DEEP SEA 

by jieke007

Do any other american high schoolers have intense survivor’s guilt and trauma with school shootings even though they weren’t at your school?

Like. A laser tag place opened geared towards teenagers and it got no business, we tried to enjoy it but when someone pointed a laser machine gun at me and I instinctively dropped behind the nearest wall and reached to turn off my phone I cried, I wasn’t the only one. The announcements system turns on at an unexpected time and everyone holds their breath until they say something besides “locks, lights, out of sight,” nobody even jokingly pops chip bags anymore, a door slammed really loud during a class change and everyone dropped and ran. Everyone cries during drills, even the toughest ranch kids. Every drill comes with a full day of teachers crying and telling us that they love us all so much and will die for us, and every kid in every class looking around wondering who would I die for? Who would die for me? You walk to the bathroom and wonder every second if it happens right now, where will I go? You test supply closet doors to see which ones are unlocked, you memorize which furniture in the teachers’ lounge your English teacher says is light enough to barricade a door with. The fire alarm goes off and nobody moves, instead you wait for gunshots—it a trap? You stand with a group of freshmen and realize that you’re the oldest, you know you’ll have to die for them. You forget your ID tag and worry that now the police won’t be able to tell your parents if you’re safe, or not safe. Your stats teacher has a baseball bat by the door, your math teacher keeps a stapler under each desk to throw, your drama teacher asks who will be willing to stand by the non-locking door with the Shakespearean swords. Your yearbook teacher tells you don’t worry about breaking a camera because you heard about the kids who died holding them. You don’t use the bathroom during classes because you don’t want to be the only target to shoot at. You keep your phone on silent 24/7 because you worry the one time you forget will be when you get your whole US History class killed. You have a snap saved with your class schedule and school and full name to send in an instant to your internet friends so they know if you were on that wing, you have a note saved with the things you want your mom to know and the things you’re sorry for. At the age of 12 I was told I needed to know who I would die for and that it was okay if it was nobody, that was my decision to make. School shootings control us more than adults and non-Americans could possibly imagine and nobody moves to change anything unless we’re actively screaming for it. Have you considered we’re too scared?

The absolute fuck. The fuck did I just read. This sounds like dystopian fiction. The fucking fuck.

It isn’t. This is 100% the reality of all American children - not the ones that live in bad neighborhoods, not the ones that make bad choices, ALL OF THEM.

Welcome to America.

This reminds me of a discussion we had in one of my classes the other day-

My professor was describing how everyone from her generation had the same nightmare of a nuke going off. In they dream they all saw the same mushroom cloud and everything. She said that she didn’t think my generation had a dream like that; one that everyone shared and had

For a while none of us could disagree with her. Until this popped up. I raised my hand and mentioned that everyone I knew had an active shooter dream at one point or another. And Every. Single. Person. Nodded. All of us had that dream. All of us.

Pretty telling, huh?

The mere notion that highschool children might have survivor’s guilt is sickening

Dystopia When?

Dystopia Now.

A city where necromancy is legal and actually a part of every day society. So long as you follow a specific set of laws to make it seem a bit more ethical, you’re allowed to use it to do anything from helping you in a fight, to helping you run your business. In fact, there are entire shops or restaurants where the staff are undead. Laws to handle the undead could be things like:

• The corpses used cannot have flesh on them for sanitary reasons, especially in the case of businesses. Those who raise undead who are more than just bone will face a fine dependent on their situation.

• Similar to how people can donate their bodies to science, or donate their organs to those in need, people can choose to donate their bodies to necromancers before their death.

• If it is unknown if a person wished for their body to be donated after death, and they have been dead for 150+ years, you’re allowed to raise them. If next of kin is still alive, you must get permission from them first.

• You must take care of the undead in your charge. Keep them clean and unbroken. If one of them starts to get too much wear and tear, you are required by law to respectfully lay them back down to rest. Failure to do this will get you a hefty fine.

I’m making a town like this and the tavern will be called the Skelet-Inn

Fucking brilliant

I mean, take it a step further, if you aren’t sure if someone would want their body used after their death, call them up and ask them. It’s less taxing to cast a Commune with Dead spell than to raise an active skeleton, and this way you know for sure whether they mind, so there’s no ethical ambiguity. 

Most local dead consider the idea of skeletal labor completely normal, so they tell the necromancer that they waive all rights to the corpse for public work purposes as a formality and then go back to their afterlife.

For private employ however it’s customary to pay a small stipend to either a living relative or a charity of the ghost’s choice in exchange for their corpse’s labor. 

Due to the prevalence of public works done by skeletons, Necromancers are seen in much the same light as government functionaries. They’re stereotyped as mild mannered people who do an important service but are also really boring at parties.

