#age and rationalizing it as being good for the recipient (and then never having this be contradicted) might lead to his

[bumblingbabooshka]

I love how this is the only entry on the wiki page for the Rite of Tal'oth. Both T'Pol and Spock talk about their Kahs-Wan and it seems to be an extremely common thing for Vulcan children to go through but ONLY Tuvok so far has mentioned this Tal'oth rite so it doesn't seem to be as expected of Vulcans. This jives with my impression of Tuvok's character being the most spiritual of the three main Vulcans (from what I understand the spirituality of Vulcan that we see in 'later' series is seen as highly taboo and illogical in ENT's time? EX: Tuvok was raised beliving in the katra while most Vulcans in T'Pol's time think katras are a myth). Tuvok speaks about questioning his faith in katras, he has a holoprogram that seems to take place in a monastery, he puts great stock in prayer (his wife and children say prayers for his safe return and he is sure to tell Neelix that the temple they go to is among the holiest on Vulcan), some of his favorite music is monks chanting, and he was pursuing the kolinahr in his youth - the only reason he didn't complete it being that he went through the pon farr and chose to be with T'Pel instead. To me, it would make sense if the Rite of Tal'oth was only undertaken by certain Vulcans who did so for spiritual reasons or as a personal test of some kind rather than something all Vulcans do at a certain age. Tuvok later goes into Security so it's possible he's always had an interest in the kind of life-or-death strategy that such rituals (Kahs-Wan and Tal'oth) require, even if his first time in Starfleet he's shown as a Science officer, likely at his parents' "request." Speaking of, we learn in 'Flashback' that Tuvok's parents pressured him to join Starfleet AND that Tuvok's father is heavily implied to be part of Starfleet. This, and the fact that Tuvok's father specifically was namedropped as the one who disowned him as a teenager makes me wonder whether or not Tuvok was pressured to participate in the Tal'oth ritual - perhaps as a way to prove himself Vulcan once again (after his adolescent failure). Or even as a preparatory method for Starfleet itself since his father was/is part of it. "If you can't do this, how are you going to be a Starfleet officer?" sort of deal.

[minhypen]

02. THE HAND THAT FEEDS

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐒 𝖮𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾’𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖬𝗂𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀’𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄: 𝖣𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌

📄𓏧 6.3k 𝐂𝐖 ⦂ cursing in the narration ⸝⸝　long overdue, but finally here! if you notice my own frustrations take form as minyoung's thoughts, no you don't

𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘 ⠷ Kr En Jp Sys

PLOPPING DOWN ONTO ONE OF THE CHAIRS WITH A DRAWN OUT SIGH, MINYOUNG TOOK SOME TIME TO REST AND COOL DOWN FROM THE AFTER-EFFECTS OF K AND NI-KI'S STRICT PRACTICE TIME.

The first test had been announced, and the rules? Do everything by yourself. Yup.

Somehow, due to Heeseung taking the lead (and Seon chiming in with his unnecessary input), the part distribution was thankfully done without much hiccups or delays. But Minyoung couldn't lie and say she was happy about being part 10. Though she was thankful that her lines weren't shared with another part like it was for parts 13 to 18, she barely had a line in the second verse, which was disappointing.

But of course, it was a vocal-focused performance with eighteen people and very unfairly distributed parts. It made sense that the better vocalists took the higher parts.

What didn't, was Seon claiming that Part 1 didn't need to be a good singer, only to immediately suggest making vocals the standard for assigning parts. But hey, that was just Minyoung's personal beef with Seon and not rational thinking…

No one could blame her, honestly. He’d been borderline dismissive and condescending, not just towards her, but all the girls during the part distribution, arguing against them and giving silly reasons to keep them from getting a part higher than part 6. Though no one voiced it out, Minyoung could see the animosity for him brewing among the other girls. 

The boys hadn’t thought much about it though, for Seon’s words carried a bite that stung only the recipient.

Minyoung would bet that he’d have been sucking up to them if he could gain something from it, but the elimination voting was separate for the boys and the girls so he couldn’t be bothered. 

After a somewhat chaotic practice with everyone trying to learn the dance together, Heeseung suggested that the I-Landers take some time to learn the verse at their own speed. And while Minyoung was a good dancer, she was a slow learner who couldn't be more thankful for the time and her buddies-slash-personal trainers' effort (and success) in teaching her the remaining verses.

Though she did almost break herself trying to keep up with those monsters, she could at least relax for a while without worrying about the dance.

But of course, peace could never be maintained for too long in a place that housed eighteen people, and Saebyeok and her little group of friends soon filled Minyoung's thoughtful silence with their loud conversations.

Turning around just in time to find Sunghoon and Jay bickering over the last bottle of the same type of drink, she smiled at her unnie who sat down next to her with a pat to Minyoung's head.

"Looks like y'all are having fun," Minyoung teased, chin pointing to Soojin and Heeseung chasing around Jungwon with an open water bottle.

"Yeah, they're all a handful." Saebyeok was obviously used to their chaos as the eldest of their group, simply bellowing out a ‘be careful’ as Jungwon ran out of the kitchen area with the two hot on his trail. "It seems you found yourself a little group, too?" the older girl questioned as she helped herself to Minyoung's corn chips, earning a nod and swat to the hand.

It hadn't been long since Minyoung had stopped being stuck at the hip to Saebyeok, but it felt like ages since she had spent some quality time with the girl. With Saebyeok hanging with her own friends, Minyoung had found herself in a small group of five, sticking with K, Mirae, Nicholas and Ni-ki during practice which took up most of their time.

"We've all just been practicing together," Minyoung bowed at Sunghoon who took the seat opposite her with a bowl of ramyeon in his hands (when did he get that?), "K oppa and Ni-ki helped us learn the whole song."

"I heard Ni-ki saying he wanted Part 1," Sunghoon chimed into their conversation.

Ni-ki did keep saying that, but Minyoung hadn't thought much about it. "There's not much we can do about it now though, everything's been decided already," Minyoung shrugged, earning nods of agreement.

“Hello there~” came the sweet voice of a smiling Jay as he took the seat next to Sunghoon. The ex-figure skater nudged his friend with his elbow only to earn a frown and a slap on the shoulder.

“Hi Oppa!” Minyoung suppressed a laugh at their seemingly never ending bickering.

“Sorry,” Jay switched back to a smile when he turned to her, “this guy’s been a pain in the neck all day for no reason.”

“Hey, don’t say that to someone we’re talking to for the first time!”

Minyoung giggled openly this time, side-eyeing Saebyeok, “Unnie has told me about your silly fights, I’m not surprised.”

“Huh?! She’s told you about us?” “What else has Noona told you?” Came the overlapping responses from the duo.

“A lot, but all good things, don’t worry.” Minyoung giggled again when Jay and Sunghoon narrowed their eyes at Saebyeok, untrusting of her blabbing tendencies. 

Rightfully so, too. Saebyeok was indeed a blabbermouth who’d told Minyoung of Sunghoon, Jay and Heeseung’s life history basically—when they’d started training, what they did before that, how they met for the first time and some funny stories about their hangouts. Minyoung never got the chance to hear much about Soojin and Jungwon though, because the shoot for I-Land had started a month and a half after they were put in the same unit. And two free hours a week only got Saebyeok so far into her trainee-day-tales (exclusively in Japanese, even though Minyoung understood Korean just fine).

The said girl, unaware of her dongsaengs’ glares, was too busy smirking at Minyoung and wiggling her eyebrows. (Minyoung had taken a few glances too many at Sunghoon because he was handsome, duh, but she knew that the older girl took them the wrong way.)

“Whatever it was, don’t believe that woman,” Jay mumbled as Minyoung turned back to him, snatching Sunghoon’s chopsticks to help himself to his noodles. Sunghoon let out a whine with his mouth still stuffed with the food, but ultimately allowed Jay to take a bite, only to whine again when Saebyeok pulled the bowl towards herself after Jay was done.

“Is that all you’re eating for dinner?” Jay questioned, pointing at the packet of corn chips in Minyoung’s lap. “You should eat more,” he nagged when Minyoung nodded.

“I don’t want to cook, though.”

“So you’re just gonna eat diet food? Oh, that’s not good, lemme make somethin’ for ya...” Jay’s sentence faded to a mumble as he quickly rose from his seat, heading to the pantry without letting her respond.

Since when did corn chips count as diet food? Minyoung’s flabbergasted expression must have been funny, because Saebyeok and Sunghoon burst into laughter. 

“He’s kinda obsessed with playing ‘mom’, don’t mind him.” Saebyeok patted Minyoung’s head. “His food is delicious, though.”

And delicious it was—Minyoung practically inhaled the bowl of japchae like someone who hadn’t seen the sight of food for days. Though her classy image kinda shattered in front of some of the classiest people in I-Land, she couldn’t bring herself to care at that moment.

Blame K and Ni-ki for making her insanely hungry. But also—bless Jay for filling her stomach with actual food, she might make him cook for her everyday with how good it tasted…

And just when the girl was about to be satisfied with a day done right, Heeseung strode in with Ni-ki, grabbing their attention. "Let's gather in the main practice room," he announced. Upon hearing their ‘okay’s, he walked out without further explanation, i-Pad in hand and Ni-ki by his side as the two disappeared into the gym, whispering to themselves like businessmen discussing a contract together.

...ooookay? 

Minyoung shrugged to herself, finishing up the last of her dinner. She didn't really care what Heeseung was planning with Ni-ki as long as it helped the I-Landers. So far, Heeseung had been nothing but a helpful leader.

And when he did finally reveal his plans to everyone, the girl didn't feel any different.

Minyoung saw it as an opportunity to show off her preparation so far and how she didn't fall behind people with years of training. Some of the girls, especially Soojin and Sophie had openly expressed their concerns over her getting a higher part in the song simply because of how long (or short, to be accurate) her training period was. She's got to show them.

And show them, she did. Though Heeseung only told her that she did 'good,' the proud beam she got from Ni-ki and the surprised and impressed sounds from the trainees told her more than enough.

Unfortunately, some of the others were not so lucky. Nicholas was shaking like a leaf next to her up until his name was called and his nerves had caused him to underperform. Next to him was Sunghoon who'd received comments about being a bit ahead of the beat. Then there was Yeona, who had forgotten a part of the routine and sat down with tears lining her eyes even though neither Heeseung nor Ni-ki had commented anything other than a 'good'.

“Sophie noona, you’re up next,” Ni-ki called out as Sophie stood up to perform. 

“Ahh, what do I dooooo?” Mirae whined beside Minyoung at being the last to perform, latching onto the younger’s waist as she bent down. “I’m so nervous…”

“Why?” Minyoung embraced the girl who practically laid herself in her lap. “You’re just going to show what you’ve been practicing, nothing to be nervous about.”

“But everyone’s watching and it feels burdening to be last,” Mirae pouted, lifting her head up to give Minyoung her best puppy eyes. (Why, though, Minyoung didn’t know. It wasn't like she could make the call to let Mirae not perform.)

“You’ll do fine, do you trust me?” Mirae nodded. “Then don’t think about the audience and just perform like you’ve been practicing.”

“...fine.”

“Mirae-ah, you’re up,” Heeseung looked up from his clipboard. “Please go ahead.” He gave her a small smile. Oh?

Throwing Heeseung a side-eye, Minyoung shifted her focus back to Mirae. 

And genuinely, she didn’t know what the older girl was on. That was literally the best show out of all the trainees and she found herself gawking in disbelief at Mirae’s pout as she sat back down.

"Okay, let's wrap up for today." Heeseung stood up from his place, Ni-ki following his actions with a confused frown on his face. "Thank you everyone, and goodnight." He finally swapped his serious look for a smile, but earned more confused looks from the other trainees.

And for good reason, too.

Even if Heeseung had been acting as a leader and mentor, a lot of the I-Landers including herself had been expecting him (and Ni-ki) to perform at the end. But the '01 liner simply acted like he didn't see the odd looks from some of the trainees as he exited the room with a tired Saebyeok and a zoned-out Sunghoon on his trail.

Murmurs filled the room. “I thought Heeseung-ie was performing as well?” came the question from someone Minyoung guessed was Geonu.

“Were we being evaluated?” Was that Seon?

“Ahh, what?” K, definitely.

Yeona was still sniffling behind her and Nicholas groaned as he laid his head on Minyoung’s shoulder. “Ahh, that was so nerve-wracking…”

“I know,” Mirae cuddled into her other side, using Minyoung as a personal pillow along with the ‘02 boy.

Minyoung felt weird. 

First the disagreement that arose about Heeseung changing the choreography and now this evaluation-like practice time that left some of the I-Landers feeling less confident than before—they felt like warning bells signaling impending doom. The rising issue with Heeseung's methods among the I-Landers told Minyoung that they'd end up having a conversation about this.

She just didn't expect it to come right the next day. But hey, at least the conflict would be resolved, right?

Wrong.

It seemed like getting the leader to change his slightly cold ways of training to something better was only her idea of resolution, because the other I-Landers seemed to have plans of changing the leader himself. And as they all sat gathered, each expressing their own dissatisfaction against their leader, Minyoung found herself staring at the dimly flashing egg instead of meeting anyone’s eye, unable to pick a side.

"With how talented hyung is, it's fitting that you're the center and the leader. But you're so good, and you keep hanging out with people who are good like you, so I feel like there's a divide between us all," Daniel expressed his thoughts, voice tentative.

...what?

'People who were good like him—', did Daniel mean Heeseung's little group of friends who he'd literally known for years? Where was the logic in that, or better—were any of the trainees even trying to be logical anymore?

Minyoung expressed her thoughts, although in a less confronting and more diplomatic manner, and the reactions from some of the I-Landers were instantaneous.

Geonu scrambled to explain that the leader should be easily approachable and not distant, Sophie, Yeonbin and Yeona argued that Heeseung's methods were crumbling their confidence and Seon claimed that Ni-ki would do better as a center after the suggestion from K.

None of their excuses gave Minyoung an explanation as to why the center had to be changed, and not just the leader.

Don't get her wrong. Just because Minyoung (and some other trainees) was able to handle Heeseung's harsh methods, didn't mean everyone else could keep up. Some people needed a more patient and encouraging approach, and that was completely fair. 

But was it a rule for the center to always be the leader? Couldn't Ni-ki or K lead without changing the part distribution?

Saebyeok and Soojin were the ones to shoot her suggestion down this time, not holding back on their blunt words and giving a passive aggressive assurance that Heeseung was a good leader who just needed the I-Landers to trust him. 

Okay, ouch?

Minyoung slumped in her place, unable to hold back a pout at the immediate rejection of her opinion. Sunghoon caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic smile, which made her curl into herself more, not liking the pity in his eyes.

"Guys, please," The subject of the conversation had had enough, "I knew this would happen, which was why I was hesitant about being the center." Heeseung kept his eyes on the ground, making Minyoung wince at the disappointment on his face. "I'd personally like it if someone else took Part 1."

The resolution in his voice was obvious, which was what kept Saebyeok and Soojin from arguing when Ni-ki was made center and leader.

It wasn't like Minyoung was opposed to the decision—Ni-ki was really good, better than many other I-Landers, in fact—but she couldn’t help but feel that it was too rushed. (Because why would you pick 'better' if you knew you had the best right in front of you?)

What was done, was done though. She trusted the 14-year-old when he claimed he could pull it off, and as long as the results were good, Minyoung was happy.

Saebyeok, though? Not so much.

Minyoung settled into her bed, ready to rest after the long day when Saebyeok came bursting her way into the red room. Flinching at the sudden appearance, Minyoung called out from under her blanket, "You okay?"

"Okay? Do I look okay to you?!" Saebyeok snapped, getting on the bed with Minyoung and crawling under the blanket. "This place is filled with a bunch of ungrateful—" Saebyeok stopped herself from cursing and heaved a sigh, suddenly aware of the cameras despite having removed her mic— "people."

Turning on her side to face Minyoung, Saebyeok put a hand on the younger's cheek. "Sorry for snapping." The girl smoothed her fingers down the flesh of Minyoung's cheek, voice significantly softer. “Now, and earlier…”

"No, it’s okay." Minyoung scooted closer to the '01 liner. "It’s natural to be upset, and I bet Heeseung oppa feels even worse."

"Poor boy said he wanted some time alone," Saebyeok closed her eyes, voice lowering to a whisper. “If I were him, I’d have had these rascals crying by the time I’d be done with them.”

Minyoung hummed to show that she was listening, not wanting to interrupt her since she understood Saebyeok’s need to let out steam. “These guys who think they can control everything, they don't know how this show works.” The older girl frowned, making her look like an angry puppy. (No calling Saebyeok a puppy when she’s mad, Minyoung reminded herself.) “They think Heeseung was being harsh? Wait till the producers or directors come for an evaluation…”

Right, there was that. Minyoung sighed, drawing the blanket closer to herself. This was an unnecessary amount of stress for a 16-year-old to be handling. 

"Where's Mirae, by the way?" Saebyeok asked, opening her eyes to look at the empty, still made bed beside her own.

"Don't know," Minyoung whispered back, "been missing since dinner." 

The conversation died there as the girls fell into a thoughtful silence.

Saebyeok's words made sense the more Minyoung thought about it. There was no way the judges were gonna go easy on them, and Heeseung’s slightly-harsh-but-really-helpful training would have ensured that no one fell behind, that was for sure.

But the girl didn't realize just how true those words would turn out to be until it hit her right in the face. And even if it was not quite literal, it hurt just the same.

It was during the mid-point evaluation that things started going down, and wrong.

The evaluation itself came unexpectedly, and the I-Landers were flustered to say the least, by the appearance of such a well-respected senior. And while Minyoung hadn't been expecting any less, Rain's unconventional yet strict training methods threw everyone off their loops, leading to mistakes in the performance.

Rain was pretty understanding about them, but his warning of an immediate improvement being required left the I-Landers in a state of anxiety and confusion. Especially because everyone thought they'd been doing well so far. And that was exactly how Minyoung found herself in the living room of their temporary home, holding Ni-ki's hand with just one thing on her mind.

Someone needed to tape Seon's mouth shut.

He was the one who was so insistent about making Ni-ki the center just a day ago, but with just one hiccup down the line, his mind had suddenly changed. Now he was agreeing with Geonu who suggested that Heeseung should take back his position for the sake of vocals.

"It's a problem that Ni-ki can't sing well." Minyoung listened to Seon's reasoning, curious as to how he was going to justify his decisions this time round. "And it's not that he can't sing well—" Minyoung frowned, where was he going with this? "—he just can't sing at all."

…

What the fuck?

Minyoung snapped her head to him at breakneck speed, eyes shooting imaginative daggers at him that she almost wished were real at that moment. There was simply no way he said that when his dancing was like that.

No offense—actually, Minyoung did mean offense this time. 

Seon deserved no respect from her when he himself was utterly disrespectful to everyone but the ones he deemed were of benefit to him. And by the offended gasps the other girls let out at his words, Minyoung knew they agreed.

Just as her brain said fuck it and she opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, a squeeze on her hand interrupted her.

Glancing down briefly at the hand holding hers, the girl turned to meet a sad pair of eyes. Ni-ki shook his head lightly as if telling her that it wasn't worth it. Oh poor boy...

Looking back at Seon with a weak glare that no one noticed, she opted to listen to the younger’s prompt of staying silent, shifting her palm to properly intertwine her fingers with Ni-ki's. He was right in stopping her though—as much as she wished to put Seon in his place, it would only make her look disrespectful to the viewers. 

But of course, Minyoung shouldn't have forgotten the presence of a tigress in I-Land who went by the name of the rising sun, and like the sun did, Saebyeok didn't miss the opportunity to burn.

"What do you mean, Oppa?" She tilted her head with a confused look on her face that Minyoung would have believed was innocent, had she not known about her unnie's coy mannerisms. "He just made a couple small mistakes, nothing that couldn't be fixed."

"But he got it all wrong when we sang together earlier," Seon was quick to justify himself, referring to the 'after-evaluation evaluation' that Ni-ki went through with Saebyeok, Seon and Geonu in the purple room. 

