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secretmellowblog · 9 days

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Les Mis Canon-era Paris Photographs: Jean Valjean and Cosette’s route to escape Javert, in Pictures!

Jean Valjean's escape through Paris is Victor Hugo's way of mourning the Paris he knew from before his exile, the Paris before the modern renovations.

Hugo wrote Les Mis from exile in Guernsey, at the same time as Paris was undergoing a series of massive renovations. The "Old City" of medieval Paris that Hugo loved was being replaced by the “New City" of Baron Haussman. The dark medieval labyrinth lit by oil lamps was being replaced by modern wide streets and standardized architecture lit by gas lamps. Victor Hugo is nostalgic for the Paris he remembers before his exile-- so Jean Valjean is able to escape Javert using things unique to the Old City. He escapes through a labyrinth of tiny medieval streets in a neighborhood Hugo claims was destroyed during the renovations; he climbs over the convent wall using the rope from an oil lamp, the very oil lamps that were being replaced by the more modern gas lanterns. The dark maze hides him from police surveillance in a way modern streets cannot.

A man named Charles Marville photographed Paris shortly before many (though not all) of the renovations occurred. In this post I'll go through all the different streets mentioned in the Valjean-Javert Paris chase chapters, and provide Marville's photographs whenever they the image has been labeled with the name of the street. Note that there may be some inaccuracies. Some street names changed over time.

Here is a map of what the chase looks like, taken from the book "Paris in the Times of Victor Hugo."

A quick overview: Jean Valjean starts in a slummy half-built suburban area. This area is highly associated with the King; the royal Jardin des Plantes is nearby, and King Louis XVIII often rides by in his carriage during the afternoons. After travelling down a bunch of streets, "zigzagging" back and forth, Jean Valjean decides to cross the Seine over the Bridge of Austerlitz (a bridge named after one of Napoleon's victories.) Then he reaches the areas of the city near the Faubourg Saint Antoine that are more associated with working class rebellion. From there he enters a dark isolated half-built medieval neighborhood near marshes and timberyards, with narrow mazey alleyways, that Hugo mostly made up. Hugo pretends this medieval neighborhood used to exist, but was destroyed like many others during the recent renovations. Now that we've gotten the overview out of the way, let's go more specific!

The chase starts out in "the old quarter of the Marche aux Chevaux." At the time, this was a less inhabited and poorer area of Paris; it's described as basically a slum. Here are some of Marville's photographs :

Then we're told "Jean Valjean described many and varied labyrinths in the Mouffetard quarter, which was already asleep, as though the discipline of the Middle Ages and the yoke of the curfew still existed. He combined in various manners, with cunning strategy, the Rue Censier:"

"and the Rue Copeau," (according to the map I linked earlier, the Rue Copeau is now the Rue Lacepede. Here is Marville's pic:)

"the Rue du Battoir-Saint-Victor and the Rue du Puits l’Ermite. There are lodging houses in this locality, but he did not even enter one, finding nothing which suited him. He had no doubt that if any one had chanced to be upon his track, they would have lost it."

"As eleven o’clock struck from Saint-Étienne-du-Mont:" (note: this refers to the church of Saint-Etienne)

"he was traversing the Rue de Pontoise, in front of the office of the commissary of police, situated at No. 14." (Jean Valjean sees Javert and the police following him on this street, because they're visible in the light of the lantern from the police station.)

"He took a circuit, turned into the Passage des Patriarches, which was closed on account of the hour,"

"strode along the Rue de l’Épée-de-Bois

and the Rue de l’Arbalète, and plunged into the Rue des Postes."

"At that time there was a square formed by the intersection of streets, where the College Rollin stands to-day, and where the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève turns off." (Note: these streets are labeled Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, but not Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève, so they may be different streets! But I'm putting them here anyway.)

"It is understood, of course, that the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève is an old street, and that a posting-chaise does not pass through the Rue des Postes once in ten years. In the thirteenth century this Rue des Postes was inhabited by potters, and its real name is Rue des Pots." (Annotation: Hugo's bein silly and making little puns. He's snarkily pointing out the "new saint-genevieve street" is old, and the post street rarely has post-chaises/carriages go through it.) (Jean Valjean hides in the shadows and watches to see who shows up in this big square intersection of streets. In the moonlight, he recognizes Javert.) "He slipped from under the gate where he had concealed himself, and went down the Rue des Postes (which I shared a picture of previously), towards the region of the Jardin des Plantes." (Note: the Jardin des Plantes is a royal garden. Here is a modern photo from Wikipedia.)

"He left behind him the Rue de la Clef,

"then the Fountain Saint-Victor, skirted the Jardin des Plantes by the lower streets, and reached the quay. There he turned round. The quay was deserted. The streets were deserted. There was no one behind him. He drew a long breath.

He gained the Pont d’Austerlitz." (The Pont d'Austerlitz, named after Napoleon's victory at the battle of Austerlitz, is a very famous bridge. Marville has no photographs but here's an 1830 engraving:)

"The bridge once crossed, he perceived some timber-yards on his right. He directed his course thither. In order to reach them, it was necessary to risk himself in a tolerably large unsheltered and illuminated space. He did not hesitate. Those who were on his track had evidently lost the scent, and Jean Valjean believed himself to be out of danger. Hunted, yes; followed, no." Here's the quai by the pont-au-change-- a different quai, but gives you an idea of what the areas around the Seine often looked like.

(Then Jean Valjean sees Javert and the other police on the Bridge of Austerlitz, following him. He hurries towards the darker alleys of the city.)

"A little street, the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine, opened out between two timber-yards enclosed in walls. This street was dark and narrow and seemed made expressly for him."

Here's an abandoned timber-yard-ish looking picture:

But Marville has no photographs of this street. I'd have to double check, but iirc this is the part where Hugo starts to 'make up' more street layouts. I wouldn't be surprised if this street really WAS made expressly for him (meaning Hugo made it up.) "The point of Paris where Jean Valjean found himself, situated between the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and la Râpée, is one of those which recent improvements have transformed from top to bottom,—resulting in disfigurement according to some, and in a transfiguration according to others. The market-gardens, the timber-yards, and the old buildings have been effaced. To-day, there are brand-new, wide streets, arenas, circuses, hippodromes, railway stations, and a prison, Mazas, there; progress, as the reader sees, with its antidote."

(Here Hugo talks about the Haussman renovations directly, claiming that if his street layouts are "inaccurate" it's because these are some of the Old Medieval Streets that were razed during Paris's recent renovations. He goes on for a while comparing Petit-Picpus to various other areas that were changed during the renovations.)

"Le Petit-Picpus, which, moreover, hardly ever had any existence, and never was more than the outline of a quarter, had nearly the monkish aspect of a Spanish town. The roads were not much paved; the streets were not much built up. (....) Such was this quarter in the last century. The Revolution snubbed it soundly. The republican government demolished and cut through it. Rubbish shoots were established there. Thirty years ago, this quarter was disappearing under the erasing process of new buildings. To-day, it has been utterly blotted out."

The Petit-Picpus, of which no existing plan has preserved a trace, is indicated with sufficient clearness in the plan of 1727, published at Paris by Denis Thierry, Rue Saint-Jacques, opposite the Rue du Plâtre;

and at Lyons, by Jean Girin, Rue Mercière, at the sign of Prudence.

Petit-Picpus had, as we have just mentioned, a Y of streets, formed by the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine, which spread out in two branches, taking on the left the name of Little Picpus Street, and on the right the name of the Rue Polonceau. The two limbs of the Y were connected at the apex as by a bar; this bar was called Rue Droit-Mur.

The Rue Polonceau ended there; Rue Petit-Picpus passed on, and ascended towards the Lenoir market. A person coming from the Seine reached the extremity of the Rue Polonceau, and had on his right the Rue Droit-Mur, turning abruptly at a right angle, in front of him the wall of that street, and on his right a truncated prolongation of the Rue Droit-Mur, which had no issue and was called the Cul-de-Sac Genrot." Here is @everyonewasabird's attempt to puzzle this out:

It was here that Jean Valjean stood."

Then Jean Valjean escapes by pulling down an old oil lantern, strung up by ropes. Hugo notes that this would have been "impossible if the streets were lit with gas, the way they would be after the renovations. This picture shows an old oil lamp strung up by ropes:

Finally, Jean Valjean climbs over the wall into the Petit-Picpus convent. This convent is fictional. Hugo pretends it used to exists but is no longer around-- another relic of the early 19th century that has been lost over time.

TLDR:

Jean Valjean's escape through Paris is Hugo way of mourning the Paris he knew from before his exile, the Paris before the modern renovations. To quote Volume 2 Book 5 Chapter 1:

The author of this book, who regrets the necessity of mentioning himself, has been absent from Paris for many years. Paris has been transformed since he quitted it. A new city has arisen, which is, after a fashion, unknown to him. There is no need for him to say that he loves Paris: Paris is his mind’s natal city. In consequence of demolitions and reconstructions, the Paris of his youth, that Paris which he bore away religiously in his memory, is now a Paris of days gone by. He must be permitted to speak of that Paris as though it still existed. It is possible that when the author conducts his readers to a spot and says, “In such a street there stands such and such a house,” neither street nor house will any longer exist in that locality. Readers may verify the facts if they care to take the trouble. For his own part, he is unacquainted with the new Paris, and he writes with the old Paris before his eyes in an illusion which is precious to him. It is a delight to him to dream that there still lingers behind him something of that which he beheld when he was in his own country, and that all has not vanished. So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the pavements which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those pavements. All those places which you no longer behold, which you may never behold again, perchance, and whose memory you have cherished, take on a melancholy charm, recur to your mind with the melancholy of an apparition, make the holy land visible to you, and are, so to speak, the very form of France, and you love them; and you call them up as they are, as they were, and you persist in this, and you will submit to no change: for you are attached to the figure of your fatherland as to the face of your mother.

#les mis #les mis letters #lm 2.5.1 #lm 2.5.2 #lm 2.5.3 #lm 2.5.4 #Plz appreciate this post XD

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jbaileyfansite · 5 months

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Interview with Jonathan Bailey and Matt Bomer from GQ Hype

Filled with cozy, Hemingwayesque signifiers of midcentury masculinity (think: taxidermy and artfully-tattered boxing gloves), the restaurant seemed perfect for a breezy, late-autumn hang in the West Village.

But there’s one problem: Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey have burgers on their minds. And while this place boasts a surplus of dead animals nailed to the wall, it somehow only serves snacks and salads in the afternoon. And as Bomer points out, Corner Bistro—a pub that, in his opinion, serves some of the best burgers in town—is just a six-minute walk away.

The British-born Bailey—who, in his black sweater, floppy beanie and overstuffed backpack, looks more like a backpacker who just rolled out of his hostel rather than one of the streaming era’s top heartthrobs—waxes rhapsodic about In-N-Out, the California burger institution, which he recently tried for the first time.

He asks the suave, Old Hollywood-handsome Bomer, who spends most of his time in L.A. with his husband and three teenage sons, where In-N-Out falls on his personal burger index. “Our boys are really good judges of burgers,” Bomer says, and for them, In-N-Out is up there—but so is the burger at Corner Bistro. And how can we send Bailey—the Viscount of Bridgerton himself—back to London without tasting New York’s best?

Our location, midway between Stonewall Inn and Julius, two of New York’s most historic gay bars, is apt. The project we’re here to talk about—the epic new Showtime series Fellow Travelers, in which the pair star—tips its hat to the legendary 1969 riots that happened in Stonewall, but goes even further, telling the story of gay liberation in the second half of the twentieth century.

Part epic love story, part political thriller, Fellow Travelers begins in 1950s Washington, D.C., with an illicit affair between the strapping Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Bomer), a State Department official savvy to the ways of power, and the earnest, energetic Timothy “Tim” Laughlin (Bailey), the kind of wide-eyed idealist who goes to D.C. wanting to change the world. When they first meet, Tim is a conservative Catholic boy; his passionate, intensely erotic affair with Hawk both liberates him and throws him off his path.

Through the decades-spanning run of their relationship, the series takes us from the Lavender Scare of the 1950s—when a McCarthy-era policy that institutionalized homophobia expelled many “sexual deviants” from government, resulting at one point in a suicide a day—to the AIDS crisis of the 1980s.

The series is based on the Thomas Mallon novel of the same name. But where Mallon’s book generally focuses on the 1950s and the explosive romance between Hawk and Tim, the series expands the Fellow Travelers universe to reach through the decades and cover the Vietnam War protests of the '60s and the White Night riots of 1979.

“It's been taught that LGBTQIA+ history begins at Stonewall,” says Jelani Alladin, the actor who plays queer Black journalist Marcus Hooks in the series. “It’s a kind of false narrative. Queer people have been around taking a stand for themselves since the beginning of time.”

