#rym uses his words

[sixxtytoo]

👗🎶😶 for yasuhiro?

YASUHIRO TIME it's yasuhiro time....

👗-a headcanon about their clothes

he LOVES anything comfy. tracksuits and sweatclothes are his faves... usually he just wears slides or something!! mans hates close-toed shoes. ...he's been scolded by byakuya multiple times for wearing sweatpants to work.

🎶-a headcanon about music

he listens to music constantly! it's how he focuses and how he relaxes. he has multiple pairs of earbuds and headphones so he won't get caught off-guard when he needs to charge the wireless ones

😶-a random headcanon

he likes taking his mom out in his spare time :] credit card debt means nothing in the face of treating your mom to new clothes and good food! they are absolute mall crawlers

[ephemeralityonline]

The Last American Hero in Liminal Spaces (1/1/21; A review of the James Ferraro bootleg "Deleted Schemes")

James Ferraro is an American artist with a heavy emphasis on both "American" and "artist." His work often invokes the feeling of all things fake and uncanny in current American capitalism. Whether it be the movie set desert of Speed or the faux leather sheen of God of London, Ferraro is always trying to capture the essence of certain scenes in a post-Google world. However, it is impossible to properly convey his artistry in just one project. Ferraro is simultaneously self-parodying while staying deadly serious about the subject matter. He insists none of his work is ironic and all of it comes from a genuine place which is surprisingly believable. To say his work is purely satirical would take away from a lot of the nuance in some of the music. While tracks like "Trapped in a Hummer" and "Fidget Spinners (The Anthem)" have an obvious tongue-in-cheek nature to them, they don't feel cynical or holier-than-thou. Purely from a sonic standpoint, there's no denying James' range as a musician. With everything hypnagogic-pop/rock to RnB to ambient to rap, sometimes blending all of these genres together, he is able to maintain his signature style. Through the use of this compilation, the listener is able to not only see the blindingly joyful beauty in "☺ Earth Jump" but the vacant nightmare that is "God of London" as well. Despite "TV Lobotomy" being a lo-fi rock track and "Xerces Blau" being an ambient soundscape, they both contain a distinct elegiac quality about them. The shocking thing is that despite the compilation being mostly experimental music, there are some legitimately catchy and well-written moments all throughout, begging to be discovered in this almost nine-hour experience. In an old interview, Ferraro said this "Far Side Virtual mainly designates a space in society, or a mode of behaving. All of these things operating in synchronicity: like ringtones, flat-screens, theater, cuisine, fashion, sushi. I don't want to call it 'virtual reality,' so I call it Far Side Virtual. If you really want to understand Far Side, first off, listen to Debussy, and secondly, go into a frozen yogurt shop. Afterwards, go into an Apple store and just fool around, hang out in there. Afterwards, go to Starbucks and get a gift card. They have a book there on the history of Starbucks—buy this book and go home. If you do all these things you'll understand what Far Side Virtual is — because people kind of live in it already." While this quote was specifically about Far Side Virtual, I feel that it can apply to all of his work in the way he evokes emotions. There's a consistently post-ironic and contemporary feeling that makes a connection better than most traditional music. With each section, there is a unique style that falls under the aforementioned post-ironic digital ennui. The greasy cathode TV advertising fresh KFC (Brainteaser). A sleazy gas station selling dick pills and sex toys (Xerox Kamikaze). Plastic jungle props in a kids museum (Urban Avatar). A gun store in a cheap GTA clone (100% Rain). Some creep hanging at a nightclub when almost everyone has left (Trapped in a Hummer). The view of a chilled NYC skyline from all glass office (Imported Snow). A commercial for a cheesy RnB album during a national tragedy (Coked Sentinel). Copaganda in a beloved sci-fi film (Hollywood Pretender). Gacha games stealing your data (Pollution Techniques). Second Life avatars reaching nirvana (First World Decay Systems). While these are all my own personal interpretations of what the different sections evoke, the soundscapes (and in some cases lyrics) were potent enough for me to come up with such specific imagery. This is the first review I've done without a score. I usually think ratings are a good way to summarize your enjoyment of something into a symbol that is immediately recognizable but this project is so nebulous that by rating it, some of the magic will disappear for me. I can tell you my favorite sections were Imported Snow and Urban Avatar but I plead that you try a little bit everything.

