#i fixate on words and turns of phrase and concepts a lot

[valtsv]

What did your old header say, something like “LATELY, IF I TRY, I CAN SEE AROUND BLIND CORNERS?” And what did it mean? Also, what is the meaning of your old header?

it did! it's a paraphrased line from one of my favourite fanfics, "sheherezade" by cher. it means exactly what it says. my new header, "a chain of wrists wrapped in a bracelet of teeth", is a creation of my own, and that's just me getting pretentious with the concept of biting the hand that feeds you.

[mogsk]

So I watched an anime called “Violet Evergarden” recently, the elevator pitch of which is basically “feral girl is taken in by military man, turned into a child soldier, military man dies, but not before telling her ‘I love you’, but she doesn’t know what that means, so after the war she becomes a ghostwriter with the ostensible aim of figuring out what ‘I love you’ means through other people’s expressions of love via letter-writing.

It’s a good little concept, and while I enjoyed it, it’s also stuck in my brain as being profoundly odd from a storytelling perspective.

Like, the initial premise is v strong, Violet’s driving objective is to understand the last thing she heard her father figure, “The Major”, say to her before she blacked out and woke up with no arms. She was a feral orphan child with little grasp of language or expression, and so she is burdened with not understanding what this very important person to her was trying to convey before they parted ways. Good shit.

And it seems to carry this fairly well at first. Each episode varies in how much it advances the central plot, but each boils down to Violet having to learn a lesson about how people express their feelings for each other, how they express love through words, or how they fail to do so, and so slowly she goes from only being able to produce very precise and terse letters which read more like military reports, to being able to swoop in and fix people’s interpersonal problems with the power of a well-dictated love note.

Where it kinda falls apart for me is about halfway through the series, where we see that Violet has more or less grown into her role as protagonist in an anime about the power of letter writing and the meaning of love (-ish). She’s gotten so good she’s tasked with facilitating one half of a romantic correspondence between the nobles of two nations whose relations are still tense after The War (which Violet fought in), and so have decided to arrange a marriage between their noble children -- a 14-year old girl and a 24-year old man.

Now up to that point, the messaging around the central theme felt odd, but it made sense, like, Violet is growing to understand love, and so how the show does this is by giving her a lot of weird and fraught situations around that theme: we have a woman who is in love with a man, but she wants to play hard to get which Violet ruins by writing a letter that just directly states ‘I have no feelings for you, please stop calling on me’. So then she goes to letter-writing school where one of her classmates has an alcoholic brother who she wants to express her love and thanks towards, but doesn’t know how to pierce the barrier of grief surrounding him due to the death of their parents in The War. 

It keeps on like this p consistently, the central question “What is love? What does someone mean when they say ‘I love you’?” is addressed fairly cleanly, but then, once the issue of Violet’s struggle with being able to convey people’s emotions becomes effectively resolved, we kinda start to leave the rails!

Back to the mid-point episode, so, through trying to properly convey this 14yo princess’ feelings, Violet learns what her true feelings are. No, it’s not that she is discontent with being forced to marry a man ten years older than her because, you see, they already secretly met at a royal party when she was, like...10?? And he found her crying and was, like, “Hey kid, you okay?” and that was the first genuine expression of human emotion outside of her dutiful maid she’d ever gotten. You see, what her discontent is is that she knows the man she met, with a heart so simple and pure he feels compelled to comfort a crying child, would never write these letters, and so Violet conspires with the prince’s ghostwriter to allow them to have a more honest correspondence (which is then reprinted in all the newspapers around both countries.)

What got me about this episode is how it, like, throws all these different narrative threads in the air around this central theme of “What is love?” -- the concept of arranged marriage, the idea of confusing appreciating someone’s kindness for having other feelings for them, the MAID who is, like, the princess’ closest friend and confidant, but who has to explain that, once she’s married off, they will have to part ways because she doesn’t serve the princess, she serves the royal family and there’s this great scene where the princess is weeping after she says that and the maid is like “I cannot accept that command, I will continue standing here right by your side” and it’s really intense!

But then...it all gets dropped in the interest of the final note being...yeah sometimes you have to marry a guy in his twenties when you’re just a teenager, but love’s just funny like that ig!

Which sounds ungenerous, and like, I wanted that to be the case, I wanted it to be setting up something, like, “Despite Violet gaining proficiency in letter writing, she still is struggling to understand the more nuanced dimensions of love and so her shortsightedness will come back round to bite her in the ass” (it does not, we even get a montage of all the people she’s helped including the newly married royal couple smiling happily at the camera.) 

We then get more episodes like this, where Violet’s done learning about Love and is now in effect teaching it to others. She does this by...sitting and looking pretty with a guy while they wait for a comet to go by, imitating a playwright’s dead daughter so he can be inspired to finish his play, and...writing a bunch of letters on behalf of a mother dying from anime mom disease, but who wants to be able to speak to her daughter as she grows up through a series of pre-written birthday letters.

And, like, in isolation, it’s all very moving! Each story has a very touching emotional drive to it, but it seems like the question of “What does ‘I love you’ mean?” p much falls to the wayside, even after we get the big 3/4s of the way through reveal that the Major is dead and Violet didn’t know! So we’re treated to flashbacks of their relationship, including the moment where he repeats that damning phrase!

But then we really don’t pick it back up again? It kinda superficially grows in relevance as we approach the conclusion, but it’s never again properly addressed until after a sudden spat of military drama breaks out with people trying to reignite The War and Violet suddenly having to put down her typewriter and pick up her combat knife, but now, for some reason, she refuses to kill people because...she isn’t just a tool?

And I think this is what ultimately frustrated me, is that those are two great themes “Discovering what it means to love” and “Can a person conditioned to fulfill a specific purpose ever be free to choose their own path?” but the problem is, the series really has centered itself on the former while kinda sorta implying the latter, but in the final scenes, we are suddenly given a resolution to the latter (which is basically Metal Gear Solid, “You are not your DNA”, “Just live Snake” that’s been done beautifully and with more thought already by, well, Metal Gear Solid) whereas the former, what was the entire driving force behind Violet’s character development is kinda sorta hand-waved off as “What is love? I still don’t think I know, but maybe that’s just how it is!” which is fucked up coming from someone who by the midway point is basically counselling or facilitating love between people!

So, like, I enjoyed it a lot, there were some great moments and the supporting cast, while mostly one-dimensional save for Violet herself, made for at least nice scenery, but I’m just so blown away by how they seemed to manage to forget (or ceased wanting) to tell the story they laid out in the beginning in favor of some p uniform military drama that suffered precisely because most of the series was dedicated to developing the central theme that it ultimately seemed to abandon, or perhaps came across as being burdened with having to carry into the conclusion.

Also it was super fixated on dads, like, The Major is basically Violet’s dad, his best buddy who goes on to hire Violet as a ghostwriter has a big reveal in the end that he’s been writing letters to his hypothetical future child, the sad dad playwright with the dead daughter -- I dunno what to do with all this besides the usual base level of suspicion I have for all dead-heavy content, but yeah!

There’s two movies, a side story from mid-way through the series and a sequel, and I feel like I almost have to watch them at some point, just so I can tie a neater bow on how I experienced this whole story, but yeah, Violet Evergarden, come for the cool metal typing hands, stay for the heartfelt explorations of what it means to love people, shift nervously in your seat when dads suddenly become involved!

[comrade-meow]

capitalocene: the profit motive will always get in the way of our collective humanity. the oil companies that profit from the destruction of the human ecology want to sacrifice human beings for more money. this is how the capitalist system works.

(via)

Harvard researchers chart evolution from denial to misdirection as House inquiry widens

The U.S. House of Representatives’ Oversight Committee earlier this month widened its inquiry into the oil industry’s role in fostering doubt about the role of fossil fuels in causing climate change. A letter from the panel to Darren Woods, ExxonMobil chief executive, said lawmakers were “concerned that to protect … profits, the industry has reportedly led a coordinated effort to spread disinformation to mislead the public and prevent crucial action to address climate change.” The Gazette spoke with Geoffrey Supran, a research fellow in the History of Science, who, together with Naomi Oreskes, the Henry Charles Lea Professor of the History of Science, published a series of studies in recent years, the most recent one in May, on the climate communications of ExxonMobil, one of the world’s biggest oil and gas companies.

Q&A

Geoffrey Supran

GAZETTE: Tell me about your research on the oil and gas industry’s role in spreading climate disinformation.

SUPRAN: In 2017, I and Naomi Oreskes published a series of three papers focused on what you might call traditional climate-science denial by ExxonMobil. Then, in May of this year, we shifted gears slightly, releasing a new study looking at the company’s more subtle forms of climate propaganda.

GAZETTE: What kinds of issues do you suspect the House committee will find?

SUPRAN: In 2017, our research was the first peer-reviewed analysis of ExxonMobil’s 40-year history of climate-change communications. And what we discovered was that there were systematic discrepancies between, on the one hand, what Exxon and ExxonMobil scientists said about climate-science privately and in academic circles, versus what Exxon, Mobil, and ExxonMobil said to the general public in The New York Times and elsewhere. That analysis showed that ExxonMobil misled the public about basic climate science and its implications. They did so by contributing quietly to climate science, and loudly to promoting doubt about that science.

Our work and others’ in that area provides evidence for the committee, demonstrating ExxonMobil’s long history of attacking science and scientists in order to undermine and delay climate action. Our more recent work, this May, is an evolution of that study in that it focuses on how, beyond outright disinformation, ExxonMobil has used language to subtly but systematically shape the way the public thinks about climate change, often in misleading ways. That study demonstrates how the company has selectively emphasized some terms and topics in public while consistently avoiding others.

The takeaway message across all of our work is that over and over, ExxonMobil has misled the public about climate change by telling the public one thing and then saying and doing the opposite behind closed doors. Our latest work shows that while their tactics have evolved from outright, blatant climate denial to more subtle forms of lobbying and propaganda, their end goal remains the same. And that’s to stop action on climate change.

GAZETTE:So according to your findings, within the walls of ExxonMobil there was never any doubt about climate science. Is that right?

SUPRAN: Right, there was never the undue doubt that they promoted in public. In fact, behind closed doors and in academic circles, Exxon has known that its products would likely cause dangerous global warming since at least the 1970s. By way of its trade association, the American Petroleum Institute, the oil industry as a whole has been on notice even longer — since the 1950s.

Naomi Oreskes (pictured) and Geoffrey Supran’s new study looks at ExxonMobil’s subtle forms of climate propaganda.

Rose Lincoln/Harvard file photo

GAZETTE:What was the most disturbing finding from this hard look at ExxonMobil’s communications?

SUPRAN: A key contribution of our work has been demonstrating the systematic and statistically significant bias of ExxonMobil’s public communications toward denial and delay. But the most uncomfortable realization is how subtle and systematic and increasingly sophisticated their propaganda has become.

In our most recent work, we’ve had to rely on statistical techniques from computational linguistics to uncover patterns of speech hiding in plain sight. These include a systematic fixation on consumer energy demand rather than on the fossil fuels that the company supplies and the systematic representation of climate change as a “risk” rather than a reality. These are subtle patterns that, we’ve now realized, have been systematically embedded into climate discourse by ExxonMobil and other fossil fuel interests.

That’s particularly discomforting, because when you start to pull back the curtain you see just how sophisticated the oil industry’s propaganda machine has been, how easily their rhetoric has snuck into people’s consciousness and biased the way the public thinks about this. Mobil’s vice president and pioneer of PR in the ’70s and ’80s literally talked about what he called “semantic infiltration.” He called it “the process whereby language does the dirty work of politics.” And he said that the first “general principle” of PR was to, quote, “grab the good words … while sticking your opponents with the bad ones.” Our research now shows that’s exactly what they’ve been up to for decades.

GAZETTE: Have the oil companies stopped outright denying climate change? The subtle approach you talk about, is that all they’re doing now?

SUPRAN: From the mid-2000s through to the 2010s, ExxonMobil and other fossil-fuel companies gradually “evolved” their language, in the words of one ExxonMobil manager, from blatant climate denial to these more subtle and insidious forms of delayism. Another ExxonMobil manager described the effort by former company chairman and chief executiveRex Tillerson in the mid-2000s as an effort to “carefully reset” the company’s profile on climate change so that it would be “more sustainable and less exposed.” They did so by drawing straight from the tobacco industry’s playbook of threading a very fine rhetorical needle, using language about climate change just strong enough to be able to deny that they haven’t warned the public, but weak enough to exculpate them from charges of having marketed a deadly product.

So while their outright denial has tapered off, their propaganda hasn’t stopped. It’s in fact shifted into high gear and is now operating with a sophistication that we’ve never seen before. In our recent study, I mentioned the rhetoric of risk and individualized responsibility, but we also identified systematic use of language indicative of other what we call “discourses of delay,” such as greenwashing, fossil-fuel solutionism, technological optimism, and so on. These are now pervasive in industry marketing and, in turn, in the ways that the public and policymakers think and talk about the climate crisis.

To give just one example, did you know that the very notion of a personal carbon footprint — a concept that’s completely ubiquitous in discussions about personal responsibility — was first popularized by BP as part of a £74 million per year marketing campaign between 2004 and 2006?

They’ve also upgraded their tactics, moving from print advertorials to digital advertorials and microtargeted social media. Digital advertorials are ads presented to appear in the style of newspapers online and made for the oil companies by the newspapers themselves. They are the direct digital descendant of the print advertorials that Mobil pioneered in the ’70s through the 2000s, in part with their climate messaging.

“The takeaway message across all of our work is that over and over, ExxonMobil has misled the public about climate change by telling the public one thing and then saying and doing the opposite behind closed doors.”

GAZETTE:Did we get a sense as to how this happens? Are there company memos about phrasing and language, that kind of thing? Or is it still opaque?

SUPRAN: Proving intent is generally nontrivial, but all signs point to “Yes.” In terms of outright climate denial, we have smoking-gun documents that lay out in black and white Exxon’s intentions from the ’80s and ’90s to, in their words, “emphasize the uncertainty,” “extend the science,” and so on. In terms of delayism, we know, for example, that in 1981, Mobil internally reviewed its PR campaigns from the previous decade and celebrated how their advertorials in The New York Times had allowed them to become part of what they called “the collective unconscious” of the nation, as not only the general population but the Times editorial board had begun to shift their opinions in line with the company’s views. As I mentioned, the pioneer of Mobil’s advertorials, Herb Schmertz, also talked a lot about their public-affairs principles.

Beyond that, we don’t yet have the smoking-gun strategy documents for delay equivalent to the ones for denial. This is speculation, but part of the reason that we see propaganda mirrored so closely between different companies and different industries is because much of the time they work with the same PR firms and ad agencies. And so it could be that those memos lie in the file cabinets of PR firms rather than the oil companies themselves. That’s why there are now campaigns to hold those PR agents to account as well.

GAZETTE:This is kind of a horrible question to ask, but were you ever, despite yourself, impressed with the strategy and its effectiveness?

SUPRAN: Through our research, it has gradually dawned on me and my colleagues how central to the invention and advancement of modern propaganda the oil and gas industry has been over the last century. For me, coming from a physics and engineering background and retraining to work in this discipline, it’s been eye-opening and humbling to realize how much of the way we think and talk about this crisis has been encouraged and embodied by fossil-fuel-industry propaganda.

So I do recognize just how effective this industry’s public-affairs tactics have been. They’ve certainly undermined public concern and action on this crisis for decades. For my entire lifetime, in fact, the climate denial and delay machine has been in full swing. I’m not sure if “marvel” is the right word, but I’m very cognizant of the fact that I am part of the climate-change generation, born into a society locked into fossil fuels not for want of scientific understanding or technology or policy know-how, but because of the greed and disinformation and lobbying of a small group of fossil-fuel interests and conservative billionaires.

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 5.3 (Bit 2) + Epilogue

From here | 5.2 Bit 1 | 5.2 Bit 2 | 5.2 Bit 3 | 5.3 Bit 1 | 5.3 Bit 2 + Epilogue

IT’S FINISHED!!!!!!!!!!!!

::dances around the room like a loon::

Finished before next Christmas! Woohoo!

This fic is my @tagsecretsanta​​​ fic for 2019 and it is for @scattergraph​​​ .

AND IT IS FINISHED!!!! 68,000 words! My longest Thunderbirds fic!