It feels like a disservice to call a series so sexy and so compelling as educational. But Fellow Travelers does serve as an important history lesson for younger generations who may not fully understand the battles fought before their time. “It was a really dark period in American history that obviously we're not taught in school,” says executive producer Robbie Rogers, who prior to his work in film and TV was the soccer player who became the first openly gay man to compete in a North American professional sports league. “We're not taught LGBT history.”

When the first episode of the series came out in late October, a viral clip showcasing Bailey and Bomer in a particularly kinky sex scene had Gay Twitter shuddering with excitement. In the scene, Bailey’s Tim uses his power as a sub to persuade Bomer’s Hawk to take him to an important D.C. party. “I’m your boy, right?” he tells Hawk. “Your boy wants to go to the party.” In surely one of this year’s hottest scenes on film or TV, we see Bailey hungrily suck on Bomer’s toes and gamely attempt to put his foot in his mouth. Earlier in the series, Hawk gives Tim the name “Skippy” after thoroughly dominating him in bed, a gesture of affection as much as of ownership.

Sex is a powerful, world-shifting force in Fellow Travelers, but it’s also a Trojan horse. While the early episodes bristle with erotic energy, every exchange between Bomer and Bailey is about power as much as it is about sex. And the further you go into Travelers, the more you realize what’s really at stake when these two hit the sack.

“Even in the ‘50s, they had joy,” Travelers creator and writer Ron Nyswaner, the Oscar-nominated screenwriter of Philadelphia, says. “You might be struggling, but that doesn't mean every moment of your life you're a victim of oppression. Behind closed doors they had a life—it's just that at any moment, the police could come through those doors and ruin that life.”

That unapologetic approach to queer desire is still pretty revolutionary in a big-budget prestige series on a major network. Gone are the days when gay characters were allowed to exist onscreen as long as they adhered to respectability politics. In Fellow Travelers, the queer characters are allowed passionate, unapologetically freaky pleasures.

“There's no shame attached to that,” Bailey says. “And I do think Matt's character detonates something in Tim. It's a gift to meet someone [who does the] radical act of helping you feel less shame and understand that intimacy that can be explored in so many different ways.”

Religion is a big theme in Fellow Travelers. Hawk is bound by covenant to his wife; Tim struggles with Catholic guilt. And like many queer people, Bomer and Bailey themselves have both had to negotiate religion within their queer identities.

“It took me a long time to dismantle it and to question what I was being told,” Bailey says. “Religion is interesting because it’s the voice of the shame but also [a source of] relief. There was this person that I could speak to—and I definitely did have that full conversation with a higher power. But the contradiction is brutal. To really lean into that as a gay kid who's not born into a gay family, you see both sides of what religion can provide, which is scathing judgment—as I felt it looking back—but also a real space for catharsis and nourishment.”

Bomer says he has an individualized approach to religion: “It's something that I've found for myself over years and years of exploration. It's just highly personal that way.” Bomer is proud to have raised his kids in a truly intersectional environment. “They go to an Episcopal school, but they're in school with Muslim kids, with Jewish kids,” he says. “We gave them that experience and then let them find their own way from there.”

On the way to Corner Bistro, Bomer gives Bailey a capsule tour of gay West Village. “That’s an iconic lesbian bar,” he says, pointing out Cubbyhole on West 12th street. Later, he asks if we’ve ever been to Fire Island. “You can have any experience you want there,” Bomer tells me, when I confess my anxiety around Speedos. “It's not just one thing.”

These streets bring up certain memories for Bomer. He tells us about coming up as an actor in New York in the early 2000s, at one point living in “a renovated crackhouse in Brooklyn.” Later, he worked two jobs to afford a one-bedroom apartment he split with a fellow aspiring actor—none other than Lee Pace, the famous, and famously tall (6′ 5″, if you don’t know), actor and Internet Boyfriend who Bomer has known since high school. “I’ll tell you how long I've known Lee Pace,” he says. “I’ve known him since he was shorter than me, when he was 14 and I was 15.”

As gay men are wont to do, trust that the group veered off-topic to talk about vocally-prodigious divas. Bomer has just seen the Broadway production of David Byrne’s Here Lies Love, which tells the story of the rise and fall of Imelda Marcos, the wife of the Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos. And when he finds out that I grew up in the Philippines, he tells me how much he loves Lea Salonga, the Tony-winning Filipino Broadway star who appears in the production.

We ask Bailey if he’s familiar with her. “Do I know Lea Salonga?” he asks. “She was Fantine!” he retorts, referring to her role in Les Misérables in Concert: The 25th Anniversary.

From there, we fall into a Filipino diva rabbit hole, talking about former Pussycat Doll Nicole Scherzinger (currently appearing in a well-received West End production of Sunset Boulevard that Bomer tells Bailey they must catch together), Mutya Buena of the Sugababes (an iconic U.K. girl group that Bailey and I separately saw live recently), and Darren Criss (who Bomer directed on The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story—technically a straight male, but one who earns diva status for his formidable vocals and the dance he did in a red speedo on Versace).

As we near the pub, a thirty-something woman walking hand in hand with her man does a hilariously convincing impression of the Distracted Boyfriend meme at the sight of Neal Caffrey and Anthony Bridgerton casually strolling through West 4th Street.

“Her neck!” Bailey says, audibly concerned.

In Corner Bistro, with sandwiches and coffees in hand (Bailey decides on a classic burger and a grilled chicken sandwich), we settle down in a cozy booth and talk about the points in their careers where Fellow Travelers found the actors, the hard-won representation Hollywood’s queer community has been fighting for for decades, and the LGBTQ+ talents of color they’d like to support on their own projects.

Bomer, of course, has been famous since the early 2010s, when he became a star on the series White Collar, and along with Neil Patrick Harris, proved that openly gay actors could become leading men. Since then, he’s conquered Broadway (The Boys in the Band), won a slew of awards (Golden Globe and Critic's Choice trophies for The Normal Heart) and become a producer and director.

In the past, Bomer has discussed the way doors closed on him even as he was being celebrated for being an out gay actor. When asked about that now, he says, “I choose just to never look back in anger about anything. Ultimately, my career is a lot richer because I decided to be open with who I am.”

“It’s a wave of progress that Matt's been surfing and is at the front of,” says Bailey. “And it's been a real honor to be able to get on my boogie board next to him.”

Before he became a global star mid-pandemic playing the grumpy, furry-chested Anthony Bridgerton on the Netflix juggernaut Bridgerton, Bailey was an award-winning actor in both the West End and British television. Huge fame didn’t find Bailey until his early 30s, so when it did, he had a clear idea of what he wanted to accomplish with his platform.

“I feel the responsibility immeasurably,” Bailey says. “I get it when people are saying you create a chair and bring people [to the table].” He talks about the connection between the civil rights movement and the queer liberation. “The Black queens are the ones who really started to fight,” he says. “It's amazing to feel politically activated. And if there's any project to do that, it's going to be Fellow Travelers. It will change the way I see myself in and the world I live in.”

The intersectionality makes the story Travelers is trying to tell even richer—most of all in Alladin’s scene-stealing portrayal of the conflicted Marcus Hooks, a pioneering Black journalist who pushes against segregation as he grapples with his own sexuality. “When I look at older men today, I'm like, You guys have endured so much,” Aladdin says. “From the Second World War all the way through to the AIDS crisis, it was nonstop life crisis after life crisis. To have been able to survive through all that, there needs to be a real, solid weight on the feet of [these characters].”

Part of the pleasure of watching Fellow Travelers is picking up on the cinematic references hidden in each scene. Hawk and Tim’s first interactions evoke the forbidden affair in David Lean’s 1945 classic Brief Encounter. When Hawk’s family settles in suburbia, the show evokes the Technicolor repression of the great Douglas Sirk melodramas. When Hawk and Tim run through the beaches of Fire Island in the ‘70s, that iconic image of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr kissing on the beach in From Here to Eternity may flicker in your mind. And in some ways, the series plays like a gayer, hornier The Way We Were—an epic love story tossed on the tides of political change. (In this version, of course, the Barbra Streisand character is an eager foot-licking sub and Redford’s Hubbell Gardiner is a daddy with a pit fetish.) Fellow Travelers allows us to imagine an alternate timeline where queer love has always gotten as much screen time as cinema’s great heterosexual romances, giving other kinds of stories the chance at celluloid immortality too.

In the book, Hawk is described as being more handsome than Gregory Peck. But seeing Bomer in period-appropriate clothing, the Old Hollywood leading man I thought of was Montgomery Clift, the talented and ultimately tragic gay actor who starred in classics like Red River and A Place in the Sun. For a time in the mid 2010s, Bomer was attached to star in a Montgomery Clift biopic for HBO, to be directed by the great gay director Ira Sachs. “Ira is a genius,” Bomer says. “[But] I think that ship may have sailed.”

Still, when I press him about doing it in the future, he lights up. “You know, I’m [now] the same age Monty was when he passed away,” Bomer says. “I always thought it'd be really interesting to do a play about the last night of his life, when he's watching one of his old movies on TV. And he had this man who lived with him and took care of him for the last chapter of his life.There's an interesting play in there somewhere…. Maybe Liz Taylor swings by.”

What’s changed since the mid 2010s is that a lot of Hollywood’s current gatekeepers are queer people who were fighting from the bottom a decade ago. “It's the people, the gatekeepers who are now going, ‘We are going to make this [queer] story,’” Bailey says. “This narrative that gay people have to be closeted in order [for a project] to be commercial and in order for things to be interesting to people—it's been dismantled. But it's slow because it's not just straight people who think that—I think everyone believed that in the system of Hollywood.”

Nyswaner, who has been working in Hollywood since the early ‘80s, has seen that shift up close. “When I grew up in the ‘60s and early ‘70s, I never heard the word ‘homosexual’ spoken aloud,” he says. “There was no conversation that I ever had with anybody about homosexuality. It was not just bad, it was the unspeakable thing—that's how terrified people were of us.”

And while he agrees that, in some ways, it feels like the LGBTQ+ community is once again losing ground on some rights, Nyswaner refuses to accept that there hasn’t been change. “Sometimes I hear people say, ‘Well, we haven't gotten anywhere.’ And I'm here to say, ‘Oh, yes, we have.’ Because actually you can turn on the television and find gay characters.”

Fellow Travelers is the culmination of a dream for a number of the men involved in the series.

“When I met Ron, he was talking about how he thinks about this as his lifelong legacy project,” Bailey says. “And I just said to him, ‘Whoever ends up going on this journey with you, I think it'll be the same [for them] probably.’”

“In some ways, Fellow Travelers is a span of my life,” Ron Nyswaner says. “I was an infant in the McCarthy era. And then I came out of the closet in 1978 and just danced and did cocaine and had multiple sexual partners—we didn't know what was coming, which was the AIDS crisis.” Nyswaner was nominated for a Best Original Screenplay Oscar in 1993 for Philadelphia, the landmark drama about an AIDS patient who sues his employers for AIDS discrimination. In a way, the historical span of Fellow Travelers gives the battles fought in Philadelphia their context.

Rogers remembers being a closeted soccer player in the late 2000s, watching Tom Ford’s A Single Man and hoping one day to be able to find love and take control of his own narrative. And Bailey recalls, post-Bridgerton, realizing that he could suddenly write his own destiny and vowing to seek out “a sweeping gay love story.”

Bomer, meanwhile, says—laughing, but seemingly dead serious—that it’s his goal to play a queer character from every decade of the 20th century. “A queer Decalogue,” he says, referencing the Krzysztof Kieślowski classic.

Bomer’s next project might just help him do that. He’s currently producing a Steven Soderbergh film on Lawrence v. Texas, the case that overturned the sodomy laws in Texas in 2003 but started in the 90s.

There are many more stories to tell. And as our interview winds down, Bomer and Bailey start spitballing dream projects.

We talk about All of Us Strangers director Andrew Haigh, who’s revered for his portraits of gay intimacy. “Andrew Haigh has been a special filmmaker for years,” Bailey says. “I think [his film] Weekend informed actually how I approached the sex scenes in [Fellow Travelers].”

“I’d love to play Jessica Fletcher's queer grandson who moves back to Cabot Cove,” Bomer says, referencing Angela Lansbury’s iconic role in Murder, She Wrote. “He's inherited her house and he finds an old journal in her library, and it's a case she never saw and he takes up her mantle.”

And moments before the restaurant speakers suddenly start blaring George Michael’s “Freedom ’90,” Bailey comes in with a killer pitch: “I’m obsessed with the Sacred Band of Thebes, an army of 300 gay lovers in [ancient] Greece. They partnered in pairs, this gay army, and they overthrew a Spartan army… I want to do that as a comedy.”

“Oh hell yes!” Bomer says.

“Just get all the queer actors together,” Bailey says, laughing.

“Lee Pace, everyone,” Bomer says.

“Where would we film it?” Bailey asks.

“Mykonos?” Bomer suggests.

“Flaming Saddles, down the road,” Bailey counters with a chuckle, referring to a gay bar in midtown.