Chaeyeon’s reaction when the camera spotted her 🎥

Egotistic - MAMAMOO

화 - Anger

태도 - Attitude 

중심 - Center

매일 - Everyday

매번 - Every time, Always

눈 - Eye

머리 - Head, Hair

입 - Lips, Mouth

밤 - Night

이제 - Now

위성 - Satellite 

소리 - Sound

태양 - Sun

생각 - Thought, Think, Idea

어리석다 - To be foolish

외롭다 - To be lonely

무너지다 - To collapse 

새우다 - To stay up all night

떨림 - Trembling 

이해 - Understand(ing)

너 - You

너의 - Your

[ENG TRANS LYRICS] IZ*ONE - La Vie en Rose

Vocal: IZ*ONE Lyrics: Mospick Composer: Mospick Rearrangement: Mospick

Get dyed in red at this time

I’ll make it red eh eh eh

Make it red eh eh eh

Quickly on my heart like a red rose

Gracefully eh eh eh 

Freshly eh eh

Rose

This sort of feeling is more than a ruby (more than a ruby)

Like the sparkling feel that I’m getting

If you’re being drawn then be driven by it na na now

Right this moment na na now

I don’t wanna make it blue

Imagine it your La Vie en Rose

The light in your eyes gets deeper

And inside it my reddened heart burns up

Makes me dance

Ooh don’t forget the Rose that is standing here

Ooh so it can shine whenever

La La La La Vie en Rose

(Ooh) This is my my

La La La La Vie en Rose (Rose)

(Ooh) Oh It’s my my

La La La La Vie en Rose

It’s okay to anticipate it

(Somehow this feeling feels perfect)

Even if you look from up close I’m fine with it (Red)

The glistening eyes just like a ruby all eyes

All eyes on me

I’ll color you and shine you red more than anybody else

This sort of feeling is more than a candy (more than a candy)

Like the sweet feel that I’m getting

If you’re being drawn then be driven by it na na now

Right this moment na na now

I don’t wanna make it blue

Create it your La Vie en Rose

The light in your eyes gets deeper

And inside it my reddened heart burns up

Makes me dance

Ooh don’t forget the Rose that is standing here

Ooh so it can shine whenever

La La La La Vie en Rose

(Ooh) This is my my

La La La La Vie en Rose (Rose)

(Ooh) Oh It’s my my

La La La La Vie en Rose

Open the eyes that you have closed

Everything will become different

Look at the world that is unknown to everyone else oh baby

La La La La La La La Vie en Rose

Color everything red

La La La La La La La Vie en Rose

La La La La Vie en Rose

(Ooh) This is my my

La La La La Vie en Rose

(Ooh) So it can be dyed by the color of rose

La La La La Vie en Rose

Bright red my rose

It shines my rose

La La La La Vie en Rose

At this moment specially

(We’ll make it red)

Oh it’s my my

La La La La Vie en Rose

Translated by: Yubseyo

Uh

Heavy metals in the what now?

So here’s a Reconstruction of what happened As you can clearly see, the Heavy Metal inside the child made her attracted to the car. Very Sad

Bruh I didn’t mean to laugh but bitch 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

I hate that this is going to be one of the most memorable things of 2018 fuck u internet

[INTERVIEW] TRANS : Red Velvet Seulgi GQ October Edition

We especially requested you to be interviewed out of Red Velvet. Why do you think we chose you? I don’t know. Maybe it was because I’m popular among women but it’s GQ…

Maybe it was because of your coolness. You don’t look fussy, anxious nor easily swept away by things.  I value doing my end of the work as well as I can a lot. I think there are people who notice that I think a lot about what my role is, what I’m good at and what I’m trying to express the most out of this job. 

If that were true, we’d simply say you were hard-working. People might have found some charms that I haven’t discovered about myself. But I personally look up to people who do their part of the job the best they can. And that’s the kind of person I think of when other people tell me that I’m cool.

Who’s the coolest person to you out of all the people in the world? Mom and dad. When I said that I wanted to be a singer when I was young, they supported me with everything they could. They even signed up for auditions in my place. On top of that, they even packed lunch boxes and fed them to me whenever I finished practicing and went back home. I spent my seven years as a trainee like that.

It looks like they took care of you like a sports star. Yeah, at first I thought my parents were being too extra, because I thought I was all grown up. I even worried that I might not be able to survive on my own if they kept doing things like that to me. But, even these days, when I tell them that I’m stressed over my singing, they talk to me like a vocal coach. Nowadays, they trust me and leave me alone. They just say that they hope I come back to them whenever I feel down.

What has changed the most about you while being a part of Red Velvet? I really think I’m changing constantly. I can feel that I change depending on what kind of mindset I have at that moment. A lot of things cross my mind because of that. These days, I don’t know what kind of person I am. But then again, I’m sure everybody’s like this. Sometimes, I’m confident to do something, but other times, even if the littlest thing goes wrong, I lose confidence and look timid. Then I figure out what’s wrong with me and get better. Stuff like these just all exist inside of me.

The fact that your job requires you to present every aspect of yourself to the public is what makes it harder, isn’t it? Yeah. But that’s also how I get energized.

During your trainee years, did you learn how to get interviewed? No. Before, I took a look at the questions ahead of time and wrote all of my answers below it, in fear that I might forget them. But these days, I think I’m able to speak without going through all of that because I think about these things casually. If, when I first debuted, I censored myself to say typical things in case it could cause controversy, nowadays, I find out what I’ve been thinking about these days while getting interviewed. I like interviews like these because they’re like short logs of my life. Before, I did hide myself a lot. I mean, I still have some sides of me that I haven’t revealed. I think that I’ll look pretty doing this, but then again, I realize, I don’t look pretty when I smile. Things like that. I know I have things that I’m still hiding right now, but I’m planning onto not put too much effort in covering them up. I’m learning how to show those things naturally.