"Ehh?" Saebyeok scoffed with a silly grin, acting like she heard a really funny joke, "Of course he's gonna go off-pitch if his 'teacher' started him off with the wrong key." She nudged her chin at him teasingly, not bothering to hide that she was directly dissing him.

Pfft. 

Minyoung couldn't help but snicker under her breath at that, smiling at the giggles from the other girls.

"Uhh, w-well I—" The humiliation on Seon's face almost made Minyoung feel bad for him, but she couldn't help but find it even funnier when Soojin interrupted him to ask what their next step should be.

“We should decide the center today though, stretching this out will not end well.”

Right, focus on the matter at hand, Minyoung told herself, squeezing Ni-ki's hand again when all eyes turned to him. Ni-ki kept his head down, biting his lower lip in thought. 

“I’d like to keep my position.” Ni-ki’s voice retained some of its usual firmness, and Minyoung felt grateful that Seon’s comments hadn’t affected his confidence even if she was sure that he was hurt. 

Some I-Landers were obvious in their disappointment with his choice, but their murmurs of complaint had no effect because Heeseung had refused to take Part 1 unless Ni-ki let him have it.

And though Minyoung wasn’t in complete agreement either, she couldn’t bring herself to question the boy when he was so confident that he could do it even as he was sobbing into his hands.

“I’m sorry for messing up,” he sniffled, bringing his head up to meet her eye for the first time since they entered the yellow room. Though she was glad he seemed to be feeling better, why he was apologizing to her, Minyoung had no idea.

She watched him quietly, not knowing what to say as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve before turning to her. Smiling, she brought a hand to wrap around his shoulder, expecting him to curl into her embrace. Instead, he lightly shrugged her hand off to wrap her up in his arms, making her lean on him.

“Thank you, Noona.” His voice was rough with the amount of crying he did, but he sounded composed when he spoke. “You too, Hyung.” He leaned back further on to K, pulling Minyoung so that she had her head resting on his stomach.

"Aigoo, it’s okay." K ruffled Ni-ki's hair lightly, wrapping his own arms around the boy to allow them a more comfortable position.

A few breaths passed as the three enjoyed the comforting silence. But the suddenness of the evaluation and the stress of the events that followed caught up to them, and Ni-ki’s rumbling stomach finally broke the silence. Bursting into laughter, the boys sat up as Minyoung stood from the couch.

“I’ll go make us something to eat,” she said, the smugness in her voice betraying that she’d already planned what she’d be making. Ni-ki didn’t protest, feeling way too hungry to hold on any longer, and K was quick to send her off with a happy wave, claiming that he had some important matters to discuss with the younger boy.

Hmm, sussy sus…

Choosing to ignore K’s off behavior, Minyoung left the room with a goal of making Ni-ki happy with her choice of food. Minyoung might despise the act of cooking, if it was to cheer a dear friend up, she'd do it without complaint. 

Just one thing though. How do you make mabo dofu again? 

Ni-ki had mentioned it earlier that day, claiming to miss his mother’s go-to dinner choice and so, Minyoung wished to give him the feeling of home. Forgetting how to make it though, was not in the plan. 

(It was her own fault honestly, she’d gone too long without actually cooking to still remember the recipes she’d learnt five years ago.)

As she stood in the kitchen staring holes through the pack of tofu as if it’d cook itself if she stared long enough, she didn’t notice the curious pair of eyes that peeped over her shoulder until the owner spoke right in her ears.

“Need some help with that?”

“Oh!” Minyoung turned around to find an amused Jay staring down at her. “Jay oppa, you’re not asleep yet?”

“Was just heading to bed when I found you standing here with a huge loading sign spinning over your head,” he teased, grabbing the tofu from her. “What were you trying to make?”

“Mabo Dofu, you know what that is?” 

Jay ignored her question, “For yourself?”

“For three.”

Minyoung followed after Jay who headed to the pantry upon hearing the reply, “Whoa, what? How do you know how to make it?” the girl questioned with wide eyes, seeing him grab a pack of minced pork.

“Heat the rice for me, yeah?” Jay ignored her question again and held out two packs of instant rice, before suddenly retracting them to smirk at her. “Or is it considered below Princess I-Don’t-Like-To-Cook to do such a trivial task?”

“Oh shush,” she playfully scoffed at him, snatching the rice from him and ignoring his chuckles as she headed out to heat it up.

As she sat in a crouch in front of the microwave, staring at Jay as he worked his magic, a shadow loomed over her and grabbed her attention.

Nicholas smiled down at her. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

Minyoung wordlessly pointed at Jay like the sight of the boy chopping onions would explain her position on the ground. Nicholas stared at Jay, then turned to Minyoung, then looked at Jay again before bursting into laughter.

“Okay.” He crouched down next to her. “I’m guessing he’s making your dinner?” he probed, well aware of Minyoung’s aversion. 

“Yeah, isn’t he so nice?” Minyoung looked back at Jay with a gaze of admiration. “I wanted to make something for Ni-ki, but I forgot the recipe so…” She shrugged with her lower lip jutting out, earning a hum from the boy. 

“I’m so worried about the performance,” Nicholas admitted, voice lowering with the change in topic. “It’s just day three and yet it feels like everything’s falling apart.” 

Grabbing his hand, Minyoung squeezed it. “We can’t decide that we’re going to do bad before we actually do it, Oppa.” The girl didn’t like his pessimistic mood. “We’ll practice hard with a positive outcome in mind.”

Nicholas sighed, throwing his head back. “You’re right, but it’s so hard to focus when some problem or other keeps coming up.”

“I know, but don’t you think the main problem is that we’re all looking at the center with a magnifying glass but forgetting that every one of us must do well to score high?”

The girl could literally see the light bulb go off inside Nicholas’ head at her words. “That—I didn’t think that way at all…” he seemed sheepish with the revelation.

Minyoung just smiled. A lot of the other I-Landers didn’t, either.

“Food’s ready,” Jay called, interrupting the conversation.

“Oh, really? Thank you so much!” Minyoung stood up to catch Jay in a grateful hug, earning a pat on the head. 

“Eat well~”

Wishing Nicholas a good night, she placed the cutlery, the rice and the main dish on a huge tray before heading to the yellow room. 

Pausing before the door, Minyoung took a deep breath in. She should leave all worries outside the room before entering—food should never be a victim to one’s feelings of sorrow, stress or anger.

If the universe decided to be kind to them, all would go well, they wouldn't end up performing horribly.

Horrible. This was absolutely horrible.

Minyoung hid her face in her hands, feeling the shame wrap around her. The girls had scored a little higher than the boys, but even that was a humiliating number.

76   67   64   52   51   48 

Average: 60

Minyoung screwed her eyes shut. They were absolutely done for.

Three female I-Landers must be eliminated.

Half. That was half of all the girls in I-Land. The boys had a similar fate, all of them groaning and whining at the thought of having to eliminate six people.

Minyoung felt the dread and anxiety tighten their hold on her throat, making it hard to breathe. Truthfully, she’d felt good about her performance, but there were enough girls who still thought less of her skills which could result in a possible elimination. And the system’s announcement about the lack of a debut chance for the Grounders was all she could think about as she tried to catch her breath.

Forcing herself to calm down and take some deep breaths, Minyoung regained her ability to breathe after a couple minutes. The only way to keep herself from losing her mind was to think that she’d be eliminated for sure. At least she wouldn’t be surprised if it actually happened. 

The voting will commence in 2 hours. You may go check your scores one by one in the voting room.

Alright, thanks Robot-nim…

Minyoung’s name was called right when she had found the strength to get up and settle into Mirae’s lap. “No, don’t go~” Mirae whined, tightening her arms around Minyoung’s waist.

“I have to, though~” Minyoung whined back using the same tone as the older girl as she detangled herself from the tight hold Mirae had on her. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, I prommy,” Minyoung baby-talked her, earning the usual puppy-eyed look and a nod from her unnie, who was truthfully the only one keeping her sane with her exaggerated aegyo in the tense situation.

But it seemed like Mirae herself wasn’t holding up very well. Minyoung could tell just from the look on her face as the older girl came downstairs after checking her own score, that her anxiety was getting the best of her. The smile she always wore was gone and her eyes were glossy like she was tearing up. Minyoung wasn’t so happy with her 64 either, but by the looks of it, her unnie needed more cheering up than her.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Minyoung tried to distract her from whatever score Mirae had seen inside the voting room. Upon receiving a nod, she locked arms with her unnie and practically dragged her upstairs, trying to catch up with Saebyeok and Yeona who she saw were on their way to the pink room.

Knocking on the door just as it closed, Minyoung invited herself and Mirae in. 

“Hey, you two,” Saebyeok greeted with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she sat down on Yeona’s bed.

“Hello,” came the lifeless voice of Yeona.

“What are you doing here all alone?” Minyoung sat next to Yeona, giving Mirae the space between the older girls. Nodding at Saebyeok who showed her the performance video paused on the i-Pad she held, Minyoung scooted closer. “Let’s watch, then.”

The two hours somehow flew by, with the girls replaying the video over and over even though it wasn’t much help in deciding the eliminated candidates. 

It was hard to even think about sending someone off. Six days wasn’t a lot of time to get too attached to the girls, but Minyoung had grown fond of all of them in some way even if there hadn’t been much interaction. Technically, it was a rule of I-Land that someone was always going to be replacing someone else, but it wouldn’t hurt any less to watch them leave.

And she certainly wasn’t okay when the candidates were announced after the voting, two hours later.

Receiving 5 votes, Sophie

Minyoung tried her best to not look in the girl’s direction. She couldn’t help but notice the girl’s poor form while dancing, and it seemed like the others did, too.

Receiving 4 votes, Kim Soojin

Now, she was someone Minyoung felt guilty about voting for. Not because she thought Soojin didn’t deserve it, but because of the way Saebyeok sobbed next to her when she heard the name. Minyoung knew that Soojin’s departure would break Saebyeok’s heart, but she had to stay fair to her own conscience and vote for the person who didn’t meet her standards. This was a competition after all.

Minyoung would have never guessed how hard it would become to keep up that belief until she heard the next name.

Receiving 4 votes, Kang Mirae

Ah, the irony. 

It was kind of funny. All her life, Minyoung never thought of herself as a crier. It had to be some hocus-pocus shit done by the cube because she found herself in tears for the second time in the same week, for the exact same reason.

So much for promising herself to keep calm.

The boys were all crying too, having surprised themselves by eliminating some unexpected I-Landers, like Jay. (All the while Seon got to stay, something that confused Minyoung greatly.)

She tried to keep the tears from falling though, not wanting to upset the eliminated candidates any further. Especially Ni-ki, who seemed to be holding back from bursting into tears himself.

He quietly stayed by her side, watching her bid long, teary goodbye’s to Mirae, Nicholas, Jay, Jake and anyone who came forward to greet her. Only when she was done and he was sure to have her full attention, did he finally move closer. The look on his face was calmer than before, like he had accepted his fate. 

"Don't cry, please." He brought up a hand to pat her head. 

Minyoung frowned at his unusual action, but accepted his affection without voicing her thoughts.

Since when was he older than her?

His weird behavior momentarily distracted her from the situation at hand, but she was quickly reminded of it again when the system voice asked the eliminated I-Landers to leave through the Gate.

"Take care of yourself, alright?" Minyoung reached up to rub the hand that was still on her head, eyes glassing up again. "And make sure to come up next time."

Ni-ki's eyes were softened with guilt and regret as he forced a smile. "I promise I’ll come back. Wait for me, okay?"

She would definitely hold him to that word.

Taking a seat in her designated chair, Minyoung kept her head down as she replayed the events of the past week.

And no matter how she thought about it, there seemed to be no denying that the results would have turned out far better if the I-Landers hadn't changed Heeseung’s role as both center and leader.

While Ni-ki was good at fine-tuning the performance, he hadn’t managed to get all the I-Landers up to standard. And though his vocals were definitely corrected by the time they performed, they didn’t match up to Heeseung's honeyed voice. And as the center, all eyes went to him first, making his role all the more important.

Minyoung knew that neither Ni-ki nor Heeseung were to blame though—they’d both given their all. It was some of the other I-Landers who were at fault, trusting neither themselves nor their leaders and basically jeopardizing the performance with their doubts.

And Minyoung couldn’t deny that it was her own fault, too. There were many opportunities where she could have spoken up firmer, could have opposed the decisions which she felt were wrong and yet she chose to remain silent after a couple rejections. And though it didn’t affect her directly (thank god for that), a loss to the team was still a loss.

Regret was something Minyoung never felt, being used to owning her decisions regardless of its outcome being positive or negative. But the whole thing gave her a new resolve for the future tests.

To never let the I-Landers who had beans for brains mislead the others again.

BONUS SCENE

D-4 I-Land Practice Room, First Floor 11.45 PM

Peeking inside the lounge of the smaller practice room, Mirae called out with a tentative voice, “Can I come in?”

Heeseung, who’d been deep in thought until her arrival, turned around with a startled look, earning a sheepish giggle from the girl. “Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you…”

“No problem, come in.” Heeseung waved his hand lightly. She held in the instinct to pout at the emptiness in his eyes as she trod over the soft carpet. 

He laughed suddenly, eyes creasing with a genuine smile as he looked down at something. Following his gaze, she realized it was the fluffy pink Hello Kitty socks she was wearing, feeling a fond smile creep up at the fact that he was finally laughing.

She took a seat next to him, grabbing a cushion to hold over her lap.

For a while the two stayed awkwardly silent, Mirae not knowing what to say despite having been the one to approach him and Heeseung feeling too aware of himself with the girl next to him.

“Thank you,” she spoke after a couple minutes of quietness, “you’ve been giving your best in helping us all.” Turning to look at him, she whipped her head back down when she caught his eye. “I’m sorry you got your spot taken.”

“I’m not.” Heeseung shook his head, making the girl look back at him. “I’m fine with part 13.”

“Why is that?” 

He shrugged instead of answering. Mirae let it be at that, closing her eyes as she settled back into the plush of the seats. 

“Thank you,” came Heeseung’s voice, this time as a whisper. Though it wasn’t wordy, his gratefulness was conveyed clearly enough.

Mirae smiled. “Anytime, Oppa.”

🏷️ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ( 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 ) @queenriki7 ; @kangseulgithegreat ; @terryfiedgyu ; @d-dilemma ; @enhaslxt ; @loveyjisu ; @pinknjm

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[brooklynislandgirl]

@corinnebaileyrp {{xx}}

She might have been...in some other life. The scar that can be plainly seen beneath the pant leg ~one of the reasons why she prefers long and loose clothing like flowing skirts~ ended the dream of being a professional dancer before it could really take root and grow in her heart. At least something like ballet that requires body conditioning and muscle tone she doesn't have. And while Beth will never be able to prove it, some part of her will die on the hill that the Admiral had seen to that himself. That's also something she doesn't talk about. She doesn't want Cory to see what Andy calls rampant paranoia nor does she want to scare the other woman away from the family. The Admiral is perfectly pleasant to Cory, the same way he's fond and affectionate with Jay. The way he is with Andy. If she hadn't spent her childhood under his roof, she wouldn't believe anything she said about him, either.

She offers Cory a winsome smile, nodding with approval as her friend agrees with being blessed, and she can only be genuinely glad that Cory feels that way, all things considered. She's happy that America has done Cory good, that she's been able to heal and grow and find the kind of life that fills her with the joy she deserves.

Then Beth laughs and while it is a quiet sort of sound, it is genuine. "Is okay, I know I'm almost menahune size but mebbe...mebbe in my nex' life, yeah?" Whether or not she actually believes in reincarnation is up for debate but it's one of the many tactics Beth uses to deflect attention. Cory however rarely becomes the recipient of those methods, largely because she is a sensitive and rational person, she understands when to push a subject and when to allow conversation to lie fallow, for which Beth is truly grateful.

Beth clinks her water bottle with Cory's and though it lacks the crystalline ring she smiles a little brighter. "Mebbe but not as good as you do when you lighten. Honey blonde really bring out ya eyes an' your natural skin tones. In short, you're gorgeous."

Beth nearly snorts water into her nasal passages when Cory finally makes an offering. On one hand, she can see the words held back and knows the reasons behind them. What she wouldn't give to be able to change the circumstances for her friend who probably mourns Sarah's life as much as she embraces her own rebirth as Corinne. The snerking laugh is genuine though. "I t'ink his secret is...he really doesn't care, an' he's brutally honest. Mos' people see it as sarcasm. On da oddah hand, even out of eiddah of his uniforms, he's da kine...intimidating or at least...t'ought provokin' an' so people don' wanna get on his bad side." If it wouldn't pad her sibling's already healthy ego, she would admit to wishing she had that power herself, at least the part where she wouldn't feel guilty for ages if she thought she hurt someone's feelings.

Beth hides her face by getting to her feet and draping her towel around her neck before turning her back on Cory so she can roll up her yoga mat. "I'm gonna give ya a pass one of dese days, an' let you. Especially some of dem entitled customers of yours."

"I'd teach da Admiral how f' swim," she murmurs in answer. In shark-infested waters, with a bleeding gut wound. Maybe anchor chains around his legs, or concrete shoes on his feet.

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 1

Summary: Almost a year after Maeve’s death, Spencer reaches out to the recipients of Maeve’s donated organs to reconnect with his lost love. However, when the receiver of her heart, Reader, doesn’t write back, Spencer goes on a poorly-motivated mission to find her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier   (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing)

A/N: There is an OC in this story because to me, writing “(y/n)” over and over again cheapens the story and doesn’t flow well. It was a personal decision, and to anyone it sincerely bothers, I’m sure there’s a way you can insert your own name instead. This fic is also inspired by “Things We Know By Heart” by Jessi Kirby. Category: Series, Soft Angst, Eventual Smut + NSFW content* Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC Content Warning: allusions to death, mourning, loss, recovery, arrhythmia (this is an intro chapter, so it’ll get more interesting from here I promise) Word Count: 2.2k

This will be a multi-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

It all started that first autumn after Maeve’s death - just five weeks past a year since I parted with her. I was absentmindedly reading when, rather out of the blue, Mary Donovan called to inform me about a Mrs. Rachel Larsen. 

Although we didn’t learn her actual name until later, she was first known to us as the recipient of Maeve’s liver. Not a single one of the three of us - Maeve’s parents and me - had expected a recipient to be in contact with us. That inability to predict such an event was caused by my neglect to remember Maeve was an organ donor. It wasn’t particularly relevant in the grand scheme of things, and for that forgetfulness, I was truly ashamed, but after reading Rachel Larsen’s letter together with the Donovans, it all came back to me. 

Every single thing. 

You see, despite the anonymity of the person writing to us, it was as if I could actually feel Maeve’s soul coming alive again, as strange as that sounds. 

She was still here with me ... in some form. 

Later that night, when I would return to an empty apartment, I would wonder why I hadn’t thought of reaching out to the recipients before. Even though I’d already started writing a thank you letter back to Rachel, the thirst for more of Maeve became increasingly insatiable. 

While I did have fond memories of her to live by, I couldn’t thrive off of them in the way that I did with that letter. Our only moments together worth reliving were those spent over the phone, a time when I didn’t even know what she looked like. But that letter from Rachel Larsen ... it was somehow more wholesome and pure than any memory of the living Maeve that I could cultivate.

You could say I was doing this to ease my mourning, meaning it should’ve made me feel better, but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me piece by piece as I wrote letters to the rest of the recipients. 

The Donovans had no idea I was doing this, but I reasoned to myself that they would appreciate the surprise. Though they were still undeniably riddled with grief, smiles embellished their sullen faces when they read about Rachel’s quality of life now with a new liver. So maybe, just maybe, hearing from the rest of the receivers would be good for us all. At least, that’s what I told myself.

In one of those rare moments when inspiration strikes and it courses through your veins at the speed of lightning, I found myself being more productive than I had been in nearly a year. By midnight, I’d successfully composed five letters, each dedicated to the receiver of one of Maeve’s major organs - none of which, though, included my identity.

Given the fragile process of contacting the transplant coordinators, getting consent forms, and premeeting counseling, it would be months, if not years, before I would be able to really speak with these faceless people. Nothing against Donor Family Services - I’m sure they do the best they can - but for me, their best wasn’t good enough. So instead, I enlisted the help of someone I knew could never let me down. 