I highly recommend this compilation whether you're already a fan of Ferraro's work or trying to get into him for the first time. Words can't describe some of the emotions in this compilation, listen to it.

Originally posted on my RYM account.

[the--highlanders]

22. Guardian

on ao3.

“The Doctor said what?”

“He said you were going to protect us,” the little Ghim said happily. They were hopping from one foot to the other, still glowing with the satisfaction of having been allowed to use the radio, too distracted to notice the mounting horror Jamie was sure was showing on his face. “That we’d be alright now you were here.”

Turning away from the eager crowd clustered in front of him, Jamie scrubbed his hand over his face, pressing it over his mouth to muffle his curses. He was going to have stern words with the Doctor, he told himself, whenever he saw him again. And if it was a when, not an if.

Or at least, he had thought so up until a minute ago.

“What about Jas?” he asked, turning back to the Ghim who had carried the message – Isk? Pui? He was nowhere near close to learning all their names, let alone shepherding them well enough to guide them home. There always seemed to be more of them than there really were, scuttling about him on their many legs. “Is she not comin’?”

“Jas is gone,” the Ghim told him, as cheerful as ever. “The Doctor told us she vanished a few nights ago.” His voice dropped to a delightedly horrified whisper. “He thinks the They overheard us somehow and took her.”

“Is there no one else?” It was all Jamie could do to keep from wailing the words out in despair. He could not protect these people. A Ghim warrior might not have been able to do much against the colonists, the They – at least Jamie could reach higher than a human’s knees – but it was their mind for strategy that he needed more than anything. Someone who could frighten off the sharp-beasts and the patrols that the colonists were sending after them for long enough that they could escape. With Jas’ speed and archery skills and quick thinking, the job had seemed easy enough. But now… “What about Rym?”

“Isk said the Doctor needs her,” another Ghim piped up. So it was Isk he had been speaking to, then. Well, it was a start, he supposed. He would have to get to know them all sooner or later.

Sitting down heavily, he buried his face in his hands. The scuffling of claws on dirt told him that the Ghim were pressing in closer, crowding around him, and sure enough he felt their tiny paws on their arms a moment later. He was sure they meant it in comfort, but the physical reminder of how small and defenceless they were only agitated the bundle of disbelief and anxiety that had fixed itself in his stomach. It was just like the Doctor, to send him out to track down one of the outer villages, to promise that he would send someone to guard him on their way back to the Ghim’s main city, and then to leave him in charge instead.

“Is it true you’re a great warrior?” one of the Ghim children piped up from the back.

“Eh?” Startled out of his thoughts, Jamie lifted his head. “Who told ye that?”

“The Doctor said it to Isk.” The child broke into a toothy grin. “I overheard.”

“It’s true!” Isk said. The Ghim around him were beginning to murmur amongst themselves, and he twisted around to address them all excitedly. “The Doctor said he found them in a great battle. He said he’s the one who can protect us against the Them, that he’s as strong as ten pack-beasts, that he’s going to get us home!” With each point his gestures grew wilder and more emphatic, and the crowd gasped along with him as he spoke.

It was hardly difficult to be stronger than ten of the Ghim’s pack-beasts, Jamie thought, when they were only about the size of a small dog. “Hey, hey. Listen. Listen!” The Ghim fell silent when he shouted over their excited babbling. “I don’t know what the Doctor thinks he’s on about, but I’m no’ some great warrior, alright?”

As quickly as they had worked themselves into an excited frenzy, the Ghim deflated as one. “But what about the great battle?” another one – Tut, Jamie thought – asked. “Was he lying to us?”

“Aye, I ‘spose it’s true, in a manner of speakin’, but...” Jamie spread his hands out in front of him. “I wasnae meant tae be fighting. I didnae really know what I was doin’.” He shrugged. “I’m just a musician, really.” The crowd was murmuring again, this time more darkly. “An’ all I’ve got is some rusty old sword ye stole from the colonists. I don’t know what he wants me to do for ye.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he stormed off to the tent before he could hear any more out of them, whisking the flaps closed behind him in an irritated flourish and flopping down onto the cushions that littered the floor. Distantly, he could still hear the chatter of the Ghim, rising to a furious, shrill crescendo, each of them shouting above the other. It hardly helped that they talked like they shared one mind, or that they never seemed to take anything as bad news. But there was nothing he could do for them, Jamie insisted to himself. If they were attacked, there would be nothing he could do. Their one chance might have been to depend on their small size to hide amongst the underbrush of the forest – but with him alongside them, that was out of the picture.

