my god I hate him so much,” I sighed. “That felt so good…” One more deep breath. “Anyways, wanna prepare what you’re gonna say for when he comes?”

Evelyn held her forehead in her palms, elbows propped up on her knees as she hunched over. “Why would I need to prepare? I don’t need a script, I just need to be honest with him. Make him see who you really are.”

Hoo boy.

My poor, naïve Evelyn…

“Alright, how do I put this,” I muttered to myself, eliciting a cocked eyebrow from Evelyn. “Have you ever tried to talk someone out of bigotry on Twitter?”

Evelyn’s brows furrowed, her expression ripe with confusion. “I… what? What does this have to do with anything?”

“I mean, I thought it was a pretty clear comparison, but I guess I’ll go a little slower,” I huffed. “When you spend three and a half years with literally nothing to do with your time aside from watching people, you get pretty good at figuring out what makes said people tick. And, y’know, I’ve spent more time with Jasper than I have literally any other human, so I know what pushes his buttons pretty well. I used to just use it to piss him off because it was funny and I didn’t exactly have an iPhone in my cage, but apparently the knowledge is gonna be useful today.

“Jasper does not respond to sympathy. You heard him shrug off that little comment I made about my sister like it meant nothing to him, didn’t you? I tried that angle with him for months after I was first caught. It got me nowhere. Then I tried the logic angle. It also didn’t get me anywhere. I tried to open up discussions with him, try to really, genuinely get him to ponder the definition of personhood and sapience like you did after, like, three days of knowing me. It didn’t work.

“Jasper doesn’t define personhood in those terms. He doesn’t think of what defines a sapient being worthy of rights and respect by things like logic, reason or emotion. He defines ‘a person’ as ‘a member of the human race.’ There is zero wiggle room, no matter how many sob stories I feed him, no matter how much I point out how illogical it is for him to completely disregard my speech capabilities and obvious level of emotional and personal nuance. You can’t talk him into it. His beliefs are set in hard-cast stone. Hence the comparison to a MAGA nutjob on Twitter—you can tell them that Trump has a sexual allegations list a hundred miles long and has literally been held liable for it, but they’ll just spit in your face and say that it doesn’t count because it was a civil trial and not a criminal one. You can continue on that thread, pointing out other horrible things he’s done, his racist practices, his political blunders, etcetera, but they don’t listen to facts and reason. They are pro-Trump and no amount of yelling and screaming and showing facts and articles and lawsuits is going to change that.

“So the approach we’re gonna have to take to get him to back the fuck off is more than likely not gonna involve any of those things in your impending conversation with him. I think it’s really sweet that you wanna just speak from the heart and hope that your friendship with him is strong enough to ‘show him the light’ or whatever, but the world doesn’t work that way. He doesn’t work that way. We’re gonna have to come up with something else, and it’s a very good idea for us to talk about it beforehand.”

Evelyn was quiet for a bit.

God, she’s so cute and naïve. The thought nearly made me visibly smile. I suppressed the urge, though.

“You’re really good at that,” Evelyn finally decided.

“I spent three and a half years without the opportunity to hone many other skills, so yeah, I suppose I am pretty damn good at analyzing people and figuring out their ticks,” I agreed.

“How did you know about that stuff?” Evelyn asked. “The… the twitter stuff, and the Trump stuff?”

I grimaced. “I, uh… stole an iPhone after someone dropped it on their walk home,” I admitted. “Obviously I didn’t know the passcode, but punching in the wrong one a couple dozen times till it offered to erase everything worked well enough to get me a blank slate and a safari page. It was 2016 by the time I got a handle on the whole ‘literacy’ thing, so… yeah. A very interesting time to get into your species’ politics. And kinda funny to keep up to date with from in the zoo—I guess there was a pandemic that somehow got politicized? You people are weird. But anyways, you’re latching onto the wrong details of what I said. So…” I prompted. “Thoughts? Ideas? I had three years to work on him and got nowhere, but maybe with the presence of someone he actually considers a person, things will go better. As long as we make the correct approaches.”

As Evelyn thought of ways to make Jasper fuck off, I considered my own moves from here. Technically, it wasn’t the end of the world if this conversation didn’t go well. The whole reason it’s happening in the first place is because Jasper cares enough about Evelyn to cover her ass, and since she’s covering my ass, the ass-covering carries over. The only nightmare outcome would be this conversation going so bad that Jasper suddenly decides to turn us both into the authorities, but… I literally can’t think of anything Evelyn could say to fuck things up that horribly. We should be largely fine, at least in the short term.

“I… I can’t think of anything,” Evelyn admitted, breaking me out of my train of thought. “It’s… how am I supposed to get him to care about you if there’s nothing I can do to get him to care about you? It’s a paradox!”

“It is,” I agreed. “That’s why getting him to care about me isn’t the goal.”

Evelyn’s brows furrowed. “It isn’t?”

“I never said that it was,” I confirmed. “Frankly, I don’t like him enough to wanna put in the effort of bashing my head against that particular brick wall. The goal is to make him fuck off and leave me alone. He’s incapable of giving a shit about me, but I don’t need him to. The ideal situation is one where he just washes his hands of any involvement in this. Forgets you and I exist and moves on with his life. Unfortunately, he cares too much about you to ever leave me the fuck alone, since I’m kinda bound to you for now. Obviously, the clearest path forwards from there would be to unbound myself from you, but unfortunately I like you, so the efficient method of just severing all ties and leaving you is… not desirable.”

Actually, no. It’s not just ‘not desirable.’ It’s unacceptable. It would be losing. I refuse to lose to Jasper. I’m not giving up an inch of this hard-fought slice of peace I have spent three years clawing for. Evelyn is mine.

…Oh. Uh. Shit. Very problematic thought process there, brain. I would be thinking hard about that later.

“I, uh,” Evelyn said with a cocked eyebrow. “I don’t know if I should be offended that you just insinuated that the fact that you care about me is a logistical issue, but… I… guess it proves you care about me in the first place..?”

Oh, fuckin whoops. There’s a reason I usually keep this monologue internal. Lemme just do some damage control here.

“E-Evelyn, I… I’m in analysis mode here,” I reassured. “My affection towards you obviously isn’t as surface level as just… a thing that I have. That’s not what my emotions are to me. That’s not what you are to me. You’re… more important than that,” I said with a smile. “I’m just thinking in a logical context right now, I promise.”

“I-it was just a little joke, don’t worry,” Evelyn reassured me, though I knew she felt relieved. “I don’t actually think you treat your emotions as assets to be used in some kind of game.”

Ha. If only she knew. I’ve been working hard to stop treating everything I see as an asset, and I could almost have believed it was going well before Jasper called.

“You, uh… you don’t, right?”

I realized just a little too late that I never responded to that. “Oh, no, of course I don’t,” I lied. “Sorry, just… got lost in thought again.”

