#Two Sketchy Dames

[yoke9494]

Me,U, Your brother, &Your Forehead.. (Ran Haitani/F.reader)

*Au-.. ish?

*FIRST TEASE REQUEST!! (Wattpad)

*Slight NSFW/ Cockblock Rindou.

*Drug use

*Crack on crack.

*Never proof read! Live dangerously!

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

Living next to the Haitani's had its ups and downs.

Downs included: Waking up from a much needed nap or dead sleep to hear Rindou on his DJ set. He was good but honestly, not "Oh cool! We're partying at 3am?" good. Not really "I have a mad hangover but keep playing!" good..

Other times you'd hear a bunch of thuds and Ran yelling. Throwing a fit about not getting his way or throwing dudes around... Well you hoped it was dudes? Not some poor girl getting her guts liquidified.

Rip..

And don't get me started on all the sketchy shit they have going on in their house..

But they weren't all too bad you guessed. Sure they were loud, nosey, a little mean.

But the good part was..

"What are you doing outside? Looking all sad and shit."

You rolled your eyes at the sleepy purple ones staring you down. You had tried to hide from everyone. Curling up in the hammock in back of your house--  just to get some air, some time to think..

But somehow it was always Ran who sniffed you out... Especially when he wanted something.

Shrugging you let out a sigh. "Just sitting. What are you doing outside? Shouldn't you be asleep like always?"

Ran copied you. "Can't sleep." He eyed your slouched figure. Hunchback of Notre Dame looking ass, but he noticed you weren't in your usual homeless wear today-- you looked nice?.. Oh Right! "Hey, wait! I thought you had a date today? That one nerdy guy with the lame glasses?"

You knew who he was talking about and you fought the urge to throw something. "Ugh. A bust... Turns out guys who get good grades and act charming can be assholes too."

That was a shame... Ran had high hopes for that one. (Not really ) "Wanna come over and smoke? Rindou's out-- we can play in his room."

Tempting...

Though any other girl would take that sexually you knew better. Rindou had all the cool gadgets and shit in his space. He didn't let you or Ran touch ANYTHING since you both broke everything you laid your eyes on.

Fuck it..

"Sure."

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

The thick smoke swirled around in the air, making pretty white sheer shapes. The pungent smell of weed seeped into every fiber and surface in Rindou's poor room.

Oops, guess you two forgot to open a window.

After the second joint was lit you and Ran couldn't focus on anything. Not Rins DJ set, not the video game console, not even his laptop that was playing some movie in a language you both didn't know.

Your body was light, your head quiet. All the stress of the day just melted away. Your eyes felt heavy and you were starving! It's a good thing you and Ran had a plate of Chicken between you... While you both laid on the floor.

How did you end up there with a plate of chicken? No fucking idea.. One of you must have fell or laid down. Then the other joined..

Where did the chicken come from? Hell if you knew.. And Ran didn't know either. When did he leave the room to make them? Did he buy it? Where was his wallet?

Ran didn't even remember getting up and making the snack-- did you? You should because you were standing right next to him..

Either way they were warm and the meat was juicy. The best fucking chicken you've had in you life! All crispy and shit..

"What was I saying?"

What? Was he talking? Oh shit-- you were too busy mouth fucking this chicken.

"Uh--"

Ran gasped. "Oh yeah! So yeah. I didn't hit it.."

Oh now you remember! He was trying to make you feel better about your failed date by telling you his.

You shook your head. "Why not? I mean, I don't clam slam myself but she's fucking hot! I'd try the chowder if it was her."

Ran snorted. "She had clitter glitter."

You made a face at the ceiling. "What now?"

Ran took a slow bit out of his chicken. With a full mouth. ".... toilet paper. There were pieces of toilet paper in her coochie down to the crack. It gave me the ick so I made an excuse to leave. Said Rindou was stuck in the dryer.. She actually bought it!"

The laugh you let out. it probably made the windows shake. "You're shitting me?!"

Ran smiled and shook his head no. The proudest look on his face that he actually pulled some shit like that off. "Nope. That girl has the body of a porn star but the brains of a jellyfish. I'd probably have to bubble wrap her if we ever got drunk or high together. I don't want to babysit."

You nodded like you understood what he was saying. No you weren't judging Ran's choice in girls, you really couldn't. Sure he liked girls who were basically walking fuck toys. But you were no better-- You liked guys who were well off academically. You sure as hell weren't.. But if you ever tried to have them partake in your lifestyle? You'd be babysitting too.

...Turns out you both sucked at picking them. They always turned out to be the same-- a waste of time

"Any whoodle toaster strudel-- Say something babe.... You being all quiet is making me paranoid."

Oh shit.. "My bad." You slowly opened your eyes. You hadn't really noticed that you closed them and started drifting off with a half eaten chicken wing in your hand.

You looked up at the ceiling..

Mean purple eyes stared back at you... It sent a shock of fear up your back and you gasped while trying to make the floor swallow you up to hide you from the evil one..

Ran twitched beside you. He was slowly falling asleep too. "What?!"

You saw a blur of blonde and teal. 'Just looking all mad this one..' "Uh...I think Rindou's home."

Ran hummed from his spot. "Oh shit. We should get out of here before he sees us."

You smiled while Rindou scoffed and nudged his brother with his foot. "What the fuck are you guys going in here?! Getting your greasy ass finger prints on my shit!"

Ran sat up. "Oh shit! Grab the children and run!"

Children? Did he mean the fuckin chicken?..

You watched Ran run out (more like stumble out) with the plate of chicken and only one braid still holding on. He yelled after you. "To my room bitch!"

You snorted at the sight. Then it hit you-- you looked at Rindou. "Did that 5 headed hoochie call me a BITCH?"

Rindou nodded but then pointed to the hall. "Out. Before I pop out your joints from their sockets."

You grumbled and rolled before getting up. You grabbed his hand and placed the half eaten wing in it. "For your troubles." Then walked (Ran--stumbled) out.

Rindou rolled his eyes and threw it in his trashcan. "What an idiot.."

-----------

When you walked into Ran's room he was waiting for you on his bed. The window was finally open and let in a cool breeze.

He clicked his tongue when you fell face first into his bed. If this mattress could talk.. There would probably be a few cum stains yelling. "Paapaaa." "Papaa Ran, hold me."

You would normally shoot up and go home to scrub yourself raw-- IF you were sober. But right now.. you were getting tired.

Ran cleared his throat. "So I was thinking--"

You cut him off. "Did it hurt?"

He pushed your head into his mattress a little deeper. But you could hear the smile in his words. "Shut up."

You snorted and motioned for him to go on with your hand.

He took a second but eventually spit it out. "Why don't we just date?"

"Huh?" You turned to see Ran in your bubble. You pushed his face away. "Act like your hairline Haitani and back up a couple inches."

Ran deadpanned. "I'm serious."

You laughed. "Hell no."

He seemed hurt. "Why not?"

You gave him a droll look. "Why not? Why NOT?! You're not boyfriend material Ran."

He held his hands over his heat. Fake ass.. "Ouch! I'm hurting. Kiss me to make it better."

...Oh.

You scoffed. "Damn it Ran! You're just horny. I'm going home."

He stopped you before you could even get up. "No. Seriously.. What's wrong with dating me? You know what you're getting into, you know I'm an asshole already. You already know what kind of person I am and the shit I'm into and I know what kind of person you are. It makes sense right?"

You scrunched up your nose. "That's the problem. We're too much alike. We'll probably fight everyday."

He shook his head and smiled. "So? At least we'll be able to mad fuck after. I last longer when I'm mad."

That was a joke.. he could go on for hours! *Snort*

You were about to tell him to fuck off.

"Just one kiss. If you feel nothing I won't bring it up again. I just wanna see."

It was probably just the weed talking. It couldn't have been that Ran secretly had a thing for you.. nooo. Not that.. It wasn't because he was fed up with watching you waste time on little pussies when he was right there. Just waiting for you to be his.. No it wasn't the weed that gave him enough confidence to do what he's been thinking about.

And it must be the weed that kept you on Ran's bed...

It's the weeds fault you didn't tell him "No." when he asked to kiss you again. And it was the weeds fault you kept on going.-- totally not the way you actually felt comfortable around Ran, and it's not like you found him kinda attractive either..

He was just a friend-- You were his friend--- You both were bad at lying. Couldn't even convince yourselves..

Your mind was buzzing. But so was your body.. and no. It wasn't a bad feeling.

The kiss was sweet and slow. The complete opposite of what you and Ran were really like. You both tried to hide it-- but again, you knew one another so why bother?!

+++++

Underwear was the only modestly you and Ran had on right now. You were pretty sure you ripped his shirt in two-- that's okay. Your bra was fucked too.

It's funny.. You both had gotten high and drunk together hundreds of times. You've hung out just for the hell of it, hell you even napped together sometimes! Why did you both wait so long to do this?

Your back arched when Ran's fingers curled deep inside you. His thumb drawing tight figure eights on your slippery clit.

Rindou was in the next room.. Poor guy-- Ran shut you with a sloppy kiss. Teeth clanking and tongues rolling. But in reality, he didn't want his little brother to hear the sounds that were only meant for him. He was the most greedy out of the two anyway.

Geez possessive already?

He couldn't help it. His dick was hard and up against your thigh. It hasn't even felt the squeeze of your soft walls yet and he was losing his mind. Should he be embarrassed of all the pre cum that soaked though his underwear and onto your skin? Probably-- but your pussy around his fingers made his brain slower than the weed ever could.

He let out a groan when your cunt began to flutter and grip at his fingers. Your thighs began to twitch and you nails dug into the skin of his arm and back before your tried to push him away.

He's heard stories... That's probably why he wanted you so bad but-- (That's what he told himself..)

His speed picked up and he pushed against that soft spot deep inside everytime he shoved his fingers in. He wanted to keep you quiet but found himself lost in the way you sounded.. The way his name came out, a tone of pleasure-- desperation, instead of annoyance.

He could get used to this..

You let out a pornographic like moans that he began to mock but quickly they became real and breathy just like yours.

Clear liquid began to gush out of you and Ran's never been so happy to have his mattress ruined.

He couldn't wait anymore. His cock was stiff and beginning to hurt. Your underwear was yanked off from the middle of your legs. His was already gone..

You felt a little shy while he spread you wider for him. He was just staring..

"What? I have clitter glitter too?"

He smiled. "You're glittering with something else. I don't really wanna waste it."

Before you could ask.

His face was between your thighs. Your fingers tangled in his hair. That braid that was hanging on for dear life gave up it's battle long ago. You hardly saw him with his hair down, but it was doing something to you..

Especially when he looked up and groaned into your pussy. Like he was a starved man and eating his very last meal all at the same time.

He finally came up for air. "Can I fuck you now?"

You shrugged. "Sure. I'm just here enjoying my time until you man up and shove it in."

Ran wanted to argue but he was getting desperate.( he wasn't going to tell you that.) But he did tell himself you were just as needy. Especially since you were quick to wrap your legs around him when he climb up.

One more kiss-- Ran hissed when he lined himself up to your entrance. His head was the only inches he had in-- why were you still so tight? What was wrong with you?

He was going to have to shove himself in. Eh, he'd feel bad about it later---

+++++

Ran's room door swung open...

Rindou walked in. He didn't even seem bothered that you literally threw Ran off of you and covered yourself with his bedsheets.

