#for averse's case its a split by choice

[a-v-j]

Hi again, I'm starting to wonder about the different versions of Auto, mainly Averse if I'm being honest, so here's a question for him (or all the Autos, if you want them all to answer idc) how tf were you made and whats your purpose? I just seen them mostly doing random shit so far.

*end of flashback*

Yeah, no, he's not gonna tell you much about himself but as his creator and ill tell you bits of it anyway lol

[lady-djarin]

thoroughfare

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: not even close to canon events, no ellie, no jackson mentioned, joel is a softie protector type, age gap (legal 50s/late 20s), one bed trope, spooning, fingering, oral (f receiving first time), piv sex, mdni, 18+

word count: 2.4k

a/n: yall know me i can’t hear a song and not make a fic from it. as a daughter of cain i couldn’t help but make something from one of her many songs and this album specifically changed me in many ways. i also can’t help but think of joel anytime i listen to this song or any of them for that matter.

inspired by: thoroughfare by ethel cain

“for the first time since i was a child i could see a man who wasn’t angry. […] 'cause in your pickup truck with all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I'd ever wanna be.”

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆���｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

When the world ended you learned a few things very quickly. One; the wild is a better choice than the QZ’s. Two; water is more important than food in an emergency. And three; trust no one. Because of these three things, you now survived on your own, your group split up or died long ago.

As you walked along a dusty road in Texas somewhere you started to hear the faint rumble of an engine far off in the distance. The quiet desert didn’t have much around it for you to hide in except for a few trees and slightly tall grass. You crouched in the grass near a tree and prayed whoever it was didn’t see you.

Sure enough as the truck passed your spot, it slowed down and backed up so the man inside was looking right at your tree. He stepped out and circled the truck, keeping light on his feet and looked around in the grass. He didn’t see you until, in a moment of stupidity, you looked up and made direct eye contact with him. Your heart rate sped up and you froze, seemingly unable to take your eyes off him. The deep brown of them felt like a balm to your ragged soul. Despite all prior aversion and honestly hatred of men, this one seemed different.

“Y’can come out… I won’t hurt’cha, I promise.”

His deep southern drawl was comforting for some reason and he did sound genuine. You slowly stood but didn’t move forward, keeping your distance for now.

“What do you want?” Your voice was still cutting, cold as ice.

“Well… I wanna make sure you're ok,” his honeyed voice was low, like he was afraid to startle an animal.

“What do you care?”

“You’re out here, alone. I care because you look…”

“Rough? Yea, I know,” you hated that he was dissolving your weariness.

“I can give you a ride… if you wanna see the west with me?”

This large and admittedly handsome man was making a good case. He seemed good enough, definitely better than other men you’ve encountered. Usually as soon as they see a young fresh face like yours they resort to their baser levels, only wanting one thing.

He was nothing like that so far. You weighed your options; you could keep walking to who knows where with almost no water and probably run into people worse than this man, or you could take a leap of faith and get in that truck.

Fuck it.

“Fine, but if you pull any funny business, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

Much to your chagrin, the man kind of smirked, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.

“Come on… we gotta get goin’,” he just turned and walked back to the truck, settling in the front seat as he waited for you to follow.

You reluctantly stepped up into the passenger side, thankful that it was long enough to keep at least a few feet away from him. You kept your eyes down and only darted them over every so often as to make sure he wasn’t closing the distance. He surprised you by nudging your arm with a metal canteen, holding it open towards you.

“Have some, s’just water.”

You looked at him suspiciously, a permanent scowl etched in your brow. He seemed almost confused that you were suspicious but he only demonstrated its safety by drinking from it himself.

“See? Just have some, m’sure y’need it.”

The droplets of water sitting on his lips grabbed the light, making it dance across his features. You forgot for a moment you’re not supposed to trust him yet but you take the canteen anyway. The surprisingly cold water slides down your throat and you almost choke on the feel of it, it had been a long time since you had fresh, clear, cold water. A groan slipped free as you took in more water with deep gulps.

“Ok relax… you’re gonna drown,” he gently took the canteen away and screwed the cap on all whithout taking his eyes off the wheel. You sat again in slightly tense silence for another few miles. You knew by now he probably wasn’t going to hurt you, at least not yet.

“I’m Joel by the way…”

You looked over at him and found a warm smile framed by his slightly greying beard. You ended up telling him your name, telling yourself you’ll only be with him for a little while and you wouldn’t tell him much else.

~

That was two months ago.

Safe to say Joel was nothing like other men you’d met. He told you he was headed west because Texas was bone dry in every sense. No people, no food, no water. He also always seemed a little lonely to you, like he was searching for more than just sustenance.

The two of you became pretty close, considering neither of you had any real ‘friendships’ in this fucked up world. It was a pretty stable routine; drive or walk until you found somewhere inhabitable, eat, sleep in rotations and repeat. Between all that, there was nothing to do but talk and he eventually got you to open up.

You told him your story of day one and he told you his, or at least bits and pieces of it. You learned he’s much older than you, more than expected. He looked very good being in his 50’s but he doesn’t know exactly his age as he apparently stopped keeping track a few years back. He was almost 25 years your senior with you being in your late 20’s.

He asked what it was like growing up in a world like this and you asked him about life before it all. One day on a long road he told you about how when he was twelve, his brother, mom and him took a road trip and he fell in love with new parts of America.

Eventually you two made it to California, the coast offering resources you couldn’t get in Texas. You both found out later that you ended up more north than you thought so it was cooler than expected. Joel found an empty warehouse a little inland and you made your usual set up, the one difference being the bed.

One bed.

There was an old mattress on a thin metal frame shoved in a corner hidden under some boxes so that must have been why no one took it yet. It wasn’t huge but it had a mattress and some almost disintegrated blankets on it but it was better than the floor. The two of you worked to get it out and brushed off, setting it up close to the fire you had built. As you warmed up your gourmet meal of 20-year-old canned beans, you noticed Joel rolling his sleeping bag out on the floor.

“Don’t even try to tell me you’re gonna sleep there…,” you gave him that condescending look that he hates.

“Where the hell else would I sleep?”

All you did was raise your eyebrows and gesture to the bed across from the fire.

“That’s yours, honey.”

Honey— a nickname he gave you when he teased you about being ‘sweet as honey’, very clearly being sarcastic. He knows how it makes your eyes roll but he doesn’t know how it makes your heart skip.

“Joel, you’re an old man. You need a bed.”

He ground his teeth but didn’t hide his smirk. This was another thing that became normal, the teasing— borderline flirting.

“Darlin’, what’ve I told you about callin’ me old?”

You turn to him slowly and give him a wicked grin. “That it turns you on?” You burst into a fit of laughs when he gives you a sobered shocked look. “Oh come on Joel, we can be adults and share. Can’t we?”

He paused for a few moments grumbling to himself, as he often did, before huffing and conceding.

“Fine, but you behave yourself, and don't move around too much.”

“Yes sir,” you gave him your best dramatic salute.

~

You found yourself lying awake about an hour later. It was cold beyond belief and while Joel was a living furnace, you lacked in that department. You honestly did try not to move, knowing the mattress shook with every turn but it was so hard to get comfortable being this cold. As you turned onto your back again, you heard a loud inhale and froze.

“Darlin’?” His voice was sleepy and oh so delicious.

“Sorry— I can't…”

“You’re shaking,” his warm large hand came to your arm as he turned towards you.

“I’m so cold, I just can’t get comfortable. Sorry.”

He nudged your arm so you would roll onto your side, away from him. “Come here.” His arm came around your middle, pulling your body back into his. The sudden change made your pulse race and you were unsure how to respond. His warm breath brushed your neck and his entire front was pressed against you. You kept shaking as he held you, chased away the cold with his touch.

“Joel…?”

“Mhm hmm?”

“What… what are you…?”

“Just, sleep darlin’,” his voice made your core drip.

You tried to stay still and go to sleep but now you were more restless than ever. Thighs rubbing together at the feel of his hard body behind you, his large arm cradling your waist, it all made your head feel light and your cunt feel heavy.

“Can’t sleep if ya keep movin’,” he didn’t sound annoyed, just tired.

“Fuck, sorry I’m… sorry.”

“Whad’ya need darlin’?”

“My mind just won’t shut up,” you sounded more whiny than you meant to. “I need a distraction I guess. Sorry, just go to sleep.”

You would think you’re dreaming if you didn’t feel Joel’s callused hand rubbing your stomach through your thin shirt. His fingers danced across your stomach, the slight pressure making your skin tingle.

“Stop sayin’ sorry darlin’. Is this ok?”

God, it was better than ok, he was unknowingly playing into all your desires.

“Y-yes, it’s— good.”

He kept up his soothing movements while you tried to be unaffected. Even though he wasn’t being overtly sensual he was driving you mad with lust. He probably didn’t even know how he was affecting you. The lazy swipe of his fingers across your belly was lifting the fabric between your skin and his and he made no move to lower it again. Soon the raw feeling of his fingers met your stomach and you almost jumped at the sensation. After you settled again, his entire broad hand flattened against you causing you both to release a sigh. Maybe he needed this as much as you did.

He didn’t stop moving his hand but he now moved the rest of his body even closer somehow. His hand started to roam, skating the surface of your torso then your arm and hip. His touch was intoxicating, some kind of drug that you never knew you needed. You could sense Joel’s shift in mood soon after, there was something there now mixed with the tiredness clinging to him.

With the slight push of his hips into yours, it was clear. He was turned on.

His voice was deep and mirky in your ear, like the ocean on a dark night. “Darlin’, I— uh…,” His hand stilled on your hip.

“Joel… don’t stop.” You finally looked back at him, trying to convey as much sincerity as you could. “Please.”

And he didn’t stop. Touched every inch until you were both shaking.

His wide frame hovered over you as he pushed you into the mattress. Those large hands were surprisingly gentle as he cupped your face. Those brown eyes you were once so afraid to trust now looked at you with nothing but lust, compassion and maybe even… love.

The hardness between his legs ground against your core, the seam of his boxers rubbed against your clit sending a bolt of pleasure through you. His lips continued to brush across your skin, leaving marks in their wake. The thought of Joel leaving his claim on you to see in the morning made you burn hotter.

Clothes were shed as you two fell into a rhythm of grinding and touching. The feeling of Joel between your legs and his length against the skin of your thigh made you shiver. Before pushing into you like you anticipated, he crawled down your body, kissing and licking as he went. After pulling your thighs around his head Joel devoured you.

His tongue parted your lips and circled your nub with talent like you’ve never seen before. Boys have tried before to please you but Joel, a real man like Joel knows exactly what he’s doing. And he proves that as he works you open on his fingers and tongue. You’re writhing under him as you grip his curls, keeping him close to you. Not that he needs any convincing, he seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself if the moans he releases are any indication.

He eats his fill, drinks you down and before you know it you’re falling apart on his lips. Your heart refuses to slow down as he kisses from your knees to your neck, centering you again.

“I’ve never— wow…,” there were no words to describe what you were feeling.

“Never…?” You knew he was teasing you, trying to get you to say the words, his smirk told you as much.

“No ones ever… done that,” you reached up to kiss him, tasting yourself there. Your fingers traced where your lips just were, those amazing ones of his drawing your attention. “…with their mouths.”

“What? No one?” He seemed genuinely shocked.

“No, I didn’t even… know th-that was possible.”

“Oh baby, there’s so much I'm going to show you.”

He definitely showed you new things and how much better he was at old things than anyone else. All night. The way he opened you up on his fingers first came in handy as he was not a small man. He stretched you with his length, pumping into you as he held you close. The stark difference between his bruising hips and gentle hands made you writhe under him. When all was said and done and both of you exploded with pleasure with him buried inside of you, you felt Joel’s true feelings.

The way he cared for you the whole time, making sure you were comfortable and cleaning you up after. All of it showed you how much he cared for you, even if you might never hear the words, his actions were enough.

[marksof-weakness]

Character Analysis: Vergil. Part: 1

Let’s start off with a disclaimer:

We must, even with a bated sigh, keep in mind that there are time and monetary restraints in place where DMC5′s release was concerned. We know, and must keep in mind, that DMC5 could have used some more hours of game play to better understand the story. However Capcom’s uncertainty with how V would be received, from a company’s standpoint, is understandable that a great amount of things would be left out for the sake of time and possible rejection of a “new” character. This also goes for how DMC even became to be, as a hodgepodge of another IP - namely Resident Evil - before it became too much of its own thing and bore DMC as a new IP. While that is often how a lot of great media/story is made, it’s important to know that a common pitfall of that is also the possible (and in this case evident) loose ends that were never fully put together properly or explained. With that in mind, let’s proceed-

What we are given as a character for Vergil is what appears to me as textbook ASPD (Anti-social Personality Disorder). And, no, I do not say that as a form of insult. In my Headcanon here I speak about touch aversion. And while it is not necessarily a trait of ASPD, it can indeed become a symptom or byproduct due to environmental details in childhood, adolescence and adulthood respectively. As stated in the HC, being a slave under Mundus and consequently becoming adverse to touch and authority being held over him, Vergil began to fully throw himself down the path introduced by trauma.

We see from an early age that Vergil is depicted as someone with early signs of a personality disorder, compounding this into the sudden and lacking parental figure of their father going missing - presumed dead - foils both the would-be proper training of two parents that can properly split their time and energy for each child’s specific needs. So we have an overworked, over-stressed mother coping not only with the loss of her mate, but two demanding children with wildly different requirements. While we can understand a child’s lacking knowledge, and even sympathize with a child’s view point in that lack of knowledge and henceforth understanding (because of the undeveloped brain and inexperience with life), it is important to remember, as people often forget, that children are developing people. Condoning, or not condoning, has direct affects. So we see a small example of this, and this resulting aggression/irritation from Vergil when his expectation/want is not immediately met here:

Even going so far as to glower at a respected elder, someone with whom had a place he sought for refuge from his irritation/quarreling with Dante.

This self serving attitude can be easily shrugged off as general childhood selfishness, but I do not believe this is the case. Rather than consciously making the rational choice (as we do know that children base their ideas off of their own forming rationality) we see him continue into this path of self centered ideology when the tragedy of the demon attack struck. I also have a HC here that goes into the imposed responsibility as “the eldest” that could have also influenced this withdrawing behavior.

We know through decades of psychological and scientific study that ASPD can be caused and influenced by a great number of things, and one of those has to do with trauma. While being stunned into adrenaline is a thing, what doesn’t sit well with me is the very blatant switch that seems to happen here where Vergil goes from: “Why are there demons!?” “I have to warn them!” “Mama and Dante are home!” to this:

While we are not shown that Vergil entered the house, we must assume he did because in a flash back from V, we see V sobbing over the memory of seeing his mother’s corpse on the floor, with Dante no where in sight. Presumably dead (somewhere else).

This is precisely the trauma needed for someone to fall further into anti-social personality disorder/have the disorder triggered:

(Perceived) Abandonment, in believing that Eva took too much of Dante’s side as well as feelings of abandonment from losing their father. 

An unstable household (though no true fault of bad parenting, only insufficient attention).

Too much responsibility for a child (”Vergil, you’re the oldest”, ergo, implying that no matter what, it was his responsibility to handle Dante).

Trauma and especially physical trauma to the head

Abuse (inflicted by Mundus specifically and solely) 

A few applicable symptoms in his adulthood include:

Disregard for right and wrong

Persistent lying or deceit to exploit others

Arrogance, a sense of superiority and being extremely opinionated

Recurring problems with the law, including criminal behavior

Repeatedly violating the rights of others through intimidation and dishonesty

Impulsiveness or failure to plan ahead

Hostility, significant irritability, agitation, aggression or violence

Lack of empathy for others and lack of remorse about harming others

Unnecessary risk-taking or dangerous behavior with no regard for the safety of self or others

Failure to consider the negative consequences of behavior or learn from them

Which finally brings us to the greater point: actions of a killer

While we do not know yet fully how they lived in their teens, we know that Capcom retconned Gilver to not be Vergil as he is in the novels, but rather a practice clone of what would become of the real Vergil: Nelo Angelo. I see two feasible outcomes to this:

First, if we go by the novels, that means that Vergil was steadily on the edge of mass genocide for the sake of unleashing his own true potential, showcasing in full his carelessness for the sake of others (humanity). 

Second, if we go by the retcon, then we could see where this happening could put a taste of it in the real Vergil’s mouth. A, “I can do it better”, and thereby falling under Mundus’ gradual-played ploy all along, incurring the accounts of DMC3 because it would be feeding directly into the ASPD mentality of generally being self centered and working for the benefit of himself solely. 

A very important note is actually one of two key things: the Yamato, and his Beowulf. Of course we know how he reattained the Yamato, but allow me to remind you how he attained his Beowuld in DMC3. One of the gatekeepers of Temen-ni-gru, Beowulf, or Lightbeast, was half dead and barely moving when Vergil happened upon him. Finishing the beast off, and attaining the Devil Arm Beowulf, Vergil proceeded to kick and beat the corpse of the beast to “test” out his new weaponry. Torturing animals, dead or alive, is a sign of a serial killer, a sociopath. And let us not forget that one of his taunts in DMC5 is to summon Yamato and shift the sword into Nero’s Devil Bringer, flaunting like a trophy that nothing else matters but his own end goal. And that leads us into theorizing how Nero came to be at all...

One of the acts of misconduct due to ASPD has to do with promiscuity, especially in teens. While I personally do not adhere to it, it is perfectly understandable that, on this path, that Vergil spent some weeks in Fortuna, researching his father and knocked up a woman for his own pleasure and interest, regardless of the outcome (I will be making a HC post about that another time). Generally and broadly speaking, it was to suit himself. As much as I don’t like it, that would make the most sense. Just to state in the game that “My son means nothing to me.” And how could Nero mean anything to him, as someone with ASPD, who thereby cannot healthily connect with others, let alone a child from a woman he freely abandoned/left?

In the sum of 16 or so years he is missing, we can assume recovering from Mundus, maybe traveling, following the presence of the Yamato until eventually happening upon Nero’s home, he then, without hesitation, snaps off Nero’s arm, leaving him for dead, only snarkily saying he’s “taking this back”. Which is, of course, a great expression of lack of concern and consideration for anyone else’s well being. Let alone the fact that, despite having those years parted from Mundus, the only thing which propelled him forward was the anger and intense hatred (in which the spider familiar expelled from him, Phantom, held) that resulted in the happenings of DMC5.