“Oil us up and let’s go!” Bomer says.

Source

#fellow travelers #jonathan bailey #matt bomer #jelani alladin #ron nyswaner #interviews #interviews:2023 #GQ hype interview 2023 #NEW!

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itsclydebitches · 1 year

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Am I the only one that feels like that Maya!RWBY would get washed by Poser!RWBY, combat-wise? Comparing the scenes from Poser-era to Maya-era, and I find that Team RWBY in the former had better weapon usage and Semblance/Aura versatility than the latter - especially when you look at each of the trailers (I know it's 'Rule of Cool', but still...), not to mention much more coordinated team attacks. Like, Beacon!Weiss is proficient in Time Dilation and Elemental Glyphs while being a proficient fencer; in comparison, Maya!Weiss is just... a summoner. That's it. Like, she's written as if she has no other skills. 'Blek' is knocked down so easily these days and uses her Semblance as a means of escape; Blake, on the hand, not only is a proficient swordswoman but shows versatility with a Kusarigama, marksmanship, and double wielding. Oh, and that's not including her masterful use of her semblance to create afterimages to pull off blitzkrieg combos, and later infuse them with Dust for surprise feints. And how can I forget her fucking aura slashes! Yang, is tankier in Poser, and she uses her Semblance as a last resort/'uno reverse' - letting her CQC skills do the talking; meanwhile, "Yang" just... activates her semblance at the drop of a hat, ruining that surprise factor while slowly becoming heavily reliant on both it and her "weapon upgrades" (which are, in reality, downgrades since her previous explosive rounds were much more versatile in comparison). And Ruby... I can't really say much except that scythemanship-CQC combination and semblance usage were more dynamic. I know it's partly due to Monty and Shane's insane animation skills, but I feel like there's more to it than that. Sorry, these are just my observations.

Wholeheartedly agree. I mean yes, we're all continually acknowledging that we can't have the choreography and vision of the Monty years, but even beyond that recent fights have, for the most part, been shockingly forgettable for me. An immediate exception to that is Ironwood vs. Watts (which uses the environment really well) and I liked portions of the WBY vs. Chessman fight from V9E3, but on the whole the girls feel nerfed despite the claims of, "We're full-fledged huntresses now, capable of beating some of the best in the world."

To add to what you've already got above, some details that immediately spring to my mind are:

Yang repeating the same combat mistake that she made back in Volume 3, resulting in "dying" rather than losing an arm

Ruby now using her semblance primarily to travel (within Atlas HQ, out of the Red Castle, etc.) rather than pulling off cool dodges, ping-ing off of things for extra speed, or creating a tornado-like effect as seen in the food fight. As mentioned many times in the past, sometimes it's not even used for an obvious need, like scaling the mountainside while fighting Cordovin, because the story wants a 'cliffhanger.'

One of the reasons I liked the chessman battle was because we had some actual team attacks, but recent Volumes are still weighed down by separating the teams - even when the story claims that's the key to victory (AKA Ace Ops battle).

This extends to moments like YJB just taking turns against the Hound, or Neo standing there dumbly as Oscar runs the length of a hallway to punch her.

I rarely feel like fights are won with any exciting flourish or narrative satisfaction anymore. (Which is another reason why Ironwood vs. Watts works so well for me: destroying your arm as a massive 'fuck you' to what your enemy thinks you're capable of withstanding to catch them unaware in their confidence is AMAZING.) I still think about Weiss summoning a wall of ice for Harriet to knock herself out against and I'm like... really? That's it?

Ruby doesn't really use her sniper rifle anymore. I loved that she used that to obey Qrow's "Stay back!" command while still trying to help. That used to be another way to slow descent, get in quick shots between swings, help an ally like when she hit Nora with the lightning dust...

I could go on. So many of the new fights are just plain boring to me. Think about how much is solved through the Big Powers now. Ruby takes out The Apathy with her eyes (though I put that in only to establish the pattern. I do like that the emotion-based grimm was defeated via care for another, not fighting.) The Hound goes the same way. Oscar sets off an explosion of magic against Salem. Winter Maidens up to blast Ironwood, etc. They're all incredibly easy wins that, for the most part, just require the magic wielder to stand there and shoot the Powerful Magic Beam at the enemy. Meanwhile, other potentially well-choreographed fights are seeped in narrative problems, like Qrow and Tyrian vs. Clover. Now toss in moments like Blake begging Ruby for help, or her and Weiss being unable to get up the vines, or them straight up forgetting that Cinder is in the city (because strategy is as important as power) and yeah, OG!RWBY would wipe the floor with them.

OG!RWBY is made up of a prodigy child wielding "one of the most dangerous weapons ever designed," a sword master capable of manipulating time, her teammate's powers, versatile glyphs, and her family's dust supply, a tank who supposedly went on a journey to better harness her ability to absorb and redirect energy (which as you say used to be an awesome surprise, not a response every time Yang gets mildly annoyed at someone), and the child of combat activists who, by her own admission, had to fight early and well to survive outside the Kingdoms. Team RWBY now feels like they're powerful primarily because a) they claim they are and b) they've got various forms of magic in their back pocket.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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riftdancing · 5 months

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Prompt! Coming home for Siyoh.

Home.

"Home is a shelter from storms- all sorts of storms." Siyoh could still hear her Mother's lovingly spoken wisdom echoing in her velvety curled lobes. But in truth, home had gathered so many more meanings over the course of her eventful life.

"Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home." Growing up, Siyoh had never understood the meaning behind her Father's warm spoken, half purred words. Yet, perhaps in this instance, Sasja's words resonated with her now more than ever before. As delicate monochrome finger tips reached into powdery white baking flour, sprinkling it like snow across the countertop, Siyoh Mari found herself contemplating the last few years of her life.

Home was a mixture of meanings, and a handful of places. Some which ceased to even exist any more, snuffed out by the flame and cinders of a long war which had now passed. Gingerly the keeper's dainty fingertips would begin to knead a bit of dough against the flour speckled countertop.

"Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." It was her adoptive mother's voice now, echoing sentiments in that lovely thick Thavnarian accent of hers. A more tender, broken, and memory shattered pewter haired keeper latching on to the woman's every sentiment in wake of losing everything she'd had prior. It was at this point Siyoh remembered their first Starlight together with her adopted family.

She hadn't remembered anything after the shipwreck. Not of Doma, nor her family, or even of Azuma and their extended family. Nothing. But there were hints scattered across her mind like the various sprinkling of flour keeping the dough from sticking to the counter top as she shaped it. Cooking served as a gateway to her past and unlocking the memories she'd lost. She'd poured her heart and soul into baking during that Starlit season. The keeper's adoptive family waking to find Siyoh curled up near the warmth of the kitchen hearth, her back to the counter, flour in her hair, smudging her cheeks, and their kitchen coated in hundreds of red currant tarts she'd spent hours baking. But she had remembered Aanya's laughter, and the soft sweet song of Azuma's chores that night. She would never forget them again.

Then, upon their reuniting, Siyoh recalled Azuma's wisdom about their home. "Peace- That was the other name for home." The pair fought hard for it in their own ways. Throughout the revolution, peace had been what the pair truly wanted. Peace and freedom. A small smile lifted the corner of the keeper's painted lips as she rolled the dough out across the counter into semi thin sheets. Peace and freedom they later achieved. Though they had lost much, they had gained so much more in this new found era of peace and freedom. Both Azuma and Siyoh had lost their families, but in each other had created a new one.

"Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there." Kokoya had spoken the words to her under her breath one night, frustrated with Siyoh's long absences after she'd taken up trading again, following in her Father's footsteps. Yet, Kokoya and Azuma both would learn to suffer the opaline wayward miqo'te's absences in time. Especially with all the gifts Siyoh would bring them upon her homecoming.

Yet, in recent months a curveball had taken her in a different direction. A fiery, feathered, passionate one at that. And all at once, as Siyoh cut various Starlight related shapes from the dough, laying them out upon cookie sheets, she found herself pondering the definition of home once more. The walls of Firelight Trading Company headquarters had housed her more often than any other in current months, as work (among other passions) required her to be more present than in the past. It's why this time, Azuma had traveled off and on to spend more time with her.

But these were just walls. Where she laid her head to rest on the rare opportunity she did so. ...Yet a house did not equal a home, and perhaps that's where this long line of thought was leading the soft silver visage who gently slid cookie laden sheets into the oven.

"You can have more than one home. You can carry your roots with you, and decide where they grow. Sometimes you can never go home again, but the truth is... you can never leave home. So it's all right."

Because the truth was?

Siyoh was already home for the Holidays.

𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓼 -> -> -> Feel free to shoot me an ask like this one!

Thanks for the ask, @shroudkeeper! (this one really hit me in the feels)

#riftdancing - screenshots #riftdancing - answers #character - siyoh mari #ffxiv #miqo'te #gposers #ffxivsnaps #ff14 #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv gpose #final fantasy #riftdancing - writing

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tainted-harmon · 1 year

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Violet’s bedroom Pt. 2

I did a post the other year in detail on Violet’s bedroom her eclectic style (click here if you haven’t seen it). I mentioned a lot of items on that post and also talked about the fact her bedroom is eclectic, meaning she has a collection of different styles, tastes and ideas. Some of it could even fall under bohemian (the noun, not place). The Anthropologie Karakoram rug is an example of that - it’s exotic and handmade. Many of her clothing is also bohemian style.

I also mentioned recently in a separate post (click here) that her bedroom is actually a pale, duck egg blue not green or teal. It’s explained in the post about how the lighting and times of day effect the appearance and hue of her walls.

Bohemian

Some of the items in her room that could fall under Bohemian style are her Karakoram rug, her two moroccan pouffes. Most people don’t mention the fact that she has two more Moroccan pouffes (she has a black and purple one). She also has a beige patchwork one.

Industrial

She has a few items that are classed as “industrial” style - the wall lighting, her black wire bookshelf, the copper wire basket near the chalkboard and other desk lighting in her room. Industrial style means aesthetic or items that are commonly used in old factories, building materials etc.. A common theme in industrial style is wire/metal and exposure, such as exposure of brick walls.

Other furniture/items

Her yellow marble top dresser has a floral pattern on the woodwork which is commonly seen in antique French marble top dressers. But there’s no way of verifying where the dresser is from, but it’s one of my favourite pieces in Violet’s bedroom and no one ever talks about it! I think it’s so beautiful.

Between the lamp and gum ball machine is an antique style open wooden jewellery box. Throughout the season there are different items on her dresser, from loose jewellery to her IPod dock.

On top of her marble dresser next to the gum ball machine she has an old looking desk light. The exact light used is called "Jumo GS1 Table Lamp, 1960s" I always assumed they glued on the doll to the base of the lamp for the show, after researching the lamp there is a white switch that sticks up on the base of the lamp where the doll head is attached/placed on. So she uses the doll’s head to switch it on. 💀 I also wonder if the lamp was supposed to be a left over item from when nurse’s stayed there due to the “60’s” era style lighting? (The lamp was actually made in the 60’s)… Just a thought.

Also, when researching this lamp it stated it as “industrial style”. There’s still many of these secondhand lamps for sale, mostly from European countries as it is of French origin.

Another item that never gets mentioned is the wire mannequin that is to the left of chalkboard!

Another less talked about item is her vintage black floral bin. They are typically a style from the 50’s and hand painted. You can commonly find them secondhand on places like EBay with some beautiful paintings.

I might do a Pt.3 another time as I have hit the maximum image limit.

#violet harmon #violet harmon exacts #violet harmon exact #violet harmon clothes #violet harmon style #violetharmon #violet harmon fashion #violet Harmon bedroom #violet harmon fans #ahs fandom #american horror story #ahs #violet and tate #ahs exacts #ahs murder house #american horror story exacts #american horror story murder house #tate Langdon

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rynekins · 4 months

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Welcome, friends, to the Sideshow Bob Awards! Recently I did a few polls about certain elements of Sideshow Bob episodes, and now I shall give some commentary over the results!

Why did I do this? Eh, funsies, but I’ll always look for an excuse to ramble about Sideshow Bob.

First up is the Award for Humor. Which Sideshow Bob episode is the funniest? Black Widower makes Honorable Mention. While an important episode with a lot of notable moments, I might not personally rank it amongst the funniest. Though Bob’s dry wit (as always) wins me over, and Bart explaining Bob’s plan to Homer, worthy of a chuckle.

This overall ranking, out of all of the polls, I agree with the most. Sideshow Bob’s Last Gleaming has some stellar Bob moments: Bob on helium, mimicking the Colonel, his pathetic attempt to kill Krusty, and who could possibly forget the Air Show Rant.

