#i am filled with loathing for that translation choice

[mxtxfanatic]

This is all in Vol. 5, Chapt. 21 of the 7seas translation and chapt. 103 of the fan translations (I’m pulling from exr, chiaki_himura, and boat-full-of-lotus-pods), but I find the wording of the 7seas edition to be…strange. The “So he treated it as payment of his debt, or an atonement…” section, specifically, reads more like Wei Wuxian had reached some sort of acceptance—however tenuous—in his first life about the golden core transfer. The sentences put him as the subject and the verb as past tense, as if he’s already resigned his emotions. The end even talks about how he hit a point where he could make jokes! However, the other three translations are different: the narration isn’t telling us that Wei Wuxian reached a kind of acceptance, it’s showing us the mantra (each sentence is a command, not a 3rd POV narrative statement) that Wei Wuxian is telling himself in order to reach some sort of acceptance, and the mantra fails him.

Just pretend this to be a repayment, or an atonement. Pretend as if he never had the golden core to start with. Once he’d said these things to himself enough times, he’d actually start to almost feel as unaffected about it as he was pretending to be. He could then even secretly praise himself a little for his at-least-half-genuine magnanimity.

—boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Take it as repayment, or take it as redemption. Take it as he’d never received the golden core to begin with. After explaining things to himself like this again and again, it was as though he was truly as confident and as nonchalant as he made it seem like on the surface, and along the way he could even praise himself for such a state of mind, whether he was lying or not.

—exr

Treat it as gratitude, or punishment. Treat it as though he had never formed that golden core to begin with. He had counseled himself countless times with this, as though he could truly be as free-spirited and nonchalant as his appearance, even conveniently fooling himself to actually praise his current circumstance.

—chiaki_himura

I think the exr translation is the only one of the three to come close to what 7seas says, with “it was as though,” making it seem like a more neutral 3rd POV observation, but even then, all three still make sure that it is clear that Wei Wuxian is simply attempting to trick himself into acceptance by hoping that his nonchalant attitude towards the situation would eventually translate to a change of feelings, and the jokes are a part of that. The jokes, themselves, do not denote full acceptance (chiaki_himura says “fooling himself,” boat-full-of-lotus-pods says “pretending,” and exr tacks on to the end “whether he was lying or not,” vs. 7seas saying that he could joke “while he was at it”).

Anyways, just wanted to make it clear that even though Wei Wuxian tried to be ok with his sacrifice at the time, he absolutely did not reach that acceptance in his first life, and I think that it was probably only after the remove of death that he fully came to terms with his actions. Also, having Lan Wangji there to hold his hand while he officially severs ties with the person he sacrificed for who was trying to throw it all back in his face, that probably helped a ton.

Where did the whole "WWX did not regret giving up his golden core" theory from?

He did.

Truthfully, he wasn’t unaffected. Could a person so easily resign themselves to such a loss?

Of course not. It was impossible.

WWX reflecting upon giving up his golden core.

But whenever he found himself tossing and turning in the dead of night, unable to sleep and plagued by thoughts of how he’d never again follow the orthodox path to the mountain’s peak, never again display the astounding swordplay that made people’s jaws drop…he would turn his thoughts around with a simple fact.

If it had not been for Jiang Fengmian bringing him to Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian might never have crossed paths with the cultivation world. He would never have been conscious of such a mystical and magnificent realm. He’d merely have been the leader of some homeless street urchins who roamed the streets and fled at the sight of dogs—or perhaps herded cattle and stole vegetables in the countryside, playing his flute and living one day at a time. He’d have had no way of cultivating, let alone a chance to form a golden core.

He did, and that's alright. He's only human! People seem to think he gave his golden core up because "he loved his brother" and "he's just a kind idiot". Nope. WWX is kind, but he's not stupid and he definitely didn't give JC his core because of affection.

So he treated it as a repayment of his debt, or an atonement for his sins. Treated it as if he had never obtained that golden core to begin with.

After bringing himself around so many times this way, he was almost able to actually feel as wild and carefree as he acted on the surface. He could even half-jokingly praise himself for the state of acceptance he had reached, while he was at it.

He gave him his golden core because he felt like he had to. He had been told, time and time again this was all his fault (by JC and YZY) and the last thing both YZY and JFM said to WWX, although worded differently and said in complete opposite tones, was a reminder that WWX "owed" the Jiangs everything and should look after JC no matter the cost.

This is what drove him to give JC his core, debt. Honour bound to repay the Jiangs. And as the above clearly shows us, WWX really struggled with that. Struggled with the fact he felt he had to pay them all back (when he never actually did, but we won't go into that here...) and trying to convince himself the golden core he worked so hard for wasn't even his to begin with.

It wasn't an easy decision to make for WWX. He's not some self-sacrificing idiot like some make him out to be. It's absolutely heartbreaking and I think this is all so often overlooked.

[twilightmalachite]

Altered - Heaven and Hell 4

Author: Akira

Characters: Natsume, Rei, Kanata, Wataru, Shu

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Even though we got killED, we resurrectED, and step by step we made our way through this worLD."

Season: Winter

Location: Sakura Park (Cherry Blossoms)

⚠️ This is an import from a unproofed Twitter Livetweet!

Rei: Kukuku. Well, anyways, that is why we’re all performing in OO under names different than our usual ones.

And as what is essentially a safe choice, under the name of the temporary unit we’ve formed in the past for the Shuffle Unit project.

Wataru: Everyone here’s wearing the outfit for their temporary unit, right?

Rei: Mhm. In my case, I’m wearing the outfit for my temporary unit filled with love for my cute little brother, “Brothers Love-Love Brigade”.

Natsume: Don’t tell such sloppy and meaningless lies out of nowheRE. You’re wearing the outfit from your movIE— La Mort, rigHT?

Rei: Mhm. Hibiki-kun and I ended up fighting over Ran-kun, due to the overlap in members.

Wataru: I wanted to participate as Ultissimo as Nagisa-kun again, if possible!

Kanata: We have a surprisingly lot of “connections” with other people don't we? Remembering this made me “realize” that we are not “alone”—

I do think this is quite a “lovely” project.

Fufu, I am very “happy” to get to wear the “getto spectacle” outfit again.

Wataru: Ah, that’s the Kaguya-hime outfit, yes?

Shu: Hm, I see. Quite the psychedelic Kaguya-hime outfit that is.

Kanata: What, do you “dislike” it, Shu~?

Shu: No, just studying a design one wouldn’t find in my own wardrobe.

Wataru: Shu, you’ve become quite open-minded after being exposed to different cultures in Paris, haven’t you?

Shu: Hmph, even if so, I do not wish to dilute my own individuality that defines me by allowing myself to become too influenced by others.

Such as this. The outfit I am wearing currently, which I sewed by hand all for the Shuffle Unit project, for example.

Looking at it a second time, I don’t believe I was able to bring out my colors very well. I’d like to take this opportunity to create it again from scratch, with a more artistic rendition for this project.

Wataru: Do you not think you are already unique and stylish enough, as a cafe waiter?

Shu: While I am proud and believe I did well on that factor, I still do not believe this is sufficient as an outfit of an idol, who sings and dances on stage.

It is unsuitable for this project.

It is both out of my usual style, and my philosophy.

Rei: No, that’s what makes it meaningful. It’s because it is a Shuffle Unit.

It breaks us from our molds and allows us to encounter new things. It is that invaluable shedding of our skin that allows us to grow as idols time and time again.

With that in mind, I believe the Shuffle Unit project was surprisingly beneficial—or necessary, even.

Shu: The enemy of art is the absence of limitations, hm? Hmph, I suppose it’s can be good to break from your eggshell and venture out into the world from time to time.

Wataru: Fufufu, just do be careful not to have too much fun flying around, to where you’re unable to return back home.

I say this not to ridicule you, Shu, but as to remind myself.

Some migratory birds forget their homeland because they get too comfortable at their destination.

Rei: You’re more of someone from fine than someone from the Five Eccentrics these days, Hibiki-kun.

Shu: You treacherous bastard.

Wataru: I love you for being able to say those difficult-to-say things clearly, Shu.

Shu: Is that so. I loathe the part of you that refuses to remove their jester’s mask no matter how much anger is thrown at you.

Kanata: Wataru has become more “human” and approachable than he was in the past, though~.

Actually, that likely applies to all of us.

I am sure that that is a good thing. I am glad~, we’ve all become “human”.

Rei: That means a lot coming from you, Shinkai-kun. You were a child more detached from being human out of all of us.

Kanata: Ehehe.

Natsume: MhM. That’s rigHT, not only have we overcome trageDY, but we survived whilst holding onto many sparkling memoriES.

Even though we got killED, we resurrectED, and step by step we made our way through this worLD.

And once agaIN, we’re finally able to laugh together like thIS.

Rei: Mhm. We rejoice in the fact that we can.

The curtain may fall, but reality continues on. But that cruel fact is also salvation.

Ahh, it’s great to be alive, isn’t it?

Shu: Wait just a moment. When you look away with that sort of atmosphere, after having said something nice like that, the conversation always ends. At least, the atmosphere becomes one of closure.

Kanata: Your “bad habit” is showing itself, Rei.

Rei: Eh~? Aren’t you reaching a bit? I’m speaking like I usually do! Really, really! ♪

That being said, it would certainly be too early to wrap things up there.

Sakasaki-kun didn’t come here looking to lay back and enjoy the cherry blossoms, but with a hurried look to report something urgent.

Shu: Is there something wrong? I am keeping that troublesome Aoba at bay, as I’m in the same temporary unit as him here.

Surely you should be able feel free to do what you please—

Natsume: YeP, as you can teLL, I am generally able to enjoy my time with my nostalgic companions from Date Plan.

Kanata: Ah, that was the very first “shuffle unit”, very nostalgic.

Natsume: MhM. It truly feels like a reuniON, and while I could go on and on about the memoriES…

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[loosesodamarble]

Songs for the Night and Morning Part 1

(@acacia-may I thought you might like an @ since you talk a lot about associating songs and characters. Hope you don't mind.)

Links to PART 2 and PART 3.

Here I am, back with songs by Kenshi Yonezu and their relation to Black Clover characters!

In celebration of Nacht and Morgen’s birthdays, I’ll be sharing which songs I associate with them and my explanation for why. As I did with the Faustsele and Black Bulls related songs, I’m going off the translations from this website so it’s not my own translations but my interpretations.

Now to begin with songs for Nacht!

..........

Poppin Apathy (music video): Poppin Apathy is a very pessimistic song with a “looking back” perspective on one’s life. Feels rather in character for Nacht who is stuck in the past until the events in Spade Kingdom. There’s a sense of regret, confusion, and loss in this song’s lyrics in contrast to the poppy, upbeat instrumental track. It’s reminiscent of Nacht hiding his self-loathing and projection beneath his old “holier than thou” attitude and that fake smile that could never match up to Morgen’s.

So many mistakes now, it doesn't feel worth it My head has been filled to the brim with paint…

If I can't even have clear intentions, Then I can't depend on my feelings or otherwise

Nacht sees himself as a person filled with sin, having made so many mistakes in the past that can’t be forgiven. The paint, which is a bit of imagery which comes up more in the song, I see as being symbolic of pessimism and regret. With that in mind, the lyrics say that the speaker is filled to the brim with negative thoughts. Nacht’s path in life had no real intention or goal for resolution; he wanted to atone eternally without resolving it with forgiveness from anyone.

Tell me now, about what I left unsaid; Where did those words I swallowed go? I guess someday, they'll flow with my blood, And melt away into my body…

What Nacht left unsaid was how much he cared for Morgen. He never told his brother that he loved him, that he cared. Nacht still loves Morgen very much. Although one might say that Nacht put Morgen on a pedestal. Regardless, Nacht holds Morgen in very high regard and those feelings are deeply ingrained in him. And Nacht imaging his body “melt(ing) away”… Makes me think about how Nacht was willing to let himself die during the battle in Spade (twice no less!).

I've always covered my eyes, Always done idiotic things, bringing me now to desperation

Nacht blinded himself to the good things in his life. His foolish choices to get involved with devils and worse to try summoning Lucifugus led to his misanthropic worldview and his desperation to stone for his sins. It was a hopeless desperation that he inflicted on himself. You know, before Asta and Yami knocked some sense into him.

I'm in a muddle of sputtering dregs, Smeared in vivid colors that give me a headache…

But all that doesn't really matter Now, ignorant to all that I desired, I just keep spilling out paint…

The paint imagery comes back here. Nacht’s mind is spilling out more negativity. He is drowning in his self hatred and negativity which he projects out to those around him. Nothing mattered to Nacht after losing Morgen. Not his friendship with Yami, not the squad he became a part of, not even his own life.

Tell me now, about what I left unchosen; Where did those paths I passed by lead?

Unchosen paths… It brings to mind Morgen’s dying words, of his wish to be a Magic Knight alongside Nacht. Morgen repeatedly suggested that Nacht become a knight and Nacht turned him down each time, being annoyed by it. Nacht realized too late what he could’ve had with his brother, of the bond that they could’ve had.

In the midst of such sadness, Whatever I do, as much as I cry, it does nothing - now what can I do?

My eyes open; yes, at the very least, I can understand the colors I've painted myself…

Nacht’s misery, his regret and sadness, no matter how much he punished himself, it wasn’t going to bring Morgen back. All Nacht believed he was capable was fighting for good from the shadows but not trying to be truly good or kind the way Morgen was. Because if Nacht tried to be like Morgen, it would’ve been an insult to his brother’s image/legacy. Thankfully, Nacht’s eyes were opened to the truth that he isn’t irredeemable and did have people who cared for him (his old friend Yami and Asta who didn’t really know him but still believed he deserved to live). He learned that weighing himself down the way he did was wrong. And now, he’s decided to live on as the flawed man he is.

This song’s vibes really are incredible. The song sounds upbeat at first but the lyrics are so painful. The strange vocals heard throughout the song feel like they’re there to emphasize the chaos in the mind of the singer. Pessimistic and chaotic, words I find suitable for Nacht.

Flying Swallow (guitar cover): Flying Swallow is a song that is far more empowered and hopeful in nature which doesn’t quite fit Nacht’s attitude but I find that the lyrics do connect to him in a way. It’s a song about chasing and seeking, which Nacht does in a way (a self-destructive way but that’s besides the point).

If only I just had wings, I lamented with gray before me Aspiring to those clouds, that fly along like birds

Alone at the end of the sky, where I can't catch comfort, Wound is made upon wound, and still someone is crying...

These lyrics here really strongly feels like Nacht. He sadly lamented his empty and seemingly hopeless life, symbolized by the “gray” in the first line. Nacht not only had no way to comfort himself (isolated himself from Yami and I doubt the Bremen devils could give a good pep talk) but actively refused to seek out happiness. He was hard on himself. The “wounds” spoken of are mostly emotional—all the losses in Nacht’s life—but it could be understood as physical if we’re talking about Nacht fighting in Spade (he just kept getting beat down).

In the deep of night, at the edge of morning, is where some songs echo best;

The songs that echo could be understood as something beautiful or meaningful. And for their presence to be between in the night with the morning close… There is something deeply profound in Nacht’s devotion to Morgen.

The wind was always blowing, ever since then, ever unchanging... If it's for you, I'll go anywhere at all, crossing the sky...

The wind is Nacht’s own will pushing him forward. It’s his desire to atone for his sin, his unshaking resolve to do something right even if he can’t be good. If it’s for Morgen, the memory of him, or for the sake of people who are good like Morgen, Nacht wanted to make things better. He was willing to do anything, even throw his life away.

Crawling on a path of carnage; what have I earned in exchange?

Within a raging voice, there hides a deep pain

Still wandering, in a storm, dreams still alight in my chest Like the flying birds swirling about, I'll imitate their form...

Nacht could ask himself what exactly he gained from the path of loneliness and pain that he put himself on since Morgen’s death. He hid his pain by hating everything around him that reminded him of the past, of his past self. His tumultuous thoughts about everything are the “storm.” And though not a conscious thought of his, he does need to become free like a bird and fly unfettered by his past guilt.

The wings were always flapping, headed for the future, on a journey... I trust the wind to find the right path, and just advance...

I was dreaming, carried up by the wind... Guide me, to the edge of the sky...

It’s throughout the song, but I feel like these lyrics really dig into the theme of chasing and searching which I mentioned earlier. Nacht was someone very stuck in the past—from his former attitude and mistakes and losses—but his only choice is to move forward. What is in the past was his motivation though.

I really like this song because while the lyrics are more about Nacht’s initial attitude, the hopeful tone of the instrumentation feels like it’s for his change in attitude after Spade’s battle. Nacht sought after a way to atone for bringing about Morgen’s death in a way where he would never find a resolution. But in the end, he realized that forgiveness, from others and himself, was possible. After so much misery, Nacht found hope again and this song captures that idea for me.

[k-evans-reads]

Playing With Fire

Chapter 1

Summary: After a change of heart nearly ten years into her career as a pediatric intensive care unit nurse, Ellie Maxwell has moved back home and returned to her old job at the local bakery, where the regulars are the firefighters from down the street. When sparks begin to fly between Ellie and the guarded, closed-off Chris, will anything come of it?

Pairing: Firefighter!Chris Evans X OFC Elizabeth "Ellie" Maxwell

Word Count: 4,503

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own. 

Warnings: None.

Main Masterlist | Playing With Fire Masterlist

A grunt filled the room as Brooke dropped a box onto the couch, before she sighed and looked at Ellie incredulously. “What in the world are in these boxes?! They weigh like, a million pounds,” she asked, Ellie chuckling as she looked at the sea of boxes around them, adjusting her tie-dye shirt before she began digging through her own box.

“Oh that one is books, I think,” she told her best friend, brows furrowed as she tried to remember. “Or maybe my sewing stuff.”

A dry chuckle rose from Brooke, turning to stare at Ellie. “I swear you are actually an 80 year old woman trapped in a 29 year old’s body.”

“Yeah but who do you call when you need your jeans hemmed?” Ellie muttered, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Whatever you say, old lady.”

“I’m not an old lady!” Ellie laughed, pointing at Brooke as she lifted plates out of the box, gently unwrapping them from their paper and placing them on the table next to her.

Brooke set out in unpacking Ellie’s books, her back to her best friend as she replied, “You just quit your job in nursing, moved back to your hometown, are going to work in a bakery and the thing you’re most looking forward to is playing with your baby nephew and spending your weekends curled up reading… yeah, you’re an old lady.”

“When you summarize my life that way it sounds like most people’s life goal but in reverse,” Ellie pointed out, biting her lip while she avoided Brooke’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” Her lifelong best friend wondered out loud.

“Most people would work at a bakery as a temporary job on their way to become a nurse, not quit their job as a nurse and go back to working in a bakery,” She explained, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder, that familiar feeling of frustration at herself inside her chest.

Before she could get too far into self loathing, Brooke stated firmly, “Ellie don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She scrunched her nose up, tilting her head in the process.

“Don’t do that. I know you feel like a failure but you’re not,” Brooke rested her hands on top of the stack of books and looked into Ellie’s eyes with certainty.

“I just feel that way though,” Ellie couldn’t help but feel deflated while she kept on her task of pulling each of her items out of the cardboard box. “I mean I spent all those years working so hard to be a nurse, my parents paid for all my school and now I’m not even doing it anymore.”

“Ellie, will you stop beating yourself up about this? You were a nurse for almost seven years. It’s not like you didn’t try to make it work,” She tried to reason with her even though it didn’t take away all that Ellie was feeling. “Besides, it’s not like you weren’t good at your job. It just took too much out of you emotionally and that’s okay. You’re a sensitive person, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Ellie shrugged while picking off a rogue string on her oversized tee shirt while admitting, “It just feels pathetic to be almost 30 and practically starting my life over again.”

“Well I know your family is happy about having you in town again and so am I,” Brooke honestly spoke, assuring her that, “This is going to be a good thing Ellie. You made the right choice for you.”

Ellie nodded, but Brooke’s words rang through her mind for the rest of the morning as they danced around each other, unpacking Ellie’s new home slowly but surely. She couldn’t help but feel like she failed, despite Brooke’s reassurances. She’d worked so hard and her parents invested so much money into her nursing degree, only for Ellie to quit not even ten years in. She wished for nothing more than to be able to go back in time to when she was eighteen and to be able to pick a different path for herself, something she’d still be able to use, rather than sitting back where she started, almost thirty years old with a nearly hundred and fifty thousand dollar degree that was no good to her anymore.

But she had reached the end of her rope. She just couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t go home and cry herself to sleep every single night over a patient who had passed away, someone struggling with their mental health, or seeing a sick child. It just took too much out of her emotionally and at this point in her life, she had nothing left to give. After a lot of sleepless nights and the bags under her eyes getting larger and larger, she decided to wave the white flag and finally admit that she just couldn’t do it anymore. So here she was, coming back to her hometown with her tail between her legs, embarrassed and defeated.

But her saving grace was the bakery in town, in the old renovated home that it’d always been in. She’d worked there through high school and during her summers as a college student, and when she’d left for her nursing job in New York City after graduation, the owner- Dottie, a sweet older woman- promised that there would always be a spot for her in case something changed. And when something changed last month, she called Dottie first, almost sobbing as she spoke to her. And all of those instances combined had led Ellie to packing up all her belongings, breaking her lease early, and driving upstate to come back home.

So here she was, renting a quaint little yellow house right in between her parents family farm and the middle of town where the bakery was located, unpacking all of her belongings with her lifelong friend, ready to settle into a new chapter of her life… even if she wasn’t sure what that chapter was going to be.

Brooke stayed for a few more hours, helping unpack until they had got most of the boxes and gave her friend a tight hug, promising to see her the following day and leaving Ellie alone. She tried to make herself busy, organizing her closet and putting away things, but the thoughts began running through her head on a never-ending cycle. All she could think about was that she was a failure, that the time, energy, and money spent on that stupid degree was all put to waste. That she’d lost nearly ten years of her life to a lie, and that she was no better off at nearly thirty than she had been when she’d graduated high school.

At some point, nearly three hours after Brooke left, Ellie slammed her bathroom door shut, tears welling in her eyes at the realization that these thoughts would never end. But she knew she could distract herself somehow, so she pulled her hair into a ponytail, threw a plain crew neck sweatshirt over her tee, tossed a coat over her shoulders, and jammed her feet into sneakers, bounding down the front stairs and into her car, heading into town. Her fingers tapped anxiously on the steering wheel as she drove, but when she saw that little old house and the line of cars parked in front of it, she felt a warmth come over her.

She stepped out of the car and up the wooden stairs, opening the door and smiling faintly as the old bell rang from overhead, watching as the gray-haired lady turned her head, a surprised smile crossing her face. “Ellie! My goodness it’s so good to see you!” She beamed, moving around the counter to come to the front. “It’s been way too long!”

“It really has. I’ve missed you Dottie,” Ellie smiled, sighing as Dottie hugged her, the familiar embrace a welcome reprieve from the negativity in her head.

Dottie tutted, squeezing Ellie tighter as she replied, “I’ve missed you too.”

“Thank you so much for letting me come back to the bakery,” Ellie whispered, screwing her eyes shut as she gave Dottie one last squeeze and breathed in the familiar smell of buttercream and vanilla.

