#and a harris hawk i think

[firelord-frowny]

hi, PLEASE look at this PRECIOUS video of a common raven trying really really really hard to get a reaction out of an american crow.

[57sfinest]

i wanted to look at the symbolism of the ocean in disco elysium because it features so prominently in the setting. insulinde being an isola comprised of islands, martinaise as a port town financially anchored by its ocean trade. the divisions brought by water that we see in the geography: how the canal separates the working district of martinaise from the even poorer, commerce-less village-- how the river esperance separates the worst ghettos of revachol and jamrock from the more rebuilt and financially stable districts-- how, for example, lilienne looks across the bay of revachol to the wealthy district of la delta, a poignant moment of separation between someone desperately poor and the towers of wealth built out of the ruins of revachol. we see water, and often the sea specifically, acting as a divider in various contexts. 

the ocean of time and distance that separates dora and harry, that separates klaasje from oranje:

then, further into the idea of the ocean as representative of time: in various contexts i see the ocean as representing the past. memory residing under the waves, and each of us living above water-- in the present-- but often still helpless to the tides when we’re not careful. to me this is cemented by the implication that the pale is commonly theorized as an *outer ocean* (juxtaposed with harry’s introspective skill, inland empire!!): the pale is the past, and if the pale is seen as an outer ocean, then right there is a tangible connection between the two. memory and the past as an ocean, dangerous if you don’t respect its power, but ultimately navigable. there is frequent reference made to the fact that the bombed ruins of martinaise are sinking or lost into the ocean, lost to the past, now only memory. 

and harry, who is living in the past and being consumed by nostalgia like a rot, drives his car into the ocean. harry’s badge, which is conflated with his identity in the aftermath of his amnesia, was underwater before he pulled it from the car: until he got it, his entire identity was lost with his memory in the past. klaasje’s documents, too, presumed lost to the ocean, a loss of who she was or claimed to be (until you meet the phasmid). lilienne’s husband was lost to the waves, and in the same lines she’ll dismiss your concerns-- he’s in the past now, she’s really not too upset. the cleaning lady, abandoned by the world, who has only her own memories for company in her sea-beaten room. in the context of ruby’s near-suicide in the shack, how inland specifies how the “waves had calmed” as she put the gun away: ruby distancing herself from the past that she thinks is chasing her to form a better plan. the working-class husband, who, had his corpse fallen through the boardwalk into the ocean, would have been lost to the past, living only in the memory of billie and their daughters.

for me, the final dream had some of the heaviest but most subtle inclusions of the ocean symbolism. it’s brought on by looking into the ocean around the seafort and takes place under the ocean somewhere. even before the dream, dora is alluded to in the context of the sea. she moved across the ocean and now, to him, she’s lost under it. she’s trapped in his memory.

where we see things half-submerged or partially oceanic, we see a bridge between the past and the present being represented. something partially lost to the past but still with a foot in the here and now. harry’s half-sunken car, in part a representation of his career: part of his past, yes, but still very much in his present. one of the primary spiritual practices we hear of is the volta do mar: originally a palefarer’s practice to keep them grounded in an onslaught by the past, and its meaning is *return from the sea*. when harry tries to turn back time, he wants to go back to a time when the sun had not yet sunk into the sea-- when the light in his life didn’t reside solely in the past.

also in this context, something that really struck me was how harry will sometimes think of himself in the context of the sea. first is the sea monster thought, brought about by the broken plaza: him as a creature submerged in the past, terrorizing the present. and seafaring brought up to represent a kind of compromise between living in the present and acknowledging the draw of nostalgia. even joyce in her limited knowledge of harry compares him to a “half-submerged ruin”. and when harry is prompted into introspection by the dros predicament, inland empire becomes the *inland sea*.

and i really want to make a final, individual point of this. the whirling-in-rags music is sea power’s song “fire escape in the sea”. there is an explicit reference made to the song by shivers as well, and i think the choice of this song is very intentional. the whirling-in-rags is where harry forgot his whole life, the whole world, and it’s where he wakes up and begins to piece it all back together. the whirling-in-rags is harry’s fire escape in the sea. his bridge between his past and his present, his last-ditch attempt at escape from the tortures of his subconscious. 

(this is by no means exhaustive, there are a lot of other moments where the sea comes in, but i included the moments that spoke to me most. you’re welcome to add your own!)

