#i worked for like 9+ days constantly on that piece of work during a horrific depressive period... all for nothing...

[inkubye]

kms kms kms actually kms for being a deliriously mentally ill moron and submitting the wrong fucking document for my assessment worth 50% of the module grade and then getting a 0

[awed-frog]

You should look at the twin project re: losing weight. If two people who are born genetically identical can be 2 vastly different weights while on the exact same diet and exercise regime surely that tells you something else is going on 🤔

I’m not exactly sure what study you are referring to, and I’m not an expert in this field anyway, but here is what I think.

1) There is no such thing as ‘exact same diet and exercise’. People are notoriously bad at estimating, or even counting, their calories - studies show that people who’re asked to keep a food diary underreport their daily calories by as much as 45% (and overestimate their physical activity by 51%!). Plus, exercise levels are difficult to measure: sure, you may go to a spin class with your friends, but the level of effort (as measured by your heart rate) could be different, and what you do in the other 23 hours of your day counts much, much more. Unless you’re a pro athelete, exercise burns off a negligible part of what you’re eating.

2) As for twins: one study I couldn’t access was from 1986; another one, that considered hundreds of twins (half of which had grown up in different households) is from 1990. That’s more or less prehistory scientifically speaking. Plus, the second one was about children who’d been forcibly removed from their parents and separated from their twin because their families were poor. I hope they accounted for trauma, because that seems horrific.

As for more recent stuff:

3) Quote from one Finnish study from 2012: “Based on interviews of these twins, there is an indication that both the conscious efforts to prevent weight gain in the lean and the more unhealthy lifestyle in the obese co-twins explains the weight disparities, which appeared at 18 years of age, at a time when environmental influences may also start to diverge as the young adults move out of their parental home and establish more individualistic life styles. The twins themselves pointed out environmental factors in young adulthood such as living alone, irregularity of student life, sedentary work, getting a driver's license (at age 18 in Finland), and marital and societal relationships as provocateurs of weight gain as compared with more regular eating and physical activity habits in childhood.”

4) Quote from a Danish study from 2010: “The evidence for genetic influence on anthropometry has previously been established and has been estimated to be 60-70% based on twin studies. These inter-individual differences can, however, not explain the increase in obesity prevalence during the past 70 years. Environmental factors must therefore play an important role in the obesity epidemic.”

5) Furthermore, we do know from twin studies on cancer - a different disease, but a very aggressive one - that the rate of cancer in adopted children si aligned with their adoptive - not their biological - parents’. This is not surprinsing, considering we now know up to 70% of cancers are actually caused by lifestyle and behaviour, not genetics. In the case of cancer, all of us get ‘faulty’ cells all the time, but very often they can be ‘silenced’ by our bodies if we adopt the right reflexes. 

(And please note I am NOT victim-blaming here: one big problem in our society is that many people are forced into an unhealthy lifestyle, such as dangerous pesticides or additive in foods, dangerous working conditions, food deserts, limited availability of fresh fruits and veggies, stress and overwork, access to a kitchen, little to no preventative healthcare - the list goes on.)

6) One strong indication that genetics is not that relevant when it comes to obesity are the rates of obesity in Japan (2% to 3%) and among 3rd generation Japanese-Americans (23%). As one recent study puts it, “Research has shown that compared to their native-born cohorts, newly arrived immigrants have better health, but their health declines the longer they remain in the U.S. and become more acculturated [...] The obesity rate seems to increase the longer Asian immigrants remain in the U.S.”

7) Finally, a study from last year shows that the BMI of dogs is correlated to the BMI of their owners: obese people are more likely to have obese dogs, and this is clearly not genetic.

So look - it’s always dangerous to say black and white things when it comes to science, because a) the matters involved are generally beyond complicated and b) we’re finding out new stuff at breakneck speed, but I don’t understand why so many people seem hellbent in complicating this issue. Obesity - as in, too much fat on your body - is always caused by caloric imbalance. In rare cases, people have health problems or take medication which causes them to be constantly hungry and/or store fat badly, and that complicates the issue, but for the vast majority of us, that’s not the case. We simply eat a lot more than we should, and we mostly eat crap. I don’t know how old you are, but I saw the change very clearly. Back when I was a child

nobody snacked (children would get a bread roll, a small chocolate bar, a yogurt or a piece of fruit around 4pm, but adults usually didn’t)

nobody drank soft drinks (my local shop only stored Coke, which we used to beg for but was only allowed in special occasions)

dessert and big meals were also more of a weekend habit

fast food wasn’t a thing (the first kebab place opened in my town when I was 17; the first McDonald’s, when I was 25)

if you forgot your packed lunch your only options were a restaurant, a chocolate bar from a kiosk or a bread roll with ham from the butcher’s

walking and biking places was pretty much the norm for a lot of people, as the bus system was inefficient and families tended to have one car (I have vivid memories of biking home 3 miles at 10pm under the rain after basketball practice, it was hellish but normal)

meals were 90% cooked at home using fresh ingredients (non-food available in the shops was limited to one type of crisps, frozen chips, chicken nuggets and a variety of weird-looking candy)

shopping malls didn’t exist (the first one in my region opened when I was 14), so people spent a lot more time outdoor during the weekend - going to the pool, the beach or the mountains, or playing football, tennis and basketball in the local fields and playgrounds.

Compare this to what’s going on now? You go out, and most people are eating or drinking something - whatever the time of day. Children, in particular, are constant snackers, and they snack on horrific things. Supermarkets are 90% non-food - my local shop has 25 different types of soft drinks, and 2 types of greens. We all work longer hours, with longer commutes, for less money, so there’s less time to cook (and less know-how anyway).  Fast food outlets are everywhere and open around the clock (want a kebab with double fries at 9 in the morning or 3 in the afternoon? in the 90s, you would have been fucked - just munch on your brown banana and wait for dinner!). And worst of all, you’re constantly, relentlessly drowning in reminders you should eat more more more, while being surrounded by endless advice on how to drop 20 pounds in 20 days ‘without dieting or exercising!’. It’s a catastrophic social experiment, and the result are obvious - and very profitable. 

Because everyone is making money here. The fast food market size was valued at $647.7 billion in 2019 and is estimated to reach $931.7 billion by 2027. The weight loss market is projected to grow from $175.94 billion in 2017 to $245.51 billion by 2022. The profits of drugs to treat diabetes almost tripled in 10 years, going from $27 billion to $78 billion. Investors are rushing towards potential new drugs, snake oil of all kinds and bariatric equipment companies (as one investment website helpfully puts it, “The increasing rate of obesity among children provides significant opportunities for growth of this market.”).

So the bottom line is, sure - some people have always been fatter than others, and that is probably genetics (some of us get hungrier; we react to stress by comfort eating; we like food more). But the reason why obesity rates are skyrocketing has nothing to do with personal preference or genetic inclinations - it is rooted in merciless capitalism and worsening inequalities. We should stop finding excuses or - God forbid - celebrating fatness and demand better policies and better healthcare before it’s too late.

[theyearofcancerousthinking]

March 5, 2019

It has been an interesting first few months of 2019. From the freak out about closely scheduled doctor’s appointments to feeling like maybe I was totally fine and cured of anxiety, I am currently somewhere in the middle. 

I have started to forget some things associated with treatment and fail at piecing certain things together. For example, my libido has been non-existent this month but I did not realize that it was linked to the date of the Lupron shot, S did. And we traveled with a friend and she had not seen me since August and she pointed out that my face shape has changed - most likely due to finally being rid of the steroids given to me during chemo. I had forgotten about the steroids. I am so thoroughly in this mess that I can’t always find the distance needed to identify patterns and I can’t keep track of everything. This month my fatigue and hot flashes have been more frequent and it makes my memory feel weak. 

This brings me to my next point. Being so in this. 

Two friends have recently gotten bad news: one was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and the other with something called MGUS - a protein in the blood that could be the precursor to a myeloma. When I started to go through treatment, I knew that if I ever got news that a close friend of family member were to be diagnosed with cancer that I would be devastated. But when these two friends told me about their conditions, about two months apart, I was fine. Concerned yes but not devastated. I was so fine that I was worried about why I was fine. Likewise, when the protein for friend #2 turned out to be nothing more than a protein, I also did not feel the relief I thought I would. When I say “feel”, I mean a visceral, physical reaction. I thought of them plenty and researched their cases online (bad habit, I know) but I was not “riddled with grief” or [insert any other analogy to the physical manifestation of a feelings, good or bad]. Of course, on a mental plane I 100% was relieved (I do not wish this on anyone). 

Another friend has been dealing with her mother’s terminal cancer. She has been dealing with life decisions that can have life long ramifications - whether to change jobs and lose her visa status in the in order to be able to care for ailing mother back home. While telling me about her decision making process, she prefaced the most brutal sentence with��“You know I am not a bad person, right?” and then continued with “If I move home it has to be for me, not for my mom. Because my mom, for all intents and purposes is dead.” I was aghast. I understand the logic but it is one of the most soulless things I have ever heard. I know she is going through her own version of hell. My brain knew that phrase had the weight of a thousand bricks but I couldn’t feel it. Again, to be clear, I do not mean to say that I do not care - of course I care. I have barely spoken to this person since she said this to me. I remember this phrase constantly and it is possible that she has long forgotten it. But if my brain knows this to be a horrific thought process (more so when you take into consideration that it was said about a cancer patient to another cancer patient - seriously, read the room), why wasn’t my body responding? Why was I not feeling anything? 

Earlier in the day, before receiving news from friend #2, I came across an instagram account of cancer memes - I cautiously eyed the memes before deciding that it was safe to take a deep plunge and continue scrolling. I laughed so hard I decided it was safe enough to follow the page and have cancer memes pop up in my feed without a trigger warning. I shared a bunch of them on my own Instagram Stories and sent some to S, who sheepishly admitted he felt uneasy laughing with me and in some instances, did not understand why it was funny. I, instead, loved the immediate shorthand of having layered emotions reduced to a succinct meme. These memes made me happy. People started to reach out to thank me for them (non-cancer people.) These memes even gave me a new name for the impertinent people who dare opine on cancer via weird “curative” diets and religious platitudes: cancer muggles. 

So, of course I can feel things - just ask me to talk about politics and you will see me get riled up- but why did my friends’ health issues not trigger any physical feelings? I asked my onco shrink today and he had this bit of information: 

In London, around WWII, the country decided to build bomb shelters but were hesitant because they thought that people would hole up in them. Instead, they found that Londoners would use them as needed but that their days remained pretty normal. People went about their day. Instead, in a nearby town of Plymouth, the townspeople were freaking out. It was not until a downed German plane was brought in for all to see that they reported feeling calmer about the conflict. Same happened in NYC after 9/11: it was believed that Manhattanites would report a higher level of anxiety and PTSD but records do not indicate that it was the case. It seems that the morale of these anecdotes is that it is human to cope under extreme duress when in the thick of it (whatever it may be) but that stress can be exacerbated by feeling that one is on the periphery of things. 

Another quick analogy my onco shrink provided was that since I am in the thick of it (I think “eye of the storm” also works here) - I did not feel the need to use pink ribbons or any other thing that announced my proximity to cancer, whereas my parents proudly bore the pink ribbon during my treatment. That pink ribbon was their downed German plane.  (Of course cancer branded apparel or accessories are a personal choice - I have seen a lot of cancer patients cover themselves head to toe in “cancer sucks”, “I got this”, etc sort of affirmation gear. 

This is really interesting to me and yet another instance that highlights how my brain processes things differently now. 

[johobi]

WYLEI 11 - submission

The following was a submission (rather than a series of asks) discussing the latest chapter, sent in by one of my lovely regulars, lie anon. As it’s quite long I’ll place it under a read more; if it doesn’t display, I’m really sorry!

Wow, Jo. There’s so much I want to say to you. First of all, thank you so much for writing WYLEI. It was 18K of goodness; a ride so wild that I don’t wanna ever come down. This chapter is filled with pain, misery, heartbreak, relief, love and lust - a diabolical cocktail (hehe) that you feed to us and we partake so gleefully. The wait for this chapter is so worth it, and thank you so much for working so hard on it. You’re such a gem! I’m sending you a submission so I don’t clog your inbox ><“ I’m sorry I’ve so much thoughts I want to share ><”

You’re so welcome!! I’m serious! You’ve been so patient and encouraging the whole way. And don’t ever apologise for ‘clogging’ my inbox, I’m always so happy to hear from you :)

I want to gush about many parts of the chapter, namely the smut and heartbreak and confession. Wait, that’s the whole story wtf gdi lie anon is whipped as fuck!!! Ok I’m gonna talk about the sad parts first. Good lord Y/N had to force herself to look away from Kook because those eyes are a mirage now, and it will transport her to places of pain and misery that she shouldn’t find, that doesn’t belong in the first place ugh can you hear the sound of my heart breaking into a million pieces… The promise of happier and blissful days ahead are now shattered by Kook’s deadly secret :( it fucking stinks because I was rooting for Kook and Y/N right from the start. “Like an inmate fleeing from some plush penitentiary of pain” what the fuck. Y/N doesn’t deserve this bullshit. All she did was love Kook and he broke her. Fuck JK, really. I’m so mad at him right now. He better have a fucking good explanation for what’s going down as The Biggest Fuckup in The History of Mankind, istg. Or I’ll personally strangle this stupid boy with my bare hands ugh ajksfhjsl fuck!!!

fhfhfh yes, looking into the eyes of someone you thought you knew (and loved) after such a horrific revelation must be so difficult. Like, that person kissed and said sweet nothings to you behind a mask of some sort, so it must feel like looking into a stranger’s face afterwards. That’s definitely how Y/N was feeling. dfjkdjkj he really better have the most redeemable of reasons for lying to her. Will you guys think it’s good enough tho?!

I was expecting him to run after Y/N, because that just felt so much like what he’d do but he didn’t. Was it because his fiancee was there? Y/N couldn’t bring herself to hate the woman ugh my child is so pure and I’m hurting all over again :( “I’m not going to chase you” and “I won’t give up” um, what in the fresh hell, really. Why is he so lax in his pursuit now? :(

He said he wouldn’t chase her just so that she wouldn’t trip and fall to her death down the stairs (so he does at least possess some humanity lmao). And he must have said that he wouldn’t give up, because, well… he turned up at her apartment later. And rang her in between. As I try not to offer too many insights into their minds, I will say it from a place of speculation: perhaps he understood that she needed to get away from him at that moment. She absolutely wouldn’t stop running. So he resorted to calling her, and then turning up at her apartment. I don’t think he wanted to run her into the ground (she was very clearly exhausted).

And Jo, the way you documented Y/N’s journey from the eighteenth floor to the ground floor was so intricate! Her thought processes, her inner monologue, her sense of self-worth diminishing… it really did a number to me because I actually felt pain as I read it. It feels as though Y/N’s blaming herself for this treachery, you know? :( that she felt she had bursted someone’s bubble when JK was the one who ruined everything with his own hands :( god, I’m in so much awe of what you can do with mere words. I’m unbelievably in love with the way you write. And the last sentence? A fucking cliffhanger. A fucking heartbreak to come once more. Why don’t you take my heart and run it over with a bulldozer since it’s broken already lmao.

;;;;;; i’m so glad you liked that!!!! I wanted it to be intense and breathless. Constantly repeating how tired/how much it burned to run, to emphasise it in your own mind. ‘Til you start feeling it yourself!! 

Yeah, Y/N has a tendency to blame herself for everything. She thinks she can’t keep Jungkook interested, must have only been an escape from his life on the upper crust, etc… he was helping to build up her confidence, but then he tore it all down again. I feel like she should take a leaf from actual BTS’ book and Love Herself first. :( People often can’t do what’s best for them, though, for various reasons.

Next, the confession. God, I loved it with every fibre of my ridiculous being. The rawness of it all. How it came gushing through her lips and to be met with equal fervour by Tae. The exchange was mesmerising - timid and shy yet bold and dauntless altogether. I appreciate the fact that Tae had to take some time to digest the information and that he responded in the way that he did. It did felt right, after all that shit he put Y/N through the years.