“What was he thinkin’,” he mumbled to himself, tugging the string around his neck out from beneath his shirt to run his fingers over the ring that hung from it. “Tellin’ them I’m some sort of warrior.” It always seemed to fall to him to protect the Doctor, he admitted – but there was a difference between jumping on the back of some beastie to stop it from chewing his husband’s arm off and actually fighting people who knew what they were doing. The colonists had guns. They could pick him off before he and his half-broken sword could get within reach.

With a start, he realised that one of the Ghim had not been woken by the commotion outside. It was a child, small enough that he could comfortably bear their weight in one hand, half-buried amongst the cushions and blankets. One paw clutched at a bundle of scraps that might have been something like a ragdoll. The other was pressed against their mouth, and they chewed absently on an outstretched claw as it slept.

Shuffling closer, Jamie picked them up to cradle them in his arms. They did not wake, but simply turned over, letting out a soft whistle as if chattering away with the others even in their sleep. He stared down at them, wondering what would happen if he refused to even try and do as the Doctor asked. The child in his arms would not live to see the city, that was for sure. And for all that the Doctor could be incredibly obtuse, he was far from entirely clueless. In fact, Jamie thought, some of his most idiotic decisions had turned out to be his wisest. He knew Jamie was not the warrior he had made him out to be, and that one person could never hope to defeat the colonists alone. Perhaps not even Jas.

The Ghim had needed hope, he realised. They had needed to hear that they had been sent some great saviour. And whatever the real answer to getting them back safely was, the Doctor had needed the Ghim to trust that he would find it.

Still cradling the child, he stood up to push his way out of the tent and found that the crowd had stayed clustered around outside. They fell into an almost reverent silence when they saw him emerge.

“I can do it,” he said. “I’ll get ye home.”

The Ghim broke into cheers at his words, leaping up and down and clutching at each other. Finally hearing the noise, the child in Jamie’s arms stirred and woke, blinking sleepily down at their comrades. They slipped from his grasp, tumbling to the earth in a tangle of limbs, but sprung up again to dance along, apparently oblivious to having fallen at all.

While they were all distracted, Jamie turned his gaze up towards the sky. Folding his ring into his fist, he pulled down on it until the string dug into the back of his neck. “I just hope I know what I’m doin’, Doctor,” he murmured.

[sadreturn]

essential, eternal, impossible to put into words how about, "2012"?

i just had the most vivid and psychologically/developmentally impactful memory come from the deepest recesses of my reptilian brain when i was pissing regarding this song

it's so 2012

around 2010-2012, 2013, lil bit of 2014 and sparingly after that i spent most of my life on xbox live and slowly transitioned to /mu/ more and more from 2012 on

so around the era of 2010-2012 i had a very, very tight-knit and important group of online friends on xbox live whom i spent as many waking hours as physically possible talking to and playing with online

they were just random guys i met in various matches and games and we all somehow came together to form a large group and we were such amazingly good friends like it felt so strong and powerful a friendship online and it was kind of my first experience with online friendship like that pre-/mu/ friends, pre-fucking e-dating, pre-skype chats and last.fm messages and rym friends and discord chats

there were a few guys i remember so well and it makes me really melancholy to think about now, there was this one specific friend i had and i think his name was Dustin

and every day we would just happen to always come online at the same time due to our school schedules

and we would just send an invite to a game and a private chat with no context or message and it was so automatic and consistent

and we shared the most personal and unbelievably raw and embarrassing things over the course of a few years of playing together basically daily

it was so strange to know someone so well through a medium like that but i felt such an intense link with this guy specifically and it was one of the best friendships we ever had

the way this ties into the Shit Twins song is that around that era, 2012 i had gotten super into emo like Snowing and shit and that song Shit Twins was the best song i'd ever heard and my favorite for a very long time

and i showed him that song and he immediately felt as strongly as i did about it and it was like this weird online link and the song connected us in such a way that it felt like an actual physical bond through an internet connection