You look comfortable being interviewed. Is there anything that people don’t know about you well despite your efforts to not cover yourself up?  Um… If I were to list one thing, I’m not as hard-working as people think I am. I’m the kind of person who gets things done, even if it means I have to rush through it. But, the thing is that it takes me a long time to summon the energy to motivate myself to get that done… Really, I’m not the kind of person who plans everything out in advance.

But I heard that you make sure to do everything the best you can, whether it’s a variety show or a special stage. I try to do whatever it takes to make that happen. Even if that means I have to stay up all night. But that doesn’t mean that I’m hard-working.

Maybe it’s because you’re known for being a trainee for a long time. Lots of people take pity on me by saying things like, “Oh, how did you go through all that,” “That must have been rough,” but I wish they wouldn’t. I, myself, don’t think it was that much of a hard time. Of course, there were some rough patches, but it’s like how someone who’s been a trainee for three years has their own three years of hardship and trouble. Let’s say someone who’s been a trainee for three years debuts with me. Then that means that that person has to get used to working with me, a person who has trained for seven years. That, in other words, means that that person had to condense what I had to go through seven years and get it done in three years. Everybody has their own pace and time. If I had really debuted after just three years of practice, I would have been more lost than I am now.

You once said that you were having a hard time keeping up with the busy schedules. How do you manage to keep calm and get things done when you have tons of things to do? I just say to myself that this is my job. Actually, that’s something that I always have in mind. I push through by thinking that I can’t let go of this for the people around me, like my fans and the staff. And it feels really good when people notice what I’ve worked on. I became a singer for people to notice my hard work and also because I enjoy getting my hard work being noticed. 

Is there a habit you have kept without fail ever since you’ve debuted? Hmm… Ah! I tried to make the people who know me like me! My personality is like that. Even when I was young, I had a good relationship with my classmates too. People who don’t know me could not like me. But I’ve always told myself to try to leave a good impression of myself in the people who do know me. I don’t like being on bad terms with people. I’m more of a people person. If there’s someone who’s talking bad about me, I want to listen to what that person has to say too, and ask, “Why don’t you like me?” (Giggles)

Do you have anything that you’ve learned to let go after debuting? My looks? Of course, I think that everybody has their own characteristics and charms. But you know the generic kind of beauty that people have, right? I’m trying to not think too much about that. I’m trying not to focus too much on pretty things.

Wait, what? I’m getting more and more surprised because the more I look at you, the more you resemble the actress Lee Young-Ae. My looks are constantly exposed to the public because of my job, so if I didn’t have that kind of mindset, I’m sure I would have been really stressed. But, it’s the era of individuality now. If there’s one thing that I’m confident in my looks, it’s the locations of my ears, eyes, mouth, and nose! When I debuted, I got lots of hate comments and got called out for my looks, which made my self-esteem plummet. But I’ve let go of all of that. In the “Laws of the Jungle,” I was just like, ‘Here goes nothing,’ and revealed my no-makeup face in front of the camera. I find people who are honest about themselves cool and pretty. And they look much more charming when they’re like that. It’s way cooler to see people not blindly follow other people. 

If there’s one ability that you really need right now, what would it be? Being able to say what I want right away. 

You can’t? No. I wish I could just say what’s in my head well. From a long time ago, I thought I was a bit boring. I like chatting quietly like this, but I think that makes me look shabby compared to the other bright people in the music industry. I also feel like I ruin everything because I’m not good at telling stories well. It got to the point where I was convinced that I had a talent for making everything awkward. So, I want to say what I want right away, without hesitation. I’m wondering about whether drinking will help me get over this problem, because when I’m drinking with other people, that bright and relaxed atmosphere helps me be more honest.

If you could steal someone’s abilities, whose would you steal? Beyonce’s. Wow, I wonder what she feels like being able to dance and sing like that. She must feel really happy being the best at everything…

In a past interview, you said that you wanted to learn how to play the guitar. Have you made any progress on that? This proves why I’m not hard-working. (Giggles) You see, if I make a plan, it becomes a long-term plan no matter what, because there isn’t a date that I have to accomplish it by. 

It might be risky for you to make any plans without setting an urgent deadline.  Yeah, I think so. Then again, even when I was young, I always crammed for my exams, but I have a reason for that. I only had one week to study for my exams while being a trainee. Instead of going to the company for that week, I’d get tutored and study till dawn. I’ve gotten too used to that now, so, if I have something that I need to do, I set a deadline and make sure it gets done by then.

Then what are some of the extra long-term goals you have as being a part of Red Velvet? Red Velvet is a group that tries out a variety of concepts, right? I mean, it’s gotten to the point where I can’t figure out what to wear when I have to perform ‘Peek-A-Boo’ and ‘Power Up’ in one performance. But concentrating on every moment of that is really fun. When else would I be able to dance intimidatingly and make those kinds of facial expressions if it wasn’t for ‘Bad Boy?’ I think Red Velvet is a group where unique people have come together to sing unique songs and express uniqueness. I don’t like cliche things, so I like the direction that the company is leading Red Velvet to. Although now I’m only able to pitch in a few opinions while performing at concerts, I hope that in the future I’ll be able to participate more in building the direction that Red Velvet will take, since we’ve been in the industry for quite some time and we’re starting to understand what our color is like.