I got SO into writing that scene. I wanted it paced and worded perfectly, because that was the ‘big’ moment. The fic had been building up to it for 10 chapters. From all the feedback I’ve received, I feel like I was able to do it the justice it deserved, and I couldn’t be happier about it. ;;;; thank you so much. The tumult of emotion you mention is precisely how I wanted it to play out. It took some bold leaps into the unknown and neither know what’s on the other side, but they did it anyway.

The part where Tae found her in the old haunt was so heartwarming. The piggyback ride, that little trip down memory lane… it felt nice knowing that some things just don’t change with time. Tae’s conviction in getting even for Y/N’s sake had me melting into a puddle of goo and feels. He’s so protective over her ahhh omg where can I find me someone like WYLEI’s Tae!!!

THIS IS MY FAV BIT!!!! I imagined this from day one. T__T And it was so nice to put it down into words, finally. AND YASS PROTECTIVE TAE!! I’ll be honest I’m not one for hot-headed males IRL but in the realm of fic (and as long as they’re not psychotic), I enjoy a guy with a vengeful spirit. And you mention exactly why. The protectiveness. T___T ahhajwkh. 

Tae’s initial reluctance in not wanting to fuck Y/N in this state really had my heart soft and in a pulpy mess. He knew it wasn’t right because this one fuck might make things messy again. He didn’t want to fuck things up any further with Y/N because he loves her too much to put her through another shit show. It’s a small part nonetheless, but showed how much Tae loved Y/N even though it means going against her wishes at that point in time.

Yes!!!! That was hugely important to include!!! I feel, without it, I’d be getting far different responses to this scene. It was essential to demonstrate that Tae had learnt his lesson and really valued their friendship above all. That he doesn’t just think of her as a woman in an attractive body. 

I feel like this chapter mirrors chapter 9, for some reason? Perhaps it had to do with the culmination of buried feelings and emotions, primarily desire and longing. Passion that laid dormant and stifled for fear of ruining the present equilibrium, are now brought to life with a confession. That, I find, makes the scenes all the more emotionally charged and engaging. And all the smut with Tae… NOW TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING PANTIES EVERYONE, IT’S TIME TO SCREAM!!!

You’re 100% right. The latter half, at least, is very much like 9. Y/N feeling desolate on the heels of the other guy, the lead-up banter, the actual act; it’s all very intimate; revolves around her and the respective guy in each chapter. And with a cliffhanger suggesting that you can’t just disappear into the arms of another and not pay the price.

“I want you to watch me undress.” > WHAT. THE. FUCK. Y/N is the epitome of Big Dick Energy, y’all!!! Fucking hell. The way she commanded Tae to watch her… WOW. I’m blown away with that power. That seductress side of her from before came out to play and I was unbelievably thrilled!!!

Hahaha, I guess, because I was writing her, I felt like her usual feistiness wasn’t behind that line. She was desperate to see some form of evidence that she was still desirable as a human being, so she put on a facade that normally comes very naturally to her. In this case it was pretty forced, and Tae saw through it quite quickly. Thank God, because I felt so awkward writing that bit. It really didn’t feel right to me.

“Fuck, all the times I’ve imagined you like this” > um, hello??? This is so fucking hot I’m sweating my fat ass off!!! Like Tae fina-fucking-lly gets to bone the living daylights out of Y/N and I can literally hear the utter desperation, the excitement, want and need in his deep, baritone voice as he says that? I’m not ok what the fuck is going on???

LOL you crack me up aklwjdawklj!! YES I had to cram in all his tasty one-liners about how much he’s thought about fucking her and in a myriad of ways bc gdi it’s hot and Tae is one horny man. With absolutely no reserve. IT’S SO HOT *fans self* 

“You have me” > um what the fuck, Jo? I legit died at this line??? I can only imagine the assertion and conviction in Tae’s voice when he said that??? He declared it once more to Y/N and I couldn’t breathe because /f e e l s/. Error 404: lieanon.exe not found (was dead in a ditch and now sending this from afterlife p.s. hell isn’t half as hot as the smut you write huehuehue).

aaaND THIS IS MY FAV OF HIS LINES DURING THE SEX STUFF!!! It’s just, like, it must be utter relief and happiness and desire flooding her hearing him say that. It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear from him. Instant crEAM. 

“Heaven was his practised teeth and tongue, pinching and suckling your collarbones to an inhuman shade. Like an overzealous pet he branded you with feral desire, mounting marks into stretches of unclaimed skin. ” > I got too much of a fucking kick while reading this because hickeys are fucking sexy and territorial so Y/N, WEAR THEM LIKE BADGES OF HONOUR. Ok seriously though where can I sign up for WYLEI’s Tae?!?!?!

ABSOLUTELY. HICKEYS FOR LIFE. I wanted to show how contrasting Jungkook and Tae’s approaches are in the bedroom, and Tae is far more aggressive (due to his confidence and experience). Plus he just freakin’ loves hickeys I guess. And as Y/N said, he’s aware ‘people’ will see them (Tae fights dirty lmao).

And that part when Tae fucked Y/N from the back AND pulling her while doing so? Mother of god that was SO. FUCKING. HOT. The mental imagery will never be lost on me, and it’s seared to the back of mind waiting to be revisited during /desperate/ times ahahaha FUCK. The tension and passion in that scene was palpable, and that taunting was sure as heck the cherry on top. Tae fucked Y/N through her squirting lmao let’s all hover over our damned bucket respectively because our panties are probably beyond soaked from that part istg my loins hurt and I need an ice pack gOD DAMMIT JO.

LMADOWNb i’m literally grinning from ear to ear reading this you are a tREASURE of the highest value. I’m glad you enjoyed that ;)))) my guidelines for going into this sex scene was: 1) it has to be passionate, 2) it has to be rough, 3) they both have to come quick the first time bc when you’re just THAT wound up about someone it’s hard to last long when you’re so impassioned and greedy. Plus I find something really hot about a fast ejaculation LMAO *sweats*. 

But you know what I find is the fucking sexiest part in the whole chapter? When Tae took Y/N’s hand and sucked her fucking fingers clean of her own juices wHAT THE FLYING FUCK JO WHAT THE ACTUAL /F U C K/ DID HE FUCKING LOOKED HER IN THE EYES AS HE DID SO?!?!?! I’M ASKING FOR A FRIEND ASHDFJKL I WILL NEVER BE OVER THIS PART.

you liked that the most!!!? Glad I included that then, that was just a spur of the moment thing I included while expanding the smut. He was v e r y hungry for her. ;)

AHHH I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS CHAPTER THE PAIN THE RAWNESS THE SMUT ASDAFFDSGL *incoherent yelling* uhm except i felt a little uncomfortable with the use of “oppa” it’s an overused trope “noona” is all good though i’m sorry please don’t hate me i love you :(

I had a couple of people ask about the oppa thing and honestly I had no idea that it had been sullied so much by kboos. After getting some feedback, including yours, I decided to change it to a much clearer ‘daddy’, after some thought on the matter. It’s probably the case that Koreans wouldn’t think to use their titles in such a way (correct me, anyone, if I’m wrong), as I was applying it with the vibe of ‘daddy’, and it’s probably not correct. So, just to be safe, I changed it. BTW I LOVE OVERUSED TROPES LIE ANON THIS WHOLE FIC IS BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS THE QUEEN OF TROPES!! NO-ONE CAN STOP MY TROPE-LOVIN’ ASS!!! Can I interest you in some enemies to lovers eventually…?! (the king of tropes)

……so yes, *deep breaths* I think I’m done screeching about chapter 11 and now it’s time to revisit everything once again. Or maybe 9034857494 more times. I’m positive I’ll find something new to scream about ahahaha yikes I’m really whipped lmao. I’m so invested in your fic that I’m actually terrified of the day when it comes to an eventual end sigh pie :( you write so very well, m’dear. WYLEI has made me cry, made me smile and made me high. You’re a talented storyteller, bubz, and I can’t convey enough gratitude to you for bringing us this amazing fic, Jo. I love you so very much!!! You’ve done extremely well, truly and definitely. Always delivering the best to us readers. Sending you plenty of love and good vibes always, m’love!!! Thank you once again! (and sorry for this long ass submission i’m the literal worst) xx lie anon ♥️🌻

Lie anon, you’ve written a veritable novel of yourself here to me, and I just want you to know how very, very grateful I am of how much time you spent collecting your thoughts and communicating them to me. I’ve never received such an essay (I mean that in the most affecionate of ways) in my inbox and it was a heartwarming read from start to finish. Thank you so much. And never be afraid to tell me of the things you dislike, as you did with the oppa kink. I’m always open ears. <333333

[justreadingfics]

Soft Touch, Tough Soldier.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) X Reader

Summary You don’t have a life of your own anymore. You are theirs. Just as much as he is. Despite the horror you both live in, you find each other.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: angst, reference to torture, reference to violence, brainwashing, implied smut.

A/N: This is my submission for tricia’s1kchallenge (the outstanding @tilltheendwilliwrite). Thank you for allowing me to participate T., and for helping me so much with this one. You rock! I adore you. Congrats on the milestone, you deserve it all. I got prompt 9.  “I have to go, but I don’t want to leave you.” English is not my first language. I feel like this differs a bit of what I’ve written before, so I really, really would love to hear from you guys. Xo.  

Source for timeline: http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline

Source for Romanian: Google Translator and @morningriseghost who so kindly messaged me. 

Gif not mine. 

 Washington, DC. Apparently this was going to be your new home for a while. At least it was what you had heard some of them saying. Not that it matter in any way, not that you were allowed to leave the constricting walls of whatever shitty facility they chose to operate.

You didn't have a choice. You wish you could even remember what it felt like to walk on the street of a city, to feel the air around you, to listen to the mix of noises showing the place was alive, that you were alive… But you couldn't. You didn’t have a life of your own anymore. You were theirs. Just as much as he was.

You sighed profoundly, biting the nails of one hand, while the other fumbled with the buttons of your white coat, and your foot tapped repeatedly against the floor. Why was it taking so long for them to bring him to you?

It had been long since the last time he had been out of Cryo. Your patient, your Soldier, your love... The only anchor that kept you holding on to this life.  It had been 7 months and 12 days since you last saw him. The longest period you’d ever gone without a glance of his gorgeous face since you got to that hell, three years before. Now you were so close to see his oceanic gloomy eyes again, but every minute seemed like a painful eternity. They must had something big and atrocious planned to keep him guarded for so long. The thought of what kind of nasty mission they undoubtedly had prepared for him made your stomach twitch in knots.

The nerve-racking waiting and the longing to see him soon draw your mind to the very beginning.

~~~~

You had freshly graduated from Harvard Medical School followed by a residency in Neurology. First in your class, receiving all the honors possible, with a backpack full of dreams to pursue hanging on your shoulders. That’s the reason why when one of your Professors offered you an opportunity to be part of a big and intriguing research program of a mysterious organization you didn’t even blink twice before getting on board. Who would have thought that your dear Doctor List was actually a leader of the dishonorable organization called HYDRA?

At first they tried to brainwash you with their sick philosophy to make you stay. But, when it didn’t work out as expected, they started using what they knew best. Torture. Pain. Intimidation.

Every escape attempted meant at least one broken limb for you. Not to mention the constant threats against your family members. So, at the end, you were left with no choice other than to give in to your new life as a HYDRA Doctor.

Your job would consist of evaluating and treating an asset of theirs, one they kept in cryogenesis and took out only for missions. You should check for any brain damages resulting from the process and from other perverse techniques described in his medical file, which forced your heart to be scrunched while reading it. Basically, you had to assure they wouldn’t fuck him up to the point of no return or make him useless for the organization plans.

You would never forget the day you first met him. Just like now, you were anxiously waiting for them to bring him to you. But your anxiety wasn’t caused by the same reason then.

Then you had been terrified. You knew nothing about his life, his backstory, but you were aware of the wiping process and the horrific brainwashing methods he was constantly submitted to. Yet, he was HYDRA’s deadliest weapon, so your expectations rested on that, and not on the fact that when two guards rushed into the room, startling you and placing him roughly in the treatment chair right to your front, you would meet with the bluest pair of eyes you had ever seen.

The two guards stepped away to stand by the door while you did your work. Your eyes were fixated on the broad figure that sat in front of you, wearing what you understood to be a tactical gear. A rough leather vest with no sleeves, exposing both his flesh and metal arm, which you knew about by reading his files, but what really held you interest was how dead his beautiful eyes remained.

He didn’t look up at you, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence or the whole situation which surrounded him.

Your breathing was erratic while his remained impassive. Though you weren’t afraid anymore, there was another rush of feelings surfacing inside you which you couldn’t quite put a finger on. How could someone seem so menacing and helpless at the same time?

You took in a deep breath to put your feelings on check and start the examinations procedures. The least you wanted was a punishment for being distracted. So, as you were used to doing during your residency, you explained to him everything you were doing and were careful to ask for permission before every single one of the procedures, even if all your words seemed to be falling into a void as he lingered silent and as still as a statue.

The images displayed on the exam machine shattered your heart. It was unbelievably heartbreaking how damaged his hippocampus and other essential parts of his brain were as a result of the endless wiping, yet you were amazed at the capacity of learning, clearly enhanced by the serum injected on his system.

When you were done with your work, you noticed, for a very unprofessional reason which most likely could get you killed, you weren’t quite ready to let him go. He intrigued you in a restless way. Against your better judgment, you slowly stepped closer to his chair after glancing at the both man guarding the door. They were engaged in a conversation with their back turned to you, so you felt confident enough to do what you had no idea why you needed to do.

You kneeled in front of the expressionless man. While his breathing was stealthily quiet, your ragged one assaulted your ears. He didn’t flinch or look directly at you, not even when you propped yourself with your hands on the arms of the chair with your face inches from him. You couldn’t believe how handsome he was with those chocolate locks brushing his features, some strains wet in sweat and glued to his skin.

But when you couldn’t help yourself and raised a hand to tenderly cup his scruffed jaw his eyes flicked swiftly to yours. It didn’t startle you, instead, his baffled stare and the sway of his chest showing the increase of his breathing only urged you to say what had been haunting your mind ever since you read his medical file. “I’m sorry...” you whispered, meaning your words.

His forehead furrowed while he blinked several quick times, and, opposing the former deadpan expression, in his eyes you saw fear, confusion, sorrow, but you also saw softness, curiosity, and appreciation. His beautiful, slightly parted lips were trembling like there were words trying their way out of the prison of his mind.

The sounds of his heavy breathing mingled with the thuds of your heart against your chest. Hypnotized by the beauty expressed in his gaze. You missed when he hesitantly lift his metal hand to lightly coat the one you had caressing his cheek. The sudden icy touch prompted a gasp out of your throat and sent sparkles all over your body, but you couldn’t move your hand away from him.

Right then you realized how much trouble the Soldier would be for you.

You weren’t wrong. That very same night you had a piece of that trouble, while you were lying down on your single bed in what your capturers liked to call a bedroom but you knew as your cell. With your back turned to the door, you didn’t see or hear him coming in, but you felt his overwhelmingly quiet presence behind you. An unbidden wave of fear ran down your spine making your eyes widened and your body tense. You made sure to slow down your breath, but you knew it was of no use.

His enhanced senses weren’t a secret to you, he would know you were awake.

The attack you were expecting never came. He just stood there in the dark inside the small room, staring at the back of your body, you assumed. Unexpectedly but not in a unwelcoming way, the whole situation ceased to be frightening to you when some curious feelings started to inflame your insides from the bottom of your core, and you felt your whole body relaxing, even if you never turned to face him.

His brooding presence was somehow comforting and the risk involving the situation was… insanely alluring to you. You knew he had gotten closer when rushes of hot air coming from his breathing enticed goosebumps to erupt all over your skin laid bare by a tank top and shorts.

You took in a sharp intake of air, your whole body shuddering when a cold metal finger touched ever so lightly the place where your skin was exposed on your low back and moved all the way up to your neck, unhurriedly making its way down again to the starting point, getting close to the band of your shorts. It became an almost impossible mission to suppress the yearning, dirty sounds fighting to escape from your lips as an expression of sheer arousal. Before you could show any further reactions he was gone.

He left as stealthily as he had got in.

It left you panting and feeling cold lines of sweat running over your skin, trying to understand what had just happened and why you were feeling that way, like there was a magnet pulling you over to that man. A man whose name you didn’t even know, if he had one at all.

During the protocol of the examination session the next day, and the subsequent ones, whoever watched the interaction between you two saw nothing but stoical behavior coming from him and professional manners on your end. It was amazing how bad guys couldn’t figure out anything beyond hate and fear, so the touches that were prolonged more than necessary and the affection coloring the gazes of both of you meant nothing to them.

That first night was followed by another, and another, and another. He always adopted the same pattern, standing inside your room watching you on your bed before running his metal finger over the usual path on your spine, never exchanging a single word with you. Most people would see that behavior as disturbing, but God knew how much you longed for those hushed minutes with him.

Afraid of scaring him off with a sudden move, you remained on the same position to allow him to come closer and touch you. You couldn’t sleep before he arrived and struggle to close your eyes after he would leave you.

You both kept this dynamic several nights and days until the craving for more of him took the best of you. During one particular night you decided you hadn’t had enough, so when you felt his presence behind you and the familiar cold touch of his finger, you boldly turned around, grabbing his flesh wrist when he promptly moved to get up from where he was kneeling by the side of your bed.

“Stay,” you whispered.

He kept looking at you with widened eyes but with an unreadable expression, keeping himself deliberately in place since he could easily unraveled himself from your grasp.

“I need you to stay,” you kept on without averting your eyes from the ones which had the power of melt your heart. “I need you to touch me,” you huskily confessed while softly guided his flesh hand to cup one of your breasts, feeling an electrifying coil squeezing your core when his hand met the covered mound.

His mouth had been long opened, then his eyes closed and his heaving chest proved how hard breathing was becoming for him, just like it was for you.

“Please, I need you…don’t go away…not tonight, please,” you pleaded, not caring how pathetic you were sounding. You needed this man, that was the simple truth, and you wanted anything but to run away from the feeling.

He snapped at your breathy supplication, and the walls he had been struggling to sustain between you two crumbled down when he pulled you closer with his metal arm, and leaned forward to press his lips to your begging ones with unrestrained passion. Soon, skin met skin and your searing sweaty bodies became one until the despair of your touches burned in a fiery pleasure you had both been deprived of for too long.

You didn’t count how many times he had taken you that night. He couldn’t get enough of you just as much as you needed to feel him, to be closer and closer, to have him inside you.   

From that unforgettable night on, your life with HYDRA consisted of enduring whatever you had to just to survive and wait for your encounters with the unnamed soldier, whether it would mean the wordless, ardent nights inside your bedroom or even the chance to furtively touch him in the medical bay.

So, it did nothing less than break your heart on the occasions when they wiped his brain so much he wouldn’t remember you. At least, at first when they sat him down on the chair before you, but at night he rarely failed, always finding his way back to you, somehow breaking through the barriers of his own mind. When it came to you, you were each and every time waiting for him, eager for his both soothing and ravenous touches.