So where does that leave us?

We have the ending of VOV which, let’s be frank, was rushed in of itself. Now as the disclaimer above, that could well and be due to overworked and pressed staff, by which then it is not their fault, and we should never blame them (remember how it usually goes for manga artists in Japan). But, nevertheless, it leaves us with VOV’s ending.

Bereft of his intense hatred and anger (Phantom), I believe he is.... marginally a workable character, however not, within the very least, redeemed. He is only redeemable if Dante and Nero both decide they can at all forgive him (though they shouldn’t; he has not earned it).

V says that it is perhaps a conjecture on his part -

conjectures

an opinion or conclusion formed on the basis of incomplete information.

From what, precisely? This bothers me a lot, as opposed to the response of “indubitable” that Dante wants to continue fighting (that rant will be in part: 2).

Definition of indubitable : too evident to be doubted : unquestionable.

Why? Because Dante responded like this when posed that it could be Vergil?

This goes into the point that V, disappointingly, did not think for a second on Dante’s behalf. From all the sheer shit that Vergil has put the man through, is he not within his best interest to be hostile? Is it not safer for him to assume that not only did Vergil maim and leave for dead his nephew, his only other living family, but that he is back to kill him, or die trying. That in of itself is more than understandable that Dante would react in a volatile manner. No, it isn’t because Dante is “just the same as he was back then”. The man is tired. Traumatized. Missing his sibling or at least mourning what they should have had.

Just like the ending of DMC5, VOV’s ending was rush. Sloppy. While I can see Dante wanting to keep an eye on Vergil, the happy go lucky way about it was off, out of place, and unearned.

Vergil is not redeemed. V is not redeemed. This was shotty, mishandled, rushed, and completely null and void. The “brotherly love/care” displayed by V/ergil talking about their other half is unearned because it resulted in V telling Vergil to “show him no mercy” as if he ever showed Dante mercy to begin with.

In part 2 I will go into the sibling areas. For now, that is my piece.

Character analysis brought to you by a lot of brain storming and discussions between me, @devilsworn​ and @lavitrail

[rosy-cheekx]

Hypothetically

 @aspecarchivesweek Day One: Wish

I wish to make you happy.

Jonathan Sims/Georgie Barker

This was it. Jon fiddles with the pale green collar of his shirt; eyes focused resolutely on the version of himself in the mirror that hung on the wardrobe in his student flat. Tonight’s the night I’m going to ask Georgie to…

He shakes his head to himself, wincing at the end of that sentence. He knows what he’s going to do tonight, what he wants to do tonight, what difference does vocalizing it make, even if it’s just to himself?

Glancing down at his watch, Jon chews his lip. He was meeting Georgie at the bar in thirty minutes. The bar was ten minutes away…He should probably leave now, right? In case he needed to find them seats or use the loo or if the walk ended up taking longer than the dozens of times he’s been there before? He doesn’t want to be late, that would just make everything worse-

Huh. He’s pacing. Jon forces himself to stop and stands in the middle of his bedroom, wrapping his hands around his sides, thumbs digging into his back, feeling his diaphragm push his ribs out and in as he breathes, focusing on the solid movement of his body. Why am I so nervous? His therapist had talked to him, years back, about identifying sources of his anxiety. He hates that it works, hates that it means confronting his own brain and acknowledging his faults.

Is it the bar? No. This bar, The Addison, is one of the few pubs Jon actually enjoys. It’s always got a bit of a draft so even in the busiest nights it never feels like the heat of the room is inescapable. Jon’s not the biggest fan of beer, per se, but he can knock back a pint with the best of them, so long as he has something in his stomach first, and the pretzels and beer cheese The Addison makes are his favorite. The thought of them make his stomach growl.

Is it Georgie? No. He has a lot of strong feelings for Georgie, feels comfortable being himself around her. He drops his stuffy academic persona and can be his regular, less-stuffy-but-still-academic self, the one who speaks to her flatmate’s cat in a higher-pitched voice but still with proper Queen’s English, because “they deserve to be treated with respect, don’t you Madame?” She cares about him, too, he knows that, and he’s enjoyed their months as friends and the past few weeks they’ve been a couple.

As a couple…He feels a twinge of anxiety in his chest that makes him flap his hands instinctively, a quick stim to ward off the impending doom building in his belly. Ah. Found it. He and Georgie have only gone on a few dates: a coffeeshop on a Saturday morning, and a movie night in Georgie’s flat, an evening which had been planned to be a movie marathon of Georgie’s favorite bad horror movies, the B and C rated films that were truly just a vehicle for half-naked women sprinting down alleyways and gratuitous fake blood effects. Any excuse for them to laugh over popcorn and predict the plot points, except Jon had fallen asleep partway through the second movie and had woken up the next morning on Georgie’s couch, a worn fleece blanket over his slumped form. But this? This was a proper night-time date, involving alcohol and a walk home and, Jon was sure, a “mind if I come in?” and it would be different because it wasn’t a friend he was talking to, it was his girlfriend and there were expectations and he was a virgin and didn’t want to disappoint her because he knows Georgie is experienced and she deserves to have a good time and it’s his responsibility as a boyfriend to do that, even if he’s terrified because he hasn’t before—

Woah. Jon takes a deep breath. That was a lot. He did a full Sims, as Georgie would say, letting things snowball in his head until he explodes. He closes his eyes, wringing his hands again, just a gentle flutter at his sides. It’ll be fine. She’ll understand. She has up to now. Georgie has understood his weird studying habits, his deep aversion to spiders, his need to be early everywhere, his sudden shutdowns and stimming habits and how he loves to be held and touched. She can certainly handle him being a nervous virgin.

Jon slips a condom in his wallet and then, hesitating, tears off two more and throws them in. In case he messes up the first time. Checking his watch, he sees its quarter to eight. If he leaves now he’ll only be five minutes early. Perfect.

--

The Addison is a healthy dose of busy on a Thursday night in late autumn, the hum of conversation and music floating over Jon is just the right amount of chaos for him to reach equilibrium, feeling enthused by his nervous energy. He’s sitting at the bartop, spinning the cap to his beer bottle, watching it whirl, whirl, whirl, clattering on the stained wood and spinning all the while. It’s entrancing.

Georgie is speaking to him now. She smiles warmly at him and feels his stomach flip. God, she’s gorgeous when she smiles. Her hair’s in braids this month, pink and orange weaved tightly together, contrasting with the tight black turtleneck dress she wears. He catches himself staring at her profile, the planes of her face animated as she tells him a story about her professor and his alleged vow to fail her this semester. His face is warm. See, he soothes himself, you are attracted to her. You’re just nervous.

“Jon. Jon?” Georgie’s eyebrow is quirked up and she’s smirking at him, like she’s caught him in a lie. “Everything alright? You’re staring.” Jon feels another rush of blood to his cheeks, prickling at how exposed he feels to have been caught up in his thoughts about her.

“Oh-uh, yeah,” he nods, hesitating before reforming his own features into a smile. “I-I was just thinking. Well. How nice you look tonight.” Georgie isn’t immune to compliments, he knows this for certain, and its reaffirmed as she ducks her own head briefly, smile shifting from teasing to soft.

“O-Oh. Thank you, Jon.” She sips her drink, preferring something a little harder than Jon’s beer, usually a vodka cranberry she can nurse throughout a night or throw back when she needs a little something more in her bloodstream, fogging her mind. “You look really nice too, you know. Your green shirt is my favorite.” She gestures to the button up and he nods absently, glancing down at it. When he looks up, her face is close to his, hand weaving into the curls by his ear. He sighs and leans into the touch, feeling a shiver run through him when they kiss. He tastes the cranberry on her lips, vodka on her tongue, her liquid courage enthusing him as well as her (not that she needs any excuse to be bold, really), and makes a choice.

When they pull away for air, he grins wildly at her, the face he makes when he knows he’s about to a very Not-Sims thing. When the bartender makes his rounds again, a pale man in a black button-down, Jon orders his own ruby-red drink. Georgie’s eyebrows meet her hairline as he does so, folding her hands together. “Who are you and what have you done with Jonathan Sims?” The chuckle behind her voice balances the sternness of her words. He just grins at her and takes a sip of his newly-acquired vodka and cranberry juice, the dry flavors curling on his tongue and making his head feel light and warm after even half the glass.  

-

Jon is drunk. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. He knows he’s a lightweight and even the divine soft pretzels he’s been munching on since his arrival can only handle so much. He’s finished his second hard drink on top of the beer and is feeling properly light and airy. Like a cake, he giggles to himself. He’s having fun, chatting with Georgie about life and cats and uni and their plans for the future. Jon’s entertaining a couple of options, a few research jobs in London, and Georgie is poking his side, making him laugh as she teases him about his studying skills being useful for something more than exams.

“At least I have studying skills!” He says, pushing her off his side, linking their fingers together to inhibit her from poking him again. “You can’t ride my coattails forever, you know.”

“I won’t have to! It came in today.”

“What did?” His thoughts are clouded, edges of anxiety smoothed over into something more ignorable.

“My microphone! So I can start my podcast about spooky shit, remember?” Georgie squeezes his hand and finishes her own drink, far along as Jon in liquid consumed but not nearly as affected as he is. “I’m going to uncover the world’s mysteries and teach my faithful audience about the supernatural. I’ve got the title nailed down, too.” With her free hand she paints a banner in the air. “What the Ghost. ‘Cause it’s like ‘what the fuck’ and I can talk about all sorts of weird shit.” Georgie swears a lot, and more when she’s tipsy.

“Can I see it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “The-the microphone, can I see it?”

Her eyes widen and she nods, “Oh, yeah of course! I haven’t been able to test it out yet, so maybe you can help me.”

Jon insists on paying. So does Georgie. They resign to splitting it, each vowing to pay next time and knowing they will never outsmart each other.

-

Jon doesn’t realize how drunk he is until he’s walking the five minutes to Georgie’s flat. Tucked into her side, the air is cool around his face, the wind an icy hand cupping his cheek. Everything feels smeary, liquid, warm. Hands in the pocket of the peacoat he knows he bought for the aesthetic and not to keep him warm, he fingers his wallet, feels the circular outline inside, and feels…nothing. Good. He can do this.

He’s always loved Georgie’s flat. It is warm, all orange and yellow lamplight, houseplants, and a cosy cluttered look. Her roommate exists only in residuals, the sneakers she leaves by the door and the dishes she does at odd hours more proof she exists than anything like conversation. Jon respects that. Georgie’s room is a lot like the rest of the flat, which means it’s a lot like Georgie herself. Warm, dark, soft, and scattered, with hidden elements of cat hair no matter how many times she cleans. Jon throws his coat over his desk chair and collapses onto her bed, reveling in how her pillows feel under his back. He takes a moment to greet the weird smile-faced stain on her ceiling before sitting up, watching Georgie fold herself next to him and open a carboard box, taking out a chunky black microphone with a USB cable. She brandishes it like a sword, before angling it to her face.

“This is BBC 4 with breaking news,” she intones into the microphone, putting on a crisp RP accent and lowering her voice an octave. “Ghosts and ghouls have been discovered at King’s College, Oxford, residing as university professors. News anchor Jonathan Sims has the story. Sims?”

Jon presses back his giggles and leans into the character, accent already pretty close to the posh voice she puts on. “There’s been an error, actually. They’ve been the students all along. Journalism student Porgie Parker has been found out to have been a ghost. These discoveries were made after her boyfriend, English Literature student…Bonathan Bims, realized she had never picked up a textbook because she couldn’t! Her hands went right through them!” By the time he’s gotten to the word textbook, Georgie has pounced on him, microphone forgotten as she wrestles him to the bed, alternating between poking and tickling him until he lets the bit trail off, voice a mix of giggles and pleas for her to stop.

When she lets off, Jon abruptly realizes the intimacy of their position. She’s straddling him, her hands pinning his wrists to the plush pillow behind his head. They’re both breathing hard, cheeks flushed, and smiling.

Jon isn’t sure who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. His arms are wrapped around Georgie’s neck and her hands are cupping his face, cool to the touch, nails lightly scratching his jawline. The bed is soft and Georgie is warm, pressing in from all sides, and it feels good. This he likes.

She kisses along his jawline and he feels heart rate pickup, flexing his hands (when did he curl them into fists?) as she presses against his neck. He wishes vaguely she’d put her hands back in his hair, he likes that soft feeling of pressure on his scalp. The smile on the ceiling is smirking at him now, the curve of the water stain looking more vicious than it had earlier.

Her hands are on his chest, she’s unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands feel too cold now, the shiver running through him one of anxiety, not desire, and Jon is sitting up before he knows what he’s doing. Fuck. Georgie, the saint, backs off him and kneels beside him on the bed. Jon’s hands flit to the undone buttons, fingertips circling them, suddenly unsure what to do.

“Are you okay, Jon?” Georgie’s voice is softer, eyes searching his face as she wedges her hands underneath her knees. He watches her wrists, the swing of her braids as she cocks her head, anything to avoid her eyes.

“I-” he gestures to her vaguely. “Y-You know I haven’t before, right?”

“Oh. Oh.” Georgie nods, understanding maybe a little better than he expected. “No offense, but I kinda figured, Jon. Not in a bad way!” She backpedals. “I just figured, you know, there’s no rush.”

“I mean, there’s a little of a rush,” he admonishes under his breath. At her hum of confusion: “You know, the whole-” he gestures again, as if he could pluck the word from the air. “-third date…thing.”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs his name, voice soft and so patient, a voice he doesn’t think he’s heard used anywhere else. “There’s no rule saying what we have to do when. Or how. Or ever, for that matter. It’s no one’s business what we do except ours.” She reaches out a hand, waiting for a slight nod, before taking his thin hands in her own. “Is that why you drank more than usual today?”

Jon nods, feeling a sag of relief spread throughout his body. “I just- I want to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, you twit. That’s why we’re friends and it’s why I’m dating you.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need sex to be happy. Is it fun? Yes. But not necessary.”

Jon frowns, chewing on his lip and eyeing the window of her bedroom, tracing the rectangle with his eyes over and over again. “I-hmm.” Georgie watches him search for words; she knows how he ticks well enough to know they’re coming if she waits. “What if, hypothetically, I never had sex with you? Ever.”

“Well,” she gave his hands a light squeeze. “Hypothetically, I’d be totally okay with it, though I’d ask if you were asexual and make sure we had appropriate boundaries.”

“Huh?” The word draws him back to her face, the deep brown eyes that search his own. “Asexual. Like, no sex?” She nods, again, ever-patient. “Huh. Asexual.” He drops the pretense. “Maybe.”

Asexual. The word felt good as he rolled it around in his mouth. He traced the letters with his fingertips in cursive against his thigh as Georgie let go of him, rolling off her bed to pull on sweatpants and a t shirt instead of the dress she was wearing 

“Let’s look into it, if you want. Together.” Georgie grins at him now, rye and warm. “I will have to ask you if want hypothetical crisps, because I’m hypothetically fucking starving.”

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Just the Same

Summary:

“You’re sick.”

“You’re ugly.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?”

Read it here on AO3!