Evelyn just nodded. Then, after another quick pause; “And, you… you don’t treat anyone else’s emotions like assets, too, right? Like… how often is this kind of stuff going through your head? Do… do you ever get into ‘analysis mode’ with me..?”

Oh, god. I really don’t want to lie to Evelyn, and if I’m being honest, I had been thinking for a while about telling her that I intentionally manipulated her, but I wanted to wait a little bit for the right time. No, not now, it’s not time for that yet. For now, though… I could answer her question without lying, right?

“Evelyn,” I said, taking a step closer to the giant. “How I feel—”

Evelyn’s phone rang again. With one last concerned look in my direction—shit, that’s a bad sign, isn’t it?—she checked the caller ID.

“Bonnie,” she said. “Uh… okay, lemme just get fired real quick before we keep going here.”

As Evelyn listened to her manager chew her out for being the only zookeeper in years to be so incompetent as to let out an exhibit, I considered whether or not it was worth it to just… run.

She was onto me, after all. I could see it in her eyes, in her posture. I spoke my train of thought aloud, and she saw me for what I really am—a sociopath who plans every interaction and manipulates them into favourable situations. She listened to me thinking about how best to do it to Jasper, and realized that it was very likely that I had employed a similar method in my conversations with her. I had no control over how she would react to this. I was planning on talking her down and convincing her that I’m not a sociopath, but if it didn’t go well… I wouldn’t surrender my hard-fought freedom. I would bolt.

I planned out an escape route. The curtain to the open window was floor-length, and therefore in reach. I could climb up and run out, then… shit. I’m pretty sure I could survive if I just jumped straight down to the ground, even though I’m on the second floor. I don’t have enough mass to work up the momentum it would take to cause any appreciable damage by falling. But… I had never exactly had a strong desire to test that at any point throughout my life, and I wasn’t ecstatic at the prospect of trying it without knowing for certain.

This was all just a backup plan, though. It’s okay if it’s kind of terrible—hopefully, it won’t come to that. And god, I really hoped it didn’t. I really, really like Evelyn. I don’t want her to hate me. I just want a normal friendship with her.

And… friends talk to each other.

The instincts that had spent three years embedding themselves in the fibers of my being screamed at me for entertaining this line of thought. This is a delicate situation. Now is not the time to be honest with her. I’m a helpless animal, and I didn’t have the luxury of treating this situation like a human would. My life is at stake.

And yet…

Friends talk to each other.

“In any other situation, I’d probably be crying after a call like that,” Evelyn muttered as she hung up. “Strange how saving a life negates the anxiety of frivolous things like summer income. Anyways…” The human set her phone back down on her nightstand. “Layna. I… I didn’t mean to insinuate—“

“For all intents and purposes, I intentionally emotionally manipulated you into feeling guilty for my captivity and coerced you into helping me escape by spending time with you for the purpose of fostering affection so that I could abuse it—and you—to break free,” I blurted, tears welling in my eyes.

I took note of how Evelyn’s shock softened just the smallest amount as she saw my lip quiver. In response, I waited an extra few seconds before biting down on it, giving her more time to see it and foster feelings of pity for me.

…I’m a monster.

I’m a fucking monster.

My legs were tense, ready to sprint to the window the moment her rage overtook her, preparing for the fallout of losing my most valuable asset.

I hate this.

I don’t want to think of Evelyn that way.

I want to be friends with her.

I want to sob into her chest while she holds me in cupped hands, a reassuring finger running down my back as she calms me down and tells me that it’s all okay now, that I’m safe now, that I never need to think about these kinds of things again.

I wish I was a person.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered pathetically.

I stifled my sobbing. My instincts told me to use them, to cry loudly so she’d pity me more. I refused those instincts. I clamped down on my desire to wail. I wouldn’t entertain my manipulative tendencies right now—Evelyn deserved that much from me.

“Was any of it real?” Evelyn asked, and for once, I couldn’t parse her tone. I couldn’t find any anger, nor could I find forgiveness.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I… I want it to have been. But I don’t know anymore. I…” I considered what I wanted to say next. My heart wanted to speak those words, but… my instincts told me they’d foster more pity. That when I spoke them, my chances of keeping this asset would increase. I didn’t want to listen to those instincts.

I had promised myself I would listen to my heart for Evelyn, though. It didn’t matter that my manipulative instincts agreed with it, right? It didn’t matter that I was aware of the positive effects it would have. My heart told me to say it, and so I said it.

“I don’t remember how to see people as people anymore,” I whispered, voice quivering. “I don’t remember how to have a conversation with someone without subconsciously steering things in a favourable direction for me. How to talk to someone without ulterior motives. It’s… it’s been too long since I’ve just talked, and those skills have atrophied.”

“Layna…” Evelyn breathed.

“I don’t want to know these things anymore,” I choked out. “I don’t want to be constantly aware that every little quiver of my voice makes you pity me. I want that little voice in my head telling me to abuse it and sob for you so you’ll feel more responsible for my wellbeing to go away. But it won’t, because I’ve listened to it for three years and I don’t know how to turn it off anymore.”

My knees quivered and threatened to buckle, but I kept them locked. I still might need to run.

“I just want to be your friend,” I whispered pathetically. “But I can’t stop thinking of you as a tool.”

Evelyn sat up in her bed. Her face grew far enough away from me that it was a blur to my nearsightedness. I couldn’t read her intentions.

And so when the giant’s hand descended down, I assumed the worst and ran for the window.

“Wh— Layna!” Evelyn called after me, but my legs pumped without any intention of slowing down. I reached the curtain in an instant, immediately jumping to start climbing. The tears in my eyes blurred my vision, and I missed a handhold in the fabric, slipping for just a moment before regaining my grip.

That moment was enough for Evelyn to react. She shot towards the window, scrambling to close it before I could throw myself out. I immediately doubled back and ran for the door to her bedroom, hoping to escape that way.

The door was only open a crack, and so all Evelyn had to do to block off my way out was slam it an inch, blocking off my last chance of never having to see the inside of that cage again.

My breaths grew more shallow, my movements more erratic. I didn’t have an out in this situation. I was so fucking close to finally being free, and I messed it up at the last goddamn second. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? Now I had zero control over the situation. I couldn’t say anything to convince her to stop—she already knew all my tactics, because I told her all of them.

I can’t go back there.

I can’t go back to that cage!!!

I started searching wildly for another way out. A hole in the wall, a secret door, a fucking portal to another dimension, anything to gain a foothold, to control something about this situation. I came up with nothing.

My legs fell out from under me. I shot back up, but my knees still quivered with terror, threatening to buckle again. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded through my chest, and I was certain it had somehow broken my ribs, because nothing else could possibly have caused that pain. I fell again, my limbs betraying me as I looked up at Evelyn, shaky arms keeping me propped up as I tried to crawl backwards away from her.