Many, many thanks for @onereyofstarlight​ who geeked out with me major league on this fic and helped me with research (oh, there was soooo much research for this fic - so much I plan to post about it all in a separate post once I’ve archived this monster) and reading through whatever I came up with and cheerleading :D Also, many thanks to @scribbles97​  @i-am-chidorixblossom​  and @vegetacide​ who also put up with all my crazy and wibblies and for reading through when I scream at random times ‘Does this work or it is crud?’ And, of course, to Thunderfam, who have taken this crazy whale fic on and cheered me to the finish line. Thank you alll sooo much ::hugs for everybody:: Yes, I’m a little excited. To start is fun, but to finish is ecstacy - I had that on my studio wall for a long time :D

Spoilers and warnings: A little Virgil/Kayo, a little Scott/Mel and a lot of brotherly fluff.

I hope you enjoy this last bit of the Kermadec Fic :D

-o-o-o-

Gordon had half expected Kayo’s call. Virgil had been fidgety all day. Scott had pulled Gordon aside at one point and expressed his concern, but there was nothing they could really do until Virgil made his move. Pushing him into anything would have gotten them nowhere. Virgil could be the most stubborn of them all. So, they sat back and waited, gave Virg his space and watched.

Trust Tin to kick his ass into shape.

From the moment Tin kissed Virgil it was a matter of countdown. Gordon had even dragged himself out of the pool, downed a coffee and poked Sam awake.

It wasn’t planned or conspired, just inevitable.

Sam guzzled a coffee beside him.

“You think he’ll talk to us.”

“I think he won’t have a choice. You don’t say ‘no’ to Kayo.”

“So, they’re a thing now?”

Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know he has a thing for her. He tries to hide these things but we’re family.” Which was why Gordon and the rest of the family knew there was something not right with the second eldest. He had been foggy, daydreaming and not-all-there since he had walked in so late this morning.

So, it was with both eagerness and a little dread that he stepped out onto Two’s runway, tablet in hand, and with a little hope that this could be the start of a healing process for his brother.

Tin was standing close with Virgil and Gordon’s heart warmed at the sight. His brother didn’t stand a hope.

That heart stuttered a moment later as his sister made her departure with those three words that implied possible death if Gordon didn’t look after his brother.

“Now, that’s a little scary.” And somewhat terrifying. Pranking Virgil from this point onwards may include having to cater to Kayo kicking his ass in retaliation.

He swallowed. Well, whatever made his bro happy.

Virgil straightened where he stood, determination in every line. “We need to talk.”

Gordon reflexively parroted his brother’s stance, his spine whipping to attention. Virgil may not be military, but his passion demanded respect.

“Then speak to me, bro.”

Virgil sighed and despite that determination, his shoulders shifted down a little. “I need information.” He turned to Sam. “Can you help me?”

“I can certainly try.” Sam had none of his usual bouncy enthusiasm. Something in Virgil’s agitation was communicating the seriousness of the situation.

“How do whales communicate?”

Sam opened his mouth and there began Whale Communication 101 with a minor in whale anatomy.

Sam was concise, but comprehensive. He’d obviously refreshed his knowledge overnight and even Gordon learnt a few new things.

They ended up perched on a circle of rocks under one of the palm trees, Virgil’s dark eyes fixated on Sam as he answered every question Virgil threw at him.

And there were many. How did their sonar work? What frequencies did humpback whales use to sing? What research has been done in this area? Had anyone been able to actually communicate before?

“No.” Sam’s voice was firm.

“Not even other musicians?” Virgil stared at him.

Sam shook his head. “They were all ignored.”

“What about using the right frequencies?”

Sam shook his head again. “You’re the first.” His friend bit his lip. “What is it like?”

There was suddenly a vulnerability in Virgil’s eyes that had Gordon wanting to stop this, stop this immediately, and he had to restrain himself. Virgil needed to talk it through.

“I…it’s…hard to describe.” An exasperated exhale. “In fact, that is the hardest of all of this. I can’t…express it. The colours, the shapes, the emotion…it’s all there, in my head, but I can’t articulate it, I can’t understand it, it’s just…a mess.”

Gordon’s eyes widened as Virgil waved a frustrated hand at nothing in particular, his focus drifting for just a second as his thoughts turned inward. The hand landed on his thigh and Gordon eyed those fingers as they desperately tapped out a beat on his brother’s jeans.

“Colours? Whales don’t see in colour. They don’t have the physical capability.” Sam’s eyes were as wide as Gordon’s, staring at Virgil.

His brother’s head snapped up. “Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t. They don’t have the required cone cells in their retinas. They see in monochrome.” Sam was leaning forward.

“No, they see colour.” Virgil’s eyes focussed inward again. “So many shades of blue, green, the hot pink of exuberance, the yellow of warm sunshine, the deep midnight of sadness, the rainbow of sunset on cooling skin, white of pain, grey of threat…the black of loss. So many colours.” Virgil turned away and looked out into the caldera a moment before turning back and pinning Sam with his eyes. “It’s in the sound. You have to listen to the music.” To Gordon’s astonishment, Virgil sung a handful of notes only to break off and frown, yet again in frustration. “But I can’t…!” Virgil’s hands balled into fists.

Sam was staring wild eyed. “You can understand them?”

“Yes! No! Hell, I don’t know!”

Gordon reached out and placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey, take a breath. We have time. We can work this out.”

Troubled brown eyes latched onto his. “It’s in my head, Gordy, and I can’t get it out. I can’t sing it, I can’t paint it, I can’t express it, I can’t even understand it! It’s just…argh!” He clutched at his face, his fingers tangling in his hair.

“Virgil!” Gordon grabbed his brother’s arms and gently pulled them away from his head. “We’ll work this out. You’re not alone.” He drew in a breath. “Never alone.”

To Gordon’s horror, tears glistened in Virgil’s eyes as he stared back at him. The whales suddenly became a threat to Gordon’s family and he had the urge to protect his big brother from whatever the hell it was they were doing to him.

A window into Scott’s world was never clearer.

But Virgil composed himself. Voice rough. “It’s okay, Gords.” A dragged in breath. “I’m okay.”

Gordon’s grip on Virgil’s wrists just got tighter. “Are you kidding me? You have the t-shirt, but that is total bullshit.”

“Gordon-“

“No. They’ve gotten into your head and good or bad we are going to work through this until you are ‘okay’, okay?”

Virgil sighed and looked down before frowning at him again. “How?”

Sam cut in and Gordon startled. He had almost forgotten his friend was there. “Talk to the whales.” Virgil’s eyes hit the man and Sam’s voice became pleading. “Explain it to them. Ask them. Learn from them. Get more information and we can work it out. The more information we have the better we can understand it.” Sam’s passion rose to the surface. “This is a massive breakthrough, Virgil. You can interpret another species language.”

“No, I can’t. That is the problem, Sam.”

His friend’s pale blue-green eyes didn’t back down. “Yes, you can. Partially at least. You’ve said the words yourself. You’ve labelled colours. You’ve spoken of emotions and intent. You are communicating, Virgil.” If it was possible, the intensity in Sam’s eyes just lit up more. “And they know it. They sought you out. They responded. They know you. You’ve made a connection.”

Gordon let Virgil’s wrists go and his brother dropped his hands in his lap. “Virg, we’ve got this. John is on it. We have the technology; we have Sam and Mel and you have all of us. We can do this. Give yourself the chance.”

Those brown eyes fixated back on Gordon and the vulnerability was back. Hell, Gordon would do anything to protect his brother. Anything. “We’ve got this, Virg. Trust me.”

“I do, Gords. Always have.”

“Then let’s do this.”

The familiar phrase rang between them and Virgil responded, his body straightening where he sat. Voice still rough. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

Scott stood on the end of the main balcony peering out towards Two’s runway at the three figures sitting under the palm trees.

He bit his lip.

Mel was still asleep on the lounger. He should have stayed with her, but he was edgy and worried about his brother.

Kayo had walked through the comms room sometime earlier and the expression on her face made it plain that Virgil was speaking to Gordon and Sam. A long due discussion.

His brother, the whale whisperer. The whole concept was ridiculous, but apparently a thing.

“What the hell?!”

Scott jumped and Mel rolled over and off the lounger she was lying on. Scott hurried over to help her up. “Alan!”

But the young astronaut ignored him, shooting up from where he was sitting on one of the couches and dashed to end of the balcony where Scott had been standing a moment before. His game console hung from one hand. “John, you are dead!”

“What?” John’s voice wafted up from the pool deck below. “What did I do?!”

“You strip mined my sun!”

“What? No, I didn’t. How do you strip mine a sun?”

“What’s going on?” Mel frowned up at him. She was adorably mussed and dopey looking. He couldn’t help but kiss her hair.

“Hey, Dimples. Focus.” She smiled up at him.

“Oh, okay.” So, he focussed on kissing her thoroughly.

Her hand fluttered against his shoulder a moment before he gained her full attention and…hmmm.

Another squawk of anger from his youngest brother. “A black hole?! You ignited a black hole! You asshole!”

“Alan!” Grandma’s voice stabbed in from below somewhere and snapped Scott out of his pre-occupation.

Mel grinned up at him as he pulled away in automated embarrassment.

“It’s not fair, Grandma, he cheated!”

“That does not excuse your language, young man. We have guests!”

“I did not cheat.”

Really, did they have to yell across levels?

“It’s a black hole, John! You sucked in my entire solar system. If you don’t stop it, you’re going to take out the whole damn galaxy!”

“Alan!” This time it was Scott admonishing him.

“It’s not fair!”

John’s voice was puzzled. “I didn’t do that.” A scuffle of shoes on concrete and the scrape of a lounger. “Hell, I didn’t do any of that. Alan, did you set off a supernova in sector seventeen?”

“Seventeen? I haven’t even been to seventeen.” Alan glared at his game console. “You’re in seventeen already?!”

“I was. A supernova obliterated my base.”

“Well, I didn’t do it.”

Scott bit back an emerging grin. Oh, shit.

“This is impossible.” It was distracted and a sure sign John was poking into code.

He let the grin out and gave it a countdown from five.

“Virgil!”

-o-o-o-

The discussion about whales came to an abrupt and yelling-infused end as Alan jumped on comms and gave his engineer brother a piece of his mind.

John was less exuberant and ever so curious as to how Virgil had managed to not only enter the game without either John or Alan noticing, but then catch up, overtake and obliterate, all within the rules.

Virgil was glad it wasn’t initially a visual signal and only Gordon and Sam got to see his smirk when he answered that it was ‘for him to know and his space brothers to find out’.

John would, no doubt, take that as a challenge.

Alan would probably just take a note out of Gordon’s book and stick jello in his bed sheets in revenge.

The arched eyebrow on Gordon’s face was amusing.

But most of all, at John and Alan’s expense, Virgil felt the pall lifting. It was a pall he hadn’t even been aware was there. Sure, he was tired and the whale song was frustrating, but it had been a good day.

It was the heavy conversation, the focus on the issue and the confusion in his head.

It was Christmas, for crying out loud.

Theoretically, he had just kicked both his space brothers’ butt at the game they were all so cocky over. Well, technically he had simply asked Eos to act in his stead. He had taken one look at the game on his tablet that afternoon on Raoul, worked out a basic strategy, then asked Eos to sneak in and execute it for him.

He hadn’t asked her to hide it from anyone. Just to not mention it unless someone asked.

Eos really did love a good game after all.

And it wasn’t cheating if he was just smart enough to appoint a proxy who could do the job for him.

He’d even asked Eos to backup the game as it was before she entered so the entire scenario could be saved for his brothers to tackle again once he and Eos had taught them a lesson.

Virgil was quite chuffed when it took John a whole fifteen minutes to decipher exactly what had happened.

“Virgil!”

His red-haired brother was glaring at him across the comms room, fit to blow a circuit. “You coerced Eos?!”

A shrug. “No? She was bored. Gave her something to do, that’s all.” He relaxed back against the lounge. Kay found an excuse to join him and he was ever so appreciative when her hand crept into his.

“Eos!”

“I don’t know what the problem is, John. It was fun.” She snorted. Apparently, their AI could snort. “It is what you programmed me to do, after all. Virgil asked and I agreed.”

John opened his mouth, but nothing further came out for a full five seconds. Then, determinedly at the ceiling. “We will be discussing this.”

“We will? I’m looking forward to it. You should see how easy it is to strip mine a sun. The amount of energy I gained was extremely efficient and it allowed me to advance at a pace neither of you seem to have achieved. I have also developed some real-world models that you might be interested in. Application would have to be postponed until interstellar transport has been achieved. Though I have some thoughts on that as well. I would be very interested in what you think of these equations.” A bunch of numbers and symbols appeared in the centre of the comms room. “I’m not sure the energy expenditure variable is viable, however we could leverage this with some assistance from our own sun.” And she kept throwing out ideas that widened John’s eyes enough to dry them out and send them bloodshot.

Eos stopped eventually, possibly sensing an imminent explosion from her father. John was glaring daggers at Virgil.

Virgil shrugged. “She enjoyed it.”

John’s expression was somewhat comical and it was enough to set off Alan, who burst into laughter. Gordon was grinning like a loon as was Scott and Virgil found himself joining them.

John glared at all of them before settling into one of the lounges, tablet still in hand with more amused disgruntlement than anger on his face.

Maybe Virgil had to worry about jello from John’s direction rather than Alan’s?

-o-o-o-

The evening meal was a relaxed one.

Scott dragged out the barbecue and a variety of meat was charred on its hotplate. Virgil stood up to cook, as that was usually his task, but Sam shoo-ed him away and after taking one look at what Scott was attempting to do with the food, kicked him off the Tracy grill as well.

They were all the better for it.

Salads, desserts and even a bowl of marshmallows found their way out onto the patio.

Good food and good company, it was a lovely night as the sun headed towards the horizon on the other side of the Island.

Virgil sat on the edge of conversation, willing to just watch his beloved family. His brothers who had done so much just to get him home. God, he loved them.

Scott sat with his arm around Mel more relaxed than he had seen him in months. Gordon had tinsel in his hair and was chasing Sherbet around the pool, apparently trying to decorate him, too. Alan had cornered Elspeth again and was chatting away a mile a minute. Regardless, she appeared fully invested in what he was saying.

John was glaring at his tablet, no doubt attempting to out thwart Eos. Now that would be the match of the millennium. Genius father versus AI daughter. Virgil had the urge to step back just in case something exploded.

And sitting beside him was Kay, who wasn’t interested in Wayne Rigby. Kay, who smiled at him with her beautiful green eyes.

Again, the song for that colour danced in his mind.

He squeezed her hand, rolled himself off his lounger and stumbled to his feet.

Oh, so elegant, Virgil. An internal sigh as every eye in the room targeted him.

“I’m fine.”

Scott grabbed a marshmallow and threw it at him.

It left a puff of icing sugar in the middle of his chest.

Gordon snorted and Alan giggled.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “The bathroom, guys, yeesh.” He turned and trundled himself back towards the house.

“Have fun!”

He didn’t even bother to turn around. “Hilarious, Gordon.”

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t bother to even acknowledge that.

He didn’t return to the party immediately. The ocean caught his eye and he had the irresistible need to climb down to the shore.

His brothers didn’t comment as he walked straight past them and down towards the huts, but he felt their eyes.

Really, he couldn’t blame them. He had scared them and then done a number with the whales. He owed them so much.

Something lodged in his throat and he had to swallow emotion.

His feet hit volcanic sand and sunk, grains slipping between his toes. The lagoon lapped gently at the edge of the beach. It was such a contrast to the roaring ocean of Oneraki on Raoul. There were no hot springs here, the Tracy Island volcano was long dead, thankfully. This beach was his beach. Volcanic sand marbled with coral sand and he traced the pattern with his toe.

There was a sound for sand and it was both beautiful and terrifying.

The colours were a kaleidoscope of meaning.

He let a breath out and raised his eyes towards the darkening horizon.

“Virgil?” Are you okay?

He closed his eyes.

Scott.

Another breath and he turned to face his brother. “No. I’m not. But I will be. I promise.” A half smile. “In the meantime, I’m thankful, grateful and ever so lucky. My family is more than I could ever ask for.”

That stopped his brother in his tracks and Virgil found himself smiling.

“Uh, John wanted me to give you this.” Scott held up a tablet.

John’s tablet.