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

headcanon that astoria went through a rebellious phase in her teens and got a nose piercing and a tiny hidden tattoo on her hip ✨️

[simpee9000]

Simpee - 18 - she/her

!mature content!

Ho(rny)peless romantic who's hardly felt the touch of a man, so I resort to reading it. And writing it. Sometimes. Taking requests, but I can't promise anything :) Feel free to message me <3

m.list ~ recs Twitter ~ Wattpad ~ A03 ~ who I will write for is in the tags <3

[v0idwraith]

james lance has officially joined the ranks of straight men i trust to portray queer characters

[whoisnotmyname]

“Sleeves Are Bullshit” Hawke triplets i’m so sorry Leandra

Kestrel is the eldest and a mage, Cooper and Harris are technically mirror twins? Don’t think about it too hard. Coop is a two-handed warrior, and Harris is an archer specializing in long bow/distance.

[overthemoonwithme]

it's still wild to me that Jameela was essentially forced to perform a "coming out" ritual for gay men to accept her as a judge in Legendary because didn't all of us who follow her from the Good Place know that she was bi for years at that point? And many of them still argue that she was "gay for a day" and whatnot. It's giving heteronormativity, comphet and misogyny disguised as "queerbaiting"

[awkward-parabuteo]

URL change!

awkward-red-tail → awkward-parabuteo

[mulderscully]

We were robbed of Harry saving Cooper from the Black Lodge okay, we were robbed of Harry/Coop endgame.

ily but i'm not a harry/coop girlie at all lol

in all seriousness i think the "foreshadowing" actually lead toward hawk saving him, but looking back now it was definitely a red herring :/ coop is doomed by the narrative the entire time.

[crepusculum-rattus]

thinking abt 3rd life grian…. he would make a good harris hawk i think

[bynux]

"don't vote for Harris or you're supporting genocide" "voting blue is still voting for fascists" Then what else do you expect us to do?

Here are some options y'all seem to insist on and why they're fucking stupid:

Vote Third Party :: Until we have ranked-choice voting (and probably even if we did have ranked-choice voting), it is practically impossible to make a 3rd-party candidate viable. There's not enough of the population that's far enough from moderate to give up their "safe" blue vote for some "revolutionary."

Don't Vote At All :: I'd prefer to pick my enemy. If I'm going to be working in spite of the government, or even against it in some ways, I'd rather the people I'm working against not already be targeting me for being queer, for example. If my options are "bad" or "much, much worse" I'm gonna pick "bad" and try to improve things from there.

Violent Revolution :: It's a cosplay power fantasy in the same vein as the Right-wingers looking for a reason to shoot protesters. Assuming you even have enough people organized and enough firepower to pull that off in the first place…have you prepared a plan to keep the innocents alive and safe? Are you sure you can keep supply chains for food and medicines intact? Are you sure there will be resources available for the disabled, the scared, the young and old, those who won't be able to fight and still need to be taken care of? Turns out revolution is ugly and causes a lot of undue collateral damage. Are the lives "saved" really going to outweigh those whose lives will be upended and destroyed? It's not like a newly-toppled, unorganized country will be able to do anything about Israel/Gaza, so you're just hurting and killing far more people than you're saving.

As for the power you do have to better things (and make Leftism more viable as a political stance in the US)?

Work at the level of your local government. If you're in a small enough town or neighborhood and think you have what it takes, run for local office. Be a local face of the left wing; you're far more likely to sway a small town to your views than the whole country, and each small town with a socialist-leaning government is a dot on the map for larger-scale viability, and you can help keep your community safe while trying to build up in scale.

Build community so we can keep each other safe if worse does come to worst. Push mutual aid initiatives, help at food banks, grow produce to donate to those in need, apply to work at your local free clinic, empower local businesses whenever possible so that if there is a socioeconomic collapse, you and those you love aren't left completely without resources.

Protest, and make it disruptive. You can be disruptive without being violent: graffiti, blocking roads, encampments, sit-ins, to name a few examples. Create inconveniences so it gets people's attention whether they like it or not.