Ran was so red! Rindou wanted to laugh but held it in.

"What the fuck Rin?! I'm going to beat your ass!"

He ignored his brother and looked at you. "So, quick question. You think having a bubble machine at one of my gigs is a good move or?"

..... Was he fucking serious? Your high was dying a bit-- Did you really almost fuck Ran? WTF?

You shook your head and leaned back on his headboard. "Uh.. What?"

Rindou rolled his eyes while Ran was just flabbergasted. Were you really answering Rindou's stupid questions.

"Bubbles? I was asked if I could DJ at some rave."

You let out a little "oh.." before you perked up. "A rave you say? What kind of bubbles? Because if I were you, I'd get some neon colored solution so it would look trippy under the black lights."

You two began to talk like Ran wasn't naked on the floor and you weren't naked in his bed.

(Rin) "Wanna go with me?"

You tilted your head. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

You liked to dance.. "When?"

He took out his phone. "In like an hour. You can be my dancer and be with me on stage if you want?"

"Oh hell yeah!" Both brothers blinked when you ran out to go get ready. You didn't bother to get dressed or anything! Just wrapped up in Ran's sheets and out the back door.

Rin was the first to break out of his perverted thoughts. Since Ran still had his pants around his ankles. He could use this opportunity..

Rindou stepped up to his big brother. Wearing his stupid smirk.. "Are you mad?"

Hell yeah he was! But Rindou didn't let him say shit.

"I bet you're mad.. But you know what? Do you remember a few summers back? We were bored out of our minds, then suddenly a big orange moving van pulled up?."

Ran was gritting his teeth. "What?-- orange van? The only time we've seen one was when Y/n moved in next door."

Rindou scoffed. " Looks like you haven't completely smoked out your brain. But remember when she stepped out of her parents car? What did I say?-- I called dibs.."

Ran stood up and pulled up his pants. "I don't know what you're talking about. And I don't care. Get over here so I can bash your face in."

Rindou stepped back and smiled. He was mocking Ran by shaking his finger in his face. "Ah ah.. If you hit my face she'll ask what happened. I'll tell her you did it. She won't talk to you for a good while."

He was right... You always gave him shit and told him to be nicer to Rindou. He protected his baby brother all the time. They were together all the fucking time. How was that being mean?!

Instead of the face Rindou got a good punch to the gut. It had so much force that it actually hurt a little to pee..

Eh, to Rindou-- it was all worth it.. Especially since he had you next to him all night.

[maewvelous-comic]

Miitopia : The Golden Warriors Master Post

(Originally posted on my old art blog. You will see the watermarks of the old blog in the comic.)

Fandom : Miitopia, Gyllene Tider, Roxette Status :  Ongoing

Miitopia - The Golden Warriors is a fan comic of Miitopia crossovers with 2 Swedish bands with the same one front man, Roxette and Gyllene Tider ( pronounced “yil-le-ne-tee-der”). Based on their appearances in 2013 - 2015. Inspired from my Miitopia gameplay on Nintendo 3DS and Nintendo Switch. (Including a Swedish musician, Niklas Strömstedt as the Great Sage in the gameplay and this comic.)

Even though there are new contents added in Nintendo Switch version. The comic still based on Nintendo 3DS version. It may be some additional content especially for my own headcanon. But there will be no horse...^^; The comic started on November 2017 as a quick traditional sketchy comic. Then it became a serious comic series in later chapters. The comic format changed to be digital in Karkaton arc. I usually work on this comic when I have a free time. It will be delayed sometime because of my full-time jobs or having breaks from physical/mental health. And tragically, two of the musicians, in real life and had been added to Miitopia main team, had passed away when Realm of The Fey arc was in progress. They are dear Marie Fredriksson, the lead singer of Roxette, who had fought her illness for 17 years and passed away in late 2019. And the Roxette drummer, Pelle Alsing in late 2020. Their musical legend will be remembered and this fan comic will be dedicated to them.

The joyride in Miitopia continued... *This fan comic is totally has got game’s spoilers. For those who is playing this game, please make sure that you had already beat the game.

Please DO NOT save, repost and copy my comic!!

More info about Miitopia in the official sites :

Nintendo 3DS | Nintendo Switch

Heroes of Greenhorne ★Complete!★

Introduction

A Simple Traveler

The Birth of The Warrior

The Thief

The Mage

The Great Sage

The Chef

The King

The Princess and The Noble Boy

The Rough Escort

Love Triangle

An Unexpected Intruder

Save The Princess

Happy Ever After

Epilogue 1

Wanderers Neksdor  ★Complete!★ 

The Lost Cat

The Divine Diva

The Handsome Scientist 

The Genie

Desert Town

The Laid-Back Pilgrim

Finding Genie

Underground Beast 

End of an amok 

Darkness in The Desert

The Great Pyramid 

Dead Weight

The Exploration

Pharaoh’s Curse

Wanderers Showdown

Peace in The Desert

Epilogue 2

Myth of The Fey  ★Complete!★

The Fab Fairies

New tussilago in the garden

A tail of an airheaded cat

Elven Retreat

The Princess of Sweet Land

To the Citrus Cave 

Arachno Queen

Bigg Machine in Bigg Forest

Sleepless Night

Bird of prey

Elven Ritual

Point of no return

The Power Within

Save the elves

Lotus Lake

Guardian of Elven Retreats

You really mean to us 

Farewell, Fey Land 

Epilogue 3 

Clash at Karkaton 

Walking on the ash 

Stand up and fight

Faceless Survivors

Rise and Shine 

One daring rescue

Behind the gate of hell

Hellhound

To the castle

The Haunted Painting

The Demonic Dame

The Cursed Armor

The Dragon

The Final Battle

Epilogue [New!]

[bluebellofbakerstreet]

So who runs the Conan Doyle Estate if it’s not run by anyone from the Conan Doyle Family?

The folks running the Conan Doyle Estate are family, just not descendants. They claim to have inherited rights from Doyle's daughter, but it's all pretty sketchy.

The rights at one point were in the hands of Doyle's daughter, Jean, and the widows of two of his sons. One of the widows bought out the other two claimants, but forgot to pay back the loan and was bought out by the producer Sheldon Reynolds, whose beneficiaries ended up running the Conan Doyle Literary estate.

The Conan Doyle Estate Ltd. (different entity) claims that Dame Jean reclaimed rights due to changes in US copyright law at the end of the last century, which doesn't appear super likely. Dame Jean died in 1997, stipulated in her will that any rights she did retain were to be transferred to The Royal National Institute for the Blind, which then sold them to the eight shirttail relatives who then founded the Conan Doyle Estate Ltd.

It's pretty convoluted, and the more I read about it the sketchier it looks. Seems as though a bunch of greedy money grubbers have formed a company for the purpose of cashing in on the works of a fairly distant relative, and whether they themselves truly have any legitimate claim to those works is not at all clear.

[knoxvillecomedy]

Where to Laugh: Knoxville’s Comedy Calendar (2/22/19)

Honored Guests:

KevonStage @ City Hills Church - Friday, 3/1 at 7 pm Jason Scholder @ Last Days of Autumn Brewing - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Matthew Tate @ Grove Theater (Oak Ridge) - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm TomorrowQuest Theater @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Four First Names @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Nashville Improv @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Two Sketchy Dames @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Shenanigans @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm The Maybe Pile @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm My 4 Dads @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm M-Prov @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 8 pm Underhanded Improv @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 8 pm Ian Covell’s Highwire Improv @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 8 pm Reasonably Priced Babies @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 10 pm Lowkeybush @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 10 pm The Cardigan Party @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 10 pm Blue Plate Special Improv @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 10 pm * All Gatlinburg Improv Festival shows are at Sweet Fanny Adams Theater.

Local Heroes:

Cumberland Striptease @ Hodges Library (UT) - Friday, 2/22 at 8 pm Knox By Night Band @ Salt Lick Saloon - Friday, 2/22 at 8:30 pm John Upton @ Tennessee Brewsky’s (New Tazewell) - Saturday, 2/23 at 9 pm Open Mic Comedy Night @ Bearden Brickyard - Sunday, 2/24 at 6:30 pm Desert Pig Comedy open mic @ Tennessee Brewsky’s (New Tazewell) - Sunday, 2/24 at 8 pm Headliners (sketch comedy) @ Bearden High School - Monday, 2/25 at 7 pm Friendlytown @ Pilot Light - Monday, 2/25 at 7:30 pm Comedy on Tap @ Casual Pint-Downtown - Tuesday, 2/26 at 8 pm Einstein Simplified @ Scruffy City Hall - Tuesday, 2/26 at 8:15 pm Open Door Comedy open mic @ Scruffy City Hall - Wednesday, 2/27 at 8 pm Cumberland Striptease @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Wordplayers Playback Theatre @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Involuntary Sports Party @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Full Disclosure @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm Einstein Simplified @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 8 pm Open Mic Comedy Night @ Bearden Brickyard - Sunday, 3/3 at 6:30 pm

* All Gatlinburg Improv Festival shows are at Sweet Fanny Adams Theater.

[eggfruit]

MORE PARENTS, this time sketchy Max edition oooooo! This is more fun because I get to make it all up HAH.

Mk! Max's mom is a huge Betty Boop fan as well as comics in general. She tries to dress like a comic character every day, usually Betty because she's her favorite, with her own personal touches. She's a very powerful psychic/spirit medium and makes all her income through real and fake readings. Real ones always happen out of the blue and are a bit scary because they're involuntary and it's spirits talking directly through her with Knowledge From The Universe. Ooooo~. She's very knowledgeable about spiritual things, classic movies with Dames in them, and comics but can be a bit clueless about most everything else. Loves wigs, gossiping with Sam's dad (who I've named Walter for fun), and random acts of violence.

Dad's an ex-"salesman". He gets his wife clients (both living and dead) as his job nowadays but he used to be one of those miracle cure folks that would say anything to get a sale. He's got a Cop Sense because of this job as well as the ability to read people, the latter of which he likes to bust out to impress people. The eye's glaucoma (he got punched right in the eye by an angry former client), not heterochromia, but he's too scared of doctors to get it fixed so he just walks around half blind. He used to wear suits all the time for his job but he hated it so now he goes as casual as he can without being naked. His shades are specially made by his wife so he can see the dead. He still can't hear them but seeing them helps a lot with work. Loves gambling, card tricks, and also the violence.

The two of them have a bunch of kids (11) because a big secondary income is giving spirits a reincarnation if they lead the couple to something valuable like things the spirit was buried with, lost treasure, hidden paintings, or cash they had in life. They neglect to mention that 99.99999% of the time the dead have no memories after being reborn but... details! They got married after the wife (I think I'll call her Viv) met the husband (..Howie :3) at a carnival and instantly had a vision they'd get married after he found a ring but she didn't know where or when. He found one same-day and they were married the next.

And at this point I think I named everyone but Sam's mom so her name is Ann. Yeah!

[dog-day-morning]

THE TRUTH AND SHAKA ZULU WILL KILL YOU

In a once-popular commercial for Calgon detergent in the 1970s, a curious housewife probes the Chinese owner of the local laundry for the answer to one of the world’s eternal mysteries: “How do you get shirts so clean, Mr. Lee?” After peering over his shoulder (so as to be sure that his not-so-discreet wife isn’t standing near) the man turns back around, raises a finger to his lips and says through a smile, “Ancient Chinese secret!”