and we would talk about and jokingly sing or reference parts of that song, Shit Twins, constantly and for some reason i was so ecstatic to be able to share a song like that with someone who appreciated it as intensely as i did and it may seem dumb and minor but it was some of the most psychologically formative times in my 15-year-old brain and it had a permanent impact on how i grew and developed as a person, both me and this friend i had online named Dustin or something the same age and the very same as me somewhere across the country

it's hard for me to ever compare something even remotely similar to that because though i have had similar online connections of course i've never had something as vivid and personal and bizarrely real a feeling as that through the internet alone

the thing is we even added each other on facebook at some point, but i think somewhere along the way we lost each other

around 2013 and 2014 we both started playing less and less and began focusing more on our lives and other aspects of them

and somehow we lost the thread of contact and one day he didn't sign in as he normally did daily at the same time as me

and i actually remember sending him messages consistently

as he began to be offline for a few days

..then a week or two

...then a month

and months went by as i continued to message him every so often asking if he was ok

and he never signed in again

this is really sad to think about

i loved that guy and i don't really have high hopes of ever being able to contact him again for the rest of my life

people subtly and abruptly just slipping out of the narrative of your life, especially when they're extremely significant people to you and your development over the course of literal years

it's like the quintessential representation of the Portuguese concept of "Saudade"

“Saudade is a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return. One English translation of the word is missingness, although it might not convey the feeling of deep emotion attached to the word "saudade". Stronger forms of saudade might be felt towards people and things whose whereabouts are unknown, such as a lost lover, or a family member who has gone missing, moved away, separated, or died.”

this word is highly important to express this feeling for which no word in English exists, it's unlike any other feeling of melancholy or longing or nostalgia because it's all of it wrapped up into one feeling plus a million other things sprinkled in

...anyway

blogpost of the day

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2018 - Entry #3

Prompt # 5 - Show of Hands Word Count - 721

Rymharr steered his rented chocobo through the dark street.  The bird shook his head defiantly as they rounded a corner, clearly not happy to be out again after having gone to the stable for the night.  

“It’s a short trip.  Don’t going getting your wattle in a knot.” Rymharr mumbled, nudging the bird onward with his feet.

He cast a glance backward to the large leather case that rode behind him, its contents clunking slightly with every step the bird took. Was this a stupid idea?  Possibly.  But he’d heard what he’d heard, and he needed to do something about it. The thing had been bad when Zola had played it, with its missing keys and air leaks, but Zola never was a very good player, so it didn’t seem to matter. This kid deserved better.

He replayed the show in his mind.  Naturally his attention had been focused on the stage and its busty occupants, but he couldn’t help but notice how the band sounded.  It was… better than usual.  It was particularly noticeable during the bridge of Roll Me Over in the Clover, which was characterized by some fairly complex chords. The familiar sounds of Zola’s rickety old instrument had been in evidence, but they were more carefully chosen and louder.  The player had been compensating for the leaks and the missing keys.

Reaching the front door of the Fox and Shrew, Rymharr hitched up his bird and dismounted, his stiff boots thudding heavily on the pavement. He removed the case from the bird’s back, moving it as if it held something very fragile.

Some minutes later, after passing the bouncer and the last of the midnight vulture types, he arrived at the orchestra pit, holding the case in front of him. The girls had already gone and left the band members to tidy up. After exchanging pleasantries with a few of them, he spotted the person he was looking for, stacking chairs. He was a dark-haired Hyuran boy of perhaps 13 or 15 summers who reminded him of a horse colt - seemingly made primarily of knees and elbows. Two-thirds his height, but a tiny fraction of his weight.

“Hey, lad!” he said.

“Excuse me?” The boy looked up with suspicion in his dark blue eyes as he set a chair down in front of him protectively.  

“I don’t blame you, lad. But Madame Siha and the muscle wouldn’t have let me back here if I was going to go creepy uncle on you, would I?  he said with a smile.

Before the boy could answer, Rymharr knelt on the floor in front of him and began to open the catches on the leather case.  The boy remained stoic as it yawned open, but the widening of his eyes told Rymharr that he’d never seen anything like its contents.

“Breaks my poor old heart to see a talented kid like you wasting your time on Zola’s broken squeezebox. I think you should try this one. You don‘t get to keep it though, I‘m afraid.  It‘d make Sunny cry.”

Red lacquer and ivory gleamed richly in the soft yellow light as Rymharr lifted a magnificent accordion from its case. The young Hyur’s eyes were still fixated on it.