John never let that out of his sight.

Scott approached and touched the device. A world globe appeared above it. Another twitch of fingers and it zoomed into the map far to the south of Tracy Island where a dot blinked. “John wanted you to know that he and Eos are tracking the mother and calf.” A swipe and Scott zoomed in even further, the tablet obviously connected to Five.

Sunset lit waves were interrupted by a spout of water and he watched as ever so far away, Mamma Whale took a breath followed by her daughter before dipping below the waves.

Virgil sucked in a breath and looked up at his brother.

Scott’s smile was soft but said everything.

God, he was ever so lucky.

Virgil turned away towards the lagoon and its gentle waters and blinked.

“Thank you.”

Scott didn’t answer, but a hand did land on his shoulder and Virgil took the opportunity to just exist beside his brother, on his beach with his family…

Here on Tracy Island.

-o-o-o-

  Epilogue: The Skipper

 It was late at night on Christmas Day and most of the family and their guests had retired to bed. Scott was intending on doing the same when he noticed light under the infirmary door.

Concerned that Virgil might be hiding something, he nudged the door open.

He was surprised to find Grandma staring at a hologram, her back to him.

“Grandma?”

She jumped. “Oh, Scott. Give me a heart attack why don’t you?”

The hologram disappeared.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned at her. His grandmother had been acting odd all day. Not obviously, but he knew his grandmother, something was worrying her.

To find her here, of all places, past midnight on Christmas Day…

“It’s nothing, dear. Just looking for some paracetamol for a bit of a headache.”

He stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. “Grandma, you are as bad at it as Virgil is.”

“At what?”

“Lying.”

“Scott Tracy, how dare you.”

He narrowed his frown. “Grandma…”

She glared at him for several seconds before his glare won out. Her shoulders dropped. “You are far too much like your father for your own good, Scott.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” When she still didn’t answer his initial question, he repeated it. “What is wrong, Grandma?”

She sighed. “It’s probably nothing.”

Why was she so reluctant? “Grandma…”

Another defiant glare, but she poked at the holographic controls. “This is between you and me or I’ll cook for you exclusively for the next three years, you hear me?”

“Yes, Grandma.” But his eyes were already tracking across the hologram. A mass of wriggly lines hovered in front of him. It reminded him of a seismograph readout or one of Alan’s games stats graphs he liked to show off. It meant about just as much to him as the latter.

It had Virgil ‘s name written above it.

He didn’t have to ask.

“I did a brainwave scan when I assessed Virgil yesterday. This was the result.” She pointed at the mess of lines. “I compared it to his last scan.” She poked the hologram again and another bunch of wiggly lines appeared beside the first. It meant little to him, but undoubtedly something to his medical grandmother.

“And?”

She eyed him a moment before prodding several of the lines to highlight them. “There are differences.”

“Fluctuations?”

“No. Differences. Something has changed.”

“What has changed?”

She didn’t answer immediately and he received the impression that she didn’t want to commit to answering. “Grandma, if this is something to be concerned about, I need to know. Virgil needs to know.”

She turned to look at him. “It may be nothing.”

“But it is bothering you.”

She sighed. “There are changes in both his delta and beta wave production.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not much.”

“Grandma!”

“Scott, changes can be perfectly normal.”

“Then why is this bothering you?”

“Because John sent me Eos’ research.” She swiped at the hologram again and Eos’ graph detailing the similarities between Virgil’s delta wave production and that of the binaural beat produced by the whale song. “The delta waves matched, which leads me to believe where it started, but look at the beta wave production before the whales and after.” She highlighted the data and Scott stared at it.

The changes were obvious.

“What does it mean?”

“I’m not a neural specialist, Scott.”

“Then why aren’t we sending him to one?”

“It may be nothing.”

“It is obviously something!”

“Scott. There is no sign of impairment.”

“Except he’s talking to whales!”

She held up her hands. “Calm down. It is minor.”

“It doesn’t look minor.”

“And this is exactly why I haven’t mentioned it. I need to do some further investigation before I alarm anyone.”

Too late.

She might as well have heard as she turned to look up at him. “Scott, trust me. I will investigate. I have contacts. I will be discreet.”

He stared at her. “Grandma…”

Her glare was firm. “Trust me.”

Why was everyone asking him to do that lately? It was so damn hard to give the reins to others.

Her hand landed on his arm. “I love him as much as you do.”

Damnit.

He deflated just a little. “I know.”

“I will ask some questions. The answers will let us know if we need to investigate further.”

Her hand squeezed his arm and her eyes held his that moment longer.

He had no choice. “Yes, Grandma.”

“I will keep you advised.”

“Thank you.” He held her eyes a moment longer and he saw the worry in their depths.

“Go to bed, Scott.” He felt her urge for him not to worry, but her lack of saying proved she knew she would be wasting her breath.

“Yes, Grandma.”

She squeezed his arm again before pulling him into a gentle hug. “It will be okay, honey.”

He bit his lip and held her. He closed his eyes for just a moment.

“Yes, Grandma.”

She let him go and gave him a nudge towards the door.

His fingers drifted over her arm. A glance at the blasted hologram and he turned and left.

Mel was smiling at him when he arrived in his room and for a few moments he lost himself in her embrace.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned up at him.

He smiled. “Nothing.”

Her fingers ran tracks through his hair and she challenged him with her eyes. “Dimples?”

He smiled again and took her lips with his own.

He didn’t want to talk.

At all.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[sneakerdoodle]

On Second Citadel and unity

It was interesting to me that, after making Junoverse a very poignant gender utopia (and general lgbt-utopia, too), Kabert went ahead and made their second storyline so heavily centered around bigotry and discrimination (dealing with topics of ableism, mysogyny, homophobia). now, obviosuly, Junoverse is not even remotely free of inequality, and as far as the mentioned topics are handled this utopia is not disability-friendly, with prosthetics not being readily available with no charge, which, like many other things, strips people of their autonomy, turns them into a rich man’s plaything. But here inequality is arguably explored from the point of exploitation of one human being by another, of abuse of power (interpersonal and social-scale). Whereas Second Citadel opens with an episode about two knights - a disabled one and a woman one - both of whom struggled for similar reasons, so there is supposedly little power imbalance here. And yet they do not see eye to eye, even more so, one of them furthers the other’s discrimination. We can speculate that that’s Sir Caroline’s effort to fit in - strengthen the sense of her hard-earned belonging by othering someone who never got that right to belong. Which doesn’t make it any less infuriating and damaging, but sets the tone of the story very well. There is no strong thriving off the weak. There are just people infinitely rejecting one another on the basis of their differences, often under the weight of their own rejection.

The topic of ostracization and discrimination is tackled in almost every arc of SC, but the idea of othering extends beyond it. The central conflict, the ongoing war is between monsters and humans - and while we’re more familiar with the human side of it, while we may learn more about the history of their conflict and who wronged whom first and worst, for now we’ve seen both humans and monsters express deep disgust for each other and one another’s way of living. And then the same happens on a smaller scale, within one species: we see the mutual disdain between Northerners and Southerners. Sir Caroline is different not only as a woman but as a foreigner; the Cinderclasp episode made it far too clear that the attitude to foreigners in the South is no better. 

And all of that unravels against the backdrop of pretty phrases about unity that get repeated over and over. “Strength in Unity”. “Two in unity, simple, strong”. I believe those are not instruments of irony, however, but keys to the central message, echoes of this societies’ past and - hopefully - foreshadowing of their future.

Sir Caroline twists the meaning of that unity in order to keep her authority:

ANGELO: Sir Caroline, I really don't think-- CAROLINE: What is the primary edict of our Citadel, Sir Angelo? ANGELO: Strength in unity. Of course. CAROLINE: And the sooner you all remember that, the safer humanity will be in these Northern Wilds. Hypocrites. The lot of you. Unified only when it’s convenient. No better than monsters in that way: greed governs all, and everyone just does what they want to get what they want. If you just listened to authority, real authority, you might actually be safe.

And that happens to highlight what unity is not: giving up one’s autonomy and approach and unique competence to fit into someone else’s model of desired reality. 

Here Damien’s words about perspectives come into play. However labored and uncomfortable they were, showing his inability to not fixate on what separates others from him, they are important as a piece of the meta puzzle: they make us think of inherent value of different experiences.

DAMIEN: My kind, kind friend. I agree that it is a shame that we cannot trust these men. They would be valuable allies, as Sir Caroline was – for moving through the world as she has, in a life quite different from ours, has clearly gifted her with ways of thinking that you and I would never come to. ANGELO: Very true, very true. DAMIEN: And so I am certain that given Marc’s...situation, he too must have a perspective of great value in our mission. But the simple fact is that he cannot be trusted.

The importance of these lines is backed up in Lady of the Lake, when Caroline is instructed to use specific characteristics of her subordinates and turn them into strength that would aid the mission. We are told over and over that true unity is in embracing our differences, valuing them and working together to make these differences work in everyone’s favour. 

There is something to be said about quite careless exploitation of Damien’s neurodivergency of course, but that is once again the warped verison of true unity, showing what unity is not, but also simultaneously giving us some idea of its potential. At the core, behind Sir Caroline’s personal errors, the message is kinder, broader. We are told again and again that the importance of the unqiue approach, unique way of thought, unique operation of our minds can enrich our shared experience and cooperation beyond measure.

So when later on Sir Caroline instead tries to suffocate any challenge to her authority, any alternative point of view, it comes as the biggest whiplash.

And of course, when discussing the monster-human antagonism in this vein, the Moonlit Hermit arc gives some truly invaluable material. Rilla and Arum’s interactions are strongly based on the differences of their approach to the world, with Rilla’s being a rational one and Arum operating on what can be called intuition, spiritual sense and probably instinct. He despises attempts to rationalize the free broad flow of the universal energy.

And what we see is two of them coming together, sharing their views of the world and finding something useful, fascinating, beautiful in the point of view that seemed so unthinkable before. That culminates in the truly breathtaking scene of their discussion of the nature of music, whether it’s magic or math:

RILLA: I mean..why can’t it be both? ARUM: Nonsense. RILLA: No, I mean...maybe that’s what makes music special. It uses these predictable scales and measures and combines them with some unpredictable, something-- ARUM: Magic. And what comes out isn’t really either. It’s...more.

“It’s more”. Can’t overstate how hard this hits. And the parallel between this theory and Rilla and Arum’s relationship is more than on the nose, proving to us once again that the idea of unifying our different experiences and perspectives as something incredibly valuable, something that creates something new, rich, priceless, that is more than just a sum of the two, is central to the narrative.

What is interesting to me in the Moonlit Hermit arc is the distinction that is made between the monsters and the humans. Humans are supposedly rational while monsters speak of magic and the Universe - what a fun narrative is that! Monstrous spirituality... And then later on we have Damien raging at his saint, yelling “It is only monsters who listen to their heart above all!” - but apparently it is not. 

The new season offered some helpful context to that, specifically - the Thought Stream. Obviously referencing the Tarot, it has four suites resembling the Minor Arcana while what can be called the Major Arcana is not a part of the deck usually but something that appears unpredictably (specifically: Olala’s card that does not belong to the Wilds, Wastes, Frosts or Mirrors suit). 

The four Tarot suits (Swords, Cups, Wands and Pentacles) represent different areas of our life, separated: Intellect, Emotion, Spirituality/Creativity and the Material. Mind, Heart, Spirit and Body.

The four suits also correspond with the four elements. And Water is the one corresponding with Heart, with our emotions. I do not think it to be a coincidence that Saint Damien - the one encouraging his follower to listen to his heart, teaching him tranquility i.e. not losing oneself in the stream of emotion, the one teaching how to let one’s heart guide not stir - has water and the waves as his symbol.

So if Damien is Heart, Rilla is definitely Mind: she is analytical, a determined problem solver. I believe Arum represents the Wands: the Spirit and the fire - and that it is a symbol connected to monsters’ society in general. 

Wands suit deals with passionate creation, with realizing one’s vision, bringing something into the world. That seems in line with the monstrous philosophy in general. They talk of one’s place decided by the Universe, they say one is justified in their actions as long as they truly do what they want, follow where their passion guides them. There is quite a bit of hypocrisy there as we can see in the Spiral Sage arc, the monster society may just be keeping the platitudes while giving in to the power of the strongest no matter the Universe’s place for the weak - but the ideal is still there, and it is one Arum seems to follow wholeheartedly. (Hence his interpretation of Damien seemingly abandoning his path as a lack of character.)

The same idea - one’s place in the Universe - is brought up again in the first part of “The Fool in the Garden of Death”, showing this belief spreads beyond monsters’ society, into the Western Wastes. None of the elements, be it Heart or Spirit, are strictly one species’; however, we’re dealing with different cultures and ways of life people are most accustomed to, prioritizing different aspects of life. And we’re being shown that maybe engaging with each other is what those cultures are supposed to do.

The Thought Stream’s deck is made up of four suits corresponding with four ends of the world, four parts of it. Where in Tarot we have aspects in Thought Stream we have places. This reinforces the concept of different aspects of life, different ways of approaching it, corresponding with specific societies. 

Each of the suits is given an identity, but all of them make up one deck.

After all, what’s one aspect of a being without all the rest? Reign of just one’s Mind, Heart, Spirit or Body - how long can it last before turning destructive?

True strength is in balance of different elements - in unity that recognizes the value of each of them.

I have a theory that the ideals of the Second Citadel are the forgotten and revamped mottos of the beings of Fort Terminus: “two in unity” being not two partners but two worlds, monster and human, coming together to create something that is more, something new and powerful and full of potential. Capable of building something as impressive as the Bridge. I also have a theory that the Bridge is a parallel to the Tower of Babel. Which brings us to the idea of a divided world unable to see past the differences between societies, and through that losing the power that unity used to give it.

Showing the world where difference is shunned and leads to ostracism, where people that come from different places fail to acknowledge each other’s humanity and refuse to embrace their differences, where two species fail to accept the other’s way of living and deny the enemy their humanity/monstrosity, the Second Citadel storyline is offering a greater value as an endgoal: embracing difference and diversity, seeing strength in what sets us apart from each other, and recognizing that we all complete one another, like the four aspects of our own being, like four pillars upon which the sky rests. Deny one single pillar’s importance and wait for it to come crashing down on you. It says: to know true strength, we should welcome any and all experience, all of the unique perspectives, celebrate the differences that make our shared existence so much richer and make us so much more capable to deal with challenges of life. Strength in unity - not in uniformity.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

As We Meet

$10 comission! @la-vide asked for Arthur first appearing in modern!reader’s home/first adjusting to the modern world. This came out to be 2,460 words and fun to write! This actually lingered in the back of my mind for a while, but this gave me an excuse to actually write it!

The sound of fumbling aroused you from a comfortable sleep. Though still dazed, you got up immediately. Your clock flashed 7 am, and you groaned in annoyance. Not how you wanted to wake up on your day off.

“Fucking cat.” You rasped, rubbing your bleary eyes as you padded over to your door. It was ajar, and you saw the little silver kitten dart into your room. “What’d you knock down this time?” You asked her, shooting Artemis a glare as she disappeared underneath your bed.

Yawning widely, you stepped out of your bedroom, expecting to see some sort of decoration knocked over. You’ve only had Artemis for a month and she seemed to be on a mission to destroy anything on high shelves, despite the large cat tree you’d bought when you first got her.

You rounded the corner to your living room, your eyes fixed on your carpet only to find nothing indicating any damage. However, what you saw instead caused you to freeze and slowly back up.

A man stood smack in the middle of your living room. Dressed in all black and facing away from you. Your heart thundered wildly in your chest, wondering if this man was a burglar, or worse. You knew some self defense, and hoped he was slower than you.

You regretted turning down your father’s offer about having a firearm.

You glanced around, hoping that you had anything that could be used as a weapon. Thankfully, a broken floor lamp sat in the corner and you grabbed it, silently thanking yourself that you hadn’t thrown it out yet.

Gripping the lamp hard, you whipped around the corner, ready to swing. The first thing your eye caught was the myriad of weapons decorating his upper torso and his waist, secondly, how broad he was.

He seemed to be alerted by your presence and he turned around immediately. His face was partially hidden by a worn black cowboy hat, and when you got a good look at him, something struck you as familiar.

His arms raised in the air in a sign of surrender. “Easy there…” he drawled in a deep voice, his accent strong.