The old woman stepped back, but kept her hands on Ellie’s shoulders as she looked at her in shock. “Are you kidding? You’re my lifesaver. Things have gotten so busy here lately it’s been hard to keep up with just a few of us,” she laughed, before she pointed to an empty table, leading Ellie over to it. As they sat down, she sighed, studying the young woman for a moment before she asked,  “Now come tell me what’s been going on? Are you all moved in?”

Ellie nodded, glancing out the windows behind Dottie before she replied, “For the most part I am. My parents were over yesterday helping me get my furniture all moved in and then Brooke and I unpacked most of my smaller things this morning.”

“Are you sure you want to start tomorrow? Do you need more time to get settled?” Dottie asked her carefully, raising a grayed eyebrow at her.

“No, I’ll be happy to get back to work,” Ellie reassured her, shaking her head as she admitted, “I want something to do so I’m ready to start as soon as you want me.”

Dottie took her up on the offer, taking her around the bakery to show her that most things were right where they were years prior. Ellie found a certain comfort in the bakery staying the same, liking the familiarity that came with it. It was a welcome juxtaposition to nursing in the pediatric intensive care unit, where you never knew what you’d be walking into from day to day. The sweet older woman was over the moon to have Ellie back, not only happy to have someone she loved and trusted, but an employee she could let run things or bake whatever she pleased, knowing that it would be a great addition to the bakery and was excited to have her back.

Ellie was pinning the magnetic name tag to her shirt- the same one that had been hanging on the wall of the walk-in refrigerator for all these years, just in case she ever came back- when Dottie turned to her. “I know I don’t have to explain all the ins and outs to you, but you know that you can make whatever you want when you come in. Everyone always loves what you bake,” she told her with a smile, Ellie laughing to herself.

“I do have some new recipes I think you’ll like,” she noted, Dottie perking up at the statement. But the bell interrupted them, Dottie poking her head into the front just as a loud voice boomed through the small bakery.

“Dottie!” A man cried out, a muffled laugh carrying through the cafe. Ellie took a sip of her water before she followed Dottie to the counter, standing at the register as she smiled politely at the two men, both clad in t-shirts and jackets bearing the name of the local fire company, but also wearing easy, matching grins as they stood in front of Dottie.

“How are my favorite boys?” She asked them with a wide grin, eyes warm as she looked at them, Ellie seeing one blonde man who looked to be a little older than her leaning against the counter while a younger man, looking to be closer in age to her with dark hair and a well groomed beard standing next to him.

The younger looking darker-haired one laughed full-bodied, his eyes bright while he replied, “Good, but you better not let the other guys hear you say that or they’ll be jealous.”

“No they won’t, because you’re all my favorites.”

“That’s a lie, we all know I’m your favorite,” the same man smirked, eyes dropping to look in the pastry case while the other man greeted Dottie before he did the same.

Dottie looked at them fondly for a moment before she drawled, “Are you boys here for a reason or are you just trying to cause trouble?”

“Mostly trouble,” the young one shot back instantly, rising to his full height again as his eyes met Ellie’s, their gaze meeting for a brief moment before his blue eyes narrowed at her. “You’re new here aren’t you?”

“Well sort of,” she shrugged nervously, before she shrugged again as she added, “I used to work here but I’m back now. I’m Ellie.”

“Hi Ellie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Chris, and this is Mark,” he introduced, jamming his thumb in the direction of the other man- Mark, Ellie reminded herself- over his own shoulder as Mark waved to her.

“They’re firefighters at the station right around the corner so all those boys are in here all the time,” Dottie supplied as she walked behind Ellie, reaching in and pulling some random treats out and putting them in a box.

“Well it’s not our fault you have the best bakery in town,” Chris laughed back with a smirk on his lips, before he winked at Ellie.

“Watch out for that one Ellie, he’s a charmer,” Dottie said to her with a dry tone, making Mark burst into laughter from behind Chris.

“Only for you, Dottie,” Chris answered, but he quietly thanked Dottie as she slid the box of desserts across the case to them, Mark passing Dottie cash as he thanked her as well. “But we did actually come in for a reason. It’s the Chief’s birthday so we wanted to order a cake for him.”

Dottie nodded, leading the men over to a table to discuss the order as Ellie tended the counter, greeting the few customers that straggled in during the evening hours. She found herself watching the trio a lot, watching the way Chris’ face lit up as he talked with Dottie, gesturing wildly as he spoke. It was easy to acknowledge his handsome looks, but what kept Ellie’s eyes on him was the warmth that seemed to just radiate from him in every way.

She didn’t even realize how long she had been staring when the trio stood up, the men each hugging Dottie as she promised to have the cake ready for them that Wednesday. But before they could make it out of the front door, Chris clapped his hands together, his face sheepish as if he’d forgotten something as he said, “We also wanted to talk to you about the toy drive.”

“Oh Ellie, I think I might have you take this over so I want you to come hear this,” Dottie called, waving her hand for Ellie to come closer from where she was re-reading the closing list near the door to the back. “Do you boys want to tell her what you’re doing?”

“Yeah, the firestation does a toy drive every November for foster kids to collect toys for Christmas. It’s coming up next Saturday and Dottie here usually donates something for it,” Chris explained with a slight shrug, a small grin on his face as his eyes moved to Dottie before they returned to Ellie’s. “I don’t know what you want to do but the kids all loved the cookies from last year.”

Dottie rested a hand on Ellie’s shoulder, telling her, “Ellie you can make whatever you want, just make sure you make enough extra for all my boys at the station,” as a slight smirk spread across her lips, her brows raising as she looked at the men out of the corner of her eyes.

Mark groaned appreciatively, shaking his head at them. “You spoil us Dottie, you know that?”

“Well now my sweet Ellie is going to be the one spoiling you,” she replied, nodding and adding, “So Ellie, you just give them whatever they need.”

“If you just tell me how many you want, I’ll make sure they’re all ready,” Ellie said, grabbing a piece of paper to write down the quantity as Mark told her. She clicked the pen, putting it back down on the countertop as she told them, “I really love that you all do a toy drive. If there’s anything else I could do, I would love to help.”

“Well we can always use some gift wrappers,” Chris shrugged, trailing off a bit at the end.

“I’ll be there,” she promised, smiling brightly at them both.

“Thank you Ellie, we appreciate the help,” Mark said appreciatively, before he grabbed the pastry box from where Chris had left it on the counter. “Well Chris, we should head back.”

“Yeah, we should. Thanks Dottie,” the man nodded, smiling brightly at the older woman as she said goodbye to him as well. But surprisingly, he turned to Ellie, a grin on his face as he added, “And it was nice to meet you Ellie, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

“You really will be seeing a lot more of Chris, his sweet tooth is out of control,” the blonde man sarcastically added, smiling over his shoulder at Ellie as he pushed the door open, holding it open and stepping onto the porch as he waited for Chris.

“Well you’re coming to the right place then,” Ellie chuckled, watching as Chris began to walk out, but then her brows furrowed and she called, “Oh! By the way, do you have any requests for what to make for the toy drive? Is there something the kids like?”

“I don’t know about the kids, but I’m pretty into those iced shortbread cookies,” he suggested, that now-familiar smirk spreading across his face again.

Mark groaned from the porch, poking his head back as he pointed in Chris’ direction, exasperatedly saying, “Told you that you need to watch out for this guy.”

“I’ll remember that,” Ellie chuckled, watching as the men walked down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, Chris’ loud laugh carrying back into the bakery as they headed back to the firestation.

Ellie jumped into the closing duties as it got closer to the four o’clock closing time, wiping down counters and emptying the pastry case as the minutes ticked by, before she locked the door and began mopping. Once she and Dottie were done with the tasks, they shut off the lights and shut down the ovens, locking up the door behind them as they left for the night. Ellie began driving, passing her own home within ten minutes, but when she turned onto the familiar country road, she didn’t feel anything but excitement and peace wash over her. Turning onto the long, dirt driveway reminded her of so many childhood memories, of bike rides and skinned knees, but the sight of the white farmhouse sitting atop a hill overlooking the Christmas tree farm was nothing short of relief for Ellie. It was home, in every way.

The scent of the pine trees filled her lungs in the most satisfying way possible as she climbed the rickety old stairs to the back door, bumping the door with her hip to get it to close right as she stepped inside. Instantly, she was met with the smell of her mother’s homemade chicken pot pie cooking in the oven and the sound of her baby nephew giggling.

She pulled off her coat, eyes meeting her family’s happy faces smiling at her from around the kitchen island. “Ellie! Honey, we’re so glad you’re here!” Her mother, Diana, cheered, gracefully making her way to wrap Ellie in a tight hug.

“I’m happy to be here,” she admitted to her quietly, squeezing her back just as tightly. Her eyes screwed shut for a moment as she soaked in the familiar comfort of her mother’s hugs, but when she opened them she was glad, as she got to see all of the people she loved looking back at her.

“I can’t believe that now we get to have you at Sunday family dinners,” Diana whispered, before she pulled back and ran her hands up and down Ellie’s arms. “I’m so happy that you’re back here, sweetie.”

“I have to say that it is nice to be able to just get in your car and drive to where you want to go, that’s something I’ve already gotten used to again,” she laughed with a small grin on her face.

“All the animals are happy you’re back! Even grumpy little Bruce,” her father, Brett, spoke, grinning at Ellie as she greeted the black cat purring at her feet.

“And that’s a feat all by itself!” Her older brother, Daniel, laughed, his hand tickling his six-month-old son, Nathan, as his brows pinched, turning back to his younger sister to ask, “Hey, did Brooke end up coming over today?”

Ellie nodded, heading over to the squeaky old cabinet to pull out one of the faded glasses, the same ones she used on Sunday mornings during their pancake breakfasts nearly twenty five years ago. “Yeah she helped me get a lot of the kitchen and living room things unpacked with was amazing. It feels nice to have some of my stuff put away,” she answered, before she moved over to the fridge to fill the glass with water, just as her mother pulled the pie out of the oven.

She watched with a smile as Amanda, her sister-in-law, bounced Nathan on her lap, the baby giving Ellie a gummy grin as their eyes met. Amanda leaned down to press a kiss to Nathan’s blond curls before she straightened up, giving Ellie a smile as she said, “And I’m coming tomorrow to help but I have to bring Nathan so I actually don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

Diana sighed over-dramatically, rolling her eyes as she mentioned, “I guess I’ll just have to come over and play with Nathan while you two unpack.”

“Yeah I’m sure you’ll hate that, Mom,” Danny chuckled, leaning back in the barstool and taking a sip of his wine as he did so.

“It’ll be tough, but I suppose I can do it,” Diana retorted, hiding a smirk in her red wine as she took a sip, before she moved over to cut the pie and told everyone to sit at the table.

The laughter at Diana’s sarcastic comment filled the room as the family all passed around the food, each dishing up what they wanted before settling in for the meal. Ellie mostly stayed silent through a lot of the meal, but this time it wasn’t from the nagging feeling of failure in the back of her head, this time it was from contentment. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed this. Just getting to sit around with her family and talk, hearing their laughter and baby Nathan’s little chatter. While she was in New York working, she had spent any breaks she got here at home but they weren’t as often as she liked. Her family still were all together here and she wasn’t, and sometimes the sadness that it caused was just too much. In fact, that was the other factor of her quitting her job. Not getting to be there for much of her sister-in-law’s pregnancy and only seeing their sweet baby a few times in his six months of life was the final straw for her. She was tired of missing out on being a part of all of their daily lives, just to do a job that she didn’t even like and although starting all over at nearly 30 years old wasn’t ideal, as she sat in the home she grew up in with the people she loved the most, she knew it was the right choice.

A loud voice cut through her thoughts as Ellie chewed on the spinach salad, making her straighten in shock a bit as her mother said, “Ellie, you’re the one who just moved back here and you’ve barely said two words!”

“I know, I just love hearing you guys talk,” she admitted, smiling as her eyes moved over all of her beloved family members. “It really does feel good to be home.”

“Are you missing New York at all or nursing?” Danny asked her quietly, head tilting in curiosity.

She grimaced slightly, shifting uncomfortably. “If I’m being honest… not really,” Ellie admitted.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m glad to hear that because then that means you’ll stay!” Diana laughed, her bright smile lighting up the cramped dining room.

Ellie laughed a bit as she shook her head, reassuring them, “I’m staying, don’t worry. After I quit my job, there wasn’t anything holding me in New York.”

Her father leaned back in the wooden dining chair, looking at Ellie contemplatively as he asked, “What about that really nice guy you were dating…. What was his name?”

“Will,” she supplied, taking a large sip of wine after she did so.

“Yeah, Will!” Amanda remembered, “He’s so sweet!”

Ellie smiled sadly, feeling herself tense as she prepared to tell them what had happened. “He is sweet but we aren’t together anymore. It didn’t end badly, my schedule just didn’t really let us be together hardly at all so we just decided it wasn’t working,” she informed them, watching as their faces fell one by one as the realization sunk in.

“I’m so sorry Ellie, I can’t believe I didn’t realize you weren’t with him anymore,” Amanda apologized, leaning forward and dropping her fork against her plate with a clatter, her face sympathetic as Ellie met her eyes.

“Well we broke up around the time Nathan was born so you had a few other things on your mind,” Ellie reassured her with a shake of her head.

“I guess that just means we’re going to have to be on the lookout for a new boyfriend for you here in town,” Diana chuckled quietly, reaching over and lifting Nathan out of his height chair to sit in her lap.

“Oh I already have a few people I want her to meet,” Amanda laughed, her face breaking into a grin.

“How about you guys let me get my boxes unpacked first?” Ellie groaned, feeling her face flush as she laughed quietly.

“Okay, fine,” her sister-in-law relented before she added, “But I really do have a feeling this is going to be a whole new chapter for you Ellie. And I think it’s going to be really good.”

“I sure hope so,” Ellie mused quietly, staring down at the table as thoughts swirled through her brain. She tried to convince herself that this would be anything less than a decision made out of frustration and emotion, and that this would lead to anything other than further heartbreak. But that was a hard sell for her brain. But she pushed those thoughts to the side, determined to at least try to enjoy the family dinner, knowing there were so many to come around this old wooden table.

A/N: SURPRISE! We couldn't wait to share Ellie any longer! We've been chipping away at her all week and ugh, we love her so much already. We can't wait to reveal some things and have you all learn everything about her, Chris, and everyone else involved! We're not going to be holding ourselves to a strict weekly schedule of posting every Friday, but that is our goal!

[writingithink]

Improbable Multiversal Transcending Temporal Spacetime Event Pairing: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rated: T Word Count: 7,101 Summary: The best way to show someone you care is to blow up their job ... right? Notes: I'm back! And it's not a Tangled Timelines update (sorry!) But it is something? I've had this in my WIPs for awHILE now, and when I was cleaning my studio the other night I found a planning page for it in a random tote bag and was like ... oh yeah. And the ending just came to me and I love it when that happens. Hopefully there will be another chapter up for Tangled Timelines soon, though!

As always, infinite thanks to my wonderful beta, @hey-there-juliet​ who is fine with me randomly sending her fics at all hours and with no warning XP

All mistakes are mine, as always.

<<READ IT ON AO3>>

If the other him in the other universe had taken the time to imagine their human life together in a parallel universe, the Doctor doubted he would have pictured this. His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was always quite whimsical. Happiness had made him impractical, really. Because despite all of the drawbacks, all of the reasons he currently loathed himself, the Doctor knew every single reason why the other truly felt like this was the best possible option.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, despite it not occurring too often, he was wrong.

They had spent five and a half hours on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay.

(I create myself.)

She had been so upset; said that after everything they’d went through, everything she did to get back, the other him owed her a proper goodbye. She had stopped speaking to him when he told her that, actually, he would never give her a proper goodbye.

And she didn’t let him explain why. Now that he finally could.

Now it had been 57 days since she’d last spoken to him. Since he’d gotten more than a brief glimpse of her with his own eyes. That he’d spent piecing together a picture of what her life had been like here, without him. Such a short time, really, now that it was over (almost over), but yet also some of the worst moments of his entire existence.

It seemed fair that the multiverse would demand just that extra sequence of pain, considering everything he could potentially get in return. What another version of himself could only hope for, bitterly gambling eternities, following their timeline through all of it’s complicated swirls and turns, names weaving around each other, stamping themselves on the structure of creation.

Forever isn’t something that ends.

(How long are you going to stay with me?)

Quite the opposite, actually. And he knew, eventually, she would remember that. Knew it, but didn’t feel it.

The Doctor finally understood what all of the human writers meant about falling in love. Not just the terrifying sensation of the unstoppable freefall, but also the immense pain of crashing into the immovable object at the end of the journey.

They had sat on opposite ends of a Zeppelin. He had gone back to the Tyler Manor with Jackie, and Rose had gone back to her flat. Hoping to see her, talk to her, he had immediately joined Torchwood (once they agreed to his very detailed, highly specific, entirely ironclad contract). Their paths rarely crossed, and when they did it was just tiny, insubstantial moments.

A flash of her at the far end of a hall. Her name in a report (a lot of reports). Snatches of her voice, there one moment and gone the next.

It all made everything hurt so much more, somehow, having her so close but yet further than he could have possibly imagined.

But yet …

His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was still quite whimsical. So when he tried to think of the bigger picture, waxing poetic, alone on his office couch, the Doctor tried to look at the last few years as the impact, and this as the aftershock. Still, philosophical jaunts weren’t exactly a solution to his problem. A temporary solution was moving his office even further away, so that’s what he did. 

Plus, he found it kind of fitting, commandeering the inside of Big Ben. UNIT may have it in the prime universe, but in this universe he had the fancy landmark office. Well, office-slash-home (without Rose Tyler, a proper house with doors and things was absolutely unthinkable). Not that it was just about having a private laugh. The gears soothed him, the sound of ticking helped the gnawing emptiness that had filled his mind ever since the TARDIS dematerialized without him in it. The Doctor had thought it was kind of fitting - the closest he could possibly be right now to time.

Not that he wasn’t spending every possible spare moment working on the baby TARDIS, just a tiny piece of coral still, currently sitting in the extended electro-percussive environment chamber. He wondered if, in three years (his best-possible projected timetable), when the new TARDIS would be ready for flight, she would still not be speaking to him.

Incidentally, the emergence of that thought and the start of his supposed ‘self-isolation’ coincided to an alarming degree for how coincidental the two really were. The fact of the matter was, he was busy. Tons of experiments to run, alien equipment to identify, classify (and more often than not remove from Torchwood entirely), a baby TARDIS to tend to, and a backlog of Rose’s mission reports to hack into made spending slightly over three weeks in his tower easy.

The problem was the fact that during that time the Doctor avoided sleeping, barely remembered to eat, and existed on overly sugared tea alone. Not sleeping didn’t put the demons at bay, but at least when he was awake he wasn’t forced to confront the man he never wanted to remember being.

It had been 57 days since Rose Tyler had last spoken to him, and the Doctor detonated a bomb in the abandoned annex Torchwood had scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt.

Then the counter reset to zero.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled, barging into the top floor lab where he had been checking the readings on the EEPEC.

Everything that he wanted to say to her, and the Doctor was struck mute.

“Whatever plans you think you have, however good of an idea it is, for the good of the planet or, or the galaxy or what, you don’t just go blowing up buildings without a word to anyone! Do you know that everyone else was too scared to come up here and have a word with you, because that highly confidential ridiculous contract you drew up made its way through the gossips and isn’t so classified anymore. Now no one wants to go toe to toe with the man who ‘speaks for the planet’,” Rose growled through the air quotes. “So tell me, Doctor, what genius reason you’ve got for blowing up the Records Annex?”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“It worked.”

“What?”

“Remember ‘run’?” he asked, bouncing away from the baby TARDIS and circling her, picking up his new sonic screwdriver as he did and deadlock sealing the only door off the floor.

“Run?” she frowned as he circled back.

“Run,” he whispered in her ear as he passed, running up a small set of stairs to flip a giant switch that activated the clock-lights outside of their automated timer. Likely no one noticed outside with the sun still out, but it lit up the lab. “Henrik’s basement, Nestene Consciousness, shop window dummies, you and me. How did that night end?” he asked, with a manic grin as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Oh, that ‘run’,” Rose breathed, trying to fight back a smile. “You blew up my job.”

“I blew up your job.”

She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and crossed her arms. His shoulders fell, exhaustion pressing down onto each and every bone of his new, much more fragile body.

“I just want to talk,” he told her, only a moment away from begging.

“Alright then. Talk.”

Everything he wanted to say to her, and all of it felt disjointed in his overtired mind. Yet she was here now, and if she left he didn’t have a new idea for getting her back again. So he talked.

“I’m sorry. That I made this choice for you, even if it was technically a different me who did it. I’m sorry that this is the best option, the safest option. I’m sorry I never got the chance to explain everything to you before. But I am never going to say goodbye to you, Rose. Never. And I know that the power of words doesn’t translate as well for you, the science of psycho-kinetic-telepathic influence on the elements of creation. But there are some things I can never risk saying aloud. There are some beings that exist, at least in our original universe, that could easily- … still, no matter what universe we’re in, I’m never going to say it. Forever, Rose Tyler. It’s longer than you can comprehend. An eternal silence stretching infinitely ahead, timelines swirling in every direction. This one is ours, if you’ll- if you could just- if you could see in twenty-odd dimensions and focused on individual temporal waveforms, the quantum reality of specific-”

“Doctor!” she shouted when his legs gave out, immediately grabbing hold of him, joining him on the floor.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but when he moved to get back up she easily held him down. Rose gently manipulated his face, giving him a basic medical check. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how much she had learned while they were away, only to then frown at how hard he imagined it all must have been for her. Floundering, he tried to make a joke. “So, I’m still the Doctor?”

Which went ignored.

“You look like a wreck,” she told him, and it wasn’t new information. The Doctor now made much more frequent trips to the restroom and was well aware of how pale he was, of the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He had at least been making a disjointed effort to shave, which was another activity that had increased with his meta crisis, and admittedly it had slipped his mind for a couple days.

“It’s not easy, doing this without you,” he admitted. “But if you need more time, I want you to take it. I really am alright. There’s just so much I need to tell you, now that I can.”

“What do you mean, ‘now that you can’?”

“Different universe, firm walls in between. I don’t have to worry about using the wrong words at the wrong time and having cosmic consequences … for a lot of things, not all things. With our timeline in a different dimension and reality back as it should be, at least for the moment, I can tell you all sorts of things. Though the most important one, the one I’m never going to miss an opportunity to say, is that I love you, Rose Tyler. Forever.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed, caressing his cheek for a moment before helping him up. “But I’m still mad at you. Now you need sleep.”

“But I’m not done talking,” the Doctor complained, dragging his feet as she led him over to the sofa in the corner.

“We’ll talk more after you’ve gotten some rest, okay? I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, more horizontal than he remembered being just a moment ago. Something soft and warm ensconced his body. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been until just then.

Another breath and black oblivion overtook him. Peaceful until it suddenly very much wasn’t. 

A shockwave. A rift in time and space. A breached void. A crack in reality. A big red button. No more. Howling, howling, howling.

“Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t know where he was. Nothing felt right; not the air, not time, not even his own body. The Doctor tried to do a quick systems check, and the results were all wrong. His hand flew to his chest, where only one heart was beating.

A choking scream echoed through the space, which seemed to be tick tick ticking, and he didn’t realize that it was him who shouted until soothing hands were brushing through his hair. Vision focusing, he saw Rose Tyler kneeling next to him, or at least it was something that looked like Rose Tyler. She felt too cool. Or maybe he was too warm.