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Penelope peered up at me from her seat, her pinky finger hesitantly hovering over the ‘enter’ button. 

“Yes.” 

With just one click, she discovered the addresses of each one of those faceless people. This singular operation, albeit somewhat unethical, was the final piece to my puzzle. All there was left to do now was send the letters to them, with the tenuous hope they might send one back. 

Luckily for me, not a single recipient questioned how I managed to find them or why this process wasn’t being handled by Donor Family Services, but I suppose if they did wonder those things, they didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Especially not after they learned who I was in relation to their donor. I didn’t intend to guilt-trip anyone with what I wrote in my letters nor did I want to take advantage of anyone’s empathy, but how could you possibly make a foe out of your organ donor’s grieving boyfriend? Exactly - you can’t. So you don’t. Instead, you send an inviting letter back, telling me you’d love to meet. Which is what four of them did.

Only one person didn’t reply, and while an 80% success rate was great, I simply couldn’t let this one go. Trust me, I would have ... had it been any other organ. 

For quite some time, I was the one with Maeve’s heart. 

I just needed to see where it was now.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The heart has several definitions and corresponding connotations. 

Scientifically speaking, the heart is a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. However, figuratively, the heart can be seen as the central or innermost part of something. The heart of a city, for example. But in literature, the heart is symbolic of love. It is often regarded as the source of all knowledge, which is where the comparison between the head and the heart comes from. The head operates logically, whereas the heart functions emotionally, but despite the rationality the head holds, the heart is what people advise you to listen to because it holds the ultimate truth. 

The heart, because it is equipped with your truest feelings, supersedes any logic and reason the head might hold. 

But you see, I only ever knew Maeve’s mind. I could understand the inner workings of it - I’d probably be able to navigate through her consciousness if I entered it given the fact that our intellect matched one another’s - and I shared nearly identical thought processes with her, but that was all that I ever knew. 

And if that was how much knowledge she held in her head alone, then, undoubtedly, her heart held so much more.

Science defines the heart as an organ. Figurative language uses the heart to establish a focal point. Literature likens the heart to love. But I compare her heart to the ocean. Like the sea, Maeve’s heart was 80% undiscovered, and exploration was simply calling my name. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, I couldn’t abandon my pursuit of it. 

That’s not to say I wasn’t ashamed of this mission, though. If anything, shame for the man I had become in the face of Maeve’s death was the only feeling I was truly capable of anymore. Any other emotions were fleeting or insincere. 

Unfortunately, that slimy, disgusting feeling was only amplified times ten when I found myself driving two hours and forty-five minutes to get to Virginia Beach. 

No sane man would drive this far on a weekday for even their most prized possession, and yet here I was, exactly 180 miles away from home, seeking out someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to even write me back, let alone agree to meet with me. Who knows if she’d even give me the time of day. 

She being Valerie. 

“Valerie Elise Bishop was born on August 5th, 1988 in Henderson, Nevada, to parents Andrew and Sara, but when Valerie turned seventeen, she was diagnosed with arrhythmia,” Garcia explained to me over the phone on the car ride here. “It’s when-”

“When the electrical impulses that coordinate your heartbeats don't work properly, causing your heart to beat too fast, too slow or irregularly,” I accidentally cut in. Realizing I interrupted Garcia, I brought her back into the conversation by asking, “I know there are more than 3 million cases per year in the U.S, but isn’t it usually common for ages 60 or older?” 

“You are most certainly correct, Boy Wonder. It is more common in ages 60 and older, however, her maternal grandmother passed away from arrhythmia, so the family history increased the likelihood.” 

At the sound of this news, I had to pull the car over and physically stop just so I could grasp the weight of what I was really doing. 

“In Henderson, Nevada ... maternal grandmother passed away ... family history increased the likelihood …” Garcia’s voice rang in my head. 

It was then that I came face to face with the gravity of reality. 

Valerie wasn’t just a faceless name or a recipient of Maeve’s heart, she was a person. And her humanity only became more apparent to me the more Penelope spoke. 

For god’s sake, she and I grew up in the same state. She and I saw the same sunsets from the same little corner of the earth. She drove down the same highways and byways - we might’ve even crossed paths at one point or another! Not to mention that she lost her grandmother to the same disease that she was suffering from, and if there was one thing consistent about arrhythmia, it was very likely she’d been living with it for decades, if not her entire lifetime. It’s a long term disease that takes years to improve but only seconds to kill. All it would take is just one irregular beat, and she’d be dead. How can you possibly live with that constant fear looming over your head? 

She is a person. I had to remind myself. Not just a means to explore more of Maeve. 

“Hey, Garcia,” I turned the car back on. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” I could just feel panic begin to rise in Garcia. 

“No, I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about this.” Though she couldn’t see, I grandly gestured to the location, the car, and the passenger seat that was cluttered with files on Valerie. “I don’t feel right invading her privacy like this. It’s just selfish.” 

I wasn’t the only one mourning something here. 

“Are you sure?” Penelope clarified. Which was ironic considering she was the one who was unsure of doing any of this, to begin with. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have dragged Garcia into this. Something as immoral as this was totally against her character, but she did it anyway because her loyalty to her friends conquers all. 

Like I said, my shame multiplied times ten. If not for Valerie, then certainly for Penelope. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m heading home.” 

“Okay,” She softly returned. “Be safe.” 

“Oh, and Garcia?” I asked before ending the call. “Thanks.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, Dr. Reid.” 

By the time I ended the call, the sun was already setting - that’s how long I’d been on the road for. The nearly-three-hour drive I would have to make for the second time today meant I wouldn’t be home in time to beat the pitch-black sky, so considering I was already in for a long night, I made a little detour for the one thing I couldn’t go home without.

A piping hot cup of coffee. 

I felt something as rewarding as caffeine was well deserved for the self-restraint I demonstrated minutes ago. And maybe it was my exhaustion, both mental and physical, that brought me to the near conclusion that I would truly let this go, but I was honestly feeling like I could accept this. An 80% acceptance rate. Not bad, right? 

Though I was basically half-asleep while waiting for my coffee, I could not miss the barista when she said, “Valerie! Your order’s ready!”

What are the chances?

A jolt of energy surged through my body and brought me back to life, causing me to whip my head around at the slightest semblance of movement. On instinct, my gaze gravitated to the woman walking towards the front counter. My pull to her was so strong that even if I hadn’t studied file upon file on her that included pictures of what she looked like, I still would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat.

I just knew. That’s her. 

I had no plan whatsoever for how I should approach this, and yet I still rose from my seat, motivated by nothing more than the single belief that I needed to.

Was this the universe telling me that I was meant to run into her after all? That I needed to meet the woman with an oceanic heart?

But when I finally got to where she was, she glided effortlessly past me, not paying any mind to my presence. Why would she though? To her, I was no one. To her, I was the faceless person. 

“Excuse me!” I bolted to the front counter after realizing I might’ve just missed my opportunity. The barista, stunned and concerned, furrowed her brows while she waited for my question. “Is that girl a regular here?”

“Valerie?” She pointed in her direction, to which I nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She comes in here all the time. She works just across the street.” 

When I came to this coffee shop, it was simply by chance. It wasn’t even the closest cafe, but it was the one I chose to go to for some inexplicable reason. 

I’d like to think it was fate. I was meant to be here after all. Because right behind me stood the storefront of a building I had only briefly read about in Valerie’s file.

The Bones,  Art Gallery & Studio

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 2 HERE!

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[chibimyumi]

Hi!! I've been reading your blog for ours and my eyes are burning but I'm so satisfied!! I recently re read the manga after like 4 years I think? I already knew about the twins ofc but reading it again knowing that is so refreshing and is so obvious now!! Anyway I wanted to ask if I'm not being annoying; at the end of chapter 128 the interaction between o!ciel and Sebastián is not clear to me. Could it be the translation? Why does ciel asks "you wouldn't lie to me, would you?" And Sebastian replies, kinda looking sad, "regrettably I do not tell lies". Do you understand that interaction better? Sorry if I'm missing something obvious here

【Related post: Contract term 1 and Sebas cannot lie, at all!】

Dear Anon,

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words, they are very appreciated ^^ I do send my condolences for your lost hours and visual comfort though. Please take a 20 second break closing your eyes for every 20 minutes you read intensively (*´▽｀*)ノ💊 It is very important in this screen age. I’ve been doing that for the past 2 weeks, and it’s done wonders for me (*~∇~*)

Now without much further ado, your question. Judging from your transcription of the English version I would say it is not badly translated. It just misses a TINY bit of nuance. Just to be sure, let us first look at the original Japanese dialogue and a clinical translation.

お前は…僕に嘘は吐いていないな？

Omae wa... boku ni uso wa tsuiteinai na?

You [of all people]... have not done such thing as lying to me, right?

ええ、残念ながら、私は嘘は吐きません

Ee, zannnen nagara, watashi wa uso wa tsukimasen

Indeed, unfortunately, I [of all people] do no such thing as lying.

1. Explanation Ciel’s text

【Omae wa... boku ni uso wa tsuiteinai na?】

As I have frequently mentioned, Japanese is a null-subject language, which means that a subject is not necessary to formulate a full sentence. When the speaker does add a subject however, it means they are laying extra emphasis on the subject.

In this case, O!Ciel used ‘omae wa’ (you), which is the subject of the sentence. In a null-subject language this part is unnecessary, but as O!Ciel has added it, emphasis is drawn to this subject. So instead of a simple “you have not”, it effectively means “you of all people, you specifically, YOU, have not.”

【Omae wa... boku ni uso wa tsuiteinai na?】

Then O!Ciel says “uso wa” (lying) using the particle ‘wa’ instead of the usual ‘wo’. “Wa” is an emphasising particle, meaning that whatever precedes this particle is basically highlighted in neon, written in bold and italic. So rather than just: “you have not lied”, it is “you have done no such thing as lying”.

【Omae wa... boku ni uso wa tsuiteinai na?】

This last part is the only thing I would say is ““wrongly”” translated in the version you read. Instead of "you wouldn't lie", it should be “you have not lied.” This phrase is in is present perfect, meaning that O!Ciel asks his butler whether he “has lied at all in the past”. Not “you just don’t lie in general, right?” Because this question refers to actions in the past, we can assume this question is meant to refer to any information about what O!Ciel suspected might be relevant to what he is thinking; that his brother is back. More on this below in part 3.

So in short, in O!Ciel’s text, he highlights Sebastian (omae wa) and the lying (uso wa). The meaning of the message here is therefore:

“Other people might have lied, but YOU have not, right? You might have done many things, but LYING you did not, right?”

2. Explanation Sebas’ text

【Ee, zannnen nagara, watashi wa uso wa tsukimasen】

In the version you gave me Sebas says “regrettably”, but I would say that while the translation is not wrong at all, it might be a BIT too strong?

I myself propose “unfortunately”. In Japanese too just like English, ‘unfortunately’ is just a formal prelude to an announcement that the recipient might not like hearing. Like: “unfortunately the X brand toothpaste is out of stock, but we do have Y brand.” But, I am no native-level speaker of English, so I don’t understand all the nuances precisely. Perhaps ‘regrettably’ and ‘unfortunately’ are equally strong. Do tell me if anyone knows whether one is stronger than the other. But either way, in Japanese it is not very strong. It’s just Sebas mentally preparing his master to hear negative news.

【Ee, zannnen nagara, watashi wa uso wa tsukimasen】

Then comes the “watashi wa uso wa tsukimasen”. Like in O!Ciel’s text, here Sebas does use a subject too, namely ‘watashi wa’. As use of subject means emphasis, so it’s not just “I don’t lie”, but “others might, but I, of all people, don’t lie”.

【Ee, zannnen nagara, watashi wa uso wa tsukimasen】

Then there is the particle ‘wa’ again in the second half of the sentence, “uso wa tsukimasen.” Just like in O!Ciel’s text, the standard particle should have been ‘wo’, but as Sebas repeats his master’s ‘wa’, he also lays emphasis on the action that he would not do: “such thing as lying.”

In short, the full message of Sebas’ text would essentially be:

“Indeed, unfortunately (for you/me/us), I of all people, unlike others, absolutely do no such thing as lying.”

3. ‘What’ was not lied about?

Now we’ve broken down all the linguistic nuances and details of the spoken text, let us do some interpreting.

Though there is no confirmation, I think we can assume O!Ciel was referring to the conversation about his brother being eaten: “you told me that the price paid - my brother’s soul - can never return.” Though this was said BEFORE they sealed the first contract term, after signing all terms, Sebas confirmed again that eating Ciel’s soul was indeed taken as ferry fee.

Later again, O!Ciel asks the demon what happens to a soul after being devoured, and the contract-bound Sebas confirms in clear language: “it simply disappears”. This phrasing by Sebas is not open to interpretation.

O!Ciel first saw “who stole the candy from my tummy?” and started to suspect things. Obviously he KNEW his brother was dead, so rationally he pushed that possibility away from his head. But then later he saw Soma who was attacked and holding a piece of the photo of the twins. Seeing that photo gives an explicit connection to his dead brother, and then there’d only be so much O!Ciel could rationally do to wave away the thoughts about his brother. The possibility was screaming at him, after all.

The only source of information he could trust at that point was Sebas. By the time Sebas gave his master the unambiguous answer about his brother’s soul he could already no longer lie. HENCE, Real Ciel is definitely dead.

Then we need to explain the horror struck reaction of O!Ciel upon hearing his butler’s confirmation.

Normally you’d think that hearing somebody is dead would reassure you that somebody cannot come pester you. But to O!Ciel, that R!Ciel is confirmed to be ‘dead’ doesn’t mean he can’t be back; on the contrary. Both O!Ciel and Sebas know painfully well that the scythe-wielding-lunatic who can create zombies is still at large. Zombies can only be made if somebody is dead. Hence, having confirmation that R!Ciel is definitely “potential zombie material” is terrible news. Plus, every time the zombies appear, they are significantly more competent than the previous models.

I think O!Ciel has always had Undertaker’s zombie-creating ambitions in the back of his mind, but it wasn’t until now that the puzzle pieces fell into place. Yeah... that IS indeed awful news.

From Sebastian’s sorrowful expression we can say he is upset for his master’s sake, but I think he is mostly very sad for himself. The first time he tried to fight said scythe-wielding-lunatic he almost died, and the second time his arse was only spared because Undertaker didn’t bother engaging. “Unfortunately” indeed!

Well, that was it (*´▽｀*)ノ Though I am not 100% sure whether I read all of this correct, I at least hope this was some good food for thought. Cheers!

MASTERPOST Furukawa Era Kuromyu

MASTERPOST Gender in Kuroshitsuji

MASTERPOST My Art

MASTERPOST Analyses & Info

Mini masterpost Analysis of sexism in MBD

FAQ Kuroshitsuji facts and info  

[blackwoolncrown]

The defining feature of conversation is the expectation of a response. It would just be a monologue without one. In person, or on the phone, those responses come astoundingly quickly: After one person has spoken, the other replies in an average of just 200 milliseconds.

In recent decades, written communication has caught up—or at least come as close as it’s likely to get to mimicking the speed of regular conversation (until they implant thought-to-text microchips in our brains). It takes more than 200 milliseconds to compose a text, but it’s not called “instant” messaging for nothing: There is an understanding that any message you send can be replied to more or less immediately.

But there is also an understanding that you don’t have to reply to any message you receive immediately. As much as these communication tools are designed to be instant, they are also easily ignored. And ignore them we do. Texts go unanswered for hours or days, emails sit in inboxes for so long that “Sorry for the delayed response” has gone from earnest apology to punchline.

People don’t need fancy technology to ignore each other, of course: It takes just as little effort to avoid responding to a letter, or a voicemail, or not to answer the door when the Girl Scouts come knocking. As Naomi Baron, a linguist at American University who studies language and technology, puts it, “We’ve dissed people in lots of formats before.” But what’s different now, she says, is that “media that are in principle asynchronous increasingly function as if they are synchronous.”

The result is the sense that everyone could get back to you immediately, if they wanted to—and the anxiety that follows when they don’t. But the paradox of this age of communication is that this anxiety is the price of convenience. People are happy to make the trade to gain the ability to respond whenever they feel like it.

While you may know, rationally, that there are plenty of good reasons for someone not to respond to a text or an email—they’re busy, they haven’t seen the message yet, they’re thinking about what they want to say—it doesn’t always feel that way in a society where everyone seems to be on their smartphone all the time. A Pew survey found that 90 percent of cellphone owners “frequently” carry their phone with them, and 76 percent say they turn their phone off “rarely” or “never.” In one small 2015 study, young adults checked their phones an average of 85 times a day. Combine that with the increasing social acceptability of using your smartphone when you’re with other people, and it’s reasonable to expect that it probably doesn’t take that long for a recipient to see any given message.

“You create for people an environment where they feel as though they could be responded to instantaneously, and then people don’t do that. And that just has anxiety all over it,” says Sherry Turkle, the director of the Initiative on Technology and Self at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

It’s anxiety-inducing because written communication is now designed to mimic conversation—but only when it comes to timing. It allows for a fast back-and-forth dialogue, but without any of the additional context of body language, facial expression, and intonation. It’s harder, for example, to tell that someone found your word choice off-putting, and thus to correct it in real-time, or try to explain yourself better. When someone’s in front of you, “you do get to see the shadow of your words across someone else’s face,” Turkle says.

In last month’s viral New Yorker short story “Cat Person,” a young woman embarks on a failed romantic relationship with a man she meets at the movie theater where she works. They only go on one date in the story; they get to know each other primarily over text. When the affair ends messily, it reveals not only how the bubble of romantic expectations can be popped by reality’s needle, but also how weak digital communication is as a scaffolding on which to build an understanding of another person.

In an interview, the story’s author, Kristen Roupenian, said the piece was inspired by “the strange and flimsy evidence we use to judge the contextless people we meet outside our existing social networks, whether online or off.” Indeed, even for the people we already know, we increasingly rely on contextless forms of communication. This puts an unusually large burden on the words themselves (and maybe some emojis) to convey what is meant. And each message, and each pause in between messages, takes on outsize importance.

“Text messages become marks on rocks to be analyzed and sweated over,” Turkle says.

It’s not always easy to figure out what someone meant to convey by using a certain emoji, or by waiting three days to text you back. Different people have different ideas about how long it’s appropriate to wait to respond. As Deborah Tannen, a linguist at Georgetown University, wrote in The Atlantic, the signals that are sent by how people communicate online—the “metamessages” that accompany the literal messages—can easily be misinterpreted:

Human beings are always in the business of making meaning and interpreting meaning. Because there are options to choose from when sending a message, like which platform to use and how to use it, we see meaning in the choice that was made. But because the technologies, and the conventions for using them, are so new and are changing so fast, even close friends and relatives have differing ideas about how they should be used. And because metamessages are implied rather than stated, they can be misinterpreted or missed entirely.

This metamessage opacity spawns thousands of other text messages a year, as people enlist their friends to help interpret exactly what their romantic interest meant by a certain turn of phrase, or whether a week-long radio silence means they’re being ghosted. (The New Yorker parodied this collaborative textual analysis in a video in which a group of women gather, war-room style, to answer the question “Was It a Date?”)

Features intended to add clarity—like read receipts or the little bubble with the ellipses in iMessage that tells you when someone is typing (which is apparently called the “typing awareness indicator”)—often just cause more anxiety, by offering definitive evidence for when someone is ignoring you or started to reply only to put it off longer.

* * *

But just because people know how stressful it can be to wait for a reply to what they thought would be an instant message doesn’t mean they won’t ignore others’ messages in turn.

Sometimes people don’t respond as a way of deliberately signaling they’re annoyed, or that they don’t want to continue a relationship. Turkle says sometimes taking a long time to write back is a way of establishing dominance in a relationship, by making yourself look simply too busy and important to reply.

But oftentimes, people are just trying to manage the quantity of messages and notifications they receive. In 2015, the average American was receiving 88 business emails per day, according to the market research firm Radicati, but only sending 34 business emails per day. Because—who has the time to respond to 88 emails a day? Maybe someone isn’t responding because they’ve realized the interruption of a notification negatively affects their productivity, so they’re ignoring their phone to get some work done.