“Air Show? Buzzzzzz-cut Alabamians spewing colored smoke from their whiz jets to the strains of Rock You Like a Hurricane? What kind of country-fried rube’s still impressed by that?!” As for the Air Show Rant, I am also giving it the Award for Best Quote. Unfortunately, this poll did not have much engagement. I expected people to be shy, and I suppose I should have made it a normal poll for people to vote on instead of asking for more direct input, but there are simply too many good Bob quotes to narrow it down! How could I possibly? I had not the strength. His exasperation with his peers, mocking elitist tone, the venom, the sass, the hip swaying and crossing of his feet, going wall eyed and throwing his arms out cuz he always gotta be extra, if there is a perfect Sideshow Bob quote that exemplifies his character it would be this one.

Aside from that, mocking the military and garbage television, this episode offers a ton of laughs, worthy of at least Third place.

Brother From Another Series takes Second, and has a different brand of humor, but the kind that always gets me. It’s supposedly written like an episode of Frasier, which means the script is chock full of one liners from two guys too smart for their own good, constantly trying to one-up eachother. You wonder how both Bob and Cecil could ever end up in Springfield, an environment of pure dumbassery, and it clearly has had an effect on them (they must have drunk the water). Personal favorite moments are the boys with the slack-jawed locals, “especially Lisa, but ESPECIALLY Bart”, and “utterly hopeless”.

To no one’s surprise Cape Feare takes the crown. It often makes top 10 lists for its humor alone, and with good reason. This episode is packed with jokes, funny drawings, and goofiness, with running gags so memorable and powerful that they would get callbacks even 30 years later. The idiocy is at an all time high, both with Homer and Bob, which frankly is necessary to balance out the more sinister and rather tense scenes. Homer scaring Bart, the rakes, the drive through the cactus patch, The Rakes, “Hello Mr Thompson”, THE RAKES. This episode is iconic, and I completely understand why.

Next up we have the Award for Animation. For our Honorable Mention, we have Bob’s official debut, Krusty Gets Busted. I’m glad to see some love for season 1, when everything was experimental especially with the animation. The linework, expressions, poses, models, colors, everything seems off by today’s standards, but you can see the effort and love put into it. There’s something beautiful about how rough it looks because you know what a struggle it was to make it work. And it does work. But I’m biased toward things that are hand drawn.

In Third for this category, the award goes to Gone Boy, the complete opposite of Krusty Gets Busted. We have the modern era, the clean colors, the characters staying on model, a lot of the stiffness that a lot of people don’t care for. However, there are moments that feel like a return to form in this episode. My eyes lit up when I saw Bob’s face as he encountered Milhouse. Then the dance he does as he sings is song-o. The wintery environment, a few ambitious angles, some great character acting. It’s proof that newer episodes have their beauty too. I only wish that the hallucination sequences went harder. Imagine, if you will, they suddenly went Courage the Cowardly Dog mode on you and changed mediums, turned into something more experimental and maybe truly nightmarish. This episode was great, but it could have been legendary. I am grateful for the feast we got. In Second, Black Widower returns, which dare I say has been robbed. Yes, I think it should have been First. This episode is gorgeous, but as I have established, I liked the earlier, rougher animation.

Every single frame of Bob’s rant on MacGyver is absolutely wild, as is the skipping through the flowers. The colors in the night scenes. The glow from the explosion. There’s so much character here, so many expressions and extra motions with hands in scenes, even when no one is talking. The weight in Bob’s hair when he throws back his head for a maniacal laugh. What this episode’s got is flair. Once again, Cape Feare takes First. I can see why, because it is a very good looking episode. One of the best. Oh, how I wish the show still looked like this (the latest Treehouse Ei8ht made me crave what we have lost). But I must wonder if it might be taking the number one spot because of how memorable it is with other factors. No doubt it’s funny, with a lot of well done and imaginative scenes. Bob’s lil dance during his work out comes out of nowhere and is hysterical. You think for a minute that the episode is going to cheat you when the elephants are trampling him off-screen then it pans down to show you the exact moment one steps on and off his skull. The increasingly elaborate set and costume designs for Bob’s theatrical performance. There is a lot of artistry to appreciate here. It’s cinematic even. Then again, a lot of the cinematic moments can be attributed to its source material: the 1991 movie Cape Fear, some moments directly inspired. Not to say that all of the work was done for them, certainly not. They put their own spin on things.

Perhaps the placement is deserved. The shot that goes from Bart’s window, flying over all of Springfield, to Bob’s prison is particularly impressive. There’s a lot of juicy saturation and shifts in color reminiscent of shots from Krusty Gets Busted and Black Widower. It’s safe to assume that I’m drawn more towards character details, and little things like all the lower angles we get from Bob work well in conveying menace, as if we, the audience, are in danger

This concludes Part One of the Sideshow Bob Awards, In Part Two I will cover Best Song and Best Mystery. As for intermission, picture THE RAKES!!!

#sideshow bob #robert terwilliger #the simpsons

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thevoidable · 2 years

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I would just like to take a moment to talk about how the Bungie era of Halo games are a fantastic lesson in environmental storytelling.

Most players will often blast through the campaigns, as the gameplay typically comes first and the abundance of enemies and mission objectives gives the player a sense of urgency, but that’s not a bad thing. Humanity is fighting for its life, after all. However, the games actually reward you for taking your time and paying attention to the world around you, unlocking incredible story details that nine times out of ten will leave you with a chill running up your spine.

The level 343 Guilty Spark in CE (classic, not anniversary; the new graphics are a sin to that level) is obviously the most famous example of this - the level constantly builds up atmosphere and tension, and it is so cleverly designed that many of the small details are actually difficult to miss.

And then you have other examples (some more subtle than others), like the footprints surrounding the human bodies in the first level of Reach, the Mausoleum of the Arbiter visible in the distance from a room near the end of Cortana in Halo 3 (which is coincidentally where the Arbiter then drops in to help you if you’re playing solo; some nice hidden foreshadowing), and even the factions warring with each other on Gravemind in Halo 2.

However, I’d like to turn your attention to ODST, where the environmental storytelling is arguably at its most abundant.

Recently, I have been replaying through each of the games with the intent of doing the aforementioned: taking my time, exploring the levels, and resisting the urge to rush ahead. While doing so, I’ve noticed many things that consistently evaded me in the past, like neat little conversations between the troops or alternate pathways that lead to unique weapons or enemies, things that just add to the replayability of these games.

However, on my replaythrough of ODST, I stumbled across a tiny detail that, in the grand scheme of things, is no surprise if you know the plot of Halo 2, but the way it was intergrated in the environment is what made it so impactful and made me appreciate it that much more.

Now, the entire premise of playing as the Rookie IS to explore the environment and find out what happened to your squad via clues left behind, so naturally his levels are filled to the brim with detail. Everything around you from the damaged buildings and vehicles to the various messages left on walls by civillians paints a clear picture of what the carnage in New Mombasa was like - but upon looking closer, you end up discovering a darker side to the conflict, hidden away in shadowed corners and behind walls.

In Halo 2, your most prominent enemy fighting through the streets of Old & New Mombasa are the Elites - they appear in every single encounter either commanding ground troops or piloting vehicles. They’re everywhere, and there’s not a single Brute in sight.

But as soon as you drop into ODST, it’s the exact opposite: the Brutes are the ones leading the charge and doing the heavy lifting, and there’s not a single Elite to be seen fighting alongside them. So, what happened to them? Where did they go?

While travelling to a supply cache, I noticed an interactable door that I didn’t recall entering before, and inside was a familiar sight: a dark interior with scattered bodies of both human and Covenant, an expected battle zone. Upon reaching the other end of the building, I discovered another door, one that led out into a courtyard, something else that wasn’t unfamiliar to me. However, I was immediately greeted by this sight:

Two Huragok floating in the vicinity, but strangely by themselves. Instinctively I retreated back through the door so I could check the map for the placements of the other enemies - except there were no other red pings. Confused and on guard, I inched back into the courtyard to scout it out myself, certain that this would be some kind of ambush and the enemies would spawn after the Huragok spotted me...but nothing came. Seeing as the Huragok weren’t doing anything to me, I let them be and got a better look at what they were circling: a ring of stone monoliths covered in glowing glyphs.

Now, anyone who has played the game will notice these glyphs popping up very frequently, often as markers to help guide the player to important places, and they are accompanied by symbols in each third.

Anyone who knows anything about Huragoks will know that these symbols are a part of their language, designed to tell “stories”.

But, upon first inspection of the glyphs on these monoliths, they were devoid of any symbols, and it felt eerily...empty.

And then I got closer, and I saw the first body.

At first, I almost brushed it off, because Covenant bodies are not exactly rare. But then I stopped, and remembered that I hadn’t seen a single Elite this whole time. And if the first one I’ve found is already dead, what about the others?

Well, remember how I said “first” body?

The other was lying not too far away, also accompanied by the empty glyphs.

In the quiet ambience, things started to click for me. It was easy enough to deduce that the empty symbols must mean death, or at least something related to it, but why for some random Elites? What about the thousands of other bodies that littered the city? At first, it didn’t seem like I would get an answer, but then I noticed something odd on the stone above the second Elite.

Snaking up the monolith was a rather brutal breadcrumb trail, and behind it, the only symbol present in the entire courtyard.

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that large-scale events are happening elsewhere in the galaxy. ODST takes place several hours after the Prophet of Regret flees Earth through the slipspace portal, and with the knowledge of Halo 2′s story progression in mind, ODST gives us a glimpse into just how early the Great Schism was actually planned by Truth. With Regret gone, it wouldn’t have been long before Truth gave the order to the Brutes to kill all the remaining Elites on Earth.

The Huragoks, slaves to the Covenant, witnessed this betrayal first-hand, and were subjected to even worse treatment now that the Brutes were in charge.

So, they gathered around the fallen Elites...and gave them a memorial. These deaths were not accidents, they were not collateral damage; they had meaning, a story, one that deserved to be seen and remembered. So the Huragok would mourn them - including Virgil, whose symbol is the one we see on the monolith. This memorial is a message.

A message to the humans that they are not the only victims of the Covenant.

And this isn’t the only Elite memorial site either - it wasn’t long after stumbling across that one that I found another:

This one shows that it was ALL Elites that suffered, not some random minors who didn’t have the skill to defend themselves. There’s a major and an ultra lying amongst these bodies, and I’m sure there are other sites like this hidden throughout the map too.

Like I mentioned before, the Elites being betrayed are no surprise, we been knew about this since Halo 2, but the way this is revealed in ODST does an exceptional job of making you feel for these Elites all over again, and Arbiter’s presence wasn’t even required. It just goes to show how talented Bungie is at doing so much with so little.

Anyway, this ended up being much longer than I expected, but I really just wanted to gush about how much I fucking love the detail in these games and the experiences they give.

#halo #halo combat evolved #halo 2 #halo 3 #master chief #elites #sangheili #odst #meta #analysis #huragok #the rookie

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old-school-butch · 2 months

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‘But you misunderstand my argument - I don't actually think Israel is a decolonization project - I was responding to claims that Hamas' action is some form of resistance to 'settler colonialism' which, since Judaism as a faith is indigenous to the region, is nonsense.’

Except it’s not nonsense at all. The Zionist project was conceived to be a settling of the European Jewry in Palestine initially. No other groups who make claims to their people having lived in a place in the past to justify this kind of state building are taken seriously, nor would they be. This would be like the Roma population going to north India and attempting to set up a state by displacing the locals. They are genetically and ancestrally tied to that land, so why not them, too? Shall we all go back to where our ancestors of a couple centuries, even millennia in many cases, originated from? Is that the logic we defer to to decide what is and what isn’t settler colonialism?

"The Zionist project was conceived to be a settling of the European Jewry in Palestine initially"

The struggle for Jewish self-government goes back a liiiiiittle further than that. Maybe you've not read the Bible but you can track a straight line between 'the LORD said unto Moses, go in unto Pharaoh, and tell him, thus saith the LORD God of the Hebrews, let my people go' to 'By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion." which happened when the Bablyonian Empire rolled into town. Another four? five? empires later you finally have the Hasmoneansn and Maccabeans self-governments weakening under Roman rule and finally the fall of the second Temple era. Which led to approximately another 2000 years of attempting to return to Zion. But Jews remained living in the area the entire time, the goal of Zion is self-government, to create a nation safe for the Jewish people.

"No other groups who make claims to their people having lived in a place in the past to justify this kind of state building are taken seriously"

What do you think is happening in Myanmar? What do you think Nunavut self-government is about in Canada? The idea of a homeland is pretty old, but modern American politics has an overly simplified view of land claims - either you can prove you were the first humans there ever or you're a settler/colonist who doesn't deserve to be there.

Except when it's about Jews in Israel. When I point out that by this logic Jews have an old erclaim to the region than the later Arabian colonizers, then I'm told the history is either too old and doesn't count, or not real because there's no documentation going that far back in history, or the (actually far more realistic) argument there are a number of ethnic groups and religions that can track extremely long timelines in the same general region because the story of human history is older than our ability to write it down. So I agree with your last point, that while there are obvious impacts of colonialism and conquest, it gets really absurd to imagine that the only place anyone really belongs is wherever they're from 'originally'.