“Are you real?” he asked, hoping that she wouldn’t lie to him.

Just one heart working, and it was beating too fast, refusing to slow down. The air was too thick, he couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah.” A sad smile. “I’m real.”

The Doctor didn’t know if he believed her, closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the moment she inevitably vanished. “I’m dying,” he told the being-who-might-be-Rose as he shuddered and collapsed back onto some sort of sofa.

“You’re fine,” she lied, but it was a lie she seemed to believe.

“Only got one heart beating,” he admitted, trying to get his breathing under control as his malfunctioning body began to sweat. The room ticked away, and he wondered if all of this was about to explode, if he should be running, if he even could run. His legs felt like lead. So did his arms. The air was too thick, dragging him down.

“That’s-”

The Doctor shut his eyes tighter, tears escaping that he hadn’t even realized were there. She must have vanished, just like he knew she would. And if she was never real to begin with, why did it have to hurt so much for her to go?

A weight rested on top of him, and he would never forget the feel of her. He vaguely wondered what it meant for him, to be having tactile hallucinations. Olfactory hallucinations. Even the buzz of time that had never left her skin after she took in the vortex was present.

“You’ve still got two beating,” Rose whispered as his arms wrapped around her in a tight hold that didn’t feel nearly strong enough to keep her. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her.

Her heart beat steadily over where his right heart had failed.

“I’m scared,” the Doctor admitted, eyes still closed though it was oddly easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you.”

“Please be real,” he whimpered, even as his mind grew foggier.

She said something, but he didn’t know what. Everything was fading away, darkness becoming darker, becoming void.

Nothing.

The Doctor awoke alone on the couch in his office. According to his time sense, he had slept for eighteen hours and twenty-one minutes. He felt better than he had in weeks, but also so much worse. He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it.

“What’s wrong now?”

The pillow dropped from his hands and his eyes locked with Rose’s as she raced up the slight stair onto the platform that separated his primary workspace from the rest of the top floor.

“What?” His voice cracked.

Rose Tyler sat next to him on the couch, hand immediately resting on his forehead, primitively gauging his temperature. The Doctor cleared his throat before trying again.

“Rose, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad, I’m so very, very glad you’ve come.” Her hand dropped away and he was able to get a good look at her, dressed in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts (Jackie had bought him a ridiculous amount of clothes before he left the manor, all of which he sent out to be cleaned). He swallowed audibly. “W-why are you wearing my clothes?”

“‘M locked in here. Door’s deadlock sealed.”

Flashes of memories began to speed through him. Attaching a re-calibrated Tziklian implosion grenade to a newly-repaired retroreflective Clishtahrr drone. Obsessively trying to circumvent his vision in order to peer at his own timeline, making himself sick. A contained rift event in the lower levels of the tower that made him feel like he had looked into the untempered schism again.

(Run, run, run!)

“I’m sorry. I don’t … I’ll just …”

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, found his sonic screwdriver and unsealed the door. And he wished he hadn’t trapped her with him, even if he was starting to remember why (inky black terror crawling up his spine, wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe).

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” she asked, following him as he went to check the TARDIS on autopilot, looking as if she was worried he would collapse (again).

“It’s coming back to me,” the Doctor admitted. Still had a good four hours to go before the shatterfry process would be complete. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand tall as he turned to face her. “Things got a little, uhm, unpleasant. I’ll do better.”

“Unpleasant,” Rose scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you had a bleedin’ breakdown!”

“It’s been a difficult regeneration,” he deflected, turning away, leaving the platform and making a beeline to the tiny kitchenette tucked off to the side. Tea. He just needed more tea.

“So, this how it’s gonna be, then? All that stuff about wanting to talk, but now you’re just done?”

He nearly spilled the kettle with the speed of his turn, brows furrowed and mouth falling open. “What? Of course I want to talk!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Just, er, what did I say? Before?”

Memory was still a bit of a blur. Successful energy funnel for the TARDIS’ growth tank. Vodka tasting different in a universe without potatoes. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. No contact.

“You don’t remember?”

“I said it was coming back to me, it’s just not coming in the right order.” he sighed, refocusing on the tea.

“Well, what’s the last thing that you vividly remember?” Rose asked, moving around him, easily finding mugs and sugar and milk.

“Thirteen days ago, creating a temporal disruption chrono-field manipulator. Needed to siphon rift energy for our TARDIS. She needs a very specific growth environment.”

“Thirteen days?! Wait, siphoning the-” She leaned against the tiny countertop and covered her face with her hands. The only sound for a few moments was of the electric kettle quickly boiling the water. “Our TARDIS?”

“If you want,” the Doctor muttered, lifting a hand, wanting to touch her, but then thinking better of it. He clenched his fist as it dropped to his side.

Rose groaned as she turned back to him. “Of course I want that, you daft alien git! But you don’t exactly make things easy, do ya? I spent years getting back to you, and then suddenly there’s two of you and one of you abandons me just like I was always afraid of, but one of you stays and I’m expected to be able to process any of it? And then for weeks it’s an effort just to give myself space, knowing that wherever I go you’re so close, part of me wondering why I’m even trying to stay away when all I wanted for ages was to be back with you. Then suddenly you’re gone! I still know where you are, but there isn’t a chance that I’d actually run into you. And I still don’t know what to feel, but coming here yesterday, seeing you … I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so broken.” There were tears in her eyes. His nails dug into his palms with the effort it took not to wrap his arms around her, to wipe them away. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s my own fault. You haven’t done a single thing wrong,” he assured her.

“That’s not true and you know it,” she tried to laugh, but it came out watery. “I’ve been an absolute cow. And I still haven’t answered your question. You’d said some things about words being a type of science, and that you could say things here that you couldn’t in the other universe. Like you were paranoid, under surveillance or something? I think you tried to describe how your time sense stuff works, but you almost fainted.”

“Fifty-seven days without you and that’s what I was talking about?” The Doctor grimaced.

The kettle clicked off.

“If it makes you feel better, it was kinda romantic. The stuff about not saying goodbye and forever and blowing up my job.”

“Blowing up your what?!”

“That’s why I had to come here. You blew up the old Records Annex.”

“Riiiiight. That explains the drone bomb. It’s not like they weren’t going to blow it up anyway. Didn’t I help?”

Rose rolled her eyes before moving to fix both their teas. “We’ll get into that later. Right now I don’t even want to talk about us. I wanna know about you, what you’ve been doing these past two months. Because I didn’t even stop to think what this all must be like for you.”

Cuppa in hand, the Doctor led her back to the couch as he tried to think of how best to explain something that he barely understood himself.

“I was created in a two-way human-Time Lord instant biological meta crisis. Hundreds of years as one being, then suddenly two. Exact same mind, almost the exact same body, but different enough that I can barely comprehend existing in it. If you remember, the first forty-eight hours of the regeneration cycle are complicated and dangerous. Barely a few hours into mine I was dropped outside of the prime universe that all Gallifreyans are meant to exist in, cut off from all telepathic contact as the walls of reality continued to sway, slowly falling back into place. It’s been … an adjustment. Sometimes things don’t feel real, even when they are. Sometimes things feel incredibly real, even when they aren’t.”

“You had a nightmare,” Rose told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles through his layers. “I woke you up, tried to help. You didn’t think I was real. You thought you were dying, because you only had one heart.”

He tried to smile, and the action felt painful. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so selfish-”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I want you to put yourself first.”

“But I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this. What can I do to help?” she asked, a desperation in her eyes that he couldn’t bear.

“You’re already helping,” the Doctor sighed, finally giving in and leaning into her touch, lying his head on her shoulder. It was the closest he’d felt to time since they’d been left on that bloody beach.

Memories were still racing through his head. Energy coils radiating artron energy into a centrifuge. The smell of burnt flesh against the remains of a Bverni navigational system. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. No contact.

“The other Doctor said that you needed me.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yes, because he needs you. He also said that I was dangerous. I am. He is. We are. But you already knew that. It’s easy, you know, to yell at yourself. Not often that there’s actually a separate you there to yell at. I destroyed the Daleks, but we’d already done that before we met. In fact, so did you. The other me was lashing out, knowing what he would have to do but not wanting to do it.”

“That’s another thing,” Rose said, moving to face him, dislodging his head, “you said that us being here, in this universe, was the best, safest option. What was that about?”

“Something’s coming. Has come. Ended and began. There’s a massive paradox surrounding me in the other universe. Incredibly dangerous, potentially catastrophic. All I know is that it has something to do with a woman named River Song who claims to be my wife.”

“Your wife?!”

“I said claims. And she did seem to be telling the truth, besides the fact that what she was saying was entirely preposterous. My soul is entirely bound to yours.” The Doctor took her hand and squeezed it. “So I think I have an idea of the kind of man I’ll have to become in order to keep the universe intact.”

“What’s that?”

“A liar. If she is going to believe that I could possibly join myself to someone else, someone who isn’t you, I’m going to have to lie. I’m going to have to forget. I’m going to have to lie so well and for so long that even I believe the fiction I’ve created for myself.”

He wondered what the other him in the other universe would think, then, whenever he caught a rare glimpse at their timeline surrounded in gold, bound with Rose’s for all eternity. What kind of explanation he would craft. The Doctor shuddered.

“But that sounds horrible!” she cried.

“It’s the sacrifice he’s making for the sake of the universe. My timeline is dangerous and someone, something is tampering with it. You and I made one tiny little paradox and it almost destroyed everything. This one is circular, might be able to be maintained, but the scale of it, Rose. And who knows if it will even work. River seems great and all, at least I hope so, but I don’t think she has much of a handle on time travel. That, or she’s a manipulative psychopath. Suppose that’s a surprise for the other me to find out.”

Rose sniffled and he pulled her into a hug.

“He’s going to be all alone.” The words were muffled into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with her tears. He cringed and tried to think rationally, that of course she would feel this way, that it had nothing to do with how she felt about him him. But then again, maybe it did.

“He won’t be alone. He’ll find someone. I always do, eventually.”

“B-but I-”

“We’ll figure it out. How to get you back there, once it’s safe,” he whispered into the top of her head. Maybe that would be it- what she needed this him for. And if so, it would be enough. It would have to be enough.

“Really?”

The Doctor nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“So it’s not- you really weren’t abandoning me here?” Rose lifted her head, eyes brimming with a hope that had been missing before.

“Never.” The word felt as if it was torn out of his very being.

She cupped his cheek, stubble beginning to smooth out into the beginnings of a beard. He really needed to shave.

“I thought you said to never say never ever?”

“That was before.”

It occurred to him that he had tea, so he took a sip - it had gone cold.

“Oh, right, all the, uhm, psychic-kinetic-telepathy science stuff.”

He opened his mouth to correct her - she was very close, though - but was interrupted by the ringing of the giant clock. It was heavily muffled by the sound proofing adjustments he had made while setting up the office, but still audible enough.

“It’s eight now, yeah?” Rose asked, even as she moved away.

“Yes.”

She walked over to his desk, where the Doctor now noticed a pile of her folded clothes sat. He frowned when she brought them over to him.

“Do you think you could sonic these clean for me? I’m gonna quick hop into your decontamination shower.”

“Th- there’s a proper shower, it’s two floors down. First left, third right, door marked ‘Security Level Alpha’.”

“What, really?”

“Didn’t want random lab techs using it. Has a retina scan. It’ll let you in.”

Rose laughed, ruffled his hair, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing to get ready for work. The whole thing left him confused. He went through his list again, checking and double checking to make sure that this all was real . It was, just as it had been all morning.

More memories. Recalibrating the tower’s new sub-basement weapon’s vault. Burnt toast and no more jam left. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. Contact made.

It wasn’t fair that she had spent almost an entire day with him yet he had missed most of it. Still, he sonicked her clothes, as well as his tea. Finished his cuppa, and then had a second before Rose came back from her shower.

“Why’s there no one around?”

“Dangerous radiation leak,” the Doctor shrugged. “I fixed it almost as soon as it happened, but apparently there’s ‘procedures’. How’d you get in?”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Mighta shot a few of your doors,” Rose admitted, picking up an electro-pulse blaster off of a nearby cart. Non-lethal on organic matter. Very effective on fancy doors. “Nobody told me anything about a radiation leak, though.”

“Classified radiation leak.”

“And why’s that?” she scowled, hands on her hips.

“Everything to do with time travel is classified to this office. Bethany is not being very cooperative about putting you down as a liaison-whatever. Please believe me, I wasn’t trying to keep anything a secret.”

“Oh.” Rose glanced over at the EEPEC, absently biting her thumbnail.

The Doctor didn’t know what she was thinking, didn’t know if he should ask. After a moment she disappeared into the loo to change, promising to be back in a tick.

It was a funny multiverse, really, that his reunion with Rose Tyler would be such a stilted thing. That it would be about him and her, but not this him. Acknowledged with a few questions after his health, sure, but that was just polite. She’d always been compassionate, caring for others. Rose didn’t see him as the Doctor. Not the proper one. Sure, she used his name, but it would be easier for her to do that this time around.

He looked just like him.

He was him.

But he wasn’t.

Memories were still coming. Adjustments to Torchwood’s alien tech retrieval protocols. Nutrition shots. Reports reading: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. Contact made.

He went through the list again. Still real.

Unless it wasn’t.

Unless he wasn’t.

What would have stopped the other Doctor from knocking him out and uploading him into a matrix? Giving him a half-life with a programmed Rose Tyler?

The air here felt wrong.

(Wrong universe. Wrong universe. Wrong universe.)

“Doctor!”

(Daleks exploding. “What have you done?!”)

Pressure against his hands. Why was it so dark?

The Doctor opened his eyes to see Rose in front of him, pulling his fingers away from his palms. Oh. He was bleeding. Hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry, sorry.” He spun away from her in order to grab the first aid kit from his desk.

“What happened?” she asked, vibrating with barely contained panic.

“Nothing, nothing. Things just got jumbled for a second,” he assured her, efficiently cleaning his palms and wrapping them in gauze in a practiced motion.

“How often do you-”

“Hard to say. I’ve been graphing them. Seems to be stress contingent, but generally decreasing. My senses are gradually acclimating to this universe, so I have to hope that once they do, I’ll be fine. Perfect. Molto bene. No inconvenient lapses.”

“Stress? What h- oh.”

He didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh’. The Doctor clenched his jaw before facing her.

“We still haven’t talked about us,” Rose pointed out, approaching him slowly. Like he was a wild animal. Like he would hurt her. “And you … you don’t really remember yesterday still, do you?”

“Not really.”

His hands hurt. His body ached. One heart, and it was beating so quickly that he was sure it would give out.

Rose wrapped her arms around him and he automatically returned the embrace.

“Maybe I should just call in,” she suggested as she pulled away. “We can just take the day?”

“Or don’t and stay anyway,” the Doctor couldn’t help pointing out. “Some bits have come back, and didn’t they send you here?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh my god, they did!”

And it was beyond words, how great it was to hear her laughing again. To see her smiling.

But …

That was wrong.

Rose was upset with him.

Time didn’t feel right.

The air tasted off.

Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe.

The Doctor staggered backwards.

His respiratory bypass was malfunctioning. It was like it wasn’t even there. He couldn’t get air into his lungs.

Everything went black.

There was a shot of gold, and then a different kind of black.

“Doctor,” said a whisper in the dark. “The timer went off for the TARDIS. ‘M I supposed to take her out of that thing?”

A TARDIS timer?

TARDIS … timer …

The timer for the extended electro-percussive environment chamber!!!

The Doctor shot up from where he had apparently been lying on the couch and ran over to the EEPEC, swiftly shut it off, removed the tank housing their baby TARDIS, and then poured in the pre-prepared aqueous nutrient solution before inserting the tank into the quasi-dimensional artron chamber (currently set to it’s highest opacity setting). 

“Hah!” he exclaimed, punching his fist in the air and itching to switch the chamber’s outside view settings to transparent. He turned to Rose, opened his mouth to ask her, and then paused.

It all came back to him, all of it, not just the jumbled recollections he had been getting earlier. Apparently he had fallen into a healing coma, and it seems to have been just what he needed … but it all truly hadn’t been fair to Rose. Though, to be fair, she was currently smiling like it was Christmas, so-

Christmas. Healing comas. 

Huh.

“Shall we switch it to transparent?” the Doctor asked, unable to reign himself in any longer. “It was clear when Benny - quite the coincidence, right? - helped me set it up. This is a quasi-dimensional artron chamber. It’s funnelling in rift energy and centrifuging artron particles, and the end result in that chamber is the specific environment needed to properly grow a TARDIS. Well, along with the chrono-nutritio aqueous habitat. Benny describes looking into it as being similar to taking DMT, which, by the way, is completely inaccurate. It’s exactly like looking into an Eye of Harmony. If it’s malfunctioning, it’s like looking into the untempered schism, which I don’t recommend. But everything’s stable now, we could-”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to look into the vortex?” Rose interrupted, and …

“Right … erm, well ,” he hedged, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it isn’t actually the vortex, but you’re probably not completely wrong. Best not risk it.”

Excitement abating, the Doctor slumped against the chamber and at that moment realized that he had been changed into jim jams.

Jim jams. Healing comas.

Huh.

At least these were his own pajamas, and not some ‘friend’ of Jackie’s, though how strange was it that he owned his own pajamas in the first place?

“C’mere,” Rose said, beckoning him back toward the couch, which she was sitting next to, but not on. Not your typical decision, but he had likely taken up all of the space earlier. “I made you some tea.”

It really wasn’t worth it, cataloguing the similarities between this and when he had first regenerated into this body … even though the list did seem to be growing.

“Perfect! Just what I need!” the Doctor smiled as he walked over, taking a seat next to Rose on the floor.

Silence fell as he sipped his tea, and he found himself unsure of what to do or say next. There was too much to say, and he’d certainly done a piss poor job of organizing his thoughts earlier. 

“Feeling better?” she asked, after another moment. 

Small talk. He could definitely do small talk.

“Mmm yes, very much so.”

“Better enough to talk?”

The Doctor coughed, having swallowed his tea incorrectly (bloody hybrid body, still acting up), before nodding. Rose moved onto the couch and he scrambled to join her. 

“So,” she began and paused, face scrunching up in concentration (it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found this whole business incredibly awkward), “I guess … what is it that you actually want? Aside from a working TARDIS, that is.”

His brows furrowed.

Sure, there were plenty of ways he could answer that question and have all of them be true, but he had a feeling that she was looking for a specific type of ‘want’. 

Problem was, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure what that was .

“What?” he asked, in lieu of any better things to say (as the runner up response was to ask for some jam, or maybe a banana, or some of the takeaway from the shop down the corner and blimey, he was hungry). 

“This whole time, all of it, since you c- since you were- since you stopped just bein’ a hand- ” the Doctor had a list of complaints and corrections that he barely held in “- nobody’s asked what you wanted. The D- the other Doctor chose for both of us, really, and I hadn’t really looked at it that way before. An’ I wanna know. What do you want?”

Removed from the actual experience itself (and therefore not feeling incredibly, deathly ill), visions of the slight peek he’d gotten four days ago of his own timeline played in his head.

The Doctor grabbed Rose’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“I want this.”

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked with a slight laugh.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Because as long as you’re happy, everything else is just- just semantics. I mean, obviously it’s going to be a bit dull until the TARDIS has grown enough for proper travel, but I think we can make do?” At least, he really hoped so. It hadn’t been going swimmingly so far, but the Doctor sincerely hoped that he could chalk all that up to the initial side effects of the meta crisis, compounded by all of the, er … technical difficulties he had run into while constructing the TARDIS’ growth tank. Also, his new hybrid body needed much more maintenance than he was used to, including sleep. Really was rubbish without regular sleep. Such a waste of time.

“So, if I were to suggest you moving into the flat?”

He opened his mouth, intending to immediately agree, but then frowned. The TARDIS was here, after all. And he absolutely could not move her. Not at this stage. Not until she could connect to other dimensions on her own. The Doctor looked over at the quasi-dimensional artron chamber, once again wishing that he could switch it to transparent and watch the process unfold.

“How moved in is moved in?” he asked once he forced himself to turn back toward Rose.

“You’d sleep there, shower there, eat some of your meals. Most of your clothes an’ stuff would be there. Y’know. It’d be where you live. With me. If you want.”

“And that’s what you want?” he double checked, trying not to telegraph his surprise - he must have missed a lot while in a coma, as last he knew they were teetering on the edge of a row.

Rose rolled her eyes, and that was much more in line with where he thought they were at, er, relationship-wise.

“Well, I don’t fancy living in a clocktower office. When I’m done working, I’d like to not still be at work, ta.”

She did make some excellent points … but still, it all implied that they would be staying together. And that was what he wanted, of course it was, but the Doctor still couldn’t help but feel he had missed something crucial despite the fact that he could now remember everything clearly.

“You blew up my job. ”

“I love you, too. But I’m still mad at you.”

“You’ve still got two beating.”

Maybe there wasn’t something to have missed. Human emotions were relatively complex, after all, and there was no rule requiring them to happen in isolation.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked, realizing as he did that to Rose it was coming from seemingly out of nowhere.

This was confirmed as she blinked, brows furrowing.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but …”

“But?” the Doctor repeated, unable to stand the suspense.

“It’s hardly the first time we’ve had a fight, yeah?”

He nodded, unsure of where she was planning on going with this and hoping that he wouldn’t need to begin apologizing for every insensitive thing he’d said or done since they first met. It would take ages.

“Well, we always end up workin’ it out. And we did live together, travelin’ on the TARDIS, whether we had a row or not, so …” Rose shrugged, now examining her fingernails.

Speaking of the TARDIS, though …

“First things first,” the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up and began pacing, “I want it on record that I would absolutely love to live in a flat with you, with carpets and doors and things. Assuming we’d spend much of our time traveling about, that is.” He turned back toward her, having paced his way back over to the TARDIS’ QDA chamber. “The thing is, it’s … I don’t want you to think that- the TARDIS. She needs me here. This is a critical development period. For the next three to six months, the TARDIS will be growing in the chamber, learning how to connect to and create dimensions. Until she can manage it, I can’t move her and she requires near-constant monitoring. Every hour or two.” 

“She’s like a newborn baby,” Rose commented, getting up and joining him at the chamber, where she stroked the side.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose this’ll have to do then,” she reluctantly … agreed? “As long as we’re living in the flat as soon as she’s moveable, mind. The bathroom here is two floors away.”

“It’s a clocktower, Rose! There’s only so much space.” The Doctor scrunched up his face as he said the word. 

“Then why’d you pick this place? I know because of the Rift, but doesn’t it stretch further than just the tower?”

“Nope,” he shrugged.

It’s not as though he hadn’t checked. 

“Really?”

“Small rift.”

“Yeah,” Rose laughed, “a small rift right under Big Ben.”

The Doctor laughed with her, amazed that he finally could.

Then he frowned.

It was all a little too good to be true.

Was this real?

“Hey.”

He refocused. Rose was right in front of him, their eyes locked.

“You were getting that look in your eyes,” she informed him.

“Look? What look?” the Doctor asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Some sort of dazed tell, some sort of glaringly obvious indicator that his grasp on reality was failing him.

“This look you get when you start thinkin’ you’re in the wrong universe.”

Wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe.

“Well, I am in the wrong universe,” he couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But y’know what?”

Rose wrapped her arms around him, and it was almost as if she were his tether, grounding him to this new reality they’d found themselves in.

“It’s better with two.”