Could you share a super short-term goal that you’ve achieved recently? I think I’m just winding down by eating yummy things these days. Before, I didn’t have the luxury of being able to try yummy things or food. But now it’s different. I have to eat want I immediately. So I ate gopchang yesterday.

@tovanori sobs look at this sweet idiot bear child i love her so much todd I WANT TO TAKE CARE OF HER

Coraline is a masterfully made film, an amazing piece of art that i would never ever ever show to a child oh my god are you kidding me

Nothing wrong with a good dose of sheer terror at a young age

“It was a story, I learned when people began to read it, that children experienced as an adventure, but which gave adults nightmares. It’s the strangest book I’ve written”

-Neil Gaiman on Coraline

@nightlovechild

This is a legit psychology phenomenon tho like there’s a stop motion version of Alice and Wonderland that adults find viscerally horrifying, but children think is nbd. It’s like in that ‘toy story’ period of development kids are all kind of high key convinced that their stuffed animals lead secret lives when they’re not looking and that they’re sleeping on top of a child-eating monster every night so they see a movie like Coraline and are just like “Ah, yes. A validation of my normal everyday worldview. Same thing happened to me last Tuesday night. I told mommy and she just smiled and nodded.”

Stephen King had this whole spiel i found really interesting about this phenomenon about how kids have like their own culture and their own literally a different way of viewing and interpreting the world with its own rules that’s like secret and removed from adult culture and that you just kinda forget ever existed as you grow up it’s apparently why he writes about kids so much

An open-ended puzzle often gives parents math anxiety while their kids just happily play with it, explore, and learn. I’ve seen it so many times in math circles. We warn folks about it.

Neil Gaiman also said that the difference in reactions stems from the fact in “Coraline” adults see a child in danger - while children see themselves facing danger and winning

i never saw so much push back from adults towards YA literature as when middle aged women started reading The Hunger Games. They were horrified that kids would be given such harsh stories, and I kept trying to point out the NECESSITY of confronting these hard issues in a safe fictional environment.

Also, in an interview, he said that Coraline was partially based on a story his not yet 6 year old daughter would tell him 

SAGAL: No. I mean, for example, your incredibly successful young adult novel “Coraline” is about a young girl in house in which there’s a hole in the wall that leads to a very mysterious and very evil world. So when you were a kid, is that what you imagined?

GAIMAN: When I was a kid, we actually lived in a house that had been divided in two at one point, which meant that one room in our house opened up onto a brick wall. And I was convinced all I had to do was just open it the right way and it wouldn’t be a brick wall. So I’d sidle over to the door and I’d pull it open.

(SOUNDBITE OF LAUGHTER)

SAGAL: Right.

GAIMAN: And it was always a brick wall.

SAGAL: Right.

GAIMAN: But it was one of those things that as I grew older, I carried it with me and I thought, I want to send somebody through that door. And when I came to write a story for my daughter Holly, at the time she was a 4 or 5-year-old girl. She’d come home from nursery. She’d seen me writing all day. So she’d come and climb on my lap and dictate stories to me. And it’d always be about small girls named Holly.

SAGAL: Right.

GAIMAN: Who would come home to normally find their mother had been kidnapped by a witch and replaced by evil people who wanted to kill her and she’d have to go off and escape. And I thought, great, what a fun kid.

It’s anxious adults who desperately want to “soften” stories. Kids prefer the real thing: with monsters, bloodthirsty ogres and evil murderous stepmothers; where the littlest brother always wins and all the villains are horrendously punished in the end. The world is threatening to the eyes of a child, so they need a fictional universe where the little people have a fair chance against the big and strong.

This isn’t specifically about stop motion but it is about how sad or scary parts of movies aren’t really all that bad- IE the 80′s movies, particularly Don Bluth’s films. (X- The Melancholy of Don Bluth, by Meg Shields )

How the children’s animation of the 80’s made room for sadness, and what that taught us. 

There was a time when McDonalds used to give away VHS tapes with happy meals, and by some stroke of luck, one day my mom picked The Land Before Time. It was the first film to etch itself onto me ‐ the way film tends to with kids. I would recreate the plot with stuffed animals and parrot the lines to whoever would listen; I pawed that VHS box until the cardboard went soft.

A couple years ago, I saw that Land Before Time was playing on t.v. and couldn’t remember the last time I’d watched it all the way through. Within five minutes I was completely obliterated and sobbing into a throw pillow. This is a shared experience for children raised with Don Bluth: that as a kid, I could only clock a hazy sense that his films felt different from Disney fare, but that the articulations of this difference, and their ability to emotionally floor me, are something I’ve only become aware of in retrospect.

There was a regime change in animation during the 80’s. Quite literally in the form of Bluth’s official break with Disney in ’79, but in a more elusive sense with the landscape of what children’s animation during that decade felt like. For whatever reason, be it Bluth’s departure or a diseased managerial ethos in the wake of Walt’s passing, the 80’s were a mixed bag for Disney. Don’t get me wrong, they’re amiable and charming films, but The Fox and the Hound and The Great Mouse Detective are not classics. And for all its ambition, The Black Cauldron cannot be redeemed on technical merit. Disney would eventually yank itself out of its slump in ’89 with The Little Mermaid ‐ but animation during the 80’s, along with the childhoods of a slew of millennials, were definitively shaped by Bluth.