~~~~

That day in that dreadful facility in Washington, after so long he had been on cryo, depriving you of his warmth, you had no idea what his reaction to you would be. Would he remember you? Would he still find his way to you, no matter what?

The clench in your stomach constricted further when, like a replay from the first time you’d seen him, two guards stormed into the room, dragging and pushing him into the chair. The hatred in your eyes aimed at the HYDRA assholes for the unnecessary violence of their actions soon turned into worry for the numbness the gaze of your lover displayed, like his soul had been detached from his body.

In a way you knew this was what they did to him with the wiping. The anguish in your heart almost made you gasp when he didn’t respond like he usually did to your gentle touches disguised in medical techniques.

Defeated, despite trying hard but gently to trigger him into recognizing you, all there was left was fighting against the tears forming in your eyes and go on with your procedures, silently hoping for the night to bring him back to you.

But your hopes were in vain. He didn’t search for you that night, and the next day, when you were with him again, he still didn’t seem to recognize you, keeping to his emotionless behavior.

There was something wrong...

Your heart sank, and your concerns were confirmed when the exams you ran on his brain showed that the recent wiping had been even more damaging than the previous ones. When you tried to argue with the doctors responsible for the procedure they only explained that the orders had come from above. Apparently the missions he had been assigned for required so. When you tried to reason further, they said, with a scientific interest and nothing else, that they knew how harmful this could get for the “asset’s proper functioning”, but they couldn’t do anything. It wounded you extremely to acknowledge that neither could you.

You spent the next couple of nights in tears alone in your room. You cried for his absence, but most of all you cried for being so helpless while you witnessed them tearing him apart. You would do anything to give it all back to him, whatever the life HYDRA had stolen from him, as they had from you.

You caught yourself wondering about the man you never knew, the man behind all of that horror, behind the soldier, what was his history? Had he been happy? Did he have a family looking for him? Friends? A girl? You guessed you would never find out. You didn’t even know how old he was since the medical file delivered to you was restricted to the minimum necessary and the cryo process made it hard to estimate.

On the third night you had lost hope he would ever feel him in your arms again. That was until you got out of your bathroom wrapped in a towel after a shower and met with his brooding presence inside your room. The smile which instantly curled up your lips faded as soon as you took him his demeanor.

He was wearing his tactical gear, covered in dirt, hair disheveled, strained all over his face while his jaw remained clenched and his hands were balled into two fists. He was staring intensively at you, but you couldn’t read his expression.

You noticed bruising over his neck you knew would soon be gone, but it didn’t stop you from worrying.

However, you didn’t know what to expect from his gloomy and unsteady presence, so you fought off the urge to run to him and wrap him in your arms, remaining cautiously still by the bathroom door, waiting for him to move first.

His tongue swept over his lips before you heard his voice for the first time ever. “I know you,” he stated, a rough gravelly sound, but instead of the expected menace, you heard vulnerability in his words.

This and the sentence itself were enough to send you running in a straight line to press your lips against his shaking ones. His muscles seemed to relax under your touch when you cupped his face between your hands, and he circled one arm around your waist bringing you closer to him.

Reluctantly you broke the long delayed kiss, but didn’t step away from him. He rested his forehead against yours and sighed once again, “I know you.” This time you heard a bit of relief in his voice.

“You do… you do, my love, you know me,” you hurriedly confirmed, running your hands to the nape of his neck, tightening the embrace, afraid he would slip through your fingers again.

You felt his muscles going rigid like before, and you stopped breathing, afraid you had gone too far with your affection and had triggered him somehow.

But his hold on your back over the towel separating your body from his hands became stronger and he added softly, “And I knew him…”  

Frowning, you leaned back but kept your arms around his neck to watch his face. What you saw was despairing confusion while he tightened his lips and narrowed his eyebrows, forming a grimace. “Who?” you asked.

You felt his heart become erratic against his chest when he responded. “The man on the bridge, I knew him.”

The vulnerability expressed in his words and in his whole body language was almost palpable and you wished you could do something to help him, but then heavy boots and words spoken in Russian were heard coming from the corridor outside your door. You desperately took your lips to his again, then pressed your chest against him, enveloping his body  in a close-fitting grip, resting your chin on his metal shoulder and diving a hand on his hair.

“I thought I had lost you. I can’t lose you,” you whimpered, not even trying to fight the tears.     

He nuzzled in the crook of your neck taking a long inhale of air, as if he was making sure to engrave your scent in the deepest part of his mind. “I have to go, but I don’t want to leave you,” he confessed in a low but firm voice against your skin.

Somehow you managed to form a smile through your tears. You leaned your head away from his shoulder to once again look at him, sliding one hand to caress his jaw like the first time you had ever touched him. “They can’t see you here with me, my heart… but I’ll be always waiting for you, no matter what, you have to know this. And you will find me again, won’t you?” You didn’t know if you were trying to reassure him or yourself with those words.

His metal thumb wiped away a tear rolling down your face, and your soldier once again warmed your lips in a kiss, sweet and soft, but full of longing. “Always,” he breathed after giving you a final peck and looking down at you with a blazing conviction in his eyes which left you with no choice but to believe his promise.

But a few moments after he was gone, you found yourself curling your body in a ball on the floor, listening to his excruciating screams echoing through the corridors. They were wiping him again, and you knew it would be even harder this time.

Whatever happened on that last mission had triggered him to not just remember you, but also this said “man on the bridge”. If they noticed any of that, they would definitely make sure to delete everything they could so they could keep their compliant machine.

You cried yourself to sleep with the dreadful feeling it wouldn’t be easy for him to keep his promise.

~~~

It all happened in a blur, like you were a spectator of your own life.

The evacuations sirens were filling your ears and your thoughts couldn't follow a coherent line. All you knew was you had to move. You knew a situation like this would come at some point. It meant you had two choices: to vanish on your own or they would vanish with you.

You chose the first option and for the first time in a long time you gathered the courage to make an escape. The chaos worked in favor of you and other prisoners to run away from the facility. Against all odds, you were able to walk on a city street again. No, not walk, you had to run for your life and couldn’t really enjoy the foretaste of freedom.

While you made your escape, you heard a word here and there and slowly you managed to catch a glimpse of what was the cause of all that buzz. Apparently a woman they called “Black Widow”, who was part of SHIELD (a name you had heard before as one of HYDRA’S major nemesis), exposed every file of both organizations, revealing its members and doings. You realized it meant you would be exposed as HYDRA associated as well.

Who would believe you were held there against your will? What would happen to you until you could prove your hostage situation, if you ever could achieve such thing? You would never go back to be at the mercy of any institution, not even the government. Then you understood you wouldn’t have to run just from HYDRA, but also from everyone else.

Another thing you learned was your beloved Soldier was actually James Buchanan Barnes who used to be part of the Howling Commandos you had heard so much about in history classes when you were little. Your heart caught in your throat to know that he was considered missing after a confrontation with his best pal, Captain America himself.  

The man on the bridge.

That was when you knew your fearful feelings had been right. You would never find each other again. You discovered, then, what numb emptiness felt like.  

To hold any hope of survival for yourself, you sank down deep inside the fear of a life without him, of a life of not knowing if he would be alright, of never having the chance to explicitly tell him how you felt for him, so you grasped all your hopes on the possibility that, yes, he was fine and finally free of the horror he had been imprisoned in for nearly 70 years. The faith you put on that thought was the only way you would be able to go on.

Lucky for you, one of the hostages who managed to escape by your side used to be a C.I.A agent, who identified himself to you just as Agent J. He helped you create a whole new name, a new home, a new life.

~~~

One year.

That was how long you had been succeeding on surviving after the apparent dismantling of HYDRA. You had serious doubts they had been fully defeated, but at least you had never been found by whatever might have remained of the hateful Nazi group, or by anyone else for the matter.

And anyone else included him.

There wasn’t a night that you wouldn’t dream of the touch of his finger sliding over your back. Sometimes you would get to the point of waking up swearing you had felt it for real, and it wasn’t just a product of your reveries, but he was never there when you looked for him.

You knew it in your gut he was alive. You knew what he was capable of and how the serum inside his system was strong enough to help him heal from the most severe injuries.

Yet the hope of him getting to you again never out weighed the certainty it was  impossible. After all, you had disappeared without leaving any traces behind. Agent J. had picked a place for you he had considered suitable for someone who wanted to vanish from the rest of the world.

It was hard at the beginning to get used to absolutely everything there. But it felt like a paradise after HYDRA. Soon you found yourself a small apartment and a job at a coffee shop which helped you immensely with the language. Little by little you were building a life for yourself, a routine, blending in with the lifestyle of the foreign country, pretending you could be happy again someday, and get by the pang in your chest every single time you thought of him.  

One of your favorite things to do was to head to the local street market early in the morning before work to get yourself some fresh fruits.

So there was the place you were that morning. While you walked around the fruit stalls, the noise of the busy city had a calming effect on you, It was a proof that you weren’t a prisoner anymore, even if you would never get back to your old life. Feeling in a good mood, it lit up your eyes to see a stand full of your favorite fruit.

A smile slipped through your lips and you decided to stop and buy some of them to eat at your lunch break later that day since they looked so juicy and tender.

“Sunt prunele coapte?*Are the plums ripe?” you asked in raw Romanian, but still making yourself understandable enough to the attendant. You nodded and smiled when she answered positively.

“Ok, deci vreau…*Ok, so I want…” You never finished your order. The hand that was fumbling over the fruits froze in place when you felt it.

It was real this time.

Instead of metal, it was a gloved finger that met your lower back and slowly slid it’s way up, coaxing the little hairs on the nape of your neck to rise before descending back again over the familiar path which ached to feel that touch again.

All the air had disappeared from your lungs so you had no idea how you ended up able to whisper the words, “You found me.”

The whole world around you faded into that husky voice you thought you would never hear again.

“Always.”

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[drdanwrites]

Magical Office Episode 9: Last Christmas PART 1

PART 1 OF THE “Season” Finale.... oh...and btw... Sorry...NOT sorry! ;) 

(Milton enters the office, his briefcase floating behind him. There are papers overflowing from the case. Milton walks up to his office door and tries to open it. The knob is locked and he moans in annoyance while he takes out his wand. He mutters alohomora and opens the door. There are bags under Milton’s eyes as he walks into the room. The walls are filled with pictures of Grindelwald, news paper clippings and maps. All connected by red string. He finally makes it to his desk and his briefcase falls to the desktop. He sits in his chair for a moment before noticing a red and green wrapped box. There is a perfect silver bow on the top of it. Milton’s face seems to lift as he brings the box closer to him, knocking papers off the desk in the process. He lifts the tag hanging off the bow closer. The camera zooms in to show that the tag reads: DO NOT OPEN BEFORE CHRISTMAS.)

INTERVIEW WITH NEWT

Newt: Milton has been swamped lately with the Grindelwald cases that have been plaguing the ministry for a couple of days. It was his own fault really. When Parkinson told the aurors that they would have to be working overtime to try and capture Grindelwald, Milton begged the Minister to let him do the work at no extra pay.

(Side scene were Minister Parkinson is in a meeting with all the Auror’s and assistants. Inaudibly Minister Parkinson is telling the aurors about the overtime and Milton stands up explaining to the Minister that he would take on the burden. The Minister then shrugs at Milton in agreement. Milton suddenly starts crying, grateful for the opportunity. He then tries to hug the Minister, who quickly tries to pull him off.)

Newt: In the spirit of the Christmas season, I decided to leave a little package for Milton. Although Y/N has asked me to take it easy on Milton this holiday season, I’ve decided to do a little bit of naughty and a little bit of nice. Hopefully Milton is a good boy and follows the instructions, or he might not like his gift too much.

(Newt turns around in his chair and stares out the window of the conference room. The camera focuses on Milton’s office door. There is silence followed by a loud growl and a sudden scream as Milton suddenly bursts through his office door, wrestling with a murtlap that has obviously bit him once or twice. The murtlap is then tossed to the ground and quickly scurries off. Newt laughs to himself, mischievously. He turns back to the camera. His face changes from entertained to reassurance.)

Newt: Not to worry. He’ll be fine. It’s not like flames are flying out of his anus or anything.

(The camera goes back to focusing on Milton, who rubs his neck yelling for Newt. Suddenly he grabs his stomach and looks extremely uncomfortable. A large thick flame of fire, erupts out of Milton’s butt. Newt looks back in horrific shock. Biggles, who had just nearly missed being burned alive by Milton fart flamethrower, holds the murtlap in his arms. The murtlap purrs and snuggles tenderly into Biggles embrace.) 

Newt: Oh...oh… dear excuse me. (He quickly gets up from his seat and runs out to assist with Milton, who continues to fart more flames. Newt quickly retrieves the antidote from his pocket and administers it to Milton. After hearing the commotion you come out of your office with Bridget. You both jump back as flames pass in front of you.) 

Milton: SCAMANDER!!! (The after effects of the murtlap bite have calmed down and the flames have subsided. Milton lays on the floor trying to recoup from being a human torch. Newt looks to you, you display a very displeased face and Newt knows he is in trouble, but hopefully not for long. He looks down at Milton and shrugs.) 