[mistergrass]

Zodiac Mom Headcanons: Momiji’s Mom

Slowly but surely I am making my way through these mom posts. This time let’s talk about someone whose worst moments as a mother were put on blast for the audience to see. 

Rat & Snake Mom | Ox Mom | Tiger Mom | Rabbit Mom | Dragon Mom

Momiji’s mother is an only child born in Berlin. 

Her father, a handsome and charismatic man, is a renowned photographer. Her mother, beautiful and alluring, is a dancer. They’re drawn to each other immediately when they meet on a photoshoot that features her mother’s dance troupe. 

Their romance is as short-lived as it is passionate, and the affair comes to an abrupt end when her mother becomes pregnant. 

The responsibility of a child falls almost completely on her mother’s shoulders, essentially ending her dance career (something she had left her family to pursue), and the beginnings of a cruel resentment begin to take form.

Her father has the spirit of an artist -- not wanting to be tied down to one woman, and not very suited for a traditional family lifestyle. That being said, he doesn’t abandon mother and child completely. 

As Momiji’s mother grows up, her father will pop in and out of her life as he pleases. She thinks her mother can be too strict, too mean, and becomes a difficult child to handle as a result. But when her father comes to visit, she is over the moon and perfectly behaved. He’ll take her to museums, show her the photographs hanging in his studio, give her a stepping stool so she can help in his dark room, and (unlike her mother) will never ever scream at her even when clumsy, childish hands accidentally spill things or knock things over. 

Her father never sticks around for very long, and as wonderful as it is to see him, it hurts tenfold when he leaves. And so, she grows up with her mother’s snappish impatience, and her father’s casual and conditional affection. 

Going into her teenage years, Momiji’s mom begins to come into her own as an artist -- admiring and following the path of her father. She loves painting and ceramics, but she begins to grow into an undeniable beauty and it’s not long that she’s discovered as a model.

Her mother does not approve of this choice. For her, it’s bad enough that she has to watch her daughter openly prefer her father’s company to her own (despite everything she’s given up to raise her, while he can barely spare to send a postcard on their daughter’s birthday), but now her daughter is adding insult to injury by pursuing her father’s lifestyle. A lifestyle her mother was forced to give up to have a child. 

It also doesn’t help that Momiji’s mom finds almost instant success as a model. 

Where her mother was simply impatient before, now she becomes cruel. 

She begins to undermine her daughter’s beauty, nitpicking at every little thing about her appearance. Momiji’s mother is now being constantly told that her photos are drab, ugly, unprofessional. That her beauty is fleeting, that the world around her will discover one day how little talent she has, and that her artistic abilities are worthless and boring. All this while she’s still only a teenager. 

Momiji’s mom acts out in different ways, but mostly by taking on more modeling work (that exhausts her) and bringing home boyfriends her mother would never approve of (for good reason).

Her first serious boyfriend is a man six years her senior who is possessive and jealous, and rips to shreds the last bits of self-esteem she had left. 

By the end of their four year relationship, Momiji’s mother has come to believe that something inside her is deeply, truly ugly. She has an overflowing anxiety that others will see her for what she truly is. Something that is wholly incompatible with her inability to be alone -- whether romantically, or via the need to surround herself constantly with people. 

It’s at this time, at 20 years old and in her second year of university, that she meets Momiji’s father at a campus mixer.

At first, she’s intimidated by him (thought that doesn’t stop her from making conversation). She finds he’s not just studying abroad here, but attends the university full-time. He’s fluent in Japanese, German, and English, and seems so much smarter than she believes herself to be. In addition, he has a cold, distant demeanor to him that makes him seem unattainable. 

Momiji’s father on the other hand, is taken immediately by this woman. He’s awkward and nervous in large social gatherings, but has been told from an early age never to outwardly show his discomfort. But she talks so passionately, so freely, that he can’t help but be drawn to her. When he fumbles over his words at the end of the night to ask her out for dinner, she realizes that she’d mistaken his shyness for apathy, and it immediately enamors him to her. 

After two dates, they become inseparable. 

She’s taken in by his kindness and gentility. He listens to her as if everything she says matters. He isn’t at all like the arrogant personalities she’s dated in the past, and if anything has an aversion to talking about himself. He never once makes her feel stupid, puts her down, or makes her feel worthless.

She’s prone to terrible mood swings and bouts of manic self-loathing that will leave her a sobbing mess. But where this has driven away boyfriends in the past, it only serves to make him more devoted to her. He holds her in his arms, and never once gets upset with her for being so much to handle.

Momiji’s father is an only child from a high-ranking Sohma family, and has had the entirety of his life mapped out for him since birth. He works to inherit his father’s business, and to maintain their standing in the family. Insurmountable pressure had been put on his shoulders from a young age, one that isolated him from making true friends in favor of focusing solely on his studies. He was never allowed to be overwhelmed, to not be good enough, nor to be disobedient. 

But Momiji’s mother is like a walking piece of art -- chaotic and beautiful. He finds her endlessly interesting. He’s never met anyone who talks so openly about the things they love, the things they hate, or their own fears and insecurities. He likes feeling as though he can take care of her. He likes being someone reliable for her. And, eventually, he finds her to be the only person in the world that he can be vulnerable with. He has only ever cried in front of her. 

For the last two years of college they spend all their free time together. He uses his cushy Sohma allowance to take them on trips and long weekends around Europe. And when the time comes for him to return to Japan after graduation, he can’t picture even a moment of his future without her. 

He proposes, she says yes, and she agrees to leave her life in Berlin behind to move to Japan. 

It’s a difficult transition. Though she had started learning Japanese when they first started dating, she’s far from fluent. It makes forming friendships and new connections within the Sohma family all the harder. 

It’s also clear that her mother-in-law does not take too much of a liking to her. Momiji’s father bends over backwards making sure that their new home has space for her to continue her artistic pursuits, which comes off as frivolous to her new family. She also has limited housekeeping skills which reflects poorly on her ability to be a proper wife. 

It’s an isolating experience, especially with her husband working long, late hours nearly every night. The loneliness begins to eat at her, resurfacing the shattered self-esteem that her new husband had spent the past two years healing. She seriously considers moving back to Germany on more than one occasion, but then she gets pregnant. 

She’s not ready for a child. It’s too soon, and the thought of taking care of a whole other person is terrifying when she can barely stand to get out of bed most days now. But her husband assures her this will be a good thing, that maybe it will help the aching loneliness she feels. 

Before she has a chance to get excited, they’re summoned by a young Akito. 

Momiji’s mother doesn’t really process what she’s being told. Her husband has to translate what the little six year old is saying to her, and when he does his face is pinched and anxious. 

A curse, he says. Her child is cursed. Somehow it makes sense, what with everything that dwells inside herself, but it’s hard for her to grasp this whole thing beyond that.

The pregnancy is a difficult one, filled with complications and scares that leaves her health completely depleted. When Momiji is born two months premature, her nerves are completely frayed. 

True understanding of her child’s situation doesn’t really hit her until she holds a small rabbit in her arms, swaddled like a baby. 

She vomits when it first happens. The transformation leaves her completely shaken, and she can’t understand why no one else around her seems to find this as horrific as it obviously is. 

She does her best for the first few years. Honestly, she does. But the child makes her nervous. The supernatural nature of it all terrifies her, and she shakes every time she tries to hold her child and finds a little rabbit there instead. 

As he grows older, she finds herself snapping at him over the smallest things, just as her mother did to her. A guilt builds inside her steadily that somehow she is at fault for this, that her hidden, disgusting nature warped and mutated their child. The thought of it puts her in hysterics at times, and she finds she can never relax in her own home.

Her husband urges her to keep herself together. There’s a desperation in his voice when he talks to her now. He reminds her, again and again, that above everything else Momiji is their child. Theirs, and no one else’s. He is their son that they have created, and he is still a symbol of the love they have for each other. Once she adjusts to the situation, she’ll learn to love him the way he knows she can. She just needs more time.

During this period, other zodiac mothers make an attempt to reach out, and her Japanese is finally at a level that she can have pleasant conversation with them. Haru and Yuki’s mothers invite her to lunch often enough. Shigure’s mother is also very hospitable. She also takes a real liking to Kureno’s mother, though the woman is clearly disliked by many of the other women in the family. 

It helps, but it’s still difficult to talk to these women about her issues with the curse and with her son. Their eyes are judgmental, and she worries if she falls apart in front of them it would not be met with the same warmth as her husband (though he’s hardly ever around anymore). 

Stress and guilt and shame and fear slowly build inside her for the next four years. Then, one day, she sits down to paint and realizes she can’t. She’s too locked up -- the reality of her situation has become too overwhelming, and she can’t even release it through her art.

She finally decides to tell someone about what’s going on. Her husband had been very clear with her that this curse is to remain completely secret, but it’s not as if she wants to do a news interview. All she wants is to talk to her mom. 

Her mother is still the same harsh, critical woman she’s always been, but they’ve grown closer in the past few years. Becoming a mother herself has made her appreciate her own mother more, and the distance has softened both of them to each other considerably. 

She tells her mother the whole story, with her listening surprisingly sympathetically throughout. By the end of the conversation, Momiji’s mother feels more comforted and loved by her mother than she has in years. 

It’s Momiji’s father that gets the call from his livid mother-in-law demanding to know what’s happened to her daughter, and if he’s doing anything about the fact that she’s having a complete nervous breakdown that features wild delusions regarding their child.

Momiji’s father comes home that night, and for the first time he becomes truly angry at her. He scolds her for telling her mother anything about their situation, which only serves to make her just as angry since she was only seeking a bit of support. 

But it all gets much much worse when he says how lucky they are that her mother thought she was deranged. 

The whole world drops from below her feet when he admits that he let her mother continue to think that she was clinically insane. The man who had always defended her, understood her, cared for her -- the man she had left everything for -- had created a lie so egregious and spouted it back to her own mother. 

She demands to know why he would do such a thing, and when he sputters out his thoughtless obedience to this strange family -- the one with the child treated like a king, and with all these dark secrets. After so long of telling her that she was his light when his family treated him like nothing, after telling her that she was his most important family now -- it’s a betrayal that she’d never expected from the man she loves.

The reality of her isolation comes down all at once. There is no one left she can talk to, there is no place she can go, and this child now represents something completely foreign to her. The only thing that was keeping her together was her husband’s assurances that the child was completely theirs -- but it’s not. This child belongs to the Sohmas, to some curse that her body housed and nurtured. The disgust that’s been building inside her body breaks like a dam and completely washes over Momiji. 

She becomes inconsolable. She refuses to look at her son, and her husband becomes subject to fits of rage and anguish. He feels as though he’s completely lost her, and with the love of his life so indisposed, he feels just as alone. 

Momiji’s father is the one who tells her about the option to wipe her memory. Not just in hopes of reeling back her sanity, but because he wants her to forget the lie he told. If she forgets that, maybe their marriage can go back to how it was. If she forgets that deep cut of betrayal, maybe she won’t look at him like he’s some misshapen stranger. 

She agrees as quickly as she had when he proposed. Together they decide that forgetting Momiji will ultimately be for the best.

At first when she recovers, things seem to return back to normal. But there’s always a piece missing as the years go on. There’s always something not quite right. Momiji’s father is paranoid and nervous -- the presence of his wife is no longer a comfort, but a stressor. And sometimes, for the briefest moment, he’ll catch her staring at him. Her eyes far off and distant, like she’s completely lost in thought, and the expression that rests on her face will be one of fear. When she comes back to herself, it’s as if she hadn’t even noticed. 

The zodiac mothers are told not to speak to her after her memory is erased, which suits most of them just fine (Haru’s mother took particular offense to the decision). Below is the relationship chart for pre-memory wipe: 

Friends with: Kureno’s mom, Haru’s mom, Shigure’s mom, Ritsu’s mom

Doesn’t like: Yuki’s mom, Hatori’s mom

[mx08z7kz6gqrs]

好想爱这个世界啊 - Translation Notes

For my translation of this song, see this post. Listen to the live version of the song here. Below are some translation notes on the song.

This was one of my earlier translations, and one that I’ve felt like I should revisit but never had time to. It’s a particularly beautiful song, and the lyrics aren’t complicated, but they are written in a deliberately vague way that isn’t easily conveyed in English. It also has a lot of short phrases that work as individual sentences in Chinese, but that I’ve chosen to link together so that it flows better in English.

As usual, these notes are formatted with the original lyrics, followed by the most literal possible translation, and then an explanation for how I decided to translated it in the final version, including my interpretations and any nuances that I maybe have decided to drop.

Note that anything in brackets [like so] means that this word did not exist in the line, but I had to insert it for grammatical reasons. Usually it’s a subject pronoun that wasn’t specified.

---

Line by Line Translation Notes

抱着沙发 睡眼昏花 凌乱头发 // Hugging the sofa, sleepy eyes blurry, messy hair 却渴望像电影主角一样潇洒 // Yet long to be confident and free like the lead role in a movie

These two lines were fairly literal, and I’ve kept them as is while appending the first person pronoun so that it was grammatically consistent in English.

The most interesting notes here are “渴望”, “to long for.” In Chinese, this phrase is actually a combination of the character “渴” for thirst, and “望” for hope [for the future]. There is a desperation to this particular word choice that is somewhat capture in the English “longing.”

I’ve also chosen to translate “主角”, literally “main role” (ie, protagonist/leading role) to “hero” just for it to flow a little more naturally.

屋檐角下 排着乌鸦 密密麻麻 // Under the corners of the roof, crows line up, packed close together 被压抑的情绪不知如何表达 // The repressed feelings, [I] don’t know how to express

I took a lot of liberty in my translation of these lines, because they evoke a very specific sense of confusion and entrapment that I don’t think the literal translation captures well.

Crows in modern Chinese culture, like the west, can be seen as bad omens (ex when someone says something unlucky they are called “乌鸦嘴”, literally a crow’s beak). “密密麻麻” is an expression referring to things being very densely packed together- “密” refers to being “close together” while “麻” is the character for a hemp/sesame. The image it evokes is numerous things being packed so close together that they are like tiny dots against one another.

In this way, you can interpret the crows as a reflection for those feelings that the singer cannot express, trapping them without any gaps for escape.

无论我 在这里 在那里 // No matter if I’m here or there 仿佛失魂的虫鸣 // As if [I’m] a panicking bug cries 却明白此刻应该做些努力 // But understanding that right now, should make some effort to try harder

Not too many notes for this section. One thing that I’ve seen a lot of different translations around is the second line though, “失魂的虫鸣.” The word “失魂” literally translates to “lost soul.” But generally speaking, this term isn’t referring to the desolate feeling that the literal English translation evokes. Rather, it’s more like “lost wits” or “at wit’s end”, referring to a sort of indecisive and panicked state of mind.

In this case, it’s describing “虫鸣”, literally “cries of bugs.” The sound in my head is something like cicada chirps, or the eclectic noises of bugs in the evening on a hot day. In English, we’d more commonly describing the noises that bugs make as “buzzing”, and for the sort of restless feeling, a specific reference to “flies” made more sense and felt more natural that the more vague “bugs/insects” in the original lyric.

There’s a sense of aimlessness, confusion, and helplessness to this line that I wanted to capture.

无论我 在这里 在那里 // No matter if I’m here or there 不能弥补的过去 // The past that can’t be mended 每当想起 // Every time [I] think of it...

Simple lines- the one word of note here is “弥补”, a term that can mean to mend or to make up for any deficiencies. It’s formed with the character “弥”, “to fill in” or “complete” and the character “补” for “fix/mend.” In my translation, I’ve chosen to use “irreparable”, but what it really conveys is the speaker’s understanding and sense of regret that they cannot make up for the past, whether it’s the things they’ve done or the things they’ve missed.

想过离开 // Thought of leaving 以这种方式存在 // Existing in this way 是因为 那些旁白 // It was because of those narratives/asides 那些姿态 那些伤害 // Those attitudes/postures, those hurts

The chorus is definitely where I took the biggest liberty in my translation. The most important point here is that I have removed the likely intentional ambiguity in the subject. Before I dive into that though, I’ll cover the two terms here that have no clear English equivalent.

“旁白” is a word that roughly refers to “an aside”- it combines the character “旁“ for “to the side” and “白”, in this context referring to a use of language, or expression. It is the term used to describe things like a voice-over narration in movies, dramas, etc (for example, think of times when the character is thinking something and we, the audience, hears it as a voice on top of a montage on-screen).

“姿态” can be most literally translated as “attitude” or “posture”, and it refers to a combination of physical appearance and expression. It’s close to the English use of “air” and it’s what you are changing when you are “posturing” to someone.

Note that “those narratives”/”those attitudes”/”those hurts” do not actually have a subject associated with who is the one “dealing” them. It can be interpreted as the singer’s own thoughts and self-loathing, others judgement of them, or both. I think this ambiguity is intentional- the themes of the song revolve around the struggles of depression, and often these mix together.

In this way, “那些旁白” can refer to a narrative that the singer is telling themselves, or a narrative that is forced upon them from the words that others have spoken about them. “那些姿态” can refer to the type of posture or stance that the singer feels forced into, or the attitudes of the people around them. “那些伤害” can refer to pain that is inflicted upon the singer either by themselves or by the others.

For readability sake, I chose to go with the interpretation that slightly more folks on the Chinese net seemed to favor. Hua Chenyu, the original artist, has also emphasized the fear that those with depression face when they meet other people who may not understand them, so it seemed like a good compromise.

不想离开 // Don’t want to leave 当你说还有你在 // When you said you were still here 忽然我开始莫名 期待 // Suddenly I began inexplicably hope

This half of the chorus translates much more straightforwardly. The only real word of note here is the final one, “期待.” It can be translated as “hope”, but it’s really a type of hope that leans towards anticipation, or “to look forward to/expect something.”

Unfortunately, both of those translations require some type of object (unlike the Chinese term), and while I could insert one (”the future”, “life”, etc) that would be pure conjecture on my part and I’d prefer to keep it as ambiguous as possible while still making sense.

夕阳西下 翻着电话 无人拨打 // The sun sets to the west, flipping the phone, no one calls 是习惯孤独的我该得到的吧 // This is what I, who am used to being alone, deserve to get right?

These lines were neat to translate. One subtlety that’s lost in English is the first phrase, “夕阳西下”, an idiom literally meaning “evening sun sets west” and usually used to describe a scene of sunset. However, it can also be used more figuratively to describe things going downhill as years go by and they age, so there’s a little bit of melancholy inherent in the idiom.

独木桥呀 把谁推下 才算赢家 // A single log bridge, pushing someone over, counts as a winner 我无声的反抗何时能战胜它 // When will my soundless rebellion prevail over it

This part of the song actually confused me a little when I first heard it. The “独木桥”, literally “single log/plank bridge” is a phrase that figuratively describes a very difficult path (ie, like trying to cross a single log bridge).

Overall, there’s a resentment of the perceived competition in life- often, it feels that for one person to succeed, they have to take down someone else. The singer thus is trying to stage their own resistance against this.

无论我 在这里 在那里 // No matter if I’m here or there 仿佛失魂的虫鸣 // As if [I’m] a panicking bug cries 却明白此刻应该做些努力 // But understanding that right now, should make some effort to try harder

无论我 在这里 在那里 // No matter if I’m here or there 不能弥补的过去 // The past that can’t be mended 每当想起 // Every time [I] think of it...

This section is an exact repeat from the end of the first verse.

想过离开 // Thought of leaving 以这种方式存在 // Existing in this way 是因为 那些旁白 // It was because of those narratives/asides 那些姿态 那些伤害 // Those attitudes/postures, those hurts

This is a repeat of the first section in the first chorus.

不想离开 // Don’t want to leave 也许尝试过被爱 // Maybe after [I’ve] tried [the feeling of] being loved 会开始仰望未来 // [I’ll] start to look up hopefully towards the future

The subtlety of this part is in the second line. “尝试” literally means “to try” or “to attempt”, and it is modifying “被爱”, “to be loved.” The correct way to understand this line in English is “After I’ve tasted the feeling of being loved by another.” Overall that sounds awkward though, which is why I didn’t use that particular phrasing in my translation.

The third line here uses a particularly yearning word to express hope- “仰望” or “to look up hopefully” combines the character “仰” for “looking up towards” or “admiring” and “望” for hope. Compare this to “期待” from the end of the last chorus, which was more of a tentative feeling of anticipation.

伤疤 就丢给回忆吧 // Scars, just throw them to the memories 放下 才得到更好啊 // Let go, to get something better

别怕 别怕 // Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid

These lines forming the bridge are fairly straightforward. For my translation, I just linked the ideas to make it flow better in English (ie, “getting something better” reads quite awkwardly even though in Chinese it’s a perfectly natural way to express the idea).

想过离开 // Thought of leaving 当阳光败给阴霾 // When the sunlight is defeated by dark haze 没想到你会拼命为我拨开 // Didn’t think you would be trying your hardest to clear it for me

In the second line here, I dropped the “defeat” from my translation in favor of “faded” to make it flow better/sound a little more poetic. However, it's worth noting that in the original, the verb “败” is to be defeated/lose, with the implication of some type of struggle.

In the third line, “拼命” can be literally understood as “using one’s life” and translates to doing something “at all costs” or “as if your life depends on it.” It’s a very desperate term.

Overall the feeling here is one where the singer has already given up, the “sunlight defeated”, but unexpectedly, someone else continues to fight on for them, desperately so.

曾想过离开 // Once thought of leaving 却又坚持到现在 // But held on until now 熬过了 那些旁白 // Endured past those narratives/asides 那些姿态 那些伤害 // Those attitudes/postures, those hurts

This part of the last chorus echoes the previous ones, with some significant changes. The addition of “曾” for “once”, places the first line explicitly in the past tense. “熬过了” in the third line is also an explicit reference to the past, conveying that the singer has “already endured past” the things mentioned in previous choruses.

不想离开 // Don’t want to leave 当你的笑容绽开 // When your smile breaks outs 这世界突然填满 色彩 喔~ // The world is suddenly filled to the brim with color, woah~

In the second line here, the verb describing the smile is “绽开”, or to “burst forth”, basically suddenly appearing and with a very large presence. My choice of words here was “bloom” in English since that is a way we describe smiles.

In the third line, “填满” literally means “to fill/cram in” and is formed with the characters “填”, for “to fill [in a missing/empty space]” and “满” for “full.” In this case, there’s also a sense of something that was previously missing being returned in full.

抱着沙发 睡眼昏花 凌乱头发 // Hugging the sofa, sleepy eyes blurry, messy hair 夕阳西下 接通电话 是你呀 // The sun sets to the west, connected through the phone, it’s you

These last lines echo the first line from each verse. In the second one, “接通” means “to connect” but specifically in the context of a call connected, or a call picked up.

---

And that concludes my notes for this song. It’s a really beautiful song, and I saw more folks reading this translation than I first expected so I wanted to break it down and clarify all the liberties that I took while translating it. The language here is simple, but contains a lot of subtlety and intentional ambiguity.

[glittergummicandypeach]

Fake Hafez: How a supreme Persian poet of love was erased | Religion | Al Jazeera

This is the time of the year where every day I get a handful of requests to track down the original, authentic versions of some famed Muslim poet, usually Hafez or Rumi. The requests start off the same way: "I am getting married next month, and my fiance and I wanted to celebrate our Muslim background, and we have always loved this poem by Hafez. Could you send us the original?" Or, "My daughter is graduating this month, and I know she loves this quote from Hafez. Can you send me the original so I can recite it to her at the ceremony we are holding for her?"