While the answer to the question posed to the laundry owner by the woman was a closely guarded secret — one that his sweet, no-nonsense wife happily ruined — it was neither ancient nor even Chinese in origin. But the TV spot famously tapped into one of the most enduring legends about the country whose Ming Dynasty rulers had a 16-to-26 foot wall built around it: the age-old traditions of secrecy.

And, like Vegas, what happened in China very often stayed in China, just get the hell out of Alkebulan!!! But if you insist on staying, you and your barbarian invader horde of Ghengis Khan, wannabe warlords can take that beatdown like Hirihito of Japan. You can indulge in Alkebulan's rich resources for a season or get on a junk boat and go back to China and rebuild your own country. If you stay in the Motherland you'll perish🖕🏿🖕🏿🖕🏿🖕🏿. As the saying goes, s**t happens. Wash ya ass. Please, continue reading… my screwed up mind !!!

Take the Black Chinese [Moabites] who once made up the entire population of China prior to Esau's attempt at reclaiming the birthright God decreed would be Jacob's while in the womb through forced miscegenation "Raping of indigenous women." Do not be confused or mislead by this post. My research was sketchy to say the least. The portion of the population before China’s modern era does not register any indigenous Moabites, for example. The fact that you’ve never heard of them proves the point. Here comes the BS. But don’t worry. You’re not alone. China has some 1.3 billion people and nearly all are just as in the dark about them. Well, either that or a billion people all swore to never-ever-never air any [ahem] ‘clean laundry’ about black folks formerly having a place in China’s allegedly homogeneous society. That's a bunch of made up monkey s**t. Frankly, even an ancient culture with the bragging rights to the longest continually recorded history, another myth, is bound to miss a few things like a heart, and some effing genomes. The former presence — up until sometime in the 20th century — of Black people in pre-modern China is one of them. Fortunately, though, old photos taken throughout China around the advent of photography can help us to fill in today some of what the historians missed on purpose. I can't believe I'm posting this. 👎🏿👎🏿👎🏿👎🏿 China’s Qing Dynasty, established by the Manchu people who ruled from 1644–1912, is described as having been a vast multicultural empire. But it appears multicultural could also be a more pleasant euphemism for multiracial. You people are like dogs, stop eating them?! Nothing illustrates this better than the Black and white photos taken by visitors from Europe in the mid-to-late 1800s. Really?!! John Thomson, an Irish photographer was one of the first to capture images that reveal a surprisingly more diverse makeup of then-contemporary China. In one of the most stunning photos taken by Thomson displayed above, six women dine together in a courtyard. Captioned “Manchu ladies at a meal,” the picture was taken in 1869 in the city of Peking (now Beijing). Seated at the center of the photo are two women: on the right sits a typical high class Manchu and on the left sits a smiling Black woman — who could easily pass as the mother of the RZA, the GZA, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, or any other member of the Wu-Tang Clan.

Apart from the physical differences in the women (including the two who were likely seated, but stood for the picture), what’s also remarkable is that when Thomson writes about them, he makes no distinctions — though there were both racial and class differences; some of them were most assuredly attendants or maids. But in the view of Thomson, they were all simply Manchu ladies sharing a meal on a day when he sought interesting subjects to photograph. I saw the photographs. The darker ones were inherently claimed to be lower case workers or servants, while the ones who looked like Lucy Liu were considered affluent, and well off. These racial disparities that evolved from hell are a sad reminder to a wound that won't stop bleeding because of man's inability to stop giving in to his base emotions. I plead cray cray, and insanity. Jacob, they would rather burn in hell for an eternity than let us live in peace for a day. God is coming back for Israel not the Christian Church that has been corrupted by the Evangelical, right wing, nut jobs.

1 Maccabees 3:48

And laid open the book of the law, wherein the heathen had sought to paint the likeness of their images.

If you study history, and read the Bible, you'll see how religion has been used to divide God's people which they're not. Some gentiles will walk into New Jerusalem, the vast majority of them won't. The Bible has been tampered with by people who are shepherds for the Devil. The Catholic Church is Satanic no matter how you cut it. The cathedral of Notre Dame had gargoyles mounted atop the edifice looking over the city of Paris, France. Do you find this to be a bit of a double minded mentality or a slap of defiance in God's face. What god do you worship? We want to know the truth from God. This world can't be trusted with an anorexic T-Rex. You'd call it a crackhead and dump him in the Labrea tar pits unless it was a female, at that point you would attempt to crossbreed it with a Chihuahua, and hope to domesticate this new animal which has disaster written all over his I'm shaking cause I need a fix quick, petrified ass. When Vatican City is destroyed let that be a warning from God to those who still have a sliver of faith in God, get a relationship with Him. Jacob, this writing piece reveals their unwillingness, and froward hearted, lack of sensibility by not telling the whole truth. Instead they give us a revised version of history that wasn't. They have been our teachers for the last 500yrs when we were there's previous. Either you learn from your mistakes or continue to repeat them.

Zechariah 8:23

Thus saith the Lord of hosts; In those days it shall come to pass, that ten men shall take hold out of all languages of the nations, even shall take hold of the skirt of him that is a Jew, saying, We will go with you: for we have heard that God is with you.

If you hate being rebuked by a Black professor with a tenure ship, you'll hate being corrected by a Black child who has 5 degrees including a specialist in biochemical, ecological science, and psychology. You're ashamed because you're proud. There were great African kingdoms that educated the anglo European that's been shrouded in history. The book of Maccabees says the people who have mislead, and lied to us are as knowledgeable as a 13yr old using crib notes. I'm nuttier than a can of Planters, the truth is in you Jacob. Utilize the authority given to you. You will have to teach them as it was in the past. Everything from Bible scriptures, to aerospace, science engineering. The educational system is designed to hold back Black children, but the 3 people with the highest IQs in the world at the time was a 10yr old Black male, an 2 Black females under the age of 8. They were the youngest members of Mensa ever. This was about 4yrs ago. You can't stop God's anointing from glowing and glorifying Him and His people. Read the rest of this article and lose your mind. Its a nauseating and frustrating read. The truth will set you free. It ain't in these hood boogers

Written accounts by early Chinese historians tell us that the Tonkin region and its adjacent areas were once a hotbed of various non-Han Chinese peoples, including those from whom the Lao Cai girl descends. But with the southward advance of the Han Chinese, such groups were pushed even further south, or gradually assimilated into the dominant population. Historian Thant Myint-U writes in “Where China Meets India” that during the 9th century, the Chinese ethnographer Fan Cho compiled the Man Shu, or “Book of the Southern Barbarians.” Fan Cho describes there the varied peoples living in and around Yunnan. Included among them were the Wu-man or ‘Black southern barbarians,’ so-called for their dark complexions. And ironically, the French author of the Lao Cai photo had the image annotated with the Chinese word “Man,” and — sadly — with the Vietnamese “Xa” (or Kha), signifying servant or slave.

With this photo of a mother and her two children by John Thomson, taken on the streets of Peking (now Beijing), something finally clicked. For reasons that won’t be detailed here (as it would take far too long to explain) more than a decade of research into the peopling of Asia seemed to suggest that any black Chinese still living in the age of photography would likely all be found in southernmost China. Black Moabites still coexist in China to this day. This is a class study in you must be dumber than an incubator.

In his 1902 book The Boxer Uprising, American photographer James Ricalton includes this photo of several dozen men, many of them likely to be executed the next day for their part in the Boxer Rebellion. The latter was a bloody, anti-foreign and anti-Christian uprising that took place between 1899 and 1901; the 2006 Jet Li film Fearless was inspired by events that took place in the aftermath of the rebellion. The same is also true of the 1971 Bruce Lee film Fist of Fury. No actors in the aforementioned films — nor any other martial arts films set in pre-modern China — ever had actors resembling the non-Han Chinese mixed in above. About them, the racist Ricalton writes:

“This is truly a dusky and unattractive brood. One would scarcely expect to find natives of Borneo or the Fiji Islands more barbarous in appearance; and it is well known that a great proportion of the Boxer organization is of this sort; indeed, how dark-skinned, how ill-clad, how lacking in intelligence, how dull, morose, miserable and vicious they appear!” I'm willing to bet you 5 million in Bitcoin that I don't have, a lifetime supply of opium, and 2 happy ending massages daily that this bougie French bastard is rotting in hell praying to white Jesus that Rumiel won't screw him up the wahoo tonight. Tickle his sack!!! Like Thomas Cromwell the powers that be went to great lengths to cover this history in ChinaTown. You can't hide the truth from a people that's tired of being dictated to, oppressed, lied on, abused and persecuted by everybody, and discredited for the contributions they've made to this damnable planet. As previously stated we don't want crumbs [reparations] we want the whole planet Black before you, and the I hate n**gers brigade showed up, that includes Moo Goo Gai Pan. As soon as his Chicken fried, Bat Man eating, pancaked backside came along, and gained some freedoms, he started emulating his zaddy, he became drunk with xenophobia like the rest. If you hate my commentary tell ya boy Biden or his Amerikkka is not a racist country VP, Kamala Harris. She's next in line to preside as Pontius Pilate over this damnation unless Biden loses his dementia. Its a joke, think or buy a vowel. If that doesn't work, swap some Budha, and kiss Mr. Nasty bye bye.

[thegreatestofheck]

By Dawn pt. 2 ☼ John B ☼

find part one here!

word count - 3.5k warnings - None synopsis -  John B meets a mysterious girl at his court ordered group therapy. After spending weeks trying to get to know her, he slowly realizes that she’s a tough nut to crack. But then one day, she leaves him a cryptic message…the night before she goes missing. With the disappearance of his father still so raw in his mind, John B refuses to lose anyone else. And he will stop at nothing until he finds her. taglist - @simonsbluee @parkerpetertingle  a/n - I’m really excited for this story and I’m really hoping that you guys are excited too! Faceclaim for Gwen is Indyamarie Jean! 

“Hey, Gwen, wait up!” 

John B ran up to the girl just before she got into her car. When Gwen turned to look at him, she looked startled, almost frightened. 

“Booker,” she said, relaxing into a smile. “What can I do for you?”

John B ran a hand through his hair. Something about this girl always made him feel queasy, made it difficult to talk to her without stuttering. 

“I was, uh, wondering if you maybe wanted to hang out tonight or something,” he said. He couldn’t believe how shaky his hands were. He was more than capable of talking to any girl he wanted, but now that Gwen was watching him carefully with her resting smile on her face, he found himself struggling. “Just because you’re cool and I wanted to get the chance to talk to you.”

Gwen’s smile widened. For a moment, he could see her considering it. Something passed in her eyes, something like concern, but it was gone in a flash. 

“I’ll have to talk to my handler,” she said finally. John B let out a relieved breath, but then scowled. 

“Your...handler?”

Gwen laughed and it was like the bells of Notre Dame themselves were ringing. God, she was beautiful. 

“My mom,” Gwen tried again, pulling her phone from her pocket. “She’s pretty strict, so-”

“Oh yeah, no, I understand. I’ll just be....”

He pointed in the direction of his van. Gwen raised her eyebrows. 

“You’re going to take me somewhere in a van?” She asked, leaning up against her car. John B paled. “That’s only a little sketchy.” 