That there is a dark tenor to Bluth’s work has been thoroughly, albeit perhaps vaguely, noted, often citing individual moments of terror (cc: Sharptooth, you dick). While I don’t doubt that frightening and disturbing scenes contribute to an overall sense of darkness in Bluth’s work, I’m unconvinced that they’re at the root of what distinguishes his darker tone. There is, I think, a holistic sadness to Bluth films; a pervasive, and fully integrated melancholy that permeates his earlier work.

These stories are full of crystalline moments of narrative sadness; specific story moments at which I inevitably mutter a “fuck you Don Bluth,” and try not to cry. There’s Littlefoot mistaking his own shadow for his dead mother; Fievel sobbing in the rain (a Bluth mainstay) convinced that his family has abandoned him; Mrs. Brisby shuddering helplessly after she and the Shrew temporarily disarm the plow. Other plot points are less tear-jerking so much as objectively miserable: the cruelty of the humans in The Secret of NIMH; An American Tail’s intelligent allegory for Russian Jewish pogroms and immigration; Carface getting Charlie B. Barkin drunk and murdering him at the pier.

You know — FOR KIDS! 

Thematically, there is an ever-present air of death about Bluth’s work that is profoundly sad. Bones litter certain set-pieces; illness and age are veritable threats (shout out to Nicodemus’ gnarly skeleton hands); and characters can and do bleed. Critically, Bluth films don’t gloss over grief, they sit with it. From Littlefoot’s straight up depression following the on-screen death of his mom, to Mrs. Brisby’s soft sorrow at finding out the details of her husband’s death.

There is a space for mourning in Bluth’s stories that feels extra-narrative, and unpretentious. Critically, this is distinct from, say, wallowing. Bluth’s films have a ridiculously productive attitude towards mourning, most lucidly articulated through Land Before Time’s moral mouthpiece Rooter: “you’ll always miss her, but she’ll always be with you as long as you remember the things she taught you.” Disney meanwhile, tends to treat death as a narrative flourish, or worse, a footnote. And in comparison, even notable exceptions like Bambi and The Lion King seem immaturely timid to let palpable grief linger for longer than a scene, let alone throughout a film’s runtime.

Look at all the fun times they’re missing. 

Musically, James Horner and Jerry Goldsmith’s impossibly beautiful scores are laced with a forlorn undercurrent. In particular, Horner’s tonal dissonance in The Land Before Time theme punches the Wagner-lover in me in the throat (admittedly, a good thing). Further to this, the first half of Goldsmith’s “Escape from N.I.M.H,” is reminiscently Tristan and Isolde-y. And while I’m here, I would also like to formally issue a “fuck you for making me cry in public” to American Tail’s “The Great Fire,” which when combined with visuals, is nothing short of devastating.

Speaking of visuals, backdrops of grim and vast indifference dot Bluth’s work; from the twisted Giger-esque caverns of the rats’ rosebush, to the urban rot of a thoroughly unglamorous New York and New Orleans. That these landscapes are in a state of decay is particularly dismal; there is a tangible barrenness, a lack of the warmth our characters are desperately hoping to find by their film’s end. These are depressed and morose spaces ‐ and that they are so seemingly unnavigable and foreboding makes them all the more compelling, and narratively resonant.

The way Bluth uses color is also notable, with dark, earthy tones prevailing throughout only to be blown out quite literally with the golden light characteristic of Bluth’s hard-earned happy endings. Before Littlefoot and friends reach The Great Valley, an event marked by gradually illuminating god-rays, they must slug it out through the parched browns, blues and pitch of their prehistoric hellscape. Like Charlie’s final ascendance into heaven, Fievel must endure similarly muted shades until he is finally (finally) reunited with his family and soaked in glitter ‐ a level of Don Bluth conclusion-sparkles perhaps only rivaled by the radiance of Mrs. Brisby’s amulet as she Jean Grey’s her homestead to safety at the end of NIMH. Because Bluth leans into darker, less saturated tones, these effervescent conclusions are all the more impactful, which speaks in part to the methodology of Bluth’s melancholy.

The plucky leads of Bluth’s early films are all fighting for the same thing: family. From Mrs. Brisby’s persistence to protect her children, to Charlie’s (eventually) selfless love for Anne-Marie, these are characters in search of home. Invariably, each of these characters gets their happy ending, but they have to go through hell to get there, literally in Charlie’s case. In a recent interview, critic Doug Walker asked Bluth if there was any truth to the rumor that he thinks you can show children anything so long as there’s a happy ending, to which Bluth replied:

“[If] you don’t show the darkness, you don’t appreciate the light. If it weren’t for December no one would appreciate May. It’s just important that you see both sides of that. As far as a happy ending…when you walk out of the theatre there’s [got to be] something that you have that you get to take home. What did it teach me? Am I a better person for having watched it?”

Melancholy isn’t just a narrative device for Bluth, it’s a natural part of navigating life, of searching for wholeness, and becoming a better person. Bluth acknowledges sadness in a way that never diminishes or minimizes its existence; he invites melancholy in, confesses its power, and lets it rest. Sadness is, for Bluth, an essential characteristic of the world and living in it. That is a wholly edifying message for kids, delivered in a vessel that is both palatable and unpatronizing. For this reason, among innumerable others, Bluth’s work has immense value as children’s entertainment…even if it means crying into a throw pillow twenty years later.