“Please don’t hurt me!” I cried. “Please don’t take me back!!! I can’t go back!!! I won’t go back!!!”

I’d sooner die.

My wrist shot up to my mouth, and my jaws prepared to clamp down on my veins.

I won’t go back.

Giant fingers pried my limbs away, denying me of any bodily autonomy. I struggled and squirmed and cried, but those fingers kept me locked in place.

Evelyn brought me closer to her face, and even through the blurring of both my nearsightedness and the tears in my eyes, I could make out her expression.

It… it wasn’t anger.

It was grief.

I was held against her chest, fingers still keeping my limbs secure to prevent me from hurting myself. I sobbed uncontrollably into her chest.

“I can’t go back!” I wailed.

“You’re not going back,” Evelyn said softly. “You’re never going to have to see that tank again. I promise you that.”

My frail body quivered in her grip.

“Are you gonna kill me?” I sobbed.

“Oh my god,” Evelyn whispered, her voice quivering. “Layna… sweet Layna… It’s okay, honey, no one’s going to hurt you. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again as long as I live.”

She’s… not mad.

She’s crying.

For me.

“I’m a monster,” I reminded her.

“You’re a victim,” Evelyn corrected. “You’re… you’re a broken woman who has suffered too much heartache for one person to ever have to bear. It’s not your fault that your coping mechanisms are harmful to yourself. And… and to me.”

She let out a shaky sigh, trying in vain to calm her breathing. Her finger ran down my back in an attempt to soothe me.

“You were forced into a corner,” she continued, “and… and I was your way out. You were in there for so long… I’m so sorry, Layna…”

“I don’t deserve this,” I reminded her. “I spent my days thinking about ways to emotionally abuse you. Trying to get you to feel horrible and depressed so you’d save me. At every given chance, I chose the path that would make you hate yourself, and I did it on purpose.”

“I deserved to hate myself for what I was doing to you,” Evelyn replied. “I’m glad you made me feel the way I did, even if I would’ve preferred less malice and obfuscation.”

“I still don’t know how to see you as a person,” I cut in. “I still see you and your emotions as tools I can use. I… I’m a sociopath.”

“I want to help you stop,” she responded without hesitation. “I want to teach you to treat people as people. I want for you to think of me as your friend. I want to help you heal. Because you’re not a sociopath, Layna. You’re hurt.”

“I’m just going to keep using you,” I said. “I’m going to use this. I’m already thinking of ways I could take advantage of it. How I could manipulate you into thinking I’m healing to lower your guard.”

“Layna. Was it a good idea to tell me that? From the perspective of a manipulator, I mean.”

I hesitated for a moment.

“It was a horrible idea to let you know what my plans could be,” I admitted.

“So why did you tell me?”

I already knew the answer, of course.

“…Because I promised myself I would tell you what felt right, and not what benefited me the most,” I whispered. “Because I want to get better. I want to be your friend.”

“You are my friend,” Evelyn said, and I shattered.

Evelyn kept shushing and softly petting my head as I screamed into her chest. She took it in stride, continuing to reassure me and tell me everything was gonna be okay.

“Friends help each other,” Evelyn promised. “I’m gonna help you.”

Sobs wreaked through my chest hard enough to hurt, strong enough that my lungs burned from lack of air.

I shattered, and Evelyn held all the pieces together in one place as I wailed.

In the palms of her hands.

The one place that I couldn’t reconcile… for I simultaneously had no control over myself, and all the control in the world.

#size k!nk #giant/tiny #leena-stories

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marengogo · 1 year

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So, been thinking about the lack of jikook spottings, and I have a different take on it. Maybe the reason we're seeing Jungkook out with Tae and Hobi is because they're not working together as much anymore, so he's making time to see them, like a good friend would. Whereas he's likely still seeing Jimin on a regular basis, no special outings required. But also, how often do we actually see jikook out together? Or Jimin at all? This year ain't no different from any other. Jikook are fine.

Welcome Anon, to my “... Should have answered you in 2022, I’m so sorry 🙏🏾” Series 😬.

I really do apologise, however let me tell you something. It would appear that the Universe has made it so that this and the other remaining 2022 ASKS is unfortunately very spot-on and relevant to what is going on lately; YET AGAIN.

I’d also add that your line of thought is actually very similar to mine NGL. Just yesterday one of my colleagues who also happens to be a very close friend of mine we’ve known each other for 5 years now and have been through a lot together suddenly found herself in a situation where all the power sockets in her house were not working and she wrote it on the work whatsapp group just to see if anyone had any suggestions as what she could do.

All of the people in the group (we are a very small team) started worrying and some even wished her good luck she didn't need luck, she needed and electrician 😬😬😬. What did I do? I didn’t write anything in the group and called her instead right away. During my burned-out period last year she was part of the people who would also be around and would try to get me out as well, so I spent a lot of time with her at work and out.

So when last Friday one of the younger people in the team invited me out to go to a museum exhibition, since we hadn’t had time to talk in a loooong time, and he needed to confide with me, I said yes because I could feel he really needed to spend time with me and it was my fault to begin with that I wasn’t in the best mental state to hangout all of last year not my fault per-say, but you know what I mean!. All of these just to say that yes, what you said makes sense and may be plausible.

So thank you for stopping by Anon, I really like reading other people’s thoughts and opinions, particularly when they are presented in the way you did, so for real, thank you gurl/boi/enby!

And I’ll add even more! Except for BH/HYBE content, Twitter pre-July 2017 and GCFT, any time we’ve ever seen Jikook hangout has been because of clips and pictures taken without their consent on their private time. After GCFT, JK changed to only publicly disclose videos he filmed about all members keeping his Jimin selcas and videos on his phone to himself, little bugger … JM as well gradually stopped sharing; period he is living his best screenshotting life 😬😬😬. You could say that, like fine wine, the both have matured with time and have learned to better handle their status quo. I’ve actually kinda talked about it here, if you’d like to read about it 👇🏾

So thank you for stopping by Anon, I really like reading other people’s thoughts and opinions, particularly when they are presented in the way you did, so for real, thank you gurl/boi/enby!

Always respectfully yours 🫰🏾💜,

Marengo.

#ASKS #ASKS from 2022 but somehow STILL make sense in 2023 ...

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

Text

HEART'S REDEMPTION - CHAPTER 33

*Warning: Adult Content*

On the return to the lodge, Antonia Martinez rides with Ian Foley and Sam Asato in Ian’s truck while Carlos Martinez goes with Jack and Elliot Walker.

It's a tense, uncomfortable trip, with Sam squeezed as close to Ian and as far from Toni as he can get.

For her part, Toni looks out the window, chin resting on her hand, not saying much except to comment on the landscape and the weather.

They've almost reached our destination when Sam voices what's been bothering him since she showed up.

"Are you still in contact with Karin?" he asks. "Did you tell him where I am?"

She looks surprised by the question.