It is heartbreaking to have to write back time after time and say the words that bring disappointment: The poems that they have come to love so much and that are ubiquitous on the internet are forgeries. Fake. Made up. No relationship to the original poetry of the beloved and popular Hafez of Shiraz.

How did this come to be? How can it be that about 99.9 percent of the quotes and poems attributed to one the most popular and influential of all the Persian poets and Muslim sages ever, one who is seen as a member of the pantheon of "universal" spirituality on the internet are ... fake? It turns out that it is a fascinating story of Western exotification and appropriation of Muslim spirituality.

Let us take a look at some of these quotes attributed to Hafez:

Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, 'you owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that! It lights up the whole sky.

You like that one from Hafez? Too bad. Fake Hafez.

Your heart and my heart Are very very old friends.

Like that one from Hafez too? Also Fake Hafez.

Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.

Beautiful. Again, not Hafez.

And the next one you were going to ask about? Also fake. So where do all these fake Hafez quotes come from?

An American poet, named Daniel Ladinsky, has been publishing books under the name of the famed Persian poet Hafez for more than 20 years. These books have become bestsellers. You are likely to find them on the shelves of your local bookstore under the "Sufism" section, alongside books of Rumi, Khalil Gibran, Idries Shah, etc.

It hurts me to say this, because I know so many people love these "Hafez" translations. They are beautiful poetry in English, and do contain some profound wisdom. Yet if you love a tradition, you have to speak the truth: Ladinsky's translations have no earthly connection to what the historical Hafez of Shiraz, the 14th-century Persian sage, ever said.

He is making it up. Ladinsky himself admitted that they are not "translations", or "accurate", and in fact denied having any knowledge of Persian in his 1996 best-selling book, I Heard God Laughing. Ladinsky has another bestseller, The Subject Tonight Is Love.

Persians take poetry seriously. For many, it is their singular contribution to world civilisation: What the Greeks are to philosophy, Persians are to poetry. And in the great pantheon of Persian poetry where Hafez, Rumi, Saadi, 'Attar, Nezami, and Ferdowsi might be the immortals, there is perhaps none whose mastery of the Persian language is as refined as that of Hafez.

In the introduction to a recent book on Hafez, I said that Rumi (whose poetic output is in the tens of thousands) comes at you like you an ocean, pulling you in until you surrender to his mystical wave and are washed back to the ocean. Hafez, on the other hand, is like a luminous diamond, with each facet being a perfect cut. You cannot add or take away a word from his sonnets. So, pray tell, how is someone who admits that they do not know the language going to be translating the language?

Ladinsky is not translating from the Persian original of Hafez. And unlike some "versioners" (Coleman Barks is by far the most gifted here) who translate Rumi by taking the Victorian literal translations and rendering them into American free verse, Ladinsky's relationship with the text of Hafez's poetry is nonexistent. Ladinsky claims that Hafez appeared to him in a dream and handed him the English "translations" he is publishing:

"About six months into this work I had an astounding dream in which I saw Hafiz as an Infinite Fountaining Sun (I saw him as God), who sang hundreds of lines of his poetry to me in English, asking me to give that message to 'my artists and seekers'."

It is not my place to argue with people and their dreams, but I am fairly certain that this is not how translation works. A great scholar of Persian and Urdu literature, Christopher Shackle, describes Ladinsky's output as "not so much a paraphrase as a parody of the wondrously wrought style of the greatest master of Persian art-poetry." Another critic, Murat Nemet-Nejat, described Ladinsky's poems as what they are: original poems of Ladinsky masquerading as a "translation."

I want to give credit where credit is due: I do like Ladinsky's poetry. And they do contain mystical insights. Some of the statements that Ladinsky attributes to Hafez are, in fact, mystical truths that we hear from many different mystics. And he is indeed a gifted poet. See this line, for example:

I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.

That is good stuff. Powerful. And many mystics, including the 20th-century Sufi master Pir Vilayat, would cast his powerful glance at his students, stating that he would long for them to be able to see themselves and their own worth as he sees them. So yes, Ladinsky's poetry is mystical. And it is great poetry. So good that it is listed on Good Reads as the wisdom of "Hafez of Shiraz." The problem is, Hafez of Shiraz said nothing like that. Daniel Ladinsky of St Louis did. 

The poems are indeed beautiful. They are just not ... Hafez. They are ... Hafez-ish? Hafez-esque? So many of us wish that Ladinsky had just published his work under his own name, rather than appropriating Hafez's. 

Ladinsky's "translations" have been passed on by Oprah, the BBC, and others. Government officials have used them on occasions where they have wanted to include Persian speakers and Iranians. It is now part of the spiritual wisdom of the East shared in Western circles. Which is great for Ladinsky, but we are missing the chance to hear from the actual, real Hafez. And that is a shame.

So, who was the real Hafez (1315-1390)?

He was a Muslim, Persian-speaking sage whose collection of love poetry rivals only Mawlana Rumi in terms of its popularity and influence. Hafez's given name was Muhammad, and he was called Shams al-Din (The Sun of Religion). Hafez was his honorific because he had memorised the whole of the Quran. His poetry collection, the Divan, was referred to as Lesan al-Ghayb (the Tongue of the Unseen Realms).

A great scholar of Islam, the late Shahab Ahmed, referred to Hafez's Divan as: "the most widely-copied, widely-circulated, widely-read, widely-memorized, widely-recited, widely-invoked, and widely-proverbialized book of poetry in Islamic history." Even accounting for a slight debate, that gives some indication of his immense following. Hafez's poetry is considered the very epitome of Persian in the Ghazal tradition.

Hafez's worldview is inseparable from the world of Medieval Islam, the genre of Persian love poetry, and more. And yet he is deliciously impossible to pin down. He is a mystic, though he pokes fun at ostentatious mystics. His own name is "he who has committed the Quran to heart", yet he loathes religious hypocrisy. He shows his own piety while his poetry is filled with references to intoxication and wine that may be literal or may be symbolic.

The most sublime part of Hafez's poetry is its ambiguity. It is like a Rorschach psychological test in poetry. The mystics see it as a sign of their own yearning, and so do the wine-drinkers, and the anti-religious types. It is perhaps a futile exercise to impose one definitive meaning on Hafez. It would rob him of what makes him ... Hafez.

The tomb of Hafez in Shiraz, a magnificent city in Iran, is a popular pilgrimage site and the honeymoon destination of choice for many Iranian newlyweds. His poetry, alongside that of Rumi and Saadi, are main staples of vocalists in Iran to this day, including beautiful covers by leading maestros like Shahram Nazeri and Mohammadreza Shajarian.

Like many other Persian poets and mystics, the influence of Hafez extended far beyond contemporary Iran and can be felt wherever Persianate culture was a presence, including India and Pakistan, Central Asia, Afghanistan, and the Ottoman realms. Persian was the literary language par excellence from Bengal to Bosnia for almost a millennium, a reality that sadly has been buried under more recent nationalistic and linguistic barrages.

Part of what is going on here is what we also see, to a lesser extent, with Rumi: the voice and genius of the Persian speaking, Muslim, mystical, sensual sage of Shiraz are usurped and erased, and taken over by a white American with no connection to Hafez's Islam or Persian tradition. This is erasure and spiritual colonialism. Which is a shame, because Hafez's poetry deserves to be read worldwide alongside Shakespeare and Toni Morrison, Tagore and Whitman, Pablo Neruda and the real Rumi, Tao Te Ching and the Gita, Mahmoud Darwish, and the like.

In a 2013 interview, Ladinsky said of his poems published under the name of Hafez: "Is it Hafez or Danny? I don't know. Does it really matter?" I think it matters a great deal. There are larger issues of language, community, and power involved here.

It is not simply a matter of a translation dispute, nor of alternate models of translations. This is a matter of power, privilege and erasure. There is limited shelf space in any bookstore. Will we see the real Rumi, the real Hafez, or something appropriating their name? How did publishers publish books under the name of Hafez without having someone, anyone, with a modicum of familiarity check these purported translations against the original to see if there is a relationship? Was there anyone in the room when these decisions were made who was connected in a meaningful way to the communities who have lived through Hafez for centuries?

Hafez's poetry has not been sitting idly on a shelf gathering dust. It has been, and continues to be, the lifeline of the poetic and religious imagination of tens of millions of human beings. Hafez has something to say, and to sing, to the whole world, but bypassing these tens of millions who have kept Hafez in their heart as Hafez kept the Quran in his heart is tantamount to erasure and appropriation.

We live in an age where the president of the United States ran on an Islamophobic campaign of "Islam hates us" and establishing a cruel Muslim ban immediately upon taking office. As Edward Said and other theorists have reminded us, the world of culture is inseparable from the world of politics. So there is something sinister about keeping Muslims out of our borders while stealing their crown jewels and appropriating them not by translating them but simply as decor for poetry that bears no relationship to the original. Without equating the two, the dynamic here is reminiscent of white America's endless fascination with Black culture and music while continuing to perpetuate systems and institutions that leave Black folk unable to breathe.

There is one last element: It is indeed an act of violence to take the Islam out of Rumi and Hafez, as Ladinsky has done. It is another thing to take Rumi and Hafez out of Islam. That is a separate matter, and a mandate for Muslims to reimagine a faith that is steeped in the world of poetry, nuance, mercy, love, spirit, and beauty. Far from merely being content to criticise those who appropriate Muslim sages and erase Muslims' own presence in their legacy, it is also up to us to reimagine Islam where figures like Rumi and Hafez are central voices. This has been part of what many of feel called to, and are pursuing through initiatives like Illuminated Courses.

Oh, and one last thing: It is Haaaaafez, not Hafeeeeez. Please.

The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera's editorial stance.

This content was originally published here.

[rakuyokoyo]

Heroes:Rising Notes - Deku and Kacchan

My BNHA story, TBE, is currently on hold. However, I am planning on releasing a Heroes:Rising oneshot on FanFiction.net with my OC incorporated in it.

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve last seen the movie but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it so I’m going to write a series of notes + reviews on Tumblr, as well as an eventual oneshot (story acronym will be T:B). 

[MAJOR SPOILERS—this post will spoil the entire movie!]

I don’t ship BakuDeku in BNHA (or any other pair except KamiJiro) but Heroes:Rising will definitely be a treat for those who do and for those like me who simply love their rivalry.

—

[Climax Transcript] (note: I’ve never learned Japanese so the translations may not be 100% accurate).

B: Bakugo, D: Deku, YB: Younger Bakugo, YD: Younger Deku, N: Nine

B: “This will be the end of your dreams.” D: “That’s fine. There’s no other choice. And even if it’s All Might, he would say that it’s okay [to pass down One for All] if it’s you. ...If it’s you, who shared the secret with me... if it’s you who’s always admired the same person as me... if it’s you—”

YB: “All Might really is cool!” YD: “He’s a really... cool hero!”

YB: “No matter how bad of a pinch, in the end he always—” B: “—I will win!” YD: “No matter how many people are in need of help... with a smile—” D: “I will save!”

N: “Don’t make me laugh!” D: “Detroit... smash!” N: “What... what is that power?! Don’t stand in my path!” D: “Let’s go, Kacchan!” B: “Huh? Don’t order me around!”

[Fight continues]

D: “This will be my final... my final... SMASH!”

D: Goodbye... One for All... thank you.

This is pretty bare-boned considering the sakuga, pacing, and soundtrack makes these lines quite epic, but I really wanted to break down the first few lines as well as Deku’s last inner monologue.

—

‘Deku’ and ‘Kacchan’: There’s been a lot of rumours on Twitter/Tumblr on what Bakugo says to Deku with some of it blown way out of proportion or just simply untrue (though I have heard that the novelization of the script may be more BakuDeku heavy. I do have the book with me but there’s no furigana, so I unfortunately can’t translate it).

But the first line that Bakugo says, “This will be the end of your dreams” really got to me in the theatre. I may be self-projecting, but I think it’s a line that’s both accurately culminated their relationship thus far as well as an acknowledgement of Deku by Bakugo.

I absolutely love the latter simply because he’s one of the most consistently-written characters I’ve seen in anime who’s not just a mindless, senseless jerk, which makes his growth very organic and fun to watch.

What’s significant about that line is that if he really doesn’t care about Deku (and objectively speaking, there really hasn’t been a lot of moments in the canon where he’s shown to care for Deku’s wellbeing—only a gritty rivalry), he wouldn’t care about the fact that he got One for All.

I’m not quite sure if Bakugo’s ever expressed his desire to get One for All, but I’d argue that he wouldn’t want it because he wants to surpass All Might, which is something that the non-canon character, Tokuda Taneo, also echoed in the recap episode of Season Four. Basically, Bakugo is the type of person to say ‘I don’t need your stupid power because I’m going to be the best hero with my strength alone’. The voice actors of Midoriya and Bakugo have also noted that their fight at the end of Season Three was due to a series of ‘why’ questions from Bakugo: why was I the one who ended All Might? Why am I now chasing the back of someone who was always behind me? Was the way that I admired All Might wrong? (I will be writing a separate note on this episode in the future).

But what changed with the line “This will be the end of your dreams” is that there’s a lot of hidden nuance behind it. This is solely my opinion, but in the movie it felt like Bakugo was (1) acknowledging Deku as his rival, (2) feeling sorry that his dream has ended in this manner, (3) pitying him instead of absolute loathing, like he usually does.

The reason why I believe this to be true is because the first half of the movie opens up a lot with Bakugo watching Deku and really seeing what he’s like as a person who aims to ‘save to win’. He eavesdrops on a conversation between Deku and Katsuma (the little boy), a scene that does a really good job portraying the type of person that the hero Deku is. He’s empathetic, patient, understanding, and kind to someone that Bakugo can get irritated by, and this impatience is almost fatal later when Bakugo almost hangs up on Mahoro when the villains attack, thinking it’s another prank. Basically, the first part of the movie does a good job showing both the audience and Bakugo what sort of person Deku really is.

That line is basically saying ‘I may not like you, but I’ve seen you grow up next to me. I know how much you wanted this and how hard you’ve worked for it—that’s why you’re my rival, no matter how much I despise you. But this isn’t how I want to see your dream end.’

There’s no love lost between the two but just that one line made me positive that Bakugo was fully willing to work with Deku (something he’s either always refused to do or has done so extremely begrudgingly) not simply because Nine was too powerful, but because the entire premise of the movie and Deku’s decision to end his dream just to save Katsuma has once again shown that his once Quirkless, crybaby of a childhood friend really is a hero that he must acknowledge as well.

He knows this wasn’t an easy decision to make and one done out of pure desperation, but the interesting thing is that he asks this question after the power has already been transferred.

As if to ask, ‘Do you really think I can have this, even if it means that your dream will end?’

More surprising to me was how quickly and affirmatively Deku is willing to pass OfA to him. Over the series, he’s said multiple times of how unlikeable Bakugo can be, but he was the person who he respected the most growing up, because Bakugo was someone great that was always near him, unlike All Might.

“If it’s you, I trust that you’ll be able to recognize both our dreams.”

Deku doesn’t even give Bakugo a chance to hesitate, quickly listing out all the reasons why he was willing to hand down One for All—and his dream—to his childhood friend.

I don’t think the movie showed a lot of new sides for Deku, but that one line from Bakugo really made me feel that he cared for his childhood friend in an unexpected or different way than other typical shonen rivalries. It’s different from Kageyama/Hinata’s in Haikyuu!!, or the brother-like relationship between Sasuke and Naruto, or the one between Asta and Yuno in Black Clover, where both sides acknowledge their strengths even if others don’t.

Deku has fought so hard for so long, chasing something impossible despite all odds and actually gained the opportunity to realize his dreams. He’s gone through every roadblock, none of which were easy or handed to him, and deep down, I think Bakugo’s always acknowledged this. But I think it’s only from this fight that can really see that he needs Deku.

All Might told them that they will become the greatest heroes if they can both win to save, and save to win. I’m not sure about Deku, but the ‘save to win’ part probably never registered in Bakugo until he began to see Midoriya as a true rival.

But now, with this seemingly endless fight, Bakugo is about to witness his other half—as a friend, a rival, and as heroes—take his final stand. But unlike Kamino, he can fight with the person that he respects this time, rather than just watching from afar like he had to with All Might.

—

Heroes:Rising was emotional for me for many different reasons, but this line really got to me (although I will once again say that I may just be projecting my own feelings). The rivalry between Midoriya and Bakugo has always been filled with so much conflicting feelings such as envy, pride, antipathy, fear, admiration, and rejection (All Might, chapter 63), but this fight felt like those emotions could now culminate into one of pity, acknowledgement, rivalry, trust, equals, and acceptance. Which made the fight even more bittersweet for me.

Thanks for reading this stupidly long post—it’s been on my mind for days now and I just had to spit it out somewhere. I don’t know if I could even call them ‘friends’, but I really love watching their relationship grow in unexpected ways.

My next note will be on Kamino vs. Heroes:Rising.

[romanceboys]

(171205) shinee official site board update: this is onew.

hello. this is onew.  i sincerely apologise for disappointing my loving and supportive fans in light of this terrible news. i spent the last 4 months in deep reflection while taking a break from my activities, thinking about how i’ve greatly disappointed fans who treasured a lacking me... i loathed and blamed myself endlessly. i worried a lot about the apology, how could i put it, what choice of words could express it best, i had to be careful even writing it down because i felt too remorseful.. even though it’s too late, i'm putting it up now.  as someone who was receiving a lot of love and attention, i should have acted more responsibly even in my private time. i am filled with nothing but regret for showing you a disappointing appearance. i’m truly sorry to the members who diligently ran with me for more than 9 years.. and i would like to apologise once again through this letter to my parents and the company for shocking them.  while always reflecting, i will work hard to rigorously manage myself better. from now on, be it external or individual activities, i promise to give it my all to become a person worthy of the team called shinee. - from onew

translated by romanceboys source: shinee official site

a/n: according to a police account as reported by sbs one night tv entertainment on the 15th of august, onew apologised to the victim right away once he was informed of the issue. please refer to the translation here. whereas, the apology letter above was uploaded onto shinee’s official board exclusively for fans. 

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for August 15 of 2021 with Proverbs 15 and Psalm 15, accompanied by Psalm 57 for the 57th day of Astronomical Summer and Psalm 77 for day 227 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 15]

[Wisdom Far Better than Wickedness]

Respond gently when you are confronted

and you’ll defuse the rage of another.

Responding with sharp, cutting words will only make it worse.

Don’t you know that being angry

can ruin the testimony of even the wisest of men?

When wisdom speaks, understanding becomes attractive.

But the words of the fool make their ignorance look laughable.

The eyes of the Lord are everywhere

and he takes note of everything that happens.

He watches over his lovers,

and he also sees the wickedness of the wicked.

When you speak healing words,

you offer others fruit from the tree of life.

But unhealthy, negative words do nothing but crush their hopes.

You’re stupid to mock the instruction of a father,

but welcoming correction will make you brilliant.

There is prosperity in the house of the righteous,

but the house of the wicked is filled with trouble,

no matter how much money they have.

When wisdom speaks, revelation-knowledge is released,

but finding true wisdom in the word of a fool is futile.

It is despicable to the Lord

when people use the worship of the Almighty

as a cloak for their sin,

but every prayer of the righteous is pleasing to his heart.

The Lord detests the lifestyle of the wicked,

but he loves those who pursue purity.

Severe punishment awaits the one

who turns away from the truth,

and those who rebel against correction will die.

Even hell itself holds no secrets from the Lord God,

for before his eyes, all is exposed—

and so much more the heart of every human being.

The know-it-all never esteems the one who tries to correct him.

He refuses to seek good advice from the wise.

[Living an Ascended Life]

A cheerful heart puts a smile on your face,

but a broken heart leads to depression.

Lovers of God hunger after truth,

but those without understanding

feast on foolishness and don’t even realize it.

Everything seems to go wrong

when you feel weak and depressed.

But when you choose to be cheerful,

every day will bring you more and more joy and fullness.

It’s much better to live simply,

surrounded in holy awe and worship of God,

than to have great wealth with a home full of trouble.

It’s much better to have a meal of vegetables surrounded with love and grace

than a steak where there is hate.

A touchy, hot-tempered man picks a fight,

but the calm, patient man knows how to silence strife.

Nothing seems to work right for the lazy man,

but life seems smooth and easy when your heart is virtuous.

When a son learns wisdom,

a father’s heart is glad.

But the man who shames his mother is a foolish son.

The senseless fool treats life like a joke,

but the one with living-understanding makes good choices.

Your plans will fall apart right in front of you

if you fail to get good advice.

But if you first seek out multiple counselors,

you’ll watch your plans succeed.

Everyone enjoys giving great advice.

But how delightful it is to say the right thing at the right time!

The life-paths of the prudent lift them progressively heavenward,

delivering them from the death spirals

that keep tugging them downward.

The Lord champions the widow’s cause,

but watch him as he smashes down the houses of the haughty!

The Lord detests wicked ways of thinking,

but he enjoys lovely and delightful words.

The one who puts earning money above his family

will have trouble at home,

but those who refuse to exploit others

will live in peace.

Lovers of God think before they speak,

but the careless blurt out wicked words meant to cause harm.

The Lord doesn’t respond to the wicked,

but he’s moved to answer the prayers of the righteous.

Eyes that focus on what is beautiful bring joy to the heart,

and hearing a good report

refreshes and strengthens the inner being.

Accepting constructive criticism

opens your heart to the path of life,

making you right at home among the wise.

Refusing constructive criticism shows

you have no interest in improving your life,

for revelation-insight only comes as you accept correction

and the wisdom that it brings.

The source of revelation-knowledge is found

as you fall down in surrender before the Lord.

Don’t expect to see Shekinah glory

until the Lord sees your sincere humility.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 15 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 15]

A song of David.

A recurring theme in the psalms is the dwelling place of God and its importance in worship. This Davidic psalm considers the moral qualities of the person who wishes to approach God.

Eternal One, who is invited to stay in Your dwelling?

Who is granted passage to Your holy mountain?

Here is the answer: The one who lives with integrity, does what is right,

and speaks honestly with truth from the heart.

The one who doesn’t speak evil against others

or wrong his neighbor,

or slander his friends.

The one who loathes the loathsome,

honors those who fear the Eternal,

And keeps all promises no matter the cost.

The one who does not lend money with gain in mind

and cannot be bought to harm an innocent name.

If you live this way, you will not be shaken and will live together with the Lord.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 15 (The Voice)

[Psalm 57]

Triumphant Faith

To the Pure and Shining One

King David’s golden song of instruction composed when he hid from Saul in a cave

To the tune of “Do Not Destroy”

Please, God, show me mercy!

Open your grace-fountain for me,

for you are my soul’s true shelter.

I will hide beneath the shadow of your embrace,

under the wings of your cherubim,

until this terrible trouble is past.

I will cry out to you, the God of the highest heaven,

the mighty God, who performs all these wonders for me.

From heaven he will send a father’s help to save me.

He will trample down those who trample me.

Pause in his presence

He will always show me love

by his gracious and constant care.

I am surrounded by these fierce and brutal men.

They are like lions just wanting to tear me to shreds.

Why must I continue to live among these seething terrorists,

breathing out their angry threats and insults against me?

Lord God, be exalted as you soar throughout the heavens.

May your shining glory be seen in the skies!

