justsayins

But the kid are absolutely unfazed, arguing that "it's alright they will be together again soon". The normie are so sad for the "children clinging to vain hopes" until Morticia and Gomez get married again two weeks after the divorce.

In the meantime Mama and Uncle Fester fight about which one of them will go to whose custody.

They pretend to argue in court and at meeting with lawyers over the splitting of the properties but that's mostly Gomez insisting to leave more and more thing to his wife in an angry voice.

At home they decided not to talk to each other so Lurch has to (begrudgingly) transmit messages from one to the other, even when they are sat on either side of the table.

Mutualistic pairs for an “Odd Couples” Valentine’s program at my work. (Why do so many of my big work projects revolve around Valentine’s programs?)

While humans have domesticated many other animals for their labor, the honeyguide remains entirely wild while electing to partner up with humans. Both humans and honeyguides have each developed specific calls to signal to one another that they are on the hunt, and these calls greatly increase the likelihood of success. According to this paper:

The production of this sound increased the probability of being guided by a honeyguide from about 33 to 66% and the overall probability of thus finding a bees’ nest from 17 to 54%, as compared with other animal or human sounds of similar amplitude.

That’s fucking bonkers, you guys!!! There are people out there who over the course of human history have created a sound to communicate with birds, and the birds themselves have a Human Call they use to communicate with us. There is no other wild animal you can just make noises at and immediately communicate that you want it to come help you!!!

What’s more, many scientists consider this relationship more exploitative on the honeyguide’s end than on our end! That’s unprecedented!! These birds have essentially negotiated a trade deal with humanity!!!! This is the stuff of fantasy movies, except it’s real.

Here’s an article from The Guardian about the broader implications of this kind of relationship with wild animals. It’s a good read:

I love this, but I have to add… Zuko is not that idiot in a fairytale who doesn’t realise capturing the Avatar is supposed to be impossible.

The second Ozai gives the order and the banishment is official, everyone knows. Nobody has seen the Avatar in a hundred years. Either he’s dead, or he’s an old master that a fourteen year old punk could never hope to beat.

Iroh knows. That’s why he keeps trying to distract Zuko with his little diversions. The crew knows. And they are wondering who exactly they pissed off to get this assignment?

And Zuko knows. Of course he knows. How could he not? But he doesn’t let himself believe it. He lies to himself. Every day. He convinces himself that the Avatar is out there and that one day, if Zuko just tries hard enough, he’ll find him. And he’ll bring him to his father.

Because if it really is impossible? Then that means that Zuko’s father never loved him. Then that means that Zuko can never go home. Then that means that maybe Azula was right and Ozai really was going to kill him the night that his grandfather died and his mother disappeared.

Vimes is the reason that Carrot is not the most disturbing and terrifying force that the City has ever seen, and the best part is that he literally has zero power over Carrot that is not 100% based in moral suasion. And without that - without the things that Vimes has taught him and the ethics that Vimes brings to the table - Carrot would very, very quickly have turned into a horror-show, and the worst kind of horror-show, because his charisma and Destiny would mean that people would want to obey him. 

And this was going to be a quick ranty-post but shit, here, have a huge essay instead. 

Made fun of the “unnecessarily naked/scantily clad woman,” “sacrificial virgin,” and “sexy heroine” tropes in his first two novels.  The first was described as being the most powerful of her clan of dragon-riders and the nakedness was properly treated as unnecessary in a clear parody.  The second turned out to be one of the more level-headed (while not well-educated) members of the party after her initial introduction, and also had a spine and knew (and got) what she wanted.  The third was described as wearing sensible clothes, was pretty but not sexualized at all, and was practical and smart.

Wrote an entire novel to critique the unequal treatment of “men’s magic” versus “women’s magic” in the fantasy genre.  Portrayed witches as just as if not more capable than wizards (when it comes to actually helping people, in particular), and also generally having more common sense than them.  Nevertheless created a little girl character with wizard powers, and had her decide neither wizard nor witch magic was sufficient and develop a new kind of magic all her own.

Included sex workers in his worldbuilding.  Made jokes about them the same way he did every other kind of person of any profession, but was also highly respectful and never critical of these jobs.  Described the head of the ‘Seamstresses’ Guild as one of the most influential people in the biggest city in the world.  Never showed or described in detail any sexual violence, including against these workers.  In fact, made sure to say that anyone in the city who harmed a sex worker would be dealt with painfully, embarrassingly, and/or lethally by two fearsome elderly ladies.  Even his more ditzy stripper character quickly smartened up and learned some true self-respect–not by quitting her job but by realizing she didn’t have to take any shit from men.