“That thing?  …Really?“ the boy said, crossing his arms over the back of the chair.  He hid his curiosity with a suspicious smirk and a disbelieving tone.

“Naww… It was built for me, but look.”  Rymharr held out one meaty hand, splaying his fingers in the air.

“If I can play it with these stubby little sausages, you should manage.” The boy looked at his own hands from the corner of his eye. They were indeed much leaner than his hands, but only slightly shorter…

The boy moved out from behind the chair, clearly interested but trying his best not to look it.  Rymharr shoved the instrument towards him before he had time to react.   The boy tried to step back, but succeeded only in plunking himself right in the chair with the accordion on his lap.  Rymharr let go of it, forcing the boy to wrap his twiggy arms around it to keep it from tumbling to the floor.   No longer able to hide his awe, the boy placed his fingers gingerly on the keys.

“Now,  play us a tune?”

((How Fal met Rymharr Sylbundsyn, Maelstrom sailor and possibly the only positive male role model of his youth.  The “Sunny” he mentions is his daughter Sunnthota, who Fal met and befriended many years later, thanks to that beautiful beast of an accordion, which ended up with Fal when Rym died. And the Fox and Shrew is something of a burlesque house.  A teenage boy working in a burlesque house is a recipe for disaster, but shh.  His adopted mom worked in the orchestra too and helped keep him in line.))

[cao-the-dreamer]

It all begins with a hummed melody.

Rym and Ulkàn are sitting in the huge library of Cahal. Peace and quiet fill the room, only perturbed by the sound of pen scratching paper and fingers turning pages. There is no one except them, nobody wants to disturb the tender atmosphere and prefers to leave the two people in their silence.

It has been four years since Cahal was brought to the surface. Four years that have defined the new life of the monsters from under the sea, living the best they can under the sun now.

Four years since the day the snake with crimson feathers met the dark-haired woman. The monster king finds some comfort next to the human radiating warmth, human which never defines him by his title but by his own being. And the Libyan is grateful to him for the respect he shows for her, without caring about her origins unlike many humans.

They enjoy doing many things together. Reading together. Writing and helping each other with languages and translation – both struggle with the foreign sentences their friends speak, Runic for one, English for another, and any assistance is welcomed to improve their studies. Hiking every now and then, and do not think the tail of Ulkàn is a problem. The Coatle is actually really quick to move, slipping gracefully on the ground. They spend time with their friends and family, playing silly games, watching movies, hanging here and there, stargazing and cheerfully shouting like idiots under the rain. They watch their own children creating a strong bond of brotherhood that deeply touches the adults.

Four years of laughters, cries, breaking, happiness and mistakes. And they keep living anyway.

For now they are just alone, enjoying the moment in the library.

It all begins with a reminiscence. 

Rym remembers the movie from last night that her daughter insisted to watch with Arial’s family and Teoti’s. “How to train your dragon 2”, Ulkàn and Marsyas were crying at some point and they didn't even denied it. Rym thinks of it then the melody from one of her favourite scenes develops into her throat, and without thinking, a hum escapes her lips, a discret chant that catches Ulkàn’s interest.

Then they are humming together, and little by little they get carried away, the lyrics arise from Ulkàn’s mouth :

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas With ne'er a fear of drowning And gladly ride the waves of life If you will marry me”

He cannot stop himself and stand up from his chair, opening his arms so his lungs have more space to breathe more air and sing louder :

“No scorching sun Nor freezing cold Will stop me on my journey If you will promise me your heart And love…”

He nods to Rym and a large smile spreads on her face. She too gets up and the melody softly flows from her lips :

“And love me for eternity My dearest one, my darling dear Your mighty words astound me”

Her brain doesn’t give any order, yet her feet take a few steps to come closer to the monster. They are only inches apart. She continues, her eyes shining all the while :

“But I've no need of mighty deeds When I feel your arms around me”

Quickly, but gently, Ulkàn takes her hands and they begin to swing around. His baritone voice rises again :

“But I would bring you rings of gold I'd even sing you poetry And I would keep you from all harm If you would stay beside me”

Their arms stretch and fold, twisting in a graceful way while Rym takes her turn :

“I have no use for rings of gold I care not for your poetry I only want your hand to hold”

Before she can react, Ulkàn grabs her waist and lift her with ease, turning on himself, a huge grin across his face : 

“I only want you near me”

She laughs, a warm and delightful sound that tingles him at his very core. Still carrying her, his reptilian body dances like a wave while an arm holds her under her thighs and the other hand interlaces her fingers with his owns. Both voices fill the room to achieve the song : 

“To love, to kiss, to sweetly hold For the dancing and the dreaming Through all life's sorrows and delights I'll keep your laugh inside me I'll swim and sail on savage seas With ne'er a fear of drowning And gladly ride the waves of life If you will marry me !”