Above all, FUCKING VOTE BLUE. You're choosing your enemy. You get to help decide if the government we're working in spite of is run by milquetoast neoliberal war hawks who do, on some rare occasions, actually make things marginally better…or full-tilt Christo-fascists who want to kill some of us for kissing people with the same genitals as us. There aren't any other options that are going to be picked. It sucks, but at the bare minimum we can pick the option that isn't going to actively murder us while we try to build up viability for a candidate who won't sell out brown people to an ethnostate.

If you aren't doing at least one of the things above, then don't lecture me about how I keep myself and my community safe. I'd love to see a United States (or some future iteration of it) that acknowledges the sovereign rights of indigenous peoples, that doesn't fund genocide, that provides healthcare as a basic human right, that doesn't meddle in every other country's business. But if we are to see that, let alone help that happen, we need to survive this next presidential administration.

Edit: y'all have lost reblog privileges. If you wanna screenshot this and have stupid unnuanced opinions OFF of my post, be my guest. Just leave me tf alone.

[herpsandbirds]

I like it when birds have pants, like the booted eagle. Can we get some birds with pants?

When I think of birds with pants, I think of raptors mostly. Let's find some birds with pants...

Red-necked Falcon (Falco chicquera), with prey, family Falconidae, Changalpattu, Tamil Nadu, India

photograph by Sriram Reddy

Shaheen Falcon (Falco peregrinus peregrinator), family Falconidae, found across South and parts of East Asia

This is a non-migratory subspecies of the Peregrine Falcon.

photograph by @sambathsubbaiah

Harris’s Hawk (Parabuteo unicinctus), family Accipitridae, being chased by a Northern Mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos), family Mimidae, Santa Clara Ranch, TX, USA

photograph by @hector_astorga_photography

[mockingjaysnakes]

some facts about tom blyth:

did therapy.

he has a motorcycle.

he used to draw, learning how to use oil colors and mixing paint would be a feasible hobby to fit in between concerts.

in an interview he said: "i like the idea of doing something that scares me because that's where you learn the most."

his teenage (and ironic) fear of snakes derived from Indiana Jones and the unknown terrors that lurk in deep waters were conquered through exposure therapy.

he is studying and learning to speak Italian for his next film.

the mix of teenage angst, self-loathing and mischief has been processed in therapy. Now that you have competent knowledge, confidence and experience, acting has become more of something you can experiment with, learn from and expand on.

for Tom, acting used to be a form of escape. In an interview he talked about it: "i love accents, costumes, anything that takes me further away from myself because before I simply wanted to be anything but myself."

Donald Sutherland was actually one of his favorite characters in the original films of 'the hunger games'. In an interview he spoke about him and said: "i think he is one of the best villains in modern cinema."

Maya Hawke and Tom met at the Juilliard audition, the first time they started talking was at a school question and answer session.

he always creates a playlist for each character he's playing.

he gets a little camera shy when playing himself.

his passion for acting was influenced by his father, although he did not spend much time with him because he died when he was young.

during the pandemic, Tom was living in a cabin in the woods upstate, and he got up at 8 a.m. every day to chop wood for the wood stove to stay warm. "I was living this kind of lonely life and auditioning every day and just looking for the right job."

he loved western movies when he was a child.

at the premiere of The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, in Los Angeles. After he took off his oversized jacket, exposing his arms, Rachel Zegler spent the next day sending him messages about the "thirst trap."

his favorite rom-com movie is 'When Harry Met Sally'.

[breadbrobin]

our little affair

james potter x reader — harry potter; marauders era

[gn!reader]

summary: before three months ago, you hated james potter, and everyone knew it. then everything changed. now, you’re meeting him in dark hallways and he’s leaving hickeys on your neck, and someone is going full private detective to find out just who you’re seeing.

warnings: swearing, kissing, reader and james are in love but they won’t admit it, allusions to sexual content—non-explicit.

word count: 1.2k

(it’s been a WHILE but i’m back and writing for a completely different fandom lollll anyway james has always been the loml and i think he deserves to get made out with in a hallway thank you for coming to my ted talk)

———————————

three months. that’s how long it had taken for someone to figure out you were in love.

to be fair to lily, it had taken you around the same amount of time, and you were inside your own head, with full access to all those innocent and not-so-innocent thoughts 24/7.

it was a little stifling, how she watched you like a hawk to see who you were smiling at, glancing towards, blushing because of. and it was a little more than a little embarrassing that she’d figured you out so easily.

it was stupid, really. a hickey left slightly too high and a shirt collar dipping slightly too low while you studied. that was all it took.