"No, and no," she says. "Since... that day at my shop, all I've cared about is finding Carlos. I wasn't 'in contact' with Karin in the first place, I don't truck with necromancers. I'd just picked up word he was after you and that he'd pay good to get you back. I saw an opportunity and tried to take advantage of it. Now that I understand a little better, I'm sorry I did."

Sam is quiet a moment, his hand unconsciously sliding up and down Ian’s thigh who covers it with his own to make him stop.

Ian had preferred not to crash his truck, even if he does have a mechanic riding in the cab.

"Did you really think Karin could help you find the demon that killed your sister?" Sam asks.

She glances at him, the lines around her mouth deepening slightly.

"To be honest, I don't know. I just..."

She lets out the rest of her breath in a huff and stares out the window.

"I'm not getting any younger and I'm worried about Carlos. His... ability... didn't used to be so strong or so dangerous. In the last few years, it's become harder to control. I'm afraid that if the thing that killed Sonja ever comes back..."

Sam's brow crinkles.

"You don't look that old," he says. "Why worry so much?"

She gives him a wry, half smile.

"Forty-five is old for a Slayer," she says. "Even for one who doesn't Slay. My grandma made it to eighty-three, died in her sleep but just about everyone else on that side of the family didn't live past fifty. When you're out to get things, things try to get you back."

"Can you blame them?" Sam returns with a slight edge on his tone.

Toni doesn't seem offended.

"I suppose not," she says. "I was raised to view demons and the like as 'the enemy' as intruders in our world who don't belong. I guess my perspective needs some updating."

Ian’s truck bumps and jolts as he turns on to the unpaved road leading to the lodge.

"My dad once told me the definition of a weed," Ian says. "He said a weed is simply a plant growing somewhere you don't want it to grow. By that logic, even roses could be weeds, if they popped up where you don't think they belong. Your opinion doesn't make 'em any less pretty, though."

"You're right," Toni admits. "My family spent generations making enemies. Maybe they'd've lived longer if they'd tried making some friends."

As they pull up in front of the lodge, Ian checks his cell-phone and sees a missed call that must have come in while he was out of the service range.

It's Alpha Dane Hunter's number and as the others get out Ian stays in the cab and calls him back.

Dane answers on the second ring and after exchanging perfunctory greetings, he gets to the point.

"I did some digging on Inez Walker," he begins.

"Actually, I have good news about that," Ian interjects and tells him about Inez's unexpected reappearance, as well as finding the burned car and the possible human remains inside.

"Well, that's something, I suppose," he says, "but I still think you're going to want to hear what I found."

"Okay, shoot," Ian says when Dane doesn't go on.

Ian rarely talks to Dane one-on-one but whenever he does it seems like he has to drag the words out of him one at a time.

"I didn't find anything relevant on Inez herself, so I expanded my parameters and searched for anything related to the Walkers. There wasn't much, so I decided to broaden the time-frame as well. I had to go back almost fifty years but finally, I hit pay-dirt."

Dane pauses again and Ian hears papers rustling and imagine him shifting things around on his desk.

Instead of prompting him again, though, Ian just waits.

After a few beats, Dane continues.

"Fifty years ago, forty-nine, to be precise, seven people related or connected to the Walker family died in mysterious ways. Accidents but all unlikely and bizarre and all in the space of a few months."

Ian looks out of his window to where Sam Asato is standing with Toni and Carlos Martinez, showing them his new ability to partially control his transformations, his skin darkening to gold and then lightening to ivory once more.

Carlos makes a gesture with his arms indicating wings and Toni looks impressed.

Cass, Elliot and Jack Walker are somewhere nearby, while Maria, Sofia, and Inez Walker went into town for supplies, whatever Inez had picked up at the airport the day she disappeared burned along with her car.

"Fifty years is a long time," Ian says. "If someone was behind the deaths back then, it's hard to imagine the same person is behind what's happening now."

Dane makes a sound like a huff or a soft grunt.

"I agree but I'm not done. I got curious and kept looking. From what I can tell, the Walkers and their kin have been dying in batches of seven every forty-nine years for the past two centuries. The pattern might go back even further, that's just where the records end."

"Great," Ian lets out a sigh. "So, depending on who and what the bones in the car belonged to, either two or three more people are supposed to die?"

"That's how I'd read it," Dane says. "Foley, I'm not a man who gives advice often but I'll give you some now. Quit that game while you're ahead. You know better than anyone what can happen when Shifters and their fucked-up family traditions slip their leash."

That rankles but Ian bites back whatever reply he'd like to give.

"Thanks," Ian says instead, "But I think I'm already too deep in the shit to get away clean."

Briefly, Ian tell Dane about the mark.

He's quiet for a moment and Ian wonders if Dane lost interest or if he's merely thinking.

When he speaks, he doesn't say what Ian expect.

"You want me to talk to Julian?" he asks.

"What good would that do?" Ian returns. "This has nothing to do with the Fae and Jules' psychic thing doesn't work at a distance, unless he's learned some new tricks since I left."

Again, Dane doesn't answer right away.

"He'll want to know what we talked about," he says at last, sounding a little self-conscious. "That's all."

"Oh... In that case... no, don't tell him. No sense making him worry over something he can't help. Not that he would worry," Ian adds.

Dane makes a noncommittal noise in his throat and then, after a few more words and ends the call.

Ian sits for a moment afterward, just holding his cell-phone.

Dane is far from Ian’s favorite person in the world but hearing his voice reminded him of home, his cousin and her girlfriend, his dad's old house, Julian Hart and even Alpha Dane Hunter and his siblings.

Even knowing that not all of them see him as a friend or even as a welcome presence, Ian still misses them and he hopes he'll see them again.

Ian knows that, while his return might not be cause for celebration, Sam will fit right in.

Julian, for one, Ian suspects, would take to Sam as a kindred spirit of sorts.

He realizes with a little, not unpleasant, jolt, that he’s actually looking forward to it, bringing Sam home.

He also realizes that he’s going to have to talk to Sam about it.

He’s been assuming he'll be happy to go wherever Ian goes but assuming that he knows what another person wants is a mistake he’s made before and one that he doesn't ever wants to make again.

Getting out of his truck, Ian circles around it to where Sam and the others still stand, noticing that Sam seems more relaxed than he did before.

He looks over at Ian and smiles as he approachs.

"What did your detective friend say?" he asks.

Ian hesitates to tell him in front of Carlos and Toni but then he decides that it's better, safer, if they all have the same information.

When Ian finishes relaying what Dane Hunter found, all three share the same unhappy frown.

"Do you think they know?" Sam asks, meaning the Walkers.

Ian Foley shrugs.

"If they do, they've kept it well hidden, on the other hand, they're Shifters, so..."

"You're a Shifter," Sam says, his little frown deepening slightly as he looks up at me, "and you're honest."

Ian shrugs again.