Included strong female friendships aplenty.  Included female enemies who were enemies over things other than men.  In general constantly passed the Bechdel Test and not only that, left it in the dust and had way more meaningful and realistic representation.

Five words: Dwarf Women Are All Trans.  More words: And there’s no way to know if some of them were trans in the way we Earth humans would understand it, too, and he clearly didn’t think that sort of genitalia-based gender labeling mattered.  Did not turn his trans dwarfs into a joke, but treated them simply as people–including a scientist/forensics officer in a police department, a prominent fashion designer, and the literal King of all dwarfs (who subsequently came out as Queen).  Portrayed transmisogynists as unequivocally wrong, and had protagonist characters stand up for and protect their trans colleagues and friends.  See also: had genderfluid characters in two of his books and at least one trans man, as well as confirming canonically that there are gay wizards, one of whom is really good at football.

One of his mainest of main characters was a blunt, bad-tempered, prideful old woman who is also good to her core.  Didn’t gloss over her unfriendliness or excuse it, but made her complex and interesting and overall likeable despite all that.  Also had a very amiable old lady character who also had a temper and would throw hands with anyone who’d mess with her family or best friend.  In general, steel-souled old ladies, wow.  Also steel-souled young girls.  

Said he was incapable of writing a weak, wilting female character, and honestly I can’t think of a single one in any of his books.

Had two young ladies start out as rivals and end up as friends simply because they grew up and got common sense about it all.

And that last one also reminded me of:

Had a fat young woman protagonist who endured fat shaming both external (which was portrayed as ridiculously stupid and unfair to her) and internal (which she later tamed and conquered). Also showed this woman as capable of healthy physical exertion, as practical and capable generally, as incredibly talented in her fields (witchcraft and singing/musical theater) and as an overall good and decent person. ALSO had this very fat woman be unironically desired by a sexy vampire.

Every single character is a PoC

First Disney animated film to show a pregnant woman onscreen

Real relationship goals: Pacha and ChiCha

Really diverse body types on everybody!

Classic tropes and classic tropes subverted (enemies to friends, anyone?)

It be like that sometimes. by Sage, 2019

“wake up,” she urged the dummy, pressing her hands to the pulse points on its wrists. “come on. what the fuck.”

“yeah, i don’t think that asking nicely is going to do the trick,” hank said, his eyebrows raised. his helmet, the special one they’d decorated for him with craft supplies from michael’s when he’d gotten promoted to firestation chief, sat askew on his head. “i can see now why they didn’t pass you.”

annabelle rolled her eyes. “it’s a psychological thing,” she said. “it’s like, you give the brain an instruction and it follows naturally. and the pulse-point thing always works. i don’t know why it’s not, like, in any of the books, but i swear to god it’s worked for me every time.”

it was true that annabelle had the best record on low body counts, which was good because she was the smallest person on the team not counting Georgie, who was a corgi. jake and lillian were always making fun of her for having been the shortest of their whole rookie class. but it hadn’t ever been a problem before; annabelle rarely had to carry anybody out, because she was good enough at getting them on their feet.

but none of that would matter if she couldn’t pass her stupid recertification exam, because they’d take her badge and she’d have to go be, like, a doctor or something.

hank blew out a long breath and sunk down to where she was kneeling on the station floor in full fire gear, giving CPR to the practice dummy, whom they called dierdre. there was a little light that went on when you’d saved its life. it had been a dull gray for an hour now.

“look, AB. i know you’re a good firefighter, and i know you know how to deliver CPR. just do it like you do it during an emergency. you’re overthinking it.”

“but this is what i do during an emergency!” annabelle cried, throwing her hands up. “i put my hands on their pulse points and i use psychological mumbo-jumbo and they just get up and walk!” 

hank blinked. “…really,” he said, voice flat. “people who’ve been inhaling smoke for half an hour just … get up and walk.”

“the brain is an incredibly powerful organ,” said annabelle, shrugging. “look man, i don’t know, okay? but it works. i haven’t had to actually do CPR in like a year and a half.”

he gave her a long, quiet loo and said, “well….huh,” before pushing himself back up onto his feet and frowning off into the distance. “keep practicing,” he said after a minute, and left her there.

-

hank switched her team.

“what the fuck, man,” she said, sliding into the truck next to him as the sirens went on. “i can’t get CPR on one fucking dummy and suddenly you don’t trust me to do my job without supervision?”

carl and bethany very carefully did not meet her eyes in the rearview from the backseat. bethany pulled a magazine from beneath the seat and said loudly, “look, carl, jennifer aniston and brad pitt are getting back together.”