Anyway, Israel has only recently hardened its stance and officially became a 'Jewish state' - 20% of the population are Muslim and many Druze, Bedouin, Circassians and Christians live within its borders. I'm not happy about this recent change and I'm sure those minorities are not as well.

I'd characterize the Arab-Israeli conflict as mostly religious in nature, at its core, not ethnic or even territorial. Islamism is a trans-national movement with the goal of creating a caliphate as a super-state, something the surrounding Arab states find increasingly alarming as they search for stability, but they are content to let it grow in Palestine as long as Israel remains the focus of their grievances. If Israel ever falls, do you think there would be peace in the region? I don't. Look at the wall Egypt is building on their border with Gaza.

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gauloiseblue · 6 months

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Red Grave City Gothic

[DMC horror take]

Every city always has its charms, and Red Grave seems to possess the most extraordinary, yet controversial one. This city has hundreds of architecture that clash with each other. The high, and modern buildings are standing proud beside the neoclassical architectures. And the Victorian era houses refuse to rot away, as they stick out in the middle of modern city like a sore thumb. Although they're stunning in their own way, they don't fit into the neon-lit district. As if they're magenta dots on a baby blue shirt.

Time doesn't seem to work as it should be when you're in the city. When you walk down the street, you'd feel like the air changes when you're not paying attention. The dispute between two different eras of architecture would disorient you, and a wrong turn could lead you to a completely strange alley. As if you've stepped into a different period of time. By accident.

Sometimes, the people that you pass on the street can look very… peculiar. Sometimes you see a woman with a dress that belongs in the 18th century, and sometimes you see a man with the attire of an old priest. But when you turn away for a second, they disappear into thin air. You couldn't be sure if you've just seen a ghost, or it's a fragment of your imagination.

At night, the locals warned you not to walk alone. They said the devil lurks in the darkness, and the shadows seem to be longer than it should. One time, you took a walk in the night and spotted a strange man with big eyes, and a smile with hundreds of needles instead of teeth. You haven't gone out at night since then.

The city embraces its charm, and the locals believe that supernatural beings exist. They know them intimately, and embrace them like it's their nature. But never ask about it to the locals. Because they will stare at you, and their eyes will burn holes into you as they speak. Then nothing, you won't understand anything they said.

Do not visit the graveyard alone. Never, in any circumstances, come to the place alone. Bring one or more people with you, the more you bring the better. Only come when it's noon, and leave before your shadow is longer than two feet. Don't come when there's no guardian around, and DO NOT visit when there's a recent burial. Because they can't distinguish between the dead and the living.

There's a rumor that many gates of hell are scattered around the city. The demons could get in, and if someone's not careful, they can fall into hell. It might sound like a silly rumor—to keep the kids at home—but the police are tight-lipped about the growing case of missing persons. Every so often, you passed a written warning on the wall; 'don't touch the glowing sigil'.

In the heart of the city, there's a Grand Hotel which you can never afford a room for one night. Il Chiaro Mondo Hotel is a popular choice among the rich, and they seem to always come for a ball. They dress with feathers, fur, and gleaming ornaments on their bodies. Some of them don't bring anything, some of them bring a suitcase, or a child. When you observe the kids, you see the contrast between their expressions and the adults. They're void of any excitement.

The crime rate in this city is relatively high, even though the politicians always advertise the city as a safe haven. Everyone is aware of the crimes that happened recently, but don't know anything at the same time. You may ask any person you meet about the news, and they'd tell you about an incident. And yet, when you ask the next person about it, they wouldn't have a single clue about it. The only time you got to see the case was when you watched the policemen seal a crime scene. You swore you saw the glimpse of mangled flesh behind the makeshift cover. But the next day, there's nothing about it in the newspaper. No one knew about it except you.

Everyone knows about the legend of the house on the hill. They told you that a God once fell in love with a human, and they lived there with two sons. But tragedy befell them, as the house caught on fire one day. Everybody knows about the mother's demise, but no one knows about the fate of the sons. Your friend once told you that they're twins, whose names are on the tip of your tongue.

The subway has become a part of the citizen's life. Everyday, people travel by underground train. And you're no exception. The locals know the routes like it's on the back of their hand, and the stations don't have a board anymore. Even if they have, they're beyond damaged, and the words are illegible. People seem to come and go, and you begin to notice that you rarely see a familiar face. It's not until the train moves, that you catch a sight of your departed relatives on the window. But… you don't know if they're from outside the window, or what you see is the reflection of where you're standing.

Of course, not every place in this city is dangerous at night. Pawn's Avenue is one of the safest places to be when you can't sleep. The bright billboards and neon light up the city like a Christmas tree, and made the stars shy away from the spotlight. One night, when you're feeling down and unable to sleep, you visited one of the bars around there. By a stroke of luck, you met a man with hair as lucent as silver. He was a charming man, and irresistible. By the end of the night, he gave you his name. You can't remember his name.

Be careful of what you wish for. Doesn't matter if you say it out loud, or you whisper it with the smallest voice, do not tell the wind. No one will ever know who's listening, and what kind of being they are. Because your wish will come true, but it won't come without a price. If you're lucky, you'll only lose your things, but if you become greedy, you'll lose something unimaginable. Do not say your wish, even when the voices inside your head tempt you to.

It is said that if you wake up at night, something else's watching you. It's just a myth, you reminded yourself many times. But your eyes would open, and you'd see the exact same hour everyday. 2.01 AM. Sometimes you could sleep back again, but sometimes you woke up drenched in sweat, shaking. It's just a myth, you said it to yourself. But you didn't sleep again that night, as you kept thinking that you'd die if you closed your eyes.

As the sun rises up, you begin your day with a glass of water. The liquid would taste like a pristine water from the fountain of Gods, and you'd fill the glass for a second time. It's always a mystery why you wake up drained and exhausted. You blame it on the hours you spend on the computer, but it's impossible to cause this kind of fatigue, right…?

When you're walking into the train station, you lay your eyes on the advertising board. It's relatively empty, as it's not commonly used anymore. You stop and read one of the worn papers. You can only make out a few words; '... Everybody can get what they want… money, women, power, your wildest dream will come true… call us…' It ends there, as the phone number is ripped off.

Dreams consist of the past recollection in your life. If you dream about a certain person, it means you've seen them somewhere. Lately, you've been dreaming about the peculiar man that you met at the bar. But he was different from what you remember. His coat wasn't red, and his hair was brushed to the back. Sometimes his face was reflected on the window's train, and sometimes he's close enough until you see his brilliant blue irises. He's him, but not him at the same time. Because his name… his name is…

On your lonely night, you put the music on to fill the silence. It's not wise to play music at night, because some creatures are attracted to the sound. But it always gives you a sense of security, as if you're not alone. Sometimes, you hear a low hum outside your window. As quiet as an owl. And when you listen to the croon, your chest is filled with melancholy that doesn't belong to you. Your friends warned you about the voice outside the window, but you just laughed it off. Maybe… maybe you should've listened to them.

Oftentimes, for a millisecond between consciousness and oblivion, you remember everything. The moment before you plunge into dreams, you recall the memories you've lost. You recognize his face at the subway, his smell, and his eyes that seem to stick with you all day. And his name, you remember his name. Your lips move involuntarily, and you call him by his name. At that moment, you swear you feel a weight on your bed as you fall asleep.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc dante #dmc vergil #gothic #repost from ao3 #headcanon

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electricbluebutterflies · 7 months

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putting ear over their heart for the prompts :')

Early-era Jessica/Leto, PG-ish, also on ao3.

Jessica stays, after.

She’s been doing that more and more often, on the nights she is asked for. Like most of the behaviors she’s picked up in these few years, this one surprises her, another new shade of a life she may be defining in her own way. So much unexpected, so much-

She stays, and the strange part is she actually wants to.

They have cultivated routines, which is to say that she knows what she’s good for and she was lucky enough to be placed in a situation where that is respected. Some core part of that man’s soul likes her, damned if she knows how, and-

Now is no time for analysis of the dynamic, she decides. She’s tired, pleasantly worn out from recent activities, and she doesn’t want to move, and she can’t-

“Did I harm you?”

Such caution unprovoked, if not outright worry. She has done nothing, she reminds herself, she has done so close to nothing and still-

“Not in any way that seemed intentional,” she replies after a few moments. A glance down at her body reveals what may be a few light bruises on her hips, but if she can’t feel them then they don’t even count, and-

“Not quite what I asked.”

Her current position is challenging for eye contact anyways, and she shifts her body and buries her face against a pillow. “Your concern is a kindness, but… an unnecessary one, for now.”

She feels fingertips on her back, pushing her hair away from her skin – she has observed a tactile need in that man, always doing something with his hands, touching her far more than necessary, she ought to get rid of that habit, she ought to-

“You’ve gotten softer. It’s strange.”

He does not mean harm, Jessica reminds herself. That is not their way. Such a comment from anyone else might make her tense or self-critical, but in this moment, their bodies so recently separated…

“Is it pleasing?”

“I can’t imagine you could ever be anything else.”

There’s something concerned in his voice still, like he doesn’t yet know more than he should but he will in time, like she would still be treated the same if she exposed her vulnerabilities. There are so many conversations they have not had that might make domestic functioning easier if that is to be their path, and… some of those may be unnecessary, Jessica thinks. She’s done some underestimating too, failed so slightly but anything less than perfect is damnation, and yet-

“I could be,” she says after a comfortable silence. “If I had reason enough.”

She turns her head again just in time to see a look cross his face like he doesn’t quite believe her, and she knows she has done something wrong but she can’t quite pin what, and-

“I’m not sure that would work.”

Two years, she thinks, two years of being underestimated by every living thing she’s had to deal with on this planet – no, underestimated has been the better option, there are some who fear what she might be and still see her as a threat even though she’s all but made herself one with the walls, even though she has been perfectly-

“How so? I am more than capable of-“

“I would like to think I’m well aware of your capabilities,” he murmurs, fingertips tracing patterns on her back like he does when emotions start to come up. “That is… perhaps a part of the problem. You have been frightfully easy to fall in love with, thorns and all.”

Well, now he’s gone for it. If ever there were a reason to run damage control, to lace her voice immediately and nip that feeling before it turns contagious…

She can’t. She won’t. She’s not sure there’s a difference between those two little statements.

What harm is there in expressed affection, she wonders. It is as real as anything could ever be, she knows that much, built over time and she hasn’t made it easy but something in that man wanted her from the moment their lives became entangled, perhaps even needed her, not to possess but to exist alongside and isn’t that the original meaning of her official status anyways and-

“And if I can’t respond in kind?”

“You have responded enough. You didn’t run, you’re still here in my bed and looking in my general direction, you’re not even yelling yet and-“

Don’t tempt her, she wants to say and won’t. Both of those overreactions crossed her mind, and she still didn’t-

“I do care for you,” she breathes, shifting her body closer, shifting so her head is on his chest and she can focus on his heartbeat somehow perfectly steady despite everything. Something inherently calming, she thinks, as she knows she is to him as well, something impeccably balanced as all placed dynamics ought to be and-

“More than enough.”

“I can’t use such strong words yet, but… I do accept the affection. I do trust your heart and your judgement.”

He knows what a strong compliment that is from her, and there’s a pleasant silence as he processes, as they both do, as-

“More than enough,” he repeats like that’s the end of everything and somehow it is. “More than I could ever ask for.”

She wants to believe this too, but she knows this may be one of the only polite lies he keeps against her. The truth is made clearer as she slowly drifts out of consciousness, aware that he does not follow her, and she hears dreams spoken in a quiet voice, ways to bind them, a direction desperately wanted and-

When the time comes, she will respond. Not now. Not yet.

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica #queue

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midnight-and-his-melodiverse · 1 year

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From Midnight, With Love: A Writeblr Love Letter, that includes rambly divulging thoughts, a short story, and many thanks <3

Prelude

Good evening / timezone writeblr!! I know that this may come fifteen days too early, considering that December 31st, on the cusp of the new year, would be a more reasonable time to thank everyone on writeblr for this absolutely marvelous year of 2022, but I've decided "fuck it!" and banked on doing it now. So! Without further stalling... thus will begin this love letter, underneath a read more, for the sake of all those who don't delight in scrolling through walls of text.

But before that... the different sections of this love letter, will be opened by quotes that I find, from fellow writeblr mutual @lockejhaven.

Contents:

The Passion of Writing Stories (my past as a writer / my blog's origin story)

A Welcome to the Writeblr Corner (a fictional story that delves into my first steps in being a writeblr!)

From Midnight, with Love (some final thoughts, and many, many thanks.)

I. The Passion Of Writing Stories (aka: my blog's origin story)

"Worlds are burning, my child. Gods alone cannot suffocate the flames." - @lockejhaven

Ahh, how fitting. As almost everyone knows by now, the pandemic known as the Coronavirus has gone and affected the jobs and livelihoods of anyone, and everyone for two going on three years now, and my journey as a writeblr begins as a mere speck in the initial startling throes of the COVID rampage.