"Maybe. But I don't typically go around telling strangers all my secrets, either. When you're something that most people don't believe exists or would call a monster if they did, you get used to hiding stuff as a matter of habit."

"What will you do?" Toni asks. "Confront them or watch and wait?"

Rolling his head slowly to the side to try to relieve some of the tension in his injured shoulder and back, Ian sighs.

"For better or worse, I'm not a 'watch and wait' kind of guy. I think it's best if we..."

“Ian," Sam cuts me off, pointing at something to his left.

Ian turns and see a huge brown bear coming around the side of the lodge and recognize Elliot's Shape.

"What's he doing?" Ian wonders aloud, watching as the bear sniffs the ground and then shakes his massive head.

The motion fluffs out his fur, making him appear even bigger.

"Hey, Elliot! Whatcha doing?" Carlos calls, starting to step towards him.

Sam catches at his arm.

"Carlos, wait. Something's not right."

"Is he possessed?" Toni asks.

Sam squints.

"I don't think so. But...he looks different somehow."

Ian notices it, too.

Elliot's form has an aggressive, dangerous bearing, no pun intended, that it didn't the first time Ian saw him.

Then, he'd look powerful but also friendly, a tame, well-trained animal.

Now he looks like something to run away from.

Ian realizes why when he raises his massive, squarish head and fixes his small brown bear-eyes on them.

Or, more accurately, on Ian.

Opening his wide jaws, he releases a deep-throated, pulsating bellow of rage and then breaks into a charge.

Despite the damage it will do to his arm, Ian has little choice but to Shift.

At least as a bear, he stands a chance.

As a man, he'll be torn to shreds.

He has barely reached this conclusion though, with Elliot already having closed half the distance between them, when something else steps between them and blocks Ian’s view, gold-feathered wings angled aloft.

It's Sam, in all his demonic glory, a sight that at once makes Ian’s heart pulse with love and his blood run cold with fear.

Not because Sam scares him but because he's standing in the path of a 1,000-pound, murderously enraged bear with the intelligence of a man.

And Sam was doing it for him.

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ojabalyojliageba · 1 year

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MY 10 DAY IMMERSION JOURNEY ❤️

🥀DAY 1

On my first day on the workplace, I first greeted the employer gracefully and introduce myself. My employer then ask us to Organize the folder files it may not seem like a glamorous task, but it can save me in time and frustration in the long run. With an efficient and intuitive file organization system that make the workplace in an organize and clean manner. we create a plan by using a consistent naming convention, creating a logical folder structure, using color coding and icons, and keeping the files up to date, we created an efficient and intuitive file organization system that works successfully in organizing. So take some time to organize your files today and enjoy the benefits of a more streamlined workflow!

🥀DAY 2

On my second day, I maintain a clean workplace for it is essential for several reasons. A clean and organized workspace promotes productivity, reduces the risk of accidents, and helps keep employees healthy. Furthermore, a clean and well-maintained workplace creates a positive impression on clients, visitors, and potential customers. Maintaining a clean workplace is crucial for promoting productivity, reducing the risk of accidents, keeping employees healthy, and creating a positive impression. We established a cleaning schedule, decluttering regularly, providing cleaning supplies, cleaning common areas, we can ensure that the workplace is always clean and well-maintained.

🥀DAY 3

Paper waste is a common problem in workplaces, and it is what our employer challenge us to find ways to reduce it. One way to address this issue is by organizing used bond papers to be a scratch. By doing it, we can reduce paper waste, save money, and have an eco-friendly solution for scratches. I think that this has a one of the advantages of using organized used bond papers as a scratch it is that cost-effective. Bond papers are readily available in most workplaces, and they are often considered as waste after printing. Instead of buying new scratches, we reuse these bond papers and save money in the long run. Furthermore, organizing them into a scratch allows us to use the paper more efficiently and extend its lifespan.

🥀DAY 4

On our 4th day our employer ask us to send the Payroll for their employees. They give us a cellphone in order for us to communicate to the employees. Payroll processing is an essential aspect of any business, regardless of its size. It is the process of calculating and distributing employee salaries, wages, and bonuses. Sending payroll is an important part of this process, as it ensures that employees receive their hard-earned wages in a timely and accurate manner.

🥀 DAY 5

On our 5th day, I manage to print the files that are needed for the company's payroll. In today's workplace, the need to print files is still relevant despite the increasing trend of digitization. Printing files remains an important part of the daily workflow for many businesses.

🥀 DAY 6

On our 6th day in the workplace, our employer ask us to do a partial interview for the applicants in order to practice our communication skills. Ask I was holding the phone I greeted the applicant gracefully and ask for her/his important details. I then ask for the copy of her/his valid ID, NSO, and etc. Then I proceed on printing her/his file and arrange a date and time for her/his face to face interview.

🥀Day 7

On our 7th day, the manager ask us to help them search for an applicant online. In order to succeed the task I used the computer device to talk for those interested applicants. Like what I did yesterday I ask them to send their personal information in order for us to contact them for the partial interview.

🥀 DAY 8

On our 8th day, we check the files if it still updated or outdated so that we can organize and arrange it. I found out that everything is in order and is updated. So, I wait for my employer to give us a job to do but until 5 pm we remain at our sits. Then, our employer ask us to go home because our work time is done.

🥀 DAY 9

On our 9th day, we sat at the corner doing nothing and still waiting for our employer's task. A voice break out the silence when Ma'am Mary task us to search again for an interested applicants. We did the task very well and I hired an applicant for production worker.

🥀DAY 10

This is our last day, our employers task us to enjoy the day by doing a partial interview to the applicants. I did a great job from the first day to our last day. I shared a memorable moment with the employers, an immersion job that I also wish to be part of it. On our last day, I shared a good byes and joyful memory with our employer.

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ardn632themanipulatedimage · 2 years

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Concept Development

Today i was sorting through some of my old stuff from when I was a kid, and I found a collection of Flower Fairy books, by Cecily Mary Barker, as well as an old VHS tape of the movie Fairy Tale, which is based on the story of the Cottingley Fairies. These had both been much loved possessions of mine!

They got me thinking though, and I realised that for me personally, they were very connected to the theme of my project, connection with nature. I remember that really the flower fairy books were what first got me interested in nature, as each fairy is based on and illustrated amongst a specific plant or flower, and this genuinely taught me a lot about different plants! To this day I could name pretty much every english flower you chucked at me, purely because these books gave me an appreciation for them at a really young age.

images via https://flowerfairies.com/books/

The tale of the Cottingley fairies is actually very relevant to this course, the manipulated image, as I was reminded of when it was mentioned in in the essay we were set to read, a brief history of photography and truth (Langford, 2020).

The Cottingley Fairies appear in a series of five photographs taken by Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths, two young cousins who lived in the English countryside in 1917. Their photographs of the ‘fairies’ that they had supposedly made friends with at the bottom of their garden captured the public's imagination, including that of celebrated spiritualist and writer sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Doyle believed the photos to be genuine, and interpreted them as clear and visible evidence of psychic phenomena. He was one of many to accept the images as real, though others believed that they had been faked.