The last note slowly dissipates into the air while both are trying to catch their breath. Then her hand lets go of his talon to softly caress his cheek.

“You have a lovely voice, habibi.”

He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear before replying :

“And so have you, my language queen.”

She giggles at the nickname that Ulkàn is very fond of, and so is she.

Claws slide through dark locks and fingers rest on crimson feathers, while both faces get closer and closer until lips meet teeth in a gentle kiss as silent as the room.

There is no need of words, here or elsewhere. They prefer to keep their relationship as a secret, they don’t want to make a show about it. Only behind closed doors is shown affection and they like it, to share a bond that they are the only ones to know. It allows moments of privacy that they treasure together.

Free of any obligation except themselves, where they can love and kiss and sweetly hold in peace.

(Please tell me if there are any mistakes !)

Hey @heavenfell-mun I heard romance was your weakness ? Well me too am a sucker for it x)

But seriously every time I look at the gorgeous drawing I commissioned you I am a little more in love with those two and I have For the dancing and the dreaming STUCK in my head every time I think of them (here is the original soundtrack and I love this cover).

I hoped you liked how I imagine their relationship !

See you :D

[jordanianroyals]

Do you think Al Jalila will grow up to be as beautiful as her mom? Because I really think she will be one of the beautiful faces Jordan will ever have. By the way, I do love your blog so much! I keep visiting this blog every single day since CP Hussein had his speech in UN. More love from me to you.... - A

I usually don’t use the word “beautiful” for a child as they’re too young and not yet grow into their looks, but Al Jalila is already a pretty girl. If you’re talking about Princess Haya’s daughter… then judging by her numerous half-sisters, she is likely to be a beautiful lady as well. I don’t think she will look anything like Haya though because she seems to look more like her Maktoum side of the family.

If you’re talking about the Jalila whose parents are Prince Ali and Princess Rym, while I think she doesn’t look anything like Rym, she will be a very beautiful lady because I see a lot of the late Queen Alia on her. She is a mini Alia. 

And thank you so much for the love and support! ❤️

[biblebloodhound]

Matthew 16:21-28 - The Need for Sacrifice

Christ himself is the sacrifice that atones for our sins—and not only our sins but the sins of all the world. (1 John 2:2)

Welcome, friends. Simply click the video below and let us consider together the words of Jesus.

You may also view this video at TimEhrhardtYouTube

For a response in song, click Take My Life and Let It Be arranged by Hymn Charts.

And, also click Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken sung by RYM Worship.

May the Lord bless you     and keep you. May the Lord smile down on you     and show you his kindness. M…

[gayhardmens82]

Johnny Rapid has friends over for play Bat Cave

MORE? GO AND JOIN IT!

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[sixxtytoo]

uhhhh anyways

[currentboat]

Alan Garner, Benighted Verse: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is the bane of undergraduates from south of the Trent and north of the Ribble. But they have never been alone in this. The poem tells of a challenge issued at Christmastime to the knights of King Arthur's Court by a mysterious Green Knight; he calls on any one of them to strike him a blow on the neck with his axe and have that blow returned in a year's time at the equally mysterious Green Chapel. Gawain takes up the challenge and is surprised when the Knight picks up his hewn-off head and rides away, anticipating their future meeting.

It was written towards the end of the 14th century by an unknown poet from the North-West of England with a detailed knowledge of the landscape he described. It was the period when Richard II, with his Cheshire archers, was making the North unpopular at Court. Not only did the archers address Richard to his face as "Dickun", but he and they spoke to each other in the Northern idiolect: the idiolect of the Gawain poet, who also wrote in the ancient tradition of alliterative verse. Chaucer may be showing the impatience of the time when, in The Canterbury Tales, he has his Parson say:

But trusteth wel, I am a Southren man, I kan nat geeste `rum, ram, ruff', by lettre. Ne, God woote, rym holde I but litel bettre.