I find myself ignoring or procrastinating even important messages, and ones I want and intend to respond to. I had to create a bright red “Needs Response” email label to battle my own “delayed response” problem. I regularly read texts, think “I’ll respond to that later,” and then completely forget about it.  Working memory—the brain’s mental to-do list—can only hold so much at once, and when notifications get crammed in with shopping lists and work tasks, sometimes it springs a leak.

“A lot of the time what’s happening is people have five conversations going on, and they just can’t really be intimate and present with five different people,” Turkle says. “So they kind of do a triage, they prioritize, they forget. Your brain is not a perfect instrument for processing texts. But it will be interpreted as though it really was a conversation, and so you can hurt people.”

* * *

Still, even though instant written communication can be overwhelming and anxiety-inducing, people prefer it. Americans spend more time texting than talking on the phone, and texting is the most frequent form of communication for Americans under 50.

While texting is popular worldwide, Baron, of American University, thinks that a strong preference for communication that can be easily ignored is a particularly American attitude. “Americans have far fewer manners in general in their communication than a lot of other societies,” she says. “The second issue is a real feeling of empowerment. I think we have become a version of power freaks, not just control freaks.”

In a survey Baron conducted in 2007 and 2008 of students in several countries including the United States, the things that people said they liked most about their phones were often related to control. One American woman said her favorite thing was “Constant communication when I want it (can also shut it off when I don’t).”

“What I have seen in this country, and I don’t know if it’s a national trait, is people wait until they think they have the perfect thing to say, as though relationships can be managed by writing the perfect thing,” Turkle says. “And I think that is something we pay a very high cost for.”

In Baron’s survey, people also mentioned feeling controlled by their phones—bemoaning how dependent they were on the devices, and how the constant connectivity made them feel obligated to respond.

But texts and emails don’t create as big of an obligation as phone calls, or a face-to-face conversation. When young adults are interviewed about why they don’t like making phone calls, they cite a distaste for how “invasive” they are, and a reluctance to place that burden on someone else. Written instant messages create a smokescreen of plausible deniability if someone doesn’t feel like responding, which can be relieving for the hider, and frustrating for the seeker.

More than anything, what the age of instant communication has enabled is the ability to deal with conversation on our own terms. We can respond right away, we can put it off for two days, or never get around to it at all. We can manage several different conversations at once. “Sorry, I was out with friends,” we might say, as an excuse for not texting someone back. Or, “Sorry, I just need to text this person back real quick,” we might say while out with friends.

As these things become normal, it creates an environment where we are only comfortable asking for slivers of people’s distracted time, lest they ever obligate us to give them our full and undivided attention.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 35

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, guns

A/N: once again i am veryyyyyy late but i rly don’t wanna let go of this fanfic. hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

The static sound of silence and the full view of darkness was what she woke up to. She wasn’t sure when she had lost conscience but at the moment the only thing she could see was the flickering light of a single lamp dangling overhead. Sometimes breaking through the silence, the irritating and yet somber noise of single drops of waters hitting the ground would make themselves heard leaving Y/N to feel like she was in imminent danger. As she tried to move, she noticed her ankle was tied to a shackle bolted to the ground which grounded her in the reality she had found herself in. However, instead of screaming or wondering what to do her first instinct was to lay her freed hands on top of her textile covered stomach trying to almost feel for the wellness of life growing inside her. 

Taking a deep breathe, she looked around, trying to understand where she was yet the low light room didn’t give much. However, the existence of a staircase a few inches away from her led her to believe she found herself in a lower floor than regular, maybe some sort of basement. Wherever it was, it was quite clear to the young handmaid it was a hard enough place to escape. The sheer chilliness of the room made her scared enough for her own safety, wondering what plans Mr. Williams had for her and if she would ever return to her life. What she’d give to return to the life she had known, in that sheltered, clueless mindset everyone believed she have. 

She sighed, biting onto her lip so she wouldn’t start crying. Her mind kept rushing, rushing too fast even with the events and stories told to her by the same man who now held her captive. She wondered what all of these years were, they surely weren’t truthful yet unlike lies they were palpable, palpable years of being placed right under everyone, hearing whispers of several other high society people pitying the orphan taken under a powerful’s family’s wing. What good was it to train someone to be submissive for the rest of her life for her safety? It was useless as she was standing idly at the feet of the same man who had brought her mother’s demise. 

All those thoughts did no little to help to tears remain in their ducts and soon, a few of those were rolling down her cheeks hitting the ground along. Along with this, one of her hairpins fell to the ground, the sound removing her from her pitying state. She grabbed it from the floor, looking at the details through the veil of her teary eyes. It was a rather sharp hairpin, she herself had noticed that prior when the hairstylist had stuck it into her hair, lightly scratching her scalp. 

Her eyes moved from the sharp edges to the shackle around her ankle and the key hole just a bit centred in the metal. Shaking like a leaf, she inserted the hairpin into the keyhole, shimmying it enough to cause the lock to give in, freeing her in the process. She found herself dumbfounded with it before quickly getting on her feet and climbing up the stairs to the door. Her hand gripped the door handle and pushed it down, however, the door proved to be locked. She sighed, looking around the room for any exits but there were no windows or any other doors. There was a drawer unit and her most hopeful self hoped there would be maybe a pair of spare keys.

Her hands rushed through the drawers which were mostly empty except the very last drawer where a small razor phone was. She looked around, ensuring her safety before she grabbed the phone with shaky hands, sighing in relief once she noticed one small bar on signal. Y/N quickly pressed the number on the phone, bringing her nails to her mouth as she waited and waited for the recipient to pick up but nothing came out of it. 

     - Please pick up ... I really need your help, I ... - she interrupted herself as she heard steps from above her. Quickly, she stuffed the phone back on drawer, rushing over to the chain which she shackled on her ankle again. 

The door opened rather fast, beams and beams of light streaming through the badly light room which hurt her eyes. Two voices were distinct and her eyes were glued to the door as Mr. Williams walked in with a smug look, however, it wasn’t him that made her heart beat a bit faster, it was Sebastian coming from behind. His pristine ironed suit was completely wrinkled, his tie loose enough to dangle around his neck, heavily wrinkled forehead, a very far cry from the put together man he normally was. 

    - You have a visit, birdie. - he stopped Sebastian from taking any steps further towards her. Ignoring her, Mr. Williams turned to face the mob boss, taking a particular pleasure in seeing him in agony over his own actions. - Told you she was safe. All it takes is just a signature and you can give her a happy ending. 

    - No, before I sign anything you gotta assure me that once you have that document she can go. - Sebastian wasn’t stupid. If there was a spark of his father that lingered in this psyche it was a very analytical and rational thinking, troubleshooting if you’d like to call it. For all he knew, he would sign those papers and Williams would do whatever he pleased with Y/N. The mob boss just couldn’t risk it with her. No, her safety came first. - She leaves, I sign it. 

    - Why should I believe you won’t just back away once she leaves? 

    - You’ll just have to trust me. 

    - You better not play me. Even if she’s out of this room, I have my own ways of making sure she doesn’t leave. - he threw the key towards Sebastian who strutted towards Y/N. Her gown was severely messed, almost a symbol of what he had done to her. It was his fault she was all over this mess, he could’ve protected her, he promised her he would protect her and here she was, shackled to the ground. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his skull as he uncuffed her, hands still shaking. 

   - You’re gonna run. Okay, angel? You’re gonna run, run as far and fast as you can and you won’t look back, okay? - Y/N’s eyes didn’t seem as worried as he would expect, instead they held this creased look as her hand moved to cup the side of his face, the other hand pushing a piece of his hair away from his forehead. 

   - What about you? - her eyes quickly moved from Williams to Sebastian.

   - Angel, it’ll be okay. You gotta run, okay? Run. - he helped her onto her feet, expecting her to start running the moment she was up. Instead, she stood a few seconds immobile looking at him as her mind told her something bad was coming. She could just feel it, nevertheless the push on her back by Sebastian caused her to start running up the stairs. If only she could get to Dan or Mr. Forrest, they surely could help Sebastian.

Sebastian watched her leave, his heartbeat calming down as he realised she was safe. It didn’t matter what else would happen, she was safe and that was all that matter. Maybe Williams was right, maybe this wasn’t the life for him, a life with her sounded better, a life with her just sounded ... simpler, easier. Just him and her somewhere in a small town starting a family. With that thought in mind, he has handed the document and a black pen, his eyes wondering to the line asking for his signature. It almost seemed to mock him, mock him for not being able to keep a dynasty and her safe. With his gaze away from the paper, he quickly signed it, handing it over to the despicable man.

Mr. Williams smirked out of delight, eyes turning upwards to the door, giving one of his men the sort of look that led some doubt into his mind. This quickly got confirmed as the door was firmly locked, the darkness barely lit by the lamp on the ceiling involving the two of them.

    - You probably don’t remember her mother, you were too young but god ... does she resemble her, those beautiful eyes, exactly the same. Sometimes the universe does give you a second shoot. Maybe I couldn’t be with the mother but I guess the daughter will do just fine. - he raised his arm towards the now ex mob boss, pointing his gun at him. - After all why should I only control one family when I could control two?

   - YOU FUCKING BASTARD! - before he could make any moves towards him, a shot burst through his leg, weakening his stance sending him against the floor. 

   - Did you seriously think I would let you go on and marry her? Get her family support and gain your position back? I didn't peg you for a gullible one but I guess I was wrong. - he chuckled taking another shot to the same leg. - I will take such pleasure in raising your kid. I will raise your child to know just how weak you were, how you never rose up to the challenge. You will cease to exist, gone, just like things should be. 

His mother used to talk to him about death when he was younger, how people just shouldn’t fear it and that when it comes everything is white. Sebastian had to disagree as once another bullet hit him, this time close to his stomach, he didn’t see white, no, he saw her. He saw her, the very first time he saw her on the floor, he saw her eyes peaking from the covers whenever she would sleep near him, her touch, and her laughter. In that moment all he wished was for her to be somehow outside the house, to be safe, far away from all of this. Maybe it was this hope, this conviction that kept him pulling on the single thread belonging to his life. He really hoped she was safe.

   - Drop it. - a feminine voice boomed through the room. Mr. Williams furrowed his eyebrows turning around to a scenario he never expected to experience. Y/N had her arms forward, holding one of his guns and point it at it. - I said, drop it. 

    - Well, well ... - he lowered down sightly, placing the weapon on the floor before putting his hands up. - What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna kill me? 

    - Shut up. - her hands were far from being stiff, shaking with the fear of the situation she was standing in but still firmly holding her revolver. 

    - What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna shot me? For who? Him? Listen to me, Y/N, you and I are the same. We work hard and those above us mistreat us. Join me child, you will have the power you deserve. You won’t serve anyone else, no more hand me downs, no more screaming. 

    - I will not join you, you’re not powerful, you’re a coward. You’ll never be anything other than a coward even if you become the head of the family. You’re a coward, only cowards murder innocent, only cowards are so insecure in their own skin they would crave power. - she lowered her weapon. - I will not be the one to kill you. 

    - Well, isn’t th ... - he was interrupted by a gun shot echoing through the room sending him onto his knees leaving only a very weak Sebastian holding the same revolver he had placed on the ground.

    - She won’t but I will. - she had never seen this side of him. He sounded cruel, cold yet she couldn’t blame it, what she could do was be worried about him as he held a weapon with one hand and the other hand held onto his gashing wound. - I will kill you, slowly, painfully. Before you’re dead, I will make sure all your stupid bastards are dead, all your men are dead, and I will have you front and centre to their deaths. 

    - Y/N .. - the man winced in pain from the gunshot, eyes looking up to the handmaid who had took a few steps back.

    - Don’t you fucking say her name! - he shot him once more, no sign of mercy in his actions. 

    - Sebastian. - she called out to him, effectively gaining his attention. There were no words exchanged, she just looked at him, her lip trembling ... disappointment even. 

There are moments in your life when you can chose to be the villain or the hero of your story. You can either live being the villain or others can tell your story and keep it on. Sebastian looked at her, from her eyes to her hands laying on top of her stomach. No, he wouldn’t be the villain, he wouldn’t be his father. He lowered his weapon, cuffing the man he most despised where he had just had the woman he loved captive.

Once that was done, whatever was left of the adrenaline keeping his wounds from hurting ran out and the pain overtook his muscles, sending him against the ground. Y/N rushed from her standing position, lowering herself to catch him before his head hit the ground. She pulled him over her lap, pushing his hair away from his face. 

   - C’mon, you have to get up. - she spoke softly but he could hear the underlying anxiousness. - You have to get up, we have to get out of here, okay? Just you and me. 

    - No, angel. - he reached to his pocket, her music box still there, and he placed it softly on her hand. - I don’t think I can. You can, you can go, take the next plane out of this place, go to France ...

    - No. - she threw the box away. - You have to get up, you will get up, you’ll come with me to France. Just us, no one else. 

    - You deserve everything you’ve ever dreamed of. 

    - You are my dream. 

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[sinsatmidnight]

Interrogation

Pairing - Lee Saerom x Male Reader

Words - 2269

Sins - Smut, teasing, voyeur, oral

So someone asked for Saerom x male reader a few days back, I said I was already working on something and here it is! 

“Look, all I need is the name of your supplier! Someone is helping you bring the girls in from Russia, and you don’t speak any Russian at all.”

Inspector Lee Saerom of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency sighs and throws her head back in frustration as her interrogation is going nowhere. The middle-aged Korean pimp sitting across the table from her isn’t about to give up his contact, for whatever reason.

The curvy and pretty young inspector stands up from her seat and looks back through the one-way mirror at you and gives you your well-rehearsed signal to cut the recording of the cameras and mics in the room. 

You immediately stop them from recording; they’re still streaming live video and audio, but none of it will be saved. Your colleague Saerom is a by-the-books officer who cares a lot about the rules…but sometimes in an interrogation, you can’t have evidence of your tactics.  

The Vice Section at this station has some unconventional interrogation tactics that are not widely known. Your colleague Saerom is about to use her signature tactic. Saerom walks over to the door and locks it, the pimp in handcuffs watching wordlessly.

Saerom then walks over and shifts his chair to face her and the door, giving you a view of both her and the pimp from the side. “Now, the law says I can’t touch you. I can’t hurt you or harm you physically.”

At this point, the pimp’s eyebrows furrow as a look of concern comes upon his face. “And so, I won’t. But what I can do…is make you talk without touching you.”

Looking on from the darkened room behind the mirror, you zoom the cameras in closer for a better view and make sure the volume of the audio is at maximum level. You don’t want to miss any part of what comes next.

Saerom steps forward, undoing the collar button of her white shirt with one hand and casually hiking up her black skirt a little higher with the other hand. She slowly sinks down, her hands undoing another couple of buttons of her shirt and giving both you and the pimp a glimpse of her lacy black bra beneath.

Saerom stops just short of letting her thighs rest on his lap. She leans in and breathes into his ear. “I can’t touch you, but maybe if you tell me who your supplier is…you can touch me.” Saerom ends with a low, soft groan into his ear. You hear every word; the microphones are very sensitive.

You’ve sat through this many times, but it doesn’t get any harder to get through it on your end. You’re sitting in a darkened room and only you can hear the audio because of your headphones but while the interrogation room’s door is locked, the door to your room isn’t. And so, you’ve always had to go without ever touching the large bulge you always get from watching Saerom’s interrogations. Inevitably, at the end of these interrogations you end up trying to calm yourself down and hide your erection.

You’ve always had a crush on Saerom and while she’s fine with you seeing her in various states of undress, she’s never made known any interest in seeing you in any state of undress. As such watching these interrogations can feel like both a blessing and a curse.

Saerom withdraws her head back and maintains eye contact with the pimp. The inspector licks her lips slowly, running her tongue all over them, culminating in biting her lower lip seductively. She inches her face forward, bringing her lips to a stop hovering just over the pimp’s. Her lips are so close to his, he can feel and smell her sweet breath on his face, on his lips. All he needs to do is move his own lips forward and-

And Saerom moves her head back even as he moves his face forward, trying to kiss her soft lips. “No touching, not until you tell what I need…” Saerom responds to the attempt to kiss her by undoing all her buttons, exposing her toned abdomen, and showing off the lacy black bra that held her breasts. Your curvy colleague starts to rock her hips back and forth as she simulates riding the erection now obvious in his pants. He’s not alone; you also have an obvious bulge in your pants now.

Saerom slowly sinks one finger past her lips, even as her hips continue their bouncing movement, and she starts to make loud sucking and slurping noises. You watch as Saerom’s finger is the lucky recipient of a lot of attention by her mouth and tongue, moving back and forth in her mouth.

Your mouth, on the other hand, is dry as you lean in to get as good a look as possible through the mirror.

“Fuck…” Saerom’s moan echoes through the room as she grabs her breasts with one hand while continuing her blowjob simulation on her finger. The pimp is clearly close to losing to Saerom’s lap dance interrogation as he licks his lips while watching her. After a couple minutes of this, Saerom takes things a step further. She stands up and takes a step back, reaches into her skirt from below and pulls her underwear down and off.

A pair of lacy silk black panties are now being held by Saerom by her teeth as she bites down on her underwear, keeping both her hands free as she undoes her skirt hook and slips one hand inside. The other hand slips under her bra, visibly tweaking at her hardened nipples beneath. Both of you can hear her heavy breathing, every whimper and low moan muffled by her biting on her underwear.

Saerom lets the panties drop from her mouth as she whines and begs her captive audience. “Please…please tell me…fuck…I…I wanna fuck!”

He caves in. “There’s a guy in Itaewon, Russian but fluent in Korean, he helps me source and manage the girls, I find the customers. Name’s Dimitri. In his thirties. That’s all I know.”

Saerom stops in mid-moan, leans in as though to kiss the pimp and whispers, “Thank you.” She picks up her underwear and stuffs it into a pocket, does her buttons and skirt hook back up. Saerom turns and heads toward the door.

“But what about me? I’m still hard here!”

Saerom turns and winks. “I need to check if you’re lying to me. Maybe when you’re out of prison?” Saerom leaves the interrogation room, leaving behind a middle-aged Korean pimp with an erection and swearing loudly to himself.

You take a couple of deep breaths yourself because you prefer not to get any comments on the bulge in your pants. The door opens and Saerom walks in. You notice her lock the door behind herself.

“Did you get the details down?”

You raise a sheet of paper with some hastily written information; it served as a distraction. “Dimitri, Russian who speaks Korean, in his thirties, Itaewon, sources for and manages the girls.”

“Good.”

Saerom looks back out into the interrogation room. There is a silence for a few moments. And then she sighs and turns to you, eyes meeting yours searchingly. You notice that her breathing is still heavy, there are beads of sweat all over her neck and forehead and she’s shifting a little uncomfortably. Her eyes go down, looking obviously at your pants. Or rather, the bulging shape in them. Then she licks her lips briefly and looks back up at you.

“Fuck me?”

“I’m sorry what?” is your reply, but Saerom must have seen the slight smile coming to your lips as she doesn’t bother replying, instead crossing the short distance to you in a second, sitting straight down onto your lap and immediately pressing her lips to yours.

“Fuck me.” She repeats again in a whisper between deep French kisses as both of you run your hands over the other’s body.

“I don’t have a condom.” You blurt out as the rational part of your head seizes control for a moment. Saerom stops kissing you and points at her lips with a finger. “Just cum here.’

Her hands go to your shirt, undoing your buttons. You return the favour, eager to finally see Saerom’s body up close instead of from far behind a one-way mirror. And what a sight it is. There is a slight sheen of sweat from her earlier exertions, visible even in the dim light needed in this room. Saerom pauses to throw her shirt off, getting up off you to pull her skirt off as well.  

Saerom gets on her knees, her teeth finding the zipper of your pants and pulling it down slowly. You want Saerom to hurry it up, but your hands just run through her hair, gently urging her on. Saerom undoes your belt buckle and helps you pull your pants and underwear down your ankles and freeing your cock from its fabric cage.