“what is that?” she’d asked accusingly.

“what?” you frowned, looking up at her across the table.

“that.” she jerked her head at you, her eyes locked on your collar. “that’s a hickey.”

“no, it’s not,” you’d hissed sharply, but you’d tugged your collar up far too quickly to play it off anymore. she shot you a look, and you had to sigh. “fine. yes, it is. don’t ask who, when, where or how, please.”

“so you’re embarrassed.” she’d nodded understandingly.

your cheeks had flared red as you caught sight of james—god, james potter and his magic lips and warm hands and—stop it—over her shoulder, looking back at her before she could realise your attention had strayed. “i’m not embarrassed. it’s just… private.”

“for now or for good?”

“for now,” you’d answered like you knew for sure. in truth, you didn’t. you’d avoided talking about the whole public relationship thing with james because, well, was it even really a relationship now? could you call sneaking around and leaving secret notes and making out in secluded hallways a relationship? you really didn’t know, and you also really didn’t want to deal with it very much.

regardless, lily was obsessed. when she’d inevitably asked, claiming it was her right as your best friend to know and threaten the poor person, you’d shut her down, and she’d become a woman on a mission.

it was like she’d turned from your best friend to your bodyguard. you felt like the president of the united states, with the secret service watching your every move. it was, honestly, tiring.

it also didn’t help that james was as subtle as a gun in an echo chamber. every chance he got he was smiling over at you, slipping you notes half as sneakily as he should, winking at you across rooms and teasing you every chance he got. it wouldn’t take long, you knew that. you also knew that the moment lily found out the truth, every shred of your reputation that you’d built up over the years would crumble away.

years of hating james potter’s guts had slipped away in the blink of an eye, leaving you floundering in the deep end, and him as your dashing lifeguard, saving you easily. it was infuriating, and what was worse, was that you liked it.

you liked his lips on yours. you liked his body pinning you against a wall. you liked his touch, his smile, his voice… you liked him.

maybe you were a little embarrassed after all.

but you couldn’t even think of embarrassment when james slipped you a note with a tiny doodle of professor flitwick falling off his stack of books, and looked at you with that goofy smile that made you want to melt and then kiss him stupid. ugh, it was ridiculous.

but he was addictive, and after class when you met in the same secluded side hallway as always, and his lips found yours like they needed to be there for him to survive, and his hands were on your hips, your waist, your back, your hair… it didn’t feel so ridiculous. and suddenly you didn’t care.

he always melted into you like he’d been waiting all day for your touch. his shoulders dropped, the tension slipping away from them. a soft sigh of relaxation left him as he touched you.

and it was only you and him in the world, and it was perfect and—

“oh my god!”

james jumped away from you like he’d been burned. you covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head frantically, meeting lily’s wide eyes.

“lily, i—“

“ew, guys, really?” you thought she’d be mad that you were kissing a marauder, but she looked positively gleeful. “i knew i’d be the one to find you two!”

you and james both frowned.

“what?” he asked.

“god, marlene owes me ten galleons.” she laughed, shaking her head. “thank you, guys, really. fucking hell.”

you just stared at her with wide eyes. “you’re not upset?”

“upset?” she snorted. “babes, why would i be upset?”

“because…” you floundered for a moment, gesturing at james. “he’s a marauder.”

he snorted. “wow, thanks.”

“you know what i mean,” you scoffed.

lily laughed. “i don’t care who you make out with. i just care that you’re happy. and you’ve been happy these last few weeks since you two got together.”

“months,” you corrected absently.

“months?”

“three months and four days, to be exact,” james cut in helpfully.

lily stared at you two for a moment before shaking her head in wonder and stepping away. “wow… first of all, i’m offended you didn’t tell me. second of all… you guys have got to find a better hiding spot. everyone knows. marlene and i placed bets on who would find you guys making out first.”

you stared at her. “wait, what?”

she turned and walked down the hall. “toodles! i have to go cash in. use protection!”

and just like that, she was gone, leaving you and james standing in the hallway, confused.

“did that…?” you started, trailing off.

“yeah, i think so.” he frowned, leaning against the wall beside him. “huh. so… if everyone knows already…?”

you looked at him curiously. “what are you suggesting, potter?”