Newt: Happy Christmas? Better luck next year…

INTERVIEW WITH BIGGLES

(Biggles sits in the conference room. He wears a ugly christmas sweater that reads “Kiss me I’m a Grandma”. He is also covered from head to toe in christmas ornaments. Different coloured bobbles are pinned all over him and he has christmas tree lights wrapped around his entire body. They glimmer and are almost blinding as he fidgets in his chair, acting like a child waiting to open presents on Christmas day.)

Biggles: IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!!! (He throws his arms into the air and splashes his fingers out, going into a jazz hands position.) I am a HUGE fan of muggle Christmas. As you can see I’m decorated in the traditional muggle christmas attire. Muggles decorate themselves with shiny ornaments and other trinkets. Of course I’ve saved the best of last. (He bends down and retrieves from the floor a headband that has a giant bobbling star. He puts in on his head.) TA-DA!

Director: (From behind the camera) Are you sure you’re not supposed to put that stuff on the tree?

(Biggles laughs and looks down at himself and moves around some of his decorations)

Biggles: Don’t be silly. My tree has a red and white suit on.

END OF BIGGLES INTERVIEW

(The next scene sees Newt and you in your office. You sit at your desk, writing up more reports that Newt needs done. He is mixing potions together on a desk in the back of his office. Periodically he scribbles down several things and go back to mixing and pouring. You cautiously look back at him and wonder what he is mixing up. You look at the camera, giving a weak smile.)

INTERVIEW WITH Y/N

Y/N: Ever since I had that conversation with Rodger back on Halloween, I’ve had this thought about Newt giving me a love potion stuck in my mind. I mean he is constantly mixing up stuff and I don’t know what is in my drinks. He gives me a tea every single day. How do I know there isn’t something in there? (You pause as you chew on your thumb nail nervously) Damn it Rodger for putting this thought in my brain, but isn’t it crazy how fast we seem to be moving? (You ask but not to anyone in particular. You look back at Newt’s office door.) I just love that man so much….I’m just worried it’s not real.

END OF INTERVIEW WITH Y/N

(Newt walks over to your desk as you look up at him. He places a cup of tea on the end of your desk. You feel a cool sweat immediately rush over you as you nervously look between him and the cup. Newt looks at you confused.)

Newt: It’s just tea. Thought you could use it as you’ve let the other 4 cups I’ve given you this week go cold.

Y/N: Yeah… thanks sweetie… I’m not… I’m just not into tea right now.

Newt: (Newt looks taken aback) Oh...since when?

Y/N: Just felt like shaking it up I guess.

(Newt laughs and kisses the top of your head. You smile brightly at the physical affirmation of love. He kneels down next you and you turn to face him. He smiles meaningfully as he takes your hand.)

Newt: You are truly going to love your Christmas present.

(You laugh and run a hand through his hair.)

Y/N: Is that so? Well how do you know that my present isn’t the best you’ll receive?

(Newt kisses your hand and holds your hand there for sometime. It melts your worries as the love potion notion leaves your mind.)

Newt: I don’t think you could give me anything better than your love.

(You lean down and give Newt a meaningful kiss, thanking him for his unconditional love. He reciprocates the kiss, placing his hands on either side of your face, running his thumbs slowly up and down your cheeks.)

Newt: (He comes out of the kiss.) I love you Y/N.  

(You smile still hazy from the kiss, not sure if you should answer.)

Y/N: I-I love you too, Newt.

INTERVIEW WITH Y/N

(You sit in the conference room chair, your eyes stare at the ground as you smile widely. After a time of daydreaming, you look back at the camera).

Y/N: I’m being crazy. That kiss… (You trace your lips lightly with your fingertips.) Well, that was definitely real.

END OF INTERVIEW WITH Y/N

(Newt walks back over to his desk. He pulls out a drawer and looks back and you. When he sees you have gone back to work, he takes out the black ring box he had been looking forward to giving to you. He looks up at the camera and grins.)

INTERVIEW WITH NEWT

Newt: Normally I wouldn’t share my intimate thoughts with any of you, but I just can’t seem to contain myself…. (He smiles wildly and looks excitedly around as he thinks of the best way to say what he is going to say. When words fail him, he bites the corner of his lip and looks back up into the camera). I’m going to propose to Y/N during the Ministry Christmas party. (He holds his palms up to stop anyone in the room from saying anything.) I know what you might think. It may seem too soon… but… but not for us. Everything is just perfect and this is going to make the perfect start to the new year. When she says yes… that...that right there will be the best Christmas present she could ever give me.

END OF INTERVIEW WITH NEWT

(Claire stands outside of Bridget’s office. She is holding two tea cups with saucers. A bottle of fire whiskey floats in front of her. It starts to pour it’s contents into the two cups. Once the liquid stops flowing, two spoons begin to stir their assigned cups. As the spoons continue to mix the liquids together, Claire opens the door to expose the camera to the depressed mess inside. Bridget sits at her desk, crumbled into a sobbing heap, used tissues almost bury her. The echoes of her hysterical cries fills the room. Her shrine to Minister Parkinson is torn to shreds and only pieces remain clinging to the walls. Claire places one of the fire whiskey teas on Bridget’s desk and looks up at the drink. Her face is red and swollen. Her eyes are pink and her eye makeup has run all over her face. Bridget grabs a tissue and blows her nose loudly and sniffs her airway clear. As she grabs the drink, a hiccup escapes her lips and she downs the drink in mere seconds.)

Claire: (Stands in the corner still stirring her tea) Don’t worry ma’dear. It’ll get easier. Minister is a tosser.

Bridget: (Begins to sob uncontrollably again.) NO HE’S NOT. HE’S BEE--BEE--BEAUTIFUL!!!! (She drunkenly bumps her head on the desk and begins her cries all over again.)

(Claire casually sips on her tea and looks into the camera.)

Claire: (Whispers to the camera) That’s her 9th glass. I’m gonna start charging her soon.

(A knock on the door makes both women look up to see a secretly timid Minister. He looks around the room, making himself feel even worse for what he’s about to say.)

Minister Parkinson: Umm… hello there…

INTERVIEW WITH MINISTER PARKINSON

Minister Parkinson: Christmas time is a big deal around the Ministry. Our Party Planners spend all year getting our Ministry Christmas Gala in order and making sure everything is perfect. Of course everything must be signed off by yours truly. Anyway, every Ministry worker is invited and therefore.. I must… (He blows out air, feeling uncomfortable with his situation) make sure certain individuals who have recently experienced heartache by my hand behave themselves… not causing a scene in front of… other such ministry workers… such as….such as my wife.

END OF INTERVIEW WITH MINISTER PARKINSON

(Bridget and Minister Parkinson stare at each other and then both look back at Claire, who is still looking down at her tea and not getting the hint that was placed before her. Suddenly feeling all eyes on her she looks up.)

Minister Parkinson: I do apologise if I’m interrupting something, but I was hoping to speak to Bridget alone.

(Claire still stares at the Minister blankly. Bridget drunkenly stands up, knocking used tissues everywhere.)

Bridget: GET OUT! (Claire quickly get the hint and quickly dashes from the room. Closing the door behind her. Bridget awkwardly tries to stand and leans sexily on her desk, but ends up slipping on a tissue and lands flat on her desktop.) What..wh.a...what can I do for you Mrs….Mister… married person Parkinson.

(Minister Parkinson slams a palm to his face as he walks over to Bridget.)

Minister Parkinson: Now Bridget... I understand you are hurt… and… I’m terribly sorry if you didn’t understand our… arrangement… however, tonight, I would like your word that you will… sorry Bridget what are you doing?

(Bridget is crawling on the table over to the Minister, who is standing in front of her desk. She quickly fumbles over the edge of the desk and falls to the floor. Minister Parkinson bends down to helps her off the ground. He holds her in his arms for a moment. Bridget sobers up a little and looks pitifully into his eyes.)

Bridget: I miss you. (She brings a hand up to his cheek. The Minister leans into the touch for a moment, but upon realising it he quickly moves his head away and captures her wrist and brings it down.)

Minister Parkinson: Bridge… please. We can’t. I can’t. I shouldn’t have even started… this. I just need you to forget about this and not make a scene. I’m married and..and...and...

(Bridget edges her face closer and closer to Parkinson’s lips. Suddenly the two of them begin feverishly kissing each other. They move over to the desk and with one sweep of his arm the Minister clears the desk the two continue to kiss as they clamber onto the desktop. The camera fades out.)

(Milton looks around. He still looks completely exhausted, but is dressed formally for the gala. He walks across the room to Rodger and Claire’s office. He knocks but there are no answer, he doesn’t look up from the papers in his hands as he opens the door and walks in. Claire is asleep in the corner snoring loudly. Milton rolls his eyes and walks over to Rodger’s desk. The top of it is covered in various papers and folders. Milton walks around and sits in Rodger’s chair looking through the various piles for the forms he needs from Rodger. He shifts through until he finds a bottle hidden among the mess. He lifts the bottle up in the air and peers closely at it. The camera zooms in on the label. The words RESTRICTED is written across it. Milton instantly realises what this means and turns to open the different drawers in the desk. He opens one and pulls out another bottle, RESTRICTED is also printed around it.)

Milton: Ahhhh…. Rodger… what a tangled web you weave…

(The knob turns and Milton quickly looks up to see the office door opening. In a flash, he places the two bottles in his pocket and collects his papers. Rodger enters with his formal wear hanging off his arm. As he takes sight of Milton, he jumps back.)

Rodger: Milton! (He takes a closer look at the scene and looks suspiciously at Milton.) Can I help you with something?

(Milton returns the suspicious stare, not sure he can trust his coworker.)

Milton: Why yes...yes you can, Rodger. I’m in need of the warrant paperwork for Grindelwald.

(Rodger walks over past Milton and begins to shift through the same piles as Milton. In a moment, he finds what he is looking for and with a flick, hands it off to Milton. The two stare at each other, with an unspoken questionable glare, their eyes narrow as the paper gets passed from one hand to another. Milton shuffles the loose paper with the others in his hand. They continue to stand in front of each other.)

Milton: They are still looking for Grindelwald, but they think they have an idea where he has gone. There is talk he could have gone to New York.

Rodger: Interesting.

Milton: Yes… but I think what’s more interesting is that we still have yet to catch the person who broke into the restricted potions lab.

(Milton looks for any sign of a guilty conscious in Rodger’s stare.)

Rodger: Well I’m sure they will catch the culprit soon, especially with you on the case.

(When no guilt flashes on his face, Milton nods carefully.)

Milton: Yes….well...I suppose I’ll see you down at the gala. (Rodger nods and Milton walks carefully backwards out of the room. He continues to lock eyes with Rodger. Eventually, Milton reaches the door and his hand begins to pat down the door, looking for the knob. Rodger gives him an odd look, questioning why he won’t just turn around. Milton’s hand lands on the knob and he gives it an awkward turn as he scoots around the doors edge and slowly disappears from sight. Claire still snoring loudly in the corner.)

(Newt paces in the break room in front of the women’s bathroom. He is already dressed in his formal clothes, his hands are buried deep in his pocket and his hand fidgets as it holds the ring box inside. It twists and turns, it feels heavy and he can’t wait to give it to you this evening. The men’s room bathroom opens and Rodger walks out, adjusting his cufflinks. His eyes peer over at Newt and gives him a smirk.)

Rodger: Looking good, Newty.

Newt: You too, Rodger. Listen,  (He manages to take his hands out of his pocket and holds it out to Rodger.) No hard feelings, I’m aware of your feelings for Y/N and I just hope we can move past this.

(Rodger continues to adjust is other cuff link as he looks down at Newt’s hand. A disgusted smirk erases his amused one and he faintly laughs at Newt’s peace treaty. Putting his wrist down finally satisfied with his appearance he pats his chest, to indicate something is in his chest pocket. He stumbles backwards a few steps.)

Rodger: Better luck next time, Salamander.

(Newt looks at him awkwardly as he continues to walk out the door of the break room. Newt turns around, now trying to figure out what Rodger could have meant and what was in his breast pocket. High heels bring him back and he turns to see you in your red dress.)

Y/N: How do I look? (You give him a quick turn, your heels clicking on the floor as they assist you in your twirl.)

(Newt stares at you. He is unable to move. His eyes just take you all in, every inch and every curve. You can’t help but laugh at how baffled he seems to be.)

Y/N: Newt? Are you in there? (You wave your hand to interrupt his trance.)

(Newt blinks twice and runs up to your immediately, he takes you in his arms and with one arm bracing your back, he takes his other hand and places it on your cheek, positioning you perfectly for a passionately intense kiss. In this kiss he hopes to make you feel everything you’ve made him feel in the past couple months. Sadness, happiness, annoyance, absolute peace and lust. You come out of the kiss and look into each other’s eyes.)

Newt: I want to exchange gifts now.

Y/N: Now? (You giggle.) But what about the gala? It’ll be starting now.

Newt: I don’t care. It can wait.

Y/N: Mine is in the office, come on.

(Your office is dimly lit with a mere desk lamp as your only source of light. Opening your desk drawer, you retrieve the your gift, wrapped in a bow. Newt walks up to your desk, a hand still in his pocket. You hand the package over to Newt. He carefully removes his hand from his pocket and takes the parcel. The wrapping comes off quickly and opens the box. A black circular disk, almost resembling a hockey puck emerges. Newt looks at your questioningly. You take out your wand.)

Y/N: Memoria (You say the incantation and a hologram like image appears over the black circle. There flashes scenes of Newt and you laughing together, kissing each other and goofing off. The last image to flicker is one of you saying ‘I love you’ and flashing a quick kiss. When it finishes playing, Newt’s face alights with appreciation.)

Newt: It’s absolutely perfect.

(You jump up on your desk and swing your legs as you lean forward, bracing yourself on your arms. Newt takes the black circle and puts it in his coat pocket.)

Y/N: Merry Christmas

Newt: Thank you, love.

(You both give each other a quick peck.)

Y/N: Okay. I'm ready. (You shuffle back and forth preparing yourself for Newt's gift. He smiles and blows out all the air from his lungs.)

Newt: Okay, well you know I am usually not one for words. Quite frankly long speeches never seem to come from the heart, so I’ll get to the point. I love you. There isn’t anything else I can say. All my life I never needed anyone, but now, if I didn’t have you in my life… I’m not quite sure how I could go on. I’d do anything to keep you as happy as you are tonight. (Newt slowly takes the source of his distraction out of his pocket and purposefully gets down on one knee.) I promise to live my life with you as the priority….my job and creatures a very close second. (He opens the black ring box to reveal a ring in the shape of a long slender dragon. The dragon’s head and tail are wrapped around a subtle diamond. You gasp audibly, your hands clasped around your mouth to hold back any other sounds.) 

Will you marry me, Y/N?

FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS IN MAGICAL OFFICE EPISODE 10: LAST CHRISTMAS PART 2 

[storm-driver]

The Lost Union Leader and Keyblade War’s Time

Hiya. Back with another one of my lengthy theories. Let’s jump right in, shall we? Oh, fair warning, this is my stringing together 8 different theories into one. It’s gonna get confusing.

SPOILERS FOR KINGDOM HEARTS IN GENERAL: DON’T READ THIS UNLESS YOU’RE UP TO DATE ON EVERYTHING, THAT INCLUDES UNION CROSS.

Ever since the Union Cross update to Kingdom Hearts on mobile, we’ve been more concerned with the Keyblade War than ever. It was assumed that the mobile game had nothing to do with Kingdom Hearts’ true lore, specifically with Sora, Xehanort, etc. It was just a fun spin-off where you got to know how the Keyblade War started and what happened to those who fought in it. We were not prepared for a HUGE PLOT POINT to be dumped on us at the end of the season.

Ventus is chosen to help lead the remaining Keyblade wielders as a Union Leader. 

Wha-? Why- NOMURA?!

Ventus, who we ASSUMED to be about 14 years old at the beginning of Birth by Sleep, appears to be MUCH OLDER than that if he was apart of the Keyblade War...

So Ventus is actually like centuries old, from the Keyblade War era, forgot about it, and then Birth by Sleep happened... How does that happen?

Prepare for my really long and convoluted answer, and I do have evidence to back this.