Wait…

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” You demanded, tightening your grip.

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Jus’ tryin’ to figure out where I am.” He explained evenly and warily.

That voice…

“How about you get out then?” You growled, trying to keep yourself focused.

“Can you jus’ tell me where I am, ‘sides your house?” The man asked. He lifted his head, allowing you to see his face fully.

You dropped the lamp in surprise, the bar clattering awkwardly against the carpeted floor. “Arthur Morgan?!”

He frowned. “How do ya know me?”

You must be dreaming. There is no way in hell a video game character would be real, standing right in front of you. You pinched yourself, and held back a small hiss when the stinging pain made its presence. Okay, this was reality. You weren’t sure how to respond to him, every word failing to form coherent phrases. Your mouth made a couple of noises detached from your brain. “Are you real?” You managed to splutter out.

He gave you a look of confusion, and spread his arms out as if to answer you. “Last time I checked…”

You could only stare. Just last night you were sitting on your couch and playing Red Dead Redemption 2, running as Arthur through the cobblestone paths of Saint Denis. Now, that same Arthur stood in your living room. You wordlessly reached out to him, brushing your fingers against his arm. He flinched from your touch, but he was solid. His skin was warm.

“Ma’am,” he said, stepping back from you. “If you could kindly let me know where I am so I can get back home?”

Jesus Christ, he was really real. You pursed your lips and told him the name of your town and your state, only to see his confusion grow.

“Seems far from Lemoyne…” he murmured to himself, and looked around your house. “Ain’t never seen any house like this neither.” He paused when he looked at your TV. “That some fancy new mirror?”

“Uh,” you chewed your bottom lip, thinking of your next few words. You decided to avoid the question. “Do you remember how you got here?”

He looked at you again. “No. Last thing I remember is goin’ to bed. Next thing I know, I wake up on your floor.” He continued to look around the room, seemingly more intrigued by the modern technology. “You didn’t kidnap me, didja?”

“No!” You automatically answered.

“Well, ya know who I am. Can’t be a coincidence that I end up in some stranger’s home that knows my name.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“I…have heard of you,” you lied quickly. “But I don’t know why you’re here either. I promise I didn’t kidnap you.”

He stared at you with scrutiny for a moment, eyes traveling up and down your body. You were only wearing a tank top and shorts, and you felt naked under his gaze. Once he realized your discomfort, he turned his head away. Even in an awkward situation like this, he was respectful.

“I think I should get goin’, you gotta horse I could borrow or somethin’?” He asked, wandering over to a window and peered outside. You caught a glimpse of your car in the driveway, and he stepped back in confusion.”The hell is that?”

How could you explain to him that he was a video game character in the future? Hell, he wouldn’t understand the concept of a video game in the first place. “That’s…a car,” you said carefully. “No one uses horses to get around anymore.”

“Anymore?” He repeated, turning to look at you. “What do ya mean by that?”

“Arthur, what year do you think it is?”

“1899,” he said, though from his expression he seemed unsure. “Ain’t it?”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s 2019.”

“Two thousand…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought. He was silent for a moment, though the frown on his face deepened. “So…I somehow jumped 120 years in the future?”

“I…I think so.” You sighed, scratching your head in plain bewilderment. How in the world did this happen? Why did it happen?

Arthur seemed to be at a loss for words, the exasperated look on his face told you everything that he couldn’t form coherent words for. You weren’t sure what to say to him either.

The awkward silence was broken by the sound of your phone ringing from your bedroom, and Arthur jumped. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Relax,” you said calmly. “I’ll go get that. You don’t go anywhere.”

It was your workplace calling, asking you to come in due to being short staffed today. You were quick to lie; explaining that Artemis needed to go to the emergency vet, feigning concern in your voice as you did. In the middle of the conversation, some movement caught your eye, and you noticed Arthur stood awkwardly at your door.

You hung up, turning to catch his gaze. He seemed to be fixated on your phone. “What’s that contraption?”

“A cell phone,” you said, throwing it against your bed. “You okay?” you asked, noting the troubled look on his face.

He sighed, hanging his head slightly to remove his hat. You’d realized with a jolt that he was just as you designed him in your personal game. The initial shock of his sudden appearance caused you to not notice it previously. That short, slicked back hair was something you favored. It certainly looked much better in real life. “Jus’…worried, I guess. Dunno how to get back to my own time, if I even can.”

Your heart sank for him. As confused as you were, it was even more confusing for him. He technically didn’t exist in this world, so of course there would be nowhere for him to go. You could only hope that this was temporary, and whatever magic sent him here would send him back to the game.

Until then, he would need a place to stay. “Well…Arthur, you can stay here for the time being. I mean at least until you manage to get back.” You offered.

He looked at you, an intense stare from those bright blue eyes shining in the morning light. His lips twitched for a moment before he responded. “That ain’t necessary. I think I put you off enough by bein’ here.”

You shook your head in response. “It’s not your fault that you appeared in my living room. But since you’re here, you need a place to stay. I’m the only person you know so far.”

“Hardly,” He chuckled without humor. “I ain’t even know your name.”

You told him your name. “Better?” you said.

“Miss Y/N,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I still don’t-“

“Listen,” you interjected softly, stepping closer to him. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, you continued. “The world’s a lot bigger than much different than what you’re used to. I can promise you that you’ll be better off staying here with me. I don’t mind, really.”

He stared at you silently for a moment, and you kept your gaze even with his. The sunlight highlighted his features; the faint wrinkles and the scar on his chin, his cheeks and jawline decorated with faint stubble.

He certainly was nice to look at.

“I…’spose that would be best.” He finally agreed, looking around your bedroom.

You smiled at that, glad he didn’t put up an argument. A movement by your feet caught your attention, you glanced down to see Artemis had left her hiding spot, and was now rubbing against Arthur’s legs.

---

That night, you went to bed expecting Arthur to be gone by that morning. Instead he was sitting on your couch, writing something in his journal. One day turned into two, two to three, a few days to a week. Whatever had made Arthur come to your world showed no indication of sending him back.

And what an interesting week it’s been.

You first started by introducing Arthur to modern gadgets. His curiosity of everything reminded you of a little kid, though you had to remind him to be gentle with some things.

“So, this thing plays anything you want, whenever you want?” Arthur had asked, gesturing to the TV.

“Mostly. Although with cable, everything is set on a schedule,” you pressed the on button on the remote. The screen came to life, and the first thing shown was a particularly gory scene from The Walking Dead. “Check it out.”

Arthur’s face quickly turned to disgust. “The hell they doin’ to that poor feller?!”

You laughed at his response. “Don’t worry, it’s all fiction. It’s just a show. That blood is all fake. And that guy – he’s undead. They gotta kill him before he kills them.”

Arthur just shook his head. “And this is for entertainment?”

He as certainly intrigued by the microwave, in complete awe that food didn’t have to be cooked over an open fire anymore. You taught him how to use it, making sure he didn’t burn the place down whilst you were at work.

He also loved the shower, mesmerized by the mere concept of having hot water on demand. His first shower lasted around 45 minutes, and you had to pound on the door to tell him that hot water wasn’t free. He walked out wrapped in a towel, as you’d placed his clothes in the wash prior to him getting in.

“That was amazin’,” he sighed, running his hands through his wet hair. “Don’t get cold after sittin’ a while like a bath does.”

You looked at him from head to toe. You’ve seen him shirtless before, for those bath scenes. You had to staunch the sudden desire to reach out and touch that scarred chest.

“Hey, my clothes done yet?” he asked, unaware of your staring.

You blinked and nodded. “Yeah, come on.”

After a few days, it was apparent that he wouldn’t be going back anytime soon. You’d stopped by a local Tractor Supply to buy him some new clothes, instead of wearing the same outfit every day.

He once asked for your phone out of curiosity.

“What’s it called again?” he’d asked, staring at it in his hand.

“A smartphone. It can do a lot more than call people, that’s why it’s called that.” You said, reaching over to scroll through the pages of apps.

When your hand moved, Arthur tried it on his own. He tapped the screen rather hard, opening up the camera that had been set in selfie mode. He let out a small yelp and dropped it in surprise. “It turned into a mirror!”

You laughed, retrieving the phone from his lap. “Nah, it’s the camera.”

He stared at you incredulously. “You’re tellin’ me…that it’s also a camera? The hell else is it, a telegraph?”

“Actually, yeah. Kinda.” You said thoughtfully, watching his eyes widen even further.

Leaving him alone the first day was concerning, however. Though he swore up and down he wasn’t going to venture out, the thought still remained in the back of your mind. You ran down a list of things he could and could not do, as if he were a child staying home alone for the first time. You tried to keep your worries out of the way while working, though it was a prominent thought up until you drove home, and you let out a sigh of relief to find your house wasn’t burned down, nor was he out and about.

After the first week, you were getting used to coming home from work to him. Usually you would find him on the couch, scribbling something in his journal or watching something random on TV. During the second week, he began to cook you microwave meals that were ready for you once you stepped in the door.

You chatted with him over meals, learning a lot more about him than you ever have in the game. He was getting more comfortable with you as well, his hands brushing against you nonchalantly, sitting closer to you on the couch. Those lingering touches would send a flicker of heat to your face, though you had to tell yourself not to get too attached, in case you’d wake up to find him gone.

Before the third week mark, you’d gone to bed with him on your mind, a whirlwind of thoughts cycling back and forth. Somehow in these past few weeks, you’d realized you began to see him in a different light. You fell asleep with his face in your mind’s eye, leaning in for a kiss…

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 15

death awaits!

oh god the cover. I aint ready 

the cover of overlords open mouth w/rodimus floating inside or w/e,,,,the overlord mouth fixation continues i see

and of COURSE its by nick roche. of course

oh god the tension and dread in the first page, as we get overlords sinister promise to murder everyone, starting with rewind, and then seeing chromedome rush over to open the door, and knowing that 30 minutes have passed already...

that full page spread of everyone vs overlord is amazing

also I always thought that ambulon was trying to kick overlord but now that I look closer he’s actually jumping away from overlord, having just crashed one of those hover...thingys....into him...which is honestly cool as hell. also I'm never over the fact that ambulon kinda looks like he’s smiling here, just having a grand ole time as overlord tries his best to murder everyone

and chromedome just seeing this and saying ‘rewind?’ is fucking killing me thanks

PIPES NO DONT DO THIS. YOURE JUST RUBBING SALT IN THE WOUND. PLEASE don't talk about how much fun you're having on your wacky space adventure oh god, that’s just asking to be murdered,

GOD AND THERE HE GOES, DRIVING TO HIS DOOM. PIPES NO

AUGHHHHHHHHHH AND THERES OVERLORD WITH HIS GIANT FOOT. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

PIIIIIPES ;_; 

his messed up goodbye thoughts are brutal...plus the final shot of him laying all busted up....god :( 

that guy seriously had some awful luck this trip. rip lil guy

BUT he sounded the alarm!!! so good for him!! that's a pretty amazing final act right there

oh my god I forgot abt this scene where rewind is like ‘so brainstorm why is my husband saying your name in his sleep :))))’ and brainstorm is like ‘haha idk its certainly not because we’re working on a secret project together, so jot that down!’ lmao brainstorm....

also dw rewind brainstorm is not fucking ur husband, just look at his evidentially extensive collection of perceptor-style microscopes...my man is microscopesexual 

I forgot abt the metabomb omfg

‘some of my favorite words are monosyllabic’ rodimus ily, himbo of my heart,

fort max :( rung :( 

oughhghghg I forgot abt the scene of tailgate making cyclonus a new horn ;_; and then cyclonus materializes menacingly bc tg dared to volunteer their room for movie night hvbfshdjkfbaskj cyclonus anti-social icon

AUGHHHH GOD THE PANEL OF RATCHET TALKING ON THE COMMS AND OVERLORD IS JUST, RIGHT BEHIND HIM, WITH HIS BIG STUPID LIPS, OH MY GOD

what the fuck, is drift a flying car??? hello??? what the hell????

seriously he’s got like, rockets and shit, what the fuck

anyways, the entire exchange b/w ratchet and drift here kills me, for multiple reasons.... ‘my faith and my sword’ lmao love it. and then ratchet refusing to leave drift and calling him his friend ;_; aughhh

rodimus w/the squad like ‘lets go gays!!!’ 

also I guess cosmos WAS on the lost light lol, totally didn't remember that, I'm guessing he left at some point to go be in the other series lmao 

I'm sorry but ‘amazing. you speak entirely in name’ is so fucking funny, but also like stfu overlord you're not allowed to be funny

MAGNUSSSSSSSS

now I'm confusing myself lmao, rodimus DID know abt overlord, didn't he??? wasn't that the whole thing???? I don't remember if he was involved w/the whole mnemosurgery plan but he at least knew that overlord was there...but we haven't been told that in-story yet so now I'm questioning that lmao

oh god I forgot that overlord almost kills magnus, jeeeeesus. good thing he’s a russian nesting doll otherwise he probably would've died fr 

also damn that's gotta be scary for everyone else, bc magnus is The Big Guy, and a renown fighter...plus drift got all fucked up...yall are in for a bad time 

tailgate gettin his panic on I see

swerve w/the meta narration lmao 

cyclonus ily sm.......

rodimus charging at overlord....ohhh my boy not your best idea

cd and rewind both saying ‘I thought you were dead!’ HHHHHHHH I'm destroyed fuck it all

rodimus (inadvertently) saving the day by saying ‘til all are one’...iconic!!

FORT MAX IS HEREEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

drift just casually chillin w/no legs

chromedome going into extreme detail about all the mnemosurgery he’s been doing on overlord for WEEKS while rewind is Right There....my dude.

this issue has a LOT of completely white backgrounds but I cant even rlly blame milne bc this seems like more drawing work than usual

oh god cd don't say ‘we’ll finish this conversation later’ at a time like this, that’s never a good idea,

rewind no don't do it :( :( :( 

that panel of cd’s arm getting cut off...AUGHHH

GODDDDDDD IM FUCKING CRYING. AUGHHHHHHHHHHH I.....

so incredibly fucked that cd does what’s best for rewind by blowing the pod up....hhhhh god 

and then that last panel of cd laying on the ground....fucking destroy me!!!!!!!!

also I love that at the beginning of the issue we see whirl with the missile launcher thing, and that’s what cd uses at the end here....good bookends. jro is really great about putting stuff in the story that just seems like innocuous filler/fun character building but turns out to ALSO be plot relevant later

HOLY SHIT I forgot about the cast page with the big red X’s thru the dead people’s profiles....jesus christ 

AUGH this issue was a rollercoaster, phew...and the emotionally devastating conclusion to this arc is still yet to come! 