At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.

“Power absorption?” you ask him over your pasta, which you are currently absorbing powerfully. in the background, a tv is reading out what the Phoenix extremeist group has done recently. bodies, stacking.

tim nods, pushing his salad around. “it’s kind of annoying.” he’s gone vegan ever since he could talk to animals. his cheeks are sallow. “yesterday i absorbed static and i can’t stop shocking myself.”

“you don’t know what from,” shay is detangling her hair at the table, even though it’s not polite. about a second ago, her hair was perfect, which implies she’s been somewhere in the inbetween. “try millions of multiverses that your powers conflict with.” 

“did we die in the last one?” you grin and she grins and tim grins but nobody answers the question.

now she has a cut over her left eye and her hair is shorter. she looks tired and tim looks tired and you look down at your 18-year-old hands, which are nothing. 

they ship out tomorrow. they go out to the frontlines or wherever it is that superheroes go to fight supervillains; the cream of the crop. the starlight banner kids. 

“you both are trying too hard,” you tell them, “couldn’t you have been, like, really good at surfing?”

“god,” shay groans, “what i’d give to only be in the olympics.”

xxx in the night, tim is asleep. on the way home, he absorbed telekinesis, and hates it too. 

shay looks at you. “i’m scared,” she says.

you must not have died recently, because she looks the same she did at dinner, cut healing slowly over her eye the way it’s supposed to, not the hyper-quickness of a timejump. just shay, living in the moment when the moment is something everyone lives in. her eyes are wide and dark the way brown eyes can be, that swelling fullness that feels so familiar and warm, that piercing darkness that feels like a stone at the back of your tongue.

“you should be,” you say.

her nose wrinkles, she opens her mouth, but you plow on.

“they’re going to take one look at you and be like, ‘gross, shay? no thanks. you’re too pretty. it’s bringing down like, morale, and things’. then they’ll kick you out and i’ll live with you in a box and we’ll sell stolen cans of ravioli.”

she’s grinning. “like chef boyardee or like store brand?”

“store brand but we print out chef boyardee labels and tape them over the can so we can mark up the price.”

“where do we get the tape?” 

“we, uh,” you look into those endless dark eyes, so much like the night, so much like a good hot chocolate, so much like every sleepover you’ve had with the two of your best friends, and you say, “it’s actually just your hair. i tie your hair around the cans to keep the label on.”

she throws a pillow at you. 

you both spend a night planning what you’ll do in the morning when shay is kicked out of Squadron 8, Division 1; top rankers that are all young. you’ll both run away to the beach and tim will be your intel and you’ll burn down the whole thing. you’re both going to open a bakery where you will do the baking and she’ll use her time abilities to just, like, speed things up so you don’t have to wake up at dawn. you’re both going to become wedding planners that only do really extreme weddings.

she falls asleep on your shoulder. you do not sleep at all.

in the morning, they are gone.

xxx

squadron 434678, Division 23467 is basically “civilian status.” you still have to know what to expect and all that stuff. you’re glad that you’re taking extra classes at college; you’re kind of bored re-learning the stuff you were already taught in high school. there are a lot of people who need help, and you’re good at that, so you help them. 

tim and shay check in from time to time, but they’re busy saving the world, so you don’t fault them for it. in the meantime, you put your head down and work, and when your work is done, you help the people who can’t finish their work. and it kind of feels good. kind of.

xxx

at twenty, squadron 340067, division 2346 feels like a good fit. tim and you go out for ice cream in a new place that rebuilt after the Phoenix group burned it down. you’ve chosen nurse-practitioner as your civilian job, because it seems to fit, but you’re not released for full status as civilian until you’re thirty, so it’s been a lot of office work.

tim’s been on the fritz a lot lately, overloading. you’re worried they’ll try to force him out on the field. he’s so young to be like this.

“i feel,” he says, “like it all comes down to this puzzle. like i’m never my own. i steal from other people’s boxes.”

you wrap your hand around his. “sometimes,” you say, “we love a river because it is a reflection.”

he’s quiet a long time after that. a spurt of flame licks from under his eyes.

“i wish,” he says, “i could believe that.”

xxx

twenty three has you in squad 4637, division 18. really you’ve just gotten here because you’re good at making connections. you know someone who knows someone who knows you as a good kid. you helped a woman onto a bus and she told her neighbor who told his friend. you’re mostly in the filing department, but you like watching the real superheroes come in, get to know some of them. at this level, people have good powers but not dangerous ones. you learn how to help an 18 year old who is a loaded weapon by shifting him into a non-violent front. you get those with pstd home where they belong. you put your head down and work, which is what you’re good at. 

long nights and long days and no vacations is fine until everyone is out of the office for candlenights eve. you’re the only one who didn’t mind staying, just in case someone showed up needing something. 

the door blows open. when you look up, he’s bleeding. you jump to your feet. 

“oh,” you say, because you recognize the burning bird insignia on his chest, “I think you have the wrong office.”