Ventus was banished from/thrown out of the World, into the Lanes Between, which at this point, is just dead space that WILL be occupied by splintered versions of the World.

“Banished? Why would anyone hurt the precious cinnamon roll Ventus?!”

Ventus has shown in Birth by Sleep that when he believes in something, he supports it relentlessly, willing to fight for it. People keep spouting on about how Terra is causing havoc in worlds while Ventus only continues to combat their words by saying Terra would never do something so horrific. He’s willing to fight Vanitas at the very beginning of his story just because his counterpart mentioned Terra being a different person. 

When Aqua was about to be struck down by Vanitas, even when Ventus’ body was quite literally frozen and he was unable to act, he mustered up enough fire in himself to break the ice, stand up, and fight. And what kept him going in his fight? His love for Terra and Aqua and need to protect them. 

So... when Ventus VERY CLEARLY shows concern over the idea to forget the war ever happened and not tell anyone what happened at the Keyblade Graveyard... you might guess that he continued to disagree.

He’s always one to stand up for what he believes is right. And with how headstrong Ephemera has shown to be, I have a feeling the two have conflicting opinions. 

So what happens when Ventus decides that everyone DOES need to know about what really happened? How does Ephemera react to one who tries to break the rules that Master Ava clearly stated? You can probably guess that Ephemera turned on Ventus.

So, Ventus is banished/something or other from the Union Cross realm because he has a disagreement with Ephemera about forgetting the past and acting as if it never happened.

Now, to address an issue we’ve had since the beginning: how can Ventus possibly be ALIVE during Birth by Sleep if he was only about 14 years old then and the Keyblade War was centuries ago? 

Look at this screencap, and compare it to others... 

Ventus looks awfully young? His hair is much shorter, eyes wider. You can complain that his hair only looks like that because it’s Union Cross graphics but... didn’t Roxas get a model, as well? 

EVERYONE knows that Roxas is basically identical to Ventus... so... why aren’t they identical in character models? Well, because at THIS point, Ventus is a CHILD.

Obviously, children can be defined as being under the age of 18, but I mean he looks like he’s maybe 9 or 10 years old. That places this to be at about 4 years before Birth by Sleep even took place.

“WHOA WHOA WHOA, HOLD UP, YOU’RE NOT GONNA-”

I’M NOT. THIS DID NOT HAPPEN JUST AS BIRTH BY SLEEP STARTED, I SWEAR. This is what’s killing my theory, ‘cause I have no definite place for the Keyblade War to be placed. I can’t prove if the war happened 10 days or 10 years before Birth by Sleep started because it... doesn’t make sense? Ventus, if he was conscious, should’ve aged like any other person and should be much older if the case is that this takes place any time relatively near BBS... And there it is.

VENTUS WASN’T CONSCIOUS WHEN HE WAS BANISHED. Something happened to his heart that placed his body into a comatose state, much like it’s in now, so that it would not age. What... what do I think happened?

I think a certain cinnamon roll got into a rough fight with a skilled Keyblade wielder and lost... Ventus wasn’t banished. He had his heart damaged. And to hide the evidence that Ephemera hurt a fellow leader over a disagreement, they disposed of his comatose body, believing he was dead.

I know I’m going on a bit of stretch here, but bare with me. This only starts to make sense. 

With Ventus being gone, people of his Union, assuming he even had time to start one, would clearly be concerned. Outbreak and concern for what happened to their leader, their friend. Such a nice person who believed to bring out the good in everyone, where could he have gone? 

I have reason to believe that some sort of default in the new Union Leaders led to the real downfall of the World. You can clearly see when Ephemera and company are talking, the World is... still kinda intact? The Keyblade War didn’t cause the World’s to be shrouded in Darkness, but something between the leaders did. What happened rippled through the Keyblade wielders, hurt them, made them lose hope. What could cause so much pain rather than hearing that one of their only hopes of survival was just... thrown to the side, supposedly killed, because they disagreed?

Union Cross has never shown once that the war was fought over the X-Blade, like we’ve been led to believe so far. Rather it was fought because the looming threat of darkness, accompanied by the idea of a traitor, was enough to create conflict and hatred between the Unions. 

So when Ephemera learns of this so called X-Blade that has the ability to call upon Kingdom Hearts itself, you think he’d try to use it to restore the World to it’s natural, friendly state, to FORGET the past and act like it never happened?

Absolutely. 

And when Skuld and the others tell Ephemera that calling Kingdom Hearts is forbidden, you think they’ll fight him over it?

ABSOLUTELY.

And when that all backfires and the X-Blade is destroyed, plunging Kingdom Hearts and the World itself into darkness, you think that coincides with the story about the X-Blade being the real cause of the Keyblade War?

ABSOLUTELY!!!!

I’m not even done, kids, ‘CAUSE NOW WE’RE ONTO THE TIMELINE.

Kingdom Hearts as a series has done it’s best to state when each game takes place. But for some reason... they left Union Cross out of it? We’re told constantly that THIS era is known as the “Age of Fairytales,” or just a VERY long time ago. But that’s never branched out on... Nothing about years, dates, no reports to back anything. We’re just told it happened and it was a long time ago.

Why is that? Aside from Dream Drop Distance, we’re basically told exactly when everything happens in this series (it’s assumed Dream Drop Distance takes place roughly 8 months after Kingdom Hearts II, since it states Sora is 16 while in KH2 he was 15). What’s wrong with giving us a time span? Just saying a thousand years does a lot for us, but because they didn’t mention it... it’s led me to believe that this game occurs sometime within the past 100 or so years of Birth by Sleep.

I’VE GOT EVIDENCE, JUST WAIT.

Leading bit of evidence that never made any God damn sense to me since I learned about it: how old Kairi is.

That sounds really creepy, but it applies to all the Princesses of Heart. Assuming each Princess is between the age range of 9 to 24, since Alice is one of the youngest and Aurora is the oldest, that becomes... oddly suspicious of when each Princess’ heart was born.

We are given confirmation in Dream Drop Distance that each world runs on a different time-axis. So specific age doesn’t really matter. But isn’t it weird, how if the X-Blade was shattered over thousands of years ago, only just now are the pure light pieces of it being reborn? 

Yes. It’s very disturbing, but if you think about it, it works. The World is recovered and the fragments of the X-Blade begin to be dispersed into the hearts of young maidens so that the X-Blade may exist again one day. This should only take, if we think about this, about 100 years if we consider the different time axises. 

So the Princesses of Heart are much too young and too close of age for this War to even be a thousand years old. It had to have happened within a lifetime.

SPEAKING OF LIFETIMES, LUXU, HOW’S IT GOING? Yeah, even that mysterious dolt ties into this whole mess! Remember at the beginning of 0.2 where we saw that really cool cutscene of Luxu standing in the Keyblade Graveyard where Kingdom Hearts was being summoned?

Yeah, I bet you-! wait what

Kingdom Hearts.... summoned? When... When did that happen during the Keyblade War? Oh right, IT DIDN’T. 

In fact, let’s compare cutscenes for a moment. 

I’m gonna give you a screencap of Luxu in the Keyblade Graveyard, spectating a pillar of rock where Kingdom Hearts waits at the top.

Here’s a RATHER SIMILAR screencap of Aqua and Ventus in the Keyblade Graveyard, spectating a pillar of rock where Kingdom Hearts waits at the top.

Are... are you serious? Luxu, or whoever the hell that is, was there when Aqua, Terra, and Ventus fight Xehanort...

“Pffft, bet those rocks were there during the Keyblade War.”

My dear reader, I hate to call you out, but those rock formations weren’t natural... XEHANORT DID THAT.

SO LUXU WAS THERE, WHEN KINGDOM HEARTS WAS SUMMONED BY XEHANORT. How on earth could he be there... unless the events of Union Cross were recent... so Luxu could still be ALIVE. 

I’m gonna call myself out before anyone else does, but the one reason this specific cutscene scenario doesn’t work out is ‘cause the Keyblade Luxu is holding is supposed to be Xehanort’s at this point... Besides that one time in 358/2 Days when Roxas summoned two Kingdom Keys at once, I really don’t have an explanation, so I’m sorry if this isn’t satisfying. The only other time I could think of this screencap taking place is during the first summoning of Kingdom Hearts, when the World fell to darkness. But even so, it doesn’t explain the rock formations...

So, that’s my long theory. I did come up with some answers to a few lingering questions:

-What happened to Ventus when his heart was broken?

My guess is that he wasn’t as broken as they thought and he was able to kinda just hibernate until his heart mended itself. He was most likely drifting in the empty void till Xehanort found him and brought him somewhere safe.

-Wouldn’t Ventus remember Ephemera and friends then?

Well... no. A broken heart is gonna have some repercussions on a person. Odds are he forgot a bit about what had happened, so Xehanort just trained him till he remembered how to fight. And then when he found Ventus couldn’t do what he wanted him to, he broke him even more.

-That cutscene’s rock pillar isn’t identical to the other one...

For the love of God, that cutscene is like 10 years old versus this new, 7 month old one. That was the cutscene before they finalized Ventus’ fighting style, since he’s holding his Keyblade in the wrong hand. 

-Didn’t Luxu have to pass on the Keyblade?

I had a really long tangent about how he was probably Xehanort and Eraqus’ Master or maybe someone he trained was the Master, and that the Keyblade he passes on wasn’t actually meant to be wielded but Xehanort defied an order and whatnot, but that got really ridiculous. Yes, he probably did pass on the Keyblade, but if that guy isn’t Luxu, I don’t know who it is. And if it is Luxu, I don’t know HOW he has that Keyblade. And if that ISN’T the time when Aqua, Terra, and Ventus fought Xehanort, I really don’t know when...

So, here’s our recap:

-Ventus was thrown out of the Union Cross realm and entered a comatose state in the Lanes Between.

-Ventus had a disagreement with Ephemera over telling the Keyblade wielders about what happened during the War and injured his heart in the process. Because of this, he was thrown out.

-The discourse left behind when Ventus disappeared combined with Ephemera’s desperation to save the remaining Keyblade wielders led to Ephemera trying to use Kingdom Hearts to restore the land. 

-When everyone disagreed with Ephemera, the X-Blade was shattered and the World fell to darkness.

-The Princesses of Heart started a short time after the world was restored by the light in the hearts of children. This would allow for the recreation of the X-Blade in time to come.

-Because of this, the events of the Keyblade War and Union Cross had to have happened within a lifetime of Birth by Sleep.

-To further back this, Luxu is seen spectating the fight of Terra, Aqua, and Ventus versus Xehanort and Vanitas.

[winterscribe]

50 OTP Asks: Avaleara and D

Ok, so I might be breaking a rule here, but I answered all the questions and figured I’d share the answers. Its broken into several posts so any one didn’t get too long.

[Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five]

1. Who is the early bird/ Who is the night owl?

Avaleara’s sleep schedule is fucked up beyond repair. She went so long ignoring her need to sleep (because of nightmares) that she’s used to functioning completely exhausted and can always find something to do to avoid sleep. It's not uncommon to find D picking her up and dragging her off to bed, or otherwise convincing her to sleep. D sleeps when he can, but prefers to sleep during the day, so I guess he’d be the night owl. 

  2. Who is the big spoon/ Who is the little spoon?

They are both the same height so they tend to switch. Because they’ve both survived this long due to paranoia, they often take turns sleeping with the other watching over. In this case little spoon is the one sleeping, and big spoon is curled protectively around them while keeping watch. 

  3. Who hogs the cover/ Who loves to cuddle?

Avaleara is a cover hog. Both “dragons” and “valkyries” are natural nesters and Avaleara has both in her gene pool, so she tends to build up the bed with all the pillows and blankets. D is used to sleeping without covers so he doesn’t mind, and it's not like he’s gonna get cold since Avaleara gives off a massive amount of body heat. 

They both love to cuddle, though for the longest time D had issues instigating. He’s so used to keeping himself apart, both for his safety and everyone else's, that it's hard for him to let someone close even when he really wants to. But he’s learning and it gets easier with time. Avaleara has similar issues because someone she trusted so much turned around and tortured her. It’s hard for her to let her guard down but she trusts D and has his permission to cuddle, so she’s constantly draping herself all over him. 4. Who wakes the other one up with kisses?

Neither. Unless it’s a serious emergency they guard each other’s sleep fiercely since they both have a lot of trouble getting enough sleep. Also considering they both have PTSD they tend to wake up fighting. Long before they got together D tried to wake Avaleara from a nightmare since it was bad enough he heard her screaming from the other room. By the time Avaleara was fully conscious D was almost dead since she’d thrown him across the room and all but cut him in half with poison claws. Years later they now have a telepathic/empathic link that means that won’t happen, but the thought of it still terrifies Avaleara so D tries not to wake her if he can avoid it. In the rare case that it's unavoidable it's usually half telepathy and half gentle talking that wakes the other up, and it can take a few minutes because they go so slowly to avoid inevitable injury. 

5. Who usually has nightmares?

Both of them. Avaleara’s are mostly flashbacks to the decades of torture she endured. She doesn’t sleep without D, because somewhere along the line D’s scent became psychologically ingrained in her as safe, and D managed to figure out how to ease her out of a nightmare, but it took a long, long, time for that to happen. Also because she’s woken up a couple times choking on a piece of her own tongue she managed to bite off, and is kinda freaked out at the prospect of dying over something so stupid. On top of that, she’s constantly worried about hurting someone, especially since the one time she almost killed D.

D has nightmares about the frontier. Memories of kids he’s had to kill cuz they were turned into bloodthirsty monsters, people he liked killed in horrific ways, his thousands of siblings slaughtered by his father, just. All the nightmares. After he has kids, he dreams of them being tortured by his father. D doesn’t react to nightmares since he’s so used to them, and he learned long ago to keep quiet and still during them. He will hold Avaleara close after a particularly nasty one, and his kids aren’t strangers to getting seemingly random “skype calls”.

6. Who would have really deep emotional thoughts at the middle of the night/ Who would have them in the middle of the day? 

Both of them would think these things during the night. D is definitely a night owl and sleeps during the day, even on a world where sunlight doesn’t hurt him. Avaleara tends to keep really really busy during the day, so it's not until she slows down at night that thoughts catch up to her.

7. Who sweats the small stuff?

Neither of them. Although Avaleara can get a little finicky when she’s organizing a diplomatic event, needing every little detail down to the napkins to be perfect, that has a lot more to do with the complexities of hosting an interplanetary diplomatic party and managing not to accidentally insult (or worse poison) someone.   

8. Who sleeps in their underwear (or naked)/ Who sleeps in their pajamas?

D sleeps his pajamas, although any person who hasn’t survived off paranoia for millennia would consider it a only a step below tactical body armor. (loose fitting enough that movement isn’t restrictive, tough enough material to provide some protection) If he feels really comfortable he’ll sleep shirtless though. Avaleara does sleep naked a lot, but she’s also known for stealing D’s shirts and boxers and sleeping in those.

9. Who makes the coffee (or tea)?

D. The man can’t cook to save his life, but he makes a mean cuppa. His tea is usually semi medicinal, and the one he makes most often would be a sleepy time tea to help Avaleara relax. Avaleara may live of her world’s version of coffee, but she rarely actually makes it. She uses it as an excuse to stop in for a few minutes and catch up with local baristas, and chat with her people. If she’s too focused on her work D will stop in with a cup from her favorite place to keep her going.   

10. Who likes sweet/ Who likes sour?

Avaleara kinda has a sweet tooth, liking pastries and her world’s version of chocolate, but she’s not a huge fan of overly sugary things. She’ll occasionally eat something sour, but it's definitely not a favorite flavor. D’s relationship with food is weird since he didn’t really need to eat, but he’s learning to enjoy things. He doesn’t have a sweet tooth though, about the sweetest thing he’ll eat is fruit and dark chocolate.

[thefanandthecritic]

10 Songs that I wish were talked about more - Part 1

Hello. Why yes, it has been a while. Full-time work will do that to a man. Unfortunately, it looks like my schedule is going to remain horrifically inconsistent for the foreseeable future, as teaching’s erratic work schedule means I cannot guarantee my time. I have noticed, though, that the twelve of you who follow me have not ditched. Thank you a million times for that. As a peace-offering, I have decided to put together something light and fluffy, and it doesn’t get lighter and fluffier than a listicle. Thus, we are here.