Let it be seen high above over all the earth!

For they have set a trap for me.

Frantic fear has me overwhelmed.

But look! The very trap they set for me

has sprung shut upon themselves instead of me!

Pause in his presence

My heart, O God, is quiet and confident.

Now I can sing with passion your wonderful praises!

Awake, O my soul, with the music of his splendor-song!

Arise, my soul, and sing his praises!

My worship will awaken the dawn,

greeting the daybreak with my songs of praise!

Wherever I go, I will thank you, my God.

Among all the nations they will hear my praise songs to you.

Your love is so extravagant it reaches to the heavens;

your faithfulness so astonishing it stretches to the sky!

Lord God, be exalted as you soar throughout the heavens.

May your shining glory be shown in the skies!

Let it be seen high above all the earth!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 57 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 77]

For the worship leader, Jeduthun. A song of Asaph.

I cry up to heaven,

“My God, True God,” and He hears.

In my darkest days, I seek the Lord.

Through the night, my hands are raised up, stretched out, waiting;

And though they do not grow tired,

my soul is uneasy.

I remember the True God and become distraught.

I think about Him, and my spirit becomes weak.

[pause]

You hold my eyes wide open.

I am troubled beyond words.

My mind drifts to thoughts of yesterdays

and yesteryears.

I call to mind my music; it keeps me company at night.

Together with my heart I contemplate;

my spirit searches, wondering, questioning:

“What will the Lord do? Reject us for good?

Will He never show us His favor again?

Has His loyal love finally worn down?

Have His promises reached an end?

Has the True God forgotten how to be gracious?

In His anger, has He withdrawn His compassion?”

[pause]

“I can’t help but be distraught,” I said,

“for the power of the Most High that was once for us is now against us.”

I will remember the actions the Eternal has taken,

reminisce on Your ancient wonders.

I will reflect on all of Your work;

indeed, I will study all You have performed.

O God, Your way is so different, so distinct, so divine.

No other god compares with our God.

You, God, and Your works evoke wonder.

You have proved Your strength to the nations.

You used Your great power to release Your people:

with a strong arm, You freed Jacob’s children, and Joseph’s.

[pause]

The waters saw You, O True God.

The seas saw You and swelled in sorrow.

Even the deep trembled.

Water poured from the clouds,

and the sky boomed out in response

as Your arrows of lightning flashed this way and that.

The sound of Your thunder whirled within the wind

as Your lightning lit up the world.

Yes, the whole earth trembled and shook.

Your way ran through the sea,

Your path cut through great waters,

and still no one can spot Your footprints.

You led Your people as a flock

tended by the hands of Moses and Aaron.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 77 (The Voice)

[fuzz1912]

I’ve got an okay feeling about this

A fan’s review of SOLO: A STAR WARS STORY.

(Spoilers ahoy, matey. Proceed with extreme caution. Running on extreme low sleep, so this will probably be updated over the next day or so.)

I’ve been pretty clear about the parameters for what I consider to be a good Star Wars film. My initial concern has been that they should at least be internally consistent, and consistent within (let alone respectful of) the established lore of the Star Wars universe. Beyond that, my mind also turns to whether or not it merely repeats what has come before or extends the universe in logical and interesting ways. Is there a need for this story to be told, or does it excessively rely on (or trivially extrapolate from) a known backstory? And finally, does it strike the right balance of humour and fan service while telling a decent story that stands on its own?

So, having been quite critical of Disney’s previous Star Wars releases on that basis, how does this latest instalment fare?

May the month of May be with you

There’s something right about Star Wars in May. Despite the attempts by all and sundry to turn a stupid dad joke into ‘Star Wars Day’ (May the Fourth - get it? No, Cinco de Quatro is much better), in fact the month of May has its own enduring significance for the franchise. Each of the original and prequel trilogy movies were released around the mid-May Memorial Day holiday. In the US, this means summer, when kids are on break and sitting in an air-conditioned cinema is preferable compared to just about anything else. For us on the other side of the world, it is on the cusp of winter, just as the weather really starts turning for the worse - the wind picks up, the chill sets in, and darkness falls before you know it.

It’s those memories of fighting to stay warm while making it to midnight on a dark, crisp winter’s night that have always accompanied first watching a new Star Wars film for me. For some entirely silly commercial reason, Disney has thus far eschewed the traditional May release window instead choosing  December for its premieres, which has never felt right to me - December is for Christmas movies and Lords of the Ring, not Star Wars. So if nothing else, there’s some small satisfaction for me in being able to enjoy a new Star Wars movie for the first time again in the cold of May - perhaps its karma, but it feels like that’s translated to my reaction to this second anthology film.

Why make a movie about Han Solo?

Here is a character who is infamous for his intrigue. Many so-called fans criticise George Lucas for adding context to Star Wars where they believed none was necessary - see the “Han shot first” controversy (the real objection being that Greedo shot at all - which changes nothing about Han himself)(1) - in which case, why sacrifice the ultimate lamb and give him an origin story? That being said, I am loath to be too critical of the raison d’être for the ‘Star Wars Story anthology’ films (this and ROGUE ONE) - they have to date been somewhat respectful of Canon, made some generous nods to what is now ‘Legends’, and taken some interesting new directions in filling the gaps in the existing story. We don’t necessarily need them (much like we don’t need the Saga to continue an already concluded story), but that doesn’t mean they don’t have anything interesting to add to the stories we already love. 

Back in the very early days of the Star Wars Expanded Universe (what would now be called ‘Legends’) there was a series of novellas by Brian Daley about a pre-Yavin Han Solo and his adventures with Chewbacca and (you guessed it) a couple of droids on the Millennium Falcon, as he tried to eke out a living as a white hat smuggler in the Empire-lite Corporate Sector.(2) They were some of the first EU books that I read, and simple though they were, I enjoyed them because they were episodic tales set in a different part of the world of Star Wars established by the films. They weren’t high stakes, and didn’t give Han Solo an origin or back story - they just gave a glimpse into some of the sort of swashbuckling adventures that we assumed the character we met in the Cantina Bar would have had.

This movie is nowhere near as light or insignificant as that - much like ROGUE ONE before it, it takes a throwaway line mentioned in the original film and turns it into a definitive origin story about how Han Solo became that guy who shot first.(3)

Now the story of a film that lost everything and the one director who had no choice but to bring it all together

From what little has been made public, this film has not had an easy gestation - even more so than ROGUE ONE, whose ending was completely changed (undoubtedly for the better). THE LEGO MOVIE directors were fired during the shoot due to “creative differences” with writer Lawrence Kasdan, who wrote the brilliant EMPIRE (but also the lackluster AWAKENS). Apparently their take was too humorous and not the sarcastic selfishness that characterises Han Solo - which I guess is a good thing considering how ridiculous the obvious jokes in the Disney ‘Saga’ films have been. Their replacement is none other than early Lucas protege and all-round pretty damn talented Ron Howard of Imagine Entertainment (not Orange County Imagine), whose voice is embedded in many of our heads thanks to his shoddy narration of ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT.(4)

Ron Howard reliably makes good movies. He might not have the most stylistic flair, he may not be the most innovative or creative, he may not use the most challenging source material, but it would be difficult to suggest that any of the movies he’s made are anything less than solidly watchable - and most of them have been, in their own way, pretty great. He now runs a director’s masterclass, and you’d be hard pressed to find a better teacher from whom to learn the craft.

George Lucas had offered Howard the opportunity to direct previoud Star Wars films over the years, but as with Lucas’s other bestie Steven Spielberg, Howard didn’t want to take the reigns from his longtime friend. Now that Lucas has rather foolishly handed the keys over to the Walt Disney Company, that reluctance seems to have diminished. I’ve been disappointed with the direction Disney has been leading the franchise enough times to have serious doubts about this film, but the one thing that kept me optimistic about it was that it was ultimately left to Howard to deliver the final product.

That faith was well placed - this was the first Star Wars film in some time that I really enjoyed.

“You’re the good guy”

The fundamental premise of the film appears to manifest itself in this line of dialogue that Qi’ra casually throws away towards the climax. This information will spoil the payoff of A NEW HOPE, just like knowing who Darth Vader is spoils the reveal in EMPIRE. But it’s nevertheless true to the core of the character of the Han Solo that we know and love - despite being a selfish cad and a scoundrel, he is a softy underneath.

Given the context above about the importance of the tone of the film, it would appear that the decision made by Lucasfilm to bring in Howard was on the money (though really, the question is why he wasn’t there from the start). Moments of over the top humour have been toned down (at least from what I can recall of one of the early trailers showing Han being interviewed to join the Imperial Academy). That’s not to say there aren’t any funny moments, but for the most part they feel earned and not simply played for easy laughs (like *ahem* Poe/Hux).

There are some call-backs in the dialogue to the original films that might go a little too far (L3: “They don’t even serve our kind here”), but they are mostly effective when they subvert our expectations (“I hate you”/“I know” and “I’ve got a GOOD feeling about this”) which is nice when the film itself is a giant call-back. On the other hand, there were a couple of lines of dialogue that strayed towards uncharacteristically real-world expletives - especially Han’s use of the phrase “Bantha crap”, when we all know the correct terminology is “poodoo”.

Visually the film was just as much of a treat as any Star Wars movie, exploring some new frontiers with the Maelstrom / Maw surrounding Kessel, as well as the WWI-style trench warfare and snow train hijacking scenes. What I loved about each of these was that they created new unfamiliar environments with their own mechanics that drove the plot and the plight of the characters, as Star Wars does at its best. The Kessel Run - in particular the climax with the Millennium Falcon trying to escape both a hideous space monster and a black hole / gravity well at the same time - was both spectacular and incredibly intense to watch, despite the fact that you know that the chracters you’re invested in are going to survive (and that the Falcom reliably has trouble making the jump to lightspeed). From that perspective, it far exceeded anything in the last couple of ‘Saga’ films (two hour long chases of fuel attrition, anyone?).

The music was serviceable and on par with, if not a little better than, Michael Giacchino’s score for ROGUE ONE. It was used effectively and enjoyable, with impactful use of the well-known themes and leitmotifs. While I wouldn’t have called it as memorable as John Williams at his best (he was only partially involved), it was adequate if not decent - and unlike the ‘Saga’ films, it didn’t have to be any more than that.

Finally, the performances were for the most part quite good. Alden Ehrenreich faced the near impossible task of stepping into Harrison Ford’s shoes to recreate one of cinema’s most iconic characters, and he did it pretty well. Rather than attempt to mimick or channel Ford’s trademark smirk or swagger (let alone be forced to undergo make up or CGI as was done rather poorly in ROGUE ONE), he simply stayed true to the character and made it his own. Within a few minutes, I was on board and completely accepted him in the role, made all the easier by not constantly being reminded of how Harrison Ford would have played it. To each of their credit, Howard and Ehrenreich have created a perfectly believable young Han Solo that stands on his own two feet, not in the shadow of a legend.

Similarly, Don Glover (aka Childish Gambino) perfectly captured Lando Calrissian and at no point did I feel like I missed another legend in Billy Dee Williams (though I feel like Glover may have had some prosthetic teeth put in). Having to portray the dashing Lando in his prime provided Glover with the opportunity to bring greater depth to the character than Williams, who pretty much just played himself. Woody Harrelson and Thandie Newton were both solid as far as their roles allowed them to be - as was Joonas Suotamo, for the first time reprising his role as Chewbacca (despite the subtleties of the Wookiee costume, not for a moment did I doubt it was the same character created by Peter Mayhew). Paul Bettany chewed the scenery as the slimy crime boss Dryden Vos. Wherever there is Bettany, Jon Favreau can’t be far behind, giving a short but charming life to the personable alien pilot Rio (bonus point for giving the universe a little more needed diversity). Also bringing her vocal talents to the fore was Phoebe Waller-Bridge, who created one of the more sympathetic droid personalities in L3. Perhaps the only slightly disappointing performance came from the otherwise brilliant Emilia Clarke as Qi’ra, through no real fault of her own - despite playing a duplicitous badass, she wasn’t given much meaningful to do.

“Assume everyone will betray you and you will never be disappointed.”

The film is at its essence a heist movie, and a good one at that - it effectively uses the tropes of the genre, and though largely predictable it subverted them enough to keep me engaged the whole way through. The number of double crosses was just right enough to reflect that none of these characters were naive, but they all had their fundamental weaknesses.

I feel like Lawrence Kasdan and his son Jonathan did a pretty decent job with the script. Having said that, while the plot overall was thrilling, the story itself was a little disjointed. Other than Han’s relationship with Qi’ra, there was no real thread that wove all the way through and connected the somewhat disparate few escalating heists that resulted in Han’s independence and acquisition of the Falcon. Perhaps that’s enough, given most of the second and third acts focused largely on the famous Kessel Run and its consequences - most amusingly, how the Falcon goes from Lando’s souped up, sleek hot rod, into the bucket of bolts we’re introduced to in A NEW HOPE.

The side plots involving the competing crime syndicates and the mysterious motivations of the marauders weren’t particularly compelling until they each revealed their secrets towards the conclusion - but they did an effective job of believable world building, and setting up things that we already know will follow (like the Rebellion). However, the ‘droid rights’ concept inspired by the new character of L3 seemed a little underdeveloped and out of place.(5) It actually reminded me more of Hermione Granger’s Elf welfare from Harry Potter mixed with Korg’s ‘revolution’ from Thor Ragnarok, though I’d love to see the idea more fully explored within the Star Wars universe.

The film introduced the concept of ‘hyperfuel’ (also known as coaxium) as the primary MacGuffin for driving the plotting of the heists. This acted as a deus ex machina at several points with some interesting results in the execution of the Kessel Run itself (Where were the spice mines by the way? Was Disney afraid of being sued by the estate of Frank Herbert?). While fine in isolation to this movie, this did also feel a little bit on the nose given the central role fuel bizarrely played in the plot of the last ‘Saga’ film (not to mention the ongoing focus on Han’s lucky gold dice, which was overplayed in that film and introduced here as if they were far more significant to Han’s established identity than they actually are).

But there was one final touch to the plot that got the kind of ecstatic reaction out of me that I haven’t felt in years - it genuinely shocked and thrilled me, but more on that later.

“I’m putting together a crew? Are you in?”

A good heist requires the building of a good crew that brings a variety of talents to the table. To be frank, the actual Kessel Run heist in this film itself was somewhat anticlimactic. Other than the diversion created by L3 and the subsequent fire fight, the stakes involved in boosting the coaxium from Kessel were not particularly high. On the other hand, the escape and ensuing ‘Run’,(6) as well as the inevitable series of double-crosses and competing moral and selfish imperatives after pulling it off, were full of thrills and gave the characters an opportunity to really shine through - and this was nothing if not a character piece.

The Anti-Hero: The eponymous Han Solo. Well, this is his movie, you can hardly expect us not to start with Han - who is for the first time the sole protagonist of a film. As this is an origin story, he’s not going to be leader of this pack, but he’s hopefully going to show us why he will be when he meets the Skywalker family. Despite a stray reference to his father being a shipbuilder on Corellia, we never get Han’s true family name or any other indication of his lineage; he was dubbed ‘Solo’ by the Imperial recruiter quite literally for being on his own.(7) We meet him as a street kid with a conscience and a mouth - who’ll happily point out to a superior officer in his company that they are themselves the hostiles, not the natives of the planet they’re invading for the glory of the Empire. Much like his father-in-law before him, he starts off idealistic and a little bit twee in his oft-repeated desire to become the best pilot in the galaxy (the title actually held by said future father-in-law). Also like Anakin Skywalker in PHANTOM MENACE, we don’t actually get to see a lot of those skills before he slips into the role; Anakin at least was a Force-sensitive pod racing child (let alone the Chosen One), but other than the pretty nice speeder chase opening the movie its’s not until the Kessel Run itself that we actually see Solo’s exceptional skills. Han in this film is very much driven by the loss of Qi’ra right at the start, and his quest throughout is to first find her and then win her back. Having seen his cynicism while Luke is under Obi-Wan’s tutelage, it’s a nice change to see him as the earnest student trying to learn the game from his own mentor, the master con-thief Tobias Beckett. He slots easily into the role of rogue, deserter and mercenary, and through Beckett and his crew he also learns never to trust anyone but himself - with one notable exception. And the fact that exception exists, is also why underneath all that bravado, Han truly is still the good guy - when given a choice between a quick score or the greater good, he chooses the latter. Han may start off street smart but somewhat naive, but by the end he demonstrates empathy and a canny insight that lays the foundation for the scruffy looking nerf herder with a heart of gold that Luke meets in the Mos Eisley Cantina. At the very end of the film, we can see conclusively why Han had to shoot first.(8)

The Brawn: Chewbacca. The one notable exception to Han’s rule is his future trusty co-pilot, who we’ve never yet seen not by his side. Here we get to see how they meet for the first time and forge their lifelong partnership. While I was fully expecting Chewie to show up at some point, I must admit to being misdirected by the set up leading to his meet-fight with Han. Howard’s staging suggested that the ‘beast’ the stormtroopers were feeding Han to would be something like RETURN’s Rancor and the muddy fur that was our first glimpse of him also echoed EMPIRE’s Wampa. Hearing that familiar growl was both thrill and relief, as Chewie engaged Han in ferocious combat until we hear Han speak Wookiee for the first time in order to persuade Chewie that he can devise a way for them both to escape.(9) The two are literally bound together until Han tracks down Beckett - who immediately recognises that Chewie, not Han, is the prized recruit. Han learns of Chewie’s desire to reunite with and free his tribe / family, something he can and can’t relate to at the same time. Chewie appears initially skeptical of Han, but circumstance conspires to keep them together from one job to the next and along the way they continually pull each other out of the kind of pickles that would well establish the life debt he later owes to Han (but nothing specific is singled out here as the sole cause for it). At a critical moment, we see Chewie choose to stay with Han rather than return to join others of his own kind. This cements the fact that Chewie isn’t simply sidekick, but that Han and Chewie are in fact partners in crime. It’s also probably the most agency we’ve seen Chewie use throughout the saga - except perhaps for the moment that we’d all been waiting for (and had been teased at least once with Beckett), when he finally pulls someone’s arms out of their sockets. He’s also the first to throw cold water on Han when he starts bragging about making the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs - as Chewie points out, he was already rounding it down.

The Money: Lando Calrissian. When we first met him on Cloud City, Lando presented as a smooth-talking, responsible administrator with shades of a dark past. Lando is just as charming as he ever was, but in his younger days we can see more of the conniving, selfish operator he needed to be to survive as a renowned smuggler in the galactic underworld. However, as with Han, a glimmer of his true nature shines through his relationship with L3, his partner in crime (and possibly life). While Lando’s side of that relationship wasn’t that well explored at first (other than L3 suggesting that he may be what Futurama would call “robosexual”), and it’s not clear how sympathetic he was to her robot rights crusade, it is clear following L3’s death just how much she meant to him.(10) In return for an ever-diminishing cut,(11) Lando provides the getaway vehicle for the heist - his highly-polished and specially-modified freighter, the Millennium Falcon. The Falcon we see for the first time(12) is pristine and complete, including the escape pod completing its front that we’ve as yet not seen. Having cheated Han out of his first opportunity to take possession of the Falcon, we see the foundations of the mistrust underlying their chummy rivalry, and the guile that Han brings back to the table to finally win it fair and square. Given the considerable damage Han does to the ship through the maelstrom to turn it into our beloved hunk of junk, it’s somewhat ironic that in RETURN Lando promises Han to bring the Falcon back from the Battle of Endor “without a scratch”.

The Beauty and the Brains: L3-37 and Qi’ra. I feel terrible conflating these two, particularly between the two female members of the crew, but unfortunately that’s the sort of movie this was. Qi’ra may have conceived of part of the scheme, and been the mastermind who ultimately ended up on top, but she didn’t actually have a whole lot do other than drive the plot. It’s arguable that she may have used her emotional leverage over Han to ensure that she always had the upper hand throughout most of the film. Perhaps hers is a character that has scope to grow over the course of a greater story, but in this chapter alone she felt a little underdeveloped; you never got a sense of why Han was so besotted with her, to the extent that he would spend years trying to get her back - and her convenient reappearance at just the right time was a little contrived. But I find it more interesting to look at L3 as the one who used her appearance and/or emotions most effectively to create a robot rebellion diversion to allow the heist to proceed, despite the fact that it was literally her brains that ultimately enabled the getaway. Unlike the prissy C3PO and the sardonic K2SO from ROGUE ONE, L3 is the first protocol droid we’ve encountered that is idealistic and empathetic, and she tolerates no nonsense from her beloved Lando or the rest of the crew. While her demise was somewhat inevitable, she’s probably the most ‘human’ droid to date across all of the Star Wars movies. The other resonant feature of L3 is that she literally becomes part of the Falcon, and is as such retconned into the Saga itself as the ‘peculiar dialect’ that always seems to bring bad news to C3PO.

The Leader: Tobias Beckett (and his partner Val). Beckett also doesn’t have much to do beyond driving the plot and be a representation of the mercenary that Solo would become - his Fedora Man - without the redeeming qualities. When Val vainly sacrifices herself to try to help Beckett settle the score to end his indebtedness to the Crimson Dawn crime syndicate, he loses what little remaining connection and trust he had with others (at least, that’s what Beckett would have us believe). The challenge for Han will be not to do the same when Qi’ra walks away from him (or at least, not until he rescues a princess from a hidden fortress). Beckett is a ruthless mentor for the hungry young Han, but his commitment to making sure Han learns his lessons ends up being own weakness, resulting in his ultimate demise as Han catches him monologuing. Truly the student does become the master, with some regret but no hard feelings.(13)

The Competitor: Emphys Nest. Now this is an interesting character. Initially set up as a brutal marauder captain with a proto-Ren mask, it turns out that in fact she is the leader of a group of outcasts dispossessed by the Empire, who are not in the game for the money but for survival - and ultimately, rebellion. I found the the portrayal of the marauders and their motivation a little hard to follow at first, but ultimately far more believable and earned than the ‘resistance kids’ in the ‘Saga’. Also, I love the realism of the idea (reflected in the REBELS series) that there are disparate cells of resistance across the galaxy fighting their own wars against the Empire, who eventually coalesce into the organised Rebel Alliance. The fact that Warwick Davis’s PHANTOM MENACE cameo character Weazel returns as one of Nest’s lieutenants is icing on the cake.

The Heavy: Dryden Vos. I was fully expecting the boss of the Crimson Dawn crime syndicate to be a Hutt, so it was a surprise to see an apparently humanoid villain instead.(14) Vos appears recklessly tyrannical and limitless in his arrogance. It’s hard to believe that he’s effectively just a middle manager, though he alludes to that fact along the way, setting us up for…

The Big Bad: Holy poodoo. Darth F’ing Maul (sorry, simply ‘Maul’ now that he’s ceded the mantle of Sith to the little brat watching him from the fighter cockpit). I could not contain my glee when I saw his horned face reappear. Now this is probably going to be confusing for the casual viewer, because most would have assumed that Maul was dead after Obi-Wan bisected him in PHANTOM MENACE. But those who have had the benefit of watching CLONE WARS and REBELS know that Maul survived and has tangled with our heroes (and even his former master) a number of times, all the while plotting his comeback and revenge against his almost-murderer Kenobi. Along the way, Maul and his brother Savage Oppress took over the alliance of criminal syndicates known as the Shadow Collective (of which Crimson Dawn is one part) and took control of the planet Mandalore (in the process killing Kenobi’s beloved Satine - yes, just like in MOULIN ROUGE). We also have had the benefit of seeing his final rematch with Obi-Wan on Tatooine, possibly one of the most meaningful duels of the saga. So with context, given CLONE WARS and REBELS are technically Canon, it’s unsurprising in a way that Maul would be revealed as the ultimate villain of the piece. Nevertheless, the reveal of seeing this iconic and criminally-underutilised antagonist once again in live action was simply breathtaking. Maul was portrayed by original PHANTOM MENACE actor Ray Park, and voiced by Sam Witwer. I was somewhat disappointment that the amazing Peter Serafinowicz didn’t return to reprise Maul’s voice, but given the substantially greater amount of work Witwer has done for the character since in CLONE WARS and REBELS, it’s fair to say that Witwer is now to Maul as Hamill is to the Joker.