In the early 1980s Elsie and Frances admitted that the photographs had been faked, using cardboard cutouts of fairies copied from children's books. Despite this, the Cottingley fairies remain one of the most famous examples of image manipulation since the invention of the camera, and the photos continue to fascinate children and adults alike.

image via https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cottingley_Fairies

Again, the movie had a strong effect on my connection with nature. When I was really young it definitely got me and my sister outside and exploring the outdoors, probably in the hope that we'd find some fairies too.

Although it’s easy to focus on the story behind the images, I believe that one of the most appealing things about them is the way they use photo manipulation to perfectly capture the beauty of nature. The fairies in the photos seem to dance next to a woodland stream, or stand on the branches of trees, or in a forest of flowers. The images capture the wonder and fantasy of the natural world, by looking at it through the eyes of a child. If the two girls managed to find such a magical world at the bottom of their own garden, it makes you wonder what you would find if you stopped to look hard enough in your own backyard. Children tend to explore their surroundings and look closer at the world than we do as adults, busy rushing around, heads in our phones. To a child, even the most mundane urban scene has a beauty and magic to it.

This idea gave me a way to approach my project from another angle.

I decided that I could explore my topic by looking at the plants and trees of a normal neighbourhood through the filter of a child’s imagination, and in doing so seeing the magic and beauty that has been there all along. Frances and Elsie’s hoax also got me thinking about what their photos would look like today, in the age of photoshop. If the girls had access to the digital tools of the 21st century, would they have bothered with cardboard and pencils? Would their images have had the same magic? Would they still spark the imagination and capture that sense of wonder? I wanted to answer these questions by doing what the Cottingley girls had done before me, and creating a fantasy world within a few streets of my own house, in its average suburban neighbourhood.

I decided to use the photos of figures that I had taken in the studio, and composite them into miniature natural environments as fairies.

Langford, C. (2020, October 28). A Brief History of Photography and Truth. Photo 2022. Retrieved October 13, 2022, from https://photo.org.au/channel/a-brief-history-of-photography-and-truth

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king44savage · 2 years

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mcleodharboe45 · 2 years

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weirdmageddon · 3 years

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five years too late let’s analyze this. the commentary has gotten me back into gravity falls reigniting thoughts and insights i came to years ago

i love everything about this commentary in general it hits the points of humor, genuine analysis of the characters, but most of all im so glad hirsch addressed that the droid not detecting any fear from dipper here doesnt make any scientific sense because that was a massive CinemaSins moment for me

IDK the fact that dipper can fucking stand after an airship crash because theres a bigger threat at hand is literally one of the defining capabilities owed to adrenaline lol...... IM SORRY im a biopsychology student if i dont point that out iwill seethe and die because that was just . its a grudge ive held for a long time about this episode but didnt rant about because it was something so minor and i’m sure nobody would care.

i was 13 when this episode came out and i’m almost 19 now, i had a special interest in biology and i still do but now i’m actually having college classes in biopsychology so i can give my arguments more oomph now. and i have to say, now that i know more about the brain and autonomic nervous system the more this scene bugs me, if that was even possible. and it says a lot of dipper and ford’s relationship.

if dipper clearly wasnt calm before, why would he be now just because he’s put up an outwardly confident facade? before he was in the flight but now hes in the fight. my boy just rode on top of a spaceship by nothing but a magnet gun that could detach at any time if it failed and then the ship crashed, he sustained injuries, is in emotional turmoil because he thinks his uncle is Fucking Dead and the threat of a security droid that detects adrenaline is on his tail and produces a Big Fucking Gun in response to dipper saying “i hAvE a MaGNeT gUn” and hes screaming and has his teeth clenched but sure there’s no adrenaline coursing through his body in that moment i can totally believe that

when dipper asks what happened, ford says “the orb didn’t detect any chemical signs of fear, it assumed the threat was neutralized and self-disassembled” but i don’t think measuring someone’s heartbeat alone is particularly relevant in detecting ... chemical signs of fear?? they dont really tell you this shit but noradrenaline (and maybe adrenaline too if the acetylcholine from sympathetic outflow always activates the adrenal medulla??, theres two pathways) is always active in small quantities to make sure your parasympathetic nervous system doesnt slow your heart to dangerous levels on its own, regardless of your emotions. it’s just a homeostatic mechanism. your sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems are CONSTANTLY modulating control of your organs on a see-saw, literally with every breath you take. simply standing upright causes specialized mechanoreceptor neurons in blood vessels to signal your brain to project signals to release catecholamines via the sympathetic nervous system to constrict your blood vessels so that blood is able to reach your brain and not pool in your legs. i have a deficiency in my body’s ability to adapt to this which is why i know so much about it. if i stand up my heart races to compensate. i’m not feeling fear, my body is just adjusting—albeit grossly and incompetently lol.

but what im saying here is that the security system is flawed. it’s a cool idea to have security droids detect fear, but in practice by detecting adrenaline, and not even directly by detecting the molecule itself—it’s done in a roundabout way by reading the heartbeat, could be a recipe for false alarms. like what if someone’s on beta-blockers. that’s not really an adequate way to measure “fear”; there’s so many variables that could interfere with the measurement the farther you abstract from what you’re really trying to detect. and besides, adrenaline is NOT just a sign of fear, it’s just for preparing the body for action. i know the sympathetic nervous system and adrenaline is constantly linked with the “fight-or-flight” reaponse to a stressor, but 99.9% of the time the sympathetic nervous system is used in your life is to balance out your parasympathetic nervous system to maintain homeostatic equilibrium for mundane things.

i think detecting amygdalar activation would be more efficient in detecting fear. the amygdala sends projections to the hypothalamus which then in turn modulates the autonomic nervous systems. but the amygdala is intensely activated specifically in response to a fear-inducing stimulus (it does activate in response to other emotions but they’re mostly negative and is most activated by startle and fear), and wouldnt be highly activated by many other confounding variables like measurement of the heartbeat could be. the amygala is one of the first stops directly from external stimuli.

to show you how integrated the amygdala is as the first step in registering fear after receiving input from sensory stimuli let’s look at the auditory-amygdala connection for example

see how the auditory thalamus projects to the primary auditory cortex and auditory association cortex? the cortex is where conscious awareness of what the stimuli is comes from. this is the “high road”. it goes sensing -> perception -> emotional response. but sometimes you can be startled without even processing what it is you’re sensing, like the startle response of an alarm or a phone ringing in a quiet house before you even register what it is. this goes sensing -> emotional response, without perception happening until after you’ve already felt the startle. that’s when it takes the “low road”. here’s a simplified version:

even if that were the case with these droids though it’s obvious dipper is still fearful on some level here. his body language, voice, expressions all give it away. for the amygdala, aggression isnt too off from fear so it would be detected equally.