I was fortunate in that I did not read Sir Gawain until I wanted to. And, as a native of Cheshire, I was puzzled at so many footnotes. I did not need them, apart from a few technical words that could not be inferred by context; neither did my father when I read extracts to him aloud. He could not have known that I was quoting Middle English. For him, we were doing no more than use our native speech, a speech that caused a well-meaning teacher to wash my mouth out with carbolic when I was six for "talking broad". Meeting Gawain as an adult showed me the irony. I had been taught to suppress my primary tongue. Received English had been imposed on me so that I might be educated and use that education; which now showed me what I had almost lost.

[frogeyedape]

Chaucer...oh, Chaucer. After the horrendous Prioress's Tale, Chaucer interrupts his story with a character *named after himself* (whose sudden appearance in the party of pilgrims is not explained at all, not even with a "Hale and well met, fellow traveler on the road. Would you care to tell a tale, as we all have been doing, the better to bide the time?" No, he's just there and offers to tell a story to the merrye compaigne), who starts to tell a story using this very nice AABCCB rhyme scheme, ONLY TO GET INTERRUPTED BY THE HOST SAYING "mine eres aken of thy drasty speech...This may wel be rym dogerel..." (My ears ache [to hear] your worthless/lousy talk...This may well be doggerel rhyming.)

Chaucer inserts a likeness of himself into the story, uses an elevated form of rhyme relative to the rest of the tales, and then *insults his likeness* and STOPS TELLING THE TALE, switching to another instead. Basically one of the typical 14th and 15th century authorial brags--"it's impossible to do justice to this scene but look here I go doing it justice anyway, look how awesome I am" is typical as far as I know--but here Chaucer is saying IF YOU DARE INTERRUPT OR INSULT ME I WILL STOP GIFTING YOU WITH MY PRETTY PRETTY WORDS AND LEAVE YOU HANGING IN SUSPENSE RIGHT AFTER I'VE SET UP A GREAT STORY.

It made me laugh but it's also a bit irksome. Why do this, Chaucer? WHYYYY?

[1-800-want-joj]

spent a long time writing this on RYM but felt like I needed to put on here too because it’s so personal. its less of a review of Mel Gibson’s We Were Soldiers and more of story about growing up and realising that adults are incomplete, flawed humans like i was

Growing up, I lived next to a Vietnam veteran. Private Jim Smith. I know, sounds like I'm making the name up-- when my 8th Grade social studies teacher asked us to do a project where we'd interview a veteran, he didn't believe Jim was real at first either, and thought I was trying to worm my way out of actually doing the project. Jim, known to me and my sister as "Mister Smith", was an interesting man. Stern, but caring. He'd never let a friend or neighbor in need go without-- and never let any slight, real or perceived, pass without issuing a sharp verbal lashing. A hardass and a hard drinker; a sword forged in South Boston under the corrupt and tyrannical rule of the Irish Mob, and tempered in the jungles of Southeast Asia. I never asked myself as a child why Mister Smith drank so much beer and whiskey. It was just what our neighbor did. I had a tense relationship with Mister Smith. My father passed away when I was 10, and my disabled mother struggled to keep us fed. Mister Smith became something of a surrogate father. He'd drive my sister and I to doctor's appointments, feed us when my mother was in the hospital, and reprimand us when my mother felt we weren't taking her punishments seriously. He was a harsh man, even with all the love I know he had in his heart he hid it pretty damn well with drunken fits of rage and long diatribes about "America as we know it is heading down the shitter because of that monkey in the white house." I feared him, but as I grew older I began to understand him and the demons he carried with him every day that drove him to act the way he did. One day Mister Smith called our house and asked to talk to me. He wanted to know if I'd like to come over and watch a film with him. It struck me as something very out of the ordinary. He was always so cold and distant, and would never ask anyone to do anything with him. It was so odd and out of character that I had to take him up on the offer just to see what was wrong. I was a bit hyperfocused on military history as kid and Mister Smith loved to talk to me about documentaries and movies and his experiences in the military, but only when I was over his house for other reasons. He'd never summoned me like this before. I sat down on his futon and he told me we were going to watch 'We Were Soldiers' by Mel Gibson. "Lotta people fuck this battle up. But Mel Gibson did his homework." As the opening scenes of the movie played out, he recounted to me for the umpteenth time about how he was deployed as part of police action, not a military invasion, and how that set the stage for the battle I was about to watch recreated. "This was my battle," the words left his mouth proudly many times throughout the opening scenes of the film. But as the film wore on Mister Smith had less and less to say. The pride and matter-of-factness with which he set the stage for the narrative of the battle of Ia Drang Valley gave way to a shakiness as he told me, in the most vulnerable moment I'd seen from him in my 13 years of life, "I don't like to watch this movie alone. It's hard." The battle began and as the NVA slaughtered the surrounded marines, he looked at me again, even more naked and vulnerable...with tears welling in his eyes. Tears, falling from eyes that had seen people beaten nearly to death in the Bussing Riots, stared down the barrels of NVA rifles, watched swathes of jungle be melted away by chemicals and bombs, and watched the outside world for years through metal bars in a Massachusetts prison for felony charges that he never opened up to me about. "I left a lot of friends in that valley." Those were the last words from his lips until the credits rolled. We Were Soldiers isn't a particularly memorable war movie. It's not even really that great of a Vietnam era piece. It's hindered by some bad dialogue here and there but at the end of the day you can look past it and see a movie that is just...good. But for me, it will never be just another war movie. To see a piece of art reduce a callused alcoholic to a silently snivelling wreck as he relives the most exhilarating and horrifying moment of his life, it transforms that piece of art for you, through your contact with them. It takes on a meaning beyond a simple dramatic reenactment of a moment in time. To me, We Were Soldiers is a part of Jim Smith and he is a part of it. Jim died in 2014 from untreated gastric issues related to his drinking. I will never truly understand the ghosts that he took to the grave with him, but I was given an intimate look at them and a chance to understand them that very few people in his life likely ever were.