Saerom gives it a quick blowjob to lubricate it and then gets up and bends over, her ass in your face, bracing herself against the one-way mirror with her hands for a good hard fuck. “Now, you said you’d fuck me.”

“Have to admit, I’ve always wanted to.” You say as you get to your feet, stepping out of the pants around your ankles and positioning yourself behind her.

Saerom turns her head back to face you, smirking mischievously. “I know, it’s been very obvious.” You’re not used to this Saerom, because while she flirts with the criminals in the interrogation room as ‘part of her job’, she’s never been this way with you. Always friendly but professional. You’re not complaining about this change though.

You grab hold of Saerom’s hips and plunge yourself within her, hard and deep. She is warm, wet and tight. Perfect. Saerom squeals in pain and pleasure. “Well, that’s for being such a fucking tease.” You say as you notice the pimp sitting in the other room look around quizzically. “I think he heard you.”

Saerom grins in reply. “Good, let him. He can’t do anything about it, like you all those times watching me strip.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. “If you want to be such an exhibitionist…” With your cock still inside Saerom, you get her into a standing position against the mirror. And then you fuck her hard, pressing her body up against the glass. With one hand, you undo her bra clasps at the back and pull it off her, releasing her breasts and causing her heated skin to press up against the cool glass. The pimp squints his eyes as the darkened glass but gives up after a while, he can’t see anything.

“So, what made you change your mind about trying out my cock today?” You ask as you thrust into Saerom over and over, rocking her body into the glass again and again.

Saerom pants her answer out in between thrusts. “Just so damn horny today. Would rather fuck you than the old man in the other room. You’re just lucky.”

“I’m not sure about that, maybe you’re the lucky one.” You lean closer and whisper into her ear before squeezing her ass hard. Saerom just groans in response as she feels your cock go deep within her again.

Saerom’s moans as you keep pounding her are getting louder and easier to hear, and so just to make sure neither of you lose your jobs, you keep one hand over her mouth and one hand squeezing her breasts. It doesn’t last very long; first a couple of your fingers slip into her mouth and she sucks on them for a while and second, she has an orgasm, biting down on your fingers as she cums around your dick, her whole body shaking.

Remembering Saerom’s request for you to unload in her mouth, you pull out of her as she pants against the glass, barely able to stand. “You really need to learn to be quieter. Here, let me give you a hand with that.” With Saerom sitting down after her orgasm, you slide your cock past her lips and start to fuck her face. Saerom gags and drools and slurps around your cock and before long, her warm, wet mouth and the lewd sounds she’s making drive you over the edge and you cum as well.

You fire into the back of her throat and you feel her swallow while your cock is still in her mouth. Saerom cleans your cock, slurping around it before letting it escape from her mouth. You slump back into your chair while Saerom remains on the floor, both of you entirely breathless and unable to say anything. You manage to catch your breath first. “So…is this going to be an ongoing thing?”

Before Saerom can say anything though, another voice cuts in.

“Hello? Is anyone going to give a damn about me?!” The now-annoyed pimp shouts; frustrated at being left alone and ignored for quite a while now. Shooting each other a knowing glance, Saerom and you quickly get dressed before any of your superiors show up. Right before Saerom turns to leave the room, she plants a quick peck on your lips and then whispers into your ear.

“Since we’ve both got overnight duty today…we should do this again tonight.”

And then she is gone out the door to herd the pimp back to his cell. You have a lead to follow up on.

And as for tonight, well, you probably won’t get much work done. It’s something to look forward to.

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Bars & Taverns

It may be a Dungeons & Dragons cliché, but the reason is solid enough. Bars & taverns are a good place for characters to meet up, adventures to start, information to be gathered, and spontaneous fights to break out because the Fighter/Barbarian wants to hit something.

Seeing as Ravnica is only ever one person’s absence from descending into complete chaos, it’s very important to have places for its citizens to have a drink, have a bite, sing bad songs, and blow off steam. Whether you are an Izzet researcher looking for people to bounce invention ideas off of, a Rakdos cultist looking to build up your fanbase, a Boros wojek getting off a three-week shift in the Rubblebelt, or a Dimir agent eavesdropping on persons of interest; a bar can offer something for everyone. All the establishments listed below are canonical, aka from official Ravnica Lore, but in keeping with the tradition of said lore, there’s very little in the way of description and a good number of them exist outside the District 10 map you have to work with. Are you even surprised anymore? Anyway, here are some of the most intriguing watering holes to grab a drink in.

The First Vineyard

Located in Old Rav (Ninth District), one of the deeper & older areas of Ravnica, lies a Golgari tavern whose main claim to fame is that it is Ravnica’s oldest tavern. How old? Who knows. Considering the Golgari have embraced death, rot, preservation, and fermentation as a way of life, it’s a reasonably safe bet you’ll find the oldest and most well-aged wines in the entire plane in this spot. Some of these bottles are probably older than the Guildpact.

If you need to impress someone fancy and you don’t mind being surrounded by the smell of death, this is the place to go. Orzhov believe expensive taste coincides with great taste and thus place high value on objects of (predictably) high value. Hence they have pretty much cornered the market on the kind of expensive goods they value, meaning one has to buy Orzhov to fit in with Orzhov and one has to be Orzhov to afford to buy Orzhov. If you want to skip all that, this should be your first & only stop. This vineyard won’t break your bank, and a little prestidigitation is all it takes to prepare it for the most snobbish of advokists. As with most things Golgari, the recipient is always much happier not knowing where (or who) the cuisine came from.

Titan’s Keg Tavern

Also located in the Ninth District, in the burned-down & often rebuilt neighborhood of Merrytown, lies a pub designed specifically for clients of particularly advanced vertical prowess, aka, GIANTS. At least 4 different guilds include giants among their ranks (Boros, Orzhov, Gruul, Rakdos), and while the city has gone to notable lengths to accommodate these individuals in all city establishments, whether a chair can withstand one sitting down can still be pretty hit or miss. But not here.

This bar is the best place in Ravnica to find a giant, regardless of guild. This is also the best place in town to eat in silence without causing any fuss. Not because it’s quiet, it certainly isn’t (can you even imagine giant karaoke?), but because every patron in this bar is at least 12ft tall, smashes things for a living, and comes here so they can forget about little people for a while. If you are the little person who disrupts that, you are going to have a giant-sized tavern full of angry giant-sized GIANTS teach you some manners. And it doesn’t matter what level you’re at, 25 giants will kill you.

Just getting into this tavern can be an adventure. As the tavern’s main draw is that it’s built specifically for giants, not being one gives you a definite disadvantage. Imagine walking in and a 15ft-tall host (in a suit) asks you if you have a reservation. Imagine trying to muscle your way in passed a Giant in sunglasses who has skipped “bouncer” and gone straight to “splatter”. Imagine a heavily tattooed Bolrac Clan Smasher meeting you at the door with “Welcome to Giant’s Keg Tavern. How tough you?” Imagine a line scrawled on the entrance that says “you must be this tall to enter”.

The Smoking Wreckage

Located in the 4th Precinct of District 10 (huzzah, something actually on the map), the Smoking Wreckage is a (you might have guessed it) Izzet League bar. Expect mixology taken to places it’s never been before. Your drink may bubble, fizzle, explode, polymorph you into a viashino, trigger a wild magic surge, or teleport you into Ral Zarek’s personal laboratory. Or worse, it might get you drunk enough to try another one.

Most likely you won’t have to worry about bar brawls in here, the beer itself is far more dangerous than the broken bottle. Remember, the name isn’t just for flavor in here. This bar is still an Izzet facility and prone to spontaneous uncontrolled reaction; i.e. blowing up. The setup that makes all of this possible makes The Smoldering Wreckage just as much a laboratory as anything in Nivix, except with booze added to the equation.

And you thought Rakdos clubs were dangerous.

The Broken Toybox and Gore House

Speak of the Demon and his pubs shall appear. Hidden discreetly in Precinct 6 are Gore House, a club notorious even by Rakdos standards, and The Broken Toybox, a tavern/brothel that definitely doesn’t have anything strange going on in the basement. You don’t really go to either of these places for the food.

(Dramatic Voice) You go looking for trouble.

What can you expect at a typical Rakdos club? Blood, pain, fire, sharp objects, and entertainment that is guaranteed to take someone’s breath away. So for Gore House, expect that dialed up to eleven. This is where the heavy hitters of the Cult of Rakdos do their biggest shows. Judith the Scourge Diva, Masters of Cruelty, Blood Witches, and rising stars desperate to give the audience a show they’ll never forget, no matter how hard they try. Attendance is synonymous with madness; if you aren’t crazy going in, you will be walking out. If waking up with no memories of the night before next to a dead body and covered in someone else’s blood was a club, it’d be Gore House.

As for The Broken Toybox, if the name alone doesn’t steer you away, you may already be beyond hope. "Den of Sin” just barely scratches the surface. This is where the Cult brings your most twisted and depraved dreams to life behind closed doors with spiked chains on them. If you or a member of your party wants to go here alone, you might need to have a serious conversation with them. This is not a fun toybox. The only rational reason for delving into this dark sanctuary is trying to find something nasty. A Sire of Insanity lurking in the basement suites, a lead on Massacre Girl’s safe house, or an influential figure with dark secrets. You may wish you didn’t have darkvision after a visit.

Bitter End Tavern

Hidden within Avaric, an official Orzhov territory, but one harboring deep anti-guild atmosphere, lies the Bitter End Tavern. While not officially a Guildless-Only bar, you can definitely expect some nasty looks from the patrons if you are flashing any Guild insignias. It technically exists outside the Ten Districts, so put it wherever you want. Guildless don’t have a ton of lore, which makes this a good location for any storylines or NPCs you might have designed that don’t really fit in with any of the 10 Guilds or even Ravnica as a whole. You can basically hang a sign over the door saying “Homebrews Welcome”.

You might find ancient worshipers of the Nephilim gathered here, or groups plotting a coup against a powerful member of a particular guild. Sooner or later, any notable Guildless or Anti-Guild individual will end up here for a bite. Same time, you can also find large groups of people willing to help out other un-affiliated citizens navigate this confusing cityscape world. Heroes of the Precinct likely drink for free here, and they’re always willing to help someone in a bad place with no one else to turn to. A certain mad Voidwielder might also pop in for a nightcap between insane schemes as well. Or just your garden-variety NPC commoners in bulk, lest we forget half the population of Ravnica is Guildless.

[lizabethstucker]

The SFWA Grand Masters,Vol. 1

Edited by Frederik Pohl

Pohl has selected eighteen short stories and novellas written by the first five Grand Masters ever selected by the Science Fiction Writers of America:  Robert A. Heinlein, Jack Williamson, Clifford D. Simak, L. Sprague de Camp, and Fritz Leiber. A great debt is owed to Jerry Pournelle for this recognition of the best of the best and to Frederik Pohl for both introducing and reintroducing me to these authors in one handy volume.  Actually, in three volumes as I know there is one more to be searched out in the interlibrary world.

 Thanks to my library’s willingness to go out of state, I can read the first volume in this series, having started off 2020 with Volume Two.  Thank you also to the Woodridge Public Library in Woodridge, Illinois.  Now I need to find the third volume.  4 out of 5

We start out with Robert A. Heinlein.  I can still remember the first Heinlein that I read, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.  My memory is so clear that I can recall to this day seeing it on the library shelf when I was working through a list of Golden Age writers that my father thought I should check out.  I understand how controversial he is to many readers, but I always found that his stories were worth reading, even when some of the plotlines were uncomfortable (I’m thinking primarily of Farnham’s Freehold).  Even if I didn’t agree with his ideas explored in his books and short stories, they made me think.

 “The Roads Must Roll” by Robert A. Heinlein

 (Future History 3) The United States had moved from automobiles to solar-powered people movers beginning when oil and gasoline were rationed during World War II.  It led to less pollution, a spreading out of the population from the congestion of the cities, and a working class who were ripe for agitation by self-serving megalomaniacs with self-worth issues like Shorty Van Kleeck.  It is up to Larry Gaines, the Chief Engineer, to stop the destruction and disruption of the roads.  Heinlein is remarkably prescient in this 1940 tale, predicting the congestion of the automobiles and their increasing dangers as well as the importance of solar energy.  It’s a shame such people movers, whether this style or high-speed trains are kept from actually being implemented.  It is also true that the disenfranchised can be easily manipulated.  Just look at our current political environment, not just in the United States and Great Britain.  A brilliant tale.  I can see the workers being militarized considering how a minor disruption, much less a major one, could not only bring the nation to a halt, it could have serious and deadly ramifications.  4.5 out of 5.

 “The Year of the Jackpot” by Robert A. Heinlein

 Statistician Potiphar Breen has been taking note of strange and unusual events, including a large number of women taking their clothing off in public.  Meade Barstow, the latest befuddled stripper, is seen by Pot.  Pot intervenes when the police arrive, offering to take care of her and see her safely home.  Instead, when she is worried about what her landlady will say, he brings her to his home so that she can put herself back together.  Meade agrees to answer his questions for his kindness.  Pot reveals what he believes the numbers are telling him, that the planet is facing something that scares him.  Intense, sad, and entirely too realistic.  The idea of cycles with world events both good and bad is all too true.  The gentle romance between Meade and Pot was a lovely addition.  Side note:  I was surprised to see the inclusion of transvestites in this story published in 1951. Heinlein treated the couple and the subject in a much nicer manner than I might have expected.  I wonder why they were included as they weren't truly needed, nor was the subject of needed for his argument.  Others could've sufficed.  This was a first time read for me, as is the next story.  4 out of 5.

 “Jerry Was a Man” by Robert A. Heinlein

 When Martha van Vogel accompanied her husband to a genetics lab that alters DNA to make workers out of apes and vanity pets, she was unaware of how the mutated ape workers were treated once they were no longer useful, that they were euthanized.  After raising hell, Martha is allowed to take one of the younger workers, whose eyesight had him put in the death pen, home with her against her husband’s wishes.  Refusing to look the other way, Martha fights all the way to court to not only get Jerry free of the lab, but to help keep all the others alive, leading to a precedent making court case.  This is an incredibly uncomfortable story on so many fronts.  I found it most disturbing that Jerry’s speech pattern is a caricature of poor uneducated blacks.  I understand that this was intentional on the part of Heinlein.  I’m hoping that it was to give his readers a unique viewpoint into their prejudices, especially considering that the story was copyrighted in 1947.  Especially with the return of black American soldiers from World War II to a country that still considered them as less than human.  3.5 out of 5.

  “The Farthest Place” by Robert A. Heinlein

 (Extract from Tramp Royale) This is non-fiction, an account of the Heinleins and their visit to Tristan da Cunha when the tramp steamer they are on makes a call there.  The island is in the South Atlantic, over 1500 miles from the nearest other community.  I may have enjoyed this excerpt, but in another context.  However, this is a collection of science fiction and fantasy. This particular piece really had no reason to be included.  I decline to rate it.

  “The Long Watch” by Robert A. Heinlein

 Lieutenant Johnny Dahlquist was approached by Colonel Towers regarding the danger of having politicians in control back on Earth, that the Guard should oversee keeping the planet safe.  Towers wants Johnny’s expertise as junior bomb officer in his rebellious group.  While Johnny saw his point about the instability of politicians in general, he couldn’t agree to use his bombs to make a point, a point that would lead to the deaths of innocent people.  He had to make the bombs unusable, then hold watch until a ship from Earth will arrive in approximately four days.   This story … Heinlein literally reached into my chest and ripped my heart out.  My notebook still shows the faint marks of tears. There are many types of heroism. John Ezra Dahlquist is a fine example of doing what is right even when others try to dissuade you.  (You should also look up Rodger Young on Google.  I was unaware of this Medal of Honor recipient until this story.)  5 out of 5.

  Next is Jack Williamson, another writer from the Golden Age of Science Fiction.  And yet, somehow, I never have read any of Jack’s works.  Based on these stories, that was a great crime.

  “With Folded Hands” by Jack Williamson

 (Humanoids .5) Poor Underhill is already struggling to keep his android business afloat.  Now a new company has suddenly appeared, providing slick new humanoids that are taking over the town of Two Rivers.  His new boarder, Mr. Sledge, claims to be an inventor.  The new humanoids are known by him and he appears to be frightened of them.  Williamson explores how actions, discoveries, and inventions meant to make man’s life better can sometimes serve to harm him.  The story, published in 1947, is even more relevant today considering the growth of A.I.s and robots.  This really is as much horror as it is science fiction, terrifying on a deep level for those aware how close we are to this possible future.  3.5 out of 5.

  “Jamboree” by Jack Williamson

 A robot self-called Pops is Scout Master of boys from birth to the age of 12.  Periodically it takes the boys to a Jamboree to meet Mother.  Younger boys can indulge in pink ice cream and gold stars plastered on their faces.  For the oldest boys, it will be their last Jamboree.  But one boy thinks there is a way to stop the cycle.  Another tale of robots making decisions for the good of mankind.  A very different take.  3.5 out of 5.

  “The Manana Literary Society” by Jack Williamson

 (Excerpt from Wonder’s Child:  My Life in Science Fiction) Another piece of non-fiction, but at least it is about science fiction.  Once again, I find it out of place and will not rate it.  The selection is, however, a good look at the Los Angeles science fiction scene.

  “The Firefly Tree” by Jack Williamson

 Forced to move with his family to his grandfather’s farm, the unnamed protagonist is without friends, home-schooled, and lonely. Then he finds an interesting plant that his father calls a weed.  He is moved to save the plant from destruction and nurtures it until it grows into a tree. One night he goes out to find the tree covered with fireflies.  He begins to dream of them, hearing who they are and what they are there ready to do. Doesn’t Jack ever write happy endings? Any at all?  As a child who was a loner and lived in a neighborhood with no children near my age, I could relate to this young boy.  Truly engrossing.  3.5 out of 5.

  Now on to Clifford D. Simak.  I’ve read some of his short stories, but it was a long time ago. I don’t remember much of his style or even whether I liked his works or not.  

  “Desertion” by Clifford D. Simak

 To explore the planet of Jupiter, men are physically converted into one of the more intelligent native species, the Lopers. The last five men sent out by Kent Fowler, the head of the survey project, haven't returned.  The exploration must continue, but Fowler can't face sending another man out to what appears to be certain death, so he decides to go in their place, accompanied by his elderly dog.  This was a beautiful story.  I wish it had been longer.  4 out of 5.

  “Founding Father” by Clifford D. Simak

 Mankind wants to spread out among the stars, to colonize other planets, but the amount of time that would need to be spent on a spaceship would be an issue.  Immortals have no problems with time per se, but the loneliness is another matter.  A solution was found, a solution meant to be a temporary fix.  But what happens with temporary when that is over one hundred years?  Whoa, this might’ve been short, but it was so intense, thought-provoking, and a bit sad.  Winston-Kirby will have some decisions to make regarding comfort or duty. 4 out of 5.

  “Grotto of the Dancing Deer” by Clifford D. Simak

 Archaeologist Boyd discovers a hidden fissure at his latest sight, one filled with fantastical and irreverent art.  He also finds something else, something impossible. And yet.  Another fascinating story with a deep well of sadness and depressing loneliness in a different way than the previous story.  4 out of 5.

  L. Sprague de Camp is a writer that I used to read quite a bit of, mostly his earlier works in short story collections.  And the Conan books he finished from Robert Howard’s notes and uncompleted manuscripts.  Frankly, I found de Camp’s renditions to be better written, although I know that is heresy for some.