“You look good. A little rough around the edges, but good.”

The rather unsurprising conclusion to all that is that this film has managed to meet and perhaps surpass, the bar I’ve set for what makes a good and enjoyable Star Wars movie.

Simply by virtue of the fact that they aren’t recreating the figurative wheel, Disney seems to do a much better job with these Star Wars anthology movies than the ‘Saga’ they are unnecessarily trying to continue (but in fact are simply rebooting). I really hope they take advantage of the favorable ages of Ewan McGregor and Daniel Logan to tell the Obi Wan and Boba Fett stories that are dying to be told, let alone find a way to bottle a tiny bit of Don Glover brilliance before he becomes bigger than Yeezus and stops acting altogether.(15)

At this stage we know that there will be at least two ‘spin-off’ trilogies, by Rian Johnson (ugh) and the Game of Thrones showrunners (Qi’ra returns?). If each of those manage to continue to follow the trend set by SOLO, and to a lesser extent ROGUE ONE, rather than the tired tropes of the ‘Saga’, then my outlook is optimistic on the future of Star Wars on the silver screen for years to come.  

So for now: I’ll happily go see another Star War.

Notes:

(1) I’d add that despite sketching out a potential back story and cameo for an orphaned young Han Solo adopted by Chewbacca and present at the Battle of Kashyyyk in SITH, Lucas exercised restraint and omitted it from the shooting script. While not begrudging the creator his licence, it appears in hindsight that this was probably a wise move and certainly created an opportunity for this film.

(2) Actually, now that I read that back with decades of hindsight, I can totally relate!

(3) In this case, that line was Solo’s reference to the Falcon making the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs - long maligned as an incorrect reference given that parsecs are units of distance not time, though there have been some novel explanations of how that might still work that were Canon-ised by this film.

(4) Actual narration may be brilliant, please see a theralyst if doubt persists. Speaking of which, I wonder (did someone say WONDER?) which still life image he used as inspiration for this movie?

(5) I feel like the galactic resentment towards droids was signposted a little more effectively indirectly by the prequels, given the years of destruction caused by the Separatists’ droid armies.

(6) Lando set the bar at 20 parsecs, which is way higher than what Han eventually claims he achieved. It makes you wonder about the significance of the “less than” part of the claim. 

(7) It may as well have been “Corellian” or “Corleone”, for that matter.

(8) But let’s not blind ourselves to the fact that that says nothing about whether or not Greedo would have taken a shot too - Greedo already delivered his verbal coup de grace and allowed Han to get a response in before Han shot (back). Han’s mid-monologue blow to Beckett was more along the lines on Indiana Jones’s similar shot against the swordsman in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK. As I said before, whether Greedo shot or not changes nothing about Han, who had already been preparing for the shot himself. 

(9) It’s a shame we didn't get an allusion to how Han picked up his stuttering Wookiee language skills or knowledge of their Imperial enslavement - particularly given the fact that the reason probably would have further demonstrated his empathy - hat tip to my friend Justin Scott for that one.

(10) I’ll be honest - as a COMMUNITY fan, it’s always a joy to watch Don Glover cry hysterically.

(11) He can’t seem to avoid deals that get worse all the time!

(12) Technically we did see the Falcon briefly in SITH, but let’s say that Lando has done a bit of a refurbishment since then.

(13) There hasn’t been such an effectively executed succession plan since the soon-to-be Darth Vader got ‘ahead’ of Darth Tyranus.

(14) It appears that the Hutts are being set up as the antagonists for a future Solo movie.

(15) I still vainly hold out hope for #SixSeasonsAndAMovie.

[oneweekoneband]

Ninety One, “Yeski Taspa Bii’,” from Qarangy Zharyq, released as a single June 2017

We’ve talked about the social and political significance of Ninety One recording in Kazakh, but we haven’t yet discussed the implications of their not recording in English. And yet it’s clearly something the group and Juz Entertainment has been thinking about, since all four of the Qarangy Zharyq singles were posted to the official YouTube channel with built-in English and Russian subs, as well as the lyrics printed out in Kazakh, Russian, and English.

How much non-fluent fans should care about the nuances they’re missing is going to remain an individual decision. For my own part I think generally you’re better off finding a translation, if you can; there are certainly songs for which having a translation at hand has influenced my perception of the song, positively or negatively. But I also will freely concede that lyric comprehension is sometimes beside the point. Any English-fluent listener who enjoys Duran Duran, whose lyrics are legendary in their total muddle-headed-ness, has no business getting pissy about translations.

(You own the money, you control the witness / I leave you lonely, don’t monkey with my business / You pay the prophets to justify the reasons / I heard you promise but I don’t believe it / That’s why I did it again, and I love that song but WHAT.)

Now: “Yeski Taspa Bii’” is not one of those songs for which lyric comprehension is beside the point, and not just because presumably AZ and ZaQ (again) worked hard on the lyrics. There is a lot going on, maybe even more than in “Su Asty”: a throughline that melts away when the rapping starts, and sections that sound as if Bala were sent into the recording booth to do a kazoo solo sans kazoo, and also a particular minor key that somehow grips my heart and twists it, and thus every time Alem starts with that Ескі таспа жиі nonsense I want to bang my head against a wall.

(also God help us all, five music videos in and now Alem reveals that he actually does know, quite well in fact, how to look at a camera. Congratulations, good sir. Now leave me alone so I can wail and rend my garments in peace.)

“Yeski Taspa Bii’” is ambitious, and possibly a mess, and even if it is a mess I am incapable of dismissing it, and I want to poke at it and prod at it and make it make a little more sense, a bit more of a case for itself. And thus, after the jump, some rudimentary, ill-informed attempts at translation.

Let’s just take Ace’s opening verse, for now:

Original Kazakh (Cyrillic text):

Байланған тілім сөйлемейді, Айналама неге сенбеймін мен? Кімге кіммін? Білмеймін, бермейді бір мұң тыным, Бермейді тыным мұңның үні күні-түні

Official provided English translation:

I got tongue-tied as if I numb why my environment seems deceitful. Who am I? I do not even know what sadness does not give me peace, that sadness haunts me day and night.

To my ear, as a native speaker of a watered-down version of Classical Southern American English, three of the four translated lines are hard to sit with: the missing verb in “I numb,” the double negative of “I do not even know what sadness does not give me peace,” the fact that American English speakers generally use “deceitful” to describe actions rather than settings. Of course there will be differences in reading between English speakers, native or not; and in trying to translate the verse into something that reads as less confusing and more illuminating of AZ’s and ZaQ’s intentions I’m of necessity imposing my understanding of English. Translating is politically difficult, too, it turns out. (You’re all shocked.) Fortunately I have the official provided translation to balance against, without having to worry that I’m speaking over Ninety One.

Google Translate has been letting me down but let’s give it a chance:

Linked slices speak, Why do not believe in and around? Who am? I do not know, not one of sorrow, peace PAIN tone rest not day and night

...go home and think about your algorithm choices, Google Translate.

Okay, let’s back up a bit. What is this song about? It’s a breakup song, sure, but there’s a lot going on here to contort the narrative. There’s that repeated non-kazoo interlude, for one thing, that cuts hard against the singers’ wallowing in their own misery; the music credit this time around goes to Alem and Bala plus Boss Yerbolat, and I find it hard to believe that all three of them heard that distorted sample and said, “Yes! Romantic misery!” Meanwhile there are multiple repeated mentions of time and of music, but the chorus’s “Your music heals all my wounds” leads to AZ’s laments over a “dusty record” that warps and stains as it plays. Not to mention a seeming thread of self-loathing. I mean. Why should I carry the corpse of happiness? There’s more than mourning here; there’s annihilation.

The video actually does less to help explain the lyrics’ intentions than I expected. Occam’s razor says that Ace’s scenes represent the idealized past and the other four are acting out the wall-smashing, milk-spilling, clothed-shower-taking misery of the present. Or the girl dumped the other four on her way to the beach with Ace. Or, given that she looks sad and wistful first, the self-loathing is her internal narration; maybe she’s the one whose psyche was laid waste by a bad breakup, and Alem and Bala represent the first stage of her showing her mine-strewn internal emotional territory to sympathetic new man Ace, AZ and ZaQ the second stage. (Or it’s the group lamenting the difference before the more innocent time of debut and the present, filled with tour bullies and entitled fans.) That’s a reach, admittedly, but you see how the video doesn’t actually help explain whether the sadness of the lyrics is just sadness or something more corrosive. Corpse of happiness may be overstating the case. Or may not.

Back to I do not even know what sadness does not give me peace: is the double negative supposed to be there? Is the narrator simply too sad to find peace? Or is the narrator saying that his inner turmoil is so great that mere sadness would be a relief?

So what I’m going to do next is try and translate word by word, paying attention to the repetition of бермейді бір мұң тыным in the third line and Бермейді тыным in the fourth. This is actually more difficult than I thought it would be: Kazakh-English dictionaries are not plentiful even on the so-called World Wide Web. (I miss Babelfish.) In the end I used Translatos, Glosbe, and Meta.ua. And got:

Байланған = tied, linked, strung together Тілім = tongue / slice / language Сөйлемейді = Meta.ua has this as “cannot speak,” Glosbe thinks it’s closer to “unable to lie.” Айналама = surrounded (there may be an implied speaker in this: more like “[I am] surrounded”) Неге = why, what was the cause of Сенбеймін = don’t believe Мен = I, me, my, mine Кімге = to whom Кіммін = who am I Білмеймін = I don’t know Бермейді = Meta.ua says “gives not”. Glosbe and Google Translate say “does not”. I’m guessing it might be closer to denoting that something does not happen than a verb in its own right. Бір = one Мұң = longing, sorrow Тыным = rest, peace, tranquility Мұңның = of sorrow Үні = sound / voice / noise Күні = day / date Түні= night

So there’s a link in the third and fourth lines of the idea of sorrow, the idea of peace, and the negation of Бермейді -- hence the double negative of the official translation. Also there’s the potential of a contrast between the not-speaking of the first line and the use of үні in the fourth. Given all that, here’s my shot at a translation that would read as more “natural” to a native American English speaker:

Tongue-tied, unable to speak, Why is everything around me a lie? Who am I? I don’t know. There’s no peace to be found, No rest from this pain that screams day and night.

If I had more time I’d continue this exercise all the way up to the corpse of happiness, but I think one verse is enough for y’all’s purposes. Obviously the rhythm’s all off, with the one-syllable English words more plodding than the original, and the repetition within Білмеймін, бермейді бір мұң is completely lost. And just perusing the Wikipedia entry on the Kazakh language gives you an idea on how much I’m not taking into account.

So to summarize: “Yeski Taspa Bii’” is a powerful song in its own right, but more so to Kazakh speakers; emo is emo in any language; even if you can’t understand the words there’s plenty of symbolism to go around; and translation is hard! Fortunately, next up you get to meet someone who’s better at it than I am.

introductory post / all Ninety One posts

[hedgiwithapen]

Antumbra

Antumbra: noun. The area outside the darkest shadow of a solar eclipse.

It was sheer luck that the wide space, part desert, part prairie, sand and sagebrush and yellowed grass, was currently being used for tactical practice when, on a clear summer morning, someone sounded the alert. A bright streak arced across the sky, flaming as it crashed. The D.E.O. agents reached the small pod in minutes.

“What is it?” One asked, peering at the singed metal. “An opportunity,” the squad leader replied. “Call base. We need to get this thing underground. Move it, people.” He watched the pod, the way it lay still, a snake waiting to strike. Not if he could help it. He recognized a few of the symbols, soot streaked from entry into Earth’s atmosphere. They would take no chances with the creature inside.

It wasn’t until after the pod was secured in the nearest D.E.O. base, the occupant sedated and locked away without ever seeing sunlight, that news came that a second ship had crashed, this one larger.

Hank Henshaw glared at the man who’d brought the news. His work was never done, but it would be, eventually. It might take years, but Earth would be safe from alien influence under his watch, someday. Until then, he had calls to make, recruits to replace, and assets to acquire. This new Kryptonian had brought disaster, but perhaps it would be useful as well.

(Roughly three years later)

J’onn J’onzz had worn this form--this face-- for months now, but it still felt strange, foreign. Like he was stretched too thin and squeezed too tight, like one of the large earth snakes from the forest he’d hidden in, growing against dying scales. He wanted to shed it, but he didn’t dare. He’d run out of escape routes.  Even in solitude, he could not risk being J’onn, not anymore. Hank Henshaw. That was his name, who he had to be. The problem was, Hank was only skin deep. Even with all the time he’d had trying to train his thoughts, his gate, to turn skittish fear into anger, he had to remain conscious of the role he played. No part of who he had been could leak out, green tint under dark skin.

But he wanted to, especially here, in this work space underground that seemed to sing to his deepest instincts to run, to fly. He knew without doubt that there were no allies here, not any with power. If his deception, his disguise was ever revealed, even the few analysts that seemed like they had a grasp of ethics wouldn’t dare side with him, and the soldiers never would. The captives, the alien criminals kept under lock and key, would be no better, and J’onn knew that even to save his own life he would never release the murderers from their cells. One of the Faceless Hunters, other creatures from planets far beyond the furthest reaches of Martian travel and creatures closer in, nightmare monsters. He was no fool. He knew he was not the only refugee who had come to this place, but those in the cellblocks were not mere travelers who had lost their homes. These were aliens who had taken the fresh start they might have had and thrown it aside for greed, for violence. He would never allow himself to make that same choice, and he could not risk the lives of innocents by using them as cover. He would just have to be careful. He could not afford the cost of being discovered.

It was exhausting. Being Hank Henshaw was so much more than hiding under human skin, behind human eyes and trying not to flinch at open flames. But he learned. He read the files on the computers, feigning memory lapses courtesy of that last failed mission to bring in the Manhunter. He learned what he could, walking the same path into the facility that Hank had, heavy boots and chin up, as if he feared nothing. This was his fortress, his. That meant, to stay safe, he had to act like it.

He had to honor the sacrifice of the man who had died to save him. Jeremiah. He had been an help to another Alien, another peaceful one.  Superman, the press called him, but J’onn had not yet met him--the same alien that had been the cause, he learned, for the D.E.O’s founding. Peaceful or not, hero or not, J’onn was unsure he wanted to get involved--it was far too risky. And his life was no longer his own. He had promised Jeremiah that he would protect his daughter, and an oath sworn as a life-debt to a dying man was not something that could be taken lightly.  In a few years, the girl would be grown, and if she were as smart as her father had claimed, that one night in the jungle, there might be a place for her here.

This would have to be the goal. To slowly fill the ranks of the DEO with those like Alex Danvers, like her late father, perhaps even like he himself--people who wanted to help, not to seek out and destroy. It would take years, but then, J’onn had time, assuming he mastered the part. He was certain he could.

A few weeks after being fully cleared, fully recognized in this second identity, this false name, J’onn’s careful planning almost fell apart.

He had taken to exploring, having little else to occupy non-work hours. He needed to make muscle memory know each corner of the DEO’s underground base, erase any doubt that he was not fit to lead the organization. He read files, histories that only went back a decade or so, and walked the hallways in his heavy boots that reminded him he had to be human. That flying was never again an option.

He wasn’t certain why he had not been aware of one of the cell blocks on the lowest level, deep in the earth until then, but he found it almost by happenstance, drawn to the thin red light. As he approached, wondering what creature was so dangerous that it would be kept here, what crime it might have committed, he saw a small figure trembling in the corner.

He may have worn a human skin, too close and itching to be shrugged off. He may have pressed down the use of his powers, for fear of become dependent upon them. But he did not need anything beyond human eyes to see the small form flinch, to hear whimpering (Ieiu, Ieiu)  in a language he was certain he had heard before, but could not place.

He left just as quickly, his stomach acids protesting what his mind translated. It was a child. The prisoner in the cell was a tiny child, pale and thin. He had not needed to read her mind or understand her words to know she had been terrified. K'hym. T'ania. The memory of the last time he had seen his daughters seared like flame in his mind. Was some parent out there wondering for the fate of their own child? Had his children huddled, alone and terrified in a dark prison cell?

He wanted to vomit, and so he ran, slowing only to a halt when he reached the upper levels and the risk of being seen.

What crime could that pathetic creature have committed to be left in almost total darkness? What if she was like himself? Not one who had chosen this planet in malice but in desperation, alone and frightened, with no Jeremiah Danvers to chose her life over his?

“Sir? Director Henshaw?” a young woman asked, voice clipped. An intern, of sorts, the lowest ranking of the already highly ranked officials and agents permitted to work here. “Are you well?”

“I am fine,” he told her firmly. “I need to check our records for any discrepancies. There’s another audit coming up.”

She winced. That meant budget reviews, an endless stream of meetings if not everything was perfectly documented. “Of course, Sir. Understood.”

He waited until she had scurried off, no doubt to let everyone know to be careful with their paperwork, before sinking into his chair and digging deeper into the files. And there it was, plain text. Project KR Eclipse.

A Kryptonian pod had been found, only miles from the crash site of Fort Rozz, with a lone occupant. Unlike the being that had been labeled the ‘Man of Steel’ by Metropolis’s reporters, this one did not seem to possess that same invulnerability, or strength. Notes from Director Henshaw, the real Director, whose face J’onn now twisted in revulsion, filled the screen, conclusions drawn from what files had be salvaged from Fort Rozz and from tests they had run on the child. Blood tests, brain scans, pages of lists that dated even during the time Henshaw had been dead. Nowhere did it list a crime committed, and the mugshot showed only a pale face, dirt marks on her cheeks, dishwater hair mussed and tangled. J’onn closed the files, closed his eyes, and cursed inwardly. He could not compromise his cover. He could not show kindness or weakness (or the weakness that was kindness in the eyes of humans) without risking being discovered. Then what would be his fate, to die on a steel lab table or languish for centuries in a dark cell until he forgot even his own name? His oath--.

He had abandoned platitudes like “everything happens for a reason” when the White Martians had torn his beloved from his arms. Now he wondered, if this was the reason he had been spared the fate of his people, if this was why the old Director himself had been the one to confront him, if this was why he still breathed when Jeremiah did not. Was this how he was meant to pay forward his debt, a life for a life, one refugee to another?

He had lived more than 300 years, his family was dead.

He took his coat from the hook, and started for the exit.

~~ break ~~

J’onn knocked on the door of the large house, feeling awkward standing on the white-painted porch without his uniform on. As much as he loathed wearing it, being Hank Henshaw with all his weapons, it was a measure of safety. Security. But he stood on the porch in civilian khakis and waited for the door to open.

The blonde woman, whiter than she had seemed in the photograph on file, looked at him, the exasperated smile folding into a tight frown, fear and anger lining the creases around her eyes. She paused, as if trying to find words. He spoke first.

“Mrs. Danvers. May I come in?”

“Doctor,” she corrected as if out of habit, and then realized. “You--No. Get out, get away, leave us alone.”

“Dr. Danvers,” he said, formally, no emotion slipping through to the mask he wore. “It’s urgent. I need to speak with you.”

She shook her head, moving to close the door. He stopped her, but only because desperation demanded it.

“It’s about your husband.” It was, in a roundabout kind of way. “ You got my husband killed.” She did not stumble or stutter over the word. J’onn nodded, solemn. “This is not a conversation for your porch and neighbors to hear, Dr. Danvers,” he said, though there were no neighbors near enough to hear or watch the confrontation.

She opened the door wider. “Come in, then.”

As soon as the door was closed, J’onn closed his eyes. He could not back out now. He needed this woman.

“Your husband was not the only expert on Kryptonians, was he, Dr. Danvers?” She stepped back, shaking her head. “No. No, I will not work for you and your sick organization. I won’t. You took my husband, isn’t that enough for you? That you took him from me, from us, that I had to lie to our daughter, about why he never came home? Now you want me, too? Jeremiah gave you his research, and I don’t know any more than that. Now, get out, Henshaw.”

“My name is not Hank Henshaw,” J’onn said softly. Even if he managed to free the little Kryptonian, he could not give her a home, not when it was so certain he would be trading his own life for hers. She would need someone trustworthy, someone safe. Someone who would protect her.  “Your husband died to save my life. I have to pay that forward, and I need your help. Please.”

He held out a photograph, the one he’d risked printing out. Eliza Danvers took the picture, looking at the girl’s tear and dirt smudged face, then up at J’onn. Slowly, she nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

~~ break ~~

J’onn had done his best to get most of the agents out of the underground facility, dispatching teams as far as Ojai on carefully laid trails after more Fort Rozz escapees--perhaps finding some of them would delay the discovery of a betrayal and an empty cell. More agents he had temporarily assigned to the other bases, or loaned to the military to assist on various projects (and spy on the new General, Sam something or other.) Only a skeleton crew remained, and now, in the hour or so before sunrise, was the best chance there would be. He had done what he could. The rest would be up to H'ronmeer, or Rao, or fate.

The cell door opened under his hand, and the disheveled figure flinched, scrambling backward until she hit the wall, arms raised in defense. In the dim light and shadow, J’onn’s vision faltered for a heartbeat, the Kryptonian girl’s face replaced by T'ania’s before reverting back to her own, bone white, with wide, dark eyes.

"Zha,” she whispered, “Khap zha sem, eiahm sem rraop.” He didn’t understand, exactly, but he didn’t need to to see how terrified she was.

He crouched and held out a hand. “Voi,” he said, the word Eliza had told him meant “safe.” She startled, looking at him, trembling. The fleeting glimpse he had had of her, the picture, had not been much, J’onn realized. She had not just been locked in, but chained, like an animal. Like a monster. Her bare feet looked cracked and bruised, but it may have only been the poor lighting. She looked to be perhaps fourteen, if that, thin and pale. Her eyes were haunted, but she kept her head up. She was brave. A fighter. She would have had to be, to survive here, for so long, but she was tired, leaning against that far wall for support as much as for protection.

She chewed her chapped lip, then whispered, “Voikirium?”

“Voikir--voikirium,” J’onn hoped it meant the same as ‘Voi,’ that she would trust him. They did not have much time. He stepped into the cell, and she did not flinch as he used his master key to undo the manacle at her ankle, watching him silently. He gestured to the door, holding out his hand again. She took a breath, and then his hand, her skin icy against his. He led the way up the least used stairs, the narrowest hallways, grateful for his determination to know every inch of the base. It may not do him much good after today, but that would be alright. The girl stopped short as they reached the last doorway before the final stretch of hall that lead out. She looked up at him, and again he could have sworn that the fluorescent lighting gave her his daughter’s features. He opened the door, and walked quickly, tugging her along. Eliza Danvers would be waiting just beyond the perimeter. He only had to make sure that the child reached her.