A few provisos and quid pro quos:

1. I am going to state upfront that I have used two entries for one band on this list. Yes, it bothers some people, but they are my absolute favourite band and one song would not cut it.

2. It is entirely rock music. If fans of any other genre were getting hopeful, then I apologise, but I cannot satisfy you today.

Other than that, enjoy it. I love these songs and wanted to give them their due. Please comment entries you would love to have on here.

10. If These Trees Could Talk - Barren Lands of the Modern Dinosaur

If These Trees Could Talk are a band that really somehow should be much more respected in the post rock sphere than they are. Their latest album, “The Bones of a Dying World”, is a thunderous post metal colossus that impresses so much with its immense climaxes and stunningly beautiful interludes that it is almost required listening for those who want to know what metal would be like without the hit or miss vocals.

The album prior to that, however, features one of my absolute favourite post rock tracks: Barren Lands of the Modern Dinosaur. What begins as a soothing drifter of a song with delicate melodic lead guitars and a lumbering, deliberate bass-line slowly builds itself over the course of about 2 to 3 minutes before letting its guitars and drums growl with all the menace of the terrible lizards themselves. This song is a fantastically constructed piece of music. Why this song is not spoken about in post rock circles, I will never know, but I want to carry its banner for as long as I can. Find this on iTunes, buy it from the band’s website, stream it below, just do something to hear it. It’s worth every second.

P.S. This song has such a clever title. Seriously. It looks like gibberish at first, but if you think about it, it makes a heck of a lot of sense. What were the Dinosaurs? The dominant species which ruled the earth in their time. What happened to them? They became extinct. So that would mean that the “modern dinosaur” is the whatever rules the earth now as the dominant species. It also means that the “modern dinosaur” will one day be extinct. Think about it. Not so dumb, now, is it?

9. Brand New - Jesus Christ

I have never really been much of a fan of Brand New. I can respect their viciously raw, earnest approach for what it is, but my ears just cannot handle the wall of sound that they are so known for. This song is the one exception to this. Holy damn-diddly-skritt, this song is a doggone masterpiece. I’ve spoken in a previous review about how this song’s atmosphere is so soothing and serene that it transports me to a pastoral orchard in the mountains, and that perception hasn’t changed.

Every time this song comes on, I can smell the early-morning mist trickling down through the trees, and I can hear the leaves whisper in a light breath of wind. It is staggeringly beautiful in how well it handles its melody, but that isn’t the only part of the song that works. The lyrics are incredible, mapping out a man’s existential fears as he holds a one-way conversation with the titular son of God. He debates his misgivings with Christian doctrine, but ultimately admits how flawed of a person he is, and resigns himself to whatever fate comes of being himself in one of the most emotionally resonant pieces of writing I have ever heard in rock music. To cap it all off, it has one of the best closing lines in rock history. Find this song. Listen to it when you’re in a pensieve mood, and you may find yourself drifting off to that orchard, too.

8. Blink 182 - Rollercoaster

Blink-182 are still one of my favourite bands. I have such a weakness for their brand of catchy pop-punk that I should probably be on chronic medication for it. Even if you don’t know about them, you’ve probably heard “All the Small Things” enough times to want to drive a nail-gun through your skull, but there is so much more to this band than that song. The rest of Enema of the State (the unfortunate name of the album that All the Small Things comes from) is a fun, cheeky, if a little crass romp through a teenager’s world; The self-titled record is a masterclass in hard-edged pop-punk viscera; Neighborhoods is a highly underrated exploration of melancholy, and Take Off Your Pants and Jacket is a riot of stellar hooks and cheekiness. If you found that monster hit single to be a grating mess of a thing, then there is something in the band’s discography that should offer you a panacea.

It is off of Take of Your Pants that this entry comes. You’ve no doubt heard of “First Date” or “Stay Together for the Kids”, and I’ve heard many people say that “Reckless Abandon” is their favourite off of the album, but why in god’s name does nobody talk about “Rollercoaster”? This song is so infectious that if it were a baseball, everyone would catch it. It is made of one of the most joyous hooks Blink ever crafted and the lyrics do an infinitely superior job to “First Date” of capturing the awkwardness of teenage romance. Where “First Date” was all about the goofiness of not knowing what to do on a date, “Rollercoaster” is about the nightmare of feelings that happens before you even pick up the phone, something that relates to most any teen out there. And even if the band’s use of the metaphor of “love is a rollercoaster” is a bit on the stale side of cliche, when Tom de Longe lays down that riff, you won’t care, because you’ll be having too much fun.

[Friendly warning: Foul Language inbound]

7. Paramore - Careful

Paramore’s Brand New Eyes is a good album. To be more specific, a good album with a great song. If your immediate response was, “Hell yeah, ‘Ignorance’ is my jam,” then you and I are going to be exchanging words. Not that I have anything in particular against that song. It deserved to be the hit that it was. It is not, however, the band firing on all cylinders.

The song where that IS the case would be “Careful”. I’d go as far as to say that after “Careful” explodes Brand New Eyes into life, the album never really recaptures that level of hard-edged pop-punk glory, and for that reason, I’ve always had an issue listening to the album all the way through. If you’re looking for something to pump your blood on a slow day, then look no further than Josh Faro’s shrieking lead riff and brother Zach’s pelting drums for your thrills. Hayley Williams delivers the goods on vocals as per usual, and Bassist Jeremy Davis keeps pace with everyone else brilliantly, providing an under-appreciated layer of complexity underneath all the flash of the rest of the band. Take a listen to this song if you want to know why people go gaga over this band.

6. Jimmy Eat World - Clarity

I couldn’t go for too long without my favourite band making it on here. Jimmy Eat World at one point were inescapable during the early 2000s, when Bleed American was on every radio and in every teen movie. An entire generation lived their lives forever haunted by the phrase, “Hey! Don’t write yourself off yet”, but the tragedy of that album is that it’s the one everybody knows despite it not being remotely close to the band’s best work (fight me on that if you want). That title goes to the band’s magnum opus, “Clarity”.

Now heralded as one of the greatest album’s of the 90s, “Clarity” was a disappointment to fans and the record label initially, and was over-shadowed by its successor’s monstrous popularity. If you find the time to listen to it, however, you’ll be greeted by an absolutely breath-taking meld of alt-rock and punk, with some of the most ambitious production of any album to date. Each and every song on the album is an example of the band’s excellent and diverse song-writing skills, but it’s the title track that’s going to get my vote today. “Clarity” is an explosive and potent piece of pop-punk that pushes lead vocalist Jim Adkins to his absolute limit. The energy of the song constantly ratchets up all the way through until the final minute, in which Adkins unleashes the best vocal moment of his career, holding a terrific note for nearly ten seconds straight… twice in a row, all the while landing a simple but killer solo that swirls around him in a spectacular musical moment. Give this album a shake, but if you only want one song to sample, this is it. Or “For Me This Is Heaven”. Or “Lucky Denver Mint.” Or “Just Watch the Fireworks”. Any of those, really. The album’s great. Listen to it.

So ends part one. If these tickled your fancy, stick around for when part two arrives in the next couple of days.

[picardonhealth]

The invisible wounds inflicted by pandemic journalism

ANDRÉ PICARD, THE GLOBE AND MAIL 

JUNE 7, 2021

The bread and butter of journalism is covering traumatic events.

The headlines drip with blood and sorrow: Dead children buried at residential schools, record numbers of casualties of the overdose crisis, mass shootings, armed insurrection, wildfires, war and more.

The COVID-19 pandemic added another layer: Millions dead, carnage in long-term care homes, burned-out health workers, glimmers of hope constantly crushed by new coronaviral plot twists, in wave after wave after wave.

Yet journalists rarely talk about the despair and trauma they suffer when covering such high-profile stories.

A story published recently on Study Hall, an online support network for media workers, has forced some self-reflection out into the open.

Fully vaccinated travellers? Welcome to Canada. Everyone else? Quarantine

Canada could break the pandemic by mid-summer. We just need more vaccines

In the piece entitled “The COVID Reporters Are Not Okay. Extremely Not Okay,” Olivia Messer talks frankly about quitting her dream job at the Daily Beast after “falling apart” under the relentless pressure of pandemic coverage.

“While I’m tempted to be vague about my departure, I also believe it’s important to acknowledge the profound exhaustion, loss, grief, burnout, and trauma of the past year covering – and living in – a mass casualty event that has changed all of our lives,” Ms. Messer tweeted at the time.

The raw revelation hit a nerve.

A lot of journalism is mundane, coverage of meetings and press conferences and events. But some of the work is inherently risky.

Journalists tend to run toward the danger, not away from it – often at breakneck speed.

Like victims of traumatic events and the first responders and front-line workers who help them, reporters can suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder.

But journalists often feel their suffering is somehow less important, or unearned. After all, they are just observing. They are there voluntarily.

When you just write about the suffering of others, or watch endless video reels of horrific events, your own feelings somehow seem unworthy of mention.

Bearing witness is essential. But sometimes what reporters witness can leave scars, and deep psychic wounds.

“Moral injury” is the term academics use.

In the public imagination, reporters are like war correspondents portrayed in Hollywood movies – hardscrabble, hard-drinking blokes with impenetrable shells.

The reality is somewhat different. The adrenalin junkies reporting from the battlefields were as prone to PTSD as anyone else – they just tended to bury their feelings, often at the bottom of a bottle.

The up-and-coming generation of journalists is having none of that. Not because they’re “snowflakes” (or whatever other demeaning terms some of the old-timers will use), but because they are more sensible.

In an article published in The Thunderbird, a publication of University of British Columbia’s graduate school of journalism, reporters McKenna Hadley-Burke and Karan Saxena write thoughtfully about the need to break the silence about the “invisible wounds” journalists suffer in their everyday work.

Covering COVID-19 or the overdose epidemic can be every bit as traumatic as war coverage. In fact, it can be more so because reporters live in the communities they cover. The dead are neighbours and friends, not strangers.

Covering the horrors of the Kamloops residential school or missing Indigenous women and girls can be soul-shattering. But imagine how much more so it is for Indigenous reporters who grew up in the midst of intergenerational trauma.

During COVID-19, there was often no escaping the news – and that is doubly true for those who produce the news. Taking your work home can be a gross understatement. It doesn’t help that the culture of journalism often fetishizes constant connection.

There is much FOMO (fear of missing out) in the business. When you cover a story for days, weeks, months, you don’t dare take a break lest you miss a big development.

Social media also poses a dilemma. For journalists, platforms like Twitter can be a great way to find sources and promote their work, but also a cesspool of hatred. Increasingly, reporters are also physically attacked.

Then there is the thorny issue of resiliency. Why are some reporters more able to shake off trauma than others? There is a complex mix of genetic, psychological and spiritual factors at play.

But journalists who are coping often feel bad about not feeling worse, especially when they see their comrades fall. Survivor guilt.

Many newsrooms, virtual and otherwise, are making an effort to address these issues, with training on trauma-informed reporting, better access to therapy and culture change. But it’s becoming urgent.

We need to give ourselves permission to grieve.

In an industry already beset by financial woes, mass layoffs and political attacks, we can’t afford to lose a generation of journalists to despair.

On June 9, Globe and Mail health columnist André Picard and CNN medical correspondent Dr. Sanjay Gupta will be honoured by the Canadian Journalism Foundation for their “exceptional impact in providing accurate and vital information during the COVID-19 pandemic.”

[magicmenageriestuff]

Top Cat  –  Hoyt Curtin

“The indisputable leader of the gang”

*Warning : Cat Porn*

*

Yes, that Top Cat.  The wise guy cartoon alleycat from New York City with his gang always trying to get one over on Officer Dibble.  It was a staple of my childhood in the 1960s and certainly contributed to my impression of the city where I now live.  As did the music.  Like many of Hanna Barbara’s cartoons – Huckleberry Hound, The Flintstones, The Jetsons – the music was composed and recorded by Hoyt Curtin, a Californian specialist in the punchy joyful bright slices of cartoon sound.  Top Cat the Theme Music is only 42 seconds long and is thus the shortest piece of music in My Pop Life to date.

From the funky horn fanfare to the stuttering trumpet intro to the glamorous celebratory vocal refrain (which reminds me somehow of Isaac Hayes’ Shaft (see My Pop Life #60)) and the crisp xylophone punctuation, this mini cartoon symphony is a marvel of crushed sound & misheard lyrics.

Top Cat ! whose intellectual close friends get to call him T.C.

Strode right in, it’s whipping to see…Top Cat !

Hmmm.  Well that is what I’ve always sung, from the age of five.  Nonsense.  Wait. OK according to the lyrics bible Genius.com (which is highly recommended by the way…) it is :

Top Cat ! whose intellectual close friends get to call him T.C.

Providing it’s with dignity…Top Cat !

I genuinely just found that out.  Prefer my five year old version somehow.  Anyway.  The  music always made me feel that it had been played on a single that jumped – we had some of these – a scratched record – where a groove was missed and the tune would jump forward 15 seconds.  Somehow Top Cat does this in its second 20 seconds.  Check it out – it is completely wild, and probably quite hard to play.  It is a masterpiece theme tune to a masterpiece cartoon that ran from 1961 for only 30 episodes.  Which were endlessly repeated.

Top Cat, Benny the Ball, Fancy Fancy, Choo Choo, Brain & Spook

The format was as follows – a street gang of cats living in dustbins by a fence eating fish-heads, and thrown-away fast food.  Led by smart status symbol Top Cat – T.C. –  Benny the Ball, Choo Choo, Brain, Fancy Fancy and Spook were all expertly delineated characters in bright colours and working-class NYC accents.  Their enemy was Officer Dibble who was a human, constantly trying to foil their get-rich-quick schemes.  I suppose there was a strong symbolic element here – a representation of the poor underclass, finding ways legal or usually otherwise to make ends meet.  The voices were all superb.  Arnold Stang was T.C.

Mimi, Roxy and Boy in Brighton : a very rare picture of them together

Back there in Sussex we always had cats – indeed apart from a brief spell at the LSE and a handful of years in Los Angeles, I have always had a cat, or two, or three.  I believe them to be superior to dogs.  They clean themselves.  They bury their toilet. They give themselves their own status. They are spirit animals who give your home life and soul.  When they die, I am bereft for a long long time.

My first cat was called Caesar, a big male tabby given to me when I was one year old.  I remember burying him in the garden of our house in Selmeston when Dad was still at home, so I would’ve been seven or eight, and so would Caesar. Then we got white tortoiseshell Sheba and black & white Kitty Little.  We also had dogs during this period of my youth – Corgis Raq and Bessie, and then Welsh Sheepdog Brutus who used to chase cars.  When we became homeless in 1970 (see My Pop Life #84 ) I don’t know what happened to the animals.  After nine months the family were re-united in Hailsham and I think Sheba and Kitty Little were still with us but this may be a feline hallucination.  I’ll ask Mum.  I have a memory of finding Sheba dead under the kitchen tap one school morning in Hailsham because she had eaten string and was trying to drink water to lubricate herself.  Pets give you these horrific moments and even if they live long, they will inevitably die before you do.  Certainly by the time Rebecca was born we had grey/white Lucy who lived a very long life and eventually died as Becky turned 18.   Once I moved to London for university in 1976 there were no pets allowed in Halls of Residence beneath the Post Office Tower, however when I lived in Finsbury Park with Mumtaz in the early 80s we had Monty, another tabby, and when I left, in 1985, he stayed.  Or did he? I think maybe he moved in with me for a bit, then went back to Mumtaz…

London 1990 – Honey, Hardy & me

In the mid-80s I got a flat in in Archway Road N6 and when Jenny moved in we got two beautiful Siamese kittens, Hardy and Honey.