“thank christ,” said carl. “i’ve been really worried about jen.”

hank gave annabelle the flat look that had gotten him promoted to firestation chief in the first place, the one that said i’m your dad and you don’t want to disappoint me. as always, annabelle wilted underneath it, sliding down in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. it was a difficult feat in full gear but she wanted him to know she was feeling sullen.

“i trust you completely,” hank told her, his voice a light scold. “i want to see you in action so i can help you figure out what’s going wrong with the dummies. sometimes it’s hard for the brain to accurately remember everything that happens during a crisis.”

annabelle rolled her eyes. “i told you,” she said. “it’s just – it’s the same thing every time, I’m not like, blacking out.”

“great, then i’m about to learn a cool new trick,” hank said serenely, and pulled the truck out of the lot. annabelle kept her gaze focused out of the window, watching the city pass as carl and bethany talked loudly about which celebrities were dating which other celebrities and who wore what better. she tried to swallow down the nerves that tightened her throat. maybe the dummy was right. maybe she was doing something else and didn’t remember it. maybe the last two years had been a fluke and she had no business being a firefighter. maybe she was about to get fired.

there wasn’t a fire, though the alarm was going off. instead they found a bag of smoking popcorn and the collapsed heap of a forty-five year old bachelor type, down to just his boxers and a pair of slippers with llamas on them. he had no pulse. 

hank held carl and bethany back, directing them to deal with the smoke from the popcorn; annabelle he pointed toward the resident with a jerk of his chin. 

she sighed, kneeling by his side. she pressed her hands flat to his heart and then dragged them across his chest and down each arm, to his wrists. with her thumbs on his pulse point, she hissed, “let’s go, man. up and at ’em. you’re not meant to die in your underwear while cooking popcorn, come on.”

she held her breath for a few moments, conscious of hank’s eyes on her, and let out a long sigh of relief when she felt his pulse jump beneath her, watched his eyes flicker. “what the fuck?” he asked, voice a croak. “what happened?”

“you gotta eat more vegetables, bud,” annabelle told him, and looped his arm over her shoulders to help him get to his feet. she was so relieved she could have wept, but instead met hank’s eyes with a challenging glare. see? she thought. i told you. “let’s get you to the ambulance.”

-

“the bad news is that you have a lot of practicing to do if you want to pass your recert,” hank said without preamble, showing up at her apartment. she didn’t think she’d ever seen him in jeans before. it was weird. “the good news is i understand your problem now.”

annabelle stepped aside, beckoning him in. “what problem?” she demanded. “it worked! you saw it work. that’s the opposite of a problem.”

hank shrugged. he handed her a trifold that he’d clearly printed off at home. it said so you think you’re a necromancer. annabelle blinked down at it, and then up at hank, and then down at the trifold again. “i … don’t understand what’s happening here,” she told him honestly. 

“i’m not in the community and they’re kind of cagey, so i can’t really tell you a lot,” hank told her, stilted and visibly uncomfortable. “but i have a cousin who is, and um, i just want you to know that this doesn’t change anything. you’re still who you’ve always been and you have my complete support. we’ll figure out how to get around the recert. maybe i’ll – i can put you on admin duty to give you time to study. we’ll say it’s because of an injury.”

“hank,” annabelle said, with some urgency. “hank, this flier says the word necromancer.”

“yes,” agreed hank, looking relieved. “oh, good, you’ve heard of it already. i thought i was going to have to have the whole your body is changing talk.”

annabelle shook her head. “no, i – hank. you know that … um, you know that necromancy isn’t real, right? people can’t bring other people back from the dead. that’s crazy.”

“annabelle, not four hours ago you instructed a dead man to stand up and he did.”

“okay, he wasn’t dead, obviously. he was almost dead, at best.”

“no. he was dead.”

“i felt his pulse! it was very faint!”

“you called his pulse. no one else would have felt it, because it wasn’t there except in response to you.”

“hank, what the fuck.”

he shrugged. “read the flier,” he instructed. “and bring dierdre home with you. you’re going to have to practice a lot if you want to get recertified, considering you haven’t one time had to use any of the skills you learned the first go around.”

he bussed her temple as he went by, letting himself out of her apartment with a friendly wave. annabelle looked down at the flier in her hand with a frown. when she unfolded it, the first page said, everyone’s necromancy journey is different, but most people discover their gift by accident. have you ever brought a pet back to life? touched an elderly relatives hand and seen some of the color flood back into their face? or perhaps, more subtly, been able to keep cut flowers alive long past their purchase date?

annabelle looked at her kitchen table. she’d had the same vase of tulips on it since she moved in, three years ago. it was true they periodically started to wilt, but she usually just changed their water and they were fine, popping back up one after the other as she slid them into the fresh vase.