Bruce has a very simple plan for tonight, alright? He’s going to grab a quick post-patrol snack from the kitchen, then he’s going to take a shower, and then he will go promptly to bed. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. He just wants to sleep. (You absolute fool, the goblin in his brain screeches at him, because the goddamn Batman cannot get a goddamn break or else the world will literally split in two.) Fatefully, Bruce passes the den’s open doorway while half of his mind is preoccupied with sending Dick a goodnight text, and he happens to glance into the room. That’s when he stops in his tracks. Even more fatefully, Alfred is coming down the hall in Bruce’s direction, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “Alfred?” “Yes, Master Bruce?” “Were you aware that Jason was home?” Alfred looks over at where Jason is asleep on the den sofa, still in his leather jacket and boots. He doesn’t look remotely surprised by the sight. Then again, is Alfred ever surprised? “Master Jason got in while you were on patrol. I offered to make him dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry.” Then there’s that classic Alfred Pennyworth eyebrow crease. “When he wakes up, do inform him that one does not forgo the need for nutrition when one has been dipped in a Lazarus Pit.” “I’ll be sure to do that.” “Now, if you will excuse me.” Alfred walks off with his perfectly level tray, on a perilous journey to Damian’s room. Bruce envies him. At least Alfred gets to go to sleep after Damian gets his nighttime tea. Bruce enters the den carefully, without a sound. God knows Jason hardly sleeps through the night without interruption as it is. Now, at least, he looks peaceful enough. So much time has passed since his last haircut that his hair curls against his temple, plastered with sweat. He must have come here straight from Red Hood business. At least he didn’t get blood on the couch this time. Quietly, Bruce pulls the knitted throw blanket from where it’s draped over the back of the sofa and lays it over Jason, tucking it in close when he catches a shiver rattling Jason’s teeth. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Jason’s cheeks are flushed as well. His mouth is locked in a grimace, even in sleep. Bruce presses the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and clicks his tongue. Definitely a fever. Jason’s eyebrows wrinkle at the touch. His eyes crack open and take a moment to land on Bruce, sitting on the edge of the couch by Jason’s torso. It says a lot that he doesn’t go into battle mode as soon as he registers an unfamiliar presence in the room. “Mmph. Go away.” “You’re sick.” “You’re ugly.” “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?” “I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.” “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?” “Why don’t you mind your fucking—” Jason tumbles into a coughing fit, wet and hacking. “I’ll be right back,” Bruce tells him with a parting pat on the knee. His knees creak as he stands, heading for the bathroom down the hall. He digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds the thermometer, one of many that Alfred keeps in every bathroom in the house. He grabs a bottle of Tylenol as well. Bruce goes back to the couch and reclaims his spot next to Jason, who has stopped coughing by now, but his breathing is heavy. Bruce touches the thermometer to Jason’s temple, ignoring his weak swats. It reads out a hundred and one degrees. “When did you start feeling sick?” Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself. “Dunno. Yesterday, I guess.” Bruce frowns. Of course Jason would ignore any achy feelings for as long as possible. None of Bruce’s kids have a single self-preserving bone in their bodies. “Tell me your symptoms.” “Being a fucking snack.” “Jason.” Jason coughs. “Leave me alone, old man.” “Does your throat hurt?” “Yeah, so quit trying to make me talk.” “Any nausea?” Jason buries his face into a throw pillow. “You’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” He sighs. “Not since last night. I’m freezing, lethargic, and my head is killing me. Happy?” Bruce hums. “It’s probably the flu.” “Yeah, no shit.” Jason closes his eyes. “Now will you leave me alone? You’re making my headache worse.” Bruce twists open the Tylenol cap and shakes out a couple of tablets into his palm. “Here.” He holds them out to Jason. Jason opens one eye, looks at the pills, and closes it again. “No.” “Jason—” “No. Don’t like pills.” Bruce can’t say he didn’t expect as much. Still, it does Jason no favors to continuously refuse any sort of medication, choosing to tough out the pain for as long as he can. It all ties back to his mother’s drug addiction, a disease which Jason watched slowly kill her over years and years. It makes sense that he’d grow up with an unwavering aversion to drugs. When Jason was a small tot, Bruce and Alfred spent what probably accumulated to hours of cajoling, trying to talk Jason into taking even the lightest painkillers. Lidocaine and numbing solutions were fine, but anything resembling a narcotic was out—and still is, apparently. It makes Bruce wonder how Jason reacted to the Lazarus Pit and its euphoria-inducing waters—part of the whole “magical healing” process. Maybe he was too out of his mind at the time to form a solid thought, much less remember his childhood trauma. This is one fight Bruce chooses not to get into, so he recaps the Tylenol and sets it aside. Miraculously, Jason is already asleep again. That’s fine with Bruce; it’s better his son sleeps this flu off than wastes his energy arguing. Trying not to jostle him too much, Bruce takes off Jason’s boots and leaves them on the carpet. He grabs the TV remote and settles in on the couch with Jason’s feet in his lap, pulling up a nature documentary on hyenas that he and Damian haven’t had the chance to finish yet. Looks like he’ll be catching up on his sleep tomorrow night. Right now, Jason needs him (despite how fervently he’ll protest as much). Honestly, this whole situation brings Bruce back to the old days. After moving into the manor, it took over six months for Jason to completely recover from the years of malnutrition he suffered on the streets. His weight was far too low for a boy his age, even more scrawny than Tim. Alfred provided Jason with plenty of vitamin supplements and extra servings at dinner to bulk him up, but his immune system was shoddy at best no matter how much weight he gained. During his Robin era it was illness after illness, from the common cold to a whammying case of pneumonia. This is the first time Jason has been sick in Bruce’s presence since his death, though. Bruce is learning about the eating habits of hyenas when Tim comes in from the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea, despite having supposedly gone to bed three hours ago. He stands there in the doorway for a moment, looks owlishly at Jason, then at Bruce, then back to Jason. He grins. “No,” Bruce says. “You don’t even know what I was going to do!” “I know you, and the answer is no.” “Jeez, Bruce. I’m not gonna kill him.” Tim attempts to cross his arms, forgetting that he’s holding hot tea, and hisses when it scalds his arm. “The hand-in-warm-water trick’s never hurt anyone,” he mutters. “Go back upstairs. You’ll get sick.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “This is prejudice against people without spleens, you know. I could sue your ass.” “Sue me from upstairs where I can comfortably know that you won’t die from the flu.” Tim rolls his eyes, but he goes. Bruce hears him stomp up the stairs, getting quieter and quieter until the footsteps are gone entirely. Bruce shakes his head. How did he ever think that having four boys would be a good idea? He questions his younger self’s judgement every day. For the next three hours, Jason sleeps in fits and starts. He never stays awake longer than five minutes at a time, drinking water when Bruce prods him to and grudgingly letting Bruce check his temperature for any spikes. Bruce learns quite a bit about hyenas in the meantime, until the documentary ends and a new one about sea otters begins. In between the hazy bouts of wakefulness, Jason tosses restlessly in the throes of nightmare after nightmare. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. In the back of his mind Bruce wonders, is this just the fever talking or are nightmares a nightly villain for Jason? The latter would come as no shock, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason’s sweaty curls, a reflection of years ago when he would do the same thing any time Jason had a nightmare during his youth. Jason has been cheated out of peaceful nights from the beginning. Of course, back then there wasn’t a white streak splitting the darkness of his onyx hair—a reminder of the pit water swimming in Jason’s blood. Bruce moves a lock of hair off Jason’s forehead, gentle as a moth. Jason’s eyes fly open and he jerks away from the touch, a gasp ripping up his throat. Bruce doesn’t move. He gives Jason a moment to regain his bearings, stilling the hand in Jason’s hair. Green irises lock on Bruce, frenzied. “Where?” he croaks. “The manor.” Jason takes a deep breath in, clenching his jaw. “Okay.” He lets it out. “Okay.” Bruce grabs the water bottle he’s kept on the coffee table. “Here,” he says, moving his hand down to Jason’s back and prodding a shoulder blade. “Sit up.” “Fuck you.” It comes out half groan, the illness-wrought exhaustion catching back up with Jason. “You need to hydrate.” “Double fuck you.” Bruce shrugs. “Drink half of this or I’ll call Alfred and have him convince you. Your choice.” Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle. Bruce will take that as a victory. Jason sits up with enormous effort, groaning at the aches in his body until he’s upright next to Bruce. He drinks the water, wincing when it hits his sore throat. “What were you dreaming about?” Bruce ventures to ask. Jason lowers the bottle to narrow his eyes at Bruce like he’s the biggest idiot in this room. “Shut up.” The annoying part is that Bruce genuinely has no idea what Jason’s nightmare could have been about. His childhood? His death? His resurrection? Any of the traumatic things that could have happened afterward, ones that Bruce wasn’t there for? There is such a disconnect between the two of them now. He should count it a blessing that they have moments like this, though Bruce would greatly prefer spending time with Jason while he isn’t sick and miserable. But Bruce will take it, nonetheless. Jason drains a sufficient amount of water, only to lurch forward in another coughing fit as soon as he gets in a breath. “Christ,” he rasps, eyes watering. “Just fucking shoot me already, will ya?” Bruce rubs his back. “I could tranq you, if you really think it would help. But I can’t guarantee that one of your brothers won’t take advantage of that and draw mustaches on your face while I’m not looking.” “Har, har. You’re a fucking comedian now.” Jason’s voice is coarse as gravel, scraping up his vocal cords. “Want some tea? It’ll help soothe your throat.” “Later. Just wanna...sleep for now.” In spite of everything he stands for, Jason tips his head to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder. Whether it was intentional or he’s just so disoriented from the fever that he has no idea he’s even doing it, Bruce won’t take the gesture for granted. Jason is shivering, so Bruce pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders where it slackened during his sleep. Then, in a riskier maneuver, he puts his arm around Jason and pulls him in close like he did so many times when Jason was a lot shorter and a lot less jagged around the edges. Bcuce still loves him just the same. Jason leans into Bruce’s warmth instinctively, but he warns, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll shatter your clavicle.” “Mm-hm.” “I mean it. You’ll need a goddamn orthopedic surgeon to fix you up if you breathe a word of this to anyone.” “I believe you.” It must be a good enough answer because Jason closes his eyes, relaxing in Bruce’s hold. “The only reason I’m gonna say this is ‘cause my brain is melting,” Jason says, “but...thanks. For being here.” He yawns. “Being sick alone fuckin’ sucks.” “I hear you.” “And keep Tim away from me, ‘kay? I don’t trust the little snot not to pull something.” Bruce snorts and unpauses the otter movie. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

[mattkeepsrambling]

Saw: Maybe we were the ones being tortured all along?

In the last year, I have gotten over my issues with horror movies. For me to completely believe that there was one movie I needed to watch; Saw 2. Whenever I think of the problems I had with horror, this is the movie to which I come back. I watched it, and it resulted in two nights of restless sleep, two nights where I couldn't get the images out of my head. I needed to revisit it eventually, and it was not until recently that I finally did. I ended up watching the entire series.

There is no question that "Saw" is a great movie. It is small and straightforward. It sets up precisely what Jigsaw does and why he does it. I genuinely love it. It is also, by anyone's standards, the best of the series. And that is where my praise for the series ends.

As the traps get more complicated, and the movies get worse, especially once Jigsaw dies at the end of the third one. When the fourth one starts, it is revealed that Jigsaw had help with many of his traps. And that is when the charisma vacuum of Detective Hoffman takes over. It is also when they start to split the story between the person in the Jigsaw trap and the police. They begin to play with time and make things increasingly complex. None of this helps the movies.

In the final movie, "Jigsaw," there is a scene with Toben Bell, Jigsaw, and his final two "test subjects." He says, "The simplest tests are always the best." And I lost my damn mind. It was basically saying that everything the other movies worse. It goes aganist EVERYTHING the other movies have been doing. There, in that sentence, Jigsaw says why the first movie is a masterpiece of horror and the other are all varying forms of bad.

I went through all 8 of them, hating them more and more. The justification for what Jigsaw was doing became muddled. It becomes less about people surviving by making hard choices and more about how gruesomely these people can die. The people themselves are not wasting their lives so much as they made a mistake at some point. In one case, the people who die are employees of the guy being tested.

I hadn't planned on watching all the "Saw" movies. The first and second ones, sure, but not the other six. With the reboot/sequel opening this weekend, I figured I would catch up. These movies were once the crux of my aversion to horror, and they ended up mainly being very bad.

I wish I could say that the new one, "Sprial: From The Book of Saw," helps to redeem the movies, but it does not. I think it suffers from being set in the "Saw" universe. If this was its own original thing, it might have worked. It was less "Saw" movie than it was a cop movie. It felt like it wanted to be "Seven" more than it wanted to be a "Saw" movie. There was a good, compelling movie in there somewhere, but bad performances bogged it down.

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 4

CW/TW: N/A

It was late the next week when she received the letter. That morning had been a busy one; the household had been preparing for guests they would be receiving early the following week. She, despite her significant reservations regarding the guests in question, decided it would be best if she pretended the proposal she had received from the younger of the two hadn’t occurred. Bolkonsky had been storming around the house, seemingly unaffected at the approaching visit. Although he insisted the choice was hers to make, Y/N could tell the old Prince was upset that Marya could possibly be leaving, newly married to Anatole Kuragin, for life in the city.

When the letter arrived, she managed to slip away for a few moments to read it. The first thing she noticed was the return address listed on the envelope. She had almost feared that her last letter hadn’t made it into his hands; he usually wrote back within a few days' time. Carefully, she opened the seal, managing not to split it while doing so. The letter was short, shorter than she had expected it to be. She read through it quickly, stopping halfway into the message. Her hand shot out, quickly grabbing the envelope sitting on her desk. She looked carefully at the seal, noticing its purely white coloring. This wasn’t a letter from Pierre, this was an invitation. An invitation to his wedding. His wedding to Helene Kuragina.

Then came the shock. She had never expected Helene would marry Pierre. She was too vain, too narcissistic, too repulsed by Pierre to have been truly interested in him. Nor had she expected Pierre would ever ask. Y/N decided that the Prince Vassily must’ve been responsible for the engagement. Thinking it over, she wasn’t surprised. After the old Count’s death and Vassily’s failure to secure the fortune, it made sense that he would do everything in his power to receive some semblance of the wealth Pierre inherited.

She refolded the letter, carefully sliding the paper back into the envelope. After regaining her mental faculties, she stood, turning to face the dwindling flame of her fireplace. Glowing embers fell periodically onto the stone beneath the blackened logs. The letter felt heavier in her hand than it had a few moments ago. As soon as the letter was placed on the flaming timbers, it ignited; white wax bubbled, dripping down what remained of the invitation.

Y/N knew she would have to respond to the letter, but she would save that for the evening. She would decline; Lise needed the company. At least, that’s what she would tell him. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she would be able to watch Pierre marry someone like her. Y/N had seen it happen before, and she didn’t want to see it again, much less to someone like Pierre. Nevertheless, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it, even if she tried.

~

The Kuragins’ visit approached quickly. To Y/N, it felt like just the next day they pulled into the Bolkonsky’s drive. Anatole and Vassily stepping out of the ornate carriage. Y/N watched from the window, highly uninterested in spending any more time with the pair than necessary. A sharp knock on the door brought her to her feet, striding quickly to open it. Outside, Marya stood, out of place in her colorful clothes and faintly rouged cheeks.

“Marya, what-?"

"N/N, I feel so foolish dressed like this, I-”

Y/N cut her off, drawing her into the room. “Marya, you look fine," she sat her on the nearest chair, moving to grab the water pitcher sitting on the nearest table. After pouring Marya a glass of water and placing it in her hands, she sat in the chair beside her.

“He won’t like me, I know it…”

“Marya,” she thought about what to say, not wanting to ruin Marya’s chances for a marriage that would be beneficial for her but also not wanting to get her hopes up when she knew the kind of man Anatole was, “if he’s a man worthy of your affections, then he will be noble, kind, and love you regardless of what you wear. If he isn’t, then he isn’t worth your time or your hand. Marya nodded, seemingly comforted by this statement. Y/N set her hand on Marya’s, squeezing it lightly before she stood, beckoning her to the door. “You should head downstairs, they’re probably waiting for you. I’ll be down in a minute, just let me get dressed.”

Marya nodded, shutting the door quietly behind her as she left. Y/N quickly removed her house clothes, easily undoing the clasps holding the dress together. She sifted through the fabric, looking for something appropriate for a visit like this. A dress quickly caught her eye, and just as quickly closed around her waist. It was modest, anything to avoid the attention of Anatole. Long sleeves with a high collar, much like something Marya would wear. She heard laughter and conversation begin to drift up the stairs and decided that she should join the group.

As she entered, the conversation quieted slightly, short introductions were made, and the talking continued. Unfortunately, the only remaining seating was next to Anatole. Y/N sat, placing herself as far away from him as possible without making her aversion known. Vassily began making small talk with her as the others continued to speak.

“Ah, Princess Y/Y, have you heard the good news? Pierre and Helene are married.”

“I have, I have. A very… auspicious match for dear Helene, give her my congratulations.”

“Oh, you didn’t attend, did you? I thought you and the Count were good friends.”

“We are,” she thought quickly, searching for her excuse, “I just didn’t want to abandon my sister, she’s in a very delicate state and needs the companionship.”

Vassily nodded, seeming to understand.

“Yes, it would be a… terrible shame if something were to happen. I’m sure it was for the best, Count Bezukhov doesn’t need any distractions.”

Distractions? Nothing could distract Pierre from Helene, that much she knew. Besides, Pierre was grown and could make his own mistakes. An awkward silence fell over the two, and they turned back to the main conversation, catching the quiet words between Marya and Anatole. She could tell Marya was intrigued, how could she not be? A girl who’d never received compliments like this from a man before, much less a rich, handsome one who seemed interested in her.

She excused herself, having deemed the amount of social interaction with the two men enough, and moved back to her room. Luckily, her room was quite far from the parlor of the house, allowing for plenty of distance from the guests. Her violin sat neatly in its case next to the linen-press in her room. After ensuring it was tuned and her bow was tightened, she began to play it softly. She wasn’t sure what she was playing, but it was good. Walking slowly around the room, she continued to play, noticing a new paper on her desk. Abruptly, she stopped, setting her violin gently on the chair and moving towards the letter. It was from Andrei. Y/N’s eyes widened, snatching up the letter.

It was short, very short. But, it was better than nothing. He told Y/N not to tell Lise that he’d written this, not wanting her to worry or expect consistent letters. Andrei said he was okay, he wasn’t injured or anything of the sort, thankfully. Y/N continued to read through the message, noticing how labored his handwriting was. He must’ve been exhausted when he wrote it. Surprisingly, he had apologized to her, something she had not been expecting. She set it down with a small smile, ensuring it was well hidden under the other stacks of parchment on her desk.

At least he’s safe, for now.

[autisticstarseed]

👐 Hand washing guide when you have sensory issues 👐

tbh. we shouldve been talking abt this a long time ago for many disabled ppls sake but ive put this post off for like a million years out of pure solidified fear of ableist harassment/kneejerk ignorance and also generalized cringe idiots but now that we got so much covid-19 fear and autistic ppl actually tend to have weaker immune systems than most people lets jump the shark;;;

i have autism and i physically struggle with washing my hands as often as i want to, having wet hands, drying them, the temperature difference, bad soap smells/textures, etc. are all genuinely painful. the good news is that ive dealt with water aversion shit since birth (its a common sensory issue), so ive had time to figure out alternatives and coping skills that still help reduce risk of disease and spreading it in ways that i can personally manage. (ie. not lazy or selfish or gross. genuinely putting more effort into this every day task than most other people would even think about. just disability lads) so heres the guide i have to offer if you’re in a similar boat, with some keypoints about hand hygiene and tips addressing the most common sensory struggles ive noticed with it;;;

1. hand sanitizer

i love hand sanitizer, i can get it in almost any scent i want and it dries down very very fast. the problem is; hand washing and hand sanitizer do different things. it only kills certain types of germs. which is all fine and dandy, but because of this, using only hand sanitizer wont actually keep you from catching or spreading many illnesses. so what its good for is times you cant wash your hands (out in public, sensory overload, no spoons, etc), thats fine, but it should not replace all hand washing if at all possible. it is supposedly effective to covid-19, but so little is currently known that it should not be considered your go to for this, and the only unanimous statement straight from the CDC is that hand washing works best at preventing its spread.

temperature - if you have trouble with it being too cold, conveniently keeping it in your pocket or closely against your body in some way warms it up and makes it much more comfortable. 

scent - they come in almost any scent you can imagine, but if you have trouble with strong scents, there are ‘scentless hand sanitizers’. they usually have a faint chemical smell, so if there are any testers available, you should check to make sure it can work for you before you buy it.

texture - if gel doesnt cut it, they also make foamy hand sanitizers and liquid sprays, but theyre harder to find and might be a little more pricey.

and remember; always buy hand sanitizer that says it contains AT LEAST 60% alcohol, the higher alcohol content the better, but try to keep track of how high it is and how much you apply it so you dont dry your skin out. and right now price gouging is pretty bad, so dont be surprised if you cant find any for a while, and dont buy any small bottle that costs over a couple dollars, its a rip off.