the reason this is so important is because ford uses this as evidence for why dipper is special, “i did it?” “you did it. this is what i was talking about, how many 12 year olds do you think are capable of doing what you’ve just done?”

but like....did he really? i’m not saying this to shoot dipper down or make him out to be more of a wuss, he was incredibly strong-willed here and i dont want to take that away from him because it WAS growth on his part. but the underlying psychophysiological reactions of aggression and fear shouldn’t be that different and this was a total asspull. maybe the droid was so old that it fucked up. maybe dipper being covered in grime and dirt made it harder for the droid to measure the correct heart rate through photoplethysmography (im assuming since they use a camera and are non-contact).

and in all honesty everything i just said brings into question the interpersonal healthiness of ford’s judgements, what he thinks, his expectations, and how he communicates that. in this video alex already talks about how ford is projecting onto dipper. and i think ford may be projecting his expectations for himself onto people who are not him, and the fact that it’s on dipper here makes it far more unfortunate. you realize how much this boy idolizes ford, right? how much impressions matter? dipper even tells himself before he leaves in this same episode, “all right dipper, this is your first big mission with great uncle ford. don’t mess this up.”

even though it’s unstated, the implicit message dipper is perceiving from ford based on their dynamic is: “do you have what it takes for me to be proud of you?” and to accomplish this he must be like ford, even though he’s clearly not and he knows this. he says “i don’t think have what it takes. i was tricked by bill, i was wrong about stan’s portal, heck, i can’t even operate this magnet gun right.” then, by simple chance without even knowing what he did, he activates the magnet gun and pulls out the adhesive, which immediately takes the focus away from what dipper was telling ford about his feelings of inadequacy to ford saying, “yes! dipper, you found the adhesive!”

these thoughts of dipper’s hang in the air without resolve or comment from ford. we don’t know what ford would have said. but it then becomes painfully self-evident in the scene immediately after when the droids emerge and ford tells dipper, “they’re security droids and they detect adrenaline. you simply have to not feel any fear and they won’t see you”, to which dipper replies with an exasperated (and rightful) “WHAT?”

dipper goes in a panic trying to indirectly tell his uncle that this isn’t something he can do. and he is completely right and valid to be freaked out by that full stop. that IS crazy. you can’t control your fear. you can control how you interpret that fear in your higher brain regions but the physiological changes will stick around for longer than it takes to cognitively calm down. it’s easy for me to detach from my emotions to analyze them, but being able to do this does not come naturally for everyone. even i have an irrational fear of wasps and i can’t control it by detaching myself, my body is just automatically primed to get the fuck out of there. i know it’s stupid and i know it’s irrational and isn’t helpful to get myself worked up but i literally can’t stop how my body reacts no matter how i cognitively think about it. expecting composure from dipper in a situation like this when he’s being made to consciously be aware of his anxiety is absolutely fucking insane. look what you did, placing these cruel expectations on him, now he’s afraid of being afraid! this isn’t a case where two wrongs cancel out, they just stack on top of each other.

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there’s a good reason these scenes were put side by side but it seems up until now it had remained unanalyzed.

what dipper fears from ford is disappointment. not living up to his uncle’s (quite frankly badly placed) expectations for a twelve year old with anxiety. not once did ford say or subliminally communicate “i don’t expect you to be able to do what i can since you are not as experienced as i am and that’s perfectly okay, no judgements”. you don’t put a child on bike before training wheels. you don’t throw a kid into a swimming pool without giving them swimming lessons. the way ford is doing it, there’s no room for trial and error or mistakes that are an opportunity to grow and learn; instead, it’s life or death. he only seems to pride dipper on what he can do while ignoring the underlying struggles that plague him and never making it known it’s okay for dipper to fail in front of his hero and that he won’t think anything less of him for it.

and that’s why i found the ending scene for dipper and ford’s adventure in this episode to feel so.. wrong. on a scientific and social level. because by the sound of it ford focused more on what dipper had done to dismantle the droid (the droid not detecting any fear) instead of how dipper displayed love and protection for him even if he was truly afraid. what if the science was accurate and the droid detected adrenaline while dipper was confidently standing up for his uncle. would ford still be proud of him regardless?

#can you tell how i’m similar to ford but also so different like i said in that other post lol #gravity falls #analysis #dipper pines #stanford pines #long post #gf #gravity falls meta

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doubledgesword-2 · 3 years

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Hello lovely! How pe you’re having a nice weekend!💕

I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request a head cannon or Drabble of adult trip with a blind darling??

Hope you have a nice day!💕✨

Aww yeeesh! I did have a lovely day and a nice weekend, thank you so much! Here's your nice cup of Rose tea hon, enjoy it!

WARNING TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF AND A LIL BIT OF OOC! ENJOY!

Chrollo

Whether you were born like this or you had an accident that took your sight, it doesn't matter; Chrollo would do everything for you.

And when I say everything, I mean every little thing, from guiding you around the room to bathing you or showering with you to help.

"Chrollo, I can do it; you don't have to worry" you chuckle nervously as his hand gently scrub your arm; you feel his fingers gently rub the soap on your shoulder, and you're hoping he can't see you blush.

"Hush, dear, and let me love you" he kisses your shoulder, and you shudder at the feeling of his warm lips against your skin.

When you casually ask how the clouds look like or what color is the ocean, or what color are the trees this time of the year, his eyes tear up a bit. He looks at you with a drunk love look and a warm smile.

You're so perfect for him, because him being a romantic, this is the perfect time to be poetic.

He will find an object that's very soft and very fluffy in texture; his hand will take yours and slowly drag it through the material so you can feel every single fiber of it.

"That's how clouds are like, love. This time of year, the trees are red, and that's like cinnamon, and the ocean is blue, and aqua and those are like salty blueberries."

"Ewww!" You laughed, and he chuckled, still holding your hand in his. This moment was a real treasure for him.

"May I see how You look like?" He immediately tears up. This boi is low key the most sentimental in situations like these ones. He can't help but be overwhelmed. Sure he's a thief, but he's a humble one, albeit unfair on occasions but never with you.

Chrollo takes your hands and places them on his cheek. Your fingers feel so soft on his skin, almost like you're afraid to damage him. They glide over his nose, feeling how it arches, over his eyebrows and his eyelids.

Then they pass over the cross on his forehead into his hair, caressing it until your arms are looped around his neck and you hug him close, your ear on his chest listening to his racing heartbeat.

"You have a strong heart" You can't see how his cheeks are tinted pink or how his breathing has picked up because, dammit, you're amazing at getting these kinds of reactions out of him.

He will read to you, even though you have learned Braille. He wants you to be drunk on his voice and the passionate way he makes the story's impressions.