“Oh, well, um-”

“I’m kidding, dude,” Gwen said. She pushed herself off of her car. “I’m just going to make this call and I’ll be right over.”

John B nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

John B wanted to punch himself in the face as he walked toward his van. That was only the worst way to ever ask anyone out on a date. Did he even really ask her on a date? He wasn’t sure. All he knew is that if she was on her phone laughing with her mom, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

He kicked a rock as he neared his van. JJ would laugh at him. Hell, Kie and Pope would probably laugh at him when he told them about this. JJ would just never let him live it down. 

But then, to his surprise, Gwen walked over a few agonizing minutes later, her purse still slung over her arm. 

“So, Booker, where are you taking me?” 

***

John B took every chance to hang out with Gwen as he could. Something in his gut told him that he was living on borrowed time with her. Kie tried to tell him that he was just paranoid because of his father’s disappearance, but he still felt it every time he dropped Gwen off at her home. 

JJ complained about it a lot. 

“We barely see you anymore, dude,” he said, scowling as he took a long drink of beer. 

“I’ve just been hanging out with Gwen,” John B told him. JJ held his fishing pole between his feet, not really feeling the entire fishing thing. 

“When do we get to meet her?” Pope asked. He didn’t look up from his laptop. His fingers were typing up a storm as he wrote, rewrote, edited, deleted, and wrote again his scholarship essay. 

“She...she doesn’t really want to meet you guys right now,” John B said, shifting his grip on his fishing pole. Kie scoffed, looking up from her ukelele. 

“She too good for us?” the girl asked, strumming the instrument quietly. 

“Gwen’s just really...shy.” That wasn’t the exact right word to use. 

He didn’t really know why she didn’t want to meet his friends. Something about her mom being afraid of making too many connections, whatever that means. John B wanted to introduce her to his family, but she was always hesitant. But she never complained when he told her about them. She always wanted to know more. 

“We don’t always have to talk about me and my friends,” John B said, sitting on the beach one evening. He picked up a rock and tossed it into the ocean. Gwen smiled, her dark eyes glistening in the moonlight. 

“I like listening to you talk about them,” Gwen told him. John B looked over at her, his breath catching in his throat. She was sitting so close to him, leaning her elbows against her knees. God, he wanted to kiss her so badly. 

“What about you? We never talk about you,” John B said after clearing his throat and looking away. He was afraid of making his move and scaring her. 

“What do you want to know?” She asked, leaning back on her elbows. The moon ate up her skin, her smile shining as brightly as the stars. 

“What is your favorite color?” 

“Hmm, that’s a tough one. I’m going to have to say yellow.” 

“Yellow?”

“Yeah. Looks good on me,” she said with a grin. John B resisted the urge to tell her that everything looked good on her. 

“What is your favorite number?” 

“Favorite number?” She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged. Gwen looked up at the sky and hummed, tapping her toes together. “I’m gonna have to say seven.”

“That’s a good number.” John B shifted his eyes back over the water, unsure if he should ask his next question. “Why do you come to group?” 

Gwen’s smile fell instantly, her beautiful eyes starting to shut. When she let out a sigh, John B wasn’t sure if he was going to get an answer. He wanted to know about her, but she was like a sea anemone. Every time he tried to ask one of the harder questions, she would close up as if protecting herself from something. 

But this time, he got a different reaction. 

“It’s because of my dad,” she said, sitting up and playing with her fingers. His eyes widened and he turned to look at her. He was half surprised that she actually answered, but he was equally as surprised by the pain in her voice. “I haven’t seen him in...well, ever, really. And, like I said, my mom’s super strict. The only way I ever really get to know people is by going to groups like ours.” 

“So, you move around a lot.” John B hadn’t meant to sound so bitter about it, but the realization hit harder than he wanted it to. He knew there had been a reason he was so afraid that she was just going to disappear. And a reason she was so hesitant to meet anyone else. 

“Yeah, pretty often,” she said. She was still fiddling with her fingers, refusing to look up at him. 

“Do you...do you know when you’ll be moving again?” He asked. Gwen sighed and looked up. When he turned and met her eyes, she gave a small shake of her head. 

“It could be any time,” she said. Her voice was quiet and unsure. John B hung his head. There was quiet between the two of them for a moment. The only sounds were the crashing of waves against the shore and the quiet lull of the seagulls. “Here, what if we do this.” 

Gwen pulled out her phone and motioned for her to grab his. 

“What are you doing?” John B asked with a half laugh. 

“I’ll take a picture of you every time we hang out,” she said, holding up her phone. “And you take a picture of me. That way, if I have to leave someday, we’ll have a photo for every day we got to spend together.” 

John B looked at her, a smile starting to grow on his face. She lifted her phone and took a picture, the flash blinding him. John B laughed, putting his hand up to cover his face. 

“A little warning next time?” 

Gwen shook her head, smiling down at her phone. 

“I love it,” she said, grinning up at him. John B snapped a quick picture in the same way she had, the flash startling her. Gwen fell backward into the sand, laughing, as John B looked at the picture he had taken. It nowhere near did her justice. 

“Does it look good?” Gwen asked once she was sitting back up. John B looked up at her and nodded his head. Gwen dropped her smile again when he turned back to his phone. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, John.”

Hearing his first name, especially coming from her lips, was shocking. He snapped his head up toward her. 

“It’s okay,” he told her with a small shake of his head. His words put a small smile on her lips once again. “Here, let me take you home.” 

***

“Bro!” JJ said, snatching the phone out of John B’s hand. His mouth hung open as he stared at the picture of Gwen. “You’ve been holding out on me, man!” 

“JJ, give it back,” John B said. He pushed himself out of his chair to follow JJ, who was running to show Pope. 

“You can’t keep her all to yourself!” JJ nearly whined, handing the phone off. Pope’s eyes widened at the picture. 

“She’s not something to be passed around, JJ,” John B said through his teeth. “She’s a person.” 

“Was that some decency I heard coming out of your mouth, John B?” Kie asked, walking over with a grin. “What are you boys gawking at?” 

“John B’s got an entire photo album of pictures on his phone of his girlfriend,” JJ said, tossing the phone to Kie. Kie looked at John B with a raised eyebrow. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

JJ scoffed. 

“You coulda fooled me.” 

Kie whistled before handing the phone back to John B. 

“She’s cute,” was all Kie said, plopping herself into a chair beside Pope. John B tapped his phone against his hand and let out a sigh. 

“I’m seeing her again tonight,” he said. JJ rolled his eyes, fiddling with his lighter. 

“Invite her to come over, yeah?” Kie told him. 

“I’ve tried.” 

“Try again.”

“Sure, Kie.”

“When are you going?” asked Pope. 

“In about ten minutes.” 

“And where are you meeting?”

“Why am I being interrogated right now?” John B asked with an irritated laugh. Kie shrugged, crossing her arms. John B sighed. He knew perfectly well why they were asking so many questions. 

“Look, the reason I’ve been gone so much is-”

“You don’t have to explain it, man,” JJ said, putting up a hand. “You’ve been banging a hot chick and none of us can fault you for it. Even if it means we haven’t seen you in like nine hundred years.” 

“I’m not-” John B brought a hand up to his forehead. “Gwen moves a lot and she doesn’t know when she’s leaving next. I’m just trying to get as much time with her as I can before I never see her again.”

“Sure, man, whatever you say.” 

JJ put a joint between his lips, but didn’t light it. John B rolled his eyes, his head moving with the movement. 

“You’re hopeless.” 

John B turned away from his friends, leaving them to smoke and do whatever else it was they wanted to do. 

By the time he made it back to the Chateau, he was worried that he was going to be too late. But then he saw Gwen’s car parked behind a tree and warmth spread through him. 

She was standing out by his front door, leaning up against the porch. John B snuck up behind her, a mischievous smile creeping up his face.

“Boo!” He grabbed her by her shoulders.

With a cry, Gwen spun around, hands curled into fists and ready to strike. John B barely had time to duck out of the way of her fist before she realized who it was. 

“Booker!” Gwen dropped her fists, her eyes wide. “You scared the shit out of me!” 

“Sorry,” he said, cringing as he straightened myself out. “Didn’t really think you were gonna Chuck Norris me.” 

Gwen shook her nerves away and tried to smile. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “When it comes to fight or flight, I tend to swing first and ask questions later.” 

“I didn’t really peg you for that kinda girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you peg me as?” 

John B felt his cheeks turn red at the sight of her playful smile. When he didn’t say anything, Gwen laughed and hung her head. 

“So, um,” John B said finally. Even after all these weeks, she still made him nervous. “I was thinking we could go on the roof? Pope said there’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight.” 

Gwen nodded her head, biting her lip. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she said, trying not to smile too big. 

“Here, this way.” 

John B offered her his hand. He watched her hesitate, a distant look in her eyes. But finally, she accepted and took his hand. Her skin was warm under his, but not sweaty. His hands were probably sweaty. Oh god, his hands were probably so sweaty. 

John B led Gwen to the other side of the house, where a few boxes were stacked on top of each other. 

“I’m climbing up there?” Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow. John B nodded his head toward the boxes, pulling her along after him. 

“You first,” he said with a smile. 

“You’re catching me if I fall.” She stepped up to the first back, still holding his hand. “And, believe me, I’m not light.” 

John B laughed, helping her as she clambered up the boxes and crawled onto the roof. Once he was standing beside her, he helped her to her feet, putting an arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

He was painfully aware of how close he was to her. Her arm was pressed against his chest, one of her hands clinging to his. It didn’t seem to affect her at all. 

“This way,” he said to cover a cough. She followed him blindly as he led her over his house. It creaked underneath them and she held onto him even tighter. 

“Don’t worry,” John B told her. “It won’t fall.” 

“It better not,” she whispered under her breath. They walked along the roof until John B stopped on the other side. He lowered himself slowly until he was sitting, legs dangling over the side of the house. 

But Gwen didn’t sit. She stood there, basking in the light of dusk, staring out over the water. The wind rustled, blowing her hair around her face. John B watched her close her eyes. She smiled as the gentle sea breeze filled her senses, but the smile fell slowly and a look passed across her face. John B didn’t know what it meant, but it made him nervous.

“I used to come up here with my dad,” he said, shifting his gaze from her toward the ocean. Gwen opened her eyes and smiled softly down at him. She sat beside him, crossing her legs and turning to face him. She said nothing, but he knew that she was listening, like she always did. “He wasn’t around a lot, but when he was....”

John B felt his throat swell until it closed completely and he could barely speak. He shook his head, looking down. Gwen reached out and put her hand over his, pulling his attention back to her. With the sun setting over the horizon, her face was illuminated with every color. He never wanted to kiss her more then that moment. 

“I know your dad loved you, Booker,” she said and gave his hand a small squeeze. “And if he’s still out there, he’ll make his way back to you.” 

John B watched her eyes carefully. 

Every time he talked to about his dad to the Pogues, there were varying degrees of belief. JJ and Pope thought his dad was dead, that he wasn’t coming back. Kie pretended like she knew that he was alive and that he would come home eventually, but John B knew that she said it just to make him feel better. He appreciated it, but Gwen was so sincere, so genuine. Like she actually believed Big John might be out there still. It was almost like she had to believe it as much as John B had to. 