[sixxtytoo]

if i'm being honest i look at oumota the same way i do naehiro in that. yes there is a lot more canon material to work with for other ships (saiouma and naegiri respectively) but i'm looking into my heart rn and it's telling me these losers compliment each other real well

[sixxtytoo]

tokomaru for the ship ask game!!

i love them!

i know i'm preaching to the choir here but. realistically if you (🫵) want touko to do any healing at all whatsoever tokomaru is The Ship where it's gonna happen. komaru has such a big heart and she clearly cares for touko. that care, even if you think it's platonic cough cough not me is just a really healthy, supportive kind of love. it's exactly what touko needs and deserves. ofc touko would be out of her depth since the only romance she knows has been garnered from novels, but i like to think she would be happy to be loved and appreciated by komaru.. eventually! it'd probably take touko years to come to terms with how the way she thinks (or thought??) about romance affected her, especially since she wouldn't be in a het relationship. mostly because of how touko has envisioned her love life up to that point, komaru's steadfast nature and kindness is absolutely crucial when considering the longevity of this ship. it's also just cute to think about the little things with them. like if they started cohabitating komaru would leave cute little sticky note messages on the bathroom mirror. just think about it. i am going to go Wild

[sixxtytoo]

😺🖕💄👗 chihios,....

YAY SORREN IN MY ASKS ok um um uh

😺-an animal related headcanon

SHE LOVES ANIMALS ofc but uhh. i hc her having allergies to most common house pets. like she will absolutely still go to like. animal shelters and her friends' places if they have pets but not without taking like double her allergy medication beforehand. miss puffy eyes and runny nose,,

🖕-a headcanon relating to anger

despite not... looking like she would i kinda feel like she has a really short fuse when it comes to stuff like people disrespecting her friends and mistreatment of people in general. she's patient with her friends but impatient with herself!!! she pushes herself way too hard and can get frustrated pretty easily if something she's trying to do isn't turning out right. the type to leave a room to cool down before resorting to raising her voice!

💄-an appearance headcanon

she's like. trying to learn makeup. her favs are eyeshadows that are a little bit sparkly!!! but usually in neutral colours close to her skin tone. i also like to think she started off borrowing stuff from sayaka but that's a surprise tool that can help us later

👗-a headcanon about their clothes

when she's relaxing at home she likes to wear rompers!!!!! like fuzzy ones with cute patterns and stuff. or if she has a lot to do and just doesn't feel like it, probably a t-shirt that one of her friends lent her (and she kept. allegedly she has no idea where it is.)