As many people know though, I did not have the luxury of taking a walk down the expansive, and seemingly endless library of writeblrs all contained within the care of a single blessed hellsite called Tumblr, when I was just about in my Grade 6 to 7 year. Despite that however, I wrote a lot of things, both good and not-so good throughout those years.

Of the many writing highlights I can think on, I will say with absolute certainty that it was my group-written Minecraft roleplay-style story, titled, "Beacon City: Herobrine's Apprentice" which had left me thinking recently: - "Why couldn't I have just called it 'Beacon City' and left it at that?" - "With the whole 'Herobrine's Apprentice' thing tacked onto the end of the title, like a kid who desperately clings to his mother to let him go to a party of great proportions, why did it seem like I was planning sequels when the main story was already being written?"

But moving from that, I cherished every moment of writing that Minecraft roleplay story with my friends, during blocks in class where we'd half-finish our work and sneakily call it a "free period" for us to work on that story.

Well, and I was definitely right to cherish those moments, because as the years passed and I slightly moved up the rungs of my personal ability scale as a writer I naively didn't look back to those previous times, and before I knew it... I had just entered Grade 10, and was four months into the academic grind, when my high school got the news that my amazing friend Gavin, who had been friends with me since middle school in band class and outside band class in my regular classes, had passed away due to complications from cancer.

This hit me, and still hits me hard. He was an amazing writer and helped out a lot on the Beacon City story, and on top of that was a great friend to hang out with. But it didn't take me long to immortalize him in my memory and keep him there in spirit.

Eventually though, I managed to move past that trauma of a loss, from a student's perspective, and get back into writing more things.

--- --- --- ---

In the present day, I have reflected many a time on my middle school writing era, so to say, and the many improvements I've made. Although like many others, I ridiculed how bad my writing style was back then and didn't bother to elaborate or reflect on it, but now I see the point in reflecting positively on your older writing.

I've realized that even if your writing is bad, just appreciate that it's yours and that you are making progress towards being a better writer, no matter how long that may take.

Now setting the scene for a bit here: I was 14, at the time I was in middle school, and I had just started taking writing seriously, to the point where I was writing small things every day. I had just started writing stories at the age of 10, and drawing upon the breadth of knowledge I had gained since then, had decided it was a great idea to improve on my passion that was telling stories.

This is where the first mentions of my main OC, Midnight, were born. He had started out WAY differently than how he is in the present day with all the development he's gone through. Two years after middle school though, in 2021 is when I decided to create a Tumblr account, starting off by making it a sort of askblog for Midnight, and just a smorgasbord for Melodiverse related stuff on top of that.

That cycle continued for a good long while with very infrequent posts and little traction... up until July 5th, of 2022, when I thought my blog was long overdue for a rebranding.

And I was only just about to discover the wonderful endless library of writers that lay behind an ornate door in Tumblr's expansive hub of small self-contained corners of the internet.

II. A Welcome to the Writeblr Corner (a fictional story that delves into my first steps in being a writeblr!)

"In a memory as old as mine, there is a truth worth seeking; a light worth following." - @lockejhaven

(A/N: And now for something completely different, that ISN'T a dive into my past as a writer, and more in my comfort zone hehe)

I found myself standing in the center of a very stimulating landscape. Almost too stimulating, in fact.

This landscape I could see around me was the darkest of blue for a solid ground, the wall was filled with reblogs and textposts, many of those that were from mutuals of mine and people that I follow. And even though this was a virtual world, that didn't stop very intrusive promotional ads from occasionally blocking my view of certain posts, as I had to physically keep my distance from them, instead of scrolling past them.

The landscape was filled with seas of people flocking to the constantly-updating walls to reblog the latest art piece, latest new fanfic and original work, or a very emotion-driven piece of poetry, penned by a user who's identity had ceased to exist, lost within this hellsite's annals of time and punctuated by an anonymous icon that acted as that blog's tombstone, with the epitaph reading whatever that user's last post before death was.

After mulling on that for awhile, and walking over to the wall to like that poetry post from that user who no longer exists, safely archived by reblogs, I liked the post to pay my respects and began walking towards my own personal room, of which was my blog's control panel and also a lounging space.

However, on my way there, I heard the faint chirping of birds and the rustling of trees, behind a cold white wall, repeating down the hallway seemingly endlessly, with noisy fluorescent lighting illuminating the way forward.

I turned around, and walked back out into the stimulating landscape of Tumblr's hub, before the ambiance of the birds and trees had become slightly louder and I faced the source of the sound. A large wooden door with a sun and open book painted on the front.

--- --- --- ---

Nervously, I continued forward, and after opening and shutting the door behind me, leaving me within the enclosure of a meadow, I admired how nice it was to no longer be inundated with notifications every second, and bathed myself in the serenity of nature. The tweeting of birds, and rustling of trees were more sonically noticeable by now.

I strolled through, and from outside yet another door, I perceived a very calming atmosphere, as I perked my ears up to the door, to hear the flipping of book pages, the typing of laptops, the sipping of coffee, and general soft conversation.

I had to psyche myself up for a bit, before I felt confident enough to go in. But my legs must have completely taken control, because before I knew it, I found myself facing the exact door I entered into. Only this time, there was a fluffy wreath on the front, followed by the words scrawled into a neat script: "Writeblr Corner: A comfort lounge for both the veteran wordsmiths and those who are new to the art of pen and page."

I closed my eyes before opening the door with a loud creak and stepping foot onto what seemed like a freshly cleaned carpet.

I opened my eyes soon after, and was greeted by the lovely aroma of coffee, and looked further around me to see endless walls of books, most of them penned by the people in this lounge, who were strangers to me at first.

I strolled around the isles as soft jazz music played over the speakers, until I found a table with a piece of lined paper sitting face up. "Introduce yourself to the patrons!" it read, almost as if it was beckoning me to introduce myself to the sea of wordsmiths who had no idea about me or what I did.

But I wrote down my name, my stories that I had in progress, and other things that people should know about me, before heading to a large corkboard, which held writer introductions from ages past to more recent ones, and I stuck mine under recent, and eagerly awaited to see what would happen.

I heard the pushing in of a chair as someone got up from their table of friends and was heading my way. We briefly made eye contact before they beelined for the corkboard, grabbed a pen and scrawled something down.

Before I could ask for their name, the person walked back to their table and sat back down. Which left me to go discover who out of the many patrons here, after all, this lounge was very full with the sound of lively conversation, had left something underneath my introduction.

It turns out, that multiple people had left something under my introduction. I walked up to the board, zoomed into my introduction paper and struggled to read the very ornate handwriting. "Hello Midnight!" read one of the comments, signed by someone named Natsume, which was written in purple ink. "Hi bud!" read another of the comments which was written off to the left side of the paper, but still visible and written in blue-pink ink. This one was signed by someone named Athena.

Many other comments were scrawled all along my introduction paper, and I was happy people were greeting me.

I eventually within a couple days found myself at home and a regular within the Writeblr Corner.

This was certainly the greatest of welcomes I could've expected.

--- --- --- ---

III. From Midnight, With Love (some final thoughts, and many, many thanks.)

"Surrender to yourself, dragonheart, and all will end as it should." - @lockejhaven

Now I'd like to leave y'all with some final thoughts.

Despite the pandemic making everyday life seem like a localized "hell on earth" scenario, the year 2022 was the greatest I could've ever hoped for.

Within this lovely writeblr community on this blessed hellsite, I made so many new friends, managed to accumulate 180 followers throughout that time, rambled a whole lot about many things, some of which were writing related, others not so much, managed to write small pieces but somehow didn't gain progress on most of my main WIPs (besides Stars, Bits, and Bytes), and just... had so much fun talking about writing and laying my eyes upon other's works of absolute word mastery. (ex. @athena-anna-rose's Terraclaw snippets, @careful-pyromancer's snippets, @lockejhaven's poetry, quotes, and snippets, and literally so many more works of wordsmithery that I would list here but it'd be too long <3)

I enjoyed playing so many writeblr-focused tag games, like Find the Word, Heads Up Seven Up, and a lot more. On top of that, I adored answering the many asks that people would send me, and I also enjoyed writing for Storyteller Saturday, Tiny Scene Sunday, and building more of my world with Worldbuilding Wednesday.

Looking forward, and behind the curtain, to the future of my blog, I'm excited to begin writing darker stuff, cute, fluffy romance, maybe some fanfiction, and definitely poetry as we near the end of my blog's first "arc".

--- --- --- ---

And we have come to the end of my love letter to writeblr! Whoever of my writeblr mutuals sees and comments on this, know that I appreciate y'all so much <3/p

THANKS TO:

@lockejhaven - for allowing use of their quotes as openers for each of the parts of this love letter, being such a lovely friend, and running the North Haven discord server. Thank you Locke.

@365runesofwriting - for being a "mother figure" for me in terms of writeblr. <3/p

@jadefyre - for being the one to create my most favorite of all writeblr events: Tiny Scene Sunday. <3/p

@scratched-fountains - Thank you Ame for being the OG, and sticking around long enough to see me improve. I hope you'll be one of the ones to leave a heartfelt review on Midnight and the Gift of the Melody Blade when I'm done with it in June of 2023. <3/p

@careful-pyromancer - for being the one with a "chosen one WIP" that unfolded to be greater than the sum of it's parts. I sincerely hope I'll see more from you with Chronicles of Avalon in the future. <3/p

@blue-kyber - for having the most captivating sci-fi fantasy series in all of Tumblr, in my humble opinion. Seriously. Out There: The 1K is the most amazing story I've seen weaved between intricate characters and emotional scenes. <3/p

@athena-anna-rose - for drawing my into checking out more of her work through Terraclaw and Wildlands content. Hope you're doin' well Athena. <3/p

And thanks to those who are anonymous, or are just too shy to personally interact with my blog. Know that I see you, and I adore your presence.

And finally, signing off: From Midnight, with Love, Thank you all so fuckin' much for a marvelous first five months on writeblr. Here's to many, many more.

#Midnight's rambles #a writeblr love letter: from midnight with love

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macgyvermedical · 2 years

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ANTIBIOTICS UPDATE

So, like, just know that it pains me to say this.

But I am updating my understanding of the world based on new evidence. It's a good place to put flexibility, especially when it comes to documented evidence.

So in the same book that generated my FEVER UPDATE post, Dr. Offit (generally extremely good, well documented source) pointed out that there have actually been no trials or evidence to suggest that the current 5, 7, 10, or 14-day outpatient antibiotics regimens are in any way evidence based.

Instead, there has been a lot of recent evidence that an antibiotic regimen based on 48 hours after the resolution of all symptoms (typically somewhere between 3-5 days) is more accurate and less likely to generate antibiotic resistance than the standard regimens described above. This is because the bacteria that frequently become resistant are not the ones being treated with the antibiotics, but the ones living on the patient's skin and intestinal walls, which could later become pathogenic.

The standard regimens even today appear to be based on Dr. Foley's Nobel Prize acceptance speech in which he said "if you are going to use antibiotics, for god's sake use enough" which appears to be based on a single patient who had died following inadequate dosing of penicillin to treat a staph infection (back when staph was susceptible to penicillin, haha... sigh).

So while I still support taking medications for the duration prescribed, if you have the time and energy to do so, it's a good idea to challenge the thinking that antibiotics must be taken for a set time period*. Also challenge anyone who tries to give antibiotics for a viral infection, because that is exactly the same stuff that causes resistance, and for the same reasons.

We are entering something called a "post antibiotic era" in which antibiotics are becoming less and less effective, and the ones that still work cause more and more side effects. This is due to a lot of reasons, including agriculture, but also the inefficient and harmful prescribing practices that have arisen when prescribers don't have the time and resources to explain to patients that they should never be taking antibiotics for their colds, and instead just prescribe them to get the patients out of their offices and keep their extremely packed schedule going.

I say this as someone who has worked in a doctor's office and met many, many people who can be extremely insistent (refusing to leave, yelling, being generally horrible to their med pros) that their child get antibiotics despite not having something that can be treated with antibiotics.

*NOTE: Keep in mind that most physicians are working off of set algorithms that require extensive documentation to deviate from, so it is unlikely that they will be able to change their actions based on this interaction. You will probably be written off as someone who read an alternative medicine book. Docs have very high walls around those people to prevent themselves from doing harm in these interactions. But you can mention Dr. Paul Offit, the guy who lead the effort for the rotavirus vaccine, and the book "Overkill", which may lend some credibility to your cause.

#antibiotics #today I learned #nursing #nurblr #medblr #hospital life

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blackrebelphotographyclub · 2 months

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Not to be all CLS-lawyer-on-main, but there are larger and larger portions of my day during which I realise I may have hit a wall with genocide denialism. And maybe the answer to that lies in history, so painfully recent, and what we should have learned from it (and clearly failed).