2. hand washing 

so what does hand washing do thats better than sanitizer??? soap and water lift up the dirt and oils that are carrying the germs and actually wash them off, and not only that, it also gets rid of all the things sanitizer cant, such as dust/dirt, spores, chemicals, and the previously mentioned viruses that are harder to kill. ik to an outside perspective it might not seem that hard, but obviously when you have autism and these tasks are split down into bigger ordeals and sensory nightmares, it can feel impossible. 

soap - there are so many different kinds of soap! scentless soaps exist, and they very rarely have any lingering chemical smell! theres also soap for sensitive skin, and baby soap also works well for that issue. bar soaps can come in all different shapes and sizes, with many different ingredients and additives to choose from (independent soap makers are an amazing source for customized soap btw), and liquid soaps can be pure gel, frothy, mousse-y or even have tiny exfoliating or moisturizing beads in them if thats a sensory experience you enjoy. this is my number one rec for people struggling with hand washing bc of sensory issues;;; mix up the soap. finding one that gives you an okay or even a GOOD sensory experience can completely turn around an otherwise meltdown inducing task

temperature - this is the one thats always been hardest for me. cold water straight up hurts me, and our plumbing is Terrible, so the trick i have for slow pipes is to run the hot water on high as Soon as i get into the bathroom. leave it going and by the time you’re done there should be at least lukewarm water. if this still takes too long for you, try out the various sinks in your house, usually one is able to get hot water faster than the rest (for me its the kitchen sink) and that can become a designated station for you if need be.

texture - some ppl just hate water. if thats the case, it rly doesnt change much abt the process if you use less water, ie work the soap into a lather, and then only use as much as you need to rinse it off. you dont have to keep your hands under the whole time, the soap clings to the dirt, the water takes it off all together, as long as you scrub well and rinse till you see no suds, you’re good 

If it really comes down to it, a washcloth with water+soap, a disinfecting wipe, or even literally just a rinse with plain ol water is better than nothing, but the stream of water and act of rubbing the soap in is the most effective combo against disease. soap/disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizers are your second best option. if theres a time in your life where an issue is so disabling for you that you truly cant keep any of this up, rly the most important thing is to limit your direct physical contact with your face and commonly used objects as MUCH as possible until you can figure smth out. (you kno those old ladies that grab a wipe and open the doorknob with it between their hand and the knob? become that old lady) and if push comes to shove, if a safe and accepting therapy setting is something accessible to you, hygiene struggles are actually something many mental health professionals understand Very well and can help you cope with personally and directly, without shame.

3. hand drying

this is also. my personal hell. and what most people say is the hardest part of the sensory experience. but ya cant just walk around with wet hands right

towels - the obvious choice for most, but to me they actually dont dry enough. i always end up damp and with lint stuck to me. this kills the man. but hand towels do have some variety to them, you can find em with really long fibers or really short/flat, really fuzzy or really stiff, etc. sounds silly but its smth a lot of ppl dont think about that can change a lot. you can also try super absorbent towels (yes like a shamwow), and again baby bath towels are also an option if you want something gentle.

paper towels - yeah a little more wasteful and expensive, but imo much more absorbent. theyre also pretty thin so you can get between your fingers (MY BANE), and under your nails if you use a corner. 10/10

blow drying - ik this is the kind of shit you only see in like movie theaters and malls and they are definitely LOUD AS SHIT, but if you happen to have the money, and struggle more with Textures than Noise, ie a stream of warm air seems worth the sound, you Can actually find a small basic one of these items for your own home. 

4. public restrooms

everybody hates em!!! but you can make em more tolerable;;;

soap - bring your own! little travel soaps you can keep in your bag are a godsend for ppl with sensory issues, sensitive skin/allergies, and if you just prefer not sharing soap.

temperature - most public places i notice actually do get hot water pretty fast (like,,, too fast,,, like,,, it bur ns me) so if there are no faucets and its too hot or too cold, once again you can try different sinks and one might be more comfortable. if there are faucets i recommend grabbing a paper towel to turn it off, so you dont have to touch it again with your clean hands.

sound - WHY R AUTOMTIC FLUSH TOILETS SO FUCKEN LOUDD..... honestly if you have noise cancelling earmuffs or earplugs or w/e pop em in. if you dont have any of that i just literally plug my ears with my fingers when i stand up. if you struggle with the sound of the blow dryers, they almost always have paper towels as well, but its a great idea to carry something like that around in your bag with you just in case. if its really packed and people chattering is getting to you, sometimes the ‘family’ bathrooms are actually smaller and less full. if its bad enough and you feel comfortable asking, an employee might be able to direct you to a single stall bathroom or at least a different one than that.

and though its convenient, try not to use your sleeve to touch things like doorknobs, toilet handles, etc. instead use something disposable like a paper towel or wipe, bc the germs will simply transfer to your sleeve and still risk infecting you. 

5. schedule

the number one suggestion is to wash your hands literally as often as possible during a time like this but like. even for allistic/nt/abled/ ppl thats just not always an attainable schedule so the Best times to wash your hands are;;;

after using the bathroom - the most important time and generally the easiest to get used to. its smth you have to do multiple times a day that already has a schedule, and if you were to forget or go into sensory overload its usually immediately accessible as soon as you can. as i mentioned earlier, if you need help remembering, you can turn the water on when you first get in and leave it going.

the doctors - ANY KIND of health facility should be avoided right now unless really necessary, places where sick people would frequent is the quickest way to get sick but like. ya rly cant help it sometimes right. you cant stop dealing with your own illnesses just bc theres another one floating around. so, this is time to go apeshit on the handwashing. if your health issue involves coughing and sneezing, ask for a face mask. bring a scarf in case they dont have any, its not as great but better than nothing. otherwise, you honestly dont need it, face masks are more for these people bc they keep germs in better than out. whether you’re worried abt getting sick or infecting others, this is a time to use hand sanitizer, avoid physical contact like shaking hands [autistic cheering], and when you first arrive and right before you go to leave are the most important times to remember to wash your hands. 

preparing food - not as commonly spoken about, but also easy to work into a schedule. i personally dont care unless its food for somebody else or if im going to be putting my hands on it a lot, but if thats the case, a lot of the time thats produce you already want to wash in the sink, so you can kill two birds with one stone there. dont just get the germs off your own hands, get em off the fruits and veggies before you eat em. carpool

after grocery shopping - not very common. most ppl just slap some sanitizer/a wipe on there or dont think abt it at all, but if you just got home from walmart thats a great time to wash. you just touched a bunch of items other people touched, including the cart, money/credit cards, and all the products people will pick up and put back, so its prime germ time babey. But again, sanitizer or a wipe will help if its all you can manage after a trip out like that.

before self care - also uncommon. ppl always say ‘dont touch your face’ and ‘apply this product with clean hands’, and what they mean is that one of the fastest ways germs get into your system is through your mouth, nose, eyes and ears. if you’re simply washing your face theres not as much concern, but applying a mask, moisturizer, makeup, etc. should all be done after a gentle rinse of your hands (and face). very hard to get into the schedule of, but if you consider it a Part of your ‘self care’ or use a special fun cleanser, it can stick a little easier.

6. stim items

STIM ITEMS!! if you have stim items, its a good idea to clean them regularly, but even moreso during an outbreak like this.

rubber/plastic - if it goes in your mouth, hot water (not hot enough to melt!) and dish soap, if it doesnt, look up how to safely make a diluted bleach solution.

silicone - silicone is usually dish washer safe.

fabric - if its light, add bleach to the washing machine, if its colored, you can use white vinegar or hydrogen peroxide which are less likely to discolor any dyes. lysol detergent is also super great. small items you’re worried about losing, or items with details/loose parts, you can usually wash inside of a sealed pillow case. 

‘squishies’ - for ‘mochi’ squishies aka the rubbery ones, soap and water + some dusted baby powder or corn starch (optional) to keep it from grabbing lint for a while. for foam squishies, they can rarely be deep cleaned without the risk of growing mold or taking paint off, but a disinfecting wipe every now and then should keep it clean for a while.

slime - cant be disinfected, sorry. also a breeding ground for mold if you arent careful, so its always best to cycle through these quickly.

technology - cant really be completely sterilized, but there are many places to get sprays and cleaning wipes for the devices you use that can at least keep the areas your hands frequently touch a little cleaner.

BUT of course if your item comes with instructions on how to wash it, always follow that instead. this is just a general idea.

and as a final note;;; disabled ppl should not feel guilty or dirty for struggling with this. like. man idc abt ur cringe feels or your ignorant blame or your lack of understanding/sympathy for what goes into these tasks for us. if u dont wanna get our struggles and sensitivities when we’re working twice as hard on functioning tasks which personal ease you take for granted, thats on you. @ disabled people if you struggle with maintaining the same standard of hygiene as nts you arent gross or bad fucking person, you’re disabled and by definition that means your level of functioning will be different, and you deserve sympathy. its just that germs dont discriminate, they wanna cause problems for everybody involved (especially you!!!), so Anything you can manage is Great and if anything from this post can help make it a little easier for people in any way, i feel its absolutely necessary to talk about with respect and dignity. people with autism/adhd/sensory processing disorder/similar neurodivergencies/literally anybody else this could benefit, pls feel free to add on any tips you might have or send me questions. let disabled ppl help disabled ppl do our personal bests

[ms31x129]

MSR/other/long winded responses

@likos064

This is from another blog discussion @likos064 responses in italics and then my thoughts. The other thread was getting long and the tumblr kept timing out for me.

‘Personally, I have no interest in Mulder or Scully/Other. Regardless of whether it is before they met, during the show pre or post relationship, though I ignore any breakup because I find it redundant, even though I understand the limitations of a TV show and Drama 101. What I cannot ignore, however, are double standards when it comes to writing these Other-relationships. Generally, when its Mulder/Other, regardless of whether he and Scully are involved or not, Mulder is portrayed as the bad guy. Excepting pre-X-files, but even that might be a stretch.

Conversely when it is Scully/Other she is portrayed to be in the right, a woman who is simply being true to her desires and taking what she deserves. It doesn’t matter whether she is involved with Mulder, at the cusp or committed she is still entitled to have sex with whoever she wants. But this only applies to her. Even in fics portraying a breakup she is allowed to move on while he has to wait for her to come back, if he wants companionship. And at that point, I don’t want them together any longer.

Retrograde as mentioned above is a good example. I don’t want her anywhere near him and I find it preposterous that he is completely alone so that she can prey on him in his weakness. People can write, like and headcanon what they want. But I am disturbed by the abuse that is so often encouraged towards him. Why make her as damaging as Phoebe and Diana?’

I agree with pretty much everything you said above and perhaps that’s why the ‘break-up’ eps have bothered me, I have trouble with getting into Scully’s mind – perhaps that’s a result of male writers? And no ‘show bible?’ I am a Mulderist through and through and I try not (I might not always succeed) to ‘cut’ Scully down in order to praise Mulder.

Through the seasons I think there have been hints as to Scully wanting a relationship/family – at some point, and it’s actually hard for me to pinpoint when she really chose Mulder – although running away with him in the Truth was a pretty good statement. Jersey Devil, Revelations (her instinct with Kevin,) Home are 3 right of the top of my head. (What’s wrong with a woman who doesn’t want children?) In the back of my mind I think I could always see Scully as being the one to move on and be just another person who left Mulder.

Mulder I think does want a family, I just don’t know if he thinks he deserves it? He really is so good with children in the eps – is that due to his psychology background – maybe? He didn’t ‘bond’ with Kevin in Revelations partly I think due to the Religion aspect although he doesn’t naysay Scully when she wants to keep Kevin with them either. In Home Mulder is telling Scully a happy memory of being a kid, baseball his sister – that dialogue stood out to me as well as the remarks about the kind of home he’d like to settle down in. Cliché it is, but I think he’s was searching for the family he lost the day Samantha disappeared. Even if he hadn’t believed it was Aliens I think Mulder would have kept searching regardless.

‘You’re right she did want to be with him. However, I don’t view the desire to be the same as action though there is definitely emotional cheating on Daniel’s part. A Platonic Romance can be just as threatening to marriage as one with a sexual component. Nevertheless, the fandom interpretation takes the relationship in a direction far different from the one that Gillian intended and that’s what I thought of when you complained about Scully’s involvement with a married man.’

Hmm… I could be wrong, but I thought GA said in several interviews that she intended for it to be obvious Scully and Daniel had been lovers. Even though she knows Scully’s character is Catholic and had been brought up to respect marriage it was one of Scully’s rebellion’s? GA doesn’t have a strict religious view point, so I thought this part of AT was more GA than Scully especially since she seemed to scoff at her sister Melissa’s more open / nature new age beliefs. At the same time within the ep I could view it as did knowing Mulder allow her to open up to other religions? Ideas? IMO it would have been nice to let Mulder know that occasionally.

I will confess that I too have some reservations over her behavior in all things. According to Frank Spotnitz and Chris Carter, Mulder and Scully are already involved in all things. The scene at the beginning with Mulder in bed was to indicate an ongoing sexual relationship not the start of one. Gillian knew this and still wrote Scully as deciding to leave Mulder, per the original script, only to change her mind again.

Well unfortunately we can’t take what FS or CC says for granted. I would love to read those statements though the only one I can recall is Frank S. reminding fans that AT wasn’t the first time M&S were in each others apartments overnight. How many times were we told William is Mulder’s son. For me that rankles as just another way to hurt Mulder, regardless all those years he thought he had a son out there.

‘My issue lies more in that this confirms Mulder’s fears, something that I see him being mocked over consistently; primarily when he runs away from her in Detour. I see numerous complaints about how he waited too long, but I always interpreted it, beyond TV show limitations and the patterns that existed in the 90s, as her not being ready for a relationship. Nor did I see an invitation of wine and cheese as a guaranteed sexual offer.’

I agree with this, I also wonder how much the whole experience with Scully almost dying affected him and wanting to be more, and of course Bill’s reaction I’m sure dug a little spot in his mind too. What is dying but another form of abandonment in a sense. I didn’t like ‘3’ either, but that was much earlier in their partnership so it was a little (very little) more palatable.

‘Nevertheless, I’m curious about your aversion to Scully’s attraction to older authoritative men. I don’t understand why you think she’s too smart for this. I always saw it as a father complex, an extension of the affection and more importantly approval she so desperately wanted from her father. Similarly, I viewed Mulder’s attraction to older women as a mother complex rooted in the affection his mother deprived him of following Samantha’s abduction.’

I know my aversion is mainly from a life experience and a friend’s story. I only took one college class and you could just see the professor eyeing up every girl that walked in until it landed on my friend. She was a straight A student, she wasn’t shy or outgoing we all thought her feet were planted firmly on the ground. He praised her, but you could also see subtle ‘put downs’ – you shouldn’t do it that way only an infant would things like that some worse. And all of us were shocked when she started a relationship with the professor who was 17 yrs older I think. Long story short he was married had 3 or 4 kids, she got pregnant he dropped her like a hot potato, she got an abortion and tried to commit suicide. We ended up finding out she’d been sexually abused as a child by her father or step-father. She moved and I haven’t seen or heard from her in over 30 yrs.

I know there wasn’t any hint of that in Scully and her father’s relationship, but the whole older-man/daddy issue has just always made me angry/disgusted in general.

­­­­­­­­­­­­’I see Daniel as an authority figure as well as a teacher who values her intelligence and makes her feel as though she matters. While Jack has a more obsessive quality towards his work, like her father who prioritized the navy over her. Both would have given her approval because they were teachers and she did her assignments. She mostly met their expectations. Until she didn’t.’

I agree with some of that. Mulder is different than those two men, I don’t see that many similarities. In NA when people say Mulder was treating Scully like her boss – jerk is the term I see most. Well technically he is the dept. head and he could assign her things. When they jointly investigate cases it makes sense to split up when their particular skills are better utilized – he thinks outside the box and she provides the facts/science when possible.

I always saw it as how much trust had formed that Mulder knew Scully would handle things. When he sort of scoffs at Scully handing off the case, I don’t take it as him not trusting/believing her – I think he was looking for any excuse to come back – I could be wrong.

And as I recall Scully has made jokes about Mulder’s dating or ala Jersey Devil Mulder’s “I have a life” reply to Scully. It seems okay when she does it but when he does it’s wrong.

‘Phoebe was manipulative but her mind games could still lead to rewards.’

I’m curious what rewards do you mean?

‘Diana I see as terribly accommodating but just as manipulative as Phoebe.’

Groan – I just hate the character of Diana for so many reasons. I hate when shows just drop in a character for shock value. I can’t believe in almost 5yrs of working together Diana’s name never once came up. That Scully never saw her name in a case file. That the LG never mentioned her before either you’d think there’d have been a comparison of the two, unless DF wasn’t a ‘work’ partner.

This is the man who opens up to Scully on their 1st case together and tells her about his sister in a very intimate way - even though he initially thinks she’s sent to spy on him. Yet when DF appears – initially its just generic basics about her, she gets shot and FTF come out with the whole ‘almost kiss’ scene. I’m sure DF would be too confusing for the ‘new’ fans Fox/CC were hoping to entice.

Then the Beginning – no mention of a kiss – Mulder appears so frustrated with Scully, but he trusts her completely with Gibson and it makes sense she’s the doctor. In the other eps with DF we never see Mulder seeking her out, yet he doesn’t seem to be sharing with Scully why he trusts Diana or the audience. To me that whole season (6) was Mulder making a choice to be with Scully at work and after work on cases like Dreamland.

I think the perfect time to introduce a new set of agents would have been right after FTF, are we to believe scientists worldwide wouldn’t have gotten notice of seismographs going off - tremors in Antartica they wouldn’t be down there investigating the cause.

Maybe that’s one of the problems with XFiles trying to straddle that line Aliens – but also real world cases happening in real time?

‘In both cases, Mulder’s need to please and be acknowledged would’ve been satisfied. I feel that Mulder and Scully partly satisfy these complexes in each other. Mulder is in a supervising role and Scully does want his acknowledgment and unless the script says otherwise, see Never Again, she gets it. Likewise, Scully acknowledges Mulder and appreciates him, unless the script calls for otherwise, like in all things. And if you decide to acknowledge the season 10-11 breakup.’

Quite the difference in DD and GA’s script(s), especially in the Unnatural it’s all about learning, a connection to someone, something even though neither M or S are in the ep, but for 7-8 minutes. I know some still get mad for the ‘ticking of her biological clock’ reference, but that is a common saying and Mulder was using it in that light-hearted way. Hollywood AD was a quirky ep and one of the ones that it’s hard to put in the XF ‘case’ universe, but even it had some poingnant moments and again M & S spending time outside of work together enjoying each other’s company.