Hardy and Honey, about six months old

Such beautiful animals, they both talked a great deal and were sweet companions.  One night when we came in from a theatre show they were missing – then a small miaow led us to the top of the wardrobe where they were nervously looking down.  Then a movement under the bed – a Ginger Tom ran out through the cat door into the back garden.  He had bullied them.  Eaten their food.  Ginger Toms do that in my experience.  Anyway a few weeks later the same thing happened.  There Hardy and Honey were again, on top of the wardrobe.  We had discussed what we would do if it happened again.  Plan A.  Jenny walked down to the cat door and locked it.  Then the Ginger Tom (for it was he!) ran back there and got trapped in the bathroom (which was the back room due to the weird Housing Association conversion we were in).  I ran a tap and filled a jug. Ginger Tom was hissing and growling and Honey had come down for a ringside seat and got trapped in the room.  I tipped water onto the Ginger Tom’s head until he submitted, then finally opened the catflap and out he went.  We never saw him again. Nor did Honey or Hardy.

Hardy in Highgate, 1992

When we went to Scotland on holiday once a year – a 12-hour drive up to the West Coast & the islands – we would take the Siamese with us.  They would be locked in the cottage when we went for walks.  I remember Hardy growling at the sheep one morning.  When we were in Los Angeles Jenny’s school friend darling Betty would stay in our flat and look after them.  We would go back and forth.  Then when we returned from Los Angeles in 1995 we knew we wanted to move out of Highgate.

Honey got out the front door on the day we packed up the van to move temporarily to Kilburn and sometime that night got run over on that busy road.  Heartbreaking doesn’t begin to describe it.  I had to scrape her body off the road with a shovel and bury her in the back garden.  I felt sick.  Later we got another strange Siamese called Tia who never quite fitted in, never liked Jenny but used to swoon at me.  Hardy and Tia came to Brighton with us but we were away so much during that period – in LA and elsewhere that we eventually gave them away to a lovely old lady who had just lost her two Siamese and needed some grown ones because she couldn’t bear raising another kitten.  She would write to us about them every now and again which was lovely.  They died there in the Sussex countryside about ten years ago.

Marvin aged 20 weeks

At some point in 2004 we visited Stockholm with Amanda Ooms and met her sister Sara who had helped Andy Baybutt and I with The Murmuration (see My Pop Life #87) and met her new kitten Otis.  What a great animal!  He was a Devon Rex breed, with only one type of fur (most cats have three : down, fur & guard fur) and he was super-intelligent and friendly.  Bless Otis he passed away last week (Feb 2019) aged 15.  Anyway we were ready to re-cat ourselves and decided to get a Devon Rex, then found Marvin from a breeder.  Such a beautiful little boy he was, who would climb up from the ground up my legs, my body up to my shoulder and sit there.  He lasted a mere 9 weeks before cutting his mouth on a wicker basket and getting very weak. We took him to the vet who did a blood test and told us he had a factor 8 deficiency which meant his blood couldn’t clot and a transfusion wouldn’t work he would never live a long life.  That was simply awful.   I held Marvin’s little body to my chest through the night listening as his breathing got shallower and shallower, stroking him and whispering love into his absurdly large ears until he gave a big sigh, a final tiny rattle and passed over.  Jeez that was sad.

Chester

Eventually in April 2008 we decided to brave another Devon Rex and Chester arrived.  What a cat he was.  Like an old chinese man.  Very communicative.  Very funny.  He would crawl under the duvet every night.  After a year we decided to find him a mate.  By then we’d found a breeder that we liked, Michelle on the outskirts of Sheffield, whom we’d dropped in on one day while visiting my dad who lives in West Yorkshire.  Her house was full to the brim with cats, all friendly and smiling, purring and relaxed, draped over the furniture, window ledges, feeding kittens, greeting us.  She had all the queens inside – about twenty five females, and all the males outside in the yard and a back shed.

Michelle’s queen Orientals

Devon Rex mum and smigel kittens at Michelle’s

                Mimi’s mum, and, possibly, a very young Mimi

It is an extraordinary house.  We saw the new brood upstairs of tiny little pieces of Russian Blue Cornish Rex fur and said we’d be back in 10 weeks for a girl.  Mimi came back with us in the Jeep on the 200 mile journey and Chester fell in lust as soon as he laid eyes on her.  We had to separate them for a few nights, then it was obvious (from the howling) that we would have to spey dear Chester. After that they got on famously….most of the time….

Chester, me, Mimi – late 2008

Mimi kitten with Chester aged 15 months

Despite this clear blow to the head, Chester was not very good at fighting

A very special animal, Chester also had a congenital problem, this time with arrhythmia – an uneven heartbeat.  He died aged four while I was filming in Nashville and Jenny and I weren’t getting on.  I flew back and we buried him in the back garden in floods of tears, his early death re-uniting us as a kind of awful sacrifice.

Mimi we felt was lonely then.  We worried about her.  Michelle heard about Chester dying young and offered us another Cornish Rex so I drove up to Sheffield again and came back with the most affectionate cat I’ve ever met – Roxy, a bonkers tortoiseshell female.  Mimi hated her.

Roxy is a one-off weirdo.  I would actually say she has special needs.  In the nicest possible way of course.  She loves to sit on a shoulder.  Feels safe up there. Then she will purr and push her face into my beard, squirming with joy.

She would get out of the garden and wander down the road shouting at the top of her voice as if she was lost.  People would pick her up and say hi where do you live?  I could hear them over the garden trellis. We put a collar on her with the address and my mobile phone number engraved on it. One day, sitting in the Peace Statue cafe in Hove with Andy my phone went.

“Hello, do you have a cat called Roxy?”

“Yes I do”

“She’s in the hospital”

“OK thanks I’ll come and get her”.

Luckily I was on my bike and when I got home there was a nurse on my doorstep with Roxy and her winking eye, like butter wouldn’t melt.  After three months, Mimi still hated her. Roxy tried to make friends but no.  What to do?

Boy’s first night in Brighton – oh god, there’s two other cats here…

Get another cat!  This time it was to Basingstoke and the last of a litter, a beautiful black Oriental.  I met his father who was a Siamese and his mother who was a mushroom Oriental softie.  Roxy swooned for the Boy as soon as she saw him.  She licked him, chased him and bit his throat which was rather alarming.  But that is what cats do when they play.  She was teaching him how to fight.

She has taught him everything since.  They sleep together, wash each other, play and fight together. Mimi kept her disdainful character intact, and when it was that we came to move to New York City, we brought Roxy & Boy with us and left Mimi in Brighton.  Mimi is an outside cat, she was the queen of that hill in Kemp Town.

Mimi & Delilah-Rose, Brighton 2008

So we found her a home in Norfolk and later received some lovely photos of her looking very pleased with herself as a nine-year old girl’s pet and the only cat in the house (her one true desire).

Roxy we wouldn’t allow outside because she got lost every time, and Boy could take it or leave it – and he liked to bring back worms and slow worms (legless lizards) from outside and leave them – alive – in the kitchen.  But we’d already decided not to let the cats out in Brooklyn because of

TOP CAT!

THE MOST EFFECTUAL TOP CAT !

The local alley cats here have thick fur because they sleep outside in all weather. They slouch and have scars and behave like tough guys.  They are huge.  They are contemptuous. They probably have leukemia.  We imagined them meeting Roxy & Boy and speaking in Brooklynese :

“Yo. What’s your name – puss-in-boots?  What you doin’ down here? Welcome to the  hood.  You is European?! Don’t make me fuck you up kitty kitty.“

Scarcely anyone in New York speaks like this anymore, they’ve all moved out to Long Island or Westchester, or Jersey.  I mean it’s noticeable when you hear that Top Cat twang on the streets, like an endangered species.  But I think the cats still talk like that even if the people don’t.  The cats haven’t been gentrified yet (although there are gangs of “cat lovers” who go out and spey them and give them injections for leukemia).   So Roxy and Boy stay in. They have space, pretend trees to climb, food, beds, water, toys, windows to look out of with sunshine coming in.  Now and again Boy demands go out out onto the stairs so he can scratch the stair carpet.  Actually he is very dog-like.  He plays fetch and guards the perimeters.  They are content.  I love them with all my heart as I have loved all my cats, but maybe a little bit more.  They are, of course, our little kids.

Mimi & Chester in Brighton

Boy & Roxy in Brooklyn

  These are the two opening sequences I remember :

A sample of one episode ‘the maharajah of pookajee”

My Pop Life #215 : Top Cat – Hoyt Curtin Top Cat  -  Hoyt Curtin "The indisputable leader of the gang" *Warning : Cat Porn* *

[cowtowncrimeblog]

  WARNING: This article contains graphic and upsetting descriptions of human and animal mutilations.  There are some photos of animal skulls and maggots. I chose not to use the crime scene photos because of their horrific nature, but at the end I will link to an episode of Forensic Files which does show the photos. Use your own discretion.

Jason Eric Massey

We know a lot these days about what makes a serial killer. There are always outliers, but we know they often have horrific childhoods, particularly early childhood. Jason Eric Massey was born January 7, 1973 to parents with severe substance abuse issues. His father abandoned them immediately. His mother was young alcoholic and abusive. The birth of her first child didn’t affect her lifestyle. She would leave her toddler son in the car while she went into clubs. Two years later, she added a daughter. She beat them severely with a wooden paddle or a belt for any minor infraction. She kept the food in her room. If she found them sneaking in after food, she’d beat them. She moved constantly, staying just a step ahead of landlords looking for payment. At times they were homeless, living in her car. Jason and his siblings would show up at school as thin, hungry, dirty children with unexplained bruises.

Then there were the men. His mother brought a constant stream of men into their lives, often leaving the children alone with these men. It’s not surprising that one of them sexually assaulted Massey. By 9 years of age, Massey was bigger and stronger enough to take out his intense anger on those smaller than he was. He savagely beat a younger child with a tree branch. He also moved on to animal torture.

In the 1970s and 80s, there was a lot of discussion about what came to be known as the McDonald’s Triad, a purported predictor of homicide and sexual sadism. The Triad was animal cruelty, bed wetting, and arson. We now know that those are not predictors of violence, but rather indicators of extreme child abuse. They’re still huge, red warning flags because severe childhood abuse is one of the known contributing factors in serial killers.

Shortly after the beating of the younger child, Massey strangled and mutilated a cat. For the rest of his life, he would engaged in animal torture and murder. He was moving into his preteen years and the mutilation and torture would become twisted into his sexual fantasies. By fourteen, he was drinking and taking drugs and fantasizing about demons and power. He developed a fascination with fires and started numerous small ones.

In high school, he became obsessed with a girl who didn’t return his feelings. Massey had no notion of normal relationships. He began stalking the girl, calling her house. He killed her dog and painted the blood on her car. He had branched out from just cats to dogs and also cows, keeping their skulls as trophies.

It’s believed that around this time he started keeping a journal. His mother found it when he was 18 and had her son committed. If the entries were anything like his later ones, it’s no wonder. Unfortunately, he was soon released and immediately began again with the animal mutilations. He frequently talked about killing young girls, writing about them in the same way he described his animal killings, but people who knew him blew off the talk as self-aggrandizement. Sure he idolized Charles Manson, Ted Bundy, and Henry Lee Lucas, but that didn’t mean Massey was a serial killer.

But he wanted to be one.

In fact, that was his plan. He wanted to be the famous serial killer of all time, so he practiced on animals, keeping his trophies in a cooler, and he plotted and planned until he found his first victim. In 1993, Massey met 13 year old Christina Benjamin. Christina innocently flirted back with Massey. He was smitten with her. July of that year, Massey told his friend Christopher Nowlin that he had met a girl and was in love. He said he wanted to kill her, carve her up like one of his animals.  He was stopped by police for a traffic offense. In the car he had knives and the body of a dead cat with a rope tied around his neck.

July 23, 1993, James King hear a sound late at night, a car beeping its horn. He looked outside and saw his 14 year old son Brian run out to talk to the driver of a tan car. James went to the restroom. When he returned, the car was gone and he assumed Brian had gone with him. It wasn’t until the next morning that he realized his 13 year old step-daughter Christina was gone as well. James King and his wife Donna Benjamin waited to see if the kids would return because at that time, police didn’t worry about missing teenagers. They would “turn up.” When Brian and Christina stayed gone for a full day, James and Donna reported them missing.

Brian King and Christina Benjamin

  July 28th, Police responded to a call of animal cruelty in Telico, Texas in Ellis County. Ellis is located just below Dallas. It’s the bottom right of the counties which ring Tarrant and Dallas, and   the US Census counts it as part of the DFW Metroplex statistically. Ellis is largely still rural, but in 1993, it was especially so. On that date, the Ellis County Sheriff Department arrived to find a mutilated calf behind a pizza restaurant. A young, blond male had been seen running away and he left behind his car, a tan sedan that was towed. At the time, they had no clue it might be related to the disappearance of two teens.

July 29th, just a day later, there was another shocking discovery in Telico. Next to a remote highway, work crews found the nude body of a young girl. She had been shot with a .22 pitsol,  stabbed, decapitated and her hands removed. Both head and hands were missing. Her body had been shockingly mutilated. She was disemboweled, her body transected by long incisions like an autopsy that exposed her orgrans. Her thighs and genitals had long, intricate carvings. Her nipples had been cut off. The extensive injuries made identification difficult. The usual methods of dental records or fingerprints were unavailable.

Not far, a second body was discovered. 14 year-old Brian had been shot twice in the back of the head with a .22 pistol.  His body was fully clothed and not mutilated. In Brian’s wallet was his library card. The sheriff’s department contacted his father who told them that his son was missing. Then asked about Christina. Was she the girl with him? It seemed likely. Donna and James told the police that Christina had recently broken a foot. X-ray records confirmed the fractures of Christina and the Telico Jane Doe matched.

In addition, there was long, blonde hair caught on nearby barbed wire that was consistent with Christina’s. DNA would later provide the more definitive confirmation. Due to the small size and rural nature of Ellis County, Dallas County Crime Lab provided assistance. At the crime scene, they discovered a blond hair on Brian King’s leg that did not match him or Christina. Stuck to his sneaker was a single tan fiber belonging to the interior of a Japanese-make vehicle.

Meanwhile, police were processing the tan Subaru seized during the calf mutilation investigation. Inside they found three blood stains. In the trunk was a blood stained leaf. There was a roll of duct tape with blood on it, a hammer and a hatchet, a receipt for .22 ammo. A bracelet was dropped by the blond man running from the scene of the calf mutilaion with the name JASON on it. He might as well have left a big neon sign behind.

Almost immediately, police received an annonymous call that they should look at Jason Massey. Considering he went around talking about how he wanted to murder and mutilate young girls, it’s not shocking. They heard he had been seen the day of the murders at a local car wash vacuuming his tan Subaru. When the story broke on the news, the owner remembered Massey being there and called police who seized the contents of the carwash vacuum. In them, they found an appointment card from Massey’s probation officer and multiple strands of Christina’s hair in a bloody red bandana.

  To be certain which day the murders had occurred, they turned to a forensic entomologist. He examined the maggots and hatched some of his own in order to give an accurate age of the larvae found on the bodies. By doing this, he could deciseively say Christina and Brian had been deceased for two days. They were killed the same night they left in a tan car.

Police learned that Massey’s cousin owned a .22 caliber pistol that Massey had “borrowed.” Multiple people had seen Massey with the gun. The Walmart clerk who had sold the bullets, two knives, and handcuffs to Massey was able to ID him. At Massey’s house, police found the handcuffs, knife box, and newspaper articles he had cut out about the crime.

The fiber on Brian’s shoe matched the interior of Massey’s car. The blood on the car seats was tested and confirmed to come from Brian and Christine. Forensics and witness interviews painted a grim picture of the crime. Christine had agreed to sneak out and meet Massey. Perhaps she was nervous enough to ask her brother to come with them.

Perhaps she thought Brian could protect her from Massey. Instead, Massey drove them to a secluded location and shot Brian twice in the back of the head while still sitting in the car. Christine jumped out and tried to run, but Massey caught her and brought her back. There was no evidence of sexual assault. That isn’t where he got his pleasure. He shot her and dragged her back, then stabbed her multiple times. The gunshot did not kill her. It’s not known which of the other injuries were fatal. She was likely dead before the worst of the mutilations occurred.