I was thinking particularly about two things. One being the role of media in and around genocide, and how we should be more careful about what, how and why we consume certain media. The other was about prevention as a focus but punishment as a consequence.

Let’s staff with press, or media in general. There is no separating genocide from the propaganda surrounding it. Propaganda is not necessarily a Soviet-era ads for weapon factories on state media; it can be much more insidious, much more easily, largely due to how technology evolves.

When we talk about media and genocide, we talk about how the former influenced and/or incited the latter. That’s the before. We do not talk necessarily about the during, and the after. During, the crime of crimes only allows us two options: we resist or we deny. There is no neutral space.

(I don’t care if you try to carve one; you can’t empty the ocean with a spoon and you can’t be neutral on genocide.)

This extreme polarization we see now, not just in the media but in our streets and in our governments, is however entirely predictable because it is a by-product of genocide, a crime so abhorrent, many have equated it to the phenomenon described by some indigenous tribes as “soul loss”.

The side that denies is not in a position to modify (genocide is ongoing) its position and cannot soften it (there is no gray zone on genocide). Therefore an entire machinery of erasure must take place in order to sustain this absence of reality.

Erasure takes so, so, so many forms, many sometimes we are by and large oblivious to. We think of erasure as direct (mass extermination) or indirect (loss of history due to the absence of elders). Indirect is so much. It means the collective memory of the people and the place is also gone.

Think of genocide as a collective memory hole. There is a reason the crime is drafted as beyond mass murder, in both physical and mental element. You don’t just wipe out people; you end language, history, culture, traditions, stories, religions, myths. An entire apparatus.

If you really study Rafael Lemkin and understand his approach (and that of the father of crimes against humanity, Lauterpacht), you see genocide in the past (incitement) present (extermination) and future (erasure). Children, grand children, endless generations will never see, experience, or know.

This is relevant to journalism because the profession doesn’t just provide you with evidence, it also has a duty to preserve it. This is even more true these days considering the internet is, well, forever. Mass denial in papers of record doesn’t mean it isn’t at play. It means you can’t access it.

Remember to be critical of any and all media you consume at any time. Nothing is acci- or inci-dental. It doesn’t mean that any of that is inherently good or bad. That those factors exist are not because of the genocide, it is the ecosystem of genocide and has always been.

Radio Milles Collines was extremely popular at a place and time when most families would never have access to a TV, and under a regime that controlled the media. The incitement was crude and unambiguous, but it was lodged between popular pop songs, and was swallowed like a pill with no edges.

Denial is the same, especially in places close to the perpetrators of the genocide. The domestic conversation must be moved away; but if it becomes impossible to avoid, everyone is responsible for staying on message. You dilute (they’re not dead, just displaced). You congratulate (aren’t we safer?)

So everyone claiming that genocide requires a certain number of civilian deaths to be determined (absolutely not true, quantity has no bearing) or that extermination has to be total (also not a thing) just reminds me that it is excruciatingly stereotypical.

Let’s talk about prevention, because that has never worked now has it? But this was the spirit in which the Convention was drafted, its main goal. The entire world came together in ‘48 and said never again. By the time it entered into force at the tail end of 1951, wars of decolonization had started.

The world believed with all its might that with the end of turn of the century imperialism so would the impetus to commit atrocity crimes. They would not know that the coming decades would extend the list of crimes against humanity, not make them relics of an obsolete society.

And so, we fail to prevent, because no matter how much jurisprudence and history scholarship there is out there all the signs of Rwanda, all the signs of Srebrenica, all the signs of Darfur were there, and are there now, and we’re under the sad exceptionalist belief that somehow, this is different.

It is not different. It is a genocide we have decided not to acknowledge. We are neck-deep inside campaigns of dehumanization - of trans people, of any migrant - that we are somehow either blind or jaded to the very same being perpetrated and live-streamed.

I say this all the time: human absence wears very heavy. I also say that genocide prevention is a collective responsibility. You have a duty to stop genocidal speech and you have a responsibility to stop incitement speech as well as denial speech. You must know, and you must remember. /end

#free gaza #free palestine #lawyers of tumblr #genocide #history of genocide #wars of information #big rant

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shihalyfie · 2 years

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I watched a friend playing DigiSurvive recently so i have to ask: Is there any name for the kids in-game? Like, did Bandai/Habumon's dev team pick some term alluding to Adventure's or did they go by the Bandai's (null lore's) term "Tamer"?

So for Survive, it's a bit of a complicated scenario. They do not allude to the word "Tamer" in the game, but that's also because the word "Tamer" is a meta term anyway -- we've already seen a lot of arguments about the word being unfitting for anything that involves the more equal relationship between a human and their Digimon partner, and the term itself is a bit of an artifact word from the period of the franchise before Adventure. (You know, back whey were even selling Digimon products with them in cages.) It doesn't even work for the series called Tamers, which itself only uses the word because of the premise of Digimon being an in-universe franchise. I'd argue it doesn't even work for V-Tamer! I think at this point everyone only uses the word "Tamer" as convenience because with so many different portrayals of different kinds of Digimon partnerships, you need some kind of unifying word, and it's only natural anything you pick will be incongruous with something in there.

So if you're talking about broad franchise things, comparing one thing to another, then yes, they are Tamers, but this is strictly a term used for pragmatic reasons more than anyone takes the word literally. They even allude to this in Cyber Sleuth when Nokia declares her team to be "Tamers" instead of "hackers" as proof that her team treats Digimon as equals, which makes no sense with the meaning of the word, but does make sense in terms of meta symbolism, because she's bringing Adventure's ideals to the CSHM setting. The card game also classifies Takuma, Aoi, and Minoru as Tamer Cards, but keep in mind that the Frontier kids are also Tamer Cards despite having nothing to "tame", and when Oikawa got a Tamer Card fans were congratulating him, not for becoming a "tamer", but for being given status equivalent to a Chosen Child like he always wanted. Daisuke and V-mon used the phrase "Digital Tamer" in 2-TOP, but character songs tend to be a bit outside-fourth-wall anyway. The Survive kids are "Tamers", but purely in a franchise meta sense. (Incidentally, it wouldn't be the first time this kind of necessary forcing has happened; Super Digica Taisen, from the Xros Wars era, classified Adventure through Savers kids as "Generals", despite this also not entirely making sense.)

In-game, the kids are not "Chosen Children" in the sense they were chosen to be heroes like Homeostasis picked the Adventure kids due to their virtues. However, Aoi comments in the Harmony ending that their role in being pioneers in Digimon-human relations makes them "chosen kids" (this isn't a localization slip-up; she uses the word "erabareta kodomo" instead of the actual term normally used for Chosen Children, "erabareshi kodomo"). Ironically, this isn't as far from Adventure as you'd think; Koushirou points out in Two-and-a-Half Year Break that having a Digimon partner isn't inherently special, and that the only thing that distinguishes a Chosen Child is that they were chosen to be the first to have Digimon so they could guide this important time of first contact. So actually, it wouldn't entirely be wrong to call the Survive kids Chosen Children...but I personally wouldn't use it for them, because Homeostasis and the Holy Beasts at least "chose" Adventure and 02's kids for the purpose they ended up carrying out, whereas the Master "chose" the Survive kids for them being the nearest available human sacrifices and they themselves ended up diverting that plan. It's kind of how like, yes, according to Leviathan in Appmon episode 49, the Appli Drivers are "Chosen Children" (the term erabareshi kodomo is used here), but that's in the sense it's revealed they were all pawns in Leviathan's plan from day one, so is that really a term you want to positively apply to them?

Ironically, the dub term "DigiDestined" may arguably be the most accurate here; the term "destined partner" is brought up a lot to describe human-Digimon partner bonds (the localization handles it as "fated partner", but the word used is "unmei", which the dub has typically handled as "destiny"). So they are DigiDestined, in that they're destined for a Digimon partner (as is everyone else in Survive's universe). That would require a hell of a technicality, though, and most people would probably get confused if you used this without explanation (especially if you're like me, who rarely uses dub terms), so I honestly just call them "the Survive kids" if I need to make a distinction between them and other Digimon protagonist groups, and "Tamers" only if we are strictly talking technical franchise designations. And if we're only talking about them within the Survive universe, well...they're just normal people, and that's really the point anyway.

#digimon #digimon survive #survive spoilers #shiha's ask box #digitalgate02

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jerryb2 · 1 year

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Corran Horn and the Nature of Dual-Phase Lightsabers

This is something of a follow-up/companion piece to my most recent post.

The core of the Jedi ritual for creating a lightsaber came down to charging the power cell that first time. My grandfather ridiculed the popular superstition that a Jedi channeled the Force through the lightsaber. He suggested that this was a misunderstanding of what it took to charge it initially and tie it to the rest of the weapon. The Jedi, carefully manipulating the Force, bound the components together - linking them on something more than a mechanical or material level, so they worked with unimagined efficiency. Without this careful seasoning and conditioning of the lightsaber, the blade would be flawed and would fail the Jedi.

- Star Wars: I, Jedi, by Michael A. Stackpole

That’s what we in the business call foreshadowing.

In the interest of of providing some much-needed context for those who may not know:

Corran Horn was a character created by Michael Stackpole for the X-Wing Series, premiering in 1996. Initially focusing on the reformed Rogue Squadron, Corran was ostensibly the main character for the first four novels in the series. Starting his life as a Corellian Security officer, Corran would go on to discover his burgeoning Force sensitivity and eventually become a venerated Jedi in his own right by the time of the Legacy Era.

A dual-phase lightsaber is essentially any lightsaber that contains more than one crystal, with the most common setup consisting of three. This permits the user more direct control over the properties of the blade, allowing adjustments to length and/or width and intensity, typically to catch an opponent off guard. They’re more complex than your bog standard lightsabers obviously, and though they are relatively obscure, several notable Jedi & Sith were known to use them, such as Corran Horn, but also Exar Kun, Darth Vader, Count Dooku & Gantoris, however briefly.

Whether intentional on the part of the various writers, the fact that those specific characters use dual-phase sabers, speaks volumes to their unique qualities.

These characters were each of two minds, as it were; each with one foot on the path of the light - sometimes for decades - while the other walked a tightrope between light and dark. In many cases, the character fell from that razor’s edge, only to be consumed by their own internal darkness. Exar Kun was a powerful Jedi whose thirst for knowledge slowly morphed into a thirst for power, which inevitably led him to the dark side and the ultimate ruin of the galaxy. The same fate would, of course, ultimately befall the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker so many generations later. Count Dooku was a respected Jedi, who even sat on the High Council in the twilight years of the Republic, before ultimately falling. Gantoris, though - Gantoris was different.

Much like Corran himself, Gantoris was a member of the inaugural class of students as Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Praxeum. On his native world of Eol Sha, Gantoris was a respected chieftain who used his precognitive abilities to help his people survive their harsh, geologically unstable home - but how? Gantoris followed Luke to Yavin IV under one condition - that the Jedi Master help him uncover the truth of the “Dark Man” who haunted his dreams. Gantoris’ position of leadership prior to arriving at the Academy often lead to him being headstrong and difficult, something which was only heightened once he began to properly hone his Force abilities. This would also lead him into a rivalry with Corran, who is deficient in some of the more common Force abilities, like telekinesis.

As his training begins, Luke offers Gantoris the chance to find the answers he seeks, but it isn’t long before Gantoris hears someone else whispering to him - the dark spirit of Exar Kun himself, trapped within the very walls of the Massassi Temples of Yavin IV. With Kun’s help, Gantoris constructs a dual-phase lightsaber and challenges Luke to a duel, where the Master bests his misguided student. Realizing that he has become a pawn of the long-dead Sith, Gantoris refuses to accept Kun’s offer of power and knowledge - and pays the ultimate price. Kun kills Gantoris by immolating him from the inside out with the Force, reducing him to a blackened husk.

This development initially led to further division within the group as Corran grew frustrated with Luke’s reluctance to properly investigate the death (remember, Corran was a CorSec officer & thus expected a certain degree of procedural adherence) and Luke himself questioning his ability to effectively teach his students. It was shortly after this that Kun sought out another pawn, this time an angry young man, named Kyp Durron. With Kyp’s help, Exar Kun was able to sideline Luke by suspending his spirit from his body. By removing the Jedi Master, Kun hoped to corrupt all of the Academy’s students. Though he did succeed in turning Kyp for a time, the remaining students banded together and defeated Exar Kun, banishing his spirit to the void.

By plying Gantoris with the advanced techniques required to build a dual-phase lightsaber, Kun was able to further stoke the embers of contention between Gantoris & Corran, which led directly to Corran building himself a dual-phase lightsaber right out of the gate as well.

Here’s that handy little feature in action, in another excerpt from I, Jedi:

I rotated my right wrist, twisting the throttle up, and whipped the lightsaber around in a slash aimed to slice the deadHutt switch in two. With the twist I turned the lightsaber’s emerald out of the way and I brought the diamond into line with the Durindfire beam. This extended the blade from 133 centimeters to 300, narrowing it, but bringing the Hutt’s hand easily into striking range. Quick flick of the wrist, cleave the control in two, and the day would be saved. That would be the easy way.