And then AT – all about Scully, more of a character study. Mulder is flirty with his projector in the beginning and she’s stabbing her salad and snapping at him. I definitely didn’t care for snarky Scully. In the whole ep the only section I like is their conversation on the couch, the way DD plays Mulder and the way he looks at her – that man is in love, period.

S10-11 Breakup = stupid. As per the ratings immediate drop from week 1 to week 2 and kept on going. The idea that Mulder had to choose Scully over going back to work for the FBI – if that’s what he wanted to do is just wrong. And Scully just happening to work for a hospital and one or more of the patrons/dr.’s happening to experiment on his own children. There would have been the perfect ‘case’ to draw Scully back to working on the X-Files with Mulder and if they’d set up those other agents in S6 who knows how the series would have ended. 

One other thing that bothered me as the show progressed is what I call the dumbing down of Mulder. In Deep Throat Mulder has the line about his hotshot pilot friend and asks a technical flight question in other eps he also would pull facts both unusual and technical out in dialogue. Then it seemed that slowly faded. Was it to prop Scully up as being smarter? I don’t know I just missed those little moments of Mulder’s brilliance.

[bountyofbeads]

Neil Armstrong’s Heirs Split Over a Lucrative Legacy https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/27/us/neil-armstrong-heirs.html

Neil Armstrong is a 'NATIONAL TREASURE' and it's sad 😔 😢to know that his death could have been prevented, especially as we celebrate the 50th Aniversary of their historic Moon🌚 landing and walk on the 🌚Moon. And now the family division over many Neil Armstrong's belongings and mementos are being auctioned off to private buyers that we, our children or grandchildren, may never see again. I remember so vividly, as a child, watching to news coverage of that period and it remind me of a period AWE but also a time of UNCERTAINTY.

😢😭😭😭

‘Would Dad Approve?’ Neil Armstrong’s Heirs Divide Over a Lucrative Legacy

By Scott Shane, Sarah Kliff and Susanne Craig | Published July 27, 2019| New York Times | Posted July 27, 2019 |

Last fall, Neil Armstrong’s two sons began a round of media appearances to promote a venture that would make them millions of dollars: a series of auctions of about 3,000 mementos from their father’s moon mission and NASA career.

“One Giant Sale” was CNBC’s headline, playing on the astronaut’s famous line, as Mark and Rick Armstrong talked up the items — an American flag that had flown to the moon on Apollo 11; a flight suit their father had worn earlier in his career; and many possessions that had nothing to do with space, including Mr. Armstrong’s childhood teddy bear and a preschool report card he signed.

“You just hope that people get positive energy from these things,” Mark Armstrong told “CBS This Morning.” He told The New York Times they had “struggled with” what their father might think of the auctions. “Would Dad approve? Let’s see what positive things we can do with the proceeds,” he said.

The auctions would prove lucrative amid the rising wave of publicity leading up to the 50th anniversary of the moon landing this month: $16.7 million in sales to date. The Dallas auction house calls the memorabilia the Armstrong Family Collection, though it includes a small number of items from other sources, including the astronaut Buzz Aldrin. Another auction, the fourth, is set for November.

Those sales by the brothers, who also pursued a newly disclosed $6 million  wrongful death settlement over their father’s medical care, have exposed deep differences among those who knew Neil Armstrong about his legacy — and what he would have wanted.

Some relatives, friends and archivists find the sales unseemly, citing the astronaut’s aversion to cashing in on his celebrity and flying career and the loss of historical objects to the public.

“I seriously doubt Neil would approve of selling off his artifacts and memorabilia,” said James R. Hansen, his biographer. “He never did any of that in his lifetime.”

The astronaut had stopped signing autographs in 1994, after he discovered that many of those requesting his signature were then selling them. His personal lawyer, Ross Wales, said his client resisted the idolatry focused on his signature and possessions in part because he considered himself only the frontman for a huge NASA enterprise.

“His feeling was that he was not special because he was the first person to walk on the moon, and that he wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for the thousands of people who worked on the mission,” Mr. Wales said.

By contrast with the astronaut’s sons, Carol Armstrong — his second wife, whom he married in 1994 after a divorce initiated by Janet Armstrong, Rick and Mark’s mother — is not known to have sold anything. Instead she has lent and donated a collection of memorabilia to the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum in Washington; such loans often convert to donations in an arrangement intended to avoid gift taxes. People who know her say she and her adult children, Andrew and Molly, believe her husband would have opposed the commerce in the trappings of his work and life. (Carol and her children declined to comment.)

Mark Armstrong said that the question of what’s best for posterity and what his father might have wanted is not so simple. He said that he and his brother had already donated to museums more than $500,000 in cash and artifacts worth about $1.4 million, and that they had lent items worth several million more.

But he said donations, which offer the donor tax benefits, do not guarantee public access. “Museums can choose to store items out of sight or unilaterally decide to sell them,” he said in an email forwarded by his wife.

As for his father, Mark said, “I think he would judge us not on whether we auctioned items or not, but rather what we do with the proceeds and how we conduct our lives. Dad said that he wanted to leave the world a better place than he found it. I intend to follow his example and teach my children to do the same.”

Mark and his wife, Wendy, said they were using auction proceeds to create an environmental nonprofit in honor of Mark’s parents, called Vantage Earth, that Wendy said would work “to preserve and protect the earth from the damage done to it by its own population — a concern raised by Neil upon looking back at the earth from the moon.”

Tensions are common in any family affected by divorce. When it is the family of the first human being to step onto the moon, with global fame and a large estate, relations get only more complicated.

After leaving NASA in 1971, Mr. Armstrong taught aerospace engineering at the University of Cincinnati, served on multiple corporate boards and accepted speaking fees, accumulating a fortune worth many millions. But he turned down many opportunities to make even more money, friends say.

At the time of his death, most of Mr. Armstrong’s assets, including the memorabilia, were left in a trust, the beneficiaries of which could not be determined by The Times. His sons may have received some items from their father through the trust, and they received other keepsakes when their mother died in 2018, according to Wendy Armstrong. The first auction was held five months later.

Strains between Mr. Armstrong’s first and second families came to a head after his death in 2012, at age 82, of complications after heart surgery. The Times reported this past week that Mercy Health-Fairfield Hospital, outside Cincinnati, had secretly paid the family $6 million to settle a claim that his treatment had been deficient. The family also sought changes in hospital protocols to prevent such deaths in the future.

Papers sent anonymously to The Times described how the removal of pacemaker wires installed during surgery had caused bleeding that could not be repaired quickly because no cardiac surgeon was on duty. The resulting loss of oxygen to Mr. Armstrong’s brain left him in a vegetative state; he died 11 days later after life support was withdrawn.

While there was some friction over when to remove life support, the real clash came later, over the medical malpractice claim, which the sons pushed for and Carol, his widow, declined to participate in.

“In the end, strong feelings ripped apart Neil’s loved ones over the hospital’s handling of Neil’s care,” said Mr. Hansen, who became close to the family while writing his 2005 Armstrong biography, “First Man.”

Mr. Hansen called the medical crisis “a terrible, traumatic situation” made worse by the fact that “Neil essentially had two distinct families that were not, if they ever had been able to before, thinking and feeling as one.”

Carol Armstrong, who knew her husband had considered the cardiologist a friend, “felt strongly that Neil would not have wanted her to sue the doctors or the hospital — he would not want anyone to take advantage of his name in such a way,” Mr. Hansen said.

Court records show Ms. Armstrong as receiving “zero — not participating,” by her own choice. Neither did her children, the astronaut’s stepchildren, seek any payment.

Mark Armstrong, a 56-year-old retired software engineer, and Rick, 62, a onetime animal trainer who has a software consulting business, got the bulk of the hospital’s payment, about $2.6 million apiece. Neil’s surviving brother and sister got $250,000 each, and the six children of Rick and Mark got $24,000 each.

One court filing in the case, by a lawyer arguing for a greater share for the grandchildren, discussed the uneasy equation between familial relations — even love — and cold cash. While acknowledging that Mr. Armstrong’s siblings might get a larger payment because “they loved him the longest, depended on him the most” and found his loss “most painful,” the lawyer, Bertha G. Helmick, wrote that the “opposite is equally true.”

“The minor grandchildren, having had the least time with Decedent, have suffered the greatest loss of time, attention, protection, advice, guidance, counsel and affection.”

The grandchildren, she wrote, “lost their universally beloved and revered grandfather, who could magically open any door, innocently pave ways into college admissions, and who would have always carried a de facto hero element to any school or athletic or workplace function.”

Rick and Mark Armstrong, represented by Mark’s wife, Wendy, a lawyer, got the settlement after threatening to announce their concerns about their father’s treatment at a gathering at Kennedy Space Center for the 45th anniversary of the moon shot.

The brothers would use the 50th anniversary this month for a different kind of leverage. They were far from the first to sell an astronaut’s possessions — Heritage Auctions in Dallas has sold such collections for 20 other astronauts and their families, said Greg Rohan, the company’s president. But none had the status of Neil Armstrong.

“This is really the holy grail,” Mr. Rohan said in a promotional video.

“Neil Armstrong holds a special place in the space history enthusiasts’ world,” said Robert Pearlman, editor of CollectSpace.com, a website devoted to space memorabilia.

The prices reflected that reverence. Items fetching the highest prices tended to be those that traveled with Mr. Armstrong to the moon, such as a rare gold medal that sold for $2.04 million this month — the highest price in the lot. The American flag that had flown aboard Apollo 11 got $275,000.

Personal items, from Mr. Armstrong’s own childhood and early years of parenting, also sold well. The teddy bear sold for $3,500. A letter that Mr. Armstrong wrote to the Easter bunny as a child, asking it to “please hide our baskets” and signed “Neil,” sold for $4,000. A postcard sent to his parents from Paris in 1962 (“Having a fine time and not working too hard,” it reads) went for $1,375. The preschool report card Mr. Armstrong signed for his son Mark went for $750.

Even Mr. Armstrong’s personal collection of magazines and vinyl records — most bearing no relation to his journey to space, such as his copies of The Family Handymanand Sports Illustrated — found buyers, mostly for $200 or less.

Many of the items sold at auction — ranging from photographs in his spacesuit to personal checks — included Mr. Armstrong’s handwriting and signature, though he’d been loath to see his autographs sold when he was alive.

“He went out of his way not to make his signature available,” said Mr. Wales, the lawyer, who worked for Mr. Armstrong for more than a decade. “He realized that, yes, there were young kids who just thought it was great to get an autograph, but there were young kids who had parents who went about taking their kids’ autographs and selling them. He just didn’t like to be made a fuss over.”

In 2005, Mr. Armstrong learned that a barber had sold his hair clippings to a memorabilia collector for $3,000. He directed Mr. Wales to propose that the barber either “return the hair to Mr. Armstrong” or “donate, to a charitable organization of his choice, an amount equal to the proceeds you realized on the sale of his hair.”

In a letter to the barber, Mr. Wales cited a 1998 Ohio law that bars the unauthorized use of someone’s persona for profit, either while they are that person is alive or for 100 years after his or her death. The astronaut John Glenn, also an Ohio native, had urged the state legislature to pass the law. Mr. Armstrong felt similarly, Mr. Wales said.

When the first auction approached last year, archivists at Purdue University, Mr. Armstrong’s alma mater, issued a mild public protest. In a letter to The Times, the archivists noted that Neil and Carol Armstrong had donated more than 400 boxes of his papers to Purdue, where they had been consulted by scholars and students; used to produce books, dissertations, films and exhibits; and included in a dozen courses.

“Auctioning off historical treasures into private hands at the expense of providing access to the public is problematic,” they wrote. “Archives exist to make the remnants of history accessible and long lasting so that current and future generations have access to them.”

Mr. Pearlman, of the space memorabilia site, who said he corresponded with Mr. Armstrong before his death, said he understood the mixed feelings about such auctions, despite his own avid interest in collecting.

“I understand those who frown upon selling these items,” he said. “But what do you do with them?” He said there was no perfect path for such an inheritance.

“I can’t say Neil would or wouldn’t have wanted these auctions to happen,” Mr. Pearlman said. “I can say I don’t think there’s a clear right or wrong here.”

[cobbdahlgaard63-blog]

Budgeting Funds - Home Budgeting Assistance

Certainly one of life's great mysteries is the most competent and clever folks seem going to a mental block when it regards boosting their personal financing. This very simple guide can help you manage your money. Ilmārs Rimšēvičs Why Money Topics Simply because poring over financial statements is not the very exciting of activities a lot of us possess an aversion to dwelling budgeting. By simply reminding oneself of the importance of 14, 1 solution to become motivated is.

Money equates to freedom and choice. With no income our time will be spent pursuing our tail to maintain a roof on our head and food onto the desk. With money we have liberty in we expend our own time and the way we are living. Accumulating wealth isn't a sin. Happens the capability to do far great. With dollars, we've got selection; without itwe don't! The Significance of Budgeting The purchase of wealth is dependent upon just two matters, our revenue and outgoings. The more income exceeds. The managing of these two amounts is what's known as budgeting. The absolute most essential, and often hardest measure into budgeting is taking stock of what's occurring. The majority people get our cover packet, commit it, and wonder why why nothing's left until the next payday comes, and so on... Budget Arranging Keep a check or two. Take observe and a pocketbook each piece of expenditure and income from your afternoon newspaper to the tips you might get from the job. Look carefully at your own bank announcement and make sure you include people possibly forgotten direct payments or stock reductions. Remember to accounts for periodical expenses such as local taxation, house insurance, and car services etc.. Appear at your earnings, once you've the statistics. Exercise ideally how you had allocate your revenue before assessing your expenditures. Start by itemizing basic costs, eg housing, transport, meals, invoices, taxation... using what is left, work out essentially what you want to spend (on nice, but optional things including holidays, eating outside... ) and store . Don't forget the small stuff like coffees along with papers. Now look in the expenses. How can they vary from your picture? Likely changes are suggested by the differences; the greater the gap, the more the need for change. Inspect those charges carefully. Are there any locations where you may be losing dollars? These might be as simple as investing in a coffee on the best way instead of waiting to the one which you are able to become there. What could seem just a couple dollars per week may equate to tens of thousands of dollars over the year. You don't have to exude the joys of each of life, but it is surprising how small things accumulate. You may be aware what your little pleasures price by analyzing your data. By the close of the exercise you may find your income surpasses your expenditure. Inside this case you'll have the pleasure of choosing just how to allocate the extra to best fit your own circumstances, goals and individuality. If, nevertheless you find your outgoings exceed your income you have to admit that your position remains faulty. Feel relieved that you comprehended that the issue. There are two primary tactics to resolve things, both improve your income or minimize your expenditure where you running a shortage. On the other hand, are there any chances to bring in some income that is part time, or even to work overtime? Concerning expenditure you'll need to become ruthless. Prioritize the outgoings you've recorded. Spend where you may. Admit the issue if you're having trouble servicing debt. Talk to creditors. Weekly vs. Monthly Budgeting Nowadays most folks get paid yearly. While this benefits companies (creating just 1 2 payments per year instead of 52) it may create difficulties for individuals. Are calendar months of unequal span, but also per month is also quite a long time. It's easier to funds by changing your income to chunks that are per week, each week and making. To calculate the weekly equivalent of your month-to-month wages you will need to multiply by 12 and divide from 52.1775 (taking account of leap years). In weeks with only 4"cover times" you should put something apart for people with 5. Envelope Budgeting Earlier bank balances became commonplace most people was able to set aside income, perhaps in labeled envelopes or jars, to get their various outgoings. Though crude, this method caused it to be obvious if the expenses of life had adequate financing. Now we rarely get to find real funds it might be really hard to see the overall picture. You can follow the envelope budgeting principle by the balance to accounts, eg with a personal computer spreadsheet If your cash stored firmly in a higher interest account. Make a set of one's periodical outgoings, also work out how much every week/month will be required to cover them. Afterward, into an proper number of virtual sub-accounts, split your deposit accounts balance in your paper or computer , ensuring each and every has adequate financing. Funding Contingency Predictable charges sometimes presents unpleasant surprises such as for example a lost occupation. It also is reasonable have a contingency finance to minimize the economic hurt, although you may certainly not account fully for its sudden. How big is this finance depends upon personality, and your circumstances, however it highly recommended to carry at least 3 calendar month's salary in available cash.

[potterwhos]

What is Rey’s Failure?

In light of the recent discussions, some of them heated, within the fandom about the proposal scene in The Last Jedi, I wanted to ask this question: What is Rey’s failure?

I think the confusion or uncertainty around this key question is kind of the root of the discussion and why emotions can run high. Contrast with what I see as a widely-held assumption that this type of discussion is a reaction toward anti and general fandom Kylo-bashing. Though there is a bit of that as well, we are all of course human and biased.

I must add that this piece does not apply to those who were character-bashing Rey, such as in the post (probably made by an anti-Rey and/or anti-Reylo, who knows…) that sparked the latest round of this discussion. However, the differing interpretations of this scene, particularly in regards to Rey and/or Ben’s culpability, I kind of always knew would blow up in a way.

Before I answer this key question, I have to go back and ask: Does Rey even fail in The Last Jedi?

The answer many would expect is “Yes” for multiple reasons, two big ones within the film that point to this answer being true are:

1.      Because TLJ’s main theme is Failure – “The greatest teacher, failure is” – and all the central heroes, Finn, Poe, and Luke, experience an arc about learning from failure. Of course, Rey must have experienced failure too???

This meta by @starwarsnonsense explains this theme beautifully: The Last Jedi: A Beautiful and Exquisitely Emotional Film About the Lows and Highs of Failure

2.      The Skywalker legacy saber, which so easily went to the “worthy” Rey instead of Kylo in The Force Awakens, is broken in two after an intense tug-of-war between these same two characters in an obvious call back to that scene in TFA. Is Rey no longer worthy???

This meta on the Star Wars site explains the Excalibur-like qualities of the legacy saber: STUDYING SKYWALKERS: EXCALIBUR AND THE LIGHTSABER

So, yes, I believe the film leads you to believe that Rey experiences failure. However, this becomes murky during the emotional climax of the movie, the Praetorian fight sequence and particularly the Proposal Scene.