  “A Gun for Dinosaur” by L. Sprague de Camp

 When a time machine is invented, one that can’t go back to a time more recent than 100,000 years ago, a big part of its users are big game hunters taking clients back to kill a dinosaur for trophy.  Rivers, of Rivers and Aiyar, one of those hunters, explains to a potential client why he has strict rules about who he’ll take back to what periods based on size and ability to use a particular caliber weapon. All I can say is poor August, braver than he thought he was, and how Courtney deserved everything he got and more. Entitled asshole.  3.5 out of 5

  “Little Green Men from Afar” by L. Sprague de Camp

 A non-fiction look into the persistent myths, legends, and outright lies that still garner hopeful believers, from flying saucers to the Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis to cults.  I do like the five criteria given by Francis F. Broman regarding any and every story:  1) the report be firsthand; 2) the teller shows no obvious bias or prejudice; 3) that the reporter be a trained observer; 4) that the data be available for checking; and 5) that the teller be clearly identified.  I’ve enjoyed many a hour reading von Daniken and the various UFO books, but they have always clearly be put in the fantasy fiction category for me, fun if not taken seriously.  Again, no rating for a non-fiction piece in a fiction collection.  I’m particularly disappointed as de Camp is left with just two fiction pieces as an introduction to his works.  

  “Living Fossil” by L. Sprague de Camp

 Nawputta, a zoologist, and Chujee, his guide, are searching the Alleghany Mountains for interesting specimans and signs of the cities of Man, long extinct, when they meet a suspicious explorer.  They also stumble across something they didn’t expect. Cute.  Obvious, but still very fun to read.  3.5 out of 5.

  Fritz Leiber is the author of a favorite series from my early 20s.  While my father was devouring Conan the Barbarian, I was deep into Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.  Strangely enough, I don’t think I read anything else by Leiber in those days or later. So many books, so little time, so few selections at the libraries with whom I had memberships.

  “Sanity” by Fritz Leiber

 World Manager Carrsbury had researched and planned and schemed for ten years to understand insanity and to replace all the members of the World Management Service with his own people, all of whom had been trained under his exacting guidelines.  Just as he had directed the world’s citizens in what they could read, watch, drink, and do in their daily lives.  Or so he thought had been done.  Leiber’s look at sanity is fascinating and a bit disturbing.  Add a backdrop of world government and you have a thoughtful and frightening tale that resonates today.  4 out of 5.

  “The Mer She” by Fritz Leiber

 (Fafhrd & the Gray Mouser) The Gray Mouser was sailing home to Cif and Fafhrd, his holds filled with treasure and good as befits a successful merchant.  When he discovers a stowaway in a chest, he must fight his way through magic if he ever hopes to see his island home again.  It has been an extraordinarily long time since I’ve visited this series. The language is as flowery and somewhat archaic as ever, but I missed the boys working together.  It just doesn’t have the same punch without that.  3 out of 5.

 “A Bad Day for Sales” by Fritz Leiber

 Robie, the first sales robot, is on the street, but having a hard time making sales.  Then things get a lot worse.  Very short, very cute even with that "worse" part.  3.5 out of 5.

[harrisonstories]

George Harrison and Paul McCartney during the recording of Hey Jude (1968)

Peter Doggett on “Run of the Mill”:

George Harrison: Living in the Material World is the title of Martin Scorsese’s epic documentary about the life, music and beliefs of the Beatle who was my original favourite of the group (at the age of six, for no rational reason I can recall). When I became seriously interested in pop, it was October 1970, and the British pop weeklies were full of chatter about George’s forthcoming album, All Things Must Pass.

For reasons that I’ve explained elsewhere on this blog, I had accidentally become infatuated (for life) with the Beatles a few weeks earlier. With the zeal of the fresh convert, I was eagerly awaiting new music from any (or preferably all) of the Fab Four. One afternoon, I came home from school to listen to Radio 1, the BBC’s three-year-old pop channel, and was granted a sneak preview of George’s work. As soon as his name was announced, I pushed the ‘record’ button on my father’s ancient reel-to-reel tape recorder, which was connected up to our equally ancient radiogram. So I had plenty of time over the next few months to replay and appreciate the magic of what I heard: 'Run Of The Mill’.

It was the guitars that pulled me in: that gorgeous, tumbling motif that bookended the song - which was, as I would soon discover when I tried to reproduce it myself, very deceptively simple. Then the voice: somewhere on the emotional spectrum between 'beautifully pained’ and 'poignantly sympathetic’, not the carefree joi de vivre that Paul McCartney would try to maintain, or the naked savagery of John Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band roar. And the melody, with that subtle elegance and beauty that would become the hallmark of George’s best solo work.

What didn’t really touch me for years, though, were the words. That was partly because it wasn’t that easy to make them out beneath George’s double-tracked Scouse slur, and partly because the tune was so pretty that I didn’t bother to listen. It must have been twenty years or so later that I heard the song one day and suddenly clicked: “He’s writing about the Beatles!”

At which point the whole thing made sense. In 'Run Of The Mill’, George wasn’t writing about the Beatles as an institution, but about his relationship with one particular Beatle (or maybe two of them, swapping the role of target in every other line). This wasn’t the open sadness of Ringo’s 'Early 1970’, or the sly sniping of Paul’s 'Too Many People’, or the outright viciousness of John’s 'How Do You Sleep’. Nor was it the shocking dismissal of Lennon’s own verdict in late 1970: “I don’t believe in Beatles”. No, this was one human being very openly confronting the decline in his relationship with another human being who was still very dear to him, but who he feared was destined to slip out of his life altogether.

The most poignant lines in the song are these: “As the days stand up on end, you’ve got me wondering how I lost your friendship, but I see it in your eyes”. What’s gone wrong between these two men? The clue is in the early part of the same verse, where George says that tomorrow will bring “another day for you to realise me” (in other words, to realise exactly who I am) “or send me down again” (by ignoring me). Which takes us back to January 1969, when George unveiled a series of new songs for John and Paul, and they did their best to ignore them.

So which of these two old friends was the target of 'Run Of The Mill’. Ultimately, as George sings, “it’s you who decides”: both Lennon and McCartney had undervalued and squashed Harrison as a creative force in the final years of the Beatles. But my guess is that it’s Paul who George had in mind - simply because George put so much faith in the reality of his relationship with John (as his comments in the Beatles’ Anthology book proved) that he couldn’t bear, at least in 1970, to consider for a second that he might have lost Lennon’s friendship. He found it easier, in emotional terms, to blame Paul - the boy who’d been a year older than him at school, who had suggested he should audition for the Beatles, and who had chosen to lecture him about his guitar-playing in front of a camera crew during those January 1969 sessions.

And the title? It was only when I was writing You Never Give Me Your Money that it struck me where it had come from. There is nothing in the song about anything being “run of the mill”. But my guess is that one of the other Beatles, at some stage in the 60s, slagged off a new Harrison song by telling him that it wasn’t good enough to record, it was only run of the mill. It’s the kind of comment that trips out of people’s mouths in a second, and which they never consider the consequences of; and which the recipient remembers for the rest of their lives. (2011) [x]

[modernlcve]

*  —  stats —   colton thacker !

* — basics !

full name:   colton joseph thacker. nickname(s):   prefers none. age:   twenty - four. date of birth:   may first. place of birth:   barlow,   kentucky. gender:   male. pronouns:   he / him. sexual orientation:   questioning level of education:   high school graduate. recipient of a bachelor’s degree in history, currently pursuing his master’s.

* — physical !

tattoos:  none. piercings:   none. notable features:   his nose is distinct?  quite tall also.. didnt fact check that he just looks tall. weakness(es):   injured his left shoulder playing baseball in high school,  it never fully bounced back. scar(s):   one on the upper Bit of his left arm.

* — domestic !

occupation:   line cook at a diner.  ta. residence:  lives alone and lives humbly. social class:   lower middle class. parents:   jody thacker,  age 54,   works at the factory,  a strong and silent type  ( which makes it all the better when he gets in a good joke now and again ).   tanya thacker,   age 49,   a school teacher,   one of those nice church ladies that always has her nose in other people’s business. siblings:   kyleigh thacker,   his sister.   i picture them to be pretty close,   even if differently dispositioned. extended family:   large,   spread throughout his home county.   especially close with his paternal grandparents, farmers who are well known within the community.   two beautiful nephews he would Die for.

* — personality !

positive traits:   insightful.   courteous.   reflective. negative traits:   obstinate.   envious.    myers-briggs ( x ):   istj,   the logistician. temperament:   phlegmatic. moral alignment:   neutral good. horoscope:   taurus,   the bull. hogwarts house:   ravenclaw.

* — favorites !

movie:   raiders of the lost ark. tv show:   game of thrones. book:   child of god by cormac mccarthy. drink:   ale 8. food:   sheperd’s pie. animal:   crows. color:   red. song:   give my love to the rose by johnny cash. artist:   willie nelson. celebrity crush:   ariana grande.

* — impressions !

first impression:  he doesn’t make a strong first  impression.   he’s quiet,   polite,   but he isn’t exceptionally forthcoming.   he’s nice enough to get by but could be intimidating on first look alone. self impression:   he doesn’t quite know What his deal is.   he knows he’s bit odd,   at least for where he’s from,   but he doesn’t think that’s a bad thing. he’s used to thinking of himself as different,  but he’s learned to embrace that over the years. lover impression:   he’s a romantic,   at heart. he’s a gentleman who has like perhaps bit old - fashioned ideas of what that means.   he’s not like gonna be shitty about an independent woman but boy he does believe in like paying for dates and opening doors and shit.

* — et cetera !

turn ons:   intelligent.   shiny hair.   bit of a smart mouth. turn offs:   a superiority complex.   aversion to nature. drink/drugs/smoke:   yes/no/sometimes. dominant hand:   right. clean or messy:   clean. early bird or night owl:   early bird. hobbies or special talents:   he played baseball through high school.   got a bit good at racing in his old truck  ( rip )  hasn’t given the new one a real shot yet.

* — QUESTIONNAIRE !

01. where was your character born? what brought them to st louis? what do they like most about the town?

colton was born in barlow,  kentucky.   he came to st louis for grad school.   on the surface,   its why he came to st louis specifically.   in general though,   he was brought to anywhere out of barlow just because small town life just simply isn’t for him.   he likes st louis because it represents potential.   it’s all the excitement and change and opportunity he’s been looking for,   even now,   after being settled here a few years.

02. who are your character’s friends and family? who do they surround themselves with? who are the people your character is closest to?

colton’s immediate family consists of his parents and his sister,  and,  by extension,   her family.   he gets along well enough with his parents,   even if they don’t always see eye to eye on certain things.   he’s closer with his sister and spends a decent amount of his weekends loitering around her place,   hanging out with her kids.   he surrounds himself mostly with his classmates,   enjoying the conversation that comes from like minded people,   even if they can’t always relate to him.   he’s closest with his sister,   or his grandfather,   whom he calls at least once a week,   more in the rare event that he’s homesick.   pa may not always get what colton’s going on about but he tries and that’s what matters.

03. what is your character’s biggest fear? who have they told this to? who would they never tell this to? why?

colton’s biggest fear is that he’ll always be Yearning for more.   he feels pretty satisfied in st louis,   but he also once felt satisfied in the town he did undergrad in,   and his hometown,   but he always ends up ready for something more.   he comes from the kind of place where you’re supposed to have deep roots,   to live on the land that your family has lived on for ages,   and he really does wish that was enough for him.   it’d make things easier.   but he always wants to be moving and growing and really is afraid he’s going to miss out on getting just like happy,  simple,   domestic times because of that.   he wants more out of life than his town had to offer,   but he didn’t want to abandon the idea of family and home completely.   he’d never tell his family this,   because he feels like he’s got to keep some kind of strong face,   for #toxicmasculinity reasons just as much as needing to prove that he made the right choice in leaving.

04. has your character ever been in love? had a broken heart?

yeah colton had a high school sweetie.   her name was lacey,   they started dating when they were fourteen,   fresh into high school,   went to the same place for undergrad,   lived back home together for a year,   and then called it quits when colton decided to go back to school and move to st louis.   she’s his first and only Real Love,   but,   she got a job teaching at their high school,  and was ready to just settle into living in their hometown again.   even when they decided they could make long distance work while he was at school,   he knew he wouldn’t be able to just finish up in st louis and move back.   yeah it broke his heart a bit but he ended things a week before he headed out.   hurt like hell but maybe deep down he does still imagine that something will happen and they’ll get back together without him moving home one day,   you know,   like an idiot.

06. it’s saturday at noon. what is your character doing? give details.

again,   he likes to fuck around with kyleigh and her kids on the weekends.   when he moved,  it was never to get away from his family,  just the place,   and it’s nice to have them around and still be able to hang out with the kids and stuff.  if he’s not with them,   he’s probably reading.   fucking nerd.

07. what is one strong memory that has stuck with your character since childhood?

back when their grandfather was a little more Spry,   whenever spring came,   he’d go on long meandering walks out in the woods on sunday mornings  ( before church ).   he had never been a hunter,   or a fisher,   it wasn’t anything like that,   just a nice little walk.   when he was like 12 colton decided he needed to be his annoying tag along who probably ruined the purpose of the walks by breaking how quiet and serene the woods were that early,   but pa just ran with it.   they’d talk about whatever came up and it made colton feel special to be a part of something that had always been a special ritual every spring.

09. what is something that upsets your character? where do they go when they’re upset?

i feel like it takes a lot to actually upset him.   he’s pretty chill.   smaller things,   he’s pretty good at just brushing off and moving on from.   he’s upset by like rational things  ( assholes, people coming for his family, questioning his choices )  i guess can’t relate.  he still finds walks in the Woods comforting,   good for clearing your mind,   but most likely he just tries to distract himself with a book or some mindless tv  ( yeah he has a few pawn shows bookmarked for this exact reason ).

10. when your character thinks of their childhood kitchen, what smell do they associate with it? why?

whatever the smell is,   it’s heavy.   something meaty and greasy that would be accompanied by starchy,   weighty sides and some kind of bread,   because that’s what makes a meal,   obviously.   they’ve always been a big dinner around the supper table kind of family.  porkchops,   cube steak,   and chicken anyway you could have it were all on frequent rotation.

[uomo-accattivante]

I dug up this very interesting old Q&A session Rian Johnson did with Alex Garland about Ex Machina back on April 18, 2015, at The Arclight in Los Angeles. It was cool hearing Garland briefly talk about Oscar Isaac and Domhnall Gleeson right before Johnson started working with both of them on Star Wars: The Last Jedi. And after hearing this Q&A, I can totally see why Garland wanted to retain Scott Rudin as his producer when he decided to make Annihilation. 

The main points they covered in the Q&A are encapsulated below:

Writing For A Low Budget Sci-Fi Movie

Rian Johnson: What was the origin of this in terms of the writing?

Alex Garland: When I was trying to describe what this film would be I used to call it a sci-fi psychological thriller and “Sleuth” was a film I did think about because of the way the allegiances shift. In terms of the genesis, it was really just reading over years about AI and some of the problems of mind and consciousness… I’ve now been working in film for around about 15 years and inevitably some of the processes of film, you learn them in sort of a helpless way. And if there’s something that requires a lot of creative latitude as this did, probably unconsciously, I deliberately wrote something that I knew we could make cheaply. Limited locations, limited cost…

RJ: At the same time, it doesn’t have that thing [where] it feels like they compromised in order to make a cheap movie here, it looks gorgeous. I was actually gonna ask you some more mundane questions about where you shot it, in terms of the house, how much of that was built, whether there was found locations in terms of the exteriors…

AG: It was four weeks in Pinewood, and two weeks on location. [For] all the things you can do to save money, the best thing you can do is have a really short principal photography period. So, it was a six week shoot and then there was a backward element of it which is you need to find a location and be able to build to it. The location was in Norway, and you know it’s funny the way imagery in film works. Iceland was quickly out of the question because it’s been mined by cinema so much and you start to think, “I know that glacier.”

Shooting In Norway

AG: We ended up finding Norway and what was great about it, Norway’s quite an interesting country because they’re the only country in the world that did the right thing when they discovered oil which was to nationalize it and then keep all the money and spend it on the country itself. So it’s this amazingly affluent country, which makes it very expensive to shoot in. But you get weird modernist architecture in the middle of nowhere and the landscape is not too familiar to us. It’s semi-familiar because there’s skies and mountains and glaciers and rivers, but we’re not too steeped in it so Norway’s perfect. [We] found a beautiful house and a hotel.

RJ: What was the house itself? Was it an empty house? Was it somebody’s house?

AG: It was a house that this guy had been building and nearly finished so he didn’t mind a film crew turning up. So, for example, the living room where these two guys talk at times which has this strange rock wall kind of intruding into the room, that’s the living room of that guy’s house. These beautiful cinema-screen-shaped windows that have these panoramic views is an eco hotel which is about 15 minutes away. And what we would do is build sets like Nathan’s bedroom and study with the glass wall, where we brought that rock wall into Pinewood and tried to tie it together loosely.

RJ: Because it was such a quick shoot, obviously exactly the things that make it cheap also make it very intensive in terms of it’s the performances that carry this movie all the way through to a large extent. Did you have rehearsal time with the actors?

AG: Yeah that was crucial. We had, actually, a lot of discussions and then we had rehearsals because there wasn’t going to be time to talk about motivation, for example, on set. And the process of shooting it was very intense and complicated because the film has to have a kind of zen vibe about it and the second you’re moving the camera, it’s like, in come the guys chucking down boards to move the dolly and a real frenzy of activity and then back to this quiet mode. And you’re absolutely right, that leans hardest of all on the actors. Pretty hard for the camera crew, but particularly hard for the actors. And they had to keep a kind of good close track of what they were doing the whole time, but they totally nailed it.

Casting Alicia Vikander And Domhnall Gleeson

RJ: So, uh, Oscar [Isaac] and Domhnall I know… somebody should put them in a big movie. [laughs] But actually, the big revelation for me was Alicia [Vikander]. I’m sure she’s been in other stuff, but this is the first thing I’ve seen of her. Talk to me about where you saw and discovered her.

AG: She was in a Danish film called “A Royal Affair” and she was, I’m guessing, like 20 or 21 and acting opposite the incredibly charismatic, powerful actorMads Mikkelsen and that thing happens that we all recognize, it’s not a secret. It’s not like you work in the film industry to recognize good acting. I’ve literally never met anyone who thought Philip Seymour Hoffman wasn’t a great actor. So you know it when you see it and your eye would just track what she was doing and register how confident and complex her performance was. And that’s also true of Oscar, the slightly odd one out was Domnhall because this is the third film we worked on together and so that was different, I just sent him the script and said, “Will you do it?”

RJ: Was he the first one on board?

AG: Yeah.

RJ: Do you write actually seeing actors in your head?

AG: Yeah I do, and that could be complicated. It’s a bit like temp score when you’re cutting because you can get temp-itis, you know, fall in love with a bit of temp score and find that you keep trying to nudge the composer towards copying it. So, yes I do, but I also try to be self-aware and then to reject it later, but Domhnall was in my mind because it’s a funny part… It’s not something that all male actors want to do, in a way, to be the recipient, to be on the receiving end so much and I just knew that he could do it.

RJ: At the same time, it’s also a part that, to his credit, it’s deceptive… he’s doing so much in it with so little and he’s so good at communicating, largely reacting to the world around him, guiding the viewer through the story.

AG: And not telegraphing what’s actually going on. Because it can be hard for everybody to avoid the nudges and winks, like “I’m actually more powerful in this scene than you think I am.” But he was incredibly disciplined about that.

Designing Ava

AG: With Ava, it was a three step process, with a step back thing which is this is a post-iPhone world. We’re used to tech being beautifully designed essentially. Initially, it was to do with what she didn’t look like. C-3PO, for example, was a problem. Gold metal immediately put C-3PO in mind. White plastic put Chris Cunningham’s Bjork video [for “All Is Full Of Love” in mind] which was also riffed on by “I Robot.” [And] even if people haven’t seen “Metropolis,” [Maria] is an iconic image that it casts an incredibly long shadow. So, when she first appears you don’t want to initially be thinking of another film.

Second thing, she had to unambiguously be a machine so that it didn’t give wise in the narrative the possibility that it might be a young woman wearing a robot suit. So, missing areas of her body dealt with that. More important than that, the breakthrough aspect was this mesh that follows the contours of Alicia Vikander’s body, which meant that you immediately see her as a machine and then you immediately start to move away from that because as the light captures it a bit like a spiderweb, invisible in some circumstances, visible in others… you get this glancing, ephemeral sense of a young woman.