(The blade looks blue here, but in person - and canonically speaking - it’s actually a shade of purple.)

Easy is not for a Jedi.

With a puff of smoke, the lightsaber’s blade sputtered and died.

See what I mean by foreshadowing? To be fair to Mr. Horn, the failure of the diamond wasn’t actually his fault - not entirely, anyway:

I screwed the high energy flux aperture back on the head of the lightsaber and pitched to Elegos the blackened, misshapen lump that had been the diamond I’d put into the weapon. “Gone. Completely gone.”

“It worked fine when you tested in initially.” He snatched the melted gemstone from the air, sniffed it, then rubbed a thumb across it. “Synthetic?”

I nodded. “Kubaz xurkonia. The crystalline lattice handled the energy while we tested it, but was probably ready to go down anytime. (...) Actually, serves me right for trying to make a complicated lightsaber my first time out.”

Elegos frowned. “Why did you make one with variable lengths?”

I shrugged uneasily. “Well, I guess it was ego. Gantoris made one with two lengths and I wanted mine to be as good as his.”

“I thought you said he had a Sith Dark Lord instructing him at the time.”

“Sure, now you bring that point up.“

Okay, look, I really want to address one thing - even though it’s a completely pointless thing to talk about here - 133 cm for a standard blade is absolutely insane. Never mind the fact that you literally cannot buy blade material over 40 inches (101.6 cm) long, but swinging around a blade with that kind of reach would be so dangerous to yourself, let alone others, that no Jedi wouldn’t survive a single sparring session.

In reality, lightsaber blades are typically 32 to 34 inches long. This makes them much more manageable to swing around without smacking them into the walls or ceiling of your house. The dual-phase feature is handy only for surprising people/causing a ton of collateral damage, if the situation calls for it. 300 cm is just under 10 feet, in case you were wondering.

Moving swiftly along; I really love this little exchange between Corran & the eventual New Republic Senator, Elegos A’Kla. With the possible exception of his wife, Mirax Terrik, Corran’s relationship with Elegos is by far his most important. Elegos is a Caamasi, a race known for their compassionate & peace-loving nature, as well as their ability to share Memnii - essentially, extremely vivid memories - with other Caamasi & Force-sensitives. Elegos’ grandfather was also a Jedi & friend to Corran’s grandfather Nejaa Halcyon, even witnessing his death at the hands of Nikkos Tyris, founder of the Jedi Order splinter group, the Jensaarai.

Throughout their relationship, Elegos would become a surrogate parental figure for Corran, and serve as a kind of spiritual guide, often sharing advice and insight through his memnii.

The passage above illustrates that even though Corran has come into his own in accepting his Jedi destiny, he’s still the same character at heart - a smarmy, cocksure fighter pilot. And it further establishes the friendship & bond between the two characters - something that would go on to be very important just a few years later in the Dark Tide Duology, part of the New Jedi Order series.

TL;DR - The Star Wars galaxy gets invaded by Warhammer 40K Rejects, AKA the Yuuzhan Vong and the Jedi are put on the back foot for the first half of the series.

Fortunately, Mike Stackpole wrote the Dark Tide novels, and they’re excellent. In the first novel, subtitled Onslaught, he gives us this scene, where we see Corran more effectively utilizing the dual-phase feature, this time with a true diamond in that third slot:

(...) Corran squared off with him, presenting his left flank for attack. He held the lightsaber’s hilt up near his right ear, with the blade pointing straight forward. He leveled it at the Vong’s eyes, then gave the alien a nod. “You want me, come get me.”

The Yuuzhan Vong took a step forward, and Corran cranked his right wrist around. The throttle assembly twisted, swapping an emerald for a diamond in the lightsaber’s interior assembly. The energy beam narrowed and went from silver to purple, then more than doubled in length. The blade’s tip stabbed deep through the younger Vong’s left eye socket.

The Yuuzhan Vong jerked and bounced as his limbs snapped straight. He fell back, slipping from the blade’s tip, with smoke rising from his skull. He clattered to the shell floor, his limp limbs rebounding from the hard surface, then he twitched once and lay still.

And Ganner ridiculed me for having an old-style, dual-phase lightsaber.

(Quick aside: I will forever stan Ganner Rhysode aka “The Ganner” - Rest in Power, King - he damn well earned his redemption arc. ✊)

This action is relevant to Corran’s characterization and the ultimate fate of Elegos because the Vong that Corran kills in this very scene is a member of the Domain Shai, the same creche as the current leader of the Vong, Shedao Shai. When Shai learns of this, he would go on to murder the Caamasi out of vengeance, sending his body back to Corran in a sign of disrespect. Vowing vengeance himself, (not a very Jedi thing to do, if you haven’t been paying attention) Corran would go on to duel Shai in single combat, partially couching his motives as a fight for the fate of the planet Ithor.

There are many, many layers of plot & intrigue beginning to interweave themselves at this point in the story, but Ithor - being the source of a specific plant spore that the Yuuzhan Vong’s Vonduun Crab Armor is allergic to - serves a double meaning here. The Vong lay waste to everything they come into contact with, and by taking a stand on this vibrant, beautifully forested jewel of a world - essentially saying “Not One Step Back” - it serves as a narrative foil.

Corran & Shai finally face-off at the tail-end of the second novel, subtitled Ruin:

He bore an amphistaff, which he stabbed tail-first into the ground. He raised a gauntletted hand, the dying sun glinting from his bracer, then pressed the hand back over his heart.

“I am Shedao Domain Shai. This is my subordinate, Deign Domain Lian. He will stand as witness to this combat.”

Corran remained seated. “I am Corran Horn, Late of the New Republic Armed Forces, a Jedi Knight. This is my Master, Luke Skywalker. He will stand as witness to this combat.”

(...) “You are the murderer of Neira Shai and Dranae Shai, my kinsmen.”

Corran stood, slowly and deliberately. Luke could feel the Force gathering in him, swirling around him. “And you murdered my friend, Elegos A’Kla. It is not over the past we fight, but to win the future.”

“You, perhaps.” The Yuuzhan Vong drew himself up tall and straight, then bowed his head toward Corran. “I fight for the honor of the Yuuzhan Vong and Domain Shai.”

The Corellian returned the nod. “So much risk for such a paltry gain.”

Amphistaff spun and lightsaber rose. A slash blocked high, a low cut burning grass but not leaping legs. Combatants slipping past each other, turning, striking, blocking. The amphistaff’s hiss rivaling that of the lightsaber. Weapons flashing forward, retreating, then reposting.

(...) Corran closed and lunged at Shedao Shai’s upper chest. With two hands on the amphistaff, the Yuuzhan Vong parried the argent blade high, then ducked his head and whirled around in a circle. The amphistaff snapped straight against Shedao Shai’s right forearm, then he lunged.

Pain exploded from the Jedi as the amphistaff’s tail stabbed deep into his guts. (...) Corran curled around the holes in his right flank, drawing his knees up. His lightsaber lay smoking on the grass.

(...) Shedao Shai drew back several steps, then tugged off his mask and tossed it aside. He raised the gore-streaked amphistaff to his lips and harvested incarnadine fluid with his tongue. His lips closed for a moment, his eyes following, then he nodded.

“I vowed I would taste your blood as you die, and now I have done that.”

Corran coughed once, pain flaring through the Force, then rolled up to his knees. “Good for you, pal, glad you’re happy.” He winced as he scooped up his lightsaber and staggered to his feet. “Had I been in your boots, I would have vowed something else.”

“Oh?” The Yuuzhan Vong’s eyes opened a slit. “And what would that have been?”

“I’d have vowed to taste my blood after I was dead.” All sense of pain vanished from the Jedi as the Force again enshrouded him. Corran waved the invader forward with his bloody left hand. “So, is this inability to make a clean kill a Yuuzhan Vong thing, or just a Domain Shai thing? You’re so sloppy those bones won’t want to come home with you.”

Shedao Shai’s eyes snapped open. Though Luke could not read him through the Force, the fury and hatred coursing through the Yuuzhan Vong was unmistakable. The warrior darted forward, bringing the amphistaff up and around in a two-handed overhead blow. He smashed it down on Corran’s upraised lightsaber, driving the Jedi back a step.

(...) Shedao Shai towered over him, rising up on his tiptoes to deliver that final blow. The amphistaff rose and crashed down, set to bash the lightsaber back into its wielder, slaying the infidel with the blasphemous weapon he embraced.

With a flick of his thumb, Corran killed the blade and sagged forward.

Overbalanced because his weapon met no resistance, Shedao Shai buried his amphistaff deep in the ground and stumbled a half-step forward. The surprise registering on his face widened his eyes, then his lips peeled back in a feral grin as Corran pressed his lightsaber against the Yuuzhan Vong’s stomach. The lightsaber hissed. Argent light poured from Shedao Shai’s mouth a second before he vomited black blood and collapsed to the ground, his spine severed, his belly smoking.

(...) “Wait, just a second.” Corran pointed at the mask Shedao Shai had discarded. “I want that mask.”

“Why?”

Corran’s eyes closed for a moment as pain washed over him. “Elegos’s bones. They’re watching something. That mask will show him that the Vong are not invincible, and for Ithor at least, there will be peace.”

The best part of this confrontation is the fact that it doesn’t work. The Vong still destroy Ithor - further demoralizing the New Republic - and one of the most influential Jedi in the Order bears the full weight of the public outcry and is basically forced into self-imposed exile on Corellia. And Elegos is not avenged. In seeking out the fight with Shedao Shai, Corran allowed his personal feelings to cloud his thinking and color his motives. In so doing, he brought shame on Elegos’ memory, and he says as much afterward:

The Jedi sank back on his heels and looked up into the jeweled eyes of what had once been his friend. From inside his robe he drew the mask Shedao Shai had worn. He rubbed a sleeve over its black surface, erasing a smudge, then reverently set it in Elegos’ lap.

“Your murderer is dead.”

Corran wanted to say more, but his throat closed and the glowing image before him blurred. He covered his eyes with a hand, smearing tears against his cheeks, then swallowed hard. He wiped away more tears, then took a deep breath and set his shoulders.

“His death was supposed to save Ithor. It didn’t. I know you’d be horrified to think I killed for you. I didn’t. I did it for Ithor.”

The gold skeleton stared down at him, cold mercilessness glinting from the gems in its eye-sockets.

Never any fooling you, was there, my friend? Corran screwed his eyes shut against more tears, then opened them again. He looked away, unable to stand Elegos’ dead gaze.

“That’s what I told myself. It was for Ithor. That’s what I told everyone. Managed to fool some of them - most of them, I think. Not Master Skywalker. I think he knew the truth, but the chance to save Ithor had to be taken.”

He glanced down at his right hand and could again feel the weight of his lightsaber in it. “I had myself convinced, I really did, until...there was a point in the fight. I’d turned my lightsaber off; Shedao Shai had overbalanced himself. His staff was buried in the turf. I shoved my lightsaber’s hilt against his stomach.”

A shudder quaked through Corran. “There was a moment there. A nanosecond. I hesitated. Not because I thought of life as sacred and that taking any life was horrible - the way you would have, my friend. No...no, I hesitated because I wanted Shedao Shai to know he was dead. I wanted him to know I knew he was dead. If he was going to see his life flash before his eyes, I wanted him to take a good look at it. I wanted him to have a nice long look at it. I wanted him to know it was all for nothing.”

(...) “In that one moment, Elegos, I dishonored your sacrifice. I betrayed you. I betrayed the Jedi. I betrayed myself.” Corran sighed. “In that one moment, I crossed the line. I walked on the dark side.”

He raised his head and met Elegos’ bejeweled stare. “You Caamasi had a saying: If the wind no longer calls to you, it is time to see if you have forgotten your name. The problem I have, my friend, is that I heard the dark side calling to me. Without your help, without your guidance, I’m not sure how I can deal with that.”

This admission is made all the more shocking, because this is the first time we truly see Corran brush with the dark side. Yes, he’d faced many difficult choices in the past - being tempted to “take the quick and easy path” to free his wife from captivity comes to mind - but this was different. It’s important to know, Corran is a forty-three year old man at this point. He’s not an impatient kid, or an old fool - he’s a flawed human being. And in this particular instance, it cost him - and the New Republic - dearly.

This is undoubtedly the most interesting aspect in the nature of dual-phase lightsabers for me; they're an allegory for the choices we all make everyday. They represent the capacity for both great good and great evil with such crystal-clear prose that it’s genuinely baffling to me how some people can claim Star Wars isn’t all that deep. If you look past the pop sci-fi trash of the Disney Canon and dig around in the old Expanded Universe, you can find some real gems.

And this, boys & girls, is why Michael Stackpole is one of the top three EU writers - come at me.

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