“what do you say to me asking you out? officially.” he stepped closer, fingers brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

you couldn’t stop the stupid smile from breaking onto your face. “i say yes.”

“great. that’s awesome. really.” he grinned, lips mere inches from yours. “because i’ve actually been wanting to ask you out for ages, and—“

“would you kiss me again, potter? and stop talking for once?”

“oh, yeah, right.”

and his lips were on yours again, and his hands were holding you close, and unlike every other time you’d kissed, you didn’t feel the need to hide and pull him down an abandoned hallway. actually, you felt completely fine kissing him in the middle of one of the main hallways of the school, even when footsteps entered the hall, and even when sirius black’s voice started loudly complaining at the two of you. even then, all you did was smile against james’ lips, and revel in the moment. you’d be late for your study session with your friends, but you had more important things to do.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 4 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, lots of crying and worrying, we're basically just an emotional mess, Eddie tries his best

WC: 1.1k

Divider credit to @saradika

April 1999 

Emotional is a word you’d previously used to describe yourself in the three or four days leading up to your period. Patience thinner than a thread, eyes misting at movies you’ve already watched a thousand times over—that was par for the course. 

And it didn’t hold a candle to pregnancy hormones. 

You’re dusting the bedroom furniture, the air fragrant with lemon Pledge. You spray the cleaner onto Eddie’s nightstand, carefully wiping down the wooden surface and twisting the rag over the knobs. Perched in a silver frame is Harris’s school photo from September. He’s sporting a huge grin that looks much different than his current smile; for one, his two front baby teeth are long gone now, his permanent teeth not yet pushing through his naked gums. His hair has grown out from the fresh cut he’d gotten just prior to Picture Day, the curls once again wild and untamed. Though you can’t see it in the picture, you know he’s a few inches taller. Compared to the little boy in the still image, he seems so…grown up now.

Your heart lurches when it dawns on you that you’ll never get those months back. Harris is seven years old now, closer to the beginning of second grade than first. And in just thirty short weeks, he’ll no longer be the youngest Munson.

A single water droplet plops onto the glass covering, magnifying one of his big brown eyes. Another lands on the frame, and then another, and you realize that you’re staining it with your own tears.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you mumble under your breath, using your shirt’s hem to wipe the glass clean. You see this photo every day, but it suddenly has you choked up, nostrils stuffy as you try to stifle your crying. Thank God no one else is home to witness you being a sniveling mess over something so trivial. 

It doesn’t even occur to you that this newfound influx of intense emotions may be due to your pregnancy until a few evenings later when Eddie brings home a VHS copy of The Lion King from Family Video. Your fingers reach for the butter-drenched popcorn, dropping a few kernels in your mouth and crunching down as Scar taunts Mufasa from above. 

Harris sits on the sofa between you and Eddie, his hands clamped over his eyes in anticipation of the inevitable wildebeest stampede, as though eliminating his sense of sight will keep Mufasa alive somehow. 

Ah, childhood innocence, you think, a wistful smile gracing your lips. You watch as he parts his pointer and middle fingers, peeking between the gaps. One day, he’ll be able to watch this scene without hiding. He’ll be catching movies at the Hawk with his friends, and then on dates, and he won’t want to hang out with his parents anymore…

The tears trickle down your cheeks just as Scar loosens his grip on Mufasa’s paws, watching his brother fall to his death. His brother—what if Harris and the new baby grow up to despise each other? What if Harris resents them for taking the attention away from him? What if the baby develops that younger sibling syndrome where they feel they can never measure up?

“Sweetheart? What’s going on?” Eddie’s concerned voice captures your attention. You turn to him with glassy eyes, noting the amused smile twisting his lips. “Animated lions tuggin’ at your heartstrings?”

Anger surges through you as though a switch has been flipped. You’re bearing the weight of emotion on your shoulders, and he’s on the verge of laughter?

“Is this funny to you?” you snap, rage searing each word. Before he can answer, you’re on your feet and marching into the bedroom, fists clenched at your sides. 

Eddie’s right at your heels, one hand grasping at your waist while the other quietly closes the door behind him. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, brushing the moisture from your cheeks. “I’m sorry I laughed at you. I…we’ve seen this movie before, and you’ve never gotten this upset.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you blurt out, prompting a new round of sobs. “It’s sad, but not this sad, and all I could think about is Harris and the baby hating each other like Mufasa and Scar.”