Misdirecting the Audience

RJ: As a filmmaker, I’m curious in terms of the editing, when you got into the cutting room was there anything that surprised you that you had to adjust in terms of where the audience was keeping up with it, or what they were thinking during different parts of it?

AG: I think, in the edit, of this and other projects, from my point of view, you have to run on instinct because you’re so steeped in it. At least in my experience, it’s very hard to be precise and rational about it. Wood for the trees, essentially. But there were some things I felt pretty sure of, and one thing was that we could nudge the audience or sections of the audience. Some people just want a story and will just accept whatever comes and others, their antennae are up and they are hunting and they want to get ahead of it in some way. And I felt pretty sure that there were two key misdirections we could do that would take attention away from the other stuff we wanted to keep more covert. But one of them was that audiences, you can assume literacy in film audiences. They will have seen “Blade Runner,” for example. And so they will be thinking “I know what’s going on”—

RJ: Domhnall is a robot.

AG: Right, exactly, so there are symmetrical scars on his back. And there’s a slightly implausible backstory.

RJ: Which you only reveal very slightly in the thing so even as an audience member you’re thinking, “How clever, I just caught that.”

AG: Exactly, yeah. So one is that train of thought that then leads to him investigating himself, in a way that an audience might have investigated him as well. And the other was the Japanese-appearing robot, Kyoko, that of course also people will know quite quickly that this is a machine. And in intention, I hoped, the antennae twitching audience will relax and think “oh I get this.” I think the ideal state is to just let the thing happen. You know, I sometimes think the best way to see a film — no, I know — no trailer, no information. Certainly, that for me, that’s my favorite way. So, in a way, the edit was partly about using those misdirections, I guess.

RJ: No, I think it all works to its benefit. And like I said, ultimately, it does that magic trick that my favorite movies all do, which is, it does exactly what it told you it was going to do and you’re surprised by it by the end.

Also, here is a video of the Q&A session above if you’re interested in watching it: http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/movies/moviesnow/83375013-132.html

[sharksdontplaycards]

How can we protect those we love..

Dearest,

I know you want me to call you mom, but I can’t right now. You asked me to call you this when I first married your daughter and at the time I wanted to feel accepted and did not understand your reasoning. Now I see that you want me to call you that because you believe yourself superior, and feel entitled to authority over mine and my wife’s life. I can no longer appease your request. God gave me the responsibility to head my household. Kathryn and I are our own family, recognized under God. The decisions that we make are ours alone. Your input is neither required nor desired. You do not have influence or power over them, and your pleas, tears, manipulation, delusion, and desires belong to you, and no one else.

I can see that you are hurting. It is apparent that no one in the world understands how you feel, nor could they if they tried. You are the ultimate victim, you have gone through something worse than anyone else in all of human history. God sacrificed his only son, and watched Him be beaten, whipped, and murdered by His own creation, but even He must look at you in wonder. You are the recipient of all hate, discontentment, malice, disrespect, slight, and heartbreak that the human race has to offer. Books could be written, and speeches could be made in reverence, describing the complexities of your pain and perseverance through it. I will never know what to say to you to help you. I want so very much to do so, truly. I love you, and I want you to move on and have purpose beyond the pain you so effortlessly project onto everyone around you.

God is the answer to this. He can see you past this pain, and resentment. There is purpose here beyond even you. It is hard to imagine, but other people were given purpose by God as well. No one will ever have your exact experience, but God puts people in our lives to challenge us in small areas where they have different experiences from our own. It is unimaginable, I’m sure, to think that anyone could have a better understanding of something, especially considering they don’t have the same exact life, and feelings that you do. There is good news, God works in the unimaginable every day! He gives other people different experiences, lives, dare I say it.. pain, and love that affords them their own unique perspective. It is incredible, really, but there are over seven billion people on earth and every one of them have their own lives, friends, families, and responsibilities.

It is evident that your monopoly on pain and victimhood has made you both morally superior and wiser than even King Solomon. As clear as this truth may be, your undeniable superiority does not entitle you to authority. Even Kind Solomon ruled over only one Kingdom. God has charged you with taking care of your family, the same as He has charged us with taking care of ours. You are our family, and we will always help you as we have but the family your daughter and I have made is separate from you. I was raised in a family that helps one another without fear, guilt, or expectation of reciprocity. That may be foreign, but, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” (1 Cor 13:4-8). We love you, and we seek to love you truly.

Right now your pain is so great that it effects how you love. Your actions are a reflection of the thoughts of your heart. We don’t spend any time alone. There is a reason for that. I tried to take you out for something you needed. We went to the mall and got it and then went to a restaurant to get some food. While at the register I offered to pay for the meal. I watched you actively ignore my offer and proceed to pay. Following this moment I thanked you and we had a lovely meal. The following day however you saw fit to lie. You accused me of being rude, not offering to pay, and gave an account of our time placed so far outside the reality of events that took place, I question seriously if you were referring to the same event. You did this is an effort to tarnish my character in the eyes of my wife. At most every instance, it seems, you seek to drive yourself as a wedge between us. Your actions are so brazen and obvious to everyone around you it is hard to deduce whether you think yourself that superior or you believe everyone else to be that utterly stupid. I recognized that day that I could never be alone with you. As a man in the current age if I were to be alone with a woman not afraid to brazenly lie about my actions, I could end up in jail. I love you, but I can’t risk leaving my family and making them so vulnerable for your comfort or attention.

Those that want help, help themselves and help from others follows quickly. Those who do not want help cannot get it. I have heard your lamentations sincerely, as have everyone who loves you, but since I have known you, those lamentations have not changed. I am a wretched sinner with a silver tongue. I am impulsive and unapologetic with a very quick temper. I am not afraid to face the consequences of my actions because I have endured terrible consequences. After facing those consequences I went to God and my family with my tail between my legs ready to eat with the pigs. I had to admit that I was not all powerful and that I was the author of my own perspective and demise. My lamentations changed. I had new problems, but I was able to face them more prepared, and more reliant on God. I realized that I was not the center of the universe, that I alone was neither the answer nor the question most important in God’s Kingdom. The world seems treacherous with the perspective that it’s all about oneself. Your problems, however inconceivable to mere mortals, are your own. Facing our wrongs is not the end of the world, it is the beginning of a new perspective.

You have been walking this earth for over half a century. I can’t imagine that. I recognize that no matter what I learn, or do in this moment, I will never have the experience that you do. I also recognize that in reality your experience means nothing if you refuse to accept the reality in front of you. No one is entitled to special help or treatment because of their unique experience. I have watched you shamelessly stand in defiance of insignificant events seeking validation for your entitlement to the detriment of everyone around you. The energy spent and time wasted alone, is justification for re-evaluation. Nothing gets easier, we just get better at dealing with it. Picture the first time you learned to write, or add. Did those processes change or did you change to master them?

What prompted this letter was the fact that you hurt my wife. You hurt her quite a lot. You have contributed to the utter desolation of her self-esteem. She is the epitome of beauty and grace. Even your sense of entitlement is incomparable to her love. She is devoted, kind, calm, intelligent, capable, and important. She never thought about becoming a teacher. You like to point out the fact that you were the one to tell Kathryn about me. Is there anything in her life you have not “found” for her? Her love and talents lie in pottery. God saw fit to bless her and you both with physical expressions of beauty. She had a career path that would have allowed that passion to become her livelihood. It was you who discouraged her. She is a master of peace, and so quick to submit. You have used her nature as validation for your behavior. Your conversations with her modelled how she handles adult interactions, and since I have met you, there were very few times I would classify your actions or interactions as adult.

Your daughter is a woman. An adult woman with a husband. She does not belong to anyone but God. She makes her own decisions and has her own responsibilities. She is not a liar. You called the both of us liars because it suited your latest narrative. I am truly amazed by your ability to rationalize your self-importance. I have had a problem with selfishness and self-centeredness all my life. That is probably one of the reasons I see it so clearly in you. Nevertheless, you are a master where I am just a lowly disciple. Father’s Day is a day about fathers. You have not, and will never be a father, and yet that day was somehow about you. Your daughter is not a liar, and I am not a liar. Your daughter is convinced that it is subconscious, but I have a little more faith in your intelligence. She believes that you feign validation from others, or to be clearer, lie about what others have said because experience has taught you to include people in your opinions so that your words will have more power. I believe you understand that your opinions are not shared, but should be, so you lie because you believe you are right, and if everyone were as superior as you they would recognize that so it would not be a lie in the end.

The unfortunate truth for people like us is that no matter how right we believe ourselves to be, lying is the clearest sign that something with our justification is not right. Whether you lie consciously or unconsciously is not the issue. The issue is the projection of an individual perspective in contrast to reality. The reality being that God loves you, your family loves you, you are loved and you are worthy of love. Fear is a fantastic motivator, but that is not the philosophy God intended for us to live our life by. Even as write this, I know your response will undeniably be indignation. Wondering how I could say such things, or blaming me for patronizing, or simplifying emotions no one, but especially I, could ever understand does nothing but continue to distract from the healing and peace you so clearly fight against.

Love is not an emotion, it is a commitment, and a power. 1 John 14:15 “Whoever does not love, does not know God for God is love.” Your pain has distorted your actions from those of love to those of control. No one has control over their emotions. Emotions happen whether we like them to or not, the only thing we can control is how we react to those emotions. Your reaction to emotional turmoil has been a detriment to your character. You have chosen to seek pity and validation rather than love and affirmation. You have chosen to rely on your own control. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6. You seek comfort in drinks and pain. I know this because I did the same thing. Pain is a teacher. God gave it to us to warn us when we are doing something that could have lasting consequences. It is interesting however that God also gave our bodies the ability to withstand pain. In that sense, we have all the tools to manipulate that sensation however we see fit, dependent only on our will.

When comfort is found in control, pain becomes a comfort. I know what to expect when I feel pain. I know how much pain I can handle, and I know what to do when the pain becomes too much. You and I are similar with respect to these realizations. Having total control over something like that feels good in the moment because whether the feeling is pain or pleasure, we are the authors of it. It is hard to give up that control. I was delivered from this thinking with a series of slaps in the face (metaphorically speaking) by God. I was told once, “You can be as mad at God as you want, because He can take it.” God can take your pain, and He wants to. God asks us to submit to Him. He wants total servitude. He wants us to let Him handle everything, and that is hard to do. It is difficult to give up control. It is difficult to give up pain. I respect you for what you have gone through, but your experience is no more entitling than any other. Your soap box is shined and ready and God is willing to watch you scream and cry all the days of your life, not that He wants that, but I cannot say the same for those around you.

If something far off looks like a duck, and sounds like a duck, a lot of the time it is a duck. You are such a quick judge of character in others it is hard to imagine why such a concept seems out of reach during introspection. I have witnessed you violently curse those who love you. The mere suggestion of seeking help for the issues you face from others sends you into a frenzy. This results in poisonous moments where all your elementary attempts at manipulation are appeased because your level of justification rises side by side with pride. Those that love you have said for years that you need to speak to someone, specifically someone who is unbiased. That is hard. It is hard to think that you could handle things a little better than you are now. An unbiased professional is not going to agree with you at every turn. No one on the planet is going to be able to mindlessly parrot back your own opinions with conviction. That is a credit to the beauty of our creator. He allowed for every person to be born autonomous from one another. Each person has their own thoughts and will, no two are alike. It is overwhelming almost to think of a creator that shaped each and every one of those people and cares for each one of them more than anyone ever could.

Your daughter is also an individual. She has her own, thoughts, opinions, feelings, and experience. Of course, no one on earth has thoughts or experiences more traumatizing, or insightful as you, however God did not put anyone here to subject their will onto others. He put us here to serve and love Him. Your daughter is exquisite, absolutely. In every conceivable facet of thought she is beautiful, kind, loving, intelligent, and influential. My greatest heartbreak is watching her demeanor after your ridicule. She is accomplished, successful, financially stable, involved with your family, my extended family, and the incontestable center of our family and home. She is an adult, and the decisions that she makes now are not connected to you in any way. She does not make decisions based on your input or feelings, nor should she. When she takes her calls I watch her demeanor physically transform from a powerful and loving woman into a helpless child. She has spent the majority of her adult life appeasing you.

As the firstborn child of two firstborn children, I understand how intensely we love. That bond will never be broken. Her love for you cannot accurately be put into words. Her transformation, when speaking to you, is so heartbreaking because she does not do this for fear of your criticism. Your criticism is self-serving, and therefore inevitable. She reverts to a childlike demeanor because she knows no matter how loud she screams, or what she says, she cannot help you. She is an adult with problems of her own. She has tried time and again to challenge your perception, even slightly. A challenge is unacceptable however, that is understood, because you are her mother, and nothing she or anyone says is correct unless it is a mirror image of your opinion. I know this to be true of course, as your opinions are taken down by modern scholars as the epitome of intellect gathered through experience. It is undeniable, that unless someone has the exact same experience as you, they cannot help you. The problem with that is, the only person with the exact same experiences as you can only be found in a mirror. Your daughter is not your problem and she is not a scapegoat for your melodramas. She is not required to give her opinion on your issues, martially or otherwise, and frankly she should never have been asked in the first place.

It is obvious that I am upset. I am not upset however because of what you have done to me. From the moment I learned about that first lie you have never earned my trust back. Simply put, what you do does not bother me, because you lie, and words without truth mean nothing. I am upset because you hurt my wife. As I said in the beginning God gave me the responsibility of heading my household. He holds me responsible for the protection of my family. Were you any other person in our lives, we would never speak again. The way you treat my wife and my family is absolutely unacceptable. You ask her for help and scorn her for giving it. You ask her for time together and spend that time belittling her. You lie to her. You lie about her husband, her family, and yourself, to her face. You disrespect her autonomy, her profession, and her life. One of the most disrespectful acts I have ever witnessed was performed by you to her detriment. She is a teacher. She is responsible for hundreds of children and their knowledge and she is phenomenal at it. She, like everyone has her own issues at work. When she needed a smart board for her room she went through all necessary and applicable steps to retrieve this tool. She handled her problem. You could not accept this. You took it upon yourself to call her boss.. Even typing this, it is hard to believe this even happened. The amount of disrespect and the utterly illogical nature of the act leave me aghast. You called her boss, like she was a child, and you were trying to get him to punish another child for taking her lunch money. Adults do not do that. You hurt her career by doing that. With one tap of your finger you simultaneously belittled every degree she had ever earned and decimated her credibility in the eyes of her employer. Her boss has never looked at her the same since then.

You say you are a fighter, but what are you fighting for? All the evidence I see points to the idea that you fight for attention and recognition in spite of those who love you the most. Of all the observations I have made, this last one may be the most glaring. Your grief may be incomprehensible to mere mortals, but what is more glaring than any of the statements I have made is the wake of destruction your grief has left in your home. Your condescension is unmatched. Your eldest son is twenty-five years old, your youngest son is twenty. They are not the helpless infants you see them as and they are not your excuse. It may be convenient, but after nearly a decade using your eldest son as an excuse has lost the validity it once had. I respect him more than most, even if he could stand to read some better literature. You use him, constantly. If I were in his shoes, the sheer arrogance alone would have pushed me into oblivion. It is not my place to say any of this, and I recognize that fully, however you hurt my wife, and you refuse to listen to anyone.

You will never read these words. There are a few reasons why. First, you do not deserve them. Anyone so blind to their own indignation, and so willing to lie to others in order to justify their own distorted perception is not willing or able to receive rebuke, or anything like it. Second, I love my wife, and I respect her as an adult. You are her family and my family. I am not a replacement for you, I am a part of her. I love her and I would never step in the way of her loving you. I will however step in the way of you hurting her. She deserves better from you, and from me. I am actively working to love her better every day, where you are not. Third, you will not read these words as they are intended to be heard. No matter what I had written or will write to you, any nuance of vulnerability you encounter, in your eyes, is nothing more than an opportunity for exploitation. I do not trust you. It would be unhealthy if I did.

Your attitude towards criticism is akin to that of a child whose been told no when asking for another cookie. I love you, and I have respect for the way you’ve raised your children, but your actions no longer resemble anything I would call motherly. I have a mother. I have been fortunate to have her my whole life. I know you want me to call you mom, but I can’t right now. I can’t call someone mom when they hurt my wife, or try to drive a wedge in my marriage. I can’t call someone mom when they seek to undermine everyone and everything around them without cause. I can’t call you mom, simply because you’re not. You are my family, but you are not my mom. I love you, but I cannot trust that you will do what is best for my wife or our family in any instance. I don’t want an apology from you. I know you would never give one, and if you did it would not mean anything. I want you to be better, because despite my unfettered rage with respect to your action, I do love you, and I really hope you move on.

With Hope

A Son

[azlyrics85]

Around the Web: Lockdown Lyrics. Poet Praise. Sneaker Snafu. Tinseltown Typing. Expensive Ephemera. Art Aging. Prying Pixels. Picturephone Promo. Transdermal Transponder. Busy Beaver.

The musical British circle of relatives who wittily chronicle lockdown existence. Marking the bicentenary of John Keats’ death. Adidas seeks to ditch its received Reebok brand. “warm typewriter action” scenes from pinnacle films.