Up until this point, it is clear who the lead central character of the film is – it’s Rey. Her active decisions have driven the narrative and her emotional and inner conflicts as she learns more about the Skywalker tragedy and confronts her own tragic childhood have been the focus. Kylo’s appearances through the Force Bond have served to help Rey on this journey of discovery and self-discovery; he plays his role as her Shadow and Animus to a tee.

However, once Kylo kills Snoke to save Rey, the title for TLJ’s lead central character becomes contested. In the third act of the film, Kylo’s active choices, both heroic and villainous, start to drive the narrative and it is his internal conflict that is brought to the forefront. The second character vying for the title during the third act is not Rey; it is Luke for reasons similar to the ones stated above.

During the third act, after she escapes the Throne Room, Rey practically disappears relative to how central she was during the rest in the movie. With the exception of the Rock Lifting scene, Rey becomes a more reactionary character, similar to how she was in TFA. The abruptness of this character relapse was like whip-lash for many.

@reylo-trash-lives-here wonderfully explains here how this relapse sees Rey reverting back to hiding behind her persona.

I must point out, that I’m not saying this makes Rey’s character or characterization weak. Star Wars is more of an ensemble story than most, and Kylo and Luke kind of overtaking Rey in the third act was bound to happen, since the film leads up to it – something I’ll get back to.

So, the primary focus on Kylo Ren/Ben Solo during the third act means that it is his failure that takes central stage and gets narrative priority. Kylo’s failure being his unwillingness to reject his destructive ways and his failing to see how the preservation/creation that Rey represents is the more morally right way. I won’t say that it is the definitive right way, since as Rian Johnson has hinted at in recent interviews, destruction isn’t always 100% wrong since it can lead to rebirth, though not without creation.

But still, Kylo is only offering destruction via an organization not averse to genocide that seeks galactic domination. Rey’s rejection of his offer is not only morally right it is narratively right.

Once again, the question remerges with more fervor: What exactly does Rey fail at?

And many people’s instinct is to go to the point where it all crumbled, where it all blew up in flames – the Proposal Scene. Since it is obvious what Kylo’s failure was in the scene, many of us, myself included, find ourselves putting a magnifying glass on Rey’s reactions and actions in this scene to try to see the cracks, to see the hints of failure.

We point out her impulsiveness, her inability to bargain with Kylo, how her reaching out for the saber could have potentially triggered Kylo due to the events of Luke’s betrayal, and how her emphasis on saving the Resistance might be perceived by Kylo as her only wanting him for his power akin to Snoke and arguably Luke.

But would Rey changing any of these aspects of herself and her behavior really have resulted in Kylo rejecting his destructiveness and joining Rey in the Light? Similarly, did Kylo’s gentleness, expressed longing, and acknowledgement of Rey’s choice, elements that were absent during his TFA proposal and major reasons why she violently rejected him then, result in Rey embracing his destructive dogma and accepting his offer?

No, I think nothing would have changed because they agree on wanting to be together but fundamentally disagree on what that union will mean. You can still point out the flaws of both Rey and Kylo in this scene since they do both break each other’s hearts. However, getting rid of those flaws, particularly in Rey’s case, would not have resulted in a different outcome.

Still, because Rey is not only morally right, but also narratively right it would have to be on Ben, not Rey, to yield in this instance to be one step closer to galactic peace and balance, but more importantly his own inner peace and balance.

@greyjedireylo concisely explains how Ben hiding behind his shadow is the ultimate flaw he must overcome here.

On the other hand, @reylohasmyheart explains beautifully why Kylo’s rejection of Rey’s offer was needed for both his redemption and romantic relationship with Rey going forward:

We must first ask, why do we think the separation of Rey and Kylo is a failure to begin with? And why do we think Rey is equally to blame for it?

This is where, understandably, there is confusion. Many of us assume this because, visually, the film seems to want to tell us this by having the legacy saber split in two. It seems, the Force has found some fault in Rey, has found her less worthy than she was on Starkiller Base. Kylo now seems to be equally worthy since the saber actually answers his pull unlike in TFA.

However, I would argue that this broken saber symbolizes that the Force’s endgame is for Rey and Kylo to work together, to be together. Not necessarily in that specific moment in Snoke’s throne room, but in general. In TFA, the saber identified Rey as Ben’s equal – “It is you”. In TLJ, the saber symbolizes their broken union (and their broken hearts). I don’t think its main symbolic purpose is to symbolize failure, on either Rey or Kylo’s parts. Rather, it just symbolizes the fact they are separated and something is inherently wrong with this separation.

So there it is again, that pervasive question, then what is Rey’s failure?

Indeed all the other central heroes and villain failed: Finn, Poe, Luke, and Kylo. Some people pointed out, and both celebrated and criticized (fairly and unfairly), that TLJ seems to be about women teaching boys to become men. Does that mean Rey escaped failure because she occupies a female teacher role like Lea, Holdo, and Rose?

No, I believe Rey does fail. Though I would argue compared to Kylo’s hard failure, Rey experiences a soft failure (I’ll explain what I mean below). And this failure does not blatantly happen during one climactic scene, unlike Kylo, it subtlety takes place throughout the film.

Okay, now this is the part where you must try to forgive me. I recently read The Heroine’s Journey by Maureen Murdock and From Girl to Goddess by Valerie Frankel, both delving into the mythic structure of the Heroine’s Journey. However, I don’t have those books in my possession right now and will have to rely on memory while crudely paraphrasing some the concepts they discussed. If anyone reading this has access to these books, correct me if you find any inaccuracies.

So part of the Heroine’s Journey is Animus Development and part of that development involves the heroine identifying with the masculine. I believe this is during the second stage of animus development which is man as a man of action or a romantic man. In TLJ, Rey has two animus figures, Luke (the father figure) and Kylo (the shadow animus/animal husband).

During this stage, the Heroine is confronted by the powerful dogma of her animus. In Rey’s case, both Luke and Kylo are negative animus figures because Luke’s dogma emphasizes self-destruction and inaction, while Kylo’s dogma emphasizes self-destruction and outward destruction. However, despite these constricting dogmas, the heroine finds herself depending on her animus; she identifies too much with the masculine and shuns the feminine.

She believes that her animus knows what’s best, it is her animus that has the power to change things, and that it will be her animus that ultimately saves the day.

The heroine must overcome this over-dependence; she must acknowledge the power and strength of the feminine within her as well. She must recognize that she can be the hero of the story.

In TLJ, Rey first goes to Ach-To to try and convince Luke to once again wear the hero’s mantle. When she fails at this, she instead focuses her efforts on Ben Solo who she has convinced herself will be the Resistance’s only hope due to her failure with Luke as well as her own (as of now unacknowledged) personal desires. After Kylo rejects joining her and the Resistance, Rey finally comes to the realization that she can use her own power to become the hero (and the symbolic mother) of the Resistance which is signified when she lifts the rocks and helps the Resistance escape the caves.

@clairen45 points out the use of symbolism during the Crait battle and it is a fascinating read: Crait and Symbolism: blood, wounds, salt, foxes, the mother and the nest.

This lovely discussion started by @reylohasmyheart talks about how Rey’s unacknowledged desires may have affected the Throne Room scene.

This positive change within the heroine positively affects her animus figures. Luke regains hope and springs back into action by sacrificing himself to save the Resistance. He restores hope in the galaxy and starts the healing process of his nephew. Kylo’s positive change is hinted at in their final force bond scene where he kneels to Rey and must confront the truth that power for the sake of destruction will not bring him peace or happiness. Because of the heroine’s effect on her animus figures, it becomes more understandable that Kylo and Luke, rather than Rey, are thrust into the forefront of the narrative during the third act.

So, this means that one aspect of Rey’s failure in The Last Jedi is that she did not believe herself to be a hero.

However, this brings up more questions.

1.      Does this mean Rey seeing the light in Ben and his potential for good was wrong?

2.      Does this mean Rey ever believing Ben could be redeemed and turn to the light was wrong?

3.      Does this mean Rey ever extending compassion, understanding, and belief to Ben was a weakness that she overcame by the end of The Last Jedi when she shut the door?

4.      Does this mean that Rey’s journey in The Last Jedi was about her learning more about Ben in order to, in the end, strictly identify herself as the hero and him as the irredeemable evil villain?

Many people, not us within the Reylo fandom of course, have suggested these as the lessons Rey learns from her failure in TLJ. These conclusions are troublesome because, first, they strongly go against the themes and values presented within the Star Wars franchise.

Second, due to the subtextual journey of sexual awakening/exploration Rey goes on within TLJ, these lessons present pretty problematic conclusions on female sexuality. That it is a weakness that detracts from logical and moral thought, that its desires should not be pursued freely, that in the end, young women should listen to old men like Luke and repress their sexual desires in order to succeed.

@corseque wrote a fun and eye-opening film analysis exploring the sexual imagery utilized within The Last Jedi: a long and specific The Last Jedi meta - (spoilers)

I think being confronted with these incredibly faulty interpretations, has made some of us (it has admittedly made me) look for reasons to explain why the separation was wrong (for the general story direction this is correct, but not within the context of this movie it isn’t) and to look for what Rey did wrong that partially caused this separation.

In the end, I must argue that (even if it pains me to say this because I really enjoy my heroes being wrong in key moments, heroes that make the audience truly question their morality, Rey is not that character, not yet or maybe never…) Rey is never wrong during The Last Jedi. Yes, she is flawed, but she is never wrong. This is why I categorize Rey’s failure as a soft failure.

Her over-dependence on her animus and inability to see herself as a hero are both aspects of her failure, but due to the positive changes her experiencing and overcoming this failure has on herself and her animus figures, there is no better or more right alternative presented by the narrative. Unlike with Kylo, the better alternative presented by the narrative is to go to the Light Side, choose redemption.

So now we can finally answer: What is Rey’s Failure?

Rey’s failure is not that she ever reached out to Ben, is not that she ever believed he could be redeemed, and is not that she ever believed there was still good left in him. Rey’s failure is also not that she didn’t try to see where Ben was coming from when he proposed his fundamentally destructive offer, is not that she lacked empathy for Ben in that one crucial moment in the throne room, and is not that she didn’t try to meet him in the middle during this emotionally volatile moment for the both of them.

Rey’s true failure is believing that she could make anyone other than herself choose to be a hero.

And the lesson she learns is twofold. First, it isn’t that Ben must redeem himself completely on his own. Rey can still offer him the choice of redemption; the very fact that she did not kill him in the throne room leaves her offer open. But it must be Ben who chooses to be the hero. Second, Rey can be her own hero and therefore a hero for others.

[hardwarerentalnews]

Dell Precision 7550 a Powerhouse On-the-Go

Dell Precision 7550: a Powerhouse On-the-Go

The Dell Precision 7550 PC was delivered in 2020, and the remaining parts are one of our number one versatile workstations today. The model provisions excellent NVIDIA Quadro illustrations, tenth gen Intel processors, and modern programming. Because of its incredible equipment, the Precision 7550 is an extraordinary office expansion for imaginative experts (illustrators and originators), planners, engineers, IT-trained professionals, and some more. It could, without much of a stretch, supplant a workstation.

How about we investigate the Dell Precision 7550 elements closer.

Dell Precision 7550 Specfications

One thing about versatile workstations is that their presentation is profoundly customized dependent on your work needs. Hence, you have a broad scope of arrangements to look over:

Processors

Dell offers the accompanying choices:

• Intel Core i7-10750H (six-figure centers, 12MB Cache, 2.60 GHz base speed to 5.00 GHz, 45W vPro).

• Intel Core i7-10875H (Octa-Core, 16MB Cache, 2.30 GHz to 5.10 GHz, 45W vPro).

• Intel Xeon W-10855M processor (six centers, 12MB Cache, 2.80 GHz to 5.10 GHz, 45W, vPro)

Committed Graphics

Dell Precision 7550 can accompany coming up following Gpu's:

• NVIDIA Quadro T1000, with 4GB GDDR6 VRAM

• NVIDIA Quadro T2000, 4GB GDDR6

• NVIDIA Quadro RTX 4000, 8GB GDDR6

• NVIDIA Quadro RTX 5000, 16GB GDDR6

Storage Choices

The prospects are almost unending here. However, the Precision 7550 workstation upholds up to 6TB rapid stockpiling (three 2TB M.2 SSD drives)! Concerning RAM, 128GB of standard or mistake amending code (ECC) DRAM is most highly upheld.

Show Options

Once more, Dell gives many alternatives here. Accuracy 7550 is a 15.6-inch model. You can choose between five distinct types of boards, going from the FHD 1080p goal to 4K (3840 x 2160). The touchscreen alternative is accessible also. For those uncertain which type to pick, we suggest our QHD versus FHD post for additional subtleties.

I/O Ports

The Dell Precision 7550 versatile workstation accompanies the choice of a remarkable port.

On the left side, we have:

• Two USB 3.2 Gen 2 Thunderbolt 3.0 Type C ports;

•  Smart Card Reader.

On the right side:

• 2x USB 3.2 Gen 1 with Powershare;

• SD Card Reader;

• Universal Audio Jack;

• Cable Lock.

Lastly on the back:

• Mini DP 1.4;

• HDMI 2.0;

• RJ-45;

• DC jack.

As should be obvious, this PC has all that you need to remain helpful in a hurry.

Dell Precision 7550 Design

Dell took the "toning it down would be ideal" approach here. Therefore, this workstation includes a hearty and robust plant. The PC is rugged, and it will look rich around your work area. The model has a moderate square-cut case, tightened silver aluminum section, and glass intelligent the Dell logo on the top.

Contrasted with the Dell Precision 5550 15.6-inch model, the Precision 7550 is bigger and heavier. This gadget measures 1.08 x 14.2 x 9.5 inches and weighs 5.42 lb (2.45kg).

Source: Dell Youtube channel.

Dell Precision 7550: Performance and Features

As we have set up, the Dell Precision 7550 workstation PC offers you all that you need to remain functional, and the sky is the limit from there. With its tenth Gen Intel processors, including a Xeon alternative combined with incredible NVIDIA Quadro series designs, the PC can run CAD and Adobe Creative Cloud Suite without an obstacle.

The Precision 7550 is a rapid, incredible workstation PC. It is a superb decision for engineers, architects, video editors, and 3D illustrators who work with intricate force requesting programming. Thus, the Precision 7550 offers stable execution without slacking or overheating.

Dell Optimizer is one more incredible component this PC sports. It is an Artificial Intelligence stage to calibrate the framework for your most utilized applications and projects. Also, the Dell SupportAssist handles stuff like downloads, eliminating garbage records, and further developing your organization association. To top everything, the model components the ExpressSign-in, a sensor that distinguishes your quality too; in a split second, wake the framework up and log you in using the IR camera and Windows Hello. All without making the slightest effort! Likewise, it locks the PC when you leave to guard your work.

Other equipment highlights incorporate ExpressResponse, ExpressCharge, and Intelligent Audio. These advantages are a piece of the inherent AI stage and are based on the improved client experience.

Dell Precision 7550 Keyboard

The console is open and stretches from one edge to another. It is entirely agreeable for composing and offers incredible material criticism. The model accompanies a regular console, which means you have the numeric cushion on your appropriate for a work area like insight and added solace. Furthermore, the force button at the upper right serves as a unique finger impression peruser.

Nonetheless, there is no illuminated shading determination. However, the Precision 7550 isn't a gaming PC. Even though, it certainly could be twofold as one. All arrangements accompany a white illuminated shading alternative.

We are likewise glad to report that this present PC's trackpad is satisfactorily measured, considering signal accuracy and precision. Furthermore, it has a pleasant matte completion, agreeable to contact. Also, the touchpad is made of magnesium amalgam material that is less inclined to fingerprints. The magnesium compound assists with limiting the heaviness of the PC, but at the same time, it's more impervious to warmth. You are more averse to feel the heat coming from the PC, therefore.

Utilized Dell Precision Laptop Trade-in Value

The resale worth of any gadget relies upon the model, design, refreshing and valuable condition. Nonetheless, considering the Dell Precision 7550 is a lovely new model, its resale cost is in a higher reach. Furthermore, fortunately, we as of now acknowledge the Precision 7550 models.

• Preowned Dell Precision 7550 Series Mobile Workstation with Intel Core i7 tenth era processor yields a $727 offer*.

• Dell Precision 15 5000 Series 5550, likewise Intel Core i7 tenth era based, gets up to $704 cash in your pocket*.

End

The Dell Precision 7550 is an excellent versatile workstation PC. It can undoubtedly supplant a PC tower. However, you can take it with you anyplace you go. This PC can deal with complete equipment assignments and is planned for innovative experts, drafters, and architects. To top everything, the maker offers a lot of arrangements to accommodate your spending plan.

Furthermore, a quality plan for sure or those hoping to update, if it's not too much trouble, recall that you can counterbalance the expense of your new buy by deciding on to rent a Dell Precision 7550 rental from GlobalNettech.

[castlehead]

:a Not which one is right but which one is more like you Let's start now // this is a few makeshifts on the deity,

dint realize y i was gettin poor marks in college till i realized comic sans wasnt mla format for essays, but i kept on with it bc im anti establishment and my dope ass literary insights should speak for themselves.

my 'experimentation' as one nonplussed professor put it, with the font, progressively got crazier, and in the end i was doin all caps zapf wingdings mized wih herculanum

needless to say, i got my degree.. IN BEIN A BOSS.

na but yeah i got kicked out of that school. still bummin on campus actually, and probably psychotic from this ecstasy i keep taking. this guy in f comp makes his own, has a pill press nd everything.

the shoes i original got as a college present from my parents got stolen, or in any case i woke up in a snow drift next to the commons dumpster without them on, so i just wear slippers. my toes are purple. ther always feels like there is something in my teeth or throat i cannot dislodge. i am the campus transient, avoiding th. RAs and ignoring the eviction notices. like raping the willing, one cannot be evicted if one is homeless. with the help of a few friends i sold drugs to when my rents still gave me money and i was still enrolled, i alternate between various dormitory hovels, hiding out from the campus police like some ghastly dysfunctional version of anne frank.

i havent taken my pills and smell. i emaciate my already rejected body, rejected by the establishment goons, with cocaine, and remind myself of the leftover chicken carcass and neatly lined bones whose tomb was a disgusting box of dominos buffalo wings i ordred and consumed my first semester here and that remained in the same place until i abandoned that radioactive dormroom to die slowly and painfully, and metaphorically, since living quarters do not possess life. i am starting tho to wonder if i myself possess that as well or if i did once and now am but a structure, a part of the collegiate landscape, sniffed at by diligent students and attempted to get thru to by intellectual slackers, decadent addicts themselves on their way to where i am, and wooks who need someone to smoke with on a sunday 4 am and know i always keep track of what festis are goin on on campus; i receive the next round of empathy from a new stranger who maybe heard of me or has seen me around and wondered what i was still doing here.

empathy, empathy, curiosity as to the quirky insane dude fried by mdma and a shitload of adderall for no purpose bc i have no practical skills. a monotony of empathy ripping off and using for the metaphorical shit on my metaphorical ass, like swquares of toilet paper who fancy me a hobo poet in need of on top of text books i never opened, on a desk i used as a trash receptacle. and speaking of wings, i think i might be literally going into a dissociative state because all the leaves on the trees look like zapf wingdings. my clavicle is not only visible but sticks out of my body further than my chest does.

watch out for hell day today, for something godlier than god. i deliver it.