Your husband tucks his lips into his mouth, poorly stifling another giggle. “You…you started crying because you’re worried about a sibling rivalry that doesn’t even exist?”

You can’t help but laugh along with him when he phrases it like that. “Shut up!” you manage through a foreign combination of laughter and tears. “It could happen! They could grow up, become enemies, and—”

“And organize a wildebeest stampede to overthrow the other as King of the Jungle?” Eddie pulls back when your palm meets his chest in a playful shove. “Okay, okay!” he chuckles, holding up his forefinger. “Just one more question: which one of our kids gets trampled?”

“I hate you.” You pluck a Kleenex from your bedside table and dab underneath your eyes, a burgeoning smile quelling your frustration. “My hormones are out of control, and you’re over here having the time of your life.”

He dramatically throws his arms around you, lips pressing to your temple while he chuckles into the kiss. “My emotional little baby mama,” he teases. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart; I think it’s cute. Terrifying, but cute.”

You nod, lacing your fingers with his as he leads you back into the living room. Harris is still laying back on the sofa, fully invested in Timon and Pumbaa’s on-screen bickering. 

“Har, where’d your bowl of popcorn go?” Yours and Eddie’s bowls sit on the coffee table awaiting your return, but Harris’ is nowhere to be found. 

“Oh, yeah. I ate it all, so I put the bowl back in the sink.”

He says this nonchalantly, eyes never leaving the TV set; regardless, nostalgia washes over you. When you’d first met him, he could barely even reach the sink. Now he’s placing his dishes there on his own without even being asked?

“Don’t worry, Mommy; you don’t need to cry. This is a funny part.” He furrows his brows when your lower lip trembles in response. “You wanna do the breathing?” He inhales and exhales for three seconds each, just as you’d taught him on that fateful Halloween afternoon over two years ago, watching as you do the same. “Better?”

“Mhm. Better.” You kiss his mussed curls, settling back into your original position to watch the movie; of course, not without sobbing when Simba speaks to Mufasa in the stars.

Note to self, Eddie thinks wryly, rent a comedy next week.

--

[stressfulsloth]

Thinking about Harry and all the animal parallels that follow him through the narrative. It's true that these animal parallels reflect the way that the brutality of individualist moralism strips him of humanity as someone who has fallen through the safety nets, and his agonised shout of 'I don't want to be this kind of animal anymore' can be interpreted as a direct admission of the RCM's dehumanisation of him as a disabled addict who is no longer as 'useful' as he once was. Gottlieb even directly tells him '[he] lost [his] human visage a while back.' Jean calls him 'the most dangerous animal of them all'. The rabid dog that needs to be put down, the black dog (also a common metaphor for chronic mental illness!) that Mollins shoots as it licks its wounds; the scared, hurt, frightened animal lashing out, chewing off it's own leg to escape the trap that it's caught in. The wild dog is all they can see.

But then there is a flipside to these parallels too; a kindness, a gentleness, almost a freedom in Harry’s animal parallels. He's strong like a 'goddamn ox,' like a bear ('I had to kill the bear to become the bear'). He's a harrier hawk, a name given to ensure his safety, raised up to the level of the aerostatics looking down over Revachol, 'soar[ing] on the wings of [his] spirit hawk.' He's a leopard ('its impossible to know where you end and the leopard begins'), discovering or rediscovering a love of softness and sensuality that he'd not known before via the leopard print leotard that 'speaks to the animal inside [him]' and touches on his relationship with his gender ('Yes, this is the type of animal I want to be.').

He's a 'seagull', a bird that will do 'whatever it takes to survive,' a 'bird of paradise' that tells a story of 'endurance- and adaptation' ('You! You and the seagull are just alike!'). He survives, despite everything, despite the grimness of the world around him. He endures. Even the sea monster comparison is oddly kind ('You've become a sea monster -- giant, hidden and... strangely tender at heart'). Even as a monster, he's still gentle; he still has so much love for this world that has wrung every last bit out of him. As if his tenderness is such an inherent part of him that no matter what monstrous face he wears, no matter what creature is there in his shadow, he cannot help but have some trace of it at his core. His tender soul 'quivering like jello.' The pain he feels is raw and animal but so is the love he feels. So is the hope and the fear and the wonder.