Massey smirked during his arrest. He relished the media frenzy that followed, basking in the attention. There was a mountain of evidence, but in tiny pieces. Put together, the pieces made a whole picture, but conviction wasn’t a sure thing. It was a circumstantial case, even if the circumstances were damning.  Then during the trial, a bombshell. A hunter in the woods stumbled upon a rusty cooler. Opening it revealed Massey’s trophy case. In the cooler were 31 skulls of animals, and a set of four spiral notebooks. These notebooks bore the title “Slayer’s Book of Death” and they were the ramblings, the fantasies, the plans and recollections of Jason Massey. It was his blueprint for murder and mutilation. He detailed his crimes against animals. He particularly liked strangling them and decapitating them so he could keep the skulls. Massey wrote that killing gave him an “adrenaline rush, a high, a turn on, a love to mutilate.”

Massey wrote of his admiration for famous killers, particularly Bundy, Manson, and Lucas. He aspired to be even more, the most famous serial killer of all time. He set a goal of 700 victims in 20 years, working out how many people he would have to kill a month to hit his total. He named girls he wanted to add to the list. The journal starts with his fantasies of rape, torture, mutilation, and cannibalism, but then moves into specific planning.” Massey wrote that he wanted “to grab society by the throat and shake ’em with terror until they’re awake and realize what’s up so they will remember who I am, when and why I came their way.”

Both sides only had a single day to process the new evidence. For the state, it was exactly what they needed, a glimpse into the mind of a wannabe serial killer. For the defense, it was devastating. The jury only needed 15 minutes to convict Massey of capital murder. After the verdict, the jury learned more about Massey’s background and his crimes against animals and robberies. He was sentenced to death.

Massey was executed April 3, 2001. As so many before and after him, he claimed to have found religion. Maybe he had. He grew from a boy to a man on death row. He expressed remorse and I can only hope it was genuine. He apologized to the families of Christine and Brian. He told them that “she didn’t suffer as much as you think” and said that he had thrown her hands and head in the Trinity River. He apologized to his family and said he was relieved his journey was at an end. “Tonight I dance in the streets of gold. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

Would Massey have become a serial killer? He certainly had all the makings. Horrific childhood. Severe substance abuse. Animal mutilation. Fire starting. Sadistic sexual fantasies. At the trial, several experts testified that there isn’t a known treatment for such a strong case of anti-social personality disorder. As a society, all we can do is warehouse them or put them down like rabid dogs for our own safety. Maybe someday we will progress enough that we can do something meaningful to stop the process. The warning signs were there. If we can’t unmake the monster we have to stop him from being created. Otherwise, innocents like Christina and Brian suffer, just two kids who never had the chance to grow up because wannabe serial killer.

          https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvnSIR6eIH8

http://www.murderpedia.org/male.M/m1/massey-jason.htm

http://www.clarkprosecutor.org/html/death/US/massey706.htm

http://darkoutpost.com/history/crime-history-jason-massey-serial-killer-fan-turned-teen-murderer-executed-in-2001/

https://www.chron.com/news/houston-texas/article/Convicted-murderer-Jason-Massey-executed-2054935.php

http://www.shotsmag.co.uk/feature_view.aspx?FEATURE_ID=133

https://mylifeofcrime.wordpress.com/2015/04/14/monsters-among-us-jason-massey-killed-brian-king-and-christina-benjamin-in-his-quest-to-be-a-serial-killer-executed-432001/

Slayer’s Book of Death: Diary of Wannabe Serial Killer WARNING: This article contains graphic and upsetting descriptions of human and animal mutilations.  There are some photos of animal skulls and maggots.

[spazzon-glitter]

Happy November, loves! This month marks my one year! Whoo! 8 days away since my first post and one day ago when I signed up. I can’t believe it’s been a year. What a crazy time… We’ll get into that on my next post. Oh, and if you’re wondering if something looks different around here… then it’s because I’ve updated my page! Minimalism is my heart to the purest. Clean and easy. I don’t prefer too much color and if I do, it’s normally when I’m feeling “bright.” Don’t get me wrong, I love colors, it’s just easier for me to maintain when it’s less. If you’re around me enough, you’ll know that all I wear is white and when there’s a touch of color, it means I’m trying to be bold that day. Otherwise, I do have a wide variety of color; I have the tendency to lean towards white, black, and grey more often plus, sky/denim blue. ANY WHO! It’s been a hot minute! I hope you’ve all succeeded in reaching your opportunities and started your new beginnings last month. Let’s welcome this month with warm wishes for middle ground.

I’ve been a busy bee. Feels like I haven’t had the time to do anything since I got back from my trip. Let’s recap! In the month of October, I restored my friendship with my ex and our terms of civilization has been settled. I cannot be more thankful for what has become of us and even though there’s still some pieces to be solved, I’m happy for myself and him for our new beginnings. I also cleaned up a bit here on my blog.. due to the fact that I felt like I was adding colors and fun to please other people and their opinions. It just wasn’t me and every time I would stare at it, it’d be dead to me. I wasn’t satisfied with the outcome but for now, it’s doable. That’s another thing to get into… My friendships with a lot of people has ended and my networking has continued. I’ve slowed down a bit in my work and social media life which has given me a fresh breath of air. I’ve been so down and under the water that it has made things very difficult to get back up on my feet. Apart of juggling through spacious and mental work, there’s been some obstacles that’s been thrown my way. And although a lot of my positive atmosphere has seemed to perish, I’ve learned to love and embrace the solitude for there, will be lots of changes through my self journey. I’ve completely shut down and given myself some “me time” to search for clarity and also the strength in me has been taking some downtime to regain itself from relapsing. Towards the end of October, my family and I took a trip to San Diego. For those who know me, know that, that’s my hometown. I’ve been raised in the city and now acquired a taste of the suburban neighborhoods. Two totally different spectrum. I forgot how crazy the streets were and so comparable to San Francisco! I think that since I’ve grown so comfortable living here and used to the flat land, I forgot how adaptable I was to the hills. Even when I was younger, I’ve always hated them because they used to scare the shit out of me. I don’t understand how my parents did it! I almost feel like this is the extended summer that I asked for… which was last year. The weather differed drastically when we got there. Coming from 70 degrees to it being 80 with no wind made me feel sick since I’m sensitive to rash weather changes but I think that goes for everyone? If not, I’m just sensitive all around, TBH because my skin started to act up too.

Welcome SANTA MONICA + LA all in one sitting!

PALM TREE CENTRAL, here we come! I decided to try out SIDECAR (a donut shop) because.. why not? And it was cute. The aesthetic was so me. Very urban yet modern to its T. They’re famous for their huckleberry donut which I got and my sister decided on the pumpkin spice donut which I enjoyed too. It’s a tight shop at the corner with little to no parking but what do you expect? It’s LA. The texture was dough-like and very soft, I felt like every time I bit into it, it just crumbled but who expects stiff donuts anyways? It’s always made fresh for why I believe the texture is the way it is. While everyone was starving and thinking of actual food, I was thinking of “INSTAGRAM SHOT!”

SIDECAR, check

Santa Monica Pier, check

Beach, check

Venice beach, here we are!

It was nothing of what I had expected and I didn’t really think it’d be that bad. It reminded me of hippie hill in San Fran for some odd reason, maybe it was because of the smell or the broken down street.. For whatever reason it was, I felt unsatisfied. Every single person who goes there praises it and my expectations were not met. Hey, I can now say I’ve made it, right? Other than that, it didn’t really effect me that much. It was more of an, “what’s next?” type of deal for me. Thankfully, we spent the whole first day at the beach, something I’ve been needing. My 9-5 and school routine wore me out and I hated being stuck in that. It makes me feel like a robot and I hate that feeling more than anything. Any type of routine bores me and strips away all of my creativity and happiness therefore I become a really unhappy individual which can also lead me to being easily agitated and sleepy. Overall, I’m just glad we made it to LA and inhaled some salt water for a bit. It doesn’t stop there!

I love, love Mexican food alongside with Italian food. All I had that day was my donut and it sucked because I was sweaty and hungry, two things every person hates. We finished off our trip and made it to San Diego then decided to check in and grab dinner, thank god! Driving through the city felt incredibly refreshing and I felt like I was a kid again. We decided to see the city skyline and boy, was the sunset the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen… I’ve been chasing sunsets all summer long and I thought I was getting tired of it but that changed everything. You honestly think that things would change by the time you’re all grown up but everything stayed the same as if no time has moved at all. That goes for everything in life though. I feel that even when we grow up, the old places we used to visit, homes that we used to live in and or people that we’ve known for forever, doesn’t really alter their image, the only thing that differs are the colors, texture and ability to work. What a beautiful way to see buildings get older and age through grace/construction work. What a crazy year this has been, what a crazy time I’ve seen things stay the same. San Diego was a hell of a trip and it felt like a blink of an eye. We spent majority of the days at the beach and eating amazing Mexican food, which I didn’t complain about at all. People don’t really know but San Diego has a lot of Spanish influential aspects and I think that’s why I love it so much.

Rich culture, food, people and places that inspires me, draws me in and makes me want to stay. It felt like home but it also felt like a foreign country all at the same time. I truly don’t even know how we lived there because wow, driving is such a bitch. I’ve come to appreciate my small little quiet life in Sacramento but I’ve also grown more love towards the city. Friday, oh Friday. I remember when my grandma from the east would come visit us in San Diego and my parents would take her to Ocean beach; she would collect the sand from each one and take it home with her. It was such a strange thing to me at the time until I grew up and realized how much I wanted to keep memories alive. It’s so different when you don’t live anywhere near beaches or breezes that transpires peace instead of calamity.

MISSION BEACH + OCEAN BEACH

There’s a photo at every step. I never seen oceans so blue and so calming. I guess it was me missing something I haven’t had in a while. All the beaches in NorCal are a bit green, or I’d say, dark.. aside from Tahoe but we all know that Tahoe is distinctive compared to the bay. I found inspiration again – a thing I’ve been lacking for quite some time. This trip has truly brought some life back into me. I used to love photography and dealing with lighting to capture the essence of pure color but throughout time, it faded. Thankful for the colors, sunlight and breeze, I was able to take photos of sceneries and my family members. There’s nothing more fulfilling when picking up the camera and just getting lost within it. It was as if someone lit a fire in me again and I knew right there and then that everything in my life can continue to be great again. It’s up to me who has taken on the road and drive through it.  I wish I could say that this was my career, a job that I could do for forever and not get bored with, but my time span with everything seems to shorten after I finish the project. I constantly yearn for new things and backgrounds so that my inspiration can constantly stay afloat. I’m just that type of person who finds something they love, dive right in, finish it and never look back until the time comes again.

San Diego Zoo, Balboa Park & La Jolla Cove

A trip it is. Being in the old places we used to go to during field trips felt all too nostalgic. I could see my little 12-year-old self running around and fascinated by the water itself. Something about the water that draws me in, maybe it’s the stillness or the fact that you can submerge yourself in it and feel with one. My nephew. Prime example of being curious to the world and how new everything seems to be – the freshness and clean air intoxicated in your lungs and pushes back out. I never thought that life could be that beautiful and horrific all at the same time. Before we had gone to Balboa Park, we started with the San Diego Zoo! It was saddening seeing all the animals being caged up and also crazier how indifferent I felt when I got there. It was like I was waking up on Christmas morning – happy, jolly, and nothing in the world could stop me. Any type of places that makes me feel like a kid again is my go-to spot; a place where I can be myself and enjoy with my heart with no judgements and side eyed stares. (Of course, I still get them because I’m a 22-year-old who looks like a 16-year-old but you get the point.) We all want to be nothing more than just a child with no responsibilities or care in the world. I spent a wild amount of my time this year feeding into other people wants and not listening to my own. A part of me knew that it wasn’t right, but the other parts somehow felt that it was going to ease the pain and make me feel less of the hurt if I just went along with it and “go with the flow.” Obviously, for apparent reasons, it has done nothing but dragged out my feelings that were unwanted and I felt sick to my stomach to face the truth. Being in SoCal has given me so much new energy that I feel almost at peace with myself, if anything, I think I’m already there. Those days spent there felt like the fastest days of my life and I could not be more thankful for the time that was given. I always find myself growing closer and appreciating my family a bit more each time we go on trips. We all get so distracted with our daily routines and lives that we forget how to enjoy our times that we have left with one another. Not to say that my family doesn’t already stress that concept as it is, but to say that we all can come together in one big city and still do our thing to the fullest means the entire world to me. The breeze, water, sunset, food, everything felt different to me. I’ve learned to love life, again. EMBRACED the changes and accepted the truth, the one right in front of me.

San Diego, you’ve been pleasant! Appreciation taken. Love made. Peace given.

Explore till you reach the end of the earth. Discover till you can’t anymore. Create till your hands tire itself out. Because adventure is there!

Ps. I didn’t showcase all of the photos, but I will in my next post. Lengthy read isn’t it? Thank you for stopping by and appreciating life with me. I’ll see you next week, love!

Xoxo, missmaichi 💛

Santa Monica + LA + San Diego Trip Happy November, loves! This month marks my one year! Whoo! 8 days away since my first post and one day ago when I signed up.

[lb492mediaknowledgepower]

Media Prophecies

-Amber, Journal #9 (I think?)

Kirby discusses the use of diegetic prototypes—cinematic depictions of future technologies—to develop excitement and development for these technologies. Diegetic prototypes help showcase that technologies are not merely plausible, but harmless, helpful, and exciting. Thus, it is highly advantageous for consulting scientists to promote the use of diegetic prototypes.

This chapter put me in mind of the works of Ray Bradbury. Arguably many of his works contain diegetic prototypes, though in literature rather than film. However, it greatly contrasts to what Kirby describes: Bradbury’s diegetic prototypes are not portrayed in a positive manner, and it seems unlikely he consulted scientists. In fact, Bradbury claimed that with the exception of Farenheit 451, his works were fantasy rather than science fiction: “Science fiction is a depiction of the real. Fantasy is a depiction of the unreal. So Martian Chronicles is not science fiction, it’s fantasy. It couldn’t happen, you see?” Despite Bradbury’s claims, however, many of his stories contained technologies which became reality.

In the short story “The Murderer”, originally published in the anthology The Golden Apples of the Sun in 1953, a man is arrested and deemed insane for destroying pieces of technology, calling himself “The Murderer” of “machines that yak-yak-yak.” Technology has advanced to the point where everyone is constantly, incessantly connected and is so ubiquitous that there is no where silent to escape to. Among the technologies described are “an electronic vacuum hound that snuffles around after you from room to room, inhaling every fingernail or ash you drop” which are mimicked by Roomba vacuum cleaners in function if not form (introduced to the market in September 2002) and “my horror chamber of a radio wristwatch on which my friends and my wife phoned every five minutes”, comparable to Apple Watches (released April 2015). In the story, the “convenience” of technology puts everyone “in touch” to the point where you don’t even have enough time to think—The Murderer is part of a small minority horrified by the technology, whereas the rest of society has embraced it completely. Our current society largely parallels that in the story: we are constantly connected via phone calls, emails, texts, Facebook messages, Snapchat, tweets… Though such connectivity was portrayed as horrific, the story seems to have done nothing to offset the public from pursuing these technologies.

In “The Pedestrian”, originally published in The Reporter in 1951, a man is arrested and taken to a psychiatric hospital by a self-operating police car for taking a walk in the evening rather than staying home and watching television. Though television had already been invented, the story was published just as color television was emerging as a technology (and just four days before the first color baseball game broadcast). Once again, the story portrays technology in a negative light, yet it has done nothing to effect its development. The vast majority of households have a television, and many people stay inside during the evenings to watch rather than going for walks. Several companies are attempting to create feasible self-driving cars, and artificial intelligences are being developed which could take the place of policemen like in the story.

Even more technological examples are portrayed in Farenheit 451, such as the Seashell radios Mildred wears to bed which parallel Bluetooth devices. The obvious question which arises is that if media can sway the public to embrace technologies, then why didn’t Bradbury’s works lead to more people rejecting technologies? Is it simply that the audiences were smaller? Does film naturally have a larger impact than literature? Are scientific consultants actually necessary to make a story feasible and realistic to an audience, given that many of Bradbury’s works were predictive of modern society?