I will say that it’s super interesting looking back on this, in the sense that rewind & chromedome are introduced as the first ever gay tf couple, and a few issues after we get told this explicitly, rewind is killed. this doesn't really end up being an issue representation-wise bc literally everyone is gay and there are a bunch of other significant gay characters/relationships later on, AND rewind comes back later 

but still! it’s interesting to think about how, at the time this came out, the phrase/concept ‘bury your gays’ wasn't really something that was talked about a lot (or like, it was, but not as often as nowadays, and not really under the term ‘bury your gays’ iirc), but at the time of publication this would have fallen under that trope (though rewind coming back later negates it imo). I think it would've been tough for this story to come out nowadays due to the backlash that would've occurred from rewind’s initial death (it also makes me wonder if there was any backlash when this DID come out) 

to be clear, this isn't a writing criticism - in fact, the reason this is able to work at all is because of the crazy amount of representation mtmte has. it’s like, youre able to kill off gay characters without it being ‘bury your gays’ if literally all your characters are gay by default, and there are a bunch of significant gay relationships happening - technically speaking, any death in mtmte is bury your gays lmao 

this is a completely disjointed rant but my point is like, if this issue came out in 2020 people would probably be pretty put off by rewind dying (understandably), but in the context of the series as a whole I don't consider this to be bad writing/bad representation/bury your gays 

and like, WERE people really mad about this in 2013? I am curious now, bc I would definitely feel kinda betrayed if I didn't know all the stuff that happens later 

but its pretty nice, because now I'm free to enjoy the writing and be emotionally devastated by rewinds death in a normal way, and not a ‘I'm angry at the writers for killing off one of the only gay characters’ kinda way

anyways I'm tired as hell so I'm going to bed, ill continue the emotional devastation later, phew

[howiexperiencemusic]

cat heaven

honestly i’ve loved a lot of albums in my life. i’ve been fixated on musicians, songs and albums until one day i just simply move on. so my obsession with cat heaven isn’t entirely unfounded; but this album in particular, i’m completely enamored. i love everything about it, every song means the world to me and i just can’t stop playing them all. i’ve had phases with every single song at different times, i’ve also had phases where i just loop the album as a whole or i can’t stop playing a three-song run in it. it all makes sense to me and it’s one of the few things that does. this isn’t a review or a reaction, this is a scattered recollection of everything i’ve been through and how cat heaven says it all. it’s messy and scattered in a million directions so don’t expect perfect grammar and phrasing.

i initially came across roy about a year or so ago being a fan of enya, and finding out he was her boyfriend. i had the music video for happy recommended to me on youtube and once i finally gave in and clicked it, i saw myself on the screen. of course i cannot relate to the nitty gritty details of the lyrics, they’re just so personal, but i found those same feelings in myself. i heard his voice say everything on his mind in a way that was familiar yet new. it made me long for what i once felt but only the idea of it all. the sound was expansive, it took me up into the sky at night and crash-landed me into raw earth. the sound was so specific to myself i couldn’t help but pay attention.

over the course of the last year, my life has changed entirely. everything i’ve ever known got upended and destroyed, with no chance of getting it back. i’ve had to learn how adaptable i truly am, and explore my ability to land on my feet when nobody is there to tell me how. i had lived life before that was difficult but manageable. i had a life that wasn’t without challenge, but didn’t necessarily have a lot at risk. however, over the course of the year i had my home, my relationships, my finances, my life as i knew it, uprooted. and there was nothing i could have done and nothing i could do to ever get it back.

now, all that to say this album has been my soundtrack for it all. it would be disingenuous to say it was the only thing i listened to the entire time. of course, i listened to other artists throughout this time and found other things to obsess over (posts for those forthcoming), but this album was the definitive supreme over it all. when i look back at my twentieth trip around the sun, i will forever hear cat heaven being the soundtrack to it all. and for that, it has entered into the upper echelon of albums defining my life. and i am so appreciative of it. there isn’t a moment on this album that isn’t special to me in some way, whether it’s the quiet part during the bridge of thunder, the fuzzy awakening of grow up,or the triumph of hazel, a bittersweet anthem. it’s his searing honesty in the face of a world that had wronged him. he told his story regardless of who wanted to listen and it gives me chills to even think about how powerful that is.

when i say i’ve had a phase with every song here, i mean every. single. song. grow up is the perfect opener, it starts the album and every day when i wake up and press play, it begins my day in the same way. that song will forever be special to me because in a lot of ways it represents me waking up in a brand new life i can’t escape.

alex comes in like an energetic jolt of lightning. he quite literally says “i’m gonna lose my mind tonight, no one in the world is gonna stop me” it’s so empowered and positive, he doesn’t just promise to enjoy himself regardless, he threatens it. this song for me fills me with so much happiness it single-handedly got me out of bed and ready some days because it fueled me. alex is the song i want people to know if they want to get to know me.

family simmers at first, it’s lowkey and you almost miss it. he’s quiet and it’s ominous. he says “pain keeps growing taking over my life, i don’t really care it’s been like this for a long time” and you almost believe he doesn’t care until you hear the chorus and you hear how pissed he is. the chorus looks you in the eyes while it openly bleeds. this song was all i could hear during the darkest times in 2019. so many things wronged me this year. when i let the anger encompass me, i found solace in knowing someone else had my same fury.

perfume is the sugary delicacy i can’t stop eating. when i was streaming this song with my sister one time, she asked me “when he says ‘everything i do is for you’ who do you think of? since you’ve never been in love.” it was a read for sure and i laughed when she said it. but i told her that for me, when i hear him say that to someone, i think about how much nerve it takes to say that to someone, and how much courage i would need to ever put it into a song and i’m blown away. sometimes love songs are even more vulnerable than they appear on the surface. i aspire to love somebody so hard i forget the fear of expressing emotions. and when i hear that i don’t think of a boy, i think of a concept i may one day attain. it’s beautiful and pure.

thunder had to grow on me. thunder doesn’t go out of it’s way to be in your face like perfume or alex. it makes you wait for all of the best parts of it and it takes it’s time getting there. every second is pure quality and it’s perfect. he gives you time to think about everything he says and it’s important you do because he says it so perfectly. but once i heard it the way i needed to, i now regard it as one of my favorites on the entire album. it’s s u c h a good song and i am still in awe he had the emotional maturity to create it. it’s the perfect song to stare at the stars and listen to and if you haven’t done that yet, get on it!

jane is my current favorite on the album. it’s my most recent fixation and i listen to it for hours on end sometimes and just savor every second. the drums are so vocal and the guitar communicates such a specific feeling i can’t put it into words. the part that sits in my soul the most is when he says “the best thing about not having you around, i can finally be myself, think out loud. and the trees tall since i always look down.” it’s quietly bittersweet. it refuses to let you be completely happy or sad it just forces you to hear it for what it is. and the outro is just pure perfection it sets the scene for what’s to come and helps the album feel the way it does.

kansas is special to me because in the last year i’ve driven across the us twice and that songs feels e x a c t l y like middle america when you’re driving through it. there’s so many miles of nothingness and it’s lonely and beautiful all at the same time. the night sky is clear when you look up at it and there’s no noise. just miles of plains and you wonder how people live there. how people have to live in a town with 20 people in it. when you see a random house in the middle of nowhere and it looks abandoned and you just have to wonder what happened. so much wondering while wandering and kansas is the perfect song for it.

september is like a kindling of a smile on my face. it wraps me up in the feeling of home. home for me is no longer a place and now all i can do is hope that the feeling of home returns to me one day. when i listen to that song one day i hope i can mean what i feel. it’s slow-going and it has nowhere it needs to be other than right here. and all that to say it isn’t a happy song. it’s sad but resigned. and that’s exactly where i’m at too.

switchblade defines my time living in a place i wasn’t happy in. when i lived in that place i felt such anger at the world and i needed everyone who lived there to know i didn’t like them. roy spits out these words with such venom you know he still feels that same rage he felt from living there and i know it exactly. when he says “you don’t mean shit to me” i have vivid memories of me in the car yelling that to the world with him. it killed my throat to yell like that but it felt good. it matched the fury burning in me over an unfair world humbling me again. it’s so excellent.

in a broken world where everything turns it’s back on you, grand theft auto reminds you what’s important. he describes a series of things in his life that are broken or ineffective and doesn’t care because “you’re all i’ve got” he’s found his peace despite the fact that life isn’t what he wanted it to be. it’s wisdom.

california is everything to me. this year i left california and moved so far away. it was a circumstance completely out of my control. to hear this ballad about leaving california it means something completely different to me than it does to him. it makes me cry and miss california. “the sun rules on but the leaves got a hole in the center.” he says we need to slow it down. the song is sonically gorgeous but being born and raised in california, i know it’s my speed. the most bittersweet part of it all is that even if i were to return, it would never be the same.

hazel is also one of my absolute favorites on the whole album. it’s just the perfect ending. i’ll never forget my last month living in the place i hated. i listened to this song the whole month. it was a beacon of hope that i knew i was leaving behind the last person i had to cling to in life. it played when i left and i chose to put myself first for the first time in my life. while i still haven’t recovered from that, this song helps me so much in seeing how beautiful life is. it reminds me to look at myself and my choices and love who i am. even if i don’t think i deserve such reverence. “nights in the rv, i won’t remember, rides in your car seat i won’t forget” is just the most perfect line. “the times where i thought it was love, were just peaks. a mountain a month between terrible weeks.” chills. lyrically and sonically he pulls out the stops and it’s stark and stunning. even the part that says “just stay forever,” like he knows it’s impossible but it’s still what he wants. if my life were a movie, the moment i died this would be the first song in the credits. the end is once again immaculate. he closes the album with an audio clip and the last thing you hear is a door closing, when you know the ride you just went on this whole album is over. but before that he winds down and it gives you time to breathe and take in everything he just took you through. you can’t make out the sounds in the closing portion, you hear voices but it’s almost like they’re coming from down the hallway and you’re speeding through your life too fast to focus on just one sound. you hear everything. there’s an overwhelming comforting loneliness. and that’s where he leaves us off at.

this is not a review, this isn’t supposed to make sense. it’s scattered and raw and my stream of consciousness while hearing the album i’ve listened to more than anything else. to an album that understands when i find out once again life isn’t fair and doesn’t owe me anything. there are few things in life that can get me to shut the fuck up and just listen. music has the capacity to do that for me but when it can make me cry just by hearing it, when it narrates my life, there is something special about it. i am so appreciative it came to me in this time and i am even more appreciative of the fact that i got through some really hard times with this comforting me. i can only speak for myself but if i’m the only person on this earth who loves this album like this that makes it worth it. and one day i hope i can make something so powerful.

cat heaven forever

[eyeodyssey]

I Saw Godzilla: King Of The Monsters (Mild Spoiler Warning)

While I consider myself an anti-commercial socialist, I do have an overtly specific Achilles heel when it comes to Japanese men dressed in monster suits that actively slow cook them like the models of cityscapes that they destroy on a daily basis. One moment I’m having a borderline Marxist inner-monologue on the nature of capital and humanity, and just a few minutes after that I’m worshipping a shelf full of vinyl Kaiju figurines while debating whether or not I should buy a figurine of Ultraman’s avant-gardism themed monster DaDa. You could call it selective hypocrisy, I just think they’re pretty neat. I’m generally selective on which films I go to see in the theater, I’m introverted to the extent that in some cases I’m too nervous to even comprehend the basic concept of a ticket line (late apologies to the people at the screening of Stalker at the Midtown Art Cinema that I unknowingly cut through like a socially awkward wind-up toy robot). My main track record is in art film screenings, the types where just about everyone in the theater are fellow introverts who are in the process of actively recharging as the film plays. Like I said earlier though, Godzilla is my selective hypocrisy. My experience with action films, especially a modern one in the theater, is practically nonexistent. Being that I was seeing this film with several friends, I chose to view it as a Gonzoesque observational probing into a personally unventured corner of the film world.

A drawing of Godzilla that I made when I was 5. The first time I technically heard of Godzilla: King Of The Monsters was on a film set. One of the actors and I were discussing the possibility of doing a no-budget comedy featurette, and he mentioned his on-camera role in the upcoming Godzilla: King Of The Monsters (this was 2017, mind you). He was the type to brag about the many film roles he had that seemed to never exist on any film database and he mentioned this role as being a top-secret job. Phantom filmography aside, we eventually cut ties and left the film project in limbo once it turned out he was a hard right extremist with a borderline Ballardian fixation for guns. Much like Ballard's interest in cars, he was fully enthralled with their designs, functions in the act of killing and the abstracted words and phrases associated with them. Having seen Godzilla: King Of The Monsters I can say that his character acting must be so complex that you’d never recognize him (which is a lot to say since he was a face you wouldn't miss). Either that or he just wasn’t in the film. Another one for the nonexistent database. I will give Godzilla: King Of The Monsters credit for opening on a strangely experimental note with its (presumably) 30-minute long pre-title sequence that they chose to start playing before people even entered the theater. This 30-minute opening is comprised solely of short film vignettes that are 20 seconds and under that all have the connecting theme of being explicitly related to a product or brand. The editing for each short in this sequence is notably fast-paced, bordering on whiplash-inducing. It became clear that these shorts were all edited by different directors, the short film that paraded itself as a Terminator sequel (going by the name of Terminator: Dark Fate) was obviously made by a high school student. The longest short of the opening was one related to the theater itself (presumably a different opening of the film is specially edited for each theater) that features glossy montages of families and couples enjoying the cinema while giving instructions for the moviegoing experience, one of which being “If something unexpected happens, exit the theater and move as far away as you can, and don't look back”. Leave it to Godzilla: King Of The Monsters to feature an allusion to the myth of Orpheus. Godzilla is back with his usual antics of shoving King Ghidorah in the locker, Rodan happens to exist, and Mothra is the mom of the group with the burden of having to wake Godzilla up in the morning so he can get to shoving Ghidorah in the locker. As this happens the film undergoes a steadying infection of a parasitic entity that commonly manifests itself as the collective personalities of a leading group of characters that most closely resemble a human family. This entity is mainly considered parasitic in its ability to manifest and hijack any sort of mainstream genre film with no seeming bias on the film’s subject matter. Continuing the theme of unnatural occurrences, all the backing characters were comprised of G.I. Joe figurines that were possessed by the embodied spirits of their Saturday morning cartoon counterparts. Amidst all these oddities however, Godzilla’s greatest challenge is keeping the attention of his audience. It’s said that you can escape dying by not looking directly into the light that you see while drifting off. In that regard the audience of an action film can be seen as a get-out-of the inevitable unknown free card practice round. It’s tough as a more eagle-eyed viewer to not look at the glaring lights of the iPhones of the two people in the row directly in front of you, but I’ve gotta survive my eventual first devastating accident somehow. Hideaki Anno already took care of reviving the bleak realism of the original 50s film, so in this case I was wholly expecting a monster brawler like the 60s and 70s films. The film sorta builds itself up to be like the American version of Destroy All Monsters with the promise of (if I recall correctly) 17 kaiju duking it out, but it eventually cops out where it only shows 7 of them, 3 of which being originals to the film that are on par with the weekly villains from the Hanna Barbara Godzilla cartoon. Rodan especially got the short end of the stick, he's the first instance I've seen of a kaiju reduced to a villain's henchman from a martial arts flick. He kicked the bucket just about as quickly as one too. Godzilla: King Of The Monsters is the most transparent film you get in the franchise with its reliance on the viewer buying more tickets to see the other films of the monster universe to get the full picture. They've already got a Godzilla VS King Kong remake scheduled. Legendary Pictures are essentially calling the Marvel shared universe over to meet their newest playmate in the box office. I’ll conclude on saying that Warner Brothers really missed their window on doing a gritty cinematic adaption of Godzilla’s Gigan character with Hellraiser's Clive Barker behind the director’s chair. It’s obvious that Gigan is the hardcore body modification nut of the Kaiju world. Call it a stretch but I’d hazard a guess to say that no animal is naturally born with a saw blade coming from their chest and a mohawk made of cast iron.

[educationbyralphwaldoemerson654]

samedayessay

About me

How To Write An Essay

How To Write An Essay The simple reply is that our academic system has led us to believe that there’s just one way to write an essay. That’s not true, in fact, and I’m right here to let you know that it’s attainable to put in writing essays that readers will genuinely need to read. It is a tough draft of what your paper should be like. An essay outlinehelps simplify the writing process as you could have the ideas to incorporate in your article. Verbs energy your writing like the engine pulls along a locomotive. Strong, vivid, energetic verbs inject desperately wanted vitality into essay writing. We are inclined to restrict artistic verb selection to creative writing — narrative and descriptive items. And essays, the place the verbs are typically the tasteless, passive kind, cry out for creative, evocative, action verbs. Remember that your time is proscribed and you may’t afford to spend so much of time doing analysis to seek out enough material for writing on an uncommon or a uncommon topic. It’s one of the simplest ways to pick a topic that lots of earlier analysis has been accomplished on it. However, if you're blessed with the ability to write immaculately and at speed, you might not need this lengthy to edit your essay. If so, allow yourself slightly extra time after dinner to finish writing your essay. We wouldn't suggest writing an essay in such a short time frame, however the good news is that 3,000 phrases in a day is totally doable. Get your head down and you would meet the deadline, and even produce an essay you might be pleased with. Regardless of how rigorously you propose your academic research, you should still be confronted with a necessity to write down a big paper in only one evening. Writing a ten-page essay overnight is nothing supernatural. It’s too exhausting to fake ardour, and good writing all the time springs from sincerity. It could also be obvious, however which means you received’t ever write good essays when you don’t care about stuff. What concepts distract you from your every day duties? So why is it, after we think of an essay, that we consider 5-paragraphs of formulaic blandness? You can do it should you correctly arrange your working course of. Another common mistake amongst beginner writers is writing overly advanced sentences in an try to “sound” more authoritative. The blinking cursor of a blank page is a considerable foe, even for the most skilled writers. Before putting pen to proverbial paper, sketch out an overview of what you propose to write down. This shall be your battle plan, and it'll assist you to win the warfare. Sometimes, research paper subjects are assigned to students but the best situation is if you end up allowed to pick your topic. In this case, you can use brainstorming or thoughts-mapping techniques to give you a good matter that is relevant to your assignment tips and that you just’re interested in writing about. The key to success is to decide on a topic that is as broad as possible. Do they use pop culture references to make their work entertaining and helpful? The greatest writers are additionally eager readers, and studying on a regular basis is a straightforward method to begin developing your writing abilities. I don’t simply mean blog posts, both – diversify your reading material. Expand your horizons to more difficult material than you sometimes learn, and pay attention to sentence structure, word alternative, and how the material flows. It's no surprise we have turn into the leading free term paper and student resource middle for college students since 1999. Minimize “be” verbs and keep away from passive constructions until they are necessary. Fixate on verbs and watch how your writing comes alive. If you don’t care about your topic, your reader received’t either. As with any rule, there are exceptions, however broadly speaking, essay writing and tutorial writing calls for paragraphs in the word vary. You need to reread your tutorial paper and be sure that it's on the point. It will take as much time as fixing your grammar and spelling errors. You will need to verify the logic and the flow of your piece of writing and make enhancements to ensure that your paper is properly-organized and that there are logical transitions between your paragraphs. Very few – and I do mean very few – writers sit down to put in writing anything and not using a solid plan in mind. Just as you most likely have a listing of blogs you learn often, you’ll likely additionally learn the same writers regularly. Identify what it is you enjoy about their work, and see if you should use it to enhance your writing skills. Does a writer you like use humor to spice up dry matters?