The effect I wish to give, as it always has been, is that of a truth clearly viewed, in utter horror. Gods factotum, shuffling thru abandoned files that sometime held a secret forgotten, tho no less true now, and the horror perhaps, that we forgot something so crucially, fundamentally true, and so long ago.

​this work is twisted, sad, manic, strange, fluid, stilted, inappropriate, foolish, magnificent.

if god doesnt exist, neither does the version of myself with dreadlocks

. .  .   .    .     .      .

one has no choice in the end but to resign oneself, and drop their head. and yet, where do they look, if one in shrinking away for the purpose of humbling hisself afore the god of anxiety, and receiving his respite, knows nothing more than but to resign? where is the clarity here? there is no clarity 'here'. it is there, and come upon in moments of fear and trembling at the dread chaos, the doubt in a heart and split in a mind.

it is there, for one is staring at the ground, awaiting an end to the necessary aversion from the sight of a higher morsel of GOD.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

atheism should not be an opinion it is not the result of not believing in god it is simply living life without a thought as to a religious god. we are not reacting to religion we are IN reality just as the catholic is IN reality. saying "I don't believe in god" is like equating nothingness to a lack of everything. there is no reactive state to atheism at its purest. it is not an acknowledgment, in other words, of no god, but an acknowledgment of what is before one's eyes, this vast neutral space I defy you to say is different from the religious folks' apprehension of objects and desires, all before them, swimming in ghostly revelry or not, only figurations anyway. o this insanely divided world.

i have a secular conception of god based on my teleological hypotheses re the nature of a causa prima, causa sui. it's the definitions that need defining, not the thing with a name on it that needs explaining. physics already does that.

remove intent for the case of nihilism, and you will have what i am saying here. no case at all. no 'response' so to speak. atheism can be evangelical

im not an evangelical atheist because what i believe changes based on the day but is always just as real haha. belief is tenuous. i go by that

it's the definitions that need defining, not the thing that needs explaining.

my conception of god is that it is the only thing that does not exist. so in a way, yes, i am an atheist.

'God' as defined in its easiest terms, is an ultimate uniquity. like, an outstanding substance. anyway, idk. at the end of the day idk haha

Kant's own a priori notional form of perception comes to mind. in front of our eyes is what is real. the observer initiates the ocular nerve, and the thing or situation burns into the receiving blankness of the mind.

like, have we reaped all the possible benefits of fire by now? surely the wails of prometheus fall not on deaf ears!

. .  .   .    .     .      .

twisted, sad, manic, strange, fluid, stilted, inappropriate, foolish, magnificent.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

green tortilla chips my ass. he said with no attempt at disguising incredulity, wiping the tears from his brow.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

whereas god is all, i am only myself, knowledgeable of only myself; therefore, unless god is simultaneously aware of being myself alone along with being everything, and of that everything knowledgeable of each and every thing as if god were only that thing, i am then let in on an experience of individuality that god is unaware of.

this is a question of how to be the most purely omniscient, omnipotent, etc. that is the question that our conception of god is asking.

corollary: if in the case of being simultaneously the experience i have of myself, and being all, then it is quite logical to say that our experience in life is in fact a godly experience, since i, too, would be unaware of being all, as goes the route of any human perception of things.

when i say i am only aware of myself i mean it in ontological terms, fyi -and also in, i will admit, somewhat absolutist terms. of course as people, psychologically, we can put ourselves in another's shoes, step outside of our comfort zone, change an opinion [or five] and every person is an environmental sponge -we can adopt varying personality traits from the culture we is born into etc. -this argument presupposes an absolute view, kinda,- in that, IF this were how it went, it wld go such nd such -this statement of mine does not examine a phenomenological or spiritual connection between people but examines the relativity and possible logical gaps in -the idea, or notion if you prefer- of omniscience.- there is only theory haha <#

we create our gods but they exist as much as we do

. .  .   .    .     .      .

turn your back, find yourself faceless, at least, to someone.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

wondering if I got a problm w. th prostate bc sometimes when I feel a shit coming I piss n it goes away. Don't change much re bathroom routine tho since I already sit down wen I pee in the first place, and according to my second ex wife this means I am a lazy fat whore

interested in the concept of the devout as being the truest sceptics.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

Thought has the coherence of being but is not being, i.e. beginning and ending in our living heads as something not itself alive, but a mere transfer of connection willed consciously to create that inert unbreathing grand called the magnificent bullshit, the idea.

the quiet horror of the mundane dailyness.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

i think something elitist and say within, Well that was elitist wasnt it, dan. then pat myself on the back at my ability to check my arrogance, specifically when i see the thought thru the lens of something a cousin of mine with generally liberal views and empathy who fishes in alaska for money and lives off the grid would remark to himself. then, i get slightly nauseated after mentally leafing thru all the times i have been proud of mentally criticizing myself for something in the first place outwardly bad. and there goes on the circular drudge of ugliness, not evaded outright, but felt the pangs of guilt in the says within, that say me again and again in my inertial brood, of void i would hope, of searching for clarity i wish, but that is probably more like a moralizing, limited gauge, like feeling better about something ugly that is yr fault by feeling bad about it for a little so you can get that part over with without the possibility of another harder wave of guilt for not feeling bad at all about the ugly thing, and therewith reacting with doubts to doubtful reactions, until yr whole value system is a wilderness of mirrors.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

im a perfectionist when it comes to sensation. the beautiful feeling must be experienced in the proper setting that would maximize its potential. i think this is y i used to do lots of drugs, which by nature are the commodification of sensations. probably also y i was super miserable doing them and kept doing them despite that. there is a certain ring of the hoarder or magpie in this perfectionism that wants to connect physicality with ego that i see as well in the idea of paying money to literally feel specific sensations; equally, the result of this on the psyche is as tenuous here as with the futile idea of thinking the perfect setting for doing drugs is always at hand, which it rarely is, or at the least there is something to mar the perfect dream, that dragon, that pursuit of happiness, life, and liberty via thinking on how best situate the chains to, in essence, 'maximize' your mobility, but nathless remaining held in doom. the drug world, uh, is itself volatile; perfectionism and volatility dont jive so well, usually. and so on. hm. hegh.

heh.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

I only like Eminem rap and that one NWA song like hell naw the rest is garbage now let me go back to my trailer in the woods where I live in harmony with the Elves who have seemed to appear more frequently now that I have that bathtub meth dungeon set up in my basement where skynerd plays ceaselessly from an unlocatable place. My hero is Ed Gein. But I don't do the lampshade thing. I do however have a human skull I bought from my buddy who owns a war relics and parephernalia shop, he had to go in the back to get it and lock the store so nobodys would come snoop. Turns out some folks comed snoop to see if he figured any more available and he got mad at me for blabbing, an I said, Giles, ya know I ain't blabbing, but he dint believe it, an now we just kinder avoid each other at the local NA meetin. People tryn cop there and some do and theys go behind the water tower tagitit, I int do that part tho, a tad fucked up I mean, these people try n getting clean an all, why make it harder n it eyis? But if y'all wanit I get it tiya, come by and share a chaw almighty God. Gib ye a gude price too. *PATOOEY* I. Uh am sober myself. 20 yrs. but damn ye ye make a buck more n working garbage detail selling home cooked meth I reckon ye. Don't touch the stuff I don't anymore after I heard this queer fella from out a town got his arm chopped off when he mainlined eyit. Tryn I guess do some sex stuff and a days travel from the city. City folk don't know it's diffeRent strength down here's doe. I reckon. *MEDITATIVE PATOOEY* yes sirn. Huhm.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

The thing abt the Sex Pistols is, tho they engineered the punk genre immeasurably, they seem to no longer be in the cultural conversation, except within factions of grey haired aficionados. Even the more radio friendly The Clash seems notably absent in this regard. Has punk developed beyond its early stages, or is punk, being the genre that it is, dependent on whatever the moments youth zeitgeist is? punk is visceral because it is held in time this way. first gen punk, cbgbs headliners of ago and ago, do not exert these days the same walbreaking feel, bc I think there's so much virtuosic music being made today that the path of what will develop is harder to determine. Musicians in throes break down walls without batting an eye. Any musical iconoclasm expressed in the music of the past, then, especially to the contemporary ear, is bound to seem bathetic. Like microaggressions as expressions of racism, our society's opening of mind leads to a closed mind, as one can justify not being racist by simply saying they do not think they are better than marginalized peoples, have never done anything racist, think we are all equal, are not clansmen lol. what ruffles feathers is less obvious, in turn, bc expressions of the ersatz new and the real new are harder and harder to determine. The surplus of media, ideas, and opinions, I think, will lead us to a place where "cultural norm" becomes an oxymoron, hopefully. But then, what else will be left to invigorate, if so much is already so much done out, already? Does there exist a perspective, artistic or no, that is not liable to become passé? Or even some thought never thought before? I know there is, I for one know there is, because as a poet I see much to fix, and much that I work to do bc I see it nowhere else; and this most crucially is not an impression of mine based on today's lit but every days lit there has ever been, throughout history. Just I can literally not even yo, yo

. .  .   .    .     .      .

Mathsmatics can transcend thru the grandeur of its implications but not thru the means towards said implications; philo can do the same, but it's better penchant is for transcending thru means to electrify a mundane conclusion or give a system of reason to a general thought-trope such as, "reality is an illusion" or whichever flat idea u prefer to follow. Since it is pure logos, philo differs from math in being more readily universal; tho the applications of math are more readilly useful than the positives that come with mental clarity at the understanding an achieved unified system. Poetry is all means, so then must dazzle, and needs no evidence, conclusion, or even subject, but need only sway with beauty. Therein is the problem with the existential issue of selfhood. Reductive analysis of self becomes psych, and the only pure philo to be had in selfhoods exegesis is not to be found in anything like a system of proofs or syllogisms, etc. selfhood, as Kierkegaard recognized, is poetic bc it exacerbates reality, exhausts all of it. it is individual, and so copious a thing has no one forged path to what it is, or even any path at all, to what it is, since like Pascals God the self is a circle whose point is everywhere and circumference nowhere. Figuring out a reality via a teleology or thru logic is nicer to attempts at systems. But individual self is too mucky for any proof to say it exists; the murkiness shines, as it always does, when the means are prevalent, since the means, being held moment to moment, rely on nothing but expose a variety of paths to more variety. Philo then is better at least than Math for finding out something obfuscated, but nothing but poetry can so deeply probe the self, as its humility is lain in the respect for a complete dissembling of systems.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

the iconic ny jewish deli sandwich is in essence a robust mountain of roast beef held feebly between two unnecessary pieces of sad, chickenshit marble rye

the roast beef, of course, wld be kosher.

I create; I waste. Yet nothing is perfect, nothing, nothing. Not even dignity.

[kantianbioethics]

Just Communication in Sound! Euphonium 2 - Part 2

Making Things Clear

(part 1)

The moe brass band and I welcome you to another installment of “Just Communication”. Last time, we examined music as a communicative practice and we started to get a feel for why the series thinks that practice is important. This time, to truly get a solid grasp, we will be looking at the first story arc of the series. Not only does it introduce us to the practice it finds so valuable, but it also demonstrates that same sensitivity of feeling it felt so impressed by. It is a story arc that reintroduces us to a a form of communication we are all very familiar with: the explicit, verbal kind. It allows this form of communication to signify itself, but also communication as a whole.

Before all that abstract frippery, however, it is a story of two girls: Mizore and Nozomi.

When we meet Mizore the oboist and Nozomi the flutist in the first episode, their relationship is in shambles, even if only one of them knows it. Nozomi left the band last year, following club turmoil. Ever since and for reasons unknown, Mizore has lived in traumatic fear of her former friend. Neither of these two are our point of view character, though. That would be Kumiko, same as ever. She is a specter here, tuned in to the drama and willing to help, but unsure of how and afraid to hurt someone.

Kumiko learns their circumstances and personalities through conversations born from her stubborn inquisitiveness. She has an already tangible sense of the stakes in her bandsmates' predicament, because she is already dealing with people connected to her. We, audience members, knowingly consuming fiction, need a little push. Here, art's artiface is its power more than its handicap. Through deliberate depiction of these fictional people, Sound! Euphonium 2 gives their feelings recognition, emphasis in a way that our “unadulterated” sight does not. Even as this story arc dramatizes the need for communication, the series is itself communicating the feelings of its people to us, every way it can.

Mizore is a driven musician, but seems to be so out of some automatism, rather than anything else. She expresses no joy at playing on her own initiative or when questioned about said playing. Nozomi is peppy, but deeply troubled by Asuka's refusal to let her rejoin the band. Their respective forms of isolation are emphasized in similar ways. One way this is done is through the framing of specific body language. For example, in the second episode, when Nozomi is discussing her inability to return to the high school band without Vice-President Asuka's permission. The frame at one point zeroes in on Nozomi's hold on her own arm to emphasize her insecurity. At another point, on her eyes looking away, as she fails to confront the pain of being apart from the band head-on.  

Another way in which the emotional states of the characters become salient to us is in the careful animation of characters' body language. In the first episode, Mizore becomes ill upon hearing Nozomi playing the flute and collapses in the stairwell. There is a another deliberate framing choice here, a point of view shot of her splayed legs. However, what is even stronger at emphasizing her unsteadiness is the protracted, trembling motion with which she rises to her feet again.

Of course, I would be remiss in talking about the life breathed into these characters, without giving mention to the voice actresses. After all, it is not just what you say that matters, but how you say it. Nao Toyama (Nozomi) alternates between frustrated sorrow and chipperness fluidly and convincingly, while Atsumi Tanazaki's monotone as Mizore sells her forced disassociation from her trauma. Tanazuki does equally well when Mizore shatters to pieces, cries, yells, and generally makes a wide variety of tonally incomplete, yet very loud noises.

In the examples above, we can see how the many tools of the animated medium allow Sound! Euphonium 2 to convey the emotional states of Nozomi and Mizore to us, the audience, efficiently and dramatically. However, the characters within the anime have no such guide. Nozomi and Mizore's distance is an extreme example of a failure to communicate, but even the other characters have to pick-up on of the subtle shifts body language and make assumptions about intent, so long as their partners in conversation do not make their feelings explicit.

Nozomi made one of these assumptions about Mizore when she quit the school band. Nozomi left the band without telling Mizore, because she did not want to disturb her friend. What she did not know, hardly could, was that Mizore's playing was for her. Not knowing how important she was to Mizore, never hearing how important she was to Mizore, Nozomi saddled her with uncertainty and fear that she had been abandoned by her only real companion. Too scared to find out for sure, Mizore developed a traumatic aversion to her friend. In both cases, a simple verbal confirmation of their feelings.

This morality play on verbal communication skills comes to a head in a stunning episode full of smart framing and quick action, the fourth of the series. This is also where we finally shine the spotlight on the glue holding this crazy club together: Strongbow Yuko. Yuko, bless her heart, has been an enthusiastic friend to Mizore ever since Nozomi left. When the oboist inevitably meets Nozomi again and freaks out, it is Yuko who conscripts Kumiko into searching for her. Yuko walks into the frame that Kumiko already inhabits to enlist her, going to her frame for help. It is the start of a series of framing choices made by episode director Taichi Oigawa to emphasize a relationship, rather than a sole emotional state. Where previous examples were attempts to convey a character's isolated mood or thoughts to us, these embellishments convey the feelings one character has for another. These artistic choices aim to make important to us a relationship, an emotion, a person in every scene. They do the groundwork for what the series is attempting as a whole.

When Yuko does find Mizore we can see how character animation, framing, and attention to body language come together to add a maximum amount of power to Yuko's words. Yuko scolds her for thinking Yuko was only friends with her out of pity, shaking her like a ragdoll while she does so. The frame, as if a physical object compelled by Yuko's arms, goes up with Mizore, a little past her, and then down with Mizore and a little past her, emphasizing the force of the emotion with which Yuko is speaking. Next, when Yuko convinces Mizore of the earnestness of her friendship in words, another trick is used: the carrying of momentum from a cut with one person to a cut with the other to signify one's words hitting their mark. Here, we see a tear fall down Yuko's cheek as she speaks her truth and then the tear hitting Mizore's face and rolling down her cheek as if it were her own. Next comes the final embellishment of physicality to Yuko's speech. The frame holds an absolute focus on Yuko's hands undoing Mizore's guarded posture to pull her up, as she begs her to take some pride in her music for her own sake.

In short, Sound Euphonium 2 makes Yuko's words visually impressive. It makes their meaning weightier by making them synesthetic experiences, visible as well as audible. Now you may say to me, “convincing us words are powerful by giving those words fancy picture frames is cheating like a motherfucker. You would be right. By cheating, the series is hoping to bridge a gap: the gap in meaning of those same words, the one that exists between our lived experience as members of an audience and that of its cast . It is only cheating, because it needs to make-up for its handicap. If it were not, it would not be doing its job as a work of art. It is crucial enough to make these feelings, not just known, but felt that it is necessary for Sound! Euphonium 2 to cheat, to use artifice, to be art.

At any rate, the cheating-slash-artistry extends beyond embellishment of physicality. To that, Oigawa marries another trick in the animator's toolbox: lighting. As Yuko drags Mizore up, she also pulls her out of the shadow and into the light. It is a simple motif, wherein Mizore's new found understanding of and happiness in her relationship are highlighted, but an effective one. One repeated when the time comes for Nozomi to clear things up with Mizore the way Yuko has. Here too, Mizore's turn to the light is paired with the physical act of hands reaching out to hold their counterpart. Mizore is not just illuminated with regards to her relationship, but is made to understand by the action of Nozomi's explanation.