No one spotted them as he opened the doors, predawn light spilling in. The girl gave a tiny squeak of fear, but he squeezed her hand. The air was dry, smelling of rabbitbrush and sage, as familiar to J’onn as the scents of the rainforest in Peru had been. But she stopped, breathing in as though her lungs would never be filled, staring up at the pearly sky, her mouth open, her ragged clothing shifting in the faint breeze. Tears glimmered on her cheeks, but she did not move to rub them away, only let them fall.

Over the lip of the mountain in the west, the sun started to rise, golden and warm.

~Fin~

~

The following are loose Kryptionese translations, I did my best with a limited dictionary and grammar rules I tried to learn in like 30 minutes so)

Ieiu - Mother Zha - No

Khap zha sem- I do not want (literally ‘want no I’)

eiahm sem rraop - I beg you (literally ‘beg you I’)

Voi- safe, secure, all right Voikirium - deliverer, rescuer, savior

[aion-rsa]

The 100 Season 7 Episode 10 Review: A Little Sacrifice

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This THE 100 review contains spoilers

The 100 Season 7 Episode 10

With every episode we watch, The 100 tussles with what its ultimate legacy be. A show where in the end, characters grow, move on, and fill their wounds with love and redemption? Or one where everyone is doomed to inevitable violence? Will Hope and Echo be able to turn toward their loved ones and heal from their respective ordeals, or will Hope become exactly what her mother tried to shield her from, while Echo commits an unnecessary Mt. Weather-level genocide in vengeance?

At least for tonight, the answer is toward love and hope, though that certainly seems to be the trend. The fact that we’re even discussing it certainly tips things in favor of the positive, as does the overall trajectory for the last season and a half. Raven’s rescue of Echo from herself was a much more earnest redemption for our favorite mechanic than the one on the death planet, and it had the benefit of re-grounding Echo back within her family circle on the show. Remember when their time on the ring mattered? Her choice to just throw love on Echo felt like a clear sign that the show is headed toward the light, one compounded by the sequence that followed.

All season we’ve been poised, waiting for a major character to actually die. It’s finally here and while it stings to see Diyoza go down like that, it feels completely perfect for her, and the show. After so much well-earned character development and a consistently excellent performance from Ivana Milicevic, she died much like Raven threatened to: by stepping in to make a real and loving sacrifice for someone she loved with her whole heart, saving them not only from immediate peril, but more importantly, from the darker path that those unretractable actions would inevitably lead toward. This feels like the kind of hopeful-dark ending The 100 could land on, where major characters die but in service to loving, character-driven ends and redemptive new beginnings.

It says a lot about the restraint the writers of The 100 showed in this episode that Clarke largely took a back seat, allowing Octavia to make the call about how to treat Leavitt, and only stepping in lightly to talk to Echo about her experience in Mt. Weather. While some fans gripe about any scene that isn’t focused exclusively on a very narrowly defined group of main characters (that frankly hasn’t applied for several seasons), Clarke and the episode were right to turn their attention toward “the three most dangerous women on this or any planet” – and the one she didn’t know about, Hope. For the majority of the Bardo storyline, this family forged on two tours through Penance is where this story’s heart needed to beat.

Perhaps the most successful aspects of the Sanctum plot are where it found its own emotional thrum: Indra existing as both a mother and warrior, and Murphy fumbling toward redemption as our favorite cockroach with a conscious. Gaia has often derided her mother’s lack of maternal instincts, which seems fair, and Octavia clearly got the better end of the deal due to timing.

But seeing Indra, who has spent so much time fearing Sheidheda and loathing her own parents’ choices at his blade, choose to sacrifice herself to save Madi, is a major turning point. It still feels like an authentically Grounder moment, to have Madi come streaming through the air to take out Sheidheda’s eye, without letting her unrealistically kill him solo (or spoil the fun of what I can only assume is a final team-up involving Indra and all of her daughter-figures.) However, with the sly nod to her people to fall in line, and by strategically using her power to spare Madi, Indra manages to help everyone live to fight another day so they can regroup.

Indra didn’t have to choose between being a warrior or a mother, doing the right thing or protecting her people. Of course not everyone can, but it certainly feels like every ounce of power, every bit of training, every skill Indra has ever mastered, was probably so that if she ever faced someone like Sheidheda, she’d have more options than her parents did: kneel or die. And she did it: she’s undaunted, and everyone’s still alive to fight another day.

The only detractor here is the filming style of the solo combat itself. In a season so thoroughly light on action, what a shame to film J.R. Bourne and Adina freakin’ Porter with ever-shifting angles. Did The 100 forget how to film action sequences? Aside from missing out on the sheer fun of watching would should have been epic, it took away from some of the emotional intensity of the scene to constantly be reorienting as the frame shifted nonsensically around the actors. The biggest emotional beats had no real room to breathe, allowing far more of this to spool out in reaction shots after the fact when it could have been baked into the heart of the fight and various capitulations.

Littered across the history of The 100 are obnoxious old white men who are very certain they know the secret to life, the universe and everything. Inside Cadogan’s Mt weather-esque lair everything is opulent, austere and euro-centric, down to the Rothko on the back all. But again and again, Gabriel is a welcome presence, pushing back against this very specific notion of nostalgia, intelligence and gentility.

Meanwhile, something similar plays out in the stone room, where jaded Grounder Niylah calls out how unoriginal and nonsensical Cadogan’s notion of a war to end all wars is. Jordan joins her, bridging the gap between Gabriel and Niylah. He makes perhaps the best use so far of his status as living rebuttal to violence while using his heritage – ethnic, but also familial – to call out the arrogance of Cadogan to assume he can translate an ancient text to mean the exact destructive end he would like it to.

For all the speechifying from Anders, he didn’t grab the bioweapon when he could have, he did the human, instinctual thing and went for his own neck. It was the calm, collected Diyoza who only ever had control of the entire room, who sacrificed herself to save her daughter from destruction and Penance and being stuck on Bardo. It’s Jordan’s knowledge, lovingly passed down from his father, that helps him see that the Bardoan text isn’t about war, but a test. It’s not Gabriel’s flaws for love – like how his desire to save Josephine was perverted into a sinister death cult – that make him like Cadogan, its his love of people like his grandmother whose water was turned off for the rich, or the people he fought with, that makes him human.

Cadogan bellows forward toward a possible war that isn’t in any way seeking him out, seemingly to satisfy his own curiosity and self-importance. It’s to settle the fate of humanity, and ultimately, will likely settle the final message of the show. Right now, it’s this juxtaposition between why different people engage in violence, and the daylight The 100 has created for themselves and their characters to allow them to turn away while still making hard choices with bad outcomes, that gives me hope.

Other notes…

Can we talk about how only Octavia and Indra have led Grounders with red blood? What a lineage! Y’all better recognize, Sheidheda

OK who gets more points for selling a goofy line, Sheidheda sneering “ai don fraug him up” (I killed him) or Miller punching “in other words, get the flock out of here”?

O saying “just hug me back, Miller” is kinda killing me

“This is Hope, my daughter. Time dilation’s a bitch.”

Every time Cadogan talks about Trigadeslang sticking around, it reminds me how little sense it makes that his daughter “invented” it, and how disrespectful it is as a writing choice.

Cadogan, sir, do you really learn from centuries ticking past if you don’t even live them?

“Good for the cult business though, am I right?” I like having Gabriel here to keep Cadogan honest

For the curious, Malachi Kom Sangedakru is Sheidheda’s real name. However, he didn’t say his own name in order in the lineage (he kept himself for last) so I still don’t know how much time – if any – there was between him and Lexa.

I’m excited for Murphy and Emori getting the faithful out, even if it put them in their crosshairs. But locking yourself in with the reactor seems also dangerous???

It’s rich to hear Clarke say there’s always another choice you can make vis a vis violence/genocide because uh Clarke usually doesn’t take the other choice. But sure! We’re all being better people now!

Wow, The 100 acknowledged that massacre-Bellamy existed! Just in time for the reveal that he is obviously very much alive. Truly a spicy episode all around.

The post The 100 Season 7 Episode 10 Review: A Little Sacrifice appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[booksbroadwaybbc]

How to get Paid to Build Self-Confidence: 3 Lessons Employment Taught me via /r/selfimprovement

How to get Paid to Build Self-Confidence: 3 Lessons Employment Taught me

“The man who says he can and the man who says he can’t are both right. Which one are you?” ~ Jimmy John’s Wall Ornament

This is a quote from a sign on the wall of where I work. When I am working, I feel it staring at me. The statement is so true. You can do whatever you believe you are capable of. Your ability is only limited by how confident you are in yourself. If you suffer from low-self confidence, have no worries, because confidence can be built. I know this from experiencing it build in myself.

Until I was 19 years old, I was an entitled brat, who loathed the idea of working a job. I feared the day my parents would force me to get a job. Little did I know, becoming employed was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

There were new experiences employment was waiting to share with me. By taking a leap of faith, exiting my comfort zone, I learned more about myself in 6 months than I did in the last 20 years.

I got my first job at Jimmy John’s. For those of you who are not familiar with it, Jimmy John’s is a franchise of small sandwich shops that are famous for their speedy production of gourmet sandwiches. The sandwiches start off as an 8 inch loaf of white french bread. Each sandwich is cut, lathered in mayo, topped with tomatoes, filled with lettuce, and covered with an assortment of meats and toppings all in under 30 seconds. It sounds simple, right? You would be surprised to know how stressful making a sandwich can be when you have a shop full of hungry customers, while juggling online and phone orders, all at once.

At one moment, you can have a steady stream of inshop customers. Piece of cake. But, moments later, you can be hammered with a relentless stream of online orders that come so fast and so often in addition to the inshop customers that you’d think there is a Jimmy God who enjoys watching you suffer.

That is only a slight exaggeration. For a new employee working a weekday lunch rush shift, this is what the first few months can feel like. But, it is a learning process. The more you experience the heat of the job, the more you get used to it. You actually begin to embrace it. This was the case for me.

This change in work ethic came about as the result of a change in mindset. In the past, I loathed having to do anything. There was no reason for this. I simply was lazy. But, by viewing my job as an opportunity to grow, I began to put intention into my work. Each task I had to do became an opportunity to be paid while testing my discipline and proficiency in completing a task.

Through this particular method of thought, I went from hating employment to believing it is a necessary part of personal growth. In the months I have been working at Jimmy John’s, I experienced a dramatic boost in self-confidence.

The 3 ways my confidence was boosted are:

Learning a skill

Interacting with new people

Belonging to a team

1. Learning a Skill

Being an employee at Jimmy John’s, there are a plethora of skills you must master to be as effective as possible. Considering sandwiches are the store’s primary source of revenue, the most important skill is efficiency of sandwich production. The faster we make a sandwich, the faster we can make the next one.

I believe, in order for you to fully understand how learning this skill made me more confident, you must understand exactly what the skill involves. Honestly, making sandwiches is not the hardest thing in the world to do. But, as a 20 year old with no prior experience, it was quite a hurdle. Keep this context in mind as you continue to read.

Before I could work, I had to pass the sandwich test. Jimmy John’s sells 19 different sandwiches, all of which I had to memorize. Fortunately for me, I was an expert in memorizing arbitrary facts due to my years of experience in school. I passed that on my first try and was ready to learn the sandwich making process.

There are three stages to the production of a sandwich:

Foundation Stage: In the first stage, the choice of bread is prepared. We offer three varieties of “bread”: french bread, wheat bread, and a lettuce wrap, called an unwich. Although nuanced, the type of bread determines the order of proceeding steps. Depending if the sandwich is a sub or a club, an appropriately placed cut is made into french bread. Subs are cut thin on the bottom while clubs are cut directly down the middle. For a standard sandwich, mayo, lettuce, and tomato are added in that order. The sandwich is then passed to the next stage.

Meat Stage: Depending on the sandwich chosen, one of 19 options, the appropriate meat and cheese is pulled and prepared for sandwich placement. Customers can personalize their sandwiches by adding or subtracting meats to their sandwich.

Meats are assorted in columns and rows on a refrigerated table. Corporate policy mandates that meats are pulled in descending column order, moving from left to right across rows.

Here is a visual example of pulling the meat for our biggest sandwich, The Gargantuan.

| 1. Vito | | 3. Turkey |

| 2. Roast Beef | | 4. Ham | | 5. Cheese |

(Vito is a mix of salami and spiced ham)

Wrapping Stage: This is the final stage, where the sandwich is wrapped and given to the customer. For the 3 different types of breads there are 3 different ways to wrap, respective to each type. French bread gets a standard wrap. Wheat bread is wrapped like a Christmas present. And, unwiches are first wrapped in a pouch that gives the formless lettuce wrap some structure, making it easier to eat. This wrap is then given the standard french bread wrap.

From this, you can see that I needed to learn how to:

make all 19 sandwiches

use kitchen tools

cut bread

spread mayo

pull meats from the table

wrap sandwiches

navigate around the table

find ingredients for restocking the table

On my first day, I came in 15 minutes early - in a manner of making a good first impression. In less than an hour of starting, I was on the table, making my first sandwich. I pulled the appropriate meat and placed it on the sandwich. That was not hard. But, the customer requested the sandwich be cut in half. Without any thought, I cupped my hand around the sandwich and proceeded to cut. To my dismay, my thumb was under the knife! I cut my thumb! At first, I was confused. I did not feel an ounce of pain. In a calm, composed tone, I spoke to the manager, asking him what I should do - as if my vital bodily fluids were not gushing down my hand and onto the sandwich; but, rather, I were asking him how his day was. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor and my coworkers were tending to my wound. I passed out! Less than an hour on the job and I already screwed up!

Despite making a fool of myself in front of people I did not know yet, I persevered and began training under my manager. The training process began with wrapping, then meats, and finally foundation.

I started off wrapping day-old bread. This was bread from the prior day’s bake that was too old to be used for sandwiches. We give it away for free to paying customers. I would wrap these before the expected 12 PM rushes. This gave me the ability to learn the wrapping skill without the pressuring time constraint of 30 second sandwiches. My first wrap was the most hideous thing I had ever seen. I did not understand the importance of bread placement on the sheet of wrapping paper. As such, there were angel wings(folds of paper) poking out of the edges of the wrap. I had not yet mastered the wrapping technique. It took me about a month to master this.

In my time working here, I have realized each employee’s wrap is different. Each wrap has a different personality relative to who wrapped it. This inspired me to have a sense of pride in my wraps. They are a projection of my priorities. For instance, if I hand out a half-assed wrap, it shows that I care little about my work - something both the managers and the customers notice.

Next came pulling meats. This is the easiest of the 3 stages. There are only two real difficulties with this position. The first being the meats sticking together. The meats are portioned in deli paper and stacked on top of each other. As a consequence, the meats like to stick to the paper above them. So, for instance, when you pull one portion of roast beef, you can accidentally pull the entire stack of portions out - requiring you to waste time fixing it. It can be a real pain in the ass, so I quickly learned the proper wrist action for effectively pulling the necessary portions of each type of meat.

Finally, I began learning the foundation process. This is by far the most difficult position in all of the shop. The person filling this position is aptly named the quarterback. The speed in which sandwiches are made is bottlenecked by the quarterback’s speed. There is a lot of stress associated with this position. As such, it is usually filled by a manager. But, that is not the case when I am working. I request to be in it.

At first, I consistently struggled with the foundation methods. There are certain techniques for cutting the bread and lathering the mayo that my wrists could not translate from thought to action. I knew what to do, but I lacked the coordination. This was a problem consistent practice solved. As I said, I requested this position on purpose.

After 4 months, I mastered the entire production process. I went from not being able to cut a sandwich in half to being one of the fastest sandwich makers in our shop. All it took was persistence. I came in each day ready to learn and be better.

From learning this skill, I found there to be two reasons why it helped me to develop a higher level of self-confidence.

The first reason came strictly from working the foundation stage. With the difficulty of this position, it became the biggest booster in my self-confidence. This is because I overcame my anxieties associated with the most complained about position in the shop. When I first started, I was overwhelmed with it. I thought too much and acted too little. I remember when a rush hit us out of nowhere, I just stood there paralyzed with anxiety, unsure of what to do!

Through persistence of practice, I overcame my anxieties and became more confident in my ability to handle this position.

The second reason came from learning the entire sandwich skill itself. This is because, in possessing this skill, I offered value to my coworkers. By possessing an ability that offers value to others, you earn a degree of esteem amongst your peers. This respect is not intrinsic to simply existing. It is something that can only be earned through offering value. Having earned the right to deserve respect, you naturally build confidence. This is because you successfully endured a time of trial and came out on top.

Lesson: The accomplishment of learning a skill boosts your confidence because you realize how competent you really are.

2. Interacting With Customers

If your job involves offering a service, you likely interact with many different people on a daily basis. Most of these people you would never interact with outside of your job. Depending on where you work, each interaction can be an opportunity to develop your social skills.

Take, for instance, manning a cash register. For me, this was scary at first. The interaction with strangers was something I rarely did. I was used to hiding in the comfort of my small, established social group. This group was small for a reason - I was afraid to talk to people! And, now I am being paid to do just that!

The Jimmy John’s business culture encourages employees to interact with customers. While this is primarily for building rapport with the clientele, I personally used it to improve my social skills.

In my experience as a cashier, I learned a lot about how to interact with new people. I started small, with barebones interactions of taking orders. As I became more comfortable, I moved on to having more in-depth conversations with customers.

These conversations started with simply asking how their day was. Some customers would give me vivid descriptions of their day, while others would give me unamused stares with no response. Depending on how disclosing the customer was, I was able to have full-on, interesting conversations with them. Some of these interactions grew to be relationships. When serving these customers, we refer to each other by our first names, shake hands when greeting each other, and take the time to keep up with each other’s life. After consistently being able to develop these relationships with customers, I smashed through my mental barriers - developing a higher level of self-confidence. But, how!? How could getting to know strangers boost my self-confidence? The answer is simple: experience.

My former self lacked social confidence because I never put my thoughts to the test. For instance, when trying to approach the attractive girl in my English class, all the potential ways I could approach her would run through my mind. But, I never acted upon any of them because I was unsure of which approach would to use. This was simply the result of lacking experience with people.

Being on the register, I had many opportunities to interact with attractive women. This meant I had to look them in the eyes and maintain composure. This was my chance to experiment. Simply maintaining eye contact was a huge jump for me. From there, I tried to start conversations with them while their orders were being made. Most of the time they were very responsive. It was all in my confidence. I learned how to give women a fun, interesting conversation full of many laughs.

The register forced me into shock growth because I had no other option but to interact with these women.

Lesson: The more you experiment with social interactions, the more confident you will be in them.

3. Belonging to a Team

When you belong to an organization, you belong to a team. Large teams of people working in unison can accomplish more than a team of one. As the team is bigger, too is the reward. While the reward is often materialistic in nature, the true reward comes from the sensation of achievement. This is what motivates a team to continue to win.

At Jimmy John’s, teamwork is the cornerstone of our success. Each team member has their own individual strengths that mute the weaknesses of others. We all have something to offer the team. In the instance of a new employee, not only do they have to learn the individual on-the-job skills, but they also have to learn to work with the team.

When I first started, I had no idea how my team operated. I would stand there watching the coordination of my new coworkers. There were six people making sandwiches on two tables. Drivers were moving back and forth from table to table, reading ticket items to prepare a bag for delivery. And, a cashier dancing from the cash register to the telephone, taking customers’ orders. At that point, I would not even consider myself part of the team. I had yet to be assimilated into the labor flow.

In time, I became another cog in the machine. My success became my team’s success. With each wave of hungry customers, we buckled down and tackled the challenge together. During the most difficult of times, as I could feel the stress in my own body, I could see the stress on each other’s face. We suffered together. We won together.

I primarily worked two positions. I am either manning the cash register or working the foundation stage of sandwich production. At the cash register, I am expected to communicate order details to the foundation worker, to pull the order ticket from the printer, and to hang it in front of the table workers. When I am working the foundation stage, I am expected to communicate sandwich details to the meat puller and wrapper who are down the table. If I am dealing with a delivery order, on top of communicating with the other table workers, I have to give a driver the order details so they can prepare a delivery bag..

Being a part of this team, I grew in confidence. This was because my team accepted me. They needed someone to hold a position while doing it at the best of their abilities. I was the guy for the job and they knew it. But, I knew I was capable of more.

As I learned the rhythms of the shop (expected rush times, ingredient preparation deadlines, and delivery truck days), I began to be more of a leader. I knew what needed to be done and where people should be as to make our operation as smooth as possible. At first, this leader role was self-appointed. This mostly consisted of telling my peers to man a position as myself and others were occupied. The managers eventually noticed my eagerness to play a bigger role in the shop. As such, they made me the designated authority when they are not around.

This skyrocketed my confidence because, not only did I think I was capable of success, but my team did as well.

From gaining this confidence, I have become a more assertive communicator. I have no issue telling others what I am thinking. The most difficult part of this was learning to not come off as an asshole. I did this by understanding to carefully consider the context of a situation and the states mind of those in it.

In the instance of JImmy John’s, we are employees of the store who come in each day to offer a service in return for money. We will do whatever is expected of us to get it. With that being said, each of us understands to respect authority and to perform a task, regardless of how we feel about it. This gives someone, such as myself, warrant to direct others to positions they need to fill.

Lesson: By being part of a team, you grow in confidence as a result of your teammates acknowledging your competence.

Conclusion:

The gradual change in my overall confidence was not fully realized until quite recently. Over the past few months, I have noticed a significant change in my behavior that are uncharacteristic of my former self.

This significant change was the development of assertiveness. No longer do I allow people to walk over me or what I believe in. I realized this when talking to my college friend John. He suffers from low self-confidence. As such, he was unable to stand up for himself when our friend group harassed him. John is a tender, caring guy who only wants only the best for those around him. He has an aura of innocence to him that broadcasts implied submissivity, which allows others to easily take advantage of him. He is the “nice guy”. This gave him no mode of defense when our peers would harass him.

The biggest issue was that none of them gave him positive attention. He would add to a conversation, but instead of being regarded, they would act like children and make fun of him. This can be considered friend talk but John did not view it as friendly. He struggled with having friends and this did not make it any easier.

When he would try to leave the group, they would add him back. After he told me about this, I stood up and called the cowards out. I do not care if I had to see these people for another 3 years. I told them what they were doing was cruel and unacceptable and that it needed to stop NOW. They proceeded with childish comments about me being “buthurt”. From this, I talked to John about why I do not care for these people and why he should not either. We both agreed it was childish and that we wanted no part in their charades. Having a strong figure to give him an example of assertiveness, John began his own journey in building his self-confidence. I know this because he likes to remind me of this situation and how it changed him.

In the past, I could not stand up for myself, let alone someone else. I owe my courage to the increased self-confidence that I gained through my experiences working at Jimmy John’s. From working here, I learned to make the most of my situations. With a growth mindset, I viewed each experience as an opportunity to be better. As a result, I was paid to become a stronger, more confident person.

TL;DR

Learning a skill: The accomplishment of learning a skill boosts your confidence because you realize how competent you really are.

Interacting with people: The more you experiment with social interactions, the more confident you will be in them.

Belonging to a team: By being part of a team, you grow in confidence as a result of your teammates acknowledging your competence.

Submitted August 08, 2018 at 05:21PM by gandamede via reddit https://ift.tt/2vsOweQ