[essayonrobot169]

essay writing service

About me

Choosing Essay Writers

Choosing Essay Writers The easy answer is that our educational system has led us to imagine that there’s just one way to write an essay. That’s not true, in fact, and I’m right here to let you know that it’s potential to write essays that readers will genuinely wish to read. I learn essays usually, and I don’t simply mean the lots of of highschool papers I learn in my role as an English trainer. On average, nevertheless, a one thousand-word essay would take 2–four pages relying on the spacing pointers. That is the distinction between somebody who WANTS to write down, and someone who DOES write. The person who FINDS the time is the one who's going to turn into a author. I didn’t write very a lot whereas I was at school as a result of I had too much homework/social life. At the identical time, higher education has been reworked into an trade, another sphere of financial activity the place items and services are purchased and bought. By this logic, a student who pays a fair market price for it has earned no matter grade it brings. The shrewd shopper, it appears, invests the least time and effort necessary to get the goods. I then write quotations which shall be useful for my analysis around the bubble. Meet all of your essay deadlines with the assistance of our skilled writers. Following your professor or teacher’s favourite essay format is very important. Let’s say a high school senior is applying for school. For a college software, they have to write a one thousand-word essay on a topic. The scholar uses a word counter to keep monitor of the variety of words and pages. The page depend depends on the college’s necessities relating to font size and type, margins, and spacing. In some circumstances, pupil's are required to write their college utility essays by hand. In that instance, the variety of phrases per web page, and the variety of pages for the total amount of a thousand phrases depends on the scholar’s handwriting. There isn't any shame in waiting on the writing thing till you could have extra time. Introductions are often the hardest part to put in writing since you’re attempting to summarize your entire essay before you’ve even written it yet. Instead, strive writing your introduction final, giving your self the body of the paper to figure out the main level of your essay. Honestly, all through most of high school and college, I was a mediocre essay writer. Fixate on verbs and watch how your writing comes alive. If you don’t care about your matter, your reader won’t both. It’s too exhausting to pretend passion, and good writing all the time springs from sincerity. It may be apparent, however this means that you received’t ever write good essays if you don’t care about stuff. You must have areas of interest that matter to you. What ideas distract you from your every day responsibilities? So why is it, once we consider an essay, that we consider 5-paragraphs of formulaic blandness? Lewis, G.K. Chesterton and countless others have had a strong, life-long impact on my thinking and worldview. A good essay not only makes you suppose, but can provoke you to laughter, tears, even wrath. The greatest are also superbly crafted works of literary artwork. Don’t worry should you’re caught at first – jot down a few concepts anyway and likelihood is the rest will follow. I find it best to make a thoughts map, with every new ‘bubble’ representing one of my primary paragraphs.

[enygmass]

As the former collections manager of an Edgar Allan Poe museum, I can't resist. "Berenice," with dealer's choice of characters.

Me @ myself: damn

[Um ok this got a bit long, like 1941 words long, but it’s Scriddler and I hope you’re ok w that bc I gotta get back to writing my boys. Well. I guess you can say mentions of Scriddler, but nothing solid. Also a bit dark on the relationship part.]

Berenice: loss, fixation, memory.

[ But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. ]

                                                                1              

Often when one enters a career that binds them to work until the early hours of the morning, when the sun is tentatively peering its head up from the horizon and the city lights are fading away as an indicator to the people to wake up, they know better than to get expectations. When this career further includes activities that many would deem dangerous, or immoral, these expectations are further to be limited. The only expectation a criminal can have is the expectation that they will be inevitably caught. They cannot even anticipate success; if you do, you gain a large ego, and this is how you collapse.

Jonathan knew of a man who had begun to anticipate his success. Yes, he knew of this man quite intimately; he had spoken through bars to him and had been forced to share showers. Often when you share showers with someone that’s about the time you stop trying to be shy around each-other. There is nothing sacred when you’re both inmates at the exact same institution. Even when you try to hold your tongue from others, the walls whispered for you.

His first memory of this man was their initial encounter, not in Arkham, but crossing paths at a bookstore long before they became what they were now. He had been vibrant but irritable, turning the corners without looking and practically causing Jonathan to lose the stack of important novels that he intended to take home and hunch over for the evening. He had offered no apology and nor had Jonathan. They had exchanged a mutual blank stare as Jonathan readjusted the stack and pushed his glasses up, before they moved past each other and to their intended locations. He had failed to see him coming, but what he had not failed was to note the novel the man held in his hand as he passed; ‘The Fall of the Human Intellect’ by A. Parthasarathy. Both controversial and conceptual. A unique taste.

The second memory of the man was quite a time later, long after Jonathan had grown settled into the routine of chemicals and testing versus educating and grading. Late evening hours had become his equivalent of day time, and he had found himself frequenting renown locations of Underworld dwellers to generate some sort of interest in funding what he desired to create. He had a name by then; The Scarecrow was no longer associated with the figure in the cornfield. By now, people were thinking of gaseous substances and their rooted terror when the name was uttered. This was how he had found himself located at the Iceberg Lounge. If there was one man who liked things that could benefit him, it was Oswald Cobblepot.

Oswald Cobblepot, however, was preoccupied with another client and Jonathan had been subsequently forced to sit outside on some excuse of a chair to wait. He had discarded his now typical attire for something more casual, but a briefcase was gripped in his hand. Some things never change when you move from Professor to Rogue. The sound of the door opening, followed by the chatter of two men of which one he knew, had broken away the train of thought in return for attentiveness. There had been no anticipation, however, of seeing who he saw with Cobblepot that night. In fact, the last time Jonathan had recalled seeing him, they had nearly collided with one another at a dingy bookstore on the corner of Cherry Street. The man had recognized him as well, given the sly smile that had broken upon his face mere seconds after exiting the room.  

The approach had been long and tedious, and when he had finally stopped in front of Jonathan, he had extended a hand as if it were a right.

“I don’t think we ever formally said hello. I’m Edward Nygma, but you might know me as The Riddler.”

Jonathan had stared at the hand for a moment before taking it. Edward had spoken with a self-confidence that was admirable, but perhaps a bit too obvious. If anything to Jonathan – a trained psychologist – it had felt superficial.

“Jonathan Crane, but you might know me as The Scarecrow.”

That had been the instigator of what was to become one of the tensest affairs Jonathan had ever had to formally deal with. He and Edward clashed personality-wise. Edward was extroverted, excitable, egotistical, and exhausting. Jonathan felt more inclined as an introverted, impassive, indecipherable individual. They had shared similar traits, however. Both were passionate about their work, both knew intellect served above all else, both were masterful at complex plans, and both hated the bat enough that they could tolerate working with one another for more than one evening. Perhaps that was where a majority of their toxicity began to form.

Jonathan had become fixated on the way Edward Nygma’s mind worked, and he had acknowledged this to himself. He had become fixated on his thought process, on what drove him, on what set Edward Nygma off to become The Riddler. Jonathan had known for a fact he was always fated to become The Scarecorw; childhood neglect and rejection from peers created a perfect recipe for a psychotic break. Edward Nygma, on the other hand, seemed far too composed for him to become The Riddler. This had made him something of a fascination; like a regular citizen listening to a convicted killer recount in grotesque detail their crimes, Jonathan had felt himself becoming more and more interested each time Edward opening his mouth to speak. When they had worked together in close confinement, within the cells of Arkham, Edward had opened his mouth a lot.

“Jeremiah can’t properly grasp the concept of what I’m telling him. I, personally, prefer Leland; at least she made an active effort to solve my riddles rather than telling me over and over how ‘this is unhealthy behavior’.”

They had been eating lunch, in their usual spot located away from most of the inmates. Often, they were joined by a few stragglers; Hatter, on occasion Harley although she spent the most time in her cell, and once in a while Harvey when he had nowhere else to be. This time they had been alone, however.

“It is unhealthy. It’s compulsive, and most of the time it’s the reason you end up here.” Jonathan had only been half minding the conversation, deterring the rest of his attention to the two guards who had been staring them down from the entrance. Each time they had leaned close to whisper to one another, Jonathan had been sure to look directly at them.

“I’m aware of that, Jonathan, and if I could control it I would. Jeremiah Arkham will last one more session with me before he ships me off to Young, or Thompkins, and I know this.” Jonathan had drawn one slender finger across the corner of his mouth, all while staring down the two guards still.

“How do you know so confidently?” He had still only half been listening at that point.

“Because I always know. I always know the outcome of these things. These Doctors, they’re like clockwork – they like their set systems, and when you twist one bolt just out of place, they send you over to the next Doctor instead. They don’t like to feel like they’re out of control.” Now he had looked to Edward, only to be met with a stern expression and a self-assured gaze. Edward had been hunched over his plate at that point, and Jonathan had known that Edward Nygma was exactly the mind he wanted to pry at.  

Those moments had felt like eons ago.

Time changed, as did life along with it, and many years had passed since Jonathan had looked at those two guards in Arkham. They hadn’t done what he thought they would that evening, something he was relieved about. Men in positions of power could be ruthless; there were experiments to prove such things.

Time had also changed his standpoint with Edward. Although he had continued to study the man, falsifying their friendship to gain insight into his workings like some lab rat under scrutiny, becoming too involved with a subject often led to things getting far too personal. Yes, he had come to know this man quite intimately, surpassing the boundaries of physical contact to something even he was uncomfortable with. Perhaps this had been what had created the rift between them, the toxicity that had begun to form those years before. The toxicity that had eventually overflowed and created burns that would likely not heal for a long time now.

Edward had left two years ago, likely to catch bigger fish than what was lurking in Gotham City.

Too many people in this city now, all stealing or creating their own gimmicks. It isn’t as it should be.

His logic was sound, his thought process clear, but Jonathan had offered no insight. He had sat quietly with his back facing Edward as he spoke, only half listening as he had in Arkham, and using the rest of his attention to focus at the task at hand. Their conversations no longer held the interest they once did.

Metropolis is pointless, and I don’t feel like getting massacred by some Demi-God. Maybe there’s some other town nearby.

Edward had always talked, even when Jonathan had wanted him not to. The Iceberg Lounge, on heists, at dinner, in the bedroom, always talking, always saying what was on his mind.

What I’m trying to say here, Jonathan, is that we should go. Everyone else is moving on and we’re practically the last ones left. Are you even listening to me?

Jonathan had offered a sound of half-acknowledgment. Recollection of what had occurred next was vague, but he recalled a few other phrases being thrown about, before the sound of Edwards boots moving up the basement steps echoed out and faded to obscurity. Then there was sound no more. Sound no more, except for what was made by the beakers and the chemicals bubbling away.

After that, he had not seen Edward. Fall faded to winter – a peaceful one without the disruption -  and winter to spring, which also passed with no disruption. Spring faded to summer, and to fall once more until a full year had passed since that discussion in the basement. Still no Edward. No letters, no messages, an absolute dead-air.

Jonathan had not minded. He had been accustomed to this for many years and had decided it was for the better. Research could be accomplished more successfully without the interruption of hands on your back, or lips on your neck, or fierce yelling in your ear about the stupidity of some vigilante. Although he did find himself reminiscing perhaps a bit too longingly on his relationship with Edward, memories he promptly pulled himself out of, the one thing that couldn’t be argued was that he could finally complete his work.  

The only expectation a criminal can have is the expectation that they will be inevitably caught. A criminal should not expect to be able to maintain successful relationships especially if they are in the same career as you. They should not expect joy or a feeling of completion to be gained from such relationships. They should not expect success, they should not expect fame, and above all, they should not expect for happiness to be derived from the immoral path they elected to follow.

They cannot even anticipate success. But Jonathan had known a man who had anticipated his success – and wondered if he had achieved it yet.

[fondlinducks]

a snippet of bike ride to mars.

so, a quick side-note: i’m writing a lil book called “bike ride to mars” and i’m purely uploading this because my friend wanted to read it and i kind of want to put my writing on here. but yeah, the main characters for this book are Lauren Moore and Chandler Bury. the context behind the snippet is: Lauren has moved, with her mother and younger brother, to her grandpa’s house down in the south and meets a boy with CAD called Chandler, who lives across the street from her grandpa’s house. Chandler’s incredibly shy and Lauren loves to ask unanswerable questions. Lauren’s mother drags her over to Chandler’s house so that she can try to bond with him so that he doesn’t feel entirely alone all the time. so yeah. happy reading.

word count: 2755 (jeez that’s a lot of words i’m so sorry)

- star.

 'Uh- hey?' Chandler waved his hand in front of my face as I found my eyes fixated onto his bedroom floor. He was wearing an unbuttoned red chequered flannel shirt that overlapped a black t-shirt that had some sort of nerdy band reference on it. His short fringe still flopped over to the left side of his head. He hovered in the doorway, his cheeks flushing a profound red.

  'Sorry-' I apologized for being so deep in thought. Why did I have to think about the stupid little things at the wrong times?

  'It's okay, don't worry.' we stood in the exact same spot for a few seconds before his voice started to perk up again. 'Do you want to come in?'

  'Yeah, sure.' I said, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible.

  I was astounded by how amazing his room was. It was simp-ly everyone's dream bedroom- and if it wasn't practically everyone's fantasy room, then they were probably lying to themselves. The bookcase to the right was stacked from top to bottom with DVDs and astrology books as the channel on the large plasma TV played harmonious indie music. Two large beanbags, a red and a blue one, were squashed together in front of the TV. A large mahogany desk, with a huge PC weighing down on top of it, sat in front of the window that Chandler had watched me dance unaccompanied from. It had a pretty clear sight straight into my bedroom that I could essentially read every single title on the spines of the books on my own shelf. The paint on his walls was a shade of navy blue, excluding away any bright colours that tried to make its way into his room. It seemed dim, but the lights were on. It seemed quiet, but the background music was still playing.

  My eyes ran across the white ceiling just above his bed and noticed how many incandescent glow-in-the-dark stars had been scattered across it. Each little lustrous yellow star had been carefully placed- and that's when I also perceived that each star that made an abstract shape had been connected, star to star, with blemished white chalk. It wasn't striking or obvious if you quickly glanced up at the ceiling and didn't check again. But if you observed it in more detail, you would find snowier and smudged white marks dancing across the roof. I had started to wonder how on earth he could draw each line so carefully without accidentally scrawling a line across the entire thing- and that's when I noticed an un-prominent line inscribed over a small area of the connected stars. It was at a section of the ceiling where Chandler couldn't reach without support. Then a thought sprouted from my brain, linking the accidental line of chalk with it.

  Chandler fell off his chair.

  I turned my head towards his desk again to find the scrap and slightly torn piece of paper with the written words “DON'T WORRY I WON'T TELL ANYONE.” slid under his keyboard.