“i just need,” he spits onto the ground, sways, collapses. 

well, okay. so, that’s, not, like. great. “uh,” you say, and you miss shay desperately, “okay.”

you find the source of the bleeding, stabilize him for when the shock sets in, get him set up on a desk, sew him shut. two hours later, you’ve gotten him a candlenights present and stabilized his vitals. you’ve also filed him into a separate folder (it’s good to be organized) and found him a home, far from the warfront.

when he wakes up, you give him hot chocolate (god, how you miss shay), and he doesn’t smile. he doesn’t smile at the gift you’ve gotten him (a better bulletproof vest, one without the Phoenix on it), or the stitches. that’s okay. you tell him to take the right medications, hand them over to him, suggest a doctor’s input. and then you hand over his folder with a new identity in it and a new house and civilian status. you take a deep breath. 

he opens it and bursts into tears. he doesn’t say anything. he just leaves and you have to clean up the blood, which isn’t very nice of him. but it’s candlenights. so whatever. hopefully he’ll learn to like his gift.

xxx

squadron 3046, division 2356 is incredibly high for a person like you to fit. but still, you fit, because you’re good at organization and at hard work, and at knowing how to hold on when other people don’t see a handhold.

shay is home. you’re still close, the two of you, even though she feels like she exists on another planet. the more security you’re privy to, the more she can tell you. 

you brush her hair as she speaks about the endless man who never dies, and how they had to split him up and hide him throughout the planet. she cries when she talks about how much pain he must be in.

“can you imagine?” she whispers, “i mean, i know he’s phoenix, but can you imagine?” 

“one time i had to work retail on black friday,” you say.

she sniffles.

“one time my boss put his butt directly on my hand by accident and i couldn’t say anything so i spent a whole meeting with my hand directly up his ass,” you say.

her eyes are so brown, and filling, and there are scars on her you’ve never noticed that might be new or very, very, very old; and neither of you know exactly how much time she’s actually been alive for. 

“i mean,” you say, “yeah that might hurt but one time i said goodbye to someone but they were walking in the same direction. i mean can you imagine.”

she laughs, finally, even though it’s weakly, and says, “one time even though i can manipulate time i slept in and forgot to go to work even though i was leading a presentation and i had to look them in the face later to tell them that.”

“you’re a compete animal,” you tell her, and look into those eyes, so sad and full of timelines you’ll never witness, “you should be kicked out completely.”

she wipes her face. “find me in a box,” she croaks, “selling discount ravioli.”

xxx

you don’t know how it happens. but you guess the word gets around. you don’t think you like being known to them as someone they can go to, but it’s not like they’ve got a lot of options. many of them just want to be out of it, so you get them out, you guess.

you explain to them multiple times you haven’t done a residency yet and you really only know what an emt would, but they still swing by. every time they show up at your office, you feel your heart in your chest: this is it, this is how you die, this is how it ends. 

“so, like, this group” you say, trying to work the system’s loopholes to find her a way out of it, “from ashes come all things, or whatever?”

she shrugs. you can tell by looking at her that she’s dangerous. “it’s corny,” she says. another shrug. “i didn’t mean to wind up a criminal.”

you don’t tell her that you sort of don’t know how one accidentally becomes a criminal, since you kind-of-sort-of help criminals out, accidentally. 

“i don’t believe any of that stuff,” she tells you, “none of that whole… burn it down to start it over.” she swallows. “stuff just happens. and happens. and you wake up and it’s still happening, even though you wish it wasn’t.”

you think about shay, and how she’s covered in scars, and her crying late at night because of things nobody else ever saw.

“yeah,” you say, and print out a form, “i get that.”

and you find a dangerous woman a normal home.

xxx

“you’re squadron 905?” 

“division 34754,” you tell him. watch him look down at your ID and certification and read your superpower on the card and then look back up to you and then back down to the card and then back up at you, and so on. he licks his chapped lips and stands in the cold.

this happens a lot. but you smile. the gatekeeper is frowning, but then hanson walks by. “oh shit,” he says, “it’s you! come right on in!” he gives you a hug through your rolled-down window.

the gatekeeper is in a stiff salute now. gulping in terror. hanson is one of the strongest people in this sector, and he just hugged you.

the gate opens. hanson swaggers through. you shrug to the gatekeeper. “i helped him out one time.” 

inside they’re debriefing. someone has shifted sides, someone powerful, someone wild. it’s not something you’re allowed to know about, but you know it’s bad. so you put your head down, and you work, because that’s what you’re good at, after all. you find out the gatekeeper’s name and send him a thank-you card and also handmade chapstick and some good earmuffs.

shay messages you that night. i have to go somewhere, she says, i can’t explain it, but there’s a mission and i might be gone a long time.

you stare at the screen for a long time. your fingers type out three words. you erase them. you instead write where could possibly better than stealing chef boyardee with me?

she doesn’t read it. you close the tab. 

and you put your head down. and work.

xxx

it’s in a chili’s. like, you don’t even like chili’s? chili’s sucks, but the boss ordered it so you’re here to pick it up, wondering if he gave you enough money to cover. things have been bad recently. thousands dying. whoever switched sides is too powerful to stop. they destroy anyone and anything, no matter the cost.

the phoenix fire smells like pistachios, you realize. you feel at once part of yourself and very far. it happens so quickly, but you feel it slowly. you wonder if shay is involved, but know she is not.

the doors burst in. there’s screaming. those in the area try their powers to defend themselves, but everyone is civilian division. the smell of pistachios is cloying. 

then they see you. and you see them. and you put your hands on your hips.