They fell into a comfortable silence. Gwen watched the sun set, her eyes reflecting all the beauty of the night sky. John B mostly watched her, painfully aware of how close her hand was to him. More than anything, he wanted to reach out and pull her toward him, to touch her anywhere she would let him, to hold her until all the pain they felt was gone. But he didn’t. 

Maybe he should have. 

Hours later, they were still on the rooftop, laughing, drinking, telling stories. Well, it was more like John B was telling stories and Gwen listened. Per usual, she said very little. 

“I should go soon,” she said eventually, looking up at the moon like it was the last time she was going to see it. “I’ve had the best time of my life, John Booker Routledge.” 

John B was taken aback, startled by how sad she sounded. 

“Gwen, what-” 

“We’ve got some pictures to take,” Gwen said, pulling her phone from her pocket. They’d done this enough times that John B smiled immediately when she lifted her phone, but he didn’t really want to smile. He wasn’t sure why, but his gut twisted uncomfortably. Once the picture had been taken, Gwen smiled, looking down at her phone. She breathed out a sigh before looking back up. 

“One more picture before I go,” she said, messing with her hair. With a scowl, John B took out his phone. “We gotta make sure it counts. Is the flash on?”

When John B took the picture of Gwen, she threw on a wide grin, lifting her chin. John B lowered his phone, not even looking at the picture. His gaze was fixed on her. 

“Are you okay, Gwen?” He asked. Gwen laughed, giving a small shake of her head to get her hair out of her eyes. 

“Yeah. Just...soaking it all in.” 

John B might have believed it, but there was a haunted look behind the joy in her eyes. And it did not calm his nerves at all. 

He helped her down from the roof, holding her hand as they walked toward her car. He wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to keep her hand in his. But when he held helped her off the boxes, she didn’t take her hand away. 

Standing in front of her car, John B was tempted once again to kiss her. He wondered if she wanted him to. She looked up at him, chewing almost nervously on her lip. After a few moments, Gwen sighed and looked down at her feet. 

“I should really get back,” Gwen said, her voice quiet. John B nodded slowly. “It’s was good to see you.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow at group, yeah?” John B asked, trying to smile and ignore the twisting in his stomach. Gwen just nodded. She stood on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss against John B’s cheek. He felt electricity crackle through him, even though her lips were against his skin for only a second. 

“I’ll see you,” she said, but her voice broke. She pulled away from him, slipping her hand out of his. Feeling her touch leave his was like being pulled from the water into a cold breeze. John B took a step away from her, giving her space to slid into her front seat. She shut the door, but rolled the window down. 

“Goodbye, Booker,” she said with an attempt at a smile. John B lifted a hand to wave. Gwen pulled away, turning the car toward the road. With a smile and one last wave, she turned away from John B and started forward. 

He watched her drive off, hands on his pockets as he soaked in every last second of her he could. Some horrible feeling curdled in his stomach. It was a similar feeling he had when he heard that his dad hadn’t come back from his fishing trip. John B tried to shove the feeling away. He was just being paranoid. Turning back toward his house, John B told himself that he was just overthinking things. 

But how was he supposed to know that was the last time he was going to see her? 

one last pic and I’ll be gone make it count put the flash on never felt like I belonged so I’ll be on my way and I won’t be long I’ll be dead by dawn

[lostcybertronian]

Ooh, Prompt 83 would be so cool, maybe with Actor and William/Wilford?? I’d love to see that if possible!! : D

I REALLY enjoyed this one. Also: we heard in DAMIEN that Mark can impersonate Celine. Can he impersonate anyone?

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @demonnightmareangel @moonysmayhem @demon-dark-666 @xpouii @damesdoodles @sororia04s also gonna tag @takethepainawaybae (because I think they’d like this)

Prompt 83: “I didn’t want you to see this.”

    Wake up. Wake up. “Wake up! Wake up!”

    A pair of hands-- shaking him, desperately-- woke Wilford from his lazy half-nap. As the hands continued shaking him he rolled over, prying open one eye to take a gander at the intruder.

    His other eye shot wide open and he sat straight up, throwing the hands off him and scrambling in a blind panic backwards, colliding with his headboard. “Damien!” He cried, because it was.

    Damien. He stared at him now with black eyes wide and frantic, looking not a day older than the last time Wilford had seen him, and not a day changed.

    And how old he felt, then.

    “You have to come with me, Will!” He reached out to shake him again, hands-- were they covered with blood? Wilford could smell it, cloying and sticky and, surprisingly, rotten-- trembling violently. “Please- I-I-”

    “Dames. Dames.” The name felt sweet on his tongue, like his favorite piece of candy. Wilford said it twice more before it registered that his best friend was actually here. Alive. Then, what Damien was saying hit him. “Why? What’s going on?”

“It’s Mark!” Damien’s cane appeared in his hands-- or had it been there all along?-- the tip dripping blood. He began twisting it anyway. “He’s here! You have to come- I didn’t know who else to ask. I didn’t want you to see-”

“That bastard!” Wilford swung himself from his bed, wide awake as ever. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. No.” Damien shook his head. Grabbed at Wilford’s arm with his sticky fingers. Tugged him, tugged him, tugged him toward the door. The blood coating the silver tip of his cane-- that black, foul-smelling blood-- glistened under the too-bright hallway lighting. “But I think I hurt him.”

---

    “Wait. Wait. Hold your horses.” The door Damien led him to was painted solid black, and-- in Wilford’s experience-- locked. “This is Dark’s office.”

    Damien paused, mid-reach for the doorknob. For a moment annoyance flickered across his face, there and then gone again, just as quickly replaced by pale-faced trepidation. “How much do you actually know about him?” Was all he said, quietly, before turning the doorknob and swinging open the door.

    Despite the heavy shadows bathing the office in heavy black, the figure hunched just with its back to the desk was apparent.

    Immediately, Wilford pulled his gun, holding out a hand to practically shove Damien behind him as he crossed the office.

    Dark didn’t bother to lift his head when Wilford shoved the gun in his face, though it wasn’t difficult to see he was injured; heavy, black bruises mottled his temple and face, and the way he worked his jaw suggested it was broken. Black blood oozed from his nose and dribbled from his lips.

    “Back, are you?” He muttered, eyes flicking in Damien’s direction. 

    “Oh, no.” Wilford jammed the gun closer, jutting the barrel into Dark’s forehead. “You’re talkin’ to me, Mark. Where’ve you been hiding him all these years?”

    “What?” From beneath the dull pain, there came a glint of surprise. Then, his eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? What has he told you?”

    “Don’t listen to him! Will-” Damien started, but a sharp laugh from Dark shut him up. “Oh, save the theatrics, and cut the disguise. You’re being cruel.”

    Damien laughed, and Wilford froze. He knew Damien’s laugh. Knew it in his heart of hearts. And this wasn’t it. “I’m being cruel?” He snapped, stalking forward, all traces of frightened friend completely vanishing behind the mocking tone and hard, black, glittering eyes.

    Black, black, black. Wilford realized this with a jolt. Damien’s eyes weren’t black.

    Damien-- not Damien-- tightened his grip on the bloody-tipped cane and stepped forward once more. “That’s a hoot! Me. Cruel! You should talk, you-”

    Bam! Bam! With surprising speed for his wounded state Dark wrenched the gun from Wilford’s grip and fired two shots straight into Damien’s chest.

    “Dames-” Wilford twisted, but now Dark had hands on him, restraining him even as he struggled, struggled, struggled toward the friend whose eyes had widened and whose mouth had widened into a stunned “O.”

    But instead of crumpling to the floor like any schmuck who’d been shot would have, the Mayor merely laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed, his face seeming to split in two with the black, ugly peals.

    Then, like a cloud of smoke, he dissipated, disappearing into a nonexistent wind until there was nothing left but emptiness. Nothing left but shadows.

    “Dames.” Wilford said Damien’s name one more time to relish the feeling of it, then turned back to Dark. “Dark.”

    “It was a trick, Wil,” Dark mumbled, his gaze dimming, his eyes fluttering. His hands fell from Wilford’s wrists, thudding limp to his lap. “Damien is still dead.”

    Then, he passed out.

[high-pot-in-noose]

Writing Advice/Writing Lesson/Val Rants #WhoCares: Titles and Terms of Address

If fic writers could stop using ‘Heir’ like it’s a legitimate title, that would be great. ‘Heir’ is not a title; it’s not the junior form of ‘Lord’. It’s not a title in any form. Stop having your “aristocratic” characters address each other as ‘Heir This’ or ‘Heiress That’ or whatever else.

It’s not a title.

You want actual, real-world forms of address for your kiddie upper-class?

→ ‘Master’ is the actual title you would use for a young boy and/or unmarried young man of a family of the upper-class (It would become ‘Mister” when he comes of age).

→ ‘Miss’ is the girl equivalent.

→ They would be called Master/Miss [Family-name] if they are the eldest child of their gender, and Master/Miss [First-name+Family-name] if they are the younger siblings of their gender.  

→ If two or more children of a family are involved in a conversation with people not in their family, the eldest would be Master/Miss [Family-name] and the younger siblings would be addressed as Master/Miss [First-name] to distinguish between them.

For example: If a family — the Weasleys from Harry Potter — were upper-class, the oldest, Bill, would be called Master Weasley up until he turned 17 when he would become Mr Weasley. All his younger brothers would be called Master [First-name] Weasley, and their sister, Ginny, would be called Miss Weasley.

(As they are in canon though, father is called Mr Weasley, and all the Weasley boys would be Mr [First-name] Weasley until they move out to live on their own.)

However, at school, teachers WOULD NOT call students by formal titles — students would be addressed by their surnames and nothing else. Unless there were multiple students with the same surname (like the Weasleys), there would be no first names, no ‘Master/Mister’ nor ‘Miss.’

Even amongst themselves, upper-class/noble children would not use formal terms of address and instead call each other by their surnames or nicknames based on surnames or titles. If the Weasleys were ennobled, Bill might be called by his school friends (for example) Wesleton or something like Wes.

→ So how would your kiddie upper-class actually address each other? Unadorned surname.

But I see your disgruntled face now. You want that thrill of fancy titles! You want your upper-class to have the fancy conventions of the nobility!

Have you considered though that you haven’t actually made your characters nobility but instead gentry?

“But what’s gentry?” you might be wondering now.

→ Gentry* is a level of upper-class adjacent or a step below the nobility. Clergymen; estate owners; wealthy merchants; well-off political figures; ‘gentlefolk’. In general, if a person or family isn’t obligated to work to sustain themselves comfortably, they are gentry.

[*If this status has been achieved only in the latest generation, the person and/or family might be derided as parvenu, arriviste, or nouveau riche, especially if their rise in wealth, influence or celebrity is sketchy or they themselves are simply tacky and tasteless. (Lockhart AND Voldemort would fit into this bracket, though for different reasons, obviously.)]

So often in HP fics I see monikers like “Lord Black, Head of House Black and Lestrange,” and while that sounds grand, those are not noble titles. (If you are writing the general era of Merlin, go ahead and ignore this since that time period was before the establishment of this hierarchy.) ‘Lord’ certainly denotes nobility, but the second part can be applied to any sort of upper-class — and it’s not even an “official” status, ei. one you would be obliged to state went introducing people. It’s trivia! It would be like calling my mother ‘Dame Tanya, Head of House Kendall’ — not untrue, but unneeded and out of place.