No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to begin a demeaning sentence towards you or some comment about your blindness that makes you uncomfortable. He will shut them up with one look and the flare of his aura.

When you guys go out, he insists on guiding you even though sometimes you have held him back before a car could run him over because he was too focused on taking care of you. He didn't see the vehicle coming. Ironic.

"That was a close one, don't you think?" He kissed the crown of your head, holding you close as the two of you kept walking to your destination. "Now, do you believe I can take care of myself?"

"We'll see," he chuckles.

Illumi

Your encounter with Illumi is always a tale to tell.

You see, you were at a coffee shop, drinking your favorite drink and eating a nice treat/pastry when he passed you by dropping one of his pins in the process. He had been so tired and beat that he didn't even notice. First one right there.

"Excuse me, sir," You bend over and felt for the big round top of the pin until your fingers grasped it and held it tight, minding the other pointy side. "You dropped this" Illumi doesn't say anything in acknowledgment. He simply extends his hand to you.

But you are not giving him the pin, and this annoys him so much. Then his eyes look up to yours. They are blueish but glazed over and almost white. You're blind. Illumi reaches for your hand, startling you for a quick second, but he picks the pin and lets go.

"Is this seat taken?" He asks suddenly, and you smile towards his voice.

"Go right ahead."

That day Illumi was so intrigued by you that he couldn't help but stalk you a bit, you know, for research purposes in case he ever finds an opponent like you.

But it turns into so much more.

He meets you every day he can, no matter where he goes with you. He makes no effort to help you, though, and don't expect him to do so. He appreciates you too much, and in his mind, you're like a wild cardinal, and if he were to help you, it's like putting you in a cage. Once he lets you free again, you won't know how to survive on your own.

He wants you free. He loves you free.

But that doesn't mean he won't be there for you or step in when circumstances are far too grave for you to handle.

"Llumi, how does the sky look today?"

"Gray. It's going to rain" his response makes you chuckle; you have never seen gray, but his honesty makes you smile. You outgrew your frustrations about this situation a long time ago.

"Can we stay to feel the rain? I want to smell the petrichor once it's over" Illumi looks at you with the same expression he gives everyone. He knows you might catch a cold standing in the rain; he doesn't understand why all you said would be relevant. But then he reminds himself, he has taken for granted all of these things because he can see them.

"Only a couple of minutes once its starts. If it gets bad, we'll go inside. You can smell the petrichor afterward" he holds your hand, and you two sit there on the park bench.

Illumi doesn't get cuddly or lovey-dovey with you. Still, he will allow himself moments where he can't help but admire you and be grateful for having you in his life. He will never say that. Ever. But he'll think it.

One time he entered your apartment and found you sitting on the rug in the living room, reading Braile.

"Illumi is so nice to hear you today. How was your day?" He's always impressed by your ability to sense him. When he asked once how you could recognize him if he was so quiet, you said you could feel his presence in the room since it was calming to you even when he tried to conceal himself. This melted his heart.

"What are you reading" He came to sit on the sofa, his legs brushing your arms like a loving gesture. Your hand grabbed his leg, squeezing him in recognition, and then went back to the book.

"Would you like me to read it to you?"

"Yes," It was a lovely evening that day.

Just like Chrollo, he's very protective of you since his line work makes him kind of famous, some people are bound to have seen you and try to get to you to get to him, and this is where Illumi draws the line.

Rest assured, no one will touch a single hair on your head if he has his way. The beginning of his bloodlust alone is enough to make everyone panic and turn away.

"Illumi, hon is alright, I'm here, I'm right here. Look at me" you would open the curtain of his luscious hair to hold his face and make him look at you. "I'm fine, see?"

"They are not worth it," he says after holding you close to him. He'll kill them later.

Hisoka

This little shit will always be a little shit, in this case, a loving and understanding one, but still, the point remains.

You bumped into him on the streets, and the minute it happened, it annoyed him so much. He was in the process of turning and giving you your dues when he noticed you had actually stopped and been grabbing his wrist.

"I apologize, I'm so sorry" you're not looking at him, and that annoys him even further.

That's until he notices your vacant look and your body language. You may not be looking at him, but your whole body is poised to listen. Listen to him.

"Are you blind?" He blurts out but not really; his smirk says it was intentional.

"All my life, sir," you chuckle, letting his wrist go and leaning a bit on your white cane.

This makes him giggle, and he invites you for a coffee if you're available.

The rest after that marks your relationship.

Hisoka behaves like a child whenever he's around you. He hides his presence to try and scare you, but you can always sense him. You can even imagine him pouting as you find him and poke him with your cane.

"Not fair, little fruit."

"You smell like bubble gum, hon," you chuckle, bringing him down to kiss his cheek.

He holds you close and loves when you let yourself go and depend on him a little.

Lke him cooking for you, doing some chores around the house (He doesn't have to, and you tell him that, but he just says you'll have to reward him later), and the two of you baking together—with him covering you in flour as much as he can without you noticing.

"Soka, I know my cheeks and forehead are white; you are a terrible boyfriend, love."

"Mmmmm, so mean, (Y/N)-chan" He kissed you as he puts more flour on your nose.

Hisoka knows he has to leave for extended periods since he can't stay put in one place plus his job. But will always call you and answer your phone calls no matter if he's fighting with someone at the moment.

"My precious darling, I *grunts* I'm in the middle of breaking someone's arm at the moment *huffs* can I call you later, love?" You cringe at the sound of the bone-breaking over the phone but chuckle slightly at his antics.

"Yes, you can, Be safe" oh, oh, oh he loves your concern for him. It just makes him moan obscenely in the middle of the fight, making his opponent disgruntled and allowing him to finish them off.

"On second thought, dear, we can talk right now. I'm currently free."

He will bring you stuff from his travels and jobs, all with different textures and pleasant smells so you can experience them.

Now this, this is the moment of truth. While you're distracted touching everything he brought, he takes away his texture surprise. Suddenly he lifts your hand to touch his hair, then his face and arms.

"How does this one feels, mmm?" He hides the fact that he's nervous by being playful, but you can feel him being stiff.

"It feels soft," then your fingers gingerly brush a big scar over his chest "it feels like no matter what, I love you. Like you can trust me with each one of these"

He won't admit it, but it's nice that you can't tease him for his blushing cheeks and aghast expression. But he chuckles to alleviate the lump in his throat as he takes your hands in his and pulls you in for a hug.

When the two of you go out, he's always holding your hand, or you're holding his arm. He has convinced you to not use your white cane while walking with him. He'll be your eyes.

The moment someone bumps into you…

"Hey, watch where you're going, woman!"

"Oh, so, so sorry, sir," you apologize, and Hisoka is smiling at the man.

"Yeah, you better be"

"Little fruit, do you want to know how fluttering butterflies feel?" As he says so, your face is tickled by a lot of fluttering little wings, and the experience mutes the man's screaming as he Hisoka gently drags you away.

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