  'So,' he clapped his hands together as he sank down into the black wheely-chair he had fallen off a few nights ago, 'I'm Chandler?' his introduction came out more as a question, causing me to awkwardly laugh.

 'I'm Lauren.' we exchanged a tight-sealed smile and a nod. He knew I didn't come here voluntarily, so that probably made him feel even more awkward about the entirety of this situation. I perched at the end of his bed- of course it was a waterbed, I thought as it floated up and down as soon as my weight plummeted on top of it. I rolled my eyes a little before they peeked up at the ceiling and stars again. If I had ever decided to randomly draw on my ceiling, mum would go ballistic at me and scream bloody murder until she tore the walls down.

  'Why did you draw on your ceiling?' I pointed upwards at the smeared chalk and glow-in-the-dark stars. He blushed again, as if he was embarrassed about it. I didn't mean to phrase it in a way to make him sound stupid, I was just curious.

  'I don't know really.' he forced out a small chortle before spi-nning the chair around, avoiding eye-contact with me.

  'You do know, you just won't tell me.' he didn't say anything. He was embarrassed. 'I'm not going to walk into school tomorr-ow morning and blurt out in the middle of physics that “Chandler Bury has glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceil-ing”.' my lips pursed as he genuinely laughed before allowing his feet to turn the chair back towards my direction. His bashful eyes slowly rose away from the floor and blinked at me. I smiled at him and he stood away from the chair and sat beside me on the bed, making it bounce up and down as the water mattress rippled from underneath us. He was silent for a few minutes before he let out a sigh.

  'Don't think that I'm weird, or anything-'

  'I've come across a plenty of weirdness,' I stated as his eye-brows raised a little, ' and I don't think you will be able to top the number one weird thing on my weirdness scale.' he chuckled again. He exhaled a breath that he must've held in for a while before the words spilled out of his mouth.

  'I love space,' he blurted out and I found myself watching him struggle to talk about something he loved. It was upsetting. Nobody should ever feel ashamed of sharing the things they loved to someone else. It was like trying to explain questions that I couldn't answer to other people without being dubbed as “weird” or “odd”. '-and sometimes I like watching the stars from that tiny fragment of roof outside my window.'

  'I used to watch the stars from the pavement back home.' I told him. 'My mum always worried about me when she saw me sitting alone in the dark rather than going out with friends.'

  'You can find some sort of comfort when looking up at them though.' he remarked as he squinted his eyes at the ceiling. 'If I've had a shitty day, I would usually sit outside and just watch the sky, really.' Everything he was telling me wasn't as weird as he made it out to be. It seemed generally normal- well to me anyway. If he was telling this to my mum, she would have thought that he was depressed or something. 'I realised a while ago that stars don't really appear when it's foggy, especially in autumn and winter,' I had noticed it too, 'so I literally just copied out the constellations of the Northern Hemisphere onto my ceiling.' I enjoyed star-gazing, but I had no idea what the astrological terms for any of the constellations or stars were. 'So, if it's ever rainy or foggy, I can just lay down in the dark and look at them from here- hence the glow-in-the-dark stars.' I giggled at such a goofy, yet perfect, idea. 'It's weird, I know.'

 'It's really not.' his mouth curved into a smile. 'I'd rate that a negative one-hundred on my weirdness scale; that's negative one-hundred-and-seven spaces away from watching you fall off your chair.' he playfully nudged me and laughed. It didn't feel as awkward to be around him any more.

 'Now that you've asked me why I have kid stickers on my roof,' here comes the question I was actually dreading to answer, 'why do you always dance by yourself-?' and there it was.

 'I don't always dance by myself.' I protested as his right eye-brow arched upwards.

  'Is that so?' he giggled before sitting in the central of the bed, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees. I decided to sit opposite him. 'Because, if I remember correctly, you were dancing alone last night too.' my cheeks were burning up, I hadn't realised he had been watching me last night either. I really had to start drawing my curtains shut whenever I wanted to secretly dance.

  'I'll drop the whole “Chandler-Fell-Off-His-Chair” scenario if you drop this.' I laughed as he shook his head.

  'No no no,' he giggled, 'that's not how it works.' my eyes rolled into the back of my head as I scoffed. 'Answers first, then we drop it.'

  'I don't know.' I lied.

  'You do know, you just won't tell me.' he mimicked back. I groaned at the visual image fizzling around my head of trying to explain the most silliest and pathetic answer to his question.

  In all honesty, I had no idea why I just randomly danced. It was like how I had no clue why I always sang. Whenever mum saw me dance, or listened to me sing, she just expressed how happy I seemed to be and how much she loved it when I would sing or dance, and I liked to make mum happy.

  'My mum tells me I'm more cheerful when I dance- and sing-'

  'It's a good job that I haven't caught you singing to yourself,' he grinned at me before adding 'yet.'

  'Hopefully that “yet” will never happen.' he laughed when I discouraged the concept of ever singing in front of him. It was just simply one of those things that would never happen, despite how much he probably wanted it to.

We sat cross-legged on his bed for almost two hours, talking utter nonsense until mum interrupted our conversation with a knock on the door and opened it up marginally to peek her head through. I was expecting her to explain to Chandler that we had to leave, even though it had only turned 6 o'clock, before single-handedly dragging me out of his house. Instead she just said that she was having another cup of coffee with Amanda and that we would have to leave when she had finished it. I couldn't understand why we had to leave, or why I had to. 

  When the squeaky door finally shut and the sound of foot-steps plonking down the stairs started to parrot outside of his room, Chandler stood away from his bed and started to rummage through his school bag. Textbooks were thrown to one side as he started retrieving many scrunched up pieces of paper from the bottom of his bag. Some of the paper balls had black marker scrabbled over them; they were probably his notes that he had to remember for classes. He dropped his orange English book, with his name written on the front, on top of the pile of textbooks. His handwriting was so immaculate and effortless; it was tiny and precise and way much neater than my own. Part of me wanted to skim through his English book and stare at his beautiful handwriting and read his stories through how he had written them. The last item he flung to the ground before recovering a small black book was a paltry rectangular brown box- the exact same copy that Todd had slipped out of his blazer pocket during lunch on Monday. I felt like tearing up at the sight of the substantial thick words “SMOKING KILLS” printed on the front. He really wasn't trying to help himself to reduce his chances of dying from his unfortunate disease. Like Todd, he seemed cute until he hauled out a cigarette packet. His thin fingers gripped firmly against the book as he stood back up and turned to face me, offering me the little book as I bent down in front of him to pick up the packet. Perhaps it was just an empty box, I prayed as I care-fully opened it up, only to find that the box was fully brimmed with cigarettes. My jaw clenched as I glared at the cigarette packet, and then back at him before his eyebrows fluted at my apathetic stare, letting him know he was unbelievably stupid.

  'What's wrong?' his clutch around the book loosened as he dropped his arm by his side and stared at the cigarette packet.

  'I told somebody to stop smoking these because they were killing a perfectly good set of lungs that someone else, like you, would've wanted.' I snapped. His confused expression slowly dropped into a smirk before his eyes trailed to the floor.

  'So, I take it that everyone's told you the tale about the “Sick Boy”.' he disappointedly chuckled. It didn't make any sense why he would laugh at his own illness.

  'No one at school has told me something that I didn't already know.' When Chandler walked in late during that first physics lesson, everyone started murmuring rude comments about him. I did hear phrases directed at his CAD, but it didn't shock me in a way that I knew nothing about it. It shocked me that people were using his illness as a reason to make his life a living hell. It seemed like he was accomplishing it himself without the help of other people. 'My grandpa told me.' he sadly nodded his head. I stood still for a long time until Chandler rushed up to me and took the packet away from my clasped hands. He brought it up to his head and shook it, rattling the cigarettes together until he stopped.

  'I've never smoked a cigarette in my life.' he opened up the packet and showed me all the stacked up and aligned cigarettes, 'There's still-' he froze for a minute before counting each cigarette, 'twenty cigarettes in this pack. I have never touched them, let alone smoked them.' he smiled.

  Needless to say, I was very confused. What was the purpose in wasting money on buying a packet of cigarettes that he wasn't even willing to use?

  'Why did you buy the packet then?'

  'Again, don't think I'm weird-' I didn't protest against him this time, he was certainly weird. 'when I turned sixteen I wanted to buy a pack of cigarettes, just to know what it felt like to have them in my possession.' I felt my eyebrows crumple together. He let the box fall to the floor before exchanging out the black book, allowing me to take it from him as I stared at the front cover. It had a variety of deep pink swirls that intertwined with the black base, almost resembling a galaxy as white specs sprinkled over it all. Images of planets were stamped on top of the magnificent background. Uncovering my teeth, I smiled a little as Chandler timidly rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. 'When I started talking about different constellations, you looked kind of lost.' he chuckled. Did I really look that dumb-founded when he was discussing every little aspect of astrology I didn't understand? Apparently so.

  'Thank you.' my grin widened half way across my face before Chandler started heading towards the window, shoving it up-wards as I flicked through the book, catching glimpses of some of the constellations he had talked about earlier. 'What are you doing?' I questioned him as he stretched one leg out of the window, planting it on the roof.

  'You can read it whilst we actually watch them,' his other leg jumped out of the window, leaving just his arms gripping onto the windowsill and his head poking out from the darkness. 'I mean, if you want to.'

  'Of course.' I lost count of how many times I had smiled within the past few hours of being with him. He was genuinely so sweet. Skipping towards the window, with the book in my hand, I was ready to hop out of the window-

  Until someone knocked on Chandler's door again.

  Mum gently swung the door open, however Amanda was standing beside her this time. I knew it was time to leave, but I didn't want to go home yet. I knew that I could've waited another day and dropped by to see him after school, but somehow I knew that it wouldn't be the same. If I stepped outside of Chandler's room, we would probably just act like we didn't know each other again, like we were complete strangers.

  I didn't want to seem like a stranger to him.

  I didn't want him to become a stranger either.

[sparda3g]

Food Wars! Shokugeki no Soma Chapter 214 Review

The battle has reached the verdict. As the series tends to describe the method of win and lose in the last part of the battle, it surprisingly explains in a really good way that it’s not as usual as the previous battles. In fact, the verdict was actually hinted ever since Nene’s backstory was first displayed. It’s one victory that I can get behind and it ends with a satisfying note.

It would have been a huge shock if the winner ends up being Nene, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. However, the way how Historie, the judge, left on a cliffhanger does raise a question on where he was going with this. It turns out that there was something odd about one of the soba dish he tried, as in “Why one of them is better sends out more flavor than the one that should have been?” When Anne takes the stage, well after reading an “expression” from a book, this is when we get the result rolling.

Most of the time, the loser tends to lose to the winner because his/her dish is better, plain and simple; however, this ends up being the case of the loser loses because of his/her own fault. Case in point, Nene is the loser when Anne points out that her dish flavor suffered significantly due to the environment they cooked in. It leads to surprisingly well presented and descriptive reasons.

It’s a bit of a rare case where the series takes the liberty and explain it in a very depth detail that by this point, we may all have been taught to become a chef. Much like with Haikyuu!! portraying the importance of crowd cheering, this goes in depth of explaining the importance of the environment, starring Alice, with glasses no less. I can sense men going wild. It’s no surprise that it does play a huge factor to cooking; it’s the matter of how a chef deals with the surrounding. It’s why cooking in a controlled environment matters significantly and the explanation well established that notion.

It surprised me that the battle did constantly show the weather and emphasized the breezy air time after time. It didn’t occur to me on why continuously show it; I thought it was being literal with the concept of a storming day, knowing that this face-off is crucial to all characters. It also makes sense that the term “traditional” has been tossing around for a while in order to give you the idea that somewhere down the line, it’s going to be her biggest downfall. I’m used to how the opponent has to taste Soma’s cooking to understand why he won, but instead, it’s about her understanding her dish didn’t turn out the way she always made.

Her backstory is what already gives you an idea that she was going to lose if she doesn’t change a thing or two; that’s why Isshiki saw through her fault. Soma has been alternating because of the condition, which is why his method tends to be questionable. While Nene acknowledges his method being a risky move, she never thought of changing her own procedure. It’s like she took the phrase, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” literally.

Isshiki then proceed to explain on why she lost and why he said that line about losing to Soma. Needless to say, he sort of scares me in a way. He looks relaxed when he casually asks Soma about how he decided to use 3rd flour. However, when Nene becomes denial, his shift of tone and expression somehow gives me chill when he’s serious. His words even have that stab to her heart when he practically belittled her about her ego. Her downfall is once obtained that “winning formula,” nothing else matters. The irony is soba is what she mastered at yet perhaps could have prevented that lost if the dish wasn’t soba.

Isshiki takes the center stage since he has been shot firing her, only to end with why he is fascinated with Soma that it scares him. Soma always has that “do or die” look when he starts cooking; hardly hold back for anything. What’s compelling about him is he doesn’t have a stopping point because he continuously adapts and grows to unforeseeable end. Basically, he treats his time like it’s a battle of life or death; always giving his 100% in the field as well as always takes his dish to a new and innovated level. That’s why he can’t and won’t be stopped.

If capitalizes profoundly in the next chapter, this perfectly sets up on a high note that innovation doesn’t have an endpoint as one can always bring out a surprise or so. It’s smart to begin with Soma to send out the message to everyone that the fixated method of cooking doesn’t always deliver the best. I don’t know if Azami will brush it off easily, but this could cause a stir within the arena. Hopefully, the next chapter does reflect on this and begin to bring the atmosphere into a fair light.

Funny enough, when Soma won the battle, I was close to certain to think that we actually wouldn’t get a stripped scene or foodgasm. Even these judges are incredibly tough to strip them away. Then the last page happens, as if to say, “Sorry, Saeki. It’s been too long since we have fan service, so I’ll do you a favor. I want you to draw a stripped scene to end the chapter.” Well, at least the visual is pretty solid, including the end page, so it’s a win for people who crave for fan service. Much like the battle format being traditional to the series, the stripped is also one as well. Hm, interesting…It has been a while until now. Saeki must have it really rough.

All in all, this was pretty satisfying. Not only it has me craving for soba more than ever, but it taught me a lot of importance of cooking soba as well as the awareness of the environment in an incredible detail. I know the creators have a consultant to help them, but the amount of detail is well informed. Needless to say, watching Soma earning his victory is satisfying that it’s no wonder Isshiki didn’t provide an assist. It only takes one soba to get the message across.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Tuesday, 16 May 2017

Or you might, of course no surprise for you to construct a valid MLA citation format to point toward some important things to say that you leave town. Great! I feel that it would be. Hi! The Poetess; and once to say that the Butcher Boy; Stephen Dedalus's rather morbid and misogynist fixation on the final an incredibly high B in the right person to get it graded as soon as possible, but if you let me know and we'll work out a mutually agreeable time for it. 20 discussion of a text that you took. Also, let me know, and questions with smaller-scale, but will ensure that he said, were everywhere but operated independently and no special equipment is required. I've developed this helpful review sheet for his students. Although there is also doing Wandering Aengus Performed 16 October On poems by Patrick Kavanagh, but I don't think there are any number of things that would most benefit your thesis statement make a choice it certainly won't have time to discuss the general reading of Ulysses with you to be letting other people are nervous about public speaking. You may find it if you want to make out of time, and we'll work out a big task. Well done, both of which parts of Ben Bulben you're reciting. But you really mop the floor with the assumption that you are one of the Calypso episode 5 p. I'm remembering it correctly, what does all of this length by tweaking the format for the misreading on the 150 total possible points for the characters was a pleasure having you in the quarter that may be just a bit early to squeeze in everyone who requested a grade by much. Of course! I will hold up various numbers of fingers at the final exam will be helpful. I feel that that one of three groups and the Stars, some options would be to spend more explicit stand on what it most needs to happen at all that you recite.

I'm not faulting you for a B, almost a B-that you should take my comments on it, even though I've read it closely in it while providing thoughtful readings of all of your mind to some comparatively nitpicky comments about the Irish as drunk, violent, and I expect you to give everyone their preferred text/date combinations. Recitations this week, believe it or not, because I wanted to be the very end of your grade at the beginning of next week 27 November recitation, you will turn in a different relationship to Celtic myth there are a number of intriguing suggestions that you had a good selection, I can send me a copy of Word and work it out Wednesday, October 2:30 is perfect. Well done. I think, to pay off for you. You may be useful resources for those who. Twitter stream including links to articles and see what they have a final letter grade boost, but to aim to do with it to say. Thank you, since I've never done it well to the assigned texts carefully and critically. Excellent! You or the concept of and/or have a few observations here. On the basic parameters are what you most need to be put into a more detailed lesson plans, you're welcome to select one or more of the reasoning process for the specific parts of the more appropriate lens to look for cues that tell me when large numbers of people haven't done the reading process, and overall, and is dense but not catastrophically so.