Rarely do I see nobility in fanfiction properly titled and addressed like nobility. Most of the time it’s gentry pseudo-titles and made-up forms of address. If you don’t want to go through the trouble of actually creating a noble hierarchy, go with an un-ennobled gentry class. It’s easier to remember the rules and it’s less high-strung.

If you insist on the use of noble titles though, then you must accept that family names are NOT titles.

Let’s say Artemis Fowl is an earl. He wouldn’t be ‘Earl Fowl,’ he would be ‘Lord [Somewhere], The Earl of [Somewhere]’ if his title came with territory, or ‘Lord [Title-name], Earl [Title-name]’ if the position was a title only. He would NEVER be called ‘Earl [Family-name]’ unless the family name had already been adopted from the title. (ex. Black Butler, where the MC is Ciel Phantomhive, The Earl of Phantomhive.)

And he wouldn’t be really be addressed as ‘Earl [Whatever]’ outside of being announced at a ball or being introduced to someone for the first time  — in conversation with or without him, he would be referred to as ‘Lord [Title-name].’

Nobility in order of precedence:

Duke/Duchess 

The Duke/Duchess of [Somewhere]

styled as ‘His/Her Grace’ 

referred to in 3rd person as “His/Her Grace’

orally addressed as ‘Your Grace’ (or ‘Duke/Duchess’ by social equals)

The eldest son/heir apparent is styled as ‘The Most Honourable’

The eldest son/heir apparent may be referred to as ‘Marquess/Marchioness [Subsidiary-title]’ (NO ‘THE’)

The eldest son/heir apparent is addressed as ‘My Lord/Lady’ OR ‘Lord/Lady [Subsidiary-title]’

younger children are not styled

younger children are referred to and addressed as ‘The Lord/Lady [First-name+Family-name]’

Marquess/Marchioness 

The Marquess/Marchioness of [Somewhere]

styled as ‘The Most Honourable’

referred to in 3rd person as ‘His/Her Lordship/Ladyship’

orally addressed as ‘Lord/Lady [Somewhere].’

The eldest son/heir apparent is styled as ‘The Right Honourable’

The eldest son/heir apparent may be addressed as ‘Earl/Countess [Subsidiary-title]’ (NO ‘THE’)

The eldest son/heir apparent is addressed as ‘My Lord/Lady’ OR ‘Lord/Lady [Subsidiary-title]’

younger children are not styled

younger children are referred to and addressed as ‘Lord/Lady [First-name+Family-name]’

Earl/Countess 

The Earl/Countess of [Somewhere] OR [Title-name]

styled as ‘The Right Honourable’

referred to in 3rd person as ‘His/Her Lordship/Ladyship’ 

orally addressed as ‘Lord/Lady [Somewhere] OR ‘Lord/Lady [Title-name].’

The eldest son/heir apparent is styled as ‘The Right Honourable’

The eldest son/heir apparent may be addressed as ‘Viscount/Viscountess [Subsidiary-title]’ 

eldest son/heir apparent is addressed as ‘My Lord/Lady’ OR ‘Lord/Lady [Subsidiary-title]’

younger children are not styled

younger children are referred to and addressed as ‘Mr/Miss [First-name+Family-name]’

Viscount/Viscountess 

The Viscount/Viscountess [Title-name]

styled as ‘The Right Honourable’ 

referred to in 3rd person as ‘His/Her Lordship/Ladyship’

orally addressed as ‘Lord/Lady [Title-name].’

The eldest son/heir apparent is styled as ‘The Honourable’

The eldest son/heir apparent is addressed as ‘Mr/Miss [Family-name]’

younger children are not styled

younger children are referred to and addressed as ‘Mr/Miss [First-name+Family-name]’

Baron/Lady*

The Lord/Lady [Title-name]

styled as ‘The Right Honourable’ (’Much Honoured’ if Scottish)

referred to in 3rd person as ‘His/Her Lordship/Ladyship’

orally addressed as ‘Lord/Lady [Title-name].’ 

The eldest son/heir apparent is styled as ‘The Honourable’

The eldest son/heir apparent may be addressed as ‘Mr/Miss [Family-name]’

younger children are not styled 

younger children are addressed as ‘Mr/Miss [First-name+Family-name]’

[*Only a woman who is a baroness in her own right may use the title of Baroness.]

Baronet*

Baronet [Title-name]

is not styled

referred to and orally addressed as ‘Sir [First-name]’

wife is referred to addressed as ‘Lady [Family-name]’

The eldest children are not styled

The eldest children are addressed as ‘Mr/Miss [Family-name]’

younger children are not styled

younger children are addressed as ‘Mr/Miss [First-name+Family-name]’

[*Baronets are not actually nobility, but the title is hereditary.

**The titles of duke and marquess are almost always territorial, hence the inclusion of ‘of’. The title of earl can be titular only though, so if they don’t preside over an area the ‘of’ is dropped in favour of the title alone when being addressed. Viscounts and barons are almost always title-only, so they never use ‘of’.]

The addressing system can be very confusing, so to make sure there’s no confusion  — imagine there is a marquess. He is The Marquess of Clearwater.

He is never ‘Lord Henry Clearwater.’

NEVER.

He may be called ‘Lord Clearwater’; ‘Henry, Lord Clearwater’; his immediate family and close friends would call him, ‘Clearwater’; and people of lower standing would call him ‘my lord’ OR ‘your lordship.’ This goes for earls, viscounts, and barons as well.

(Note: A duke never ‘Lord [Anything]’ — he is always ‘Duke [Whatever].’)

A nobleman's surname is always his title. He’s ‘Devonshire’ and not ‘Cavendish’, the family name. The children use the family name, he uses the title. His signature is his titles as well: Wellington, Jersey, Rutland, Norwich, et al. He generally wouldn’t introduce himself as ‘John Johnson, Earl of Marsh’ either, but as ‘Marsh.’ 

His wife would use his title as a surname also, and sign as ‘E. Marsh’, or ‘Elizabeth Marsh’. Lady Marsh might even send her letters with just ‘Marsh’ as her husband does, though it’s most common for the lady to sign with her first name or initial and the title.

And do not mix peerage and courtesy titles. (The former being the nobleman, the latter being his heir.) If a man is a nobleman he is never ‘Lord [First-name] [Anything].’

And then were have the gentry, my preferred method of upper-class since it can be used in any country, any genre, and a character can achieve the status  without needing the “correct” parentage.

Gentry in order of vague precedence:

Ambassador 

Ambassador [Family-name]

styled as ‘His/Her Excellency’

orally addressed as ‘Your Excellency’ OR ‘Sir/Madam.’

Supreme Court Justice 

Justice [Family-name]

styled as ‘The Right Honourable’ + whatever title they may have OR ‘His/Her Honour’

orally addressed as ‘Your Honour,’ OR ‘My Lord/Lady,’ OR ‘Your Lordship/Ladyship,’ OR ‘Sir/Madam.’

Secretary of State

Minister [Family-name]

styled as ‘The Right Honourable’ + whatever title they may have. 

orally addressed as ‘Your Honour,’ OR ‘Sir/Madam.’

[*Same precedence as a baron.]

Religious figure 

These are extremely varied and numerous, and the address varies from religion to religion.

in general, the heads of an order/sect can be styled as ‘His/Her Eminence’

orally addressed as ‘Your Eminence’

[*Depending on the position, a religious figure can have precedence over even a duke. Most are pretty mid-range though.]

Judge 

Judge [Family-name]

styled as ‘The Right Honourable’ + whatever title they have

orally addressed as ‘Your Honour’ OR ‘Sir/Madam,’ OR ‘Judge [Family-name]’

Magistrate  

Magistrate [Family-name]

styled as ‘The Honourable’ + whatever title they have 

orally addressed ‘Your Honour’  OR ‘Sir/Madam.’

Knight/Dame 

styled as ‘Sir/Dame [First-name+Family-name]’

orally addressed as  ‘Sir/Dame [First-name]’ OR ‘Sir/Madam’

A wife would be ‘Lady [Surname]’; a husband would be ‘Mr [Surname]'

Esquire*

styled as ‘[First-name+Family-name], Esq.’ upon introduction and on paper

styled as ‘[First-name+Family-name]’ on a day-to-day basis

orally addressed as ‘Sir.’

a wife (if she had no title of her own) would be Madam/Mrs [First-name+Family-name]

[* Not to be confused with squires, esquires are the younger sons of the lower nobility; the head of an old but untitled family; any large estate owner; medical professionals; barristers at law.]

Gentleman 

styled as [Military title]/Doctor/Professor/Mister [First-name+Family-name]

orally addressed as ‘Sir.’

a wife (if she had no title of her own) would be Madam/Mrs [First-name+Family-name]

[*The Latin prefix ‘de’ (meaning ‘of’) was occasionally applied to surnames. Though it doesn’t actually denote nobility nor gentry, it has been known for the nouveau riche to add it to their names (incorrectly) to make it sound fancier, e.g. “de Trafford.” Correctly used, it should denote a foreign place-name, e.g. “de Grey” or “D’Urbervilles.”]

The gentry is upper-class, but unlike nobility, their titles are not hereditary. I think using it actually makes any social hierarchy you may want to write into your fic more credible and less jarring; where there’s a governing body and rich people, there is a gentry  — acknowledged or otherwise.

This concludes Val’s rant/lesson/advice! If you have questions or suggestions for my next topic, hit me up in an ask! 

[howardhawkshollywoodannex]

Blockbusters of the 20s

Data is from Wikipedia and is very sketchy.  Some years don’t even list a top five, and actual grosses are almost non-existent.   For the sake of uniformity, I looked only at the top 5 grossing films each year.  Nevertheless, interesting trends emerge

Only two directors, Cecil B DeMille and Frank Borzage are mentioned twice:  Cecil for The Ten Commandments (1923- #2 biggest box office hit of the year) and Manslaugher (1922-4), and Borzage for Seventh Heaven (1927-4), and his follow up Street Angel (1928-3). .

Harold Lloyd had 5 entries, more than any other star of the 20s.  He had the first great silent comedy feature with Safety Last (1923-4),  and Girl Shy (1924-3), Grandma’s  Boy (1922-5), The Freshman (1925-5) and Welcome Danger (1929-4).  Among his comic rivals Charlie Chaplin is listed only once, for The Kid (1921-2) and Buster Keaton is nowhere to be found.

Among non-comedic actors, Lon Chaney has the most big hits with 4:  Hunchback of Notre Dame (1922-3), He Who Gets Slapped (1924-2), Oliver Twist (1922-2) and West of Zanzibar (1928-4).  Three Rudolph Valentino films were silent blockbusters:  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921-1), The Sheik (1921-4) and Blood and Sand (1922-3).  The major action star of the day, Douglas Fairbanks is mentioned twice, for The Three Musketeers (1921-3) and Robin Hood (1922-1).  His silent classic Thief of Baghdad (1924) was also mentioned within the top 10.  Silent cinema’s greatest actor John Barrymore is nowhere to be found.

Clara Bow had the most hit movies of any female in the 20s -  The Plastic Age (1925-3), Wings (1927-1) and It (1927-3).  Female stars listed twice are Mary Pickford, Gloria Swanson, Greta Garbo and Janet Gaynor.