The scene ends with an exemplary sequence where Nozomi passes Mizore's oboe, together with her wish to play together, to Mizore. Oigawa cuts from Nozomi's smile to the camera, to her speaking in profile, to the oboe, to Mizore in profile, and finally: Mizore smiling again after all this time. It is not just that the oboe symbolizes Nozomi's wish in this instance, but that the weight of her words appears to move from Nozomi, through the oboe, and into Mizore, as if it were a physical thing. That is the power your feelings can have on another: enough to move them, to shape them. Yet, while the tone of our voice or the twiddling of our thumbs can give strong indications toward these feelings, we often need our words to spell them out or risk them failing to reach someone at all.

And not only Mizore and Nozomi were affected by their failure to say a single word to each other. Yuko suffered in sympathy with her friend, for one, but the entire band ached along with them. First of all, all the second and third years, the ones that knew of Mizore's trauma, were stressed and split over whether or not to Nozomi in the band, debating for hours, losing precious time practicing together and alienating their juniors as they did so. Secondly, Mizore's playing was emotionally sterile in Nozomi's absence, which affects a competition band a great deal when you are their star oboist. Kumiko only got involved enough to be a point of view character in this train wreck, because it affected her as a member of the band. She barely even knew who Mizore was before this started. By tying its interpersonal drama to the future of the band, Sound! Euphonium 2 makes the success or failure of communication all the more critical. When you fail to communicate in your relationships, it is not just that relationship that is hurt, but everybody tangentially involved as well.

Such is the macro-view collage that Sound! Euphonium builds from its microscopic moments. It demonstrates the care with which it wants to consider other people's feelings in every scene.It shows its commitment to that ideal by doing so. Better yet, its commitment is what generates our investment in its message. Our emotional affect towards these cartoon people and their cartoon lives is built upon these tiny moments of tender understanding. These moments engrave into our minds their morality play at large. It is the power of art to flit between the instant of a blush and the grand narrative of a high school band. It can simply give us the sympathy we would have otherwise had to work for by showing us every view at once.

But Sound! Euphonium 2 also shows us that art is not enough. We cannot comfort our friends by playing the trumpet at them every time. Art is a mode, a tool in our being together. Its very nebulous nature allows it to sort of express what we cannot, but straight talk is best for the things we can. When it is within our power to do so, we need to make our feelings for one another known in the clearest terms, terms that the uncertain nature of art is insufficient for. Language only pretends to be clear, but the level of directness it does allow makes it the best tool we have for our most important job: being with one another.

Finally, we can understand what Sound!Euphonium 2 is trying to say about art and communication. We understand why it has modeled itself so in order to say it. But “saying” something is not enough for a series like Sound! Euphonium 2. Just as it is putting its own ideology into practice in its explanation of that ideology, its story, its actual fucking plot is one girl coming to understand and put that ideology into practice herself.

That girl is Kumiko Oumae. In the next, final, installment she will be the one doing the talking

(part 3)

[sapphireorison]

Hokay. So. ACOTAR, ACOMAF, and ACOWAR. I finished them. A bit ago. And then I forgot to actual finish this write-up.

I enjoyed them! I have a great many thoughts and it will take a while to unpack them. Fair warning: I’m an editor and some of this is critique. These books hit a good number of my buttons and I legit cried in several different places, so they receive a rec from me. Just--I love to interrogate what I read as well as enjoy it. 

Spoilers to follow. :) 

:rubs hands together: 

Just in case my readers have read some but not all of the books, I’m going to be trying to split thinguses all up. This is difficult b/c I read them mostly back to back and I have a hard time splicing out storylines when I do that. Thank goodness for book summaries. 

Book 1: A Court of Thorns and Roses.

I loved the concept of eternal Spring at the Court, and I love the fact that Feyre is so driven. She makes shit happen, throws herself head-first into...not the best plans, let’s be real, but she’s sympathetic and we get a really deep glimpse into her head with the first person PoV. Her crap plans are also very interesting from a character growth standpoint, because she’s flailing around trying to figure out how things work and still willing to dive into the shit half-prepared because she thinks she needs to. I respect that in a protagonist. The supporting characters, Lucien and Alis, are also a lot of fun. I also thought the worldbuilding was fun in that the fae actually use their glamour for pretty much everything, and that there are festivals and rhythms to life. The estate feels very empty on purpose, but the life of the characters seems to extend beyond the page and I quite like that. 

One thing I found very interesting was that, as the book goes on, Maas slowly finds her stride. The end of the book is better than the beginning (and the second book better than the first, but that’s getting ahead of myself). Maas’ strength is in interaction person v. person and person v. environment, but until the environment is established, her people can’t properly interact with it. We’re missing too much and the clues aren’t actually clues that a reader can put together--or even recognizes as clues. ‘Ah yes this is a mystery’ isn’t...isn’t helpful. The world doesn’t *quite* exist before it’s explained, which is a bit rough when it’s explained at the rate of ‘clueless newbie in an information-averse environment.’ I speculate that a reason why her series are so popular is that she does very well with cumulative worldbuilding. Or, rather, working within established worldbuilding. When she’s establishing it herself, it’s a little wonky until it takes hold.

I mean, I enjoyed the whole ‘masque masks stuck to everyone’s faces’ thing but it wasn’t incorporated emotionally and then they just pop off. The resolution of that arc factored into the climax but the focus had shifted away almost completely at that point. That’s partially because we get three or four character anchors, and not a lot of secondary and tertiary characters to populate the emotional background of the story, so there are precisely two people she knows/interacts with from Spring Court there Under the Mountain and they’re narratively busy. Plus, masks are a major, ridiculously romantic imagery thing. The decadence. The finery. The masks hiding everyone’s true intentions. But without keeping them important, they don’t have the impact I think was intended.

When Maas DOES incorporate something emotionally, she’s good, imho. See anything she does with tattoos. It’s personal, a body transgression with a dab of body horror, it’s visible and has a major impact on her day-to-day attitudes and the images she strikes in this book and for the rest of the series. I ended up caring very much about that damned tattoo. 

On another note, I was /deeply confused/ at the totally blasé attitude the Spring Court had most of the book towards the fact that Feyre had murdered the fuck out of that fae. Like. I didn’t get the vibe that 'something must be going on for everyone to not be beyond pissed off at me.’ I got the the ‘wow, things are moving really fast and everyone’s reactions are a little weird because the main characters need to be together’ vibe. Which turned out not to be the case in, like, any sense, but it was still very distracting. Also, I’m just like, “There is a lot of emphasis on love in this book, but I’m not actually feelin’ it anywhere.” Maybe it’s my aromantic ass talking, but there was a lot of emphasis on the sustaining power of love that didn’t really...okay. I think it’s fair to say that I don’t *get* why love was a driving force for most of the tail end of the book when there were other perfectly valid reasons to take action and/or survive. The main character spent most of the end of the book in an altered state of mind and fixated on an emotion that wasn’t being actionably reciprocated, so that when she won things I was very excited, but when she was floundering in between I stopped being able to quite access the character.

It’s a bit of a left turn at the end into sexy villainess territory, and the altered state of mind thing--like I get why it was done on a narrative level (tho I consider it a bit of a narrative cheat), but it’s also sort of extremely iffy on a ‘future romantic interest’ level.  

Overall, though, I liked a lot of the interpersonal play between characters and how the edges don’t always meet. And I like the sense of ‘no, don’t do it! why are you doing this?!’ and ‘yes, do the thing!’ that I as a reader felt depending on the decision that Feyre had to make, and most of the time those character choices were nicely in character. 

Book 2: A Court of Mist and Fury

Well. I was spoiled by tumblr for this one, so I knew it was coming, but EVEN SO I was still a little ??? that Tamlin was straight-up the villain. On the one hand, the first book WAS a riff on a Beauty and the Beast narrative, so this is the ‘Beast’ subversion book that digs into the abuse and depression narrative. Which--I actually didn’t mind. The oddest thing was Tamlin going from a very poor fit for a boyfriend to legitimately abusive, which I take to mean (as is alluded to in later bits) that his experience Under The Mountain just...broke him. I was actually watching in the first book for ‘abusive’ cues, and they were little red flags that seemed to have been incorporated into the fabric of the story in the traditional-love-story sense that only in contrast and context analysis appear as big red flags. 

So...that’s interesting. Because it was very much a sense of exacerbated personality, without necessarily the seeds of the abusive relationship being developed as such. Even though :waves vaguely at Rhys: that dude’s presence was at least planned, and the mating bond was present at the end of the first book. So yes, it seems abrupt, and I can’t decide if it’s an abrupt that fits or not.

And just as an addendum, I’m not actually interesting in redemption stories (as I know there’s all sorts of discourse surrounding Talmin on tumblr), so I didn’t mind him being the villain and staying that way. 

The strength of this book, imho, is its tight focus on healing from abuse. It’s a very specific narrative, very in-depth, and very personal. Feyre is such an emotionally-driven character, and it’s her emotions--conflicting a lot of the times--that are cracked open and chewed-upon. And, actually, it’s her emotions that, well, it’s not that they provide /continuity/ but they actually carry the book. Whatever she’s feeling at that particular moment is encompassing, and it eclipses a lot of the book’s continuity errors and world-building...holes. At least for me, it did, and that’s part of why I enjoyed the story as much as I did. Worldbuilding is my /jam/, so the emotional resonance has to be engaging for me to enjoy a book without a solid foundation.

But part of the recovery-from-abuse narrative is that there’s a lot of emphasis on consent--or at least there’s an attempt at it. Everything at Feyre’s pace as much as possible (a convention broken only for plot, if I recall correctly.) Even if, most practically, there is a lot of organizing Feyre’s life and she doesn’t have a lot of actual control over it, she feels like she does. She is able to accomplish things again and accomplishing those things isn’t a panacea for her depression, but it certainly helps. 

What boggles my mind, with respect to the consent thing, is that Feyre very much has no control over her emotions at the best of times, not when she’s vulnerable. But that Maas adds the mating bond/soulbond nonsense. 

Okay. FULL DISCLOSURE. I...read soulbond fic. I *enjoy* soulbond fic. But I’m very picky about my soulbond fic. For the most part, I consider it to be a good part manipulative drek where people are attracted to one another for no apparent reason with an automatic love that spans lifetimes. 

Which, you know, romantic. (Says the aro lady) But my point is, that the soulbond fics that I really enjoy are the ones that really grapple with the idea that, okay, you didn’t /pick/ the soulbond. You were destined, and that destiny means you had little-to-no free will, consent, or agency in that choice. You feel encompassing...something for a person. Is it love? Is it healthy? And I understand that some people really, deeply enjoy the idea of destiny and the idea that this bond to someone in your soul means you are inherently lovable no matter where you came from or what you’ve done. I, however, resent even the hint of fate, so exploring how people deal with that (beloved) + (fate) thing is simply deliciously fascinating. 

However, in context of a recovery-from-abuse narrative it’s, uh...wow. Feyre doesn’t have a choice but to fall in love with this man. For a healing narrative making an attempt to be about giving her choice once more, a soulbond inherently removes that consent *especially* because it’s kept a secret. Feyre doesn’t know what’s going on and can’t make an informed decision about. 

But I think what completely flummoxed me was the fact that Feyre’s emotional response to finding out that she had a soulbond was *relief*. ‘Oh, it’s not actually me moving on from the abuser I sacrificed so much for and forming this crazy-strong attachment to this man in what I consider a betrayal of my former love for my abuser.’ She’s happy it’s not her fault. With one soulbond, her conflict over moving on is wiped away and resolved, even when moving on and forming a strong emotional attachment/falling in love with another man is, uh, perfectly natural. especially for someone who runs so much on her emotions as Feyre, even if maybe there’s a bit of concern that Rhys might be a rebound because he’s helping her heal (as not everyone can handle both healing-phase relationships and then the transition to stable-established). I mean, it’s an understandable response for her to be like ‘oh, thank fuck,’ but, um, that’s the end of it. She’s done feeling any conflict because she has cosmic permission to move on. 

And tbh, that’s...not an issue with character responses imho. It’s an issue with how the world is built and what function the soulbond serves within a narrative that attempts to emphasize consent...by resolving part of the conflict by make it fate. 

So that’s a thing. XD

Anyways, I am definitely of the opinion that this second book was stronger than the first, both emotionally and world-buildingly. And just...the visuals are wonderful. I think out of everything, I loved the visuals the most. 

Book 3: A Court of Wings and Ruin

The most recent (last?) book in the series, a Court of Wings and Ruin is by far and away the most solidly established book with respect to the worldbuilding and pre-established character. At this point, the world has accumulated enough that there are repercussions, politics, and things moving and shaking. The narrative expands from tight-focus on specific relationships to an epic continent-spanning conflict with multiple cooperating factions. 

It’s, uh, quite a jump. 

But first let me just...bang my fists on the table and chant: High Lady Feyre. High Lady Feyre. High Lady Feyre. The simple fact that we get to see her be High Lady and that she embraces it. No matter how the execution of her being High Lady falters, it’s viscerally pleasing that the intent is for her to be a partner. She has a powerful position, a seat at the table, and (although her inexperience is, er, a liability, uh) the ability to change the tide of the epic shenanigans going on all over the place. 

Also. Nesta. My love. She shines in this book. I just. I think it says a lot about what your favorite character in any particular book is, and for me, it’s hands down 100-percent Nesta. She’s just so angry and complicated and she lashes out and hurts people and even in the previous books when she’s being stubborn or antagonistic-y and Freyre is pissed off and hurt by her...I just kept thinking to myself: is she supposed to be my favorite? Because she’s absolutely my favorite. 

Like, she’s reserved as fuck and ready to cut into people and eat their hearts, and was dragged into Feyre’s bullshit literally kicking and screaming and basically sinking into the Cauldron while flipping the world off. And then she rips part of the Cauldron’s power out with her teeth. Plus, she develops a thing for the one who is clearly the hottest boy character (sorry Rhys, I have a type). I mean, she couldn’t be set up any more perfectly as my favorite character. 

Like. I like Feyre, but to be quite honest, I don’t GET Feyre. (I don’t recall if I said that in part one, but whatever, this is part three and a whole different book.) I just...Feyre is emotional to the point where I lose hold of her, because I’m not the same personality type. I can feel what she feels because that’s Maas’ forte as a writer, but that’s about as far as my sympathy goes. I /feel/, but I don’t understand why she acts the way she does on those feelings. 

What I do find interesting is the trope evolution of the soulbond thing. It’s like Maas walks it back. It’s a mating bond and it’s physical. It’s not necessarily a ‘meeting of souls’ or ‘one true love’ thing, because there have been crap soulbonds in the past, but a signifier that elf-y genetics decicded they’d create good bebs. Which...holy het, batman, for one, the implication being that only reproducing couples will ever matebond. And two--that’s...a marked difference from the second book. There’s also some confusion as to whether the mating bond is destiny or a result of love. Because more than once it’s referred to wanting the mating bond to snap into place (implying that love can come first), and more often it’s shown that the mating bond is destiny. It’s never clarified if it’s both, or Feyre’s mistaken, or what. Or if it can actually be cancelled, or if it becomes only cancelled for one because it’s ventured by one? Or if there’s an attempt to snap it into place and...

Basically, book three just confuses the shit out of the issue of the soulbond from the straightforward trope-dancing of the second book to attempting to address edge cases without actually clarifying anything. 

There is one point, though, where I’m sort of...the series started as one thing and has morphed into somthing entirely different, and the style it’s written in can’t quite support it yet. Namely, there’s a scene where Feyre does a bit of psychic eavesdropping to relive a scene we would not otherwise have gotten to see and just...

That, my friend, is cheating the first-person narrative. It’s invasive, and debatably out of character, and is handle with a ‘sometimes we suck, and we just have to get over it’ conversation, and the invasion is never elsewise addressed. It’s just, like. An errant scene. It’s worked into things, but in such a way that the value of the scene is debatable for as much damage as it causes the narrative. 

Which flows into the fact that the narrative can’t sustain the epic battle thing. There’s a deus ex machina at the end, even though it’s not the thing that wins the day. Like, there’s an entirely character PoV and narrative thread that’s just...left out. For three books. Which is a limitation of first person without careful plotting. But the whole end with reinforcements and Lucien and the firebird Queen? Not out of the blue, but like...a whole different book. 

And the last thing that I think is interesting that *doesn’t* touch on the Black Jewels trilogy, is part of the inspiration for some of the fae mythology, namely the Black Cauldron. 

Or, more rather, the Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander, upon which the Disney movie the Black Cauldron was based. The Chronicles themselves are based on Welsh Mythology, notably the Mabinogion. But the Chronicles have the three witches in the swamp (the three death gods?), the fair folk, the land of death with its control of the Cauldron with the power to create an unstoppable army. Of a living sacrifice jumping into the cauldron of their own will being the only thing to shatter it.

(And, hilariously, I did a search for what Maas herself said about Prydain since I was gonna ramble on about it, and it really does seem like they were a major inspiration for her. I found a twitter thread where she laments that he used all the really cool antiquated names for all the places she wants to use. If you wanna see what she says about it, pairing the author names will give you direct quotes from her saying how much inspiration she drew from them.)

It’s just that even though Eyrian and Illyrian are very similar, Illyria is the name of a Baltic country back in antiquity. And her naming conventions for the races aren’t complicated. The angel-people are Seraphim. The falcon-people are Peregryn. She uses a lot of possibly-Greek-inspired words for her mythological faerie people. So while I wouldn’t say Illyrian is a coincidence, it does fit with her rampage through her favorite things, pulling in disparate (and sometimes clashing) elements and knitting them together as she slowly builds her world the best she can.

To me, this feels like a hodgepodge of inspiration, though I know that a lot of people knock the books for tasting very strongly of Bishop’s work. I’d argue that, Prydain and the aforementioned Welsh mythology and Greek references are as much an influence on Prythian as Kaeleer and Terrielle are, at least in the worldbuilding aspects. She even says in interviews that they’re her inspiration. She’s enthusiastic about them in a charming way (I say as an editor of new, baby authors who have this sort of love for their inspiration, too.)

But ‘what is inexpert but honest homage and what is are you sure this isn’t fic’ is a discussion for...later. That I’m half done with. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish and post it sometime soon. :)