“excuse me, tris,” you say, “what are you doing?”

there’s tears in her eyes. “i need the money,” she croaks.

“From a chili’s?” you want to know, “who in their right mind robs a chili’s? what are you going to do, steal their mozzarella sticks?”

“it’s connected to a bank on the east wall,” she explains, “but i thought it was stupid too.”

you shake your head. you pull out your personal checkbook. you ask her how much she needs, and you see her crying. you promise her the rest when you get your paycheck.

someone bursts into the room. shouts things. demands they start killing. 

but you’re standing in the way, and none of them will kill you or hurt you, because they all know you, and you helped them at some point or another, or helped their friend, or helped their children.

tris takes the money, everyone leaves. by the time the heroes show up, you’ve gotten everyone out of the building.

the next time you see tris, she’s marrying a beautiful woman, and living happily, having sent her cancer running. you’re a bridesmaid at the wedding.

xxx

“you just,” the director wants to know now, “sent them running?” 

hanson stands between her and you, although you don’t need the protection.

“no,” you say again, for the millionth time, “i just gave her the money she needed and told her to stop it.”

“the phoenix group,” the director of squadron 300 has a vein showing, “does not just stop it.”

you don’t mention the social issues which confound to make criminal activity a necessity for some people, or how certain stereotypes forced people into negative roles to begin with, or how an uneven balance of power punished those with any neurodivergence. instead you say, “yeah, they do.”

“i’m telling you,” hanson says, “we brought her out a few times. it happens every time. they won’t hurt her. we need her on our team.”

your spine is stiff. “i don’t do well as a weapon,” you say, voice low, knowing these two people could obliterate you if they wished. but you won’t use people’s trust against them, not for anything. besides, it’s not like trust is your superpower. you’re just a normal person.

hanson snorts. “no,” he says, “but i like that when you show up, the fighting just… stops. that’s pretty nice, kid.”

“do you know… what we are dealing with…. since agent 25… shifted….?” the director’s voice is thin.

“yeah,” hanson says, “that’s why i think she’d be useful, you know? add some peace to things.”

the director sits down. sighs. waves her hand. “whatever,” she croaks, “do what you want. reassign her.”

hanson leads you out. over your shoulder, you see her put her head in her hands. later, you get her a homemade spa kit, and make sure to help her out by making her a real dinner from time to time, something she’s too busy for, mostly.

at night, you write shay messages you don’t send. telling her things you cannot manage.

one morning you wake up to a terrible message: shay is gone. never to be seen again.

xxx

you’re eating ice cream when you find him.

behind you, the city is burning. hundreds dead, if not thousands.

he’s staring at the river. maybe half-crying. it’s hard to tell, his body is shifting, seemingly caught between all things and being nothing.

“ooh buddy,” you say, passing him a cone-in-a-cup, the way he likes it, “talk about a night on the town.”

the bench is burning beside him, so you put your jacket down and snuff it out. it’s hard sitting next to him. he emits so much.

“hey tim?” you say. 

“yeah?” his voice is a million voices, a million powers, a terrible curse. 

“can i help?” you ask.

he eats a spoonful of ice cream. 

“yeah,” he says eventually. “i think i give up.”

xxx

later, when they praise you for defeating him, you won’t smile. they try to put you in the media; an all-time hero. you decline every interview and press conference. you attend his funeral with a veil over your head.

the box goes into the ground. you can’t stop crying.

you’re the only one left at the site. it’s dark now, the subtle night.

you feel her at your side and something in your heart stops hurting. a healing you didn’t know you needed. her hands find yours.

“they wanted me to kill him,” she says, “they thought i’d be the only one who could.” her hands are warm. you aren’t breathing.

“beat you to it,” you say. 

“i see that,” she tells you. 

you both stand there. crickets nestle the silence.

“you know,” she says eventually, “i have no idea which side is the good one.”

“i think that’s the point of a good metaphor about power and control,” you say, “it reflects the human spirit. no tool or talent is good or bad.”

“just useful,” she whispers. after a long time, she wonders, “so what does that make us?”

xxx

it’s a long trek up into the mountains. shay seems better every day. more solid. less like she’s on another plane.

“heard you’re a top ten,” she tells me, her breath coming out in a fog. you’ve reclassed her to civilian. it took calling in a few favors, but you’ve got a lot. 

“yeah,” you say, “invulnerable.”

“oh, is that your superpower?” she laughs. she knows it’s not.

“that’s what they’re calling it,” you tell her, out of breath the way she is not, “it’s how they explain a person like me at the top.”

“if that means ‘nobody wants to kill me’, i think i’m the opposite.” but she’s laughing, in a light way, a way that’s been missing from her.

the cabin is around the corner. the lights are already on. 

“somebody’s home,” i grin.

tim, just tim, tim who isn’t forced into war and a million reflections, opens the door. “come on in.” xxx squadron one, division three. a picture of shay in a wedding dress is on my desk. she looks radiant, even though she’s marrying little old me.

what do i do? just what i’m best at. what’s not a superpower. what anyone is capable of: just plain old helping.

Written art. Beautiful. Better than most movies. Please read and share.

Superheroes being 197% done with wii music playing

This is a gift to humankind

Notice it’s mostly infinity war because same

This is beautiful. 

me at my bae (@celisart) but more accurate

How do we even survive lol

eat the rich