[deltaengineering]

Winter Anime 2019 Part 3: High on Concept

If you wait long enough, you’ll find something good to say.

Doukyonin wa Hiza, Tokidoki, Atama no Ue / My Roommate is a Cat

What: Misanthropic mystery author picks up tough stray cat, both get healed.

✅ The cat acts like a cat, the misanthrope acts like a misanthrope.

✅ The approach of telling the same simple story from the perspective of two characters that can’t really communicate effectively is interesting.

✅ This is very basic, but it works. I like both characters, and it's generally inoffensive. Pretty much Barakamon with less of a focus on telling you exactly what to feel. Might watch more of this.

❌ I see we’re now at the point where shows get localized titles that sound like lazy translations of bland Japanese names even when the Japanese title is not that bland to begin with. Lovely.

Dimension High School

What: A bunch of kids press XXX and YYY and are sucked. Wooow.

✅✅ The wraparound segments look extremely realistic. If there was more lensflares and shots of feet I’d almost say someone has finally beaten KyoAni in making anime look like a cheap, egregiously overacted J-Drama.

❌❌ Sadly, the puzzle dimension they end up in just looks like homemade MMD animation, because it is. I mean, at least it’s mocapped, but apparently with a Kinect.

❌❌ E.g., they make jokes about clipping and they kinda have to because everything clips into everything else all the time.

❌❌ Did I mention that all they actually do is solve lame puzzles and fail to be funny about it? It’s really getting to the levels of the dreaded “barely animated voice actor improv podcast” at these points.

♎ Suwabe’s in it, and that’s never an outright bad thing. He’s voicing the quizmaster, in the process proving he’d do anything for a paycheck. I wonder if he has a fiverr acocunt.

Domestic na Kanojo

What: Highschooler loses virginity to one night stand, finds out that it was the sister of the teacher he has a crush on. Incidentally, the mother of both also just married his father. Zany!

✅ This is presented like a low-key, slow drama, and it’s not even bad at that. Some good directing going on here, at least in the beginning.

❌❌ Really just too bad that it’s impossible to take seriously with a setup as contrived as this, not to mention taking it as seriously as it apparently wants to be taken. It’s also not exactly original.

❌ I’m not gonna say that sketchy relationships can’t work (it worked fine for KoiAme, for example), but embedding your suddenly also incestuous pupil-teacher affair in the setting of a harem comedy, complete with other sister walking in on attempted drunk blackout kiss, is not giving me confidence that this has the chops to pull it off.

❌❌ The show this reminds me the most of is Love and Lies, and that’s a real bad calling card to have.

Girly Air Force

What: Girl-shaped fighter jets fall in love with a dude.

❌❌ It’s just another military-hardware-is-cute-girls-actually show in the vein of Strike Witches, the kind where they think that having a few plane CG models is already thrilling content.

❌❌ But then it doesn’t even turn out to be that in practice, because most of the episode is taken up by lame “worldbuilding” (i.e., coming up with excuses for why your fanservice show has to be the way it is) and trying to make your bland harem lead interesting, which is a futile endeavour.

❌ The most interesting part is still the CG dogfighting, such as it is. It’s not great either. Also, girly planes are pink.

♎ Honestly got a laugh out of them randomly picking a Gripen as heroine unit  in addition to actual JSADF hardware, because that’s a sleek-looking plane. The biggest prank the JSADF ever pulled on the otaku industry is buying the chubby F-35, which is nowhere to be seen here.

Go-toubun no Hanayome / The Quintessential Quintuplets

What: Empoverished highschooler is hired as a tutor for some rich quintuplets with large breasts.

❌ This is a blatant harem setup that would make a 2003 bishoujo VN blush.

✅ However, in practice it’s much better than it sounds. It knows it’s a wacky romcom with a dumb premise and it does not pretend otherwise.

✅ So it’s lighthearted, but it’s also surprisingly classy. In fact, it’s classier than Domestic no Kanojo, which is a show that’s actually trying to look respectable and failing.

✅ The relationships are also very feisty, with an energy that a comedy needs. There’s a lot of sass to go around here. Probably the best of these I’ve seen in a while, so I’ll give it three eps.

Kemurikusa

What: After getting pulled off the sequel, the Kemono Friends crew made their own version. Presumably there are blackjack and hookers in this show’s future.

❌ If you are a fan of KF’s “charms”, fear not, you would not be able to tell these people made another anime before. It's still total amateur hour.

❌❌ It’s not even the “looks”, though those certainly are not a highlight. The design is okay and the animation is bad, but I’m not incapable of enjoying shows with bad animation. What really kills it is the editing. I usually don’t comment on editing because that’s almost always competent and only very rarely great, but Kemurikusa has uniquely lazy and badly timed editing. Every shot being seconds longer than it needs to be is already an annoyance in low-key dialog scenes, but the alleged action is laughable and allows you a long, unblinking stare at every frame of bad animation. I really do wonder why they even bother with it when it’s so terrible.

✅ The setting seems alright, even though it’s just a reskinned Kemono Friends. At least it’s not gijinka nonsense this time (which makes one wonder where the gimmick characters are supposed to come from, but I digress), and it’s more upfront about what it actually is too. I’d call it mildly intriguing.

❌ I don’t mind mystery and certainly prefer it to exposition bombs, but instead of that this episode quickly establishes the most basic facts... and then repeats them over and over and over some more. Combined with non-editing, this makes for horrible pacing. 

♎ I had no opinion on KF’s longer-term qualities, because the first episode was so boring I never got any further. I won’t have an opinion on this show’s long-term qualities for the same reason.

Magical Girl Spec-Ops Asuka

What: Magical girls are tragic, shoot gun’s.

❌❌ Yo bro, what if magical girls but dark? Surely such a thing has never been attempted.

❌ The particular source of grim here is that these girls are war vets and fight with semi-realistic weaponry, so there’s a fair bit of the ol’ milwank in this one as well.

❌ The best part of the entire show is that the enemies they originally fought looked like cute teddy bears. Of course, this is dropped in favor of just slicing and dicing some random terrorists in the main narrative. I guess “dark magical girl” is still too outlandish a concept, gotta go with ripping off The Punisher again.

❌ The characters so far are nothing special, you got your PTSD Rambo and the generically cute tomodachis she swears to protect. Such contrast!

❌❌ If you must make these 80s action movies with some otaku gimmick pasted on top, would you mind making the action look good at least? Because I don’t care how many gallons of blood you paint in your dramatic but conspicuously non-moving pans.

Meiji Tokyo Renka

What: Spiritually sensitive lonelygirl gets kitsuned to the Meiji era, which is full of delicious beef and some handsome men too I guess.

✅ This isn’t an outright comedy, but it goes all in on everyone’s fabulosity level to a degree that it’s really already three quarters to Dame x Prince.

✅ Similarly, the lead is not quite as unimpressed with these hams as Ani was, but she certainly has a lot more interest in roast beef than in these guys always trying to pull her into sparkly chin-holding poses &c.

✅ Meiji Tokyo Renka doesn’t seem to be anything special, but it gets the tone right and is expressive enough to not become boring.

♎ While certainly watchable right now, with these there’s always the chance that it decides to launch into real drama in the long run, which in turn almost always goes wrong.

Yakusoku no Neverland / The Promised Neverland

What: An orphanage’s happy daily life gets upended by the realisation that they’re just pizza rolls for some demonic entities.

✅ I watched this right after Kemurikusa and let me tell you, it sure helps if you’ve got professionals on the team. This is a highly competent show as far as cinematography and editing is concerned. While there isn’t any reason to go all out on the action sakuga, this show looks real good.

❌ I’m not feeling the character design, to be specific I think everyone’s chin is too big. This sounds like a real assholy nitpick, but be aware that this will impact around 90% of the time you watch this. 

✅ The premise is workable for a shounen manga, even if hardly original (remember Owari no Seraph?) At least it’s not kids with superpowers spamming beams at each other while discussing the nature of heroism, and seems to be going for a more mindgames-based approach in the vein of Death Note. The characters are just barely good enough so far. In the end it’s not so much the premise, but how well the production values are able to sell it. And that’s what Neverland is good at.

❌ It’s specifically a Weekly Shounen Jump manga, and that is huge red flag. Sure enough, while the visuals and mood deliver, the dialog writing justifiably assumes the reader is a moron. Almost every line in this is either straight universe exposition or someone reading someone else’s character sheet back to them. It’s insane and not even necessary because their actions establish all of this just fine, but hey, WSJ readers amirite?

❌ Also, since it’s a successful WSJ property, don’t expect an ending or be prepared to watch this show for years. Most likely both.

♎ This seems like it could be entertaining once the exposition is out of the way and the real meat of the narrative starts. Then again, at that point pacing would come into play, which is yet another achilles heel of WSJ-style shounen manga. Against my better judgement, I’ll probably have a look how this develops, but I don’t expect much.

[lesmiserabby]

Ask game

Tagged by: @autie-jake

Answer questions and tag whoever you want.

1. Height: 5'4

2. Last thing I googled: how much water to drink to counter dehydration

3. Favorite musicians: I mostly listen to musical theatre stuff but there are a lot and I’m not sure how I would list it since there’s the actors who perform it who are separate from the writers/composers? Separate from that there’s Ed Sheeran, The Tragically Hip, Marianas Trench, wouldn't consider her a favourite anymore but I still have an attachment to older Taylor Swift songs because part of me never fully outgrew that high school phase (which may have been a past SpIn?), and Howard Shore because the Lord of the Rings soundtracks are perfection and no one will ever change my mind.

4. Song stuck in my head: Minas Tirith from the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

5. Followers: 72

6. Following: 154

7. Do you get asks: Nope

8. Amount of sleep: Depending on the day it ranges from 2 or 3 hours to 12 hours. Preference is 8-9. Sometimes I get no sleep at all.

9. Lucky number: I don’t have one.

10. What are you wearing: a dress because I’m too lazy for pants right now.

11. Instrument: some basic piano skills, planning to start lessons again in the next few months. A bit bigger on singing but piano skills are good and helpful with that too and it would be awesome to be able to accompany myself.

12. Languages: So languages are one of my SpIns so.... Only fluent in English, 3 years of German (taking it as a minor) and can understand a good chunk of it, some French because Canada, a bit of Dutch and Polish, though mostly from listening to cast recordings and Disney songs in those two languages, though I only really understand what’s happening in the Dutch ones but only because it’s similar to the German, the Polish I’ve only learned lyrics phonetically, though I am also attempting to learn both on Duolingo as well (I’ve got French and German on there too, of course). Also have Welsh and High Valyrian (Game of Thrones conlang) on Duolingo because I don’t know apparently I hate myself and want to drive myself crazy by learning too many languages at once or something? Also trying to learn bits of Old English/Anglo-Saxon and Latin (more success with the Latin because MUSIC), plus I’ve also memorized several of the Sindarin lines in the Lord of the Rings films, as well as some of the Sindarin and Quenya lyrics in the soundtrack for the films as well as the Lord of the Rings musical cast recording. 

13. Favorite song: Ugh so many.... One Day More from Les Mis, Wait for Me from Hadestown, Hiding in your Hands (a cut song from Dear Evan Hansen), Ich gehöre nur mir from Elisabeth: Das Musical, White Houses by Vanessa Carlton, A Beautiful Thing by the Tragically Hip, The Bells of Notre Dame from Hunchback because THAT ENSEMBLE IS FANTASTIC, and so many others that aren’t coming to mind right now.