 The booming marketplace for “nonfungible tokens”—digital art, ephemera, and media. An oil painter who makes a speciality of lenticular artwork. The “undercover agent pixels” in electronic mail messages that tune you. A promotional film for 1964’s pre-Zoom Picturephone, a commercial dud. Why “Zoom fatigue” is a actual thing. The aptly named DangerousThings helps you to inject chips and sensors into your body, for a few motive. A “rescue beaver” is compelled to block up open areas—indoors. All that and more in WhatTheyThink’s Martian miscellany.Marsh insanity AZlyrics way lower back in April, toward the start of “all this,” across the web related to the Marshes, a completely gifted English family that commenced recording tune parodies of their residing room that spoofed the then-new lockdown existence. Their motion pictures have gone, um, viral, and the new york instances brings us up to date on how they've handed the numerous British lockdowns. Meet the Marshes — Ben, Danielle, and their four children Alfie, 14, Thomas, 13, Ella, 11 and Tess, 9 — a own family from the English city of Faversham that has received unexpected repute for their revamped, tongue-in-cheek cover tunes about life in times of Covid. This six-voice choir, with its candy harmonies and the occasional wobbly word, is developing songs that dramatize the mundane moments of lockdown existence, from an excessive amount of screen time to the horrors of far flung gaining knowledge of….“We feel a bit bit like we will put things into words that occasionally different humans wouldn’t say — or struggle to say,” said Ben, the father, throughout a Zoom interview from his home, adding that they was hoping to bring humans some “fun and own family.”And now they ring in 2021 with their rendition of “general Eclipse of the heart”—“absolutely constant wherein we're.”What’s a Grecian Urn? last week marked the bicentenary of the demise of English poet John Keats, who died of tuberculosis at the age of 25. The mother or father has a spherical-up of the activities that were taking vicinity (commonly in the uk) to mark the event. The Poetry Society and the Keats residence Hampstead are operating together to mark the anniversary. The society has commissioned poets Ruth Padel, Rachael Boast and could Harris to jot down poems stimulated by means of Keats. Padel changed into inspired with the aid of his Ode to a Nightingale, Harris spoke back to Hyperion, and Boast to whilst i have Fears That I may additionally quit to Be…. … The Keats-Shelley Memorial residence in Rome, where Keats died, has released an immersive video excursion of the residence, led by rock megastar and philanthropist Bob Geldof, to mark the anniversary. Geldof, who is the Keats-Shelley200 ambassador, is likewise narrating a video story for the museum, The demise of Keats, wherein he'll read from letters that inform the tale of Keats’s time within the house and his demise. “Keats and the residence in Rome imply a lot to me, and it turned into a pride to work on these tasks for the bicentenary of his dying,” said Geldof. Geldof’s excursion may be watched with a VR headset or on a ordinary display, whilst a breathtaking tour of the residence with a live guide will also be to be had on 23 February…. … “Keats didn’t recollect himself to be a Romantic poet, however I think he knew he changed into a poet working on the vanguard of language and the creativeness, traits which nonetheless maintain actual,” stated Giuseppe Albano, curator of Keats-Shelley house. “after which there’s the irresistibly unhappy tale of his lifestyles and loss of life, as well as his letters, which might be a few of the freshest and deftest within the English language. It never ceases to amaze me simply how a whole lot love he evokes in site visitors to the Keats-Shelley residence, and the way his paintings has the energy to attract human beings in and join them.  hundred years after his demise, Keats’s poetry has in no way been more alive or more loved.” Discarded footwear once upon a time, Reeboks were the final in cool, however it’s unhappy to look—after a staunchly defended acquisition—Adidas now seeking to ditch them. Says commercial enterprise Insider: Adidas received Reebok in 2006 for more or less $three.8 billion in an try to higher compete with Nike, however the brand has published disappointing income figures in latest years. Adidas stated Tuesday that it has started a proper technique to divest from Reebok, pivoting to consciousness on its core brand. The (type)Write Stuff The word “hot typewriter action” may not be one you listen plenty, but, thru Boing Boing, here is The Typewriter by video essayist Ariel Avissar, “a group of warm typewriter motion as seen in movies and television suggests.” we've two demanding situations for you: call every movie, and call every typewriter. The soundtrack is, of path, Leroy Anderson’s “The Typewriter,” a concerto for orchestra and solo typewriter.could you pay nearly $six hundred,000 for an animated cat with a Pop-Tart body? No, nor could we, but the big apple instances had a tale this week on the growing market for—hoo boy—“nonfungible tokens” (NFTs) or, basically, “digital artwork, ephemera and media.” inside the 10 years on the grounds that Chris Torres created Nyan Cat, an animated flying cat with a Pop-Tart frame leaving a rainbow trail, the meme has been regarded and shared throughout the net hundreds of millions of times. On Thursday, he positioned a one-of-a-type model of it up on the market on basis, a website for buying and selling digital goods. inside the very last hour of the public sale, there has been a bidding conflict. Nyan Cat become bought to a user diagnosed handiest by using a cryptocurrency wallet range. The charge? more or less $580,000. curiously, “The buyers are normally not obtaining copyrights, emblems or maybe the sole possession of something it's far they purchase. They’re buying bragging rights and the expertise that their reproduction is the ‘authentic’ one. different virtual tokens lately bought include a clip of LeBron James blocking off a shot in a Lakers basketball recreation that went for $one hundred,000 in January and a Twitter publish through Mark Cuban, the investor and Dallas Mavericks owner, that went for $952. New instructions in artwork How tons unique The photograph of Dorian gray might have been if the titular libertine had had his portrait painted through Spanish artist Sergi Cadenas. An “optical artwork artist,” Cadenas is perhaps first-rate known for his lenticular oil portray approach, lenticular being a kind of photo that adjustments based on the route at which you are viewing it. His technique is described by using the Galeria Jordi Barnadas (which reveals his paintings) as “plac[ing] thin vertical lines made with portray paste on the canvases and, as soon as the paste is dry, paints  unique pics on every of the two sides of the almost two hundred lines.” He uses the lenticular approach to “seize via portray: the passing of the years, the concept of loss of life, intelligence against physical beauty, equality of races or contrary feelings.” E, spy despite the fact that we've got located that many humans do not study emails, it seems that electronic mail may be reading them. Writes the BBC with reference to “spy pixels”: tracking pixels are commonly a .GIF or .PNG file that is as small as 1x1 pixels, that is inserted into the header, footer or body of an e-mail. considering the fact that they often display the colour of the content beneath, they may be not possible to spot with the bare eye even in case you understand wherein to appearance. Recipients do now not want to click on a link or do anything to activate them past open an electronic mail they are embedded in. British airways, TalkTalk, Vodafone, Sainsbury's, Tesco, HSBC, Marks & Spencer, Asos and Unilever are among united kingdom brands hi there detected to be using them. however their use was lots extra big notwithstanding many contributors of the public being unaware of it, said Mr Hansson. AZlyrics What do they do? Emails pixels can be used to log: if and whilst an e mail is opened how frequently it's miles opened what tool or gadgets are worried the consumer's hard bodily location, deduced from their internet protocol (IP) address - in a few instances making it viable to look the road the recipient is on This statistics can then be used to determine the impact of a specific e-mail campaign, in addition to to feed into more exact patron profiles. Pre-Zoom Zoom Given how regular Skype, Zoom, groups, Meet, etc., are actually in our lives (and have been for numerous years before COVID), it’s fun to assume that for many years the “videophone” changed into a perennially doomed commercial mission. working example, AT&T’s Picturephone, which turned into brought at the 1964 world’s fair, launched commercially (handiest in Pittsburgh and Chicago) in 1970, and then discontinued the subsequent year after no one bought it. (there is a neat records of videophones at Engineering and technology history Wiki.) We carry this up due to the fact Boing Boing lately unearthed a Nineteen Seventies AT&T Bell Labs promotional film for the Picturephone. put up-Zoom Snooze if you discover Zooming (and we're the usage of the term in a general sense to consult videoconferencing, despite the fact that we should just as effortlessly—or more without difficulty, given the length of this rationalization—have used the term “videoconferencing”) to be as laborious as this sentence, there's a cause—4 of them, really. Or so are the findings of a new observe out from Stanford college as regards to “Zoom fatigue.” The take a look at seems in the journal era, thoughts, and behavior. the first motive for Zoom Fatigue cautioned by way of Bailenson is the kingdom of confused hyper-arousal generated with the aid of excessive stretches of close-up eye contact. in contrast to an in-person meeting, wherein individuals will shift from looking at a speaker to different sports, consisting of word taking, on Zoom everyone is always observing all and sundry…. …Bailenson says the steady barrage of complex non-verbal cues, both being despatched and received, throughout a Zoom interaction can be a primary have an effect on on the novel feel of fatigue generated through the technology. He shows long Zoom conferences ought to require audio-simplest breaks, to assist relieve the cognitive load of video interactions…. …perhaps the strangest a part of current videoconferencing is one’s reflection constantly staring lower back from the display screen. …[T]here may be a small negative affect generated by means of extensive replicate picture viewing, and this is probably underpinned via the way a mirrored image of oneself amplifies essential self-assessment. however Bailenson factors out this specific element is possibly the maximum profoundly understudied issue of videoconferencing as most previous mirror-image research has simplest focused on the have an effect on of seeing oneself for short periods of time. One for the Cutters We’re no longer positive this is a specifically suitable idea, but the name of the organization is a quite desirable warning. via Core77: “A Seattle-based totally business enterprise called DangerousThings.com sells small NFC, RFID and NTAG chips that you could inject into your body, via a syringe and a large-ass 5mm-diameter needle that additionally they sell.” Uh…good enough. but wait, there’s extra: additionally they provide this larger, programmable FlexMN Magic NTAG chip that may be "mounted" by using reducing your hand open and putting it below the pores and skin. for additonal bling, the chip has embedded LED lighting that may be seen thru your skin. The enterprise hurries up to add, “The flexMN transponder has now not been examined or certified through any regulatory organisation for implantation or use in the human body.” Caveat emptor, to be sure. “[T]he company recommends ‘expert installation’ for the FlexMN”—properly, random googling should help discover a hand-slicing-open-and-chip-putting expert. however for folks that like the DIY approach, “in addition they promote scalpels, a ‘numbing gel’ topical anesthetic and a pain control package along with ‘a collection of substances biohackers had been acknowledged to apply in live performance to provide a localized anesthetic ache blocking off effect.’” Which all begs the query, why would one need to try this? The Core77 article gives a sequence of motion pictures of the corporation’s no longer simply-proprietor-however-consumer the usage of it to release a smart door, unlock a computer, start a automobile or motorcycle, “We consider our our bodies are our very own, to do with what we need,” the organization writes. “Biohacking is leading the next segment of human evolution, and we are excited to be part of it.” We’ll pass on that one. Wynning Podcasts via The Verge, “Wynn motels announced today that it’s making an investment $3.5 million in Blue twine, a sports podcasting network, in a deal that’ll include the build out of a podcasting studio in the Wynn Las Vegas’ foyer.” EFI actually has to take this over for the next in-person join. Dam It! although we've got heard of rescue dogs, rescue cats, and so on., we had no concept that there has been a “rescue beaver.” thru Core77, Nancy Coyne a wildlife rehabilitation expert who adopts younger, orphaned animals of many species, did in fact take in an abandoned beaver puppy. there may be, however, a drawback to adopting a rescue beaver: “interior, ‘Beav’ has the hilarious addiction of spontaneously growing dams where he perceives voids, using household objects.” AZlyrics

[kuriquinn]

Telanadas [2/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer:

first chapter

Sakura’s resolve to press on only lasts a half hour, if only because Nature makes a more convincing argument than Comfort. Darkness falls sooner than expected, and they are forced to find shelter.

As the winds grow strong enough to press the travellers up against the sharp, icy façade of the mountain, Sasuke spots a cave almost obscured by rock and snow. Even luckier, it is large enough that all four of them can fit comfortably inside without infringing on each other’s personal space. Having had to sleep crowded against Naruto on at least two occasions lately and subjected to his kicking, Sasuke is more than relieved about this.

Once inside, Kakashi uses his magic to erect a barrier of fire, offering both protection from enemies and the frigid gusts of wind. As the blood flows back into Sasuke’s fingers and toes, the mage conjures a small fire. Meanwhile, Sakura takes on the undesirable job of fashioning a small latrine at the back of the cave.

“That’s all we need is for one of you to wander out to take a crap and fall off the side of a mountain,” she says cheerfully.

Sasuke doubts any of them will make use of such a thing unless they are snowed in here for days. Then again, dwarves and humans have such odd notions of hygiene and propriety he cannot be entirely sure.

While Sasuke lays out their gear and armour to dry near the fire, Naruto digs about in their supplies to put together a warm meal.

Though meal is being polite, Sasuke thinks with a grimace.

“I do not understand how you people can eat this,” he mutters, the complaint escaping him before he can stop it. He was taught to consider food no more than fuel, but after weeks of the same paltry fare he has lost patience. “Do I even want to know what it is?”

“I think it was lamb at some point,” Sakura says, accepting the makeshift bowl of tasteless noodles and jerky from the human. “But the texture…isn’t one I’d normally associate with lamb.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers,” Kakashi replies mildly, shrugging one shoulder.

“What are you guys talking about?” Naruto asks, slurping down his share. “This is so much better than that frilly stuff we had back at the castle! I hate food I can’t pronounce. And this stuff never goes bad. I bet if we packed it away, it’d still be good to eat fifty years from now!”

Sasuke stares at him in disgust. “I cannot even tell if you are joking or not.”

“He is not,” Kakashi confirms, examining what is left of their rations. “I am rather sure these are from supply caches that have not been opened since the Storm Age. They were old before I stole them from the Circle of Magi.”

“And…I’m done,” Sakura says, offering her still-full bowl to Naruto, who cheers and adds the share to his own. Sasuke is tempted to do the same, but as it might be construed as a kindness to the human, he refrains. “What about you, Sasuke-kun? You didn’t eat like this where you grew up, right?”

As always, she is trying to find out more about him.

“No.” He intends to leave it at that, but when she gazes up at him beseechingly, a follow-up question clearly on her lips, he elaborates: “Simple fare. Bread made from seeds. Milk from our halla. Vegetables.”

He tries not to lick his lips at the mere thought of tomatoes. It has been so long since they had a decent meal.

“Halla?” Sakura repeats, confused. “Is that a kind of animal in Oto?”

Sasuke tenses, realising his unconscious slip.

“Not necessarily Oto,” Kakashi answers for him, eyes widening in understanding. “Halla are creatures like horned stags. The Dalish consider them to be noble companions.” He raises an eyebrow. “I had wondered about the markings on your face, Sasuke. They resemble none of the tattoos that the House of Crows use…but I have never seen that particular vallaslin before, either.”

“Dalish?” Naruto asks Sasuke in slack-jawed awe. “Wow, really? Arl Hiruzen used to talk about the Dalish, but I’ve never actually met one before!”

“Your powers of observation are worse than I thought, as you have been travelling with one for weeks now,” Sasuke bites out.

“Oi!”

“What’s vallaslin?” Sakura asks quickly, obviously attempting to curtail an argument.

Sasuke shrugs noncommittally, not wanting to explain.

“It translates to ‘blood writing’, if memory serves,” Kakashi says in his place. “A sign of adulthood, and adherence to the beliefs and traditions of the Dalish. It is surprising that one who submitted to the ritual would then be found working as an assassin for the House of Crows.”

“Chains of a past that no longer exists,” Sasuke interrupts. “I am going to sleep. It has been a long day.”

He turns away from the fire, a clear message that he has no intention of answering any questions or pursuing the discussion further.

He can feel Sakura’s eyes on him, but after a short pause, she suddenly says, “Well, that still sounds a lot better than what happened to me. I got this—” He imagines she is pointing at the rhombus shaped brand on her forehead, “—just for being born in the wrong place.”

“Heh. I understand what that’s like,” Naruto snorts.

“Maybe. Except as far as I know, Konoha doesn’t brand a newborn with a hot poker just because his parents were unwed.”

“What? No way!”

“Uh-huh. The minute a casteless dwarf is born, we get marked, so there’s no way to mistake who we are if the nobles catch us lurking in the richer quarters. Also, it makes it way easier for Carta recruiters to decide which kids they can press-gang into doing their dirty work.”

“Carta—the dwarven crime syndicate?” Kakashi questions, sounding surprised.

Back still turned in a pretence of sleep, Sasuke frowns. He does not find that surprising at all. It certainly explains her occasionally mercenary attitude and her talent for surviving insurmountable odds. The Carta offers about as friendly an upbringing as the Crows do.

“They’re the ones who smuggled lyrium to the Templars,” Naruto whispers, a little uncomfortable. No doubt he had comrades who suffered from that particular addiction. “You were one of them?”

“There wasn’t much choice,” she replies, unembarrassed. “Since the most respectable job for a casteless dwarf is sweeping the streets, and there’s only a few people who even get that job. It’s either work for the Carta or become a noble hunter. And I’d starve to death begging before I got on my back for some jacked-up noble because I might bear him a son.” She sounds abruptly fierce just then. “No disrespect to the women I grew up with who did that—there’d be no dwarves left down there if there were no noble hunters. But I won’t sell my heart for the small chance of pretty clothes and jewels.”

Sasuke snorts at this.

There is that naivety again.

“It seems we are talking too loudly and disturbing the elf’s sleep,” Kakashi remarks wryly, but Sasuke refuses to reply. It is enough that he has been forced by close quarters to listen to this.

Sakura is not so easily fooled; though she does not speak to him, her next words are pointed.

“People should be allowed to love one another without reprisal. Without duty or society or anyone else’s agenda getting in the way,” Sakura says, and her tone has lost all the levity he would normally associate with it. She only sounds like that when defending a cause that she considers worthy.

 “You’re right,” Naruto says quickly. “The world would be a much nicer place if that were true.”

“Perhaps some places,” Kakashi says carefully. “Circles of the Magi, for one. But for the good of the many, sometimes the desires of the few need to be set aside. Many a peace accord may never have happened if the belligerents in a conflict did not seal it with a marriage. And our world may have looked much different.”

“Maybe up here on the surface,” Sakura says. “Back in Iwa they’re so obsessed with blood purity that soon there won’t be anyone left to marry, diplomatic or not. If people could choose…if people could choose, Iwa might not be falling into the dust.”

There is sadness and anger in her tone, coupled with the sudden shifting of her body.

“Anyhow. It’s not like any of this matters here and now,” she goes on, and her tone is such an abrupt shift to cheeriness that Sasuke knows it is fake. “We just have to get to that temple and find those ashes to help Arl Hiruzen.”

“That is assuming they do exist,” Kakashi says reasonably. “This ‘Urn of Sacred Ashes’ could be nothing more than a rumour. Or a hoax.”

“You couldn’t have said something before we climbed half a mountain to get here?” Sakura jokes lightly. “Shannaro…”

“No, it’s real,” Naruto insists, faithful Templar even now. “Just wait, we’ll get those ashes back to him and he’ll be kicking down Danzō’s door in no time—believe it!”

The dwarf is not the only naïve one.

“I’m sure you’re right, Naruto,” Sakura says warmly. “But in order to get up there, we need to be at full strength. Which means sleep. I can take first watch if you want.”

“No, you’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard the last few days, Sakura. Take a break. Kakashi and I can keep a lookout since someone’s being a lazy arse.”

The recipient of the barb rolls his eyes.

“Naruto,” Sakura warns.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Go on, Sakura, he is right. You are no good to your cause if you pass out and freeze to death in the snow,” Kakashi coaxes.

“Hah! Like I’d let that happen!” Naruto scoffs.

“Well, thank you guys. I guess I can take an hour—but I will take second watch at least.”

That is what you think, Sasuke decides.

Annoying as the humans are, they are correct. Sakura is no good to them dead from exhaustion. Especially since Sasuke has thrown his lot in with her, he intends to keep her alive until he figures her out.

It should not be an issue to take the next watch.

There is a sound of shifting armour and the rustling of a camp bed, and he imagines Sakura has indeed turned in for the night. Kakashi and Naruto murmur to each other quietly, not wanting to disturb her; Sasuke is not so lucky, his ears picking up even the quietest whispers.

“I’m actually just as tired,” Naruto groans. “I’ll play you for first watch, if you promise not to cheat.”

“No, you go ahead and sleep. I’ll stay up and read for a little.”

“Ugh…just make sure you ‘read’ far away from my blanket.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. You mages are all perverts…”

Sasuke silently agrees.

After that, everything goes quiet (or as quiet as they can with Naruto’s snores). Sasuke allows himself to sink into a light sleep for a few hours, but when his ears pick up on Kakashi shifting in discomfort, he rouses himself. The older man has an odd propensity to take longer watches than he ought, to let everyone else rest. This makes no sense considering Sasuke does not need as much sleep as anyone else in the party. Sakura would say it is because Kakashi is an old mother hen at heart, but Sasuke is not sure. He does not trust humans, and mages even less, even when they do not wear masks to cover all but the eyes, the way Kakashi does.

With a stretch, Sasuke climbs out of his bedroll. He heads for the mouth of the cave to take a piss, then goes to sit beside the mage.

“I will take the watch until morning,” he murmurs. “You people are no use to me dead on your feet.”

“I sense there was concern in there somewhere behind all the stoic,” Kakashi remarks.

“Tch.”

“I’m serious, Sasuke. You are so tightly wound, it cannot be good for you. You know what would do you some good?”

“I suspect you are about to tell me.”

“If you went out some time, found a girl, and did naughty things with her that did not involve trousers,” the mage continues as if he hasn’t heard him. “If you are in the market, I know of at least one who is definitely interested.”

The way his eyes slide toward where Sakura is sleeping, albeit fitfully, leaves no question to whom he is referring.

“Len’alas lath’din,” Sasuke grumbles, turning away in contempt.

“Now, now, that is not very polite,” the mage says, more amused than offended. And it should not surprise Sasuke that the older man knows Elvish, especially given his remarks earlier about blood writing. No doubt he has read about it in his studies, locked away in one of those shemlen towers.

He honestly has no intention of replying, but Kakashi continues to look more amused than he should. It reminds Sasuke a little of the teasing his cousin Shisui used to subject him to, and now, as then, his pride does not allow him to let it go.

“What makes you think I have not already?” he hedges.

Kakashi chuckles. “I can smell purity a mile away. It is a talent.”

“That proves to be useful, I am sure.”

“Not that often, as it turns out. It would be much better if I could sense Templars. It might make them easier to avoid.”

Sasuke snorts. “You have my deepest condolences.”

“Heh. Likewise.” Kakashi puts away his well-worn, orange-covered book. “And so does she.”

The comment has Sasuke puzzling over it longer than he will admit.

When he gets it, he wonders if it is too late to hit the older man.

Translations:

Halla – type of horned stag, used by the Dalish to pull their landships

Vallaslin – intricate facial tattoos worn by adult clan members of the Dalish elf tribes

Arl – feudal title; rules over an arling

Lyrium – valuable mineral/material whose consumption can strengthen a mage and boost their mana

Len’alas lath’din - dirty child no one loves; Dalish insult

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