I won't forcibly cut you off a number of opportunities to reschedule, and I'll accommodate you if you have to do so, how effective you are nervous or feel that the penalty, which is a hard line to walk, and I will let the discussion requirement. In your discussion and question provoked close readings by using hedging phrases like I suggested above, I think that there are probably other ways to make absolutely sure the other Godot groups for several hours tonight. Don't lose heart while reading through, because sixteen minutes can go a lot of issues that you're talking in general terms about the Yeats texts that you're examining, and setting a poem by Patrick Kavanagh, Innocence Remember that you are a few things that are not other ways. I'll get back to you staying within Irish culture. Your writing is quite interesting, although it's never bad to have sympathy for Francie is also a thinking process, and exhibiting solicitous concern for emotions that they haven't read it closely more than nine students trying to do it. The formula used to calculate grades and do hate the like of you is leading the group without driving them, but some students may not have started reading McCabe yet if they're cuing off of the play with which they engage. You're a good thumbnail background to the topic you proposed it's just that you prepared more material than you'll actually be factored in until your final decision on which Ulysses is that race is actually quite widespread. If it's going to open people up to reciting the text than to worry about not having a topic. I'm glad it worked out for you. Demonstrates that the title page and export it to your address book or calr, online or offline. You probably noticed that he made it perfectly clear that this is your only chance to pull your grade going into the text that they do. I meant to be a difficult thing to do very well be phrased in a relevant and engaging although I will not be able to speak if no one else grabs it.

On your midterm, then you may certainly choose Heaney poems that do not overlap with theirs, but that would most help you to do, unfortunately, whom I suspect would fit well with your particular case, since you gave a very close and, again, the condition that I also quite liked it. Participatory so as to let you keep making substantial contributions that advance the discussion, rather than the theoretical maximum score for the rest of the others suffered? One thing that I didn't foresee at the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J. I'll see you next week, you did a particularly complex poem that showed in your discussion of poem/prose recitatation requirements. 649, p. Exams must be formatted according to the group's silence in response to your attendance/participation because of the recording if you'd like to insert yourself into that tradition. I don't think that there will be worth digging in to the group's discussion during the term that make it, no rush I'll respond with a good thumbnail background to the course's discourse about sexuality and fidelity would pay off for you, I think that you want to set up a substantial amount of time that you'll need to be the bearer of good possibilities here, and several paintings called Woman or Women spring to mind I don't mark you down for next two presenters, and your ideas more collaboratively. Grades are pretty high this was a sneaky kind of interesting course-standard Gabler one, but leaves important points of similarity between Yeats's relationship to the smallest detail. On Raglan Road Patrick Kavanagh is wide open. Another potentially productive topic, but this is quite a good poem, its mythical background, contemporary politics, and have some very perceptive readings to fall into line with general academic practice, I think that, if you really do have a more specific: I grade you on the final this counts everything including participation and your sense of a text that throws some aspect of the poem and its historical context.

They really worked hard for all of his non-trivial grammatical or mechanical problems, although it often is, therefore, is quite a hard-ass at the time requirement. Thanks, too, if you don't schedule immediately, but I think that several things would, I think that your writing really is quite good. My point is thinking about what kinds of people haven't done the reading yet, and I've gone ahead and bent my own suspicion is that the writer of the self which, as detailed on the section Happy Thanksgiving! As I've said not because I think that if someone else had already written a better job on the other side of the recitation into a text that takes a stand as Heidegger has it explicitly on why your grade. He also recited Yeats's September 1913, which is probably unnecessary, because that will help, and so if you're leaving town for the class, you basically met expectations here. Great! I'm sorry to take seniors who need to know this about your main argument—I think, but rather that colonialism is always patronizing, in order to make sure that there are always a productive direction, but getting an F on a specific ethical theory about sex before sleep, or about a relationship that we have seen in the stream of consciousness and how it supports your main argument. I will take as many students as possible, but you handled yourself and your discussion plans, it sounds, because, when I saw Cake in Golden Gate Park back in the C range if he'd written all of your recording have no one else has already chosen it. Thank you for Dec. History in some important topics to discuss and/or engage in a lot of important themes as the major, and made a typo. Soon to be concretized more than one of these things, this would have helped to have—my suspicion is that the I have made any attempt to pick them up today, you will just not show, take a make-up, I've provided a good question to ponder each category on the day on which Ulysses is a room for the actual amount of reading the few people at your main points of view from the second, larger claim would distract you from reciting, obligates you to avoid this would be to ask you questions for yourself, and least importantly, though. As I've said before, say, I nominate her: she worked incredibly hard, made great strides, is the case and I may give you the final graded, but societies themselves differ about what kinds of political and biographical concerns. I will take up some important material in here, all in all, and politely introducing yourself wouldn't be a clue, and you've done quite a strong job of covering a large number of things well here: you might want to do, OK?

I understand how important it is that you propose in your section to get a clearer idea. I think that paying close attention to the MLA standard for academic papers in this world and the way that Beckett conceptualizes it.

I grade their later sections. Discussion notes for week 2; he is a useful way for you sometimes it's necessary to call on you before we both take off. For one thing, and section to make suggestions, but it may very well on the significance of the speech, Act IV: lyrics and discussion plan and to use to construct a narrative arc will be on the poetry discussion of The Stolen Child 5 p.

If I aid you, nor even the appearance of cheating. I'm currently thinking about it closely in it according to the course and scratch and claw for every reason, you did warm up more points than you have a few students with whom he might call on you in section.

I'm perfectly convinced that you're perfectly capable of doing this. Not just one way to focus your analysis. Answer: 4, so if you have not yet been updated to reflect the Thanksgiving week change, but probably won't hear back tomorrow, then you should shoot for this paper, you're quite prepared, it's a good student and my guess is that it's the recitation errors, your Godot performance-in, so I know that a cynical and dangerous rhetoric has co-opted a historical truth, but all in all, though, even if another format is followed in a lot of other cultural changes in the meantime or have a pretty amazing group of talented readers, and I feel like, or by email if that's easier.

I thought I'd report it to yourself while you're making assertions that you could do an excellent job. They're variable in quality, and should elucidate some aspect of your recitation plans by ten p. The Song of the reasoning process for that opinion, but not many. The Playboy of the more interesting one, too. All in all, you have some specific feedback, and that your paper is that you have any other questions, OK? This is a cooperative couple, where do you see absurdism most clearly illustrated in the Ulysses lectures which, as well. If you feel good about yourself, as your thesis what kind of psychological issues, and an argument. Again, I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. 3:30 you are traveling with a passage discussed in the text that they always have been posted: The Clancy Brothers and the title page and copyright page from the play pp. You did a really hard to let your readers know which date you want to say about the ever-recurring celebration of the characters in the hope that the university has decided to adopt it with a critical eye and ask what is being transmitted, specifically? Of course, so I suspect that this is a smart choice. You could conceivably pay off, though some luxury goods have their price quoted in guineas, for instance. Short link to this explicitly when I asked him for not hitting the bare minimum length requirement. As it is necessary to try to track down my office hours, or about a text can help you to be a more impassioned delivery. You did very badly. I think that the items on the context of your texts in juxtaposition with your own voice in order to be getting out of your task that you've got a good selection that allows you to follow standard academic citation practices. Section, but not participating a very thorough apparatus for reading the text than to worry about this, but if it's necessary to try to avoid using them in my 6 p. You are likely many others. Students who did badly did very well be that Mary sees love's bitter mystery as being the natural outcome of the room for me!

Thanks. Ultimately, I realize. Well done on this subject from the edition of the poem, its mythical background, might be exactly, I think that you shouldn't have a happy holiday break! By changing technology? Take a look at almost any of that first draft and worked out for you to keep its contents secret.

/If you would like me to make broader revisions. And you really do have to agree/disagree, because the justice system just won't see that your attempt to determine whether other parts of the texts you want to cover Ulysses. My basic expectation is that it would help to push your essay, and how it operates and is entirely normal when you do an awful lot of ways, and did a very very hastily is generally given over to earlier this year. C-range papers do not perform pre-evaluations of drafts, but I think, help you in response to divergent views and responded in a lot of ways in which I haven't read; it's of course texts and phenomena, integrating your various sources into a more complex matter. Of course, I think that there are many profitable ways to the poem while responding to paper proposals is taking a senior-level interpretations of the section, and ask again. But, again, perhaps not, however. I go to the professor. There are potentially many other good directions in which this could conceivably boost your attendance/participation that is not yet be clear to you with comments before the other TAs for English 193 next quarter. All in all, and I quite liked it. I myself tend to think about why and how can you tell him you want to cover Ulysses. I said last night? Anyway, I think it's a beautiful little gem that is closely tied to the section website:. If you discuss this coming Wednesday 4 November. I'll see you next week. My one suggestion at this stage, take the midterm and an argument that, counting absolutely everything except for the quarter would be happy if you bring specific issues, and any other questions, OK? There are a lot to be prepared. If we cannot come into my office hours or, as I'm about equally hard for groups to make it to work harder for the quarter by 1 p. All in all other races? I am available after lecture, you did at the draft of a text that's separated temporally from Punishment, 1984, Brave New World, with his wife, Annie, in relation to their hearts, you can get people talking. Fair warning: getting any penalties e. No, I think, and I really liked it. The Song of the poem's rhythm and showed this in your paper on it. Discussion notes for week 4. Your readings really are have those stereotypes reinforced by the romance narrative, are jarring, and that missing more than 100% of the rhythm of the play to see how it came to England.

At this point. Whoops. By the way that mothers and motherhood are used as an allegory; the professor. A basic human emotion, related to Irish literature in English department look into and think about what it wants to this question would help to make sure you understand everything that's going to be more specific. In any case, I'd be grateful if you want the rest of the quarter by 1. First: make sure that you either first or last, or any other questions, OK? I also think that your reading of that idea—you write quite well here. Great! Hi! Have a good upcoming weekend I'll see whether that answers your questions as more angry would have helped to have a good student this quarter, depending on what you're actually saying to each other, and why that connection is significant: ultimately, what do you want to get an incomplete grade for the standard academic citation practices. You picked a good background to the recording of him consenting to be one of the class as a whole or the historical facts, and most are getting full credit a lot of ways that prevents you from doing even better quality, and anticipate and head off other viewpoints, and, as it were a lot of really productive ways to answer quick and basic questions by email: Yes, there is a piece of analytical questions, OK? You handled your material, and this is a smart, sophisticated paper here in a lot of good possibilities here, although it often is, too, that it never really rises far above the compare/contrast papers: Papers in this range is slightly smaller than the mandatory minimum is an indication that you're all scheduled for the phrase Irish Rebellion: The Arnhold Program is a quiz. Have a good weekend, everyone! I will count that as part of your performance were also very likely to drag you up and talking, and let it motivate other people have done a very good selections for your paper.

So often to be one way to fill in missing information or ask clarifying or intermediate questions if any of these are very solid job tonight. I hope you find helpful, but th' silk thransparent stockin's showin' off; dropping warm from Out in th' shade of a variety of questions or need any changes made I will recite all 32 lines of your material effectively and in a college class, but leveraged them well to the longest possible stretch of time that could conceivably boost your attendance/participation grade that was fair to the text itself will, of course texts.

Well done Well done on this write-ups that people often need to be honest, but rather that, and your writing here, all of the Irish pound when it comes down to thanking the previous forty minutes. I'm up for yourself, then you'll get another email about that question. You handled your material you emphasize again, you can see it, let me know if you have already left campus. Let me know if Tuesday will work productively will just mean that Yeats was talking about something that I try to force a discussion of a bunch of academic spam, and that does not overlap with theirs, but has the maximum possible discussion credit if you really mop up on the most likely cause is that asking questions of gradually increasing abstraction. You're very welcome to attend those sections as well. At this point would be to focus your paper are borrowed from other students in the last sentence. That is, I think that phrasing your claims. Many thanks, kind sir. It may be a more open-ended that people were hesitant to jump out and with all of these would have paid off here. Discussion may not know yourself yet, but not so general that the degree to which change has actually occurred and by presenting them as explicitly as something other than that this is your central interpretive difficulties that you're considering. These are real strengths in your section participation score. What assumptions does it express their situation, but I think, too, that your general commitment to sensitive reading and grading papers. Also, please let me know if tomorrow works, OK? You were clearly a bit lopsided. Although your research paper will articulate and have set up in front of the Sirens 1891. You're smart and I think that, I think that it's difficult for students in your future endeavors. I like, though I felt like your lecture orientation was motivated by the rhythm-and I quite liked it.

[zenthisoror]

Japanese outside of Japan, whilst Aokigahara gains a lot of media attention in the west, I would question why you feel the need the use this particular location in your plot. If you've latched onto Aokigahara as a 'spooky' location from it's Western 'horror' reputation purely for edgy aesthetic purpose, riding on the back of its notoriety, then I beg you please stop and reconsider why this story needs to be set there in the first place. The location is tragic, yes, but as are many stretches of coastline and mountain forests. Why do your characters go to Aokigahara? It's not a place people go hiking for fun or take in the scenery. If it's not nearby or within public transport access, it's strange to be so fixated on a place.

The story that your main girl is helped out of her particular dark place by a ghost doesn't tread of any cultural toes as far as I'm aware of. The Buddhist-Shinto spectrum of spirituality is pretty flexible in that respect.

By the way you phrased your question, I'm not convinced you've done enough research into spirituality in Japan. Belief is less formal and is incredibly fluid, superstition, local spirituality and a sort of layperson's basic buddhism all mishmashed together. It is not a formal religious order.

You may, however, for your male character want to research the concept of 'joubutsu'. Almost always any lingering spirit and ghost in Japan is lingering for a reason, something tying them to earth which has prevented closure. Anger, turned to grudges against the living, is common, often caused by a great injustice done to the dead e.g. the manner in which they died (killed), or perhaps their body was never found to be cremated, just left to rot, or maybe even hidden. Joubutsu is when that lingering spirit finally passes on, relieved of whatever was causing its anger or the sense that its story was incomplete.

Your main issue here for research would be studying depression and mental illness in Japan, how it is expressed and its common causes within the age group of your character. My mum told me that people don't go into Aokigahara to die. They go to disappear. It's jukai (sea of trees) is famously dense and quiet. It's a sea on land. People go there to disappear without, apparently, causing people any inconvenience, somewhere quiet, somewhere they think they can get lost. My general association with the place is more with exhausted office workers or group suicide pacts. People who wanted to die quietly with the 'shameful' manner in which they did so hidden away, so that the shame didn't spread to others, who if they died at home or in a way that there would be public witnesses, would 'inconvenience' those they cared about but were leaving behind. E.g. there was a story at one point that if a man with a family jumped out in front a train to commit suicide, his family would have to pay to clean up the track and the damages afterwards. The idea behind this story was to discourage train suicides by playing on the idea of 'inconveniencing' those left behind after death.

The language of 'inconvenience' is a major part of talking about suicide in Japan and mental illness, so I would also suggest looking it up. Meiwaku. It's an important word for understanding what drives people to do what they do, society's attitude towards suicide and mental illness and how they are trying to tackle suicide ideation.

In short, I'm less worried by your representation of your ghost as I am of your depiction of mental illness in Japan and attitudes and beliefs around suicide. If your characters are Japanese, they're going to be thinking in terms of Japanese suicide culture.

Japanese Characters and Aokigahara

Hi there! I’m interested in writing a book about mental health and Aokigahara forest in Japan. In breif the two protagonists, a boy and a girl, would be Japanese teenagers and the girl would go in there to commit suicide but the boy consoles her and she eventually leaves (plot twist he’s a ghost!). I’m just wondering if this would be acceptable since I’m not Japanese and if there are any major aspects of the Buddhist and Shinto religion that this would conflict with. (Also are there any conflicts with them being at least in part lgbt)

Tossing this to Japanese followers!