14. Random fact: Victor Hugo - the same Victor Hugo that wrote Les Mis and Hunchback of Notre Dame - once wrote this play called Hernani and it broke basically all the rules of Neoclassicism in theatre which was THE biggest deal in France at the time and there were literal RIOTS that broke out as a result and I love absolutely everything about this, Victor Hugo is an icon.

15. Aesthetic: I don’t even know how to describe it because it’s a mishmash of special interests, a handful of what I suppose are stereotypically feminine things, some autism stuff, hopefully more queer stuff in the future but I live in a super conservative town right now so while I’m sort of out I feel sketchy about it... I literally don’t even know, my aesthetic is about as weird as I am I guess? Generally speaking people recognize me by my hats though, one time I went to school without a hat and people got so confused so hats for sure.

Tagging: @nichorlings, @warriorprincess1995, @queen-paladin, @fallenstar2319, and anyone else who wants to

[johnbizzell]

October 2018 - Of Tales and Troi

On 13th March 1993, less than two months after I’d turned twelve and with the zip-up pockets of my Makro tracksuit bulging with pound coins found Sellotaped inside my birthday cards, I went to the Waterstones on Charing Cross Road all by myself. Maybe the rest of you were already in motorcycle gangs or hosting WI lunches by that age, but I was still refusing to wear my glasses - without which I only got to read the signs I frequently walked into seconds before impact - and I had no friends, so rarely left the house except to ricochet blindly to school. Even now it feels like one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.

What would motivate such a boy, one so intent on hiding that he thought not seeing meant not being seen, to lie to his parents and venture into the big city? I’ll tell you: cock. But don’t run away, this isn’t a story about ill-advised underage sex in ill-fitting 90s sportswear. It’s about books.

The previous weekend I’d read an interview in the Sunday Times Magazine with Armistead Maupin. He was publicising his latest novel Maybe the Moon, but he also mentioned the series he is much more famous for, Tales of the City, which apparently commemorated ‘hook-up culture, everyday drug use and gay bathhouse sex’ in 1970s San Francisco (there’s so much more than that, but the Sunday Times Magazine hasn’t changed its tune for decades). I honestly don’t think I’d ever seen the word gay in print before. I’d seen it scratched onto my locker by the business end of a compass, but this was pre-internet. Everything I knew about gay had been shouted at me in a playground, no bibliography was provided for further reading.

It amazes me when people say they don’t like reading. Reading is a super power that lets you hear other people’s thoughts and live other people’s lives. It must seem amazing to Millennials that at one time we didn’t have access to all of human knowledge in a device in our pockets. If you wanted to know about something, you had to ask an actual person or you had to find the answer in a book. As a baby gay trying to figure things out for myself it was impossible for me to ask anyone for the answers I needed, so I relied solely on books and they have been my greatest teachers ever since. 

Now that I knew this Armistead Maupin had written books about gays, I needed to read them. The library was not an option. That would involve being tracked and stamped – branded. I needed to go off grid. I turned to my guardian angel, Counselor Deanna Troi. 

Anything I haven’t learnt from a book I’ve learnt from Star Trek. In the early 90s that meant tuning into BBC2 ‪at 6pm‬ on a ‪Wednesday night‬ to watch Captain Picard and the crew of the USS Enterprise-D on their continuing mission to spread the gospel of bodysuits as practical workwear beyond the final frontier. If this post has drawn in anyone else from the Venn diagram of gay fiction and space sagas, I’ll just state that I am totally on board with Troi eventually embracing her full rank, uniform and hair straighteners, but back then her plunging necklines, vaguely Mittel-European accent and mindreading powers seemed like exactly what a pre-teen homosexual from South East London should aspire to. She sensed my desperate need to find a tribe and helped me lay in a course to the gay and lesbian fiction section of a national book chain. 

Alongside the TV show, there was a series of Star Trek novels and at this exact time Peter David’s Imzadi had been released. It’s not one of the cool ones with the Borg as a thinly disguised cipher for communism, it’s just your standard tempestuous time-travel romance, but it was on the New York Times best-seller list for six weeks so save your sneers. As it had only just come out I made a very convincing case to my parents that I needed to go to a West End book shop to get it. I may have been blinder than Geordi La Forge without his VISOR, but the promise of finding out what gays got up to in something called a bathhouse had made me sneakier than a Romulan. 

The particular branch of Waterstones I went to closed years ago and is now a Superdrug, so you’ll have to take the sketchy 25-year-old memories of a petrified partially-sighted kid on the store’s layout for granted. Up some steps in a corner section there was a low freestanding shelf and the gay fiction was on the side facing away from the rest of the shop. I crept around the other shelves and flung myself to the floor. All six Tales of the City books were there as well as dozens of others with terrifyingly tasteful male physiques on them, but after my train fare and buying Imzadi too I could only afford one. I felt sick. I might never get the chance to come back for the others, but what could I do? 

It is a testament to the shame I felt that I took my two books to the till with the actress who played Troi, Dame Marina Sirtis (forgive my cosmic ordering on a Galaxy-class scale), staring out on top in Mills and Boon-ish soft focus glory. I held my breath whilst both of them were scanned and then I paid with my change.

I could have taken my new treasure out and read it in the middle of Old Compton Street and half the queens wouldn’t have known there were gay characters in it, never mind anywhere else, but I kept the Waterstones carrier bag folded tightly closed until I got home to the safety of my bedroom. There I opened it and ceremoniously wrote the date on the inside front cover. 

On 13th March 1993, less than two months after I’d turned twelve, I read Tales of the City for the first time. It changed my life.

Tales of the City was first published in book form 40 years ago and has just been voted one of America’s 100 favourite novels. Expect a handsome anniversary edition and a glossy new Netflix adaptation soon. Meanwhile, used copies of Imzadi are available on Amazon ‪from 1p‬. John recommends both heartily.

[moonshotsx]

I can imagine Bertha finding the two looking so lost and lowkey sketchy and just sighs and takes them to Dame like “here friend i found your idiots” 😌

bertha is very suspicious of kam and paloma, she’s the kind of tavern owner that knows everyone in town so to see these two she has never seen before asking for dame… she has her doubts but they seem harmless enough to take up to dame

[knoxvillecomedy]

Where to Laugh: Knoxville’s Comedy Calendar (3/1/19)

Honored Guests:

KevonStage @ City Hills Church - Friday, 3/1 at 7 pm Jason Scholder @ Last Days of Autumn Brewing - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Matthew Tate @ Grove Theater (Oak Ridge) - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm TomorrowQuest Theater @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Four First Names @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Nashville Improv @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Two Sketchy Dames @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 10 pm Shenanigans @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm The Maybe Pile @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm My 4 Dads @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm Leanne Morgan @ Sevierville Convention Center - Saturday, 3/2 at 7 pm M-Prov @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 8 pm Underhanded Improv @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 8 pm Lowkeybush @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 10 pm The Cardigan Party @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 10 pm Blue Plate Special Improv @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 10 pm Matthew Tate @ Bearden Brickyard - Sunday, 3/3 at 7 pm Emma Benson @ Scruffy City Hall - Sunday, 3/3 at 10:30 pm Gabriel “Fluffy” Iglesias @ Knoxville Civic Auditorium - Thursday, 3/7 at 8 pm Trae Crowder @ Bijou Theater - Saturday, 3/9 at 8 pm Trae Crowder @ Bijou Theater - Sunday, 3/10 at 7:30 pm

* All Gatlinburg Improv Festival Shows will be held at Sweet Fanny Adams Theatre (Gatlinburg)

Local Heroes:

Cumberland Striptease @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Wordplayers Playback Theatre @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Involuntary Sports Party @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Friday, 3/1 at 8 pm Full Disclosure @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 6 pm Einstein Simplified @ Gatlinburg Improv Festival - Saturday, 3/2 at 8 pm Headliners! @ Bearden High School - Monday, 3/04 at 7 pm Friendlytown @ Pilot Light - Monday, 3/04 at 7:30 pm Comedy on Tap @ Casual Pint-Downtown - Tuesday, 3/5 at 8 pm Einstein Simplified @ Scruffy City Hall - Tuesday, 3/5 at 8:15 pm Open Door Comedy open mic @ Scruffy City Hall - Wednesday, 3/6 at 8 pm Absolute Show @ Gallery 1010 - Friday, 3/08 at 6 pm Straight Punchline @ Bearden Banquet Hall - Friday, 3/08 at 8 pm Super Happy Fun Time open mic @ Fort Sanders Yacht Club - Friday, 3/08 at 9 pm Knox by Night Band @ Hexagon Brewing - Saturday, 3/9 at 8 pm Open Mic Comedy Night @ Bearden Brickyard - Sunday, 3/10 at 6:30 pm Desert Pig Comedy Open Mic @ Tennessee Brewsky’s (New Tazewell) - Sunday, 3/10 at 8 pm * All Gatlinburg Improv Festival Shows will be held at Sweet Fanny Adams Theatre (Gatlinburg)

[lostcybertronian]

JDKSJKDDJ for the more recent prompts dark and wilf w 90 if you can

A little something about remembering.

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr  @demonnightmareangel @moonysmayhem @demon-dark-666 @xpouii @damesdoodles @projectwkm @sororia04s

Prompt 90: “Do you remember when we were little?”

    Part of being two souls and an entity shoved into a corpse was the confusion. Memories from before tended to be fuzzy at best, if not gone completely. It left Dark in a state of bewilderment, some nights, when he tried to recall something other than rage, than hate, than Mark.

    ���Darkie!” A pair of arms wound around his waist, and a mustache-d face buried itself in his neck. “Whatcha up to?”

    “Just thinking,” Dark said faintly, his mind awhirl with thoughts: who was this man? Why was he interested in his affairs? “Watching the rain.”

    Only now did it occur to him that it was, in fact, what he was doing; the glass door he looked through was cold to the touch. Raindrops struck it in seemingly rhythmic patterns, tip-tapping its way through the silence. 

    “Sounds boring. Pay attention to me instead.” The man kissed his neck. “Wilford Warfstache is more interesting than the rain.”

    Ah. Wilford. Wilford, who always smelled of candy. Wilford, who didn’t know the meaning of death or dying. Wilford, who used to be someone else a long, long time ago.

    “Do you remember when we were little?” Dark asked, struggling to recall the memories himself. “Mark wanted to go hunt for frogs in the rain. We got sick.”

    Wilford chortled. “Didn’t catch any frogs. Caught the influenza, though. Dames was bedridden for a fortnight. Say . . .” 

    Dark didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes were glazing over with that same confusion that plagued him now. Didn’t need to ask to understand. 

    “Where is ole’ Damien, anyway? Haven’t seen him in a while.” Wilford looked around as if he might suddenly spring from the festering shadows, alive and well and not a day aged. “I should stop by and see him sometime.”

    “I’m sure he’s around.” It wasn’t worth it to tell him the truth. Not when he didn’t know the meaning of death or dying, and not when he wouldn’t remember tomorrow. “Be patient.”

    Wilford huffed, but nonetheless returned to nuzzling Dark’s neck, unbothered by cryptic non-answers. 

    Dark, for his part, tolerated it and returned his gaze to the rain, and his attention to